OtherLife

by Jason Segel

  “Max Prince is dead,” Todd snaps. “Before that he was in prison. He didn’t tell you anything.”

  I throw my hands up in the air in fake exasperation. “Okay, you got me. Max didn’t visit your hidden lab with one of your fellow engineers. And he didn’t see anything there that fucked him up for good. And he certainly didn’t write it all down on a scroll and hide it in the Elemental of Albion’s cave. Nope, you’re right, Todd. None of that ever happened.”

  Todd takes it all in. He knows it’s true. “Max didn’t tell you what he saw, did he?” he asks.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Elvis says with a shrug.

  “You know what happened to Max, right?” Todd asks.

  “He died,” I say. “The official story is that he killed himself, but I’d say there’s a good chance he had some help.”

  “Either way, do you have any idea how lucky Max was?” Todd asks. He really does not look well. “Do you know what happened to Rory?”

  “Rory?” I ask. “Who’s that?”

  “He was the fanboy engineer who gave Max the tour of the lab you’re so keen to see.”

  I don’t think I ever knew the engineer’s name, but I remember his story. It made the news. It’s not every day that a young engineer with no history of heart disease dies of a massive coronary on the job. “Death by OtherEarth?”

  Todd nods. “Wayne’s brought in a guy to design what he likes to call ‘killer experiences.’ The dude’s a Saudi. I’ve heard he worked for the police there. Wouldn’t be surprised if he still does. No one but Gibson knows what he builds. But we’ve all seen his work in action. Gibson made sure there were lots of witnesses the day Rory got to test-drive OtherEarth.”

  He stops and rubs his lips together nervously.

  “And?” Elvis asks.

  “We all watched Rory die,” Todd says. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. And believe me, I’ve seen some terrible shit.”

  I find it extremely hard to believe that Todd’s sensitive side isn’t one big act. “Give me a break. How many Children did you murder?” I demand angrily. “How many people did you help send to their deaths? Suddenly one of your kind dies and you grow a conscience? I don’t buy it for a second. You’re a fucking psychopath, just like Wayne.”

  “Give me a break, Eaton,” Todd says. “The Children aren’t flesh and blood. And the patients we sent to Otherworld at least had a chance to survive. Rory put on the OtherEarth glasses and disk and started screaming. He didn’t stop for a full ten minutes. Then his heart must have exploded inside his chest and he dropped to the ground. I don’t know what he saw in those glasses, but I do know it was worse than anything you’ve come across in Otherworld.”

  “Then why didn’t he just take off the disk and the glasses?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, I didn’t design the experience. I only witnessed the effects. Gibson had us watch for a reason.” Todd takes in a breath so deep you’d think it might be his last. “It was a warning not to step out of line. He can kill any of us in the worst way imaginable—without leaving a single mark. That’s why I won’t be going to the lab with you dickheads.”

  “Oh, I think you will,” Elvis says, pointing his gun at Todd’s temple. “Otherwise I’m going to kill you in real life, right now.”

  Lucky for us, there’s only one white building on Franklin Street. From the outside, the place doesn’t exactly scream “secret lab.” It’s one of the beautiful old cast-iron warehouses that make the Tribeca neighborhood unique. Most have been turned into spas, shops and apartment buildings that draw rich and famous tenants from all over the world. There’s no name on the door of this particular building—and no sign of security. I’d worry that we were at the wrong place if it weren’t for Todd. He didn’t say a word the entire way here. Now he finally comes out with it.

  “You really are going to get us all killed.”

  “Shut up and get us inside,” I reply.

  “Just warning you.” He sounds resigned to his fate.

  Todd ambles up to the front door, reluctantly pulls a set of keys from his pocket and inserts one into the lock above the handle. Elvis and I stand back until the door is open. When Todd gestures for us to follow him, we check both sides of the deserted street before we duck inside.

  “That’s it?” Elvis asks as he takes in the bare white walls of the building’s small foyer. “Where’s the security?”

  “Upstairs,” Todd says.

