At 102 obliterations, the game showed me my childhood bedroom. The exact layout. The Star Wars poster with the torn corner. The crack in the windowsill where I'd hidden a note I wrote to myself at eleven: "Don't forget to be brave." The note was still there, inside the crack. I could read it.
The voice said: "You erased them. Not all at once. One decision at a time. Every time you chose to forget instead of forgive. Every time you chose efficiency over tenderness. Every time you looked at something beautiful and thought, 'I don't have the energy for this.' That was an obliteration. You've been playing this game your whole life. I just gave you the button."
"I mean it's not a game. It's a mirror. And mirrors don't die until you stop looking into them." obliterate everything 4
For a long moment, my screen was black.
But I also hit reply.
Kaelen Voss never gave an interview. The game remains on Steam, 87 megabytes, no updates, no patches. The user reviews are a litany of confession and terror and, occasionally, grace.
The prompt:
"What do you mean?"