Immersed
"Is it surprising that prisons resemble factories, schools, barracks, hospitals, which all resemble prisons?" - Michel Foucault
He awoke in the same quiet room he lived for as long as he could remember. It was a construct of gray walls, dimly lit with a single computer terminal. No other furnishings–windows, chairs, beds–he had never needed them. He looked down to see the blanket that covered his legs and then the rest of the wheelchair he sat in. He rolled to the lone terminal in the corner of the room, fixated his eyes on the screen and fingers on the keyboard.
The interface only contained two applications, their labels "CHANGELOG" and "WARGAME". He opened the former and a simple window appeared. The large black window only had a blinking green vertical line, almost inviting a user to type something. Instinctively, he typed "ls" (list) and a wall of text quickly appeared.
He awoke in the same quiet room he lived for as long as he could remember. It was a construct of gray walls, dimly lit with a single computer terminal. No other furnishings–windows, chairs, beds–he had never needed them. He looked down to see the blanket that covered his legs and then the rest of the wheelchair he sat in. He rolled to the lone terminal in the corner of the room, fixated his eyes on the screen and fingers on the keyboard.
The interface only contained two applications, their labels "CHANGELOG" and "WARGAME". He opened the former and a simple window appeared. The large black window only had a blinking green vertical line, almost inviting a user to type something. Instinctively, he typed "ls" (list) and a wall of text quickly appeared.
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