Cyberian Resurrection

"The Foundation has decided to include you in a new program - known as ‘Resurrection.’ The program involves scanning a terminal patient’s brain, analysing its electro-biological impulses, and transferring them over into a mainframe, where the patient’s - ‘ghost’, if you will, can operate in this ‘vertical world’” - she spread her arms wide to encompass the bay - “as they would in the real world.”

-- Ash Hibbert, (Artwork by Nick Rose aka William Johns)

The short shard of smoothly carved metal pierced my lower abdomen and I doubled over as waves of excruciating pain flowed through my chest, radiating from the point of entry.

Fighting against the vacuum, the knife retracted, and I slumped. The cold pavement gave little cushioning, though the ache in my head the least of my worries.

My assailant’s retreat echoed the distance. Soon that too ebbed away as life slipping from my grasp.

Tiny whispers - my eyes strained to focus on silhouettes dancing amidst a chaos of colours. My vision faded. The pain in my chest became a gentle throb; the taste of blood a sweet elixir; the scream of sirens in the background, a primal lullaby. Dazzling lights faded to black, the smell of cold earth a glimpse of my fate. Oblivion tugged invitingly.

Rough hands grasped my shoulders and the pavement disappeared from beneath me. A mask closed over my face mouth and darkness descended.

Blinding white light welded my eyelids. The place smelt like an operating theatre - yet my awareness of that indicated otherwise. Then a strange sensation - like tickling - slid throughout my head. The feeling grew, and a wasp-like buzzing soon accompanied it. I shook my head – and found I had been strapped down.

I began to growl at my audience, yet ceased as an image sprung to my mind’s eye as vividly as if I was back there at the VR conference after-party. I sighed - I had left for fresh air and got a knife-wound instead.

The image vanished, replaced with an older but equally clear image: the startled face of my agent as he removed the headset, his eyes wide. A week later and I would go on to become Virtual Artisan’s golden goose.

Abruptly the image - along with the accompanying smell of coffee that had risen up from a mug on my agent’s desk - dematerialised. I stared up at my mother, who returned my gaze. She appeared much younger than when I had seen her last - lying in a coffin after a tumour had claimed her.

These were not random flashes but highlights though - something was training my mind. Repulsed I pushed out whatever force that possessed me - and a shock of pain stabbed my mind. I gave up consciousness, and fell once more into oblivion.

I gripped the rail before me, and gazed out at the seascape. A vein of orange light ran through the harbour’s centre as the sun slowly melted into the ocean beyond.