That was when Niko began to understand. They weren't in Greece. Not the real Greece. They were in a set —a twenty-kilometer biosphere of imported soil, seeded wildlife, and weather machines. The "storm" was a sprinkler system on a hydraulic arm. The "ancient chestnuts" were fiberglass sculptures with real bark grafted on.
Niko looked at the centipede. It had stopped moving. He touched it. Plastic. A prop. Everything was a prop. That was when Niko began to understand
"Day eighteen," whispered Priya, the retired Olympic swimmer. Her voice had lost its medal sheen. "No contact. No food drop. No crew." They were in a set —a twenty-kilometer biosphere
But Niko had stopped believing in the edit three days ago, when the drone failed to return from its sunrise sweep. It hadn't crashed. It had simply flown east, as if dismissed, and never came back. The GoPros on the trees were dead. The microphones woven into their collars had gone silent. They were not being watched. Niko looked at the centipede