Leo thought of the jerky keyframes of his old life. The failed deadlines. The soulless client notes. The beautiful, clumsy, human struggle.
He noticed it first while making coffee. His hand, reaching for the mug, didn't jerk. It moved in a perfect, fluid arc. He walked to the bus stop, and his stride felt choreographed—no heel-strike, no stumble, just a continuous, effortless glide. aescripts flow
Leo blinked. He played it again. And again. Leo thought of the jerky keyframes of his old life