I entered into the AI's database for a final time;

Little did I know, the man had taken 13 years of time, most of my time.

Time, so precious and fickle, commodified and sold, we have the most when we can't use it, and the littlest when we finally move to open that door;

Finality, to know you are the door, but still stuck to the chair, a chair devised of glass cables and telemetry lines straight from your noggin, encircling you, embracing you in sickly safety and observation.