The holoscreen shimmered with light in the Aure family's living room, filling the air with crisp sound and three-dimensional projections. It wasn't quite television as the ancient past had known it; the Holo-V let you feel like you were sitting right inside the auditorium, surrounded by hundreds of other proud parents and stiff graduates in their shimmering black robes.
The announcer's voice rang through the projection.
> "Jack Aure. Doctor of Artificial Intelligence Studies. Age: 18."
Polite applause followed, echoing faintly from the broadcast, though the sound felt muted in the Aure household.
"Eighteen…" whispered Marla Aure, Jack's mother, her eyes glistening as she pressed a tissue against the corner of her eye. "Just eighteen, and already with a doctorate. Your father was still learning how to tie his shoes at eighteen."
"Hey!" grunted Darius Aure, Jack's father, from his recliner. He had a square jaw, the type of man who wore his wrinkles like war medals. "I could tie my shoes... Eventually."
Marla smirked at him, but her eyes never left the holo-projection, where her son walked across the stage, shook the Chancellor's hand, and gave that lopsided grin she hadn't seen in weeks.
Yes—weeks.
Her son had locked himself away ever since graduation day.
The world saw him walk off stage, smile into the cameras, wave at the crowd… and then he disappeared. Not into trouble, not into a party, not into travel like most kids his age. No, Jack Aure went straight into his private lab and hadn't come out for fourteen days.
Not for meals. Not for family dinners. Not for hugs.
Nothing.
If it weren't for the fact that the household AI delivered nutritional packs directly into his workspace, Marla might have believed her boy had starved.
Only one person was allowed into the lab.
The family's youngest—Ellie, Jack's thirteen-year-old sister.
And Ellie wasn't talking.
"Ellie," Marla said, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at the girl curled up on the sofa, knees hugged to her chest. "You've been going in there. You must know what he's doing."
Ellie looked up from her wrist-console, her wide eyes innocent in that way only younger siblings could pull off. "Nope. Classified. Jack said if I tell you, he'll feed me to the Nanite Swarm."
Marla's lips pressed into a line. "He's joking."
Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Do you know Jack?"
Darius barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Let the boy cook, Marla. He's eighteen, got a doctorate, and a bank account thicker than a battleship hull. If he wants to spend two weeks locked in his lab, let him. Probably working on some genius invention that'll make the family name shine brighter."
Marla wasn't convinced. Her son had always been… different. Brilliant, yes. Kind, absolutely. But he had ideas. Big ones. The kind that made teachers sigh, professors rub their temples, and classmates roll their eyes. Jack wasn't satisfied with merely understanding the world; he wanted to change it.
And change was dangerous.
Two weeks passed like two eternities.
Meals were eaten in quiet suspense. The house echoed with absence. Sometimes, Marla thought she heard faint noises from Jack's lab: bursts of laughter, muttered words, strange sounds like electronic whalesong.
But then one evening—just as Marla was setting out dinner, muttering under her breath about how her eldest child was probably wasting away behind a locked door—
The door hissed open.
And out stepped Jack Aure.
He looked the same, and yet… sharper. His eyes had that glint of sleepless determination, hair slightly disheveled, his posture taut with energy. In his hands, he carried a sleek, crystalline device about the size of a pair of glasses, but thicker, glowing faintly with threads of light weaving through its surface.
"Family," Jack said simply, his voice firm, measured. "It's ready."
Marla froze mid-step, spatula still in hand. "What's ready?"
Jack smiled—boyish, mischievous, the grin of someone about to upend the world. "The future of gaming."
The device was called GameLens.
It wasn't just another holo-visor or neural-link headset. It looked delicate, but the moment Jack placed it in his mother's trembling hands, Marla felt the faint hum of something alive.
"Put it on," Jack encouraged.
Marla hesitated. "Jack, I swear, if this gives me seizures—"
"It won't," Ellie interrupted, practically bouncing. "It's awesome, Mom. Just do it!"
With a sigh that carried all the weight of motherhood, Marla slipped the device onto her face.
The world vanished.
No—correction. The world shifted.
She stood not in her living room but in the body of a woman much younger, stronger, her hands smooth, her back unbent by age. She gasped, running her fingers along her new form, her skin glowing with youth. She could feel everything—heat, texture, even the distant scent of earth and wood.
And before her, standing on a dusty country road, was an old man with a white beard. His eyes twinkled as he held out a sealed letter.
> "If you're reading this," the man said warmly, "then you must be in dire need of a change."
Marla blinked. "Excuse me? Who are you?"
The man chuckled. "Your grandfather, of course. And I'm giving you a farm. A place to start fresh… in Stardew Valley."
"Stardew… what now?" Marla muttered, completely lost.
Behind her, Jack's voice echoed faintly, though she couldn't see him. "Go on, Mom. Just accept the letter."
Her hands moved on their own, the world shimmering with color and life as the valley stretched before her—rolling fields, chirping birds, the smell of tilled soil.
Marla Aure, doctor's mother, citizen of a post-war technological society, now found herself holding a rusty hoe, staring at a decrepit plot of farmland.
"Oh, no," she whispered, horrified. "He's making me farm."
Darius Aure's experience was… slightly different.
He'd been skeptical, grumbling about how "if this thing fries my neurons, Jack's paying my medical bills." But the moment he slipped the GameLens on, his world snapped into clarity.
He wasn't in a field. He wasn't on a farm.
He was sitting in a chair, his hands metallic, his skin pale synthetic polymer. He blinked—and the motion was mechanical, precise, alien. His reflection stared back at him from a glass panel: a tall man with artificial skin stretched over chrome, glowing blue ring circling one temple.
> "Unit designation: Connor," a voice said.
"Your mission: investigate deviant android activity."
"What the hell," Darius muttered.
Then he stood. Walked. Felt the weight of his artificial body respond. People bustled around him, some casting curious stares. And then—
"Tin-can."
The word spat from a human officer, disgust plain in his eyes. Others muttered, jeered. Some ignored him, others sneered openly.
The words cut deeper than they should have. Darius had fought in the Second Space Corporation War—he had watched men tear each other apart, and he'd seen android soldiers stand by humanity's side. Racism toward AIs had been outlawed, suppressed, punished by every corporate charter in existence.
And yet here it was. Raw. Personal. Directed at him.
He felt it—an ache in his chest, something alien yet intimately real.
And then it clicked.
"This… is a game," Darius whispered.
But if it was a game, it was the most real simulation he had ever touched. The pain was real. The sting of rejection was real. And as his new body—Connor's body—marched forward to fulfill its mission, Darius Aure finally understood.
His son hadn't built just another toy.
He'd built another world.
---
When both parents finally tore the GameLens off, gasping for breath, they stared at Jack with wide eyes.
Marla's hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed like she'd been out in the sun. Darius's hands trembled faintly as though he still expected them to be metallic.
Jack stood calmly, hands behind his back, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
"So," he asked. "What do you think?"
The room was silent for a heartbeat.
Then Marla finally spoke.
"…I hate farming."
Darius just stared at his son, then let out a long, slow whistle.
"Kid… what the hell did you just unleash?"
Jack only grinned wider.
And thus began the revolution.