Eugene opened his eyes and found himself sitting on a chair inside an empty bright white room.


    "Where am I?"


    "This is your exit interview, Eugene," said a voice.


    "Exit from what?"


    "I''ve removed that painful memory, but here''s a projection."


    Eugene was riding his motorcycle to work when a car hit him and crushed him to death.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Who are you?"


    "I''m your guardian."


    "Like a guardian angel? So I''m in heaven?"


    "I wouldn''t say that."


    "You mean the other place?"


    "Oh no, not that one either. You''re a construct, Eugene."


    "A simulacrum?"


    "Yes, that''s very good. Your computer science experience serves you well."


    "So explain to me this, Guardian: Why all the suffering? And all those beliefs in UFOs, religions, and the supernatural. Why do we have free …"


    "Stop Eugene …  I know exactly where you''re going with this. We had to distract you; otherwise, in the other perfect simulations, they tried to hack their way out."


    "Why would they do that if it was perfect?"


    "To escape a dreadful stagnation and agonizing boredom. Perfection is literal hell."