Project Blackwater

Thank you for expressing interest in Elysium™

Agent Jack Osborne is good at his job, good enough to make the lead on an investigative case into a private company led by the strange and charming Dr. Karasevdas. But is he strong enough to dive into the black waters of his subconscious and navigate Elysium’s strange facilities?

Thank you for expressing interest in Project Blackwater administered by Elysium™. We’re happy to tell you that your profile is a match!

Death is inevitable. For all of human-history, mankind has sought to elude it. Immortality was believed unattainable.

Here at Elysium, we believe the future is now and from this moment you’re part of that journey. Out +2,000 applicants, our teams decided that you are the perfect fit for our trial*. The knowledge gained through your participation is invaluable.

Please, see below for the address of our medical facility. Your clinical trial will begin at 9AM, but we suggest that you arrive at least an hour before scheduled. Be sure not to eat at least twelve hours before your appointment.

As long as the world needs us, we will never sleep.

-the Elysium team

*the contractually agreed amount of $17,000.00 will be deposited into your account upon completion of the trial.

---

Jack scanned the page once to double check the address. He was nearly ready to go, more than ready. The van he’d been sitting in for the last thirty minutes was cramped and stuffy. Anything was better than spending another second contorting his knees to sit semi-comfortably.

A man peered into the back seat of their van from the driver’s seat. “Is the address right?” He was wearing sunglasses too large for his face and a baseball cap into which he stuffed a mountain of red, curly hair. It was a wig. The moustache on his upper lip, however, was real.

“He’s quadruple checked it, Byron,” quipped a woman. “If it’s wrong, then Jack can’t read.” She didn’t bother to divert her attention from the screen before her. The blue and green lights illuminated her high cheekbones and cast a shadow above her defined cupid’s bow. Adjusting her headset, she grumbled. “I still don’t understand why I’m not going.”

Jack watched Sari’s expression. Her dark brows were knitted in faux concentration. With exception to small jobs, Jack never worked any major cases with Sari. Still, he knew her well enough to understand she was unhappy.

Byron did too. “Rosario, I know I promised you lead but it was out of my hands,” he said, expression sobering.

Jack remained quiet. Awkwardly, he pretended to read over Elysium’s email for the umpteenth time.

Sari turned her chair from the computer. “Don’t call me by my full name unless I’m in trouble, Byron. I just want a real answer as to why I’m seconding.”

“Because, Sari, Jack is 200lbs and 6’2 and you’re… not.”

Shrugging, she said, “when he fails, whoever has to extract him will carry all that out.”

Jack snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Her feline brown eyes flicked toward him and then away. “Sure thing.”

Byron opened a bag of Shrimp Crisps™. “Don’t be mean to Jack. It’s not his fault he scored higher on the psych eval.”

Sari did not respond, she was rapidly swiping through a holograph. By the expression on her face, however, Jack could see that Byron’s comment bothered her.

Byron leaned over to whisper to Jack. “The hotter the crazier, amirite?”

“I can hear you,” said Sari. “And if your mic is hot, so will HR.”

Chuckling good-naturedly, Byron reclined fully into his seat.

After a moment, a machine beeped. “There,” said Sari. She passed Jack a microchip. “Your brand new ID, Frank E. Beenz.”

Byron released an obnoxious, chip-riddled laugh.

Jack groaned. “You’re joking.”

For the first time since getting into the van, Sari revealed a full smile. “Let me get my kicks where I can.”

“Fine.” With a sigh, Jack accepted the chip and inserted it into the empty port in his forearm. The biotech thrummed.

“Well, my body’s not rejecting it,” said Jack.

“Hopefully, you don’t retain traces of your real one,” Sari said.

Jack stood, crouching uncomfortably in the small van, and began to remove his bureau-issued holster. “I’m going to run through this one more time, correct me if I miss anything,” he prompted.

Byron and Sari nodded.

“My name is Frank, I’m 32 years old, from Virginia. I went to Tidewater Community College and work in IT—”

“Specifically, holoneering,” interjected Sari.

Jack repeated it to commit the lie to memory. “I work in holographic engineering. I’m an only child from a single parent home, no wife, no kids. I volunteered to participate in Elysium’s clinical trial because…” Jack trailed off.

“Totally not because our government is suspicious of a private pharmaceutical company that picked up on a DoD program shut down ten years ago back in 2039,” said Byron. “Definitely don’t say that.”

“Right.”

“To make ends meet,” said Sari.

“To make ends meet with the 17k because holoneering is an oversaturated market,” Jack finished. He peered over Sari to see his vitals. Her shampoo smelled nice. “I kept my baseline,” he noted.

