Are we living in a simulation?

A single oil painting, horizontal 16:9. At the bottom of an ordinary apartment stairwell, brown floodwater reaches a young man's chest. Seen from behind and slightly above, he is lifting an elderly woman onto the first dry concrete landing. Her wet gray clothing hangs heavily; one bare heel has just cleared the water. His cheek presses against her shoulder, and her hand grips the back of his shirt. Neither face is fully visible. Their bodies occupy the right third of the painting; the remaining space is water, a submerged handrail, and a wall darkened by damp. Cold daylight enters from an unseen doorway above the stairs. No dramatic beam, no luminous horizon. Paint the water thinly over a muddy ground, the concrete with scraped, granular strokes, and the compressed flesh of his supporting hand with dense, precise paint. The decisive detail is the shallow indentation his fingers make beneath her knee: weight being borne. No lettering, symbols, or words anywhere.