At first, it was all just a white blur. Then Jack found himself gripping the handles of a … what? What was this? A motorcycle? It was windy and white and … snowy? This was a snowmobile, and he was driving it. 

Whoa, he did not remember getting onto one of these. In fact, he didn’t remember much of anything at the moment, but here he was. 

He was dressed in a puffy red coat, black snow pants, and a helmet to match. The wind rushed past him but the red tinted goggles kept his eyes safe. He seemed to be going at top speed, his thumb pressed to the max against the throttle. And there were people in front of him, all in a line. But who? Did he know them? Were they his friends? How did—

The ground gave out from under him. The fall happened so fast he didn’t have time to scream or react at all. One second the world was blurry white, the next it was stark black. 

The vertical descent into the unknown continued for … well it felt like forever to Jack. He must have hit his head on something on the way down because he drifted in and out of consciousness as he tumbled, tumbled, tumbled. Good thing he was wearing a helmet. 

When he woke, the world was blue and motionless. Kind of a shiny blue as if he’d been dipped into a vat of azure Jello. He blinked a few times. His first thought was, whoa, I’m not dead! How am I not dead? He was on his back—no, his side. Wait? How the … was he floating? He was floating! Floating inside of a strange blue light. 

His breathing picked up as he tried to twist and turn. Panic was setting in. He yanked his helmet off, his goggles along with it. When he dropped it, he was surprised to see it simply float away. Something else was floating not more than ten feet beyond his feet. Another person? No, that wasn’t a person. That was his snowmobile. He watched the helmet drift through the air and bump into the slowly rolling machine. 

“Hey, help!” he yelled. “Anyone there? I … Anyone hear me? Help!” 

Jack swung his arms, kicked his legs in an attempt to “swim” through this apparent field of zero gravity. He managed to twist his body into a full barrel roll rotation so that he was face down. Or what his brain told him was down. He could see a large silver platform. It was circular and seemed to be slightly glowing about ten feet away. That, as far as he could tell, was the ground. So that’s where he needed to go. He began undulating towards it, or trying to at least with no success. He felt like a dog on a treadmill racing in place for the treat at the end. The helmet caught his eye again. It suddenly dropped with a clunk, but it didn’t land on the platform, it landed just outside the perimeter of the platform. The snowmobile approached the edge of the circular disk as well and followed suit, falling onto the ground, landing upside down with a loud crunch. 

It was then Jack realized what he needed to do. He had to get across the precipice of the disk. 

But how? 

What did he have that could help propel him? He pulled off his gloves, unzipped his coat, and swung it around to see if he could get a fan effect motion going. After a minute it was obvious it wasn’t working, and he probably looked like an idiot doing it. Definitely felt like one. Jeez, it was cold. Good thing he had some sort of thermal undershirt on. Jack awkwardly slipped back into the coat and just floated there in suspension, breathing, thinking. What kind of a nightmare was this? And where did he gloves go?

Something bumped into the back of his head. He tried to crane his neck around to see but couldn’t get a good look, but it was in grabbing distance. He lifted both arms and pulled the object into his chest. It was a backpack. A bulky one. It must have been attached to the snowmobile when he fell. Jack had an idea. He waited until his body was facing the platform again—he’d acquired a slow roll from all the aimless struggling—then swung the back down towards the platform. The bag flew. As a result, he went sailing in the opposite direction. Not as fast, but at least he had a trajectory now. When the bag touched the platform, it sprung back up towards Jack. Apparently the platform didn’t like to be touched. The bag hit him with force in the crotch and sent him spinning in the direction he was already headed, albeit much faster now. That was helpful, and a tad painful, sure, but nowhere near as painful as falling face first onto hard rocky ground. 

“Oof,” said Jack, with a groan. That helmet would have really been nice to have just now. Why’d he take it off? Jack groaned some more then got to his feet. A few cracks of the neck a couple stretches and he was able to shake it off. He was young, after all. How young, he wondered. That was something else he couldn’t remember. 

He looked around. The platform was the only source of light around, but it emitted enough to get a basic understanding of his adjacent surroundings. He was in a cave or some sort of cavern. A really, really big cavern. He could make out the rough texture of the natural rocky ground, but only as far as the light let him. Eventually, it all faded into darkness. If there were any walls to the cavern, they were too far away to make out. 

“Hello,” he shouted. A moment passed then a soft echo returned to him. “Anyone there?” 

Something reflected on the ground. It was the backpack. Jack made his way over and tore into it. His memories were completely shot. He had a pretty good grasp on who he was, sure, but all the where, how, and why questions nagged at him like a woodpecker burrowing into his skull. Perhaps there was something in the bag that had some answers for him. Or at least help him out in the strange predicament. I mean, who builds a random floating machine at the bottom of a massive cavern? And why? 

