In an endless white space, where there were neither shadows nor forms, two figures seemed to be suspended. Their silhouettes barely emerged through the light, as if born from its very glow. Their voices echoed, resonant and measured, like the distant echoes of an argument.
– Do you think... do those we control deserve the right to live? – said the first voice, its tone calm, almost indifferent, as if asking out of curiosity.
– The right to live? – the second voice chuckled, his reply tinged with condescension. – These are just fantasies of the creators. Worlds created for the sake of a game. We control them for fun, for exploration, sometimes for victory. That is their purpose.
– So, to you, they are all just images? Products of imagination that appear only to entertain and then disappear?
The interlocutor was silent for a moment, then responded, this time more firmly, as if stating an undeniable truth.
– Of course. They come and go, as they should. Everyone here has their own goal. Victory, the joy of the game, testing oneself. In the end, these are just games, nothing more.
A brief silence hung in the white space, until the first voice spoke again, his words soft, but with a barely perceptible threat:
– And what if all your games... are actually real?
The interlocutor tensed, barely frowning.
– What? What are you talking about? That's impossible.
– What do you think, – continued the first voice, his tone almost mocking.
– Will you be able to survive... if you end up in my game?