  He unlocks another door and holds it open for us like a doorman. Beyond the empty foyer is a luxurious waiting room. Sleek leather armchairs are grouped around Persian carpets. Every piece of furniture is pristine. I doubt a single ass has ever dented the chair cushions. The decorator did a great job, but something about the space feels wrong. It takes me a second to figure out what it is. There are no windows anywhere in the room. At the far end, identical staircases on either side lead up to a mezzanine, where glass walls enclose a conference room.

  Todd must be watching as my eyes land on the glass box above us. “That’s where we have our client consultations and they tell us what custom experiences they’d like us to develop. When we first started, I figured most people would be after disgusting sex of some sort. But you’d be surprised how many of these guys prefer murder. Some ask for a bit of both. If Otherworld didn’t make you lose faith in our species, this shit sure will. We’ve had some of the most famous people in the world up there, and you wouldn’t believe what they ask for.”

  “Doesn’t seem like the most private place to go confessing your darkest desires,” Elvis remarks. “It looks like a big aquarium.”

  “The room is perfectly soundproof. The clients often send their own tech guys over to check it out first. They want total assurance that whatever’s said in that room will only be heard by the people inside it. All visitors are checked for recording devices. There’s also a switch that turns the glass completely opaque. Gibson likes to joke that he built the first perfect black box.”

  I stare at Todd for a moment. I’d have never guessed the room’s true purpose if he hadn’t volunteered it. Why did he want us to know?

  “That’s where Rory died,” Todd says. “Gibson left the glass clear the day he was killed. I stood right here with the others. All ten of us were forced to watch. Rory was screaming and banging on the walls, but you couldn’t hear a sound. Toward the end he stopped thrashing around and just stood up there with his palms pressed against the glass, pissing all over himself. A giant stain spread across his crotch, and then he dropped dead.”

  “Holy shit,” Elvis mutters.

  “Yeah,” Todd agrees almost wistfully. Then he snaps out of his reverie. “So I guess I have that to look forward to.”

  There are few people on Earth I hate more than Todd Bolton. But I wouldn’t wish Rory’s fate on anyone.

  “Come on,” Todd says with fake cheer. “Since we’re here, I might as well give you a tour! As I mentioned, all the good stuff is upstairs.”

  Todd places his palm against a glass panel on the wall, and a set of perfectly camouflaged elevator doors open. “Stay quiet while we’re inside,” he orders. “If you say the wrong thing, you could set off alarms.”

  The elevator car is unusually deep. As I recall, the elevators at the Facility were built the same way—because they were meant for transporting bodies on gurneys. Todd places his palm against another scanner to the right of the doors.

  “Hello, Todd,” says a disembodied female voice that’s emanating from a small black circle on the wall above the scanner. “Working late again tonight?”

  “Hello, Dot,” Todd replies casually. “Just trying to keep the boss happy.”

  “I can sense an additional three hundred and thirty-two pounds in the car.”

  “Yep,” says Todd. “I’m bringing in two for downloads and storage.”

  “Won
derful,” says the voice. “Please choose your floor.”

  Todd reaches over and hits the number two button. A buzzer sounds angrily. “You do not have access to that floor, Todd.”

  “Sorry, Dot,” he says. “I meant to press three.”

  Todd punches the button, which lights up. The elevator doors close and we start to rise. When the doors open once again, we step out into the dark.

  “Why wouldn’t she take you to the second floor?” I ask Todd.

  “That’s AJ’s floor. He’s got two guys who work for him, and they give the clients what they ask for. AJ develops Gibson’s killer experiences himself. Only the two of them know what they are. AJ doesn’t like me very much, so I’m banned from his lab. But don’t worry, Max Prince never made it onto the second floor either. Let’s have a quick look at three.”

  He switches on the lights and we find ourselves staring into a massive room that looks like a cross between an orthodontist’s office and a morgue. Every surface is white and all the equipment is chrome. In the center of the room are two white leather dentist chairs with hydraulic lift systems.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “This is where I work. Floor three is where we perform the extractions,” Todd replies. “We’ve only done a few so far. That stage of the operation is only just beginning.”

