I frowned, the task frankly confusing me. The man was on a sinking boat. I had a big, sturdy one. There was no convincing to be done.
“Hey, sir!” I called out, realizing only now just how scratchy my voice had become. “Turn around. I’ve come to save you.”
Five seconds passed and he didn’t turn. Didn’t even budge.
I frowned. Maybe he hadn’t heard me through all the noise?
I cleared my throat and tried again, this time as loud as I could. “Hey, SIR—I’ve come to save you! A hurricane’s coming. You just need to jump onto my boat!”
Ten seconds went by and he still didn’t budge.
I exhaled in frustration, then strode right toward him. But as soon as my foot crossed my boat’s threshold, the entire simulation distorted and sputtered. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to do that.
I moved back to the center of my boat, and the simulation resumed its former strength.
I was supposed to stay where I was, and the only way I could save the man was with my words.
“Sir!” I tried again, my vocal cords straining. “Please! You’re going to drown if you stay there! The storm is picking up. I’ve got a big, strong boat and I’ve come to save you!”
Finally, he stirred. His torso twisted and he turned slowly around, giving me a view of his face for the first time.
He was young and attractive, probably no older than twenty-five, and yet… he looked about as battered as his boat, and there was a weariness to his features that aged him. His mouth was downturned, a cut splitting his lower lip, and his jaw was slack, his skin holding a bruised, purple-grayish hue. His blue eyes were dull, jaded, as though he had seen too much in his short lifetime.
His lips parted slowly, and as he replied, his voice was deep and somber. It resonated around the chamber, reminding me of a whale’s mourning: “I’m okay on my own.”
I stared back at him, bewildered.
Nobody in real life would respond in that way. Whichmade me wonder what on earth the point of this simulation was.
Maybe the man was delusional?
“Sir, you are clearlynotokay,” I replied. “Just get on my boat.”
He shook his head, his face becoming a stubborn mask.
“Did you not hear when I said a hurricane is coming?!” I asked.
He snorted, his expression suddenly derisive. “My boat is strong enough to withstand it!”
“It’s already almost capsizing in these waves!”
“I will strengthen it in time,” he retorted.
Three objects appeared in his hands—a hammer, a bag of nails and a plank of wood—and he bent down and began fixing the plank to his deck.
I could have torn my hair out.
“Okay, well, if you want to commit suicide then that’s on you,” I said irritably, fed up of arguing with him.
I crossed my arms with a scowl, then looked around the rest of the chamber, expecting the simulation to end. I’d given up. The man was impossible. And it was a stupid test anyway. I didn’t even know what the point of it was.
A loud crash of waves drew my attention back to the man’s boat. A large one had rolled right over it, dousing him with water and dragging the boat’s already wavering body deeper beneath the surface.
Still, the man wore that fixed, impossibly determined expression. He set down his tools, and a bucket appeared in his hands. He dipped down and started emptying the boat of water.
When another wave rolled over him, I couldn’t help but try again. His boat was collecting more water than he could ever expel, and I didn’t want to watch another person die today.
“Please, sir!” I shouted. “Please. Come on! Everything will be alright if you just jump!”
