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.

My sudden appearance in this beautiful utopia did not surprise me - I had made many such transitions in the past, both as part of work and hobby. What surprised me was that I had not willed it.

I took a deep breath of the cool salty breeze that wafted to the balcony.

“Even better than the real thing,” I whispered to myself, yet the coming of a shadow beside me proved that I was not alone. I turned around and leant against the rail, staring at her sideways. Her gaze remained fixed on the ocean. Her unblemished skin seemed perfect in both nature and nurture, her face was something out of a magazine. She glowed with the setting sun that reflecting off the water and into her flowing blond hair. She was clad in a loose, white satin gown that rustled in the faint breeze. Nothing gave away that the world I now ‘stood in’ was someone’s creation - someone’s public dreamscape - and a detailed one at that. A couple, arm in arm, walked along the receding shoreline, their bare-feet slapping against the saturated sand. A dog opening its jaw wide as it leaped into the air for a Frisbee. An electronic orchestra played within the house.

The girl beside me gazed out into the multi-coloured ocean. It was all so real; so unreal - too perfect.

“Who are you and what am I doing here?” I asked.

The sun slowly sipped beneath the horizon. She turned to face me.

“My name’s Janet - I belong to the W3 Foundation. I’m a member of a rapid response team that the Foundation established to deal with ‘Resurrections.’”

“Where are the crucifixes - and the cave for that matter?”

“The Cyberian community valued your contribution to our industry, many even considering you a genius.”

“You talk about all this in past tense,” I noted.

A beat - then

“That’s because you’re dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“The assassination this evening - had his choice of weapon just been a harmless dagger, all it would have required to save your life would have been to clone a few organs. However – a bio-toxin from a rare South American tree frog coated that dagger. The medics treating you weren’t able to flush the toxin from your system. Thus - 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.”

I turned away, trying to hide from her the wash of surfacing emotions on my face. Her words echoed in my mind, and I bent over, sick with disgust and exhaustion. I blinked away the moisture, and turned back to Janet. The air had become cold once the sun had gone down, and I shivered in my loose T-shirt and shorts. Our eyes met.

The door to my new, temporal home awaited, beyond that was god-knew-what. Enough universes I supposed to fill a lifetime - even an immortal’s lifetime.

“I could do with some company if you don’t mind – just for tonight.”

“As long as you like,” she answered.

We entered together, side by side, into the undiscovered country.