  “Extractions?” Elvis says. “What are you removing?”

  I already know. There are six white helmets without visors resting on a rolling operating tray near the dentist chairs. They’re all identical to the helmet that was placed on my head after Kat and I were kidnapped at the Waldorf Astoria. I’ll never forget the experience. Back then, there was no reason to believe we’d survive with fully functional brains.

  “We’re extracting memories.” Todd confirms it.

  “In order to create more simulations?” Elvis asks.

  That’s what the Company did with the memories they stole from me and Kat. They turned them into a game. The thought makes me want to rip the whole room apart.

  “No,” Todd tells him. “That was a one-off. Didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. Wayne’s got other plans for the downloads we’re doing now.”

  I wait for the rest. “And what are those plans?” I finally have to ask.

  “The answer to that is on the fourth floor.”

  We ride the elevator one more stop. The doors open onto another floor of the old warehouse. The walls here are bare, and the wooden floorboards have been painted black. Before us are four long rows of capsules stacked three high. I wasn’t expecting to see them. I feel like I’ve stepped back into a terrible dream.

  “Are these what I think they are?” Elvis gets out to investigate. He’s heard all about the Facility. He knows how the Company stored the bodies of the people they forced to beta test Otherworld. But until now, he’s never seen a capsule up close. I join him as he walks to the nearest hexagonal window and peers into it. The interior is only slightly more spacious than your average coffin. If there were a body inside, it would be resting on a rolling, stainless steel shelf. An IV inserted into its arm would deliver sustenance as well as the drugs needed to keep the body in a comatose state. Other tubes and wires would monitor the body’s pulse and eliminate its waste.

  The Company’s beta test of the Otherworld disk is over and the Facility was closed. I should have known they’d find another use for the capsules.

  “I’m pretty sure this is the floor that Rory brought Max Prince to see.” Todd seems as uncomfortable as I feel. “Rory probably didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I mean, the capsules had all been empty since we opened the place. He didn’t realize that Wayne had filled one of them.”

  I find myself staring at Todd. With his hoodie up and his hands shoved into the pockets of the gray sweat suit, he looks like a lost little kid. I wonder how old Todd actually is. Probably not even thirty. It occurs to me that he hasn’t cracked a single joke since we arrived at the lab. I have the impression he can’t stand being here. Rory’s death obviously got to him, but I don’t think that’s the whole story. Something else about this place has Todd totally spooked.

  “Who was in the capsule that had been filled?” I ask.

  Todd doesn’t answer for a moment. “Have a look for yourself.” He holds out an arm like an usher. “Row two. Sixth column. Middle capsule.”

  I feel like a character in a horror movie. A serial killer has invited me into his dungeon. Everyone in the theater is screaming out warnings. But I can’t help myself. I step inside.

  As I start to walk down the first row of capsules, I spot a small seating area at the far end. Three upholstered chairs circle a wooden coffee table. One of the chairs isn’t empty. I catch a glimpse of the back of a blond head before I quickly step back out of sight.

  “There’s someone sitting at the back of the room,” I whisper. “I think it’s a woman.”

  “Anyone you recognize?” Todd doesn’t bother to lower his voice. He doesn’t seem to care if the person hears him.

  For a moment I’m convinced this is some kind of setup. Or maybe Todd triggered an alarm. But if that’s the case, why have we gotten so far?

  “What are you waiting for?” Todd asks flatly. “Why don’t you guys go over and say hi?”

  I glance over at Elvis and find he’s already looking at me. He seems terrified but game, so I give him a nod. I know in my heart there’s no chance this will turn out well, but I’m not sure we have any alternatives. I start down the first row, heading toward the figure on the chair at the end. Along the way, I see bare feet at the ends of some of the capsules. Since Max was here, at least five more have been filled. But I don’t stop to look inside. I keep my eyes glued to the woman’s blond head. By the time I’ve reached the end of the row, I’ve picked up speed. I know who she is.

