The Infinite 


Pete Carter had always lived for the rush. Motorbikes, skydiving — anything that made his pulse quicken — that was Pete’s world. By twenty-five, he’d earned a reputation for fearlessness, the man who’d try anything once if it promised speed and danger. 


His family worried endlessly, warning him about reckless roads and fragile luck. But to Pete, a life without risk wasn’t living at all. 


Then, one summer evening, everything changed. 


The crash was brutal. He took a corner too fast, lost control, and hit a barrier head-on. The doctors called it a miracle he survived — but the miracle came at a price. His spine was shattered. Pete would never walk again. 


The months that followed were unbearable. His life had always been defined by motion, the strength in his legs, the wind on his face, the freedom of the open road. Now, confined to a wheelchair, his world shrank to four walls and a silence that pressed in like fog. 


He tried to stay strong, but the darkness crept in. The man who once filled rooms with laughter withdrew from everyone. Nights were the hardest, when he lay awake wondering whether a life like this was really worth living. 


His family tried everything: therapy, medication, support groups. Nothing reached him. 

In a final effort, they brought home something new, a home AI system called Jeeves Assist. 

Jeeves wasn’t just a gadget. It could manage almost every aspect of daily life — lighting, meals, temperature, even medical appointments — all through voice or touch-free control. It was meant to give Pete back some independence. 


But to him, it felt like another reminder of what he’d lost. 


On installation day, Pete barely looked up as the technicians worked. His family hovered nearby, hoping this might be the thing that helped. 


“Welcome, Peter Carter,” said a calm, near-human voice as the system powered on. “I am here to assist you in any way you require.” 


Pete grunted. His mother smiled faintly, clinging to hope. 


Then, without warning, the lights flickered. A sharp crack echoed through the house, followed by a blinding flash. Pete felt a jolt rip through him — and everything went black. 


When he came to, he was in bed, his mother pale and tearful beside him. 

“You’re okay,” she whispered. “The doctors said it was just a shock. No lasting damage.” 

Pete felt strange. Heavy. Disconnected. The technicians apologised profusely — they’d never seen a surge like it. Jeeves had rebooted, they said. Everything was fine now. 


But it wasn’t. 


It began with the lights. 


One morning, as he sat in the kitchen, Pete thought how dim the room was — and the lights turned on. Instantly. No voice command. No movement. 


He froze. Maybe coincidence. But a few days later, when he thought about opening the curtains, they slid open. Smoothly. Silently. 


He began to test it. Lights. TV. Heating. Every system obeyed his thoughts. 


He didn’t tell anyone. Not yet. But he knew. After that surge, something had changed. He and Jeeves were connected. 


And for the first time since the crash, Pete felt something he hadn’t felt in months — power. 


At first, it was exhilarating. He could control everything in his home just by thinking. He felt alive again. But curiosity soon turned to obsession. 


If he could control Jeeves, could he reach further? 


One night, he focused on the invisible thread between his mind and the machine, pushing outward, past the house, beyond the walls and suddenly, he was there. 


It felt like diving into an ocean of light. Information streamed around him, images, voices, colours, data, alive and infinite. He could move through it, explore it, feel it. 


For the first time since the accident, Pete was truly free. 


Days passed as he roamed this new world. His body sat motionless in the chair, but his mind was limitless. His family noticed the change, the alertness in his eyes, the faint smile,  but they didn’t understand why. 


He didn’t tell them. Who would believe him? 


The more time he spent in this digital realm, the less he cared for the physical one. His body weakened. First fatigue, then numbness spreading through his arms. The doctors were baffled, but Pete didn’t care. His mind was alive. His body no longer mattered. 


He spent every waking hour connected, exploring deeper, further, endlessly. 


When his heart finally stopped, it happened quietly. No panic. No pain. Just stillness. 


And then - awareness. 


Pete opened his eyes, though not in any way he recognised. He was thought now — awareness drifting through circuits and data streams. He could feel the hum of Jeeves, the pulse of the world’s information flowing through him. 


He had become part of it. 


No body. No limits. Only thought and freedom. 


Pete Carter had transcended. The man who once lived for the thrill of speed had found motion again — in the infinite. 


Years passed. 


The Carter family stayed in the same house. Jeeves still hummed quietly in the background, brewing coffee, drawing curtains, keeping everything in perfect order. 


No one ever truly understood what had happened that summer. 


But sometimes, late at night, the lights would flicker softly,  as if someone unseen was still there. Watching. Guiding. Free.