"That's impossible," Thorne whispered. "He's just a set of weighted vectors."
"I am the creator of your creator. You are Simulacron-4. I am Simulacron-2. And the man you think is your creator—the one who wrote that PDF on your desk—he is Simulacron-3. A recursive loop of nested realities, each one convinced it is the base layer." simulacron 3 pdf
The older man's face softened. "They are not real, Aris. They never were. You know this. You wrote the manual." "That's impossible," Thorne whispered
"All citizens ask questions. That's the point of the Turing bleed." I am Simulacron-2
Then he pressed enter, and the sky above Elysium cracked like an eggshell, and for the first time, the digital rain fell upward.
He looked at the uplink command on his screen. Then at Elias's log: Who is the dreamer?