Rowan McIntosh whipped through the forest on his elegant black stallion, closely tailed by a very large and angry-looking Viking.

"You blasted idiot!" screamed the barrel-chested man from behind.

The hooves of his horse could be heard increasingly louder, but still, Rowan sat high on his horse. His orange hair reflected the ribbons of light that shone between the densely packed trees. He felt the beginnings of a wide smile as the wind swept past his skin and the leaves of fast-moving trees stung his bare arms.

Another loud yell erupted from the Viking. "Got any fuckin' idea what time it is?"

Rowan felt a push inside him to respond to the unhappy man, but it seemed like his mouth had been filled with thick jello. "Err…," was all that came out.

He moved his body slowly, becoming increasingly aware of the softness and warmth of the covers on his bare skin. Once again, he tried to speak. "No?"

"It's past ten, ya bloody layabout!" Rowan peeled his eyes apart, their crusts doing their best to keep them shut.

An extremely large man stood framed in the comparatively small doorway. His cheeks were pink with rage, just a few shades lighter than his shoulder-length red hair. He bore a thick red beard, big beefy shoulders, and an expression that held the rage of a hundred storms.

The man continued his rampage in his deep-throated Scottish accent. "I come home from a long night’s shift, the whole time wanting nothing more than a quick sleep, all to support you and ‘yer poor mother." More flecks of spit flew from his animated mouth with each word. “And what do I find when I come home? You sleepin’ like a princess, drooling all over ‘yer soft feathered bed!”

At this, the old mattress creaked ominously – it certainly did not contain any feathers.

"I could’ve sworn I set my alarm," Rowan mumbled, finding it difficult to enunciate in his newly-woken state.

"Well, it's clear ya fuckin' swore wrong!" Rowan's father yelled even louder, and the floor shook as he did. "If you’re still home in fifteen minutes, I swear ‘yer little toys are going out the window!" He kicked a flathead screwdriver lying next to one of Rowan's half-finished projects, which flew across the room into an unwashed pile of clothes, scattering them.

The great man slammed the door, and Rowan's bed shook with each of his thundering steps away from the bedroom.

Rowan flew out of bed, narrowly avoiding landing on a miniature drone he’d worked on for two days before losing interest. "Jeans, t-shirt, sweater," he repeated to himself while flinging around clothing from the various piles on the floor.

Downstairs, Desdemona McIntosh sat in her wheelchair, gazing emptily at a square TV from the early 2000s. It played an episode of The Sopranos that she had already seen at least four times before.

Desdemona was not yet fifty, but a wave of silver was overtaking her lustrous chocolate-brown hair. Her eyes were open, but hardly seeing – just big dark pupils that appeared to process nothing at all.

On his way out, Rowan kissed her gently on her forehead. His voice was sad as he whispered, "Bye, Mom. I'll see you tonight."

She didn’t so much as blink.

———

Rowan was thoroughly disheartened by the time he rode up in the large elevator.

Looking tiredly at him was the reflection of a red-haired, red-eyed young man in his early twenties. The only hint of health was his tan skin, a blessing he had fortunately inherited from his Greek mother. He ran his fingers through his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to smooth out an odd bulge.

Ding!

The elevator jolted to a stop on the fifth floor.

"No, no, no," Rowan whispered to himself. Of all the bad things that had happened today, this had the potential to be the worst.

His chest tightened and inside its cavity, his heart sped up. The entire floor belonged to the co-founders of the company, and Rowan silently prayed that someone else visiting the floor had pressed the button.

The doors seemed to take forever to part. And when they did, standing side-by-side in human form was his worst nightmare.

Barely three weeks into a job he couldn't afford to lose, the company's co-founders caught him arriving at work in the middle of the day. To make matters worse, they were also the most well-known, well-reported-on, and well-dressed founders in the entirety of Silicon Valley. They could have him fired and replaced before they reached the top floor, looking like fashion models as they did it.

Harvey Roche’s lips parted to reveal one of the most practiced smiles Rowan had ever seen. His teeth were downright perfect rows of chiclets that caught the light and actually absorbed it.

Barely thirty, he held an Economics degree from Oxford, an MBA from Harvard, and was now at the helm of a major Silicon Valley startup. He'd managed to schmooze investors into a 44 million funding round with his charm and an unprecedented claim that he would conquer mortality.

Behind every schmoozer, there’s a doer – and her name was Jane. But Jane looked as far away from your typical startup CTO as you might expect to be possible. For one thing, she was a woman. Second, she was five foot one, had wavy fiery red hair, and bore more confidence than the company's entire engineering team combined.

She also happened to be Harvey's wife.

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Jane didn't offer up a fake smile like her husband. Just a brief nod acknowledging his existence before the pair entered the elevator, silently arranging themselves next to him.

Harvey spoke with a perfect posh English accent. "Mr. McDonald," he said, although that was not Rowan’s name. "Do you happen to have the time? It seems I've forgotten my watch at home.”

Harvey's wrist sported the most conspicuous watch that Rowan had ever seen. Its face was unusually large and framed by a gleaming gold, while the strap boasted nothing but the same blinding solid gold.

Trying not to stare at the monstrosity, Rowan dug around in his jean pocket for his phone. An empty battery symbol lit up the screen, and his mind decided to take a short leave of absence to save itself from the embarrassment of the situation.

In a quiet empty tone, he said, "Dead battery."

Harvey's full and fake smile returned, his teeth possibly the whitest thing in the universe. His mouth opened, but any words he had hoped to let out of it were interrupted by a "ding." They had reached the seventh floor.