The bag’s contents included a rolled up sleeping bag, a cantina full of fresh water, a hunter’s knife sheathed in a leather slip, three packs of jerky, a first aid kit, a Poloroid camera with two packs of printable photo paper, a Rubix cube, two walkie talkies, an ice pack—why an ice pack?—and a windup flashlight. Yes! A flashlight. He pushed the rubber button and a beam of light flickered on. It wasn’t very bright so he spent a few minutes cranking it up. After that, the beam’s illumination was much stronger. He played around with the radios a bit but all he got was static. That wasn’t a surprise. He packed the bag back up, save for the flashlight, and strapped it on his back. 

Next, he inspected the snowmobile. The machine landed upside down so it took a few minutes, and a lot of grunting and groaning, to get it turned around. But he did it. First, he wanted to see if there were any more supplies attached to it. Maybe there was a jetpack stuffed somewhere under the seat? Nope. No, jet pack. A guy could hope, right? There weren’t any other supplies inside its small storage compartment either. He sat down and deflated with a disappointed sigh. Next, he wanted to see if he could get it to run. The rocky ground wasn’t optimally conducive for the machine, sure, but it could come in handy. You never know. Unfortunately, the shaft holding the handles had cracked. Jack tried to turn it and the bars came completely off. Yep, this thing was dead weight. Well, that was that. 

Jack got off and looked straight up. There was nothing but black up there, not even a pin prick of light. He remembered falling, so he thought there might be a hole up there. He fell for a really long time, long enough to think about how long he was falling as he was falling, before he conked his head, that is, and woke up floating on a strange antigravity device. He was still wrapping his head around that. 

He shined the flashlight in a random direction, then in the opposite direction. He flipped a mental coin, shrugged, and headed … that way. 

“Hello! Hello! Anyone hear me? Anyone at all! Dad? Mom? Sammy? Gordo? Anyone!” Jack didn’t think his parents or friends were anywhere near here, but it made him feel better to call out for them all the same as he made his way through the void around him. He passed by large stalagmites and trudged through shallow pools of water. The ground was pocked with them. No matter where he went, he made sure to keep the pillar of blue light in view as a frame of reference and a beacon. Eventually, he stumbled upon a wall—literally stumbled into it thanks to a cluster of broken rock that lined its base. 

Jack shined his light along it, this way and that. It went all the way up, or at least as far up as he could see. From here, the pillar of blue light looked like a needle standing erect. 

For hours—at least it felt like hours—Jack walked with the wall to his left, the beacon in the distance to his right. He wound around stalagmites, running his hand through water droplets as they fell. He had to stop a few times to crank his flashlight and sip water. He continued to call out, but the only response he ever got was the echo that—wait, what was that? A sound like water or, wait, not water—air. He could hear a soft breeze coming from somewhere. Something flickered along the wall. Jack stopped, then focused his beam on the spot. Metal? Maybe it was just a shard of—oh, wait, what is that? 

Jack stopped when the doorway—at least it looked like a doorway—came into view. It was tall and built right into the wall. He walked up and touched it. It didn’t feel like metal, but it wasn’t built from the rock that surrounded it either. More of a strange, hardened plastic. There was a simplicity to it but at the same time spoke of extraordinary engineering. Extraterrestrial was a terrifying word that came to mind. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked back and forth between the blue pillar in the distance and this door. 

Jack shined his light around the door’s perimeter. It was huge. Five or six people could walk through it, shoulder to shoulder, if it was open. Unfortunately, it was completely sealed shut. There wasn’t a doorknob or handle either. Maybe it slid along a track? Or maybe it wasn’t a door at all. Maybe it was a—Jack whipped his light back towards the bottom right corner of the frame. Something was different about this spot. It looked … broken? There was a dark spot, a triangular gap. The door, if that’s what it was, looked askew here. Jack swallowed and got down on his hands and knees. Lukewarm air hit his face. Well, he found the source of the breeze, that was for sure. He shined the flashlight through, tilting his head this way and there. He couldn’t make out any details but there was definitely a room back there. 

Jack got a paralyzing chill and looked behind him. He had an ominous feeling that someone or something had been following him, but he’d buried that thought as he explored.

“Hello?” said Jack. “Anyone … following me?” He scanned the area, let out a breath, then turned back to the door. The opening was just large enough for him to crawl through. He took off his backpack, shoved it through, then pulled himself in. 

 

***

 

Bob paced back and forth, his eyes locked on the screen. He was sweating. He’d done enough cardio around the room—pumping air fists, dancing like a drunk maniac and such—to burn every calorie he’d ever consumed. Not really, but you get what I mean. Bob was excited—no, ecstatic! He’d never been so elated in his life. This game, of all things, was the solution. The missing piece of puzzle that somehow—Bob still had no idea how—allowed COMM+ to work properly. Well, almost properly. 

