Deadwave Page 5

  I truly want to believe that the night before—that at times my entire life—is a dream. I want those memories to stay locked away; I want the sight of the chilling expression on both those men’s faces, the darkness that seemed to infest the house, the chaos of the club, and the brutal way in which those men were killed, as if their lives were worthless, to be all nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

  But I know it is real.

  It was too raw, too vivid, too messed up to come from anything else than this world.

  I have to call my dad.

  I fumble for my hologlasses, which are sitting on my nightstand the way I always leave them. What the hell? I put a hand on my chest, hoping it will soothe the rapid beating of my heart, but the paranoia that erupts inside me in that moment causes my blood pressure to skyrocket.

  I look around, panicked that these people—those evil bastards—planted cameras inside my own room. They are smarter than I thought. I glance around, quickly realizing that they would never place a camera in any sort of obvious position; they probably have much more insidious ways to receive my personal information, or maybe it is a coincidence. Either way, if their goal is to scare the crap out of me, they have succeeded. They have also succeeded in confusing the hell out of me—in making me question everything.

  I hastily grab my hologlasses and put them on, brushing back my messy bedhead that covers my ears. I immediately noticed a dozen calls from Jake and one from my dad, all of which were answered in a series of ominous texts that sounded exactly like me. In fact, every notification on my hologlasses was answered, making it seem to the world like I was perfectly okay, just living my normal life.

  But Jake had to have known something was wrong. He saw me get carried away against my will. He must have seen the needle, filled with whatever crap they used to knock me out two times, which is two times more than I ever want to be drugged in my life. Yet, when I responded to him, stating that they were bodyguards that were supposed to take me back to my dad’s place and make sure I was safe, he texted back okay.

  Who responds to that with okay? How could he say “okay” to his lifelong friend and everything but blood-related brother being taken hostage by mysterious lunatics?

  I cough. I feel like vomiting, the shock and craziness of it all overwhelming me to the point of causing me to have a blistering headache although I have just woken up.

  I motion upward with my hand, my gestures being picked up by the camera on the hologlasses that soon call my dad. On only the third ring he picks up, which is practically a new record for him, not only on a Saturday morning, but just in general.

  “Hello?” My dad’s voice, this time much softer than last night, rings in my ears. He always has a way of saying hello that is affirmative, with a stretched-out syllable in the end that makes it seem like he is questioning if the person on the other end of the line is really there.

  “Hey, Dad, we need to talk. Like not over the phone. I have no idea.” I pause as I choke on my words. I have no clue what to say next. No clue how to even begin to tell him what happened. I break down, tears streaming out of my eyes as my body slouches over on my bed, the tension inside of it finally giving in.

  I did not think I would react like this. A ball of snot pathetically dripping out of my nose, goosebumps lining my body, my heart practically pumping out my chest as I cry in a slow, steady stream. I try to stifle the sound of my tears, not wanting my dad to know that I am like this—a total mess. For some reason, the idea of anyone seeing me like this, even the thought of me myself seeing this, is the most embarrassing and pathetic thing.

  It is always easier to lock my emotions away. To feel nothing and bury everything in the real world as I escape into a virtual one.

  It takes balls to cry. Real guts. Strength that every time I show it, makes me feel weak.

  “I-It’s okay, it will be all right.” His normally stern voice falters. I can tell he is taken aback, likely already fumbling for his coat to then leave. The last time I had called him up crying was over two years ago, when I was standing on the cliffs of Point Loma, hundreds of feet above the world, but in reality, at rock bottom.

  That was supposed to be my last day alive. A warm August night and beautiful sunset with flashing reds and oranges meant to be my last memory. After my mom left this world, I wanted to follow her same path out of it. I wanted to leave a place that I felt had nothing left for me.

  But I was wrong.

  My dad knew the right answer then. He knew how to help me, what to say, where to get support for me, and he knew how to change the struggle of my life from one where I fought to be happy everyday instead of fighting not to be sad.

  He will know the answer this time too. He always does. He always will. He has to.

  “This is some life-changing stuff.” I barely manage to get the words out audibly. My hands are now shaking as a surge of determination overcomes the terror inside me. “I can’t risk anyone listening in. Our lives are at stake here. This is huge. I don’t know what to do, if I should call the police, go on with my merry life, or flee the country, so I called you.”

  “I understand.” There is a calm airiness to his tone. “I’ll be right there. I know the place we can talk. It’ll be okay. I promise. I promise. We can handle this on our own. You don’t need to do anything. Please just wait until I get there.”

  “I trust you, Dad.” I breathe, letting another round of tears stream out of me and drip onto my white, fluffy sheets.

  “See ya soon.” He returns to his normal, solemn tone before hanging up, and just like that I am left alone in my room again to let my thoughts and the paranoia chip away at my sanity.

  Maybe life isn’t as easy as I thought it was.

  Maybe I’m feeling scared for a reason that can’t go away.

  Chapter 7

  The complex never ceases to amaze me in its sheer size.

