Elias stumbled back. The projection clung to the mirror, refusing to fade. He tried to unplug the UC40. The cord dissolved in his hand. He threw a towel over the lens. The image burned through it. He smashed the mirror with a chair. The shards kept projecting—on the wall, on the ceiling, on the white of his own terrified eyes.
His heart hammered. He aimed the UC40 at another wall. “Project: My mother’s kitchen, 1997.” proyector uc40
“One last one,” he told himself. “Something harmless. A memory of a memory.” Elias stumbled back
He didn’t sleep that night. He projected everything: the first bike he crashed, the face of a girl he’d loved in high school, the exact sound of his father’s laugh—a sound he’d forgotten until the UC40 poured it back into the air like honey. The cord dissolved in his hand