It was night. The black eVan turned into a long alley littered with debris. By all appearances it looked like your typical, inner-city alley. The difference here was simple: there were no homeless. The two mooks sitting in the front knew exactly why this was the case. The buildings flanking them were likewise unoccupied—shells of warehouses, failed office buildings, and abandoned apartment complexes.
The alley quickly came to a dead end, the van pulling onto a rusty platform. Mook 1 tapped his smartwatch screen. There was a jarring “CLUNK” and the whirr of electronic motors. The van was now sinking under the asphalt as the metal platform lowered them beneath the seedy alley.
Beneath was in stark contrast to above. An open lot, well lit and clean. Fresh lines on the pavement were kept pristine. For the mooks, this wasn’t their first rodeo.
At the far end of the underground lot was an entrance with sliding, glass doors. In front of them stood an ominous, muscular man in a black suit and shades. “He looks like a bouncer,” Mook 2 said with a smirk.
“Yeah, well, this isn’t a club,” said Mook 1. “So keep your damn muzzle shut tight.”
As they pulled the van up to the sliding doors, the Suit spoke into his cuff. In a moment, two figures in scrubs and lab coats stepped out into the lot.
Mook 2 stared at them in quizzically as Mook 1 put the eVan into park. “Why’s this place always giving me the creeps?”
“Quit your whining, would ya? They don’t pay us to give a damn.”
The Lab Coats briskly strode to the rear of the van. Mook 1 unlocked the back.
He looked into the rearview mirror and watched them take the stretcher. On it was a bodybag.
Once the Lab Coats had wheeled the mystery-man through the sliding doors, the Suit gave a quick glare at the Mooks. Mook 2 felt a chill and sweat quickly beaded on his forehead.
Mook 1 brushed it off. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
He put the van into drive and they quietly rolled off back towards the platform.
###
The prep-room was ice cold, clean, and clinical. Everything was reflected in the floor and the walls were brushed metal. Harsh LED lights bore down on everything in a cynical, blue-tinged color temperature. The two Lab Coats rolled the stretcher to the middle of the room. Neither of them spoke. They knew what was expected of them.
Lab Coat 1 engaged the breaks to the stretcher and then began unzipping the body bag. Underneath the stretcher was strapped an O2 tank, with a clear line running from the regulator into the bag. As the zipper slid down, the hiss of the oxygen flow became audible. Pulling back the sides to the opening, Lab Coat 1 revealed the occupant.
It was a young man, probably in his mid 20s. Unconscious, but alive. His head was perfectly bare of any hair. He didn’t move except for the steady rise and fall of his chest with each respiration.
The Lab Coats rolled him on one side and the other to remove the body bag from under the young man. Lab Coat 2 inspected the boy’s right wrist; a patient ID bracelet.
James Worley. DOB: 09/24/2030. Med ID: 0014897.
Without hesitation, Lab Coat 2 produced a pair of scissors and snipped off the bracelet. He tossed it into an empty bin that would later find its way to an incinerator. With that, the two of them continued prepping the young man. All clothes were removed and joined the fate of the bracelet. Once all this was done, Lab Coat 1 placed a pair of noise-cancelling earphones, one in each ear.
Lab Coat 1 glanced at his smartwatch to confirm the earphones were functioning. He looked at Lab Coat 2. “Let’s bring him to the chamber.
###
James Worley, now a John Doe, could be seen on the night vision video feed displayed in the control room. He was floating in a distilled hypersaline fluid unaided on his back. A pair of buoyant devices were strapped to each side of him; an insurance measure to prevent him from rolling over and drowning. His head was completely encased in an object with a mass of wires running from every angel.
A small crew of four manned the control room. Three operators were stationed at a terminal each. Behind them, their Director of tonight’s operation.
“Status?”
“System online,” said Operator 1
“Subject’s vitals are within normal limits,” said Operator 2.
“Prepared to initiate, sir,” said Operator 3.
The Director cracked a sly smile. “Then let’s begin.”
All three: “Yes, sir!”
Operator 3 reached out and flipped up the safety shield to a large, red switch. “Initiating in three… two… one…”
CLICK.
A rising pitch of electric buzzing faded into audible existence.
Above the three operators hung a large screen, black and reflective like an obsidian mirror. As the oscillating pitch reached its crescendo it subsided and the screen came to life. A sudden flicker into a solid white image with no defining elements. The air in the control room was then filled with the audio synched to the visual feed.
Operator 1: “System linked. Render engine now scanning.”
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Operator 2: “Vitals remain WNL. No indication that Subject is aware of the link.”
Operator 3: “MDA operating at ten percent capacity.”
“Very good,” replied the Director. He sat down in his upholstered chair in the back of the control room. Beside him, on a small stand, sat a two-way headset. He donned it on his head and adjusted the position of the microphone. “Patch me through.”
Operator 3 made the connection.
“Oh Jaaaames. Can you hear me, James? What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
There was silence for a moment. Everyone watched the main screen in anticipation. Seconds went by, then a minute. The Director reached for a folder that sat on the stand beside him. “James Worley” was stamped across the front tab. He flipped it open and scanned the dossier clipped to the inside.
A wry smile returned to the Directors lips. “Worley! Stand at attention!”
