The rhythm of the florescent lights passing overhead was hypnotizing. Combined with the soft humming from the orderly pushing his wheel chair, Arron found himself drifting off.

He hadn’t slept much since the accident, having spent the majority of his time watching and waiting for Bella to wake. Add in the occasional attempt to get his toes to move through sheer willpower, sleep had been hard to chase.

Even when he managed to close his eyes, the crash haunted him. Over and over, shattering glass, the blood oozing from small cuts blooming on her cheek and forehead, and that screeching roar of twisting metal. Bella’s terrified eyes always filled his vision just before he’d wake in a panic, covered in sweat.

Arron slapped his cheeks a few times, shaking his head and driving back the pull of exhaustion.

He put his game face on, having no idea what this meeting was for. Probably something concerning red tape and his bill for the hospital stay. They better not be making the mistake of asking him to sign a DNR for Bella again. The last doctor who asked had walked away with a black eye, courtesy of the stand for his IV drip being mysteriously thrown at him. No, it wasn’t going to be that.

He hoped they weren’t going to tell him he was being released. Physically, aside from his complete inability to walk, he was fine. Over the last few weeks, he’d finished the mandatory physical therapy, had gone through the ridiculous psych eval with that quack Rosen-something, and was trying to learn how to live as a paraplegic. Arron supposed they would see that as something he could do from home.

He wouldn’t, of course. There was no way he would leave Bella and risk her waking up alone in a strange place. Not going to happen.

He kept his face blank as they turned the corner. Dr. Montagaugh was already waiting in his office, having a heated discussion with another, smaller man.

The wheel on his chair hit a gap in the tile and squeaked, pulling Dr. Montagaugh’s attention away from the new face.

“Ah, Arron, please do come in,” Dr. Montagaugh rumbled, waving to a spot in front of his desk.

“Not like I have much of a choice, is it, doc?” Arron replied, his tone more bitter than he intended.

The orderly locked the wheels on Arron’s chair, and with a nod from the doctor, left the room, leaving Arron alone with the doc and whoever this other man was.

Dr. Montagaugh coughed, “Yes, of course. Let me introduce Franklin Strider. He is the lead on a few projects we’re working on here and has asked to sit in on this meeting.”

Arron nodded at the man, watching him intently. His unblinking gaze gave Arron the chills. Like he was some kind of lab rat this guy was there to analyze. Deciding to pick his battles, Arron turned back to Dr. Montagaugh.

“I hope you haven’t called me in here to tell me you’re releasing me,” Arron said. “Like hell am I going home and pretending everything is alright. I’ll be there by Bella’s side when she wakes. Tonight, tomorrow, next year. It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

Arron glared at the doctor for several moments to make sure his point was clear. He could swear he saw a small smile tug at the corner of Montagaugh’s lips.

“Yes. I believe you have made yourself quite clear on your feelings about Bella’s treatment, Mr. Sortin. Dr. Crawford has refused to visit you again after the incident with…” He looked at his notes. “Ah, yes, an IV stand. However, that’s not the purpose of this meeting. We’re here to discuss your condition, as well as Bella’s. Knowing your views on Bella’s treatment, I’ll start there.”

Arron’s anger cooled. Finally. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get some answers.

“Taking a page from you, Mr. Sortin, I’ll get right to the point. Bella is not improving. Don’t get me wrong, she’s stable, and physically there isn’t anything catastrophically wrong with her. Unfortunately, with each moment that goes by, the likelihood of her reaching a full recovery lessens.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, doc. If there’s nothing wrong with her, why would—”

“Because she’s not waking up, Arron. The period of time it takes a person to recover consciousness when in a coma is inversely related to the likelihood of their reaching full recovery. After three days, there is only a 7% chance she will make a full recovery. At two weeks, that drops to 2%. For those like Bella, who take longer, assuming they make a full recovery and don’t transition to a vegetative state, there is no way to know how long they may remain comatose or what kind of effect it may have on their body. She could wake tomorrow, or next month, year, decade… or she may never wake up.”

Arron felt like he’d been hit in the gut. Never? Bella might never wake?

“That’s… that’s not possible,” Arron murmured. “You can transplant hearts, give people robotic arms, but you can’t wake my wife?” His face began to flush, unable to stop himself from getting worked up.

Dr. Montagaugh hesitated before continuing. “You are correct, Mr. Sortin. We can do all those things, but it’s important to understand the ramifications of such an action. The human mind is a complex machine, so complex we are still discovering its mysteries to this day. And while we can physically wake Bella, it would be extremely dangerous to do so.”

Aaron jerked forward, unable to keep his temper down. “More dangerous than leaving her to rot?”

“Actually, yes. Bella is physically sound and yet, hasn’t woken. Our scans show her brain is very active, so something is happening in her mind. Think of it as though she’s in a deep sleep and dreaming. Now, unlike when you dream, and your conscious knows that you’re sleeping, hers does not.”