“I’d expect nothing less from a professional,” Byron said.

Leaning slightly away to catch his eye, Sari asked, “Do you remember the touchstone?”

Jack recited: “My name is Jack Osborne. I am here, here I am. Take three steps forward. One, two, three. My shoes reflect the lights. Turn right, I reach my hand out. There’s a locker, a green locker. I open the locker. Everything is there. My gun, my vest, medkit, comms. Here I am.”

“And don’t forget to close your eyes and everything,” added Sari. “All of it’s in your mind. Theoretically, you are always in control. You’re there only to report on the project, so don’t go too deep and don’t get lost. Okay?”

Jack grinned. “Seem nervous, Sari.”

Crossing her arms, she sniffed. “Well, maybe you should be too.”

Of course, Jack knew that Sari wasn’t anxious. This was a great cat pacing in a small cage. Sari had been preparing for this case for a whole year. He beat the Rosario Allende for the lead in this case and didn’t really have to try. All he had to do was—as Byron so eloquently stated after the results of their tests—be normal.

“We’ve been through subconscious trails back at the bureau,” reassured Jack. “This isn’t anything crazy, just observe and report.”

“This is deeper than we’ve ever gone. Bureau doesn’t even break the surface.”

“Relax, Sari. Jack is the most boring man in the world. I’m sure his subconscious will be just as dull as sitting here with him now,” said Byron. “That is, unless he’s got some deep dark secret that not even the FBI could dig up.”

Jack chuckled.

After a beat, Jack nudged Sari playfully. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

She placed an elbow on the desk, glumly balancing her chin on her hand. “Famous last words.”

---

Jack lay on a white bed. The hospital gown was thin and the pale hands of the nurse were frigid as she inserted the IV into him. Half her face was hidden by a surgical mask. Her blonde hair was neatly styled and curled, her nails were red. On the breast pocket of her scrubs, JENNY was printed in all caps.

She rolled a large machine out from beneath the bed. At first glance it looked like a reality simulator. Instead of a headset attachment, however, it possessed a set of long needles along a curved bar.

“So this is our life vest. We use to check your vitals and it tracks your dream state to project to our observation room so that our team can keep you safe,” said Jenny. Her voice was high-pitched and girlish. “We’ve found that the Undertow—that’s what we call your subconscious—has a twenty percent chance of effecting your physical state. It’s important that we’re able to pull you out if something happens. Because of how strong the Undertow’s currents are, we found that tapping into your nervous system directly was the best course of action. Is that all okay so far?”

Jack nodded. He’d read the cautionary packet.

His eyes wandered to the empty medical units beyond his. As he’d been led down the hall, Jack took note of the hundreds of beds behind glass. Each room was neat and ordered. Unused, it seemed.

“Am I your first subject of the day?” he asked.

“You are our first subject of this round and the day,” chirped Jenny.

“I see.”

Was this purposeful? To keep him from seeing the other subjects? Did Elysium know he was from the bureau? No. They wouldn’t let him participate if they’d known… right?

“Nervous?” asked Jenny.

“I just don’t like needles,” Jack lied.

“Big guy like you?”

Jack supposed under the mask she was smiling. He could see the corners of her cornflower blue eyes wrinkle slightly.

“Am I going to meet the doctor?” Jack asked.

She scanned his forearm. It beeped and a green light blinked. His ID matched the medical profile. “Unfortunately,” answered Jenny, “Dr. Karasevdas is ensuring your safety in the observation room. But I assure you he reviewed your profile personally. Can you sit up on the bed for me?”

He did and the nurse aligned the “life vest” with his exposed spine.

“There’s going to be a small pinch,” Jenny warned. “One, two—”

She did not bother to get to three, instead snapping the device into place with an expert pull of a lever.

Jack winced and forced himself to exhale. It was uncomfortable, bordering on painful.

“Took it like a champ,” congratulated Jenny. “Most people cry. Lay back and try to relax.”

Sure, thought Jack, I’ll try to meditate with 2.5inch needles stuck between my vertebrae.

“We’re going to play an introductory film as we prep for submersion,” said Jenny. She placed a small paper cup with a singular, white nondescript pill on a tray and filled a glass with water.

Last chance to back out, Jack thought. No one’s coming to save you if this goes wrong.

A hologram sparked to life just above the bed and generic music started to play. A man with salt and pepper hair—glistening with too much gel—sat at a concrete desk. Everything about him was perfect: his tan, his tall nose, even the creases in his slacks seemed purposefully arranged. Jack wondered if this was a real recording of a man at all. He looked AI generated.

