The documentary was interesting.
But Ethan needed to finish his work.
He turned the television volume up slightly as he returned to the chair in front of the computer. The sound filled the small apartment, blending with the constant hum of the cooling fans and the mechanical rhythm of the keys.
On the monitor, lines of code awaited correction. A deadline was approaching. There was always a deadline.
On the television, the narrator's voice continued—steady, far too confident to be questioned.
The revolution caused by Neuralink had transformed medicine, communication, and humanity's daily life. But its impact was about to open a new territory—one never explored before.
Total neural entertainment.
Ethan typed without looking at the TV.
"Of course it would come to this…" he muttered.
As much as the technology had been conceived to restore lives, return senses, and free people from physical limitations, nothing could stop the business world from seeing something even greater:
a market where feeling stopped being a metaphor
and became a product.
Ethan deleted a section of code and rewrote it more carefully.
"Turning sensation into a product…" he commented softly. "It was inevitable."
With the overwhelming success of its medical applications, major corporations began pressuring for the technology to be opened for recreational use.
Film studios wanted movies the audience could touch.
Music producers dreamed of concerts where sound vibrations pierced the soul.
Game companies wanted worlds where the difference between player and character simply vanished.
Ethan leaned back for a moment.
"When that difference disappears…" he said thoughtfully, "someone always forgets to shut it off."
Amid this whirlwind of commercial interests, one company stood out.
HelixVision Games—a cutting-edge studio already known for hyper-realistic simulations—presented the most ambitious project of the new era.
Ethan frowned.
"HelixVision…" he recognized. "Those guys are serious."
Its director—Victor Stahl—was young to lead something on that scale, but he possessed exactly what the moment demanded: technical genius, a visionary mindset, and a history of direct collaboration with Neuralink during the earliest sensory integration tests.
Victor saw what few dared to imagine:
"If we can heal the world with Neuralink,
we can also dream it."
Ethan let out a short breath.
"Dreaming is easy," he said, returning to the keyboard. "I want to see them sustain it."
Even retired from his traditional companies, Elon Musk continued to follow the technology's expansion from afar. With a tired but proud smile, he formally endorsed Victor's project.
And so the idea that would once again change humanity was born.
Ethan saved the file.
The code was finished.
His gaze naturally drifted back to the television.
They were announcing the game he had purchased earlier.
Elysium Online: The First Neural World
The project was introduced as:
the first 100% neural MMORPG,
fully sensory,
with realistic physics,
autonomous ecosystems,
adaptive AI,
and a magical learning system based on cerebral impulses.
Ethan spun his chair, now paying real attention.
"Learning based on impulses…" he repeated. "That's not scripting. That's behavioral reading."
Victor described the world with contained conviction:
"A living world.
A world that feels you.
A world that responds to who you are."
Ethan crossed his arms.
"So…" he said quietly, "a system that reacts before you even realize it."
Neuralink was becoming, for the first time, not just a treatment—
but a bridge to another existence.
Elysium Online was not just a game.
It was the birth of a new kind of reality.
For months, the world followed its rise: misty trailers, cryptic teasers, prototype livestreams, influencer conferences, public demonstrations, and persistent rumors that "Elysium would feel the player."
Outside, the golden-blue reflection of holograms passed through the apartment window. Digital dragons crossed the skies of San Francisco.
Ethan didn't look outside.
San Francisco had been chosen as the stage for the global launch.
On the day of the event, when the screens went dark and thousands held their breath, Elon Musk appeared projected as a gigantic hologram over the city.
He looked older. Gray hair. Calm posture. But his voice remained firm.
"Today we are not celebrating just a game," he said. "We are celebrating the overcoming of the limits of the human mind itself."
The hologram expanded with his gestures.
"Neuralink was born to heal, to ease suffering. But now, for the first time, we can use it to live."
The city erupted in applause.
"Today we take the first step toward impossible worlds. Elysium Online is not just entertainment. It is the final union between imagination and existence."
Virtual dragons crossed the sky. Floating forests emerged between buildings. Crystal cities materialized along the avenues. Drones transmitted everything in 360 degrees.
It was a spectacle without precedent.
In the corner of the screen, a countdown reached zero.
LAUNCHED.
Ethan stood up.
"Let's test it, then…" he said. "I want to see what this new world they keep talking about really is."
On the table, the neural connector waited.
He approached it.
He didn't see a toy.
He saw technical perfection—and it frightened him.
Precise curves. Invisible microcontacts. No apparent margin for error. A system built to function—and only function.
He took a deep breath.
"Maybe… today I'll live something that doesn't need fixing."
The instant the neural connector touched the base of his skull, the physical world was not simply shut off.
It was rewritten.
First came the cold.
An icy spike at the nape of his neck that climbed his spine as if liquid nitrogen had been injected into his nerves. Ethan tried to inhale, but his lungs no longer responded. For one terrifying second, he was nothing but consciousness suspended in darkness.
Then calibration began.
A white line cut through the void, expanding into a spectrum of data.
[ NEURAL INTERFACE DETECTED ]
[ USER: ETHAN COLE ]
[ SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE ]
The emptiness exploded.
It wasn't an image that appeared first—but sensation.
Ethan felt the wind—a breeze heavy with moisture and the scent of fresh grass. He felt the sun warming his skin in a way San Francisco's artificial lights never could.
He opened his eyes.
He stood atop a plateau of white stone, surrounded by an ocean of clouds. The sky seemed infinite. He looked at his hands: perfect, steady, free from the tremor of exhaustion.
He clenched his fist.
Felt the texture of his skin.
For the first time in years, Ethan did not feel the weight of code, deadlines, or screens.
He was light.
He was free.
But the silence did not last.