Arron dug his nails into the arm of his wheelchair, waiting for the punch line.

“Basically, Mr. Sortin, if we force her to wake up, we may wake her body, but there is no guarantee her mind will come along. It is entirely possible her psyche could shatter as her subconscious attempts to grapple with what is real. Were that to happen, she may never recover.”

“You mean… she’d go crazy?” Arron asked.

“She would likely go catatonic,” Dr. Montagaugh corrected.

Arron thought for several moments, his shoulders beginning to sag. “Ok, yea… So, we can’t wake her. She has to wake on her own?”

“That’s the whole of it, yes,” Dr. Montagaugh said.

“Then… what do we do, doc? You didn’t wheel me in here to sit around twiddling our thumbs, what options do we have?”

Dr. Montagaugh glanced to Franklin before continuing. “If you will bear with me, Mr. Sortin, I’d like to switch topics and focus on your condition for a minute.”

Arron moved to protest, but Dr. Montagaugh raised his hand cutting him off, “I know, Arron. But it’s necessary.”

Thanks, doc. Hit him with a wrecking ball and flip gears. “Fine, sure. You’re the doctor, right?” He asked, frustrated.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Thank you,” Dr. Montagaugh replied. “As you know, there was some damage to your spinal cord in the accident, resulting in complete loss of motor control below the waist. Dr. Rosenbaum believes you’re avoiding dealing with this significant issue by focusing on Bella and her condition.”

“That’s crazy!” Arron screamed. “And to be frank, I don’t give a shit what a bunch of egg head psychiatrists think! Look, this is a waste of time. Tell me what options we have for Bella. Tell me—”

“I think they’re right,” Dr. Montagaugh pressed on. “But ultimately, it doesn’t matter.”

Didn’t matter? Him being unable to walk, didn’t matter? This guy had a set of steel ball bearings throwing didn’t matter at him. Arron felt his fists clenching involuntarily. First it’s, ‘sorry, your wife may never come to,’ and now it—

“You see, Mr. Sortin, you will have to come to terms with your condition. The physical therapy over the last several weeks and your recent MRI’s confirmed what we suspected. Your spinal cord was nearly completely severed during the accident. It will never heal on its own.”

The world rushed in on Arron. Memories of his time working as a construction foreman, walking build sites. Running through the park with Bella. Swimming on a hot summer day… The doc said never. No amount of ‘wiggle your big toe’ was going to get it done.

“That’s… that’s bullshit, doc. Yea. I may be laid up at the moment, but its only temporary. I can still feel my feet for god’s sake!”

“It’s called phantom limb syndrome, Mr. Sortin. When—”

“Don’t give me that shit!” Arron yelled. “I may not be a doctor, but I’m stubborn. I’m going to fuckin’ walk again! And not you or anyone else can tell me otherwise.” Arron crossed his arms, his gaze daring the doctor to argue with him.

Dr. Montagaugh just sighed. “I hope you’re right, Arron. I really do. But it’s important you understand, this isn’t something that being stubborn can fix. This is a house with no walls, or perhaps a river with no water is a better metaphor. It’s vitally important you understand and are prepared to make the necessary adjustments to live in this new situation.”

Arron started to argue again, but Dr. Montagaugh cut him off. “Even if you are able to miraculously heal yourself, which is literally what we’re talking about here, a miracle, it will not happen tomorrow. You will have to live in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future.”

Silence descended on the room. Arron tried to come up with a response. Except he couldn’t. Images of handicap ramps, shower chairs, and what he was supposed to do concerning their two-story home flooded his mind. Foreseeable future. If he ever crossed paths with the Steve-O wannabe prick that walked off like he didn’t just destroy two lives, he’d shove his phantom foot right up his—

“Which brings us to the main focus of this meeting. We may have a unique opportunity.”

Arron looked up sharply at the doc.

“Franklin here is a representative of Interius Online. Are you familiar?”

“The video game? With like green dudes and dragons?”

“Orcs, actually, but yes.” Chiming in for the first time, Franklin smiled as he corrected him.

Arron studied the man. He hadn’t paid much attention to him, but looking at him now, Arron wasn’t all that impressed. Expensive suit, hands without any calluses, and a thin pair of wire rim glasses. Typical pencil pusher type. Probably got beat up in school and had his shoes stolen.

“Fine, orcs. What about it?”

“Well, Franklin is here to discuss a new, umm… area, that Interius is looking to expand into. Medical technology.”

“Perhaps I can better explain,” Franklin said. “Interius, while the world’s largest Massive Multiplayer Immersive Reality Experience, was not actually designed to be a game. Originally it was designed for use in the medical field.”

Arron grunted. It was enough to convey to the skinny man to get to the point.