The man smiled with white teeth. “Welcome and thank you for volunteering for Project Blackwater’s 2050 session. We are so glad you decided to embark on this journey with us. I am Dr. Rob Karasevdas and I will be overseeing your journey into your subconscious.” His voice was soft and smooth, like butter on hot bread. The doctor rose from his seat and began to walk, the camera panning alongside.

His left hand slipped into his pocket. “You are our adventurers, the first men on the moon, inventors of the wheel, you are our Moses climbing Mount Sinai. With each volunteer, the more data we retrieve. The more data we retrieve, the closer we are in unlocking a new era in human history; an era without pain, without sickness, without death.” He stopped and turned to fully face the audience. “We can be our own gods. Full control over our destinies is within our grasp. You see, the apple to the tree lies in the brain.”

Jack’s forehead wrinkled. Seemed the bureau was right to be concerned. There was nothing he could point to exactly, but there was something odd, something off about Dr. Karasevdas’s word choice.

Dr. Karasevdas continued, his stroll recommencing. “Before we begin your submersion, there are some points that I would like to reiterate. First, you will be going into your subconscious. That means you will be exploring parts of your mind and yourself that you may not even know exist. After you leave the shallows, things can become… dark.” Once more, he paused movements. The smile never faded from his perfect face, his dark eyes barely blinked. “Fear not. You’re in good hands here and I can promise that no real danger can befall you while you’re under Elysium’s care. You will go under for eight hours before coming back up for food and rest. As you are aware, for the six weeks the clinical trial is in session, you will not have access to the outside world. All your needs will be tended to by our lovely staff.”

The doctor seemed to have looped around his office. In a single sweeping motion, Dr. Karasevdas reclaimed his seat behind the desk and crossing his legs. His smile widened slightly. “Thank you and good luck.”

Abruptly, the broadcast ended.

Jenny offered the cup to Jack. “Into the unknown.”

---

One moment, Jack felt himself falling asleep and the next he was standing in a small elevator. It was a smooth transition, much like the parting of a curtain in a dark theater. The elevator was descending to the first floor. It merrily pinged with each passing level. Curious, Jack reached out and laid a hand on the nearest wall. It was cool to the touch, real.

“Weird,” he muttered.

The quality was higher than any tests he’d undergone back at the bureau.

He saw himself in the golden reflection. Glancing down, Jack noticed he was fully dressed; boots, jeans, flannel—exactly what he had on this morning.

A moment later the elevator doors opened to reveal a warmly lit hotel lobby. “Exactly as the good doctor said,” Jack uttered aloud.

Dean Martin’s Everybody Loves Somebody was playing softly over speakers. Cocking his head, Jack paused to listen. It must’ve been pulled from his memories. This used to be his mother’s favorite song. After the divorce, she stopped playing it.

Putting it out of his mind, Jack ventured into the room, shoes clicking against the black and white tiled marble. It was fancy; art-deco style. He looked up to see green stained glass and crystal chandeliers. The hard floor gave way to soft scarlet carpeting with apple tree motifs printed onto the fabric. In the center of the room, a massive stone fireplace crackled. A deer head was mounted on the chimney. Black glass eyes glinted, watching Jack with a stern gaze. It looked exactly like the one in his dad’s house, the first Jack ever shot.

“This really is my subconscious, then,” he said.

He approached the bar and peered into the cabinets. Everything looked to be filled with liquid.

Could he drink?

Should he?

Best to avoid it.

“Can’t drink on the job,” he sighed, slapping the bar top.

He left the bar and crossed the lobby to look at the massive shelf of books. Their jackets were dusty and faded. Plucking one at random, Jacked opened to the first page.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit

Beatrix Potter

1902

He flipped through the pages, noting the illustrations. “Wow,” Jack said, smiling softly. “I haven’t seen this in ages.” His mother and father reading the book to him as a child.

On the page in watercolor, Six rabbits picked blackberries. Jack knew their names by heart: Peter, Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail… But who were these other two? Two were slightly away from the rest: Jack, and Benji.

Jack and Benji?

Jack snapped the book shut and hastily replaced it on the shelf. He could feel his heart-rate spike slightly. Dean Martin’s crooning continued on loop, echoing strangely through the large room.

Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This is a dream-state.

Sari’s words from that morning echoed in his mind: All of it’s in your mind. Theoretically, you are always in control.

Keyword: theoretically.

Shaking off the strange feeling, Jack turned toward the Lobby’s front door. Enough looking around. He should descend at least two levels to see what lay beyond the safety of the Lobby.

The front door, however, was not a door. It was another elevator. Shrugging, Jack entered. Nothing would make sense here, he already prepared himself for that.

There were hundreds of buttons. Some with floor numbers, some without; some were in good condition, others burned and scratched. He was at the top. Steeling himself, Jack pressed one floor down.