As soon as Bob saw the game open inside of COMM+, where the waterfall of data would normally be, he immediately tried to interact with Jack through the game. He could see the questions from the algorithm populating, and he could see Jack’s responses. Things like, “Take off my helmet,” and “explore the storage compartment in the snowmobile.” Even the little 8-bit character was running around, presumably Jack himself. But no matter what Bob did he couldn’t submit anything. The game didn’t allow him to interact with the interface at all. 

Bob tried talking again, maybe Jack would respond to audio stimulation now? But that didn’t get through either. Or, at least Jack’s apparent actions strongly indicated he wasn’t hearing anything Bob said. When Bob saw Jack calling out for his family and close friends he all but screamed a litany of responses into Jack’s ear. “I’m here, Jack! I’m right here! Can you hear me? Why can’t you hear me?” And on and on. He yelled so hard he had to pop a lozenge to ease the rawness in his throat. 

It was so exciting and so excruciating. He hated the feeling of having no control. Something incredible was happening right in front of him and he couldn’t do a thing about it. His job now, apparently, was to just make sure the power didn’t go out or to take evasive action if Jack’s vitals went haywire again. All he could do was watch … for now. So watch, he did.

Bob did a double take when he saw the GAMA and ACE levels. Ace has bumped up to 7% and GAMA down to 93%. It was the first time in seven years he’d seen any change of significance in Jack’s hormone levels. And the moment Jack discovered the doorway, his ACE jumped up to 9%, albeit only temporarily. It soon dropped back down to 7%, but that got Bob thinking—thinking about positive excitement.

For some reason, when Jack seemed to have a positive, exciting experience it raised his ACE. It happened when Jack first discovered the flashlight. Although it was only a temporary 1% increase, it was still an increase. Jack’s ACE and GAMA didn’t seem to be affected by anything else. Fear, panic, confusion—none of those seemed to raise or lower his hormones at all. If they did, Bob would know. Jack was practically flooded with a base level of fear right now, and understandably so. 

Unfortunately, Jack wasn’t in a VR simulation of DisneyLand or playing Who Wants to be a Millionaire? This was a place that had the word death in its title. So Bob wasn’t sure how many more positive, exciting experiences he could have. In fact, if he remembered right, the game only got scarier and darker as it unfolded. 

All that aside, this still was a moment for celebration. This warranted another round of air guitar and aggressive, celebratory cardio. He had the sudden urge to tell someone—tell everyone what was going on. Call a news agency, publish a press release, post on social media—something. He even thought about calling Gemma. But no, he should wait. The world wasn’t ready for this, and he still had so much testing to do.

There was one person he absolutely needed to get in contact with though, someone he hadn’t talked to in a long time. While Jack aimlessly explored the cavern—finding the door could take a while—Bob scanned his contact list on his phone. No luck. So he looked her up on Linkedin. He wasn't surprised to see her profile oozing accolades. Divya Kapoor worked for a successful game development company in California called Mad Gas Corp. Kind of a funny name. VP of software engineering, hmm, that sounded like an impressive title. Bob smiled at her profile picture. She was older than he remembered her, of course, but she was still the same Divya. Obviously Indian, she wore big thick glasses and a wide goofy grin. Bob couldn’t remember her ever being in a bad mood. 

She didn’t have her personal contact info posted, but he was able to find a general number on the Mad Gas website. It was past four o’clock on a Friday—no Saturday, so all he got was a general voicemail. 

“Hi, this message is for Divya Kapoor, it’s is Bob—Dr. Robert Cobb. We’re, uh, old friends, trying to reach her. It’s kind of an exciting emergency so, yeah. Have her get back to me asap please. Thanks.” He hung up. “Exciting emergency? That sounded stupid. Whatever.”

 

***

 

When Jack got to his feet, a loud clicking sound thundered above him and a fluorescent light buzzed on. Jack jumped back and crouched, covering his head as more lights slammed on. Pow, pow, pow. One by one they revealed a long, plain, concrete tunnel before him. It was maybe eight feet wide and who knew how long?

Jack looked up, blinked a few times, then peered all the way down. The end of it was so far away that, well, it actually didn’t seem to have an end. There was a dark pin prick somewhere down there and he wasn’t sure if that’s where the tunnel terminated or if that was just as far as his eyes could see. There was a heavy pounding sound coming from—oh, wait, that was him. His own heart. It was so quiet and thick in here he could hear the shock and panic from under his own skin. 

“Hello?” The echo was deafening. Jack cleared his throat, tried again. “Anyone down there?” He looked back at the opening in the doorway, then back down the tunnel. “Well,” he said, a nervous quiver in his tone. “This brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, ‘down the rabbit hole’.” At least it was a bit warmer here, wherever here was. 

