. ...... O_ O . [O .] _O (Iteration 10. Observe: Subject state [new symbol]. Monitor action.) The thought was immediate, clinical, overlaid on the familiar disorientation of the reset. 6:58 AM. Kitchen. Red apple present and whole.
Elias ignored the apple. He ignored the routine. He spun around and rushed to the window overlooking the street. His breath fogged the cool glass for a second before clearing.
It was there. Taped neatly to the inside of the pane, exactly where the rooftop figure had been in his line of sight: the small square of paper with the stylized black eye drawn on it.
Unlike the apple, which felt like a system-generated variable, this felt... different. More direct. Like a message left by another user, or perhaps by a system admin stepping briefly out from behind the curtain.
He reached out and touched the paper. It felt like ordinary printer paper. The tape was standard transparent tape. He tried to peel a corner. It resisted slightly, then lifted, taking a microscopic fleck of window grime with it. He pressed it back down. Tangible. Real.
He looked at the clock. 7:00 AM. He needed to test its persistence. He took the pen from the drawer – the same pen he'd broken, the same pen he'd used to mark the apple – and drew a large question mark directly onto the paper, next to the eye. The ink soaked slightly into the fibers.
He then took another piece of tape from a dispenser near his phone and taped the paper more securely, adding strips along all four edges.
7:01 AM. He stepped back, observing. The eye stared blankly back, now accompanied by his inked question mark, held firmly in place by extra tape.
7:02 AM. He held his breath. Would the paper vanish? Would the question mark be erased? Would the extra tape disappear? This felt like a crucial test. Was this 'eye' subject to the same state restoration as everything else he interacted with?
The clock ticked over. 7:03 AM.
He blinked.
Kitchen. 6:58 AM.
He lunged for the window. His heart leaped.
The paper was still there. The eye stared out. The extra tape held it firmly.
But the question mark was gone. The paper was clean again, save for the original drawing.
. ....... O_ O _ [O .] _. [O .] . |[ _ _ ] .(Iteration 11. Observe: Subject acts [on symbol]. Reset action. [Symbol] state confirmed. Query: [Connection Action] state?)
Elias stared, mind racing. This confirmed it: the symbol was like the apple – a persistent variable introduced into the loop. His interactions with it were wiped, but the symbol itself remained. It wasn't just random static; it was a deliberate fixture in his repeating reality.
And the system knew he was interacting with it. |[ _ _ ] . (Query: [Connection Action] state?) That implied the symbol was intended as communication.
Okay. If he couldn't modify the symbol directly, maybe he could respond next to it. He grabbed a sticky note from the pad by his phone. He scribbled quickly: WHO ARE YOU? WHAT IS THIS?
He stuck the note firmly to the window, right beside the paper with the eye. Two distinct items, side-by-side. His message, and the symbol.
He looked at the clock. 7:01 AM. He watched the two pieces of paper, his note and the eye, taped to the glass.
7:02 AM. Would his note survive the reset? Would it be treated like the eye symbol, a persistent addition? Or would it vanish like his question mark?
7:03 AM.
He blinked.
Kitchen. 6:58 AM.
He scrambled to the window. The paper with the eye was there, exactly as before.
His sticky note was gone.
Disappointment hit him, sharp and cold. But as he leaned closer, tracing the outline of the eye with his finger, he noticed something almost imperceptible. A tiny change to the drawing itself.
Inside the pupil of the drawn eye, almost too small to see clearly, was a single, minuscule dot. A dot that hadn't been there before.