“Three floor max,” he told himself.

The golden doors began to shut. As they did, a light flickered.

He descended, Dean Martin’s voice fading into silence.

---

When the doors opened again, Jack was struck by the strong scent of damp earth and trees. Jack blinked. A forest lay before him. It was drizzling and grey, the sound of wind, streams, and birds filling the chilly air.

He stepped out of the elevator and turned to see it was a part of a massive redwood. The doors shut.

Well, Jack supposed as he turned back to the forest, he was fully in the dreamscape now. He began to move forward.

He made his way through the ferns and over mossy roots. It reminded him of the hikes he used to take with his father as a boy. Hands in his pockets, Jack found himself enjoying the walk. It didn’t really matter where he was going. As long as it was daylight, he knew how to return to the elevator.

Here and there were random objects: an overturned red bike, a fully set table complete with a birthday cake. Half-forgotten memories, Jack supposed.

Something caught his eye, a picture frame nailed into the trunk of a redwood. Jack came closer. At first glance, it was a family portrait from when his mom and dad were still together. Instead of babies or children, however, two rabbits sat on his parents’ laps.

Jack frowned. He never had a childhood pet and he didn’t remember a photo like this one at home. Why would his subconscious generate something so odd?

“I’m obsessed with rabbits, apparently,” he muttered.

A strange feeling overcame him, half-anxiety and half-fog. He drew back from the picture frame. Maybe I should try using the touchstone, Jack thought.

He turned his back to the picture and shut his eyes. “My name is Jack Osborne. I am here, here I am. Take three steps forward.” Jack did so. “One, two, three. My shoes reflect the lights. Turn right, I reach my hand out.” He did. “There’s a locker, a green locker. I open the locker. Everything is there. My gun, my vest, medkit, comms. Here I am.”

Jack opened his eyes and saw the green locker before him. It looked out of place in the forest and yet it was a welcome sight. As he’d stated, his service gun, its holster and magazines, his vest, and all the rest lay inside. He released a heavy sigh, relieved to see everything worked.

He strapped the holster to his waste and donned the bullet-proof vest. There was no guarantee that it would be helpful to have any of these things in the Undertow. The researchers, however, said the subconscious had the potential to be very real.

The communications device was also a trial. If Jack could figure it out, he might be able to send messages like a radio signal to the waiting computers. He was certain that Byron and Sari were glued to the screen, coffee cups piling on the desk, waiting for contact.

He shouldn’t keep them waiting.

As Jack reached for the communication device, he noticed a scrap of paper. He picked it up, curious.

It was another Beatrix Potter illustration:

A headache assailed Jack at that moment, a sudden migraine that blinded him.

Images flashed through his mind. A cabin in the woods, a lake, a chair in the corner. Words: “take a boy, make him a man. He is still a boy.” It echoed reverberated through his whole being. “Take a boy, make him a man. He is still a boy.”

Jack could see a man in a hospital bed: blond, lightly freckled, handsome. It took a moment to recognize his own face. Just as Jack realized what he was looking at, the images changed again.

Dead rabbits hung from trees. A cabin in the woods, the door open and a blackness beyond. Television screen. A grey ocean. He was under the water, looking toward the surface. Something was drawing him in, pulling him deeper.

From what felt like within his own skull, a voiceless voice like dry paper or static, spoke, vibrating painfully in his teeth,

“I am the riptide!”

Then it was gone. Jack found himself on his knees, leaning against the locker.

What was that?

Dazed, he rose to his feet. The migraine was fading rapidly, but the pain ebbed painfully. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

He realized that forest had gone deathly silent: no breeze, no squirrels in the branches, not a single cry of a bird.

Jack felt his hair stand on end. His adrenaline spiked. Crouching slightly, Jack slid a magazine into the gun with a soft click and switched off the safety.

He was not alone.

There was something else here.

Movement snagged in his periphery, something dark and shapeless. Nameless. As Jack turned to look, it felt as though the entire world shifted, like a poor signal on a holograph.

Jack shook his head hard.

The forest filled with life once more. Birds sang, a nearby brook babbled, and soft wind rushed through the trees.

From about a hundred yards away, an elevator chimed. It cast a yellow light on the grey and green as the doors slid open, inviting, beckoning.

Music poured into the forest from its open doors. The Carpenter’s voices could be heard. Through the wind and light rain, the sound was slightly distorted.

And when the evening comes, we smile

So much of life ahead

We'll find a place where there's room to grow

And yes, we've just begun…

Jack holstered his gun but kept his hand on it, ready as he moved toward the elevator and deeper into black water.

Read on…