The trial was voluntary. A sleep study at the Nishi-Ku Biomedical Sleeper Lab™, buried beneath miles of steel and snow in northern Hokkaido. They offered a stipend too large to question. The room was sterile. Cold light buzzed like the static hum of a CRT monitor. Tiny tendrils of surveillance feeding my dreams into machines. I lay down. I slept. On the third night, I awoke mid-REM, unable to move. My vision was grainy, colors over-saturated. When I blinked, I heard a mechanical shutter. Each night, I changed a little more. They monitored it all. White coats watched through glass. I caught glimpses of their monitors—side-by-sides of my body now and before. They were drawing me into a new genre. A new reality. I didn't sleep—I rendered. I could feel the polygon count rising beneath my skin, like bones being rewritten in keyframes. The lab melted into pastel dreamscapes. A vector-body with no need for food, rest, or memories. They promised I’d never grow old. They didn't lie.