“Our founder, Winston Bouregard, was distraught as he found himself in a situation very similar to the one you are in currently. His wife, Moira, had been in a plane crash—before the speed rails were erected, you see—and was in a persistent coma not unlike Bella’s. Mr. Bouregard was determined to help his wife. He theorized, if he could create a virtual world that was real enough to trick the brain, and somehow log her in, then he could log in alongside her and help her to wake. Should that fail, he could live with her in her virtual world.

“He spent years constructing his vision. He built an amazing world, full of treasures, magic, and beautiful locations. Drawing from history, myth, and legend, he populated that world with sentient beings controlled by individual A.I. Eventually, the project got too large for him to handle alone, and he started taking on help. Except Winston no longer had the money to power the servers or pay those he hired, and he was having trouble keeping those in his employ focused on the task at hand. You see, Winston created something so intricate, so lifelike, that when people logged in they didn’t want to log back out. In Interius, they could move about, do as they wish, interact with the native A.I. They could truly live a second life. In fact, one where they often had amazing abilities.”

Arron didn’t really understand the draw, but he could see how it would be a difficult problem to solve. Money was money, and good help can be hard to find.

“That is when Mr. Bouregard truly had his most genius idea. He converted aspects of the world into kingdoms, governments, and communities. He wrote story lines for the A.I. In short, he turned Interius into a game. The best-selling game in history, as a matter of fact. There are literally people who live their lives in Interius, are married in Interius, even have families with A.I. It really is a wonder to behold.”

Arron resisted growling for Franklin to get on with it. Who hadn’t heard about people like that? There had been a large expose several years before, “People wasting their lives gaming,” or something like that. Lots of debate about whether it was right to live in a virtual world, or marry a computer program. Ultimately, the debate faded to more pressing concerns, and now people didn’t much seem to care. A few politicians had gotten their start with it though.

Franklin’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, Moira died before we reached the conclusion of Mr. Bouregard’s dream. He didn’t take it well. He spends all his time in-world now, doing this and that…” Franklin paused, shaking himself away from the tangent. “But we have reached that conclusion. We believe we’ve successfully devised a way to transfer Bella into the game, bringing her consciousness around to a realistic, computer-controlled world, and allow you to enter Interius and guide her back from her comatose state.”

The words bounced around in Arron’s head, and a low chuckle poured from his chest. A moment later, he was laughing. Hard. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he held his side as he slapped his knee.

Franklin did not seem amused.

“You… You think you can cure my Bella—” Arron wheezed through the laughter. “With a fuckin’ video game?”

Saying it out loud made Arron laugh even harder. The stress, trauma, and heartbreak of the last few days collided with the absurdity of the moment, thrusting him into a delirious spiral he was having trouble fighting.

It felt good to laugh again.

“Mr. Sortin! I assure you that what Franklin is discussing is entirely possible,” Dr. Montagaugh said. “While they haven’t had any human trials yet, that is largely due to the delicate nature of this process and the requirements for those involved.”

“Oh yeah?” Arron said, starting to get his giggling-fit under control. “What kind of requirements?”

Dr. Montagaugh looked to Franklin, and Arron swore a nervous look crossed the doctor’s face.

“First, the patients must be in an active coma with positive brain activity. These cases are actually rarer than you would think. Most comatose patients wake quickly, as we discussed, or are simply connected to a machine, having transitioned to a vegetative state. We cannot bring back the brain-dead, Mr. Sortin. Only God can do that.”

Arron understood that last part all too well. The thought of Bella’s brain being damaged was a considerable worry for him these last few weeks.

“Second, we don’t know what will happen during the login process for the patient. Most characters go through a character creation process, but a person loaded in from a coma would likely inhabit a character most similar to their image of themselves. This is problematic at best, because a person forcefully logged in likely won’t know they’re in a game. While most players have the ‘distance’ that allows them to do things like fight and kill NPC’s, go on adventures, and respawn without trauma… for the patient, they would be of the impression that the world was real, and the consequences to their psyche would be as real as if you or I killed someone in the real world.”

“Basically, since they wouldn’t know it’s a game, they would feel as if they were really doing those things, and suffer all the guilt and whatnot associated with it,” Arron said.

“Exactly.”

Arron was starting to take this more seriously now. It was absolutely insane, but given the advancements in technology and medicine… Was it really so impossible?

“What aren’t you telling me, doc?”

Dr. Montagaugh sighed. “Arron, it’s important you know the risks involved. To a normal player, they know they’re playing a game. Log out is a consideration if they get uncomfortable or want to see their family. Even those who live in the world know it’s a game. Bella would not. It is possible she may become so convinced that the world she’s in is real, that she may be unable to accept the truth.

“Bella may end up stuck in a coma, not because she can’t wake, but because she won’t. We could lose her from this world forever.”

The following silence felt somehow lighter than before. Arron felt no pressure in their gazes. They were patiently waiting as he considered their words. They weren’t kidding.

“I would be able to log in and find her? Bring her back?”

“Yes,” Franklin said instantly.

“Theoretically,” Dr. Montagaugh corrected.

Arron nodded.

“I’m in.”