  “Abigail?” Before I even get the name out, I’ve confirmed my hunch. I’m in front of her now, and there’s no mistaking that carefully sculpted face. She’s staring straight ahead at the wall in front of her. I recognize her outfit—it’s the same Chanel suit she was wearing this morning.

  “Are you okay, Ms. Prince?” Elvis asks her when he arrives at my side.

  Abigail blinks and her eyes roll in our direction. I don’t know what kind of drugs they have her on, but she doesn’t seem to share our panic. “Hello,” she says coolly. “What are you two doing here?”

  Whatever they’ve done to her, at least she still seems to recognize us.

  “We’re trying to finish what we set out to do. What are you doing here?” I ask. “Have they been holding you here since you left the island?”

  “Holding me?” One of Abigail’s eyebrows lifts, rippling the pale skin above it. The wrinkles catch my eye. Back on the island, Abigail’s forehead was too Botoxed to budge. “I’m waiting for my next assignment.”

  That last word prompts a million questions, but it doesn’t seem like Todd’s going to let me ask any of them. “Now, now, Abigail,” he says, as if lecturing a naughty child. “You aren’t supposed to speak about your assignments with anyone other than me or Mr. Gibson.”

  “My apologies, your holiness,” she replies. “It won’t happen again.”

  “What the fuck? Your holiness?” Elvis grimaces. “Even I know that’s in bad taste, dude.”

  “I hoped it would be funnier,” Todd replies humorlessly. “Like my grandmother used to say, you either look for ways to laugh or you spend your life crying. But just so you know, I’ve been meaning to change it. I don’t find it very amusing anymore.”

  “I don’t get it.” My eyes flick back and forth between Abigail and Todd. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s a robot,” Elvis explains. “These assholes made a copy of Abigail.”

  I instinctively take a step back from the woman on the chair. I don’t know why. Abigail’s watching me with the same
haughty, bemused expression I got to know on the island. Now that I realize what she is, I can spot a few minor imperfections. But whoever made Abigail’s clone must have studied her well.

  “What did you do with the real Abigail Prince?” I ask Todd.

  “How dare you? I am the real Abigail Prince,” the robot answers angrily.

  “Thank you, Abigail. We’re done with you now.” Todd puts a hand on her shoulder. “I was sweating bullets when Abigail’s clone spoke to the press this afternoon. The bots look good, but the tech isn’t really ready for prime time yet. We could have done a lot better if we’d designed them in-house, but the Company was never interested in developing anthropomorphic robots. Milo thought they were creepy.”

  Milo—the guy who invented a virtual reality game where he could satisfy every disgusting fantasy—thought the idea of anthropomorphic robots was creepy. I’d laugh at the irony if the human race weren’t so royally screwed.

  “Then where did the tech come from?” Elvis asks.

  “When Milo started spending all his time in Otherworld, Wayne bought a robotics company on the sly.”

  Abigail’s clone is now facing the wall. Her silk blouse continues to flutter with each breath, and her fake eyelashes lower and rise at a regular pace.

  “Where’s the real Abigail?” I demand again.

  “Here, of course.” Todd walks over to one of the capsules and taps the glass on its hexagonal window. He glances over his shoulder to where Elvis and I are still standing several feet back and waves to us over to join him. “Come on, take a look. Don’t worry. You’re not going to see anything you don’t want to see. I’ve got her all covered up.”

  Inside the capsule, the naked body of a middle-aged woman lies with a sheet covering the space between her shins and collarbones. Without makeup to color her lips and outline her eyes, Abigail’s features are a beige blur. Life-support machines monitor her pulse and respiration. There are beige half-moons at the top of her bloodred nails where her manicure has begun to grow out. I was never Abigail’s biggest fan. I’m sure she’d say the same of me. But the indignity of her current situation is sickening. Even discount-store heiresses with questionable morals deserve far better fates than this.