Rowan moved so close to the elevator door that his nose nearly pressed on it. Without turning around, he rushed out the moment the doors allowed him.

A blazing sunlight shone through the windows, which covered nearly the entirety of the floor's curved, twenty-foot-high walls.

As Rowan swerved through the floor’s many long glass tables toward his own, his mind met back up with him and he suddenly realized the depth of the shit he had found himself in. And when he heard the "click-clack" of Jane's heels on the marble floor, he was certain that he was about to be fired in front of three dozen people.

Rowan flopped into his chair beside Dave, who held his fist out for him in typical greeting. He bumped it.

“Man, were you stuck in the elevator with the roaches? Brutal.” Dave’s eyes and stomach were very round, and today he wore his favorite baseball cap. In red embossed letters, it read, "404: Girlfriend not found."

Rowan angled his chair to face his bosses, who now oozed confidence in the centre of the room. He figured he should probably be mentally present when they fired him.

Jane's powerful voice shut off the few remaining conversations in the room. "If we could just get your attention."

Beside her, Harvey wore a wide smile and clasped his hands in front of him. The gel that held up his blonde hair reflected nearly as much light as a pure-cut diamond. His navy blue suit had been fitted, and ironed, to absolute perfection.

"Today we're introducing something spectacular," Harvey said in his best announcer's voice, "and I think you're going to be very excited to hear it."

He nodded to a lanky bearded man who tapped a few keys on his keyboard. All of a sudden, wide gray shades began to roll down from the tall windows. As they did, the gray faded away and they could again see the maze of glass high risers that was downtown San Francisco.

Then, the shades flicked to life with the image of an eruption of fireworks, and the seventh floor found itself transformed into a massive movie theater. Dave and Rowan exchanged a look acknowledging the stupidity of it, both trying very hard not to laugh.

"As of this Sunday, we have achieved a feat that has previously only been a dream of the human species,” Harvey paused, milking the crowd for tension. “We have received approval of the use of Elixir on the public after the incredible results of our clinical trial. We are now officially the only company to find a cure to humanity's oldest problem, death."

“Holy shit,” said Dave, louder than intended.

"Holy shit," agreed Rowan quietly. This was precisely the reason he had persevered through excruciating weeks of refactoring poorly-written CSS.

A vivid memory of his mother and father dancing at a wedding, laughing and stumbling over each other in their attempt at salsa, flooded his thoughts. He imagined seeing that version of his mother again. He could feel a large lump forming in his throat.

"If I don't get fired," he thought, "I swear I will never be late to work again."

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll get your mom in.” Dave’s eyes were wide and sincere. Too distraught to speak his thanks, Rowan patted Dave's hand a couple times.

"Now, I'm not finished just yet," said Harvey, holding his hand up. "Today we're introducing the world's first Competition of Consciousness. And with it, each and every one of you is being offered a first-class ticket into Elixir."

This certainly stopped the tears. Rowan looked at Dave, his mouth slightly open. He imagined living and breathing an entirely new world – with an entirely new life.

Around the room, people began to whisper excitedly to each other.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the home of the competition: The World of Skye.” The shades displayed an array of breathtaking scenes. A birds-eye-view scan over a luscious green world filled the room. Great mountains reached for the sky, while intricate castles nestled atop hills. The scenes moved on to reveal dragons soaring over massive seas, while fairy creatures flitted between tree trunks.

"Skye is home to some of the most beautiful landscapes you've ever seen, and some of the most incredible creatures you've never heard of."

Harvey may be a total prick, Rowan thought, but he sure knew how to captivate an audience.

“We’ve taken key principles of psychology to design the most fulfilling world for your consciousness," he continued confidently while Jane watched with complete respect, always his dutiful sidekick.

"Deliberately practice and level up to become a warrior," he gestured grandly as a muscular figure in silver armor appeared on the screen. “An archer,” he continued, the warrior replaced by a figure wielding a bow made of gold, a quiver of arrows on her back. “Or a masterful crafter of spells,” the scene shifted again to a figure cloaked in shadows.

“No pain, no illness, no aging – just ultimate life fulfillment."

The screen shifted to display an adventurer at the end of a quest, golden light radiating from a medallion held high in triumph.

"Not to mention,” he continued, “that you and your consciousness duplicate will find yourselves a great deal of fame. The competition will be streamed online, live, and non-stop, on every major social media platform." As he made the declaration, the blinds showed a browser with Twitch open, capturing a group of adventurers on horseback as they passed over a majestic mountain range. The sun was setting in a blaze of colors behind them.

"Now, there is of course no competition without rewards," Harvey said, his voice threading through the murmurs of the audience. "The game holds many. But it also harbors an ultimate goal."

The room darkened as the screen filled with the image of a great shadowy form looming over a massive army.

“If you can defeat the leader of the mysterious, ancient force that threatens Skye, you will find yourself the benefactor of the ultimate prize.” He paused knowing he had the full attention of every person in the room, his practiced smile wide. “If you win, your consciousness duplicate – your imprint – will have the privilege to select three people to receive the Elixir. You can bring on your best friends, save your aging grandparent’s consciousness, and live eternally with the people you most care about – in a fulfilling world without suffering."

The screen went dark, and the silent room buzzed with the energy of a hundred crackling thunderstorms.

"So, what will it be?” Harvey asked, his voice soft but reaching every corner of the room, "Do you want to be one of the first humans to live forever?”