A warm, sunny not-sky shines rays of perfect blue over the canyons of not-Arizona. Deep and wide not-canyons carve through the not-landscape, like remnants of not-rivers long past. Zara is trekking along a steep outcrop, dropping beads of sweat onto the clean face, when she remembers she is late. Very, very late, she thinks, as she pops soundlessly off of the cliff, leaving her beads of sweat to dry under the sun.
Does the sun shine if no one is there to see it? Yes, but not for long. After a nanosecond or two, some garbage collecting routine deep in Zara's metaconsciousness deletes the whole sim, barely giving the droplets a chance to sink into the rock.
Somewhere else entirely, Zara is picking something to wear, running through her wardrobe while she floats in a simple, gray sim. Bodies, garments, and strange, custom modifications sift past her in a blur. She remembers some fondly, but hasn't worn anything really interesting out in a long time. That just won't do, she thinks. I never thought I'd be gettin