Snap Back to Reality

The creator felt bad. Perhaps he was a bit too harsh on the boy. He had promised not to get mad, and he broke that promise. Bread didn’t do anything wrong; he was just curious. That was a sign of humanity. He should’ve praised him for pursuing that thought.

He pulled out an old recipe book from his mother that he had scanned into Simular and also brought out a few cooking utensils. He planned to make something traditional without the use of any extensive machinery. Something homemade… Bread liked the creamy cabbage soup. He was certain he’d love the other culinary delights his mother had written down too.

“Let’s see here…” He picked out some ground black pepper, bamboo salt, chopped garlic, and a few more spices from the fridge. Small details like these were the most important in cooking. Then he pulled out the main ingredients—heavy cream, Parmesan cheese, and dried fettuccine. Even if these were all simulated material, he’d already verified the taste was made exceptionally similar to the real life counterparts. Otherwise, there was no point in replicating the rest.

He placed a pot of water on the activated stove. Then he generously dispersed some salt and waited for the mixture to come to a boil. When the water started to bubble, he grabbed a handful of the fettuccine and cracked them down the middle—Azan would’ve hated him for doing that; he’d once said it was a disgrace. But the strands were too long. He didn’t want Bread choking on his food because he decided to uphold some old, gourmet pasta tradition he didn’t really care about. He quickly placed the cracked strands into the pot and got to work on the other ingredients.

He pulled out a saucepan and poured in an ample portion of heavy cream. Then he broke a few blocks of butter and dropped them in too. The butter immediately started to melt; he stirred a few more times before adding a handful of grated Parmesan cheese. Then he added some garlic and a sprinkle of thyme. He finished the sauce up with a pinch of pepper and salt.

The creator moved back over to the pasta noodles. He separated out a small portion of the starchy water and drained the rest. Turning off the stove, he then mixed the pasta with the sauce, pouring small amounts of the cloudy mixture in to thicken the dish. He finalized it with another sprinkle of cheese and ground peppercorns. And—

He was done.

Actually, it’s not quite there yet. He was just copying his mother’s recipe. If he wanted it to be his own dish, he should’ve added a personal twist. A flare. Should he throw in some hot pepper flakes? Make it a spicy fettuccine Alfredo instead of the original? Yes. That sounded ideal.

He grabbed a small container of chili flakes and was about to sprinkle some on top when the door to the kitchen burst open—

“What did you do?!” Azan yelled. He threw his jacket at the creator. It missed and fell to the floor. “What did you tell them?!” His hair was disheveled and unkempt. He looked like a wreck.

“What is it now, Azan?”

“The meeting! What did you tell them?!”

“Don’t remember.” The creator nabbed a pinch of chili flakes and lightly sprinkled them on top of his dish. It looked almost immaculate.

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously? I told you not to mess it up, yeah? We lost a fourth of our shares!” he cried. “Kingfisher was there! Were you even aware? Do you even know who that is?”

“So what? Just get more investors.” He took a kitchen rag and started wiping off the excess sauce from the edge of the plate.

“What are you doing? Is that pasta? You’re making pasta right now?”

“It’s just food.”

“Why would—Oh… Oh, I know why.” Azan walked a little closer. “It’s for him isn’t it? This is for that boy, isn’t it?”

“So what if it is?”

“So what if it is?” Azan repeated. “So what if it is?! Why?! When our lives are on the line! He’s fake! Simular isn’t! You do know that, yeah?”

“Stop exaggerating, Azan. The company won’t go down from just this.”

“Why can’t you just focus on Simular for once, hmm? Why is it always new creations, new inventions, new everything with you?! I told you I’ll handle the business side of things. Is it so hard to just sit still?”

“Am I not doing that?”

“You made me talk to that stupid AI because you said you’d take care of the meeting!”

“He’s not stupid. He’s just lacking in direction.”

“He’s not—He’s not stupid?” Azan marched even closer. He was just shy of the creator’s reach. Then he snatched the finished plate of pasta from the kitchen counter.

The creator sighed. “What are you doing?”

He hurled the plate like a baseball. It shattered; cream splashed all over, staining the walls and floor in milky white.

“Azan…” He gritted his teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Look at you.” Azan shook his head. “Getting angry over a plate of fake food. It doesn’t exist! None of this does!”

“I’m not angry, Azan. I’m annoyed. I put work into that.” He sighed. Deeper this time. “You don’t even care about all this simulated crap. All you care about is money. Why do you care about what I do? Just leave me alone.”

Azan shook his head again. “You’re so damn blind!”

“What now?” Azan was getting on his nerves.

He straightened his tie. “Look, I’m telling you because I’m your friend. You’re getting too attached to the boy. You’re ruining yourself!”

“Listen, is this about the shareholders? I’m sorry, alright?” He pulled out another batch of uncooked pasta. “Just… Let’s talk later.”

“I said look!” Azan grabbed his collar. “You’re a fool. You know that, yeah? That boy won’t feed you. He can’t even tell you the time! He’s useless. Just a computer software. He’s. Not. Real.”

“So what—”

“You’re always obsessed with the most absurd of things. Neural immersion? Living inside a simulation? Do you hear yourself? I wasn’t going to say anything if that irrational fantasy of yours didn’t interfere with my life! But look at you now.” He let go of the creator. “As always, I’m the one fixing all your mistakes and wiping your stupid ass!”

“Azan—”

“I don’t want to hear any of it! I’ll deal with the business side of things because I’m the CEO. So you do something about that boy, yeah? Or I’ll get rid of it myself.” He turned around to pick up his jacket.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t care what happens,” Azan threatened. “I’ll make it happen. I’ll slap you awake from this trance of yours. Even if you kill me, I’ll find a way.” Then he left. Stomped out in the same manner he had entered.

The creator momentarily gazed at the splattered dish. His eyes fell to the bundle of dried pasta in his hand. A few slid out of his grip.

Not even real… There was a passing thought to put the rest into the pot. He would cook it again. Boil the water, melt the butter, garnish the dish all over again. He would make another batch…

But why?