A big yawn sneaks up on me as we leave the infirmary.

"Mind if I crash here for the night? I'm beat."

"No problem at all," Alvin says. "Allow me to see you to the quarters. They're equipped with amenities for rest and personal hygiene."

I don't often say this, but damn, I really do need a shower.

"...Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Something about things you're supposed to say makes me feel dishonest, but whenever Alvin says them, they sound natural. Programmed or not, that part of his personality seems very genuine.

Looking over my shoulder, I watch the room un-render as the door closes. It's like what I witnessed when the Sanctuary was reset, minus the weird outer space projections.

"Did you need something else from the infirmary, User Lulu?"

"Nah, it's fine. Let's go."

In a ride so smooth it's hard to tell we're moving, the tube-shaped elevator takes us down to the first floor. The small hallway contains nothing but seven doors, one opposite of the elevator, and three more to our left and right each, all with a Greek letter engraved.

λ

Hand pointing to the door labelled "Lambda", Alvin says, "Please make yourself at home, User Lulu. Let me know when you require my assistance again."

"All right. You get some rest too, okay?"

"I will, yeah. Good night, User Lulu."

"Good night."

Smiling and waving like an overly polite concierge, Alvin watches as I turn to the door.

"Oh, one more thing," he says. "You can fully relax. I'll monitor my sound input in case the banshee comes by."

The what now?

◎

I don't know for how long I've been soaking in hot water now. Ten, twenty, forty minutes, it all sounds equally likely. What I do know is that I've had the same expression of utter disbelief stuck on my face since.

A banshee.

Is that what happened here? Did everyone just die? Did Róisín talk to me from the afterlife? Is this how the modern banshee of the year 2034 does it? Deemed the outside world too depressing, so now they haunt domains instead?

—Deep breaths, Lulu. Alvin clearly hallucinated the folklore spirit lady who announces death. Like that machine hierarchy. Surely it's not real.

Burnt hand hanging off the tub and knees raised above the water, I lean back. A bath. I haven't felt this fancy in years.

Submerged up to my nose, I try to enjoy the moment while it lasts. The hectic life of trying to make rent for my corroding apartment will be breathing down my neck again soon enough. All while navigating whatever this all is.

With my head relaxed, at least physically, I stare at the washer-dryer combo. Upside down. In silence. I figured the equipment in here wouldn't scream at me like the washer at my place that's gone through five owners and is barely clinging to life support, but there really is no sound at all.

That's Sanctuary technology, I suppose. Silently washing my shirt, shorts, torn leggings, underwear, and zip hoodie. The hoodie with the—

"Fuck!!"

I leap out of the tub, wildly splashing water that quickly escapes through the drain in the floor.

That jellyfish toy! It was still in my pocket!

No time to even grab a towel, I lean over the washer and press buttons at random in an attempt to stop it. The lid unlocks and opens with a clicking sound, pushing out hot air carrying the scent of melted chocolate over strawberries that I picked from the detergent presets.

Prepared for the worst, I reach for my damp hoodie and take the toy. There's no way being spun around in water didn't ruin its batteries, but if I'm lucky, I can still fix it.

Tap.

The little jellyfish pops up on the screen and hums an 8-bit jingle as if nothing had happened.

Yeah, now I feel a little silly for rushing here buck naked like the fate of the world was at stake.

Is it true what they say about stuff being built to last back in the day? Is this particular specimen unkillable? I know jellyfish live in water, but—!?

My brain clearly needs a break.

I close the lid and let the cycle continue. A white bathrobe hangs on the wall, so I wrap myself up in its softness before I tap on the terminal above the basin.

Select desired tool._

Facial hygiene

Oral hygiene

>> Combs & brushes

Make-up

Other

"Buddy, I don't even know what the difference between a comb and a brush is," I mumble. Whatever lets me brush my hair, I guess.

>> Wide tooth comb

Fine tooth comb

Wooden comb

Bristle brush

Paddle brush

Detangling brush

[...]

Oh, for the love of—

And the list goes on. Does it matter which one I use? It probably does if you care. Which Alvin might, given how lustrous his hair is. Does he need to wash it to look like that? But it's not organic, right? Is it some kind of cosmic secret that would banish my soul from this plane of existence if I knew the truth behind it?

Meh, I'll just pick the first item on the list.

Simulating. . . . . .

Simulation complete.

Please retrieve item(s) from wall cabinet.

And when I open the cabinet, I find a single comb inside.

"Simulation", huh?

Watching my hands in the mirror, I rake the comb through my hair. It's a physical object I can interact with, like the rest of the Sanctuary, there's no doubt about that.

So how exactly is this a simulation?

Could I simulate some cash while I'm at it?