 

***

 

Bob’s phone rang, some unknown number. Bob rarely got calls now so it was either a telemarketer with really bad timing or it was …

“Hello?” 

“Bobby? Bobby Cobb?”

“Is this Divya?”

“Yeah, hi! Just got your mess—”

“Hey! Hi there, how are you? I, uh … it’s been a really long time.”

She let out a snort. “Yeah, I think like, what, twenty years or something.”

“Sounds right, I just … I was going through some old stuff and I—you won’t believe this—but I stumbled across an old game you made me. Uh, it was on a SD card. You probably don’t remember but—”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that. Um the house of time or something, yeah. Wow, that was a long time ago. We’re old, Bob!”

Bob laughed. “We are, that’s for sure. Anyway, I saw it and just wanted to reach out. And … well, crazy thing. I started playing it and I was wondering if you could, I guess, tell me everything about it. I'm kind of doing an experiment with it and I’m not huge on surprises. You know me, so, yeah.”

There was a pause, then a sharp snort. “Wait, wait,” she said. “You called me after twenty years just to ask me how to beat the 8-bit game I built in grad school? That’s it?”

Bob opened his mouth but no words came out. “Uh, no. I was just—”

“Not even a hey, how’s your life or heard you just got a divorce. You called me about a game?”

Bob blinked. “You got a divorce.” There was a pause and Bob could almost hear Divya rolling her eyes. 

Divya sighed. “What do you want to know about the game?” She sounded deflated now, resigned. 

“Divya, I’m … I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough week for me over here. Well, more like a rough year to be honest. Especially with Shannon and everything.”

The last thing Bob wanted to say was, “Who’s Shannon?” So he quickly Googled Kapoor and got about a million different results. He finally went with: “uh huh. Tell me more.” He thought that was a safe bet. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know about Shannon,” said Divya. “I forget how long ago we … anyway. Shanon’s my daughter. She was also one of the Deep Sleep victims.”

Bob perked up. “Really? How long has she been under?”

Divya sighed. “Two years, one month, twenty two days and counting.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry,” said Bob. “You know, kind of a coincidence. I have a son in the same boat. Jack.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, it’s been, well, it’s been an interesting experience, but—” Bob hesitated, ground his teeth. Everything in him said to not tell her about COMM+ and her game. But I’m the end, he couldn’t help himself. He was just too excited. “Kind of funny, I—you’re not going to believe this, Divya—I found a way to communicate with Jack while he’s still comatose. Well, I’m not really communicating with him, your game is. It’s … it’s a bit complicated.”

There was a long pause on the other end followed by, “Uh, sorry, not following you, Bob. This isn’t some sick joke, right?” 

“No, no. I … you see, for the last seven years I’ve been working on this program, trying to hack into Jack’s mind. I could never get it to work until I integrated your game’s source code into it.” He told her about the machine, about COMM+, how everyone laughed at him including his ex-wife. He told her how he was watching Jack, right now, playing the game with nothing but his brain.

There was another long pause. Then, “You’re joking right? This is … wow, this was … what do you want, Bob, I mean really? Why’d you call? Honestly.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t … I don’t, well, I do know that having a sleeping kid can be a really, really tough and I believe that you believe you’re having some sort of breakthrough, but—”

“Fly up here,” said Bob. 

“What?”

“Come see for yourself. Heck, bring Shannon. I could build her a second module. Might take me a day or two but just to get parts. I have all the parts and the machine is capable of dual monitoring.”

“You’re … you’re serious about this.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. 

“Yes! Yes, absolutely I am. Shoot, I’ll pay for your flights and you and Shannon can take one of my rooms, I have like six I don’t even use any—”

Laughter from the other end. “Wow, Bob. I mean, I don’t know about that.” She laughed again. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll uh, I’ll think about it.”

“You do that,” said Bob. “In the meantime, if you can send me a game script or a map or anything, really—whatever you got would be awesome. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, you were serious about that. I, uh. I’m sorry, Bob, I don’t have anything for you. It’s been so long, I wouldn’t even know where to look.”

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

“I have to go, Bob.”

“Yeah, no, I get it. Thanks for taking my call.”

“It was nice catching up. A little weird, not gonna lie. But, hey, a little weirdness can go a long way sometimes, I guess.”

“I’m serious about flying you two up. Think about it. For real.”

“Sure, Bob. Okay. Yeah. Thanks. Okay, bye now.”

“Yep. See ya. Oh! He’s walking down that really, really long tunnel right now, by the way. You remember? He’s been at it for a while. Looks like he’s about to find that one room with the dead … Divya? Divya, you there?” Bob sighed then hung up the phone. He turned his full attention back to Jack. Parts of the game were starting to come back to him now. Flashes here and there. And if Bob remembered correctly, Jack was in for a pretty big surprise in about ten seconds.