You open the door marked Apollo and step into the familiar scenery. The iconic, perfect recreation of the moon is being painted red in preparation for the next big hoax. It stretches on in a vast expanse of fake desert, large enough to fit several football stadiums. It is impressive in its sophistication. There is a simulated space station, a simulated space shuttle, and the early stages of a fake Martian colony, complete with self-standing vertical gardens and aquaponic crops. The scene bustles with activity. The faded, old American flag is crumpled on the floor behind an empty director’s chair. Instead of making the Martian set look vibrant and beautiful like in science fiction, the director has opted for a de-saturated terracotta.
A handsome man and woman are just off stage, wearing modern astronaut outfits, which are also bland and soothing greys and beiges. They are running lines with their helmets off. Each suit is decorated with logos, like a Nascar driver’s.
“Being so far from home really makes you realize… the convenience of a Prime Membership.”
Beyond the main set, a narrow catwalk leads up to a control booth. You can just barely make out the ominous silhouette of a man in a suit, lit by the glow of his monitors.