The Dead Switch
A small control room, barely large enough for two people. The walls are matte gray, institutional, the kind of surface that absorbs sound and returns nothing. A single overhead light — not warm, not cold, just present. In the center of the room, mounted on a steel pedestal at waist height: a red button under a clear plastic safety cover. The cover is flipped open. The button has been pressed. You can tell because the mechanism is depressed and the spring hasn't returned it. It sits there, pushed in, held down by nothing. The button was pressed and nothing happened.