Grandad had always said we'd move here permanantly. He'd fought to open the doorway, fought to get us a chance to live in Cybersapce, so we would always be Saved on a memory chip, always be alive, no matter what happened.
He'd died to get us here, and, frankly, it didn't look that great.
Everything was too bright, too white, too clean. Everything glowed, like on an actual computer screen. And there were things to think about; what about our friends back home? In Reality? Everything here felt fake, programmed. And what about the little things? Details? Things that surely couldn't possibly be programmed in to the system I was now living in. Food. Comfort. Aesthetic things. Gorvernment, even. Who was the Programmer? Who was in charge of everything?
I swore I'd find out soon enough.