  With over one million square feet of ventilated space, it is easily one of the largest buildings in Southern California, located on a patch of land in the rural (well, anything is rural compared to downtown San Diego) San Pasqual Valley. From the outside, it is inconspicuous and boring, just as many industrial buildings are, with large, gray concrete walls lining its perimeter, a trimmed lawn surrounding the building, and a large pond with fountains scattered across the complex. An electrified barbed-wire fence encompasses it all, with large red signs meant to keep trespassers out from what is one of the most top-secret private laboratories in the world, or at least that’s what my dad claims.

  The compound is so huge that not only would walking a circle around it be a very good workout, but it almost seems to rival the size of the mountain peaks in the horizon. With the midmorning sun beating down upon it, the metal on the roof of the monstrous research building for Chimera Technologies glows ominously. There is always something peculiar about this place that I can never put my finger on, mainly because I have never been allowed to go deep inside. He rarely lets me come here; in fact, I have only been here twice before, and only inside once when my mom had to drag away my father from work (he’s high key a workaholic, and ever since my mom died he has only worked more). The whole take-your-kid-to-work day was never an event for my dad. He always said that I would find out more about his job when I was ready to take his position as CEO and work in his office building in La Jolla as he headed up research operations. He had mentioned that it was the job of his old business partner, and that after he passed away, my dad decided to take up both positions and had never stopped working since.

  Taking that job may sound like a great opportunity for me, but at the end of the day that life, the one where I simply take over the work my dad has gotten bored of doing, is my dad’s dream for me. I, on the other hand, have no dreams. I have one goal: to win the Deadwave World Championship. And besides that, I have nothing. I have no idea what I want in life besides a chance to change the world, but I know I have to make my world the best it can be first.

  I ha
ve to make amends with my past before I can move on. I have to forgive myself, and sometimes that is the hardest thing to do. Winning will help me do that.

  “We will continue our conversation inside. I have a few things to show you.” Dad motions for me to follow him as we get out of his car, which drops us off right near the front entrance. With a fancy sports car like the one my dad recently bought, it is possible to have it drop you off anywhere and automatically find a parking spot and return to your location when you are ready to be picked up.

  I have to say that stuff like that is certainly a perk of being rich, the idea that living comfortably isn’t something that comes in moments but a way of life. But the constant stress, the constant judgement and hatred from others, and now apparently being kidnapped by people looking for access to my father’s companies are all downsides to a luxurious lifestyle—at least for me they are.

  “Why are we even here?” The shock from the event hasn’t worn off yet, and the evasiveness of my dad and the glassy look in his eyes as I recounted the entire story to him in the car didn’t help to alleviate my fears. He asked questions, dozens of questions, wanting to know what the house looked like, what the people looked like, every last word they said to me, but never once did he ask how I felt about it all. There was such a methodical way he went about it, almost as if it was an interrogation of sorts. Almost as if he expected that it was going to happen.

  “I have something to show you.” He brushes a hand through his brown, wiry hair that would be gray if he hadn’t dyed it. “You are finally ready to see this. The truth behind Chimera, behind the future.”

  “Dad, stop talking like you’re some sort of mystical prophet. I’m freaking scared to death. These people want to kill me.” There is a harsh tone to my voice as I follow his quick strides through the brisk morning air and into the ventilated lobby of the Chimera Research Complex. He refused to answer any of my questions directly, refused to tell me exactly who these people are, what they want, or even to simply call the police, and I’m now shaking from the fear.

  His response when I begged to call the police echoes in my head as my stomach churns. We can handle this on our own. We have to, you will see why. He said it in a confident, smooth manner. In his eyes, I could see the determination burning through him, his competitive spirit—the same spirit I have—to win at all costs eating his conscience alive. I admire my dad for that, for his ability to not only desire and work for victory more than anyone else, but to be confident in his own abilities. A confidence and strength that I lack. An ability to look the world right in its face, and blatantly defy its will—to rise above it—is the great gift I am still searching for.

  How can he be so sure everything is going to work out? I can tell he views these people, my kidnappers, as nothing more than a roadblock in his journey to his final goal. He is just as confident, as he always is, that he will win, that we will win. Except, when dealing with our lives, a healthy dose of ego and arrogance is not enough to get me to sleep at night; I need to know what is going to happen. I can’t be uncertain about my own survival.

  “This all happened at a perfect time, actually.” He still doesn’t make direct eye contact with me, instead waving his hand at the armed robot guarding the entrance to one of the wings in the building. The lobby of the complex is simplistic and clean, with beige walls, slick, white floor tiles and no plants, murals, or even a logo to welcome his employees into the building.

  “You’re gonna have to elaborate more on that. Like seriously cut the crap, or I’m gonna call the police. I’m sure they will tell me everything they find.” I look at him stone cold in his eyes. Now that I have finally turned into an adult, I feel more emboldened when I talk to him. I’m not always afraid of him correcting me anymore, of him shooting down my ideas, of him always having to remind me that he is better than me.

  Because I know he is.