Suddenly, the solid white on the screen began to morph, becoming what looked like clouds. It clumped into masses and soon there was depth to the image on display.
###
James leapt out of his bunk and onto his bare feet. The floor was cold against his soles. Like lightning, he assumed attention and brought his hand to his brow in salute.
“Sir, yes, sir!”
There was no one there. The barracks, the bunks; all empty.
“You can almost hear a pin drop, yeah?” The voice seemed to come out of thin air.
James assumed a guarded position. He felt the hair of his neck stand on end. “Who’s there?”
“Just call me Friend.”
There it was again! “Where are you? You sound like you’re close. Better come out and show yourself!”
“As for where I am: that’s a bit hard for me to explain right now.”
“Try me. I’m not as slow as you think.”
The disembodied voice chuckled. “You’d be a lot of fun if I weren’t so pressed for time and info. First things first.”
James didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”
“I need you pinch yourself.”
If he wasn’t on edge, James would have laughed his ass off at that. “Pfff…yeah right.”
“Try me, James. I know you’re very skeptical right now, but I assure you that pinching yourself will be very enlightening.”
“Whatever, man.” James conceded. What a crackpot. He took a moment to recall where he was the most sensitive to pinching. The memory of his wife welled up. She’d always tease him by taking her polished nails and using them to pinch him on the side of his neck, inches below his ear.
He raised his fingers to the spot and…
“James, I have a surprise for you…”
The voice was unmistakeable. No way it was the crackpot. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was his wife’s; Lydia. What was she doing on base? None of his brothers-in-arms had been given permission to bring their spouses with them to the front lines. And the COs would never have made an exception for him. The nature of his mission was too dangerous for Lydia to have tagged along for the ride. And he’d never risk disobeying orders just to have some comfort.
There was a patter of bare feet on the linoleum other than his. He darted his gaze to the the side, barely catching a glimpse of a figure, or shadow, escaping from the corner of his eye.
“Get ahold of yourself, Worley,” he griped. “Just do it!”
His fingers went in for the kill, nabbing some of his skin. He pinched as hard as he could, but something seemed off. Two things, actually. The first was that he didn’t feel the familiar sting of the pinch. The second: the fingers felt just like Lydia’s!
“What the actual fuck!?”
“Calm down, James,” said the bodiless voice.
James looked down at his hands. There was no visible change to them. “What is this shit?”
“You’re not awake, James.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been in a coma for six months. You had gone out on a mission. It went south no sooner than it had begun, landing you unconscious for all this time.”
“No! That’s not what’s happening!”
“I’m afraid it is, James.”
###
Operator 1 leaned into their screen as it began displaying some worrying data. “System’s Render entering instability, sir.”
Operator 2: “Subject’s BP and heart rate climbing.”
Operator 3: “Hardware remains stable, but power-draw is increasing.”
###
“James, I’m gonna need you to calm down for me, son. There’s no reason to panic. You’re not in any danger.”
James dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Shut up! Leave me alone!”
“You’ve got this, James. You can’t see it, but you’re inside a state-of-the-art facility dedicated to treating your condition. Your wife knows you’re here. She begged us to help you.”
It was difficult for James to understand how the voice was still coming through. It was as if his hands weren’t even there to block the sound.
The voice continued. “We’re going to help you come back into consciousness so you can be among the living again.”
“Why should I believe you if I don’t even know who the fuck you are?”
“I guess an introduction should be in order then. My name is Doctor Adamir. I’m with the National Institute of Consciousness Studies. Your country is desperate to have you back in action and debriefed. While we are focused on getting you back on your feet, the Pentagon is pressed for time to get the information you’ve been able to recover. So, while we work on your treatment, we’ll be assisting in collecting any intelligence you managed to get on your mission. How does this sound to you?”
James took a pause. He was struggling to remember exactly what his mission had been. He racked his brain as best as he could. As he did the barracks around him began to shift and shiver like a poor signal on television. The details of the room became pixelated, but in three dimensions, like in a retro videogame. The walls and ceiling began to fade to black, like a shadow had seeped into the room.
“James?”
“I…I’m trying to remember, but it’s really difficult.
Adamir consoled him. “It’s okay for things to be fuzzy in the beginning. We’ll work on that, not to worry. By the time we’re done with you, you’ll be awake again and able to remember everything.”
James made the realization that no matter what he could currently do, there was no escaping his current predicament. All he could do was trust this mysterious Doctor Adamir. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s get on with this.”
The edges of the barracks returned to sight and the resolution of everything became clear again.
###
Adamir smirked triumphantly at James’s consent. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Operator 2.
She knew what that signal meant. Pulling up her command terminal, she typed in some commands into the system. Once she hit Enter, the string of code executed.
Up on the screen, the barracks and James returned to the amorphous, white state. Moments later, the screen was filled with solid white again. The system was back in default.
Operator 2: “Sedative administered. Subject is stable.”
“Very good,” said Adamir. “Send the brain mapping to my office, ASAP. Best not waste our time on this one. He’s gonna be a tough nut to crack.” He walked briskly out of the room while the operators began the power-down.
On the night vision feed, James remained motionless in the hypersaline fluid, as if nothing had ever transpired at all.