Chapter Text
A dim light illuminated the dark room. A man sat in a chair in the center. His posture was tense and empty. His eyes, once illuminated by the dim light, were now completely dim. He stared unblinkingly ahead. Now he felt his very life slipping from his grasp. What was the point of his struggle if it all ultimately led to disappointment? If he was powerless and useless.
The door to the room opened. A tall man in glasses walked in. A set of tools hung from his belt, the ones he uses for his work. He watched with a heavy heart as his boss still couldn't get over it. But today, everything would change. When a nearby employee brought him a single camera recording, he knew it was time. Agent Smith approached his boss and touched his shoulder.
- Go away- Victim immediately shrugs off his hand, continuing to stare ahead.
-I have something- Agent kneels before him and shows him the tablet screen. The video shows one of his employees making his way through the forest and reaching a cliff. A figure hovered above sea level. Vic jerked in recognition. The Angel of Death. Another unexpected figure descends toward him. A Cursor. Victim stares at the screen in disbelief. The events in the video end, but he doesn't care. Agent looks at him tensely.
- This is our chance. We must act.
- Yes- Victim stood up from his chair and clapped his hands. The entire room was illuminated. Now it was clear that all the walls were covered with various papers and threads. A single board wasn't enough for Victim. His thought transcended all known limitations. He approached the front wall. It depicted a cursor and that black stickman. It was time for reckoning. His creator would regret creating him, regret taking away his ray of hope and sunshine.
He slams his fist against the wall. And almost all the papers fall to the floor. Victim drops his head and starts laughing.
- Stop! Cut!- their director approaches the set and looks at the fallen decorations- Who even designed the decorations? Why are they hanging so poorly?
Victim can't hold back his laughter any longer and bursts out laughing. Agent joins in and laughs too. The DJ gives them a disapproving look.
- Okay, cut the hee-hee-haha. You, Vic, are the one most to blame for everything falling, by the way.
- What do you mean?! It's my fault we have this equipment?
- Let's stop this argument- Alan's hand fell on Vic's head. He gently stroked his eldest son's hair- I can just rewrite this scene, and everything will be fine.
- Perhaps that's exactly what's needed- The gray man shook his father's hand off his head and stepped aside. To avoid this, so to speak.