A Dream that Devours

Cass's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his tired eyes. The office hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the rhythmic clacking of keys filling the space.

He should have been working.

Instead, his search history was littered with phrases that would get him flagged if anyone ever checked.

Simulation theory.

David Kipping.

James Gates error-correcting codes in physics.

Planck time fundamental limit of reality.

Speed of light as a universal refresh rate.

His pulse quickened the further he read.

At first, it had just been an itch—something to distract himself from what he wasn't supposed to think about. But now, as he clicked through article after article, video after video, the connections snapped into place like pieces of a puzzle he hadn't known he was solving.

Planck time. The smallest measurable unit of time. Anything smaller doesn't exist.

The speed of light. A constant, unbreakable limit.

Error-correcting codes. Written into the equations that define the universe itself.

Cass rubbed his hands over his face, the words blurring together. This wasn't just theory anymore.

It was a pattern.

One that had been there this entire time.

His fingers twitched against the mouse.

He needed to see it for himself.

Cass leaned forward, scanning through a page on the Fibonacci sequence in nature.

Spirals in galaxies. The arrangement of petals on a flower. The pattern of hurricanes. The shape of the human ear.

A golden ratio that existed everywhere.

His mind flashed back to the city in his dreams—no, not dreams.

The real city.

Had he seen it there? In the wreckage? The way the broken streets curved inward, the spiral of debris trailing from the fallen buildings?

He clicked open a new tab.

1.618

The golden ratio. The fundamental structure of beauty. The way life itself seemed to arrange things.

Cass's heart pounded as he typed in something else.

Planck time: 5.39 × 10⁻⁴⁴ seconds

Speed of light: 299,792,458 m/s

He stared at the numbers.

Then, without knowing why, he added the golden ratio.

(5.39 × 10⁻⁴⁴) × (299,792,458) × (1.618) =

The result flashed on the screen.

Cass's stomach turned to ice.

The answer was perfectly clean. Too clean. A whole number, something that shouldn't have been possible with the random chaos of physics.

Cass's breath quickened.

His fingers hovered over the keys. This wasn't normal.

He was supposed to see decimal points stretching forever, irrational numbers spiraling into infinity.

Instead, the equation closed itself.

Like it had been designed that way.

A whisper clawed at the back of his mind.

"This is real."

Cass swallowed hard, his throat dry. His heart slammed against his ribs.

He needed more.

He clicked on an interview with James Gates, the scientist who had discovered computer code embedded in physics equations.

The video buffer lagged for half a second before it started.

Gates was speaking, explaining his findings in calm, measured tones.

"We found error-correcting codes—like the ones used in computer processing—buried within the fundamental equations of supersymmetry. These codes have no reason to be there. No explanation for why they appear."

Cass leaned in.

"And if they exist in the equations that define our universe… then we must ask ourselves—"

The video froze.

Cass's mouse wouldn't move.

The buffering icon spun.

Then the video skipped forward—jumping several minutes ahead.

Cass's stomach dropped.

He hit rewind.

The video refused to go back.

He refreshed the page.

Video unavailable.

Cass sat back slowly.

Something was wrong.

The office noise around him felt too far away. He could hear his coworkers talking, but the words were muffled, like he was listening through water.

His hands felt cold.

He wasn't supposed to be looking at this.

He wasn't supposed to be noticing.

Cass clenched his jaw, shutting the laptop. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

But the certainty sank deep into his bones.

He had proof.

Real, tangible proof that reality wasn't what it seemed.

And someone… or something… had just stopped him from seeing more.

"Mr. Voss?"

Cass tensed.

The voice came from behind him, smooth, neutral, but too close.

He turned.

A man stood just outside his cubicle, dressed in an unremarkable black suit. His face was calm, polite. His hands rested loosely in his pockets.

Cass's pulse slammed against his ribs.

Because he hadn't heard anyone approach.

The man hadn't been there a second ago.

Cass forced himself to breathe. "Yeah?"

The man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"We need to have a word."

Cass's fingers twitched. "Who are you?"

The man gestured vaguely. "We can talk about that in private."

Cass's throat was dry. He glanced around—no one else was paying attention. His coworkers were right there, but no one looked up. No one even seemed to notice the man standing next to him.

The office felt too quiet.

Cass stood slowly, every nerve on edge. "Alright."

The man nodded, then turned, walking toward the hallway.

Cass followed.

With every step, his body screamed at him to turn around.

To run.

To pretend he had never looked too closely.

They stepped into an empty conference room.

The man closed the door behind them.

Cass's breath hitched.

Because for a split second, as the door swung shut—

The office beyond it changed.

The walls shifted. The floor flickered like a bad projection. The fluorescent lights buzzed, distorting, before snapping back to normal.

Cass froze.

The man turned to him, smiling faintly.

"I think you've been looking at things you shouldn't."

Cass's fingers curled into fists. "And what, you're here to tell me to stop?"

The man exhaled through his nose, almost like a chuckle. "Not at all. I'm just here to remind you that not everything needs an explanation."

Cass's jaw locked. "I think I'll decide that for myself."

The man's smile widened.

And then—

The lights flickered.

Cass's vision blurred.

For half a second, the office behind him wasn't an office anymore.

It was something else.

Something shifting. Changing.

Like the world itself was waiting to see what it should be.

Cass's breath turned shallow.

The man straightened his tie. "Just some advice, Mr. Voss."

Then he turned and left.

Cass stood there, his heart hammering, his mind racing.

Because he knew.

Something had just changed.

And he had no idea what.

End of Chapter 19