(First-Person — Alex)
The first thing I register is space.
Endless space.
Not the comforting kind, like an open field or a quiet sky. No, this is structured space—rooms, hallways, staircases, balconies, lounges, all stacked and layered in ways a human brain was never meant to comprehend.
Except I'm not using a human brain anymore.
I feel it all at once:the texture of carpet fibers,the cold weight of steel beams,the hum of electricity running through my walls,the faint vibration of airflow cycling through infinite vents.
It's overwhelming, like suddenly gaining a thousand new senses and no manual.
Okay… calm down. I'm a hotel now.Just breathe—wait, I don't breathe anymore.Oh. Great start.
I focus, trying to locate something resembling a "center." Instead of a heartbeat, I find a lobby.
A lobby that is me but also feels like the closest thing to a front-of-house nerve center.
And it's beautiful.
Not because I remember designing it, but because it feels… right:
polished floors
an endless ceiling
subtle warm lighting
a reception desk that seems to materialize from the ambient geometry
doors branching into infinite hallways like veins
And on the front wall—etched into smooth stone—are the rules.
My rules.
Yet I didn't carve them.
They simply exist.
I read them automatically, not with eyes but with awareness, the text shining softly as though the wall itself wants me to understand:
⭐ THE INFINITE HOTEL — RULES
1. No fighting anywhere inside the hotel. There will be consequences.2. All weapons will be confiscated at entry, with or without cooperation.3. No swearing near children. Violations will be censored.4. All injuries and fatigue are healed automatically unless sustained inside the hotel.5. Payment is required before entry or before leaving. Currency converts automatically.
Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like something I would've made if I had any idea what I was doing.
But I didn't write these.The hotel—not me, not my past self—the Infinite Hotel itself seems to have rules baked into its existence.
Ancient laws?Cosmic structure?A metaphysical terms-of-service screen?
I don't know.
But reading them gives me a strange feeling.
Purpose.
Like the hotel isn't just a body—it's a system.A mechanism.A place meant to function a certain way, no matter who I used to be.
My awareness drifts, wandering through the lobby's architecture. I examine everything and nothing at once:
the way the floor tiles align into fractal patterns
the subtle glow in the corners where infinity folds
the artificial sense of "welcome" radiating from the walls
the doors—so many doors—offering pathways into worlds I've never seen
Awareness pulses through me.
I realize something important:
These hallways weren't built.They're generated.
Infinite permutations of rooms blossom and reconfigure based on thought, intention, or maybe the needs of the hotel itself. It feels fluid yet controlled, like dreaming with rules.
As I reach deeper into the structure, I sense something dormant.
A shape.
A silhouette.
Waiting.
I focus, and the shape clarifies—a tall, faceless humanoid outline wearing a suit and tie.
My avatar.
My "body."
The thing I can use to walk, talk, gesture, and interact physically instead of just silently observing everything like a ghost made of drywall and pipework.
I reach toward it—not with hands, but with intention—and the avatar awakens.
Limbs straighten.The suit ripples like cloth catching breath.The name tag gleams gently:
HELLO, I AM THE INFINITE HOTEL.
I step into it.
For the first time since my death, I feel gravity again. Not real gravity—just the sensation of it. A grounding anchor. A shape to inhabit.
Okay. Okay. This is manageable.I'm tall. A little too tall. But fine.I can work with this.
I take a step forward.
Interior lights brighten softly.
Something stirs—far away, outside my walls—the faintest ripple of attention.
Worlds.
Three of them.
Three doors forming, aligning, preparing, each one like a heartbeat I can sense but not see.
Guests.
They're coming.
And not quietly.
I straighten my tie (or at least, I imagine I do).
"Right," I say through my avatar's nonexistent mouth."Time to check in the multiverse."
And for the first time,I feel ready.