  But now the godlike pedestal he held in my mind throughout my childhood has been knocked out from under his feet. I finally realize that he is no better than anyone else, and on any objective level, neither am I.

  “Give me a moment.” He grits his teeth, the veins in his forehead on the verge of popping as he holds back a scream. In one swift motion, he places his finger on the door, and it swings open for the both of us, letting us both into a wide hallway covered in large wall screens that display the Chimera logo, a monstrous lion-headed goat with a serpent tail that I frankly think looks stupid. On the wall screens behind the logo is a slideshow of dozens of graphics that look like pictures from wild extraterrestrial worlds, which are snapshots of virtual worlds that were created using the Chimera gaming engine.

  “You can’t call the police, you idiot,” he whispers into my ear as I step through the doorway, yet somehow with the harshness of his tone it still feels like he is screaming at me. “You have to trust me. That would ruin everything, and it could get us both killed. We need the law as far away from us as possible. They aren’t even investigating last night—they reported it to the media as an accidental gunshot from one of the partygoers, and I’d like to keep it that way.

  “I need you to trust me. I need you to. I want you to be a part of this—altering society forever. I have worked my entire life, sacrificed everything, for this opportunity. And we can’t blow this. That’s why you need to win the Deadwave World Championship, you have to prove to me your worth, and that you’re capable of it, so that we can both do this together. This, what I’m about to show you right now, is a preview of Chimera’s future. And people will always want to hurt us, they will always want what we have for themselves. We can’t let them ever take it.”

  “Okay, okay.” I breathe as he backs away from me, taking his hand matted in gray hair off my shoulder and his breath that reeks of coffee away from my breathing space.

  “Just follow me.” He waves me to follow him as we enter a maze of offices, laboratories, and rooms full of the guts of massive supercomputers. For the first time I notice a bald spot on the back of his head, the exhaustion and stress he has been plagued with for years finally seeming to show.

  “The pods start in this door up here.” He says the word pods as if I know what he is referring to. He refuses to look at me, his legs moving in quick strides down the hallway. For the most part, the complex seems to be empty, with lights on in only a few of the offices, and the echo of our steps audibly bouncing off the walls in the hallway.

  “It’s right here.” Two opaque glass sliding doors stand to our right, looking like the entrance to any of the other dozen or so research laboratories we have already passed. My dad places his finger on the biometric scanner, the reader taking a second to analyze his fingerprint before the doors open up, causing a musty smell to replace the clean ocean breeze scent that fills the long hallway.

  My eyes connect with the sea of light in front of me, and for once, I finally feel that maybe my dad is right about him changing the world. I’m still confused, and scared out of my mind, but things are starting to make sense now. Maybe this is the next big thing. Maybe this is the key to the answers I have been looking for my entire life.

  Chapter 8

  “This is it.” He smiles, outstretching his arms as he steps into the massive room. “This is the beginning of the end of the world as we know it.”

  My mouth hangs open, my eyes glancing at the dozens upon dozens of rows of what I assume to be pods stretching out for hundreds of yards. Each pod is a sort of white vesicle that has to be at least eight feet long, with a number of tubes, wires, and a holograph projected above each one. The walls and ceiling are dark, but the LED lights ingrained into the floor make the atmosphere feel calm and welcoming, yet also foreboding.

  At first, I don’t know how to respond. After thinking my whole life that my dad had a gaming company, to then see the massive screen across one of the walls, displaying the status of each pod all of which are vacant, causes me to be both confused and surprised.

  “What is all of this?” I motion w
ith my head wildly to emphasize that I have no idea what anything in the extremely large room is. I step forward, almost hesitating as my feet paint shadows on the ceiling with each illuminated floor tile that my foot steps over.

  “This is Chimera.” He eyes me, still keeping most of his attention on the swathe of smooth, fiberglass pods that form a sort of city. His voice has a way of not only echoing off my ears but also traveling through the empty space and booming off the ceiling to ring creepily in the air.

  “This is what I have been working for years to build. The vision on which this company was originally founded. To create a refuge. To create another life, another world, where everyone can be free to be safe, to be loved, to be happy.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, and adrenaline and chills accompany the rush of excitement and apprehension inside me as I connect dozens of the things he has said in the past to the glaring signs of the present.

  “These are all Life Pods. Two thousand of them in total. All fully functioning and ready to immerse people’s consciousnesses fully into a virtual world. A place where they are in control or out of control of whatever they wanna be. A place where they can exist in a state of bliss, forever.”

  “That is crazy.” I turn my head and step to the side so he can see the expression of disbelief on my face. My heart pounds in my chest; the anticipation combined with the terror still lurking in my mind from last night causes beads of sweat to drip down my face. “This is unheard of. Dad, what are you trying to do? How did you even… what the… how is any of this possible?”

  “Since I was a little boy, I have had this dream.”

  “What?” I guffaw. “You have always had a dream to keep people in alien-like vesicles and take their conscious minds off this planet?”

  “I would word it much differently, but yes, precisely.” He stands confidently, his affirmative tone crushing any of the doubt I have in my own mind.