Sweat from my forehead is still stinging where the bruise is forming-I walked into a glass door this morning because I thought it was an open invitation to the patio, which is a fairly accurate summary of my current professional life. The glass was too clean, the reflection too perfect, and the impact was a sudden, jarring reminder that transparency is often just a very well-polished wall. I’m sitting here now, nursing a knot on my temple, staring at a wire transfer screen that wants me to authorize $14,777 for a piece of industrial equipment I have never seen in person. The cursor is blinking with a rhythmic arrogance. It doesn’t care if I’m about to be scammed; it just wants the bits to travel across the ether. We have reached a point in the platform economy where we treat five-ton industrial assets with the same casual recklessness we use to order a side of fries. You swipe, you click, you pray the guy on the other end of the WhatsApp thread actually owns the yard he claims to be standing in.

I’ve been talking to Chloe M. for about 27 minutes. Chloe is an escape room designer who specializes in high-fidelity, immersive terror. She’s currently trying to source a 40-foot high-cube container for a project she calls ‘The Pressure Vessel.’ The idea is that players are