Three weeks earlier

  “Ms Brass?” the receptionist called to me.

  “Yep!” I said earnestly as I stood up from my seat.

  “This is Mr Meagher,” she said, waving me over to a man in a pale blue shirt that looked as if it had never been washed, let alone ironed.

  “I thought I was meeting with Dr Paisley?” I proffered.

  “She’s on her way, but I’ll be able to get some points sorted out beforehand,” Mr Meagher interjected. “There’s no point wasting her time with silly questions, is there?” he continued condescendingly.

  “Sure,” I said through gritted teeth. What a wanker.

  I followed behind Mr Meagher towards a hefty wooden door. The door read ‘Dr Sarah Paisley’, but Mr Meagher referred to this as his office.

  He walked in, holding the door open only enough for himself to pass through. I followed behind and he gestured for me to sit down at the desk in front of me. His odour was almost overpowering; a mixture of cheap supermarket body spray, unwashed feet and coffee breath.

  The office was a beautiful minimal but elegant space with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls, looking over the city from the twenty-first floor. It was furnished with expensive-looking walnut cabinetry and tan leather chairs. You could tell this was not your average doctor’s office, let alone a doctor’s assistant’s office.

  “So let’s get into it. I’m Darren Meagher, Senior Assistant Specialist Data Information Engineer Manager,” he said with the unwarranted confidence of a conman selling nostrums.

  That’s the dumbest title I’ve ever heard; hope the doctor isn’t far off.

  Darren pulled out a clipboard packed with dog-eared pages and looked at me with a leering smile.

  “Okay, so Ms Kelly Brass. Now, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-five,” I answered.

  “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a food influencer,” I said.

  “What exactly does that entail? Are you a cook or reviewer or what? Not one of those stupid women who eats on camera, are you?” Darren asked, chuckling to himself.

  “I’m a mukbanger, yes, but I also have an Instagram where I do my own food reviews and recipes,” I said. I felt very uneasy as Darren was clearly trying to diminish what I did, so I averted my gaze, staring out of the windows behind him. I know I didn’t have to prove myself to him, but the constant dismissal from everyone about what I did really grated on me.

  “Right, that’s, um, great,” he replied, attempting to hide his contempt but failing miserably.

  “So what is your marital status?” he prodded.

  “Single,” I answered.

  “And what’s your sexual orientation?”

  “Sorry, how is this relevant?” I retorted.

  “It’s very important we have all the information to enter into our systems to provide the best experience,” he said.

  “Look, I already filled out all the questionnaires – can’t you just retrieve those records?”

  “Fine!” he snapped back. “What’s your income, pre-tax?”

  “Look, I’m not sure that any of this information is relevant to this procedure. I can afford to do this,” I said, hoping the barrage of questions would cease.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I don’t know that you know how dear something like this is, Kelly,” Darren said smugly. “It can run easily into the five-figure range, especially when you don’t have insurance.”

  “I…” I started to reply when I was interrupted.

  “Perhaps I can help you figure something out. Maybe we can discuss it over a drink?” he said, looking me up and down overtly over his clipboard.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied.

  “Why? Am I not your type? What, do you go for those ridiculous chads with their six-packs and no brain?” Darren barked defensively.

  “No, I am just not interested, and frankly I find it very inappropriate you’d even ask,” I said.

  “Fine, well just forget it. So what game do you even like?”

  “Well, I really only play one game, but I really love it. It’s called Stardew Valley,” I tried to be polite; despite how awkward this encounter was proving to be, I really wanted to join this program.

  “Isn’t that a children’s game? That’s a bit embarrassing. I’ll have to check if we’re allowed to even do that – I mean, an adult with a child’s game? It’s a bit off. What games do you dislike?” he asked, gruffly.

  “I don’t really know – I don’t play many other games.”

  “You know, like racing games, horror games, first-person shooters, simulator games?”

  “Well I guess the worst would be horror games – I am not too keen on creepy things or jumpscares,” I answered.

  “Actually they’re the best type of games. I’ve got two Speedrun records on They Are Billions and three on Silent Hill. You’re missing out.”

  “That’s great, I guess, for you, but I’m more into a nice calm game where I can potter around,” I replied, not even knowing what They Are Billions was.

  “Great for me, hey? That’s bold coming from someone like you,” he said snarkily. “Have you ever heard of aposematism? That’s where animals advertise how toxic and unpleasant they are with bright colours. I guess your hair was just a warning to me, hey?” Darren spewed with great vitriol.

  “Actually, aposematism is a warning to predators, so I guess it’s working,” I snapped back.

  “Look, you said I was speaking to you so my ‘silly questions’ wouldn’t waste the doctor’s time, and I haven’t been able to ask even one – all you’ve done is hit on me and judge me!”

  “People like you don’t…” Darren was cut off mid-sentence by Dr Paisley entering the room.

  “Thank you Darren, that will be all,” she said curtly, ushering him out of the room.

  Darren got up and pursed his lips to speak, but a stern glance from the doctor sent him on his way.

  I heard the door creak behind me but didn’t turn to look back.

  “Apologies Ms Brass,” Dr Paisley started. “I’m Dr Sarah Paisley, co-founder here at Stygian Synapses.” The doctor walked over to her desk, subtly cracking a window and reaching over to shake my hand.

  “I’m sorry, but what was all that about? Does he even work here?” I queried to the doctor.

  “Yes, sadly,” Sarah answered. “My co-founder is quite generous, and some would say a little misguided. He insists that his nephew Darren has a position here to keep him out of trouble, even if it is only data entry. I am in charge of all other hiring decisions, but he maintains that I keep Darren employed.”

  Data entry, not Senior Amazing Information Manager Supervisor or whatever.

  I nodded, meeting eyes with Sarah, who just shook her head in annoyance.

  “So, what questions can I answer for you today, Ms Brass?”

  “You can call me Kelly,” I said. “So, I guess, I’d really just like to know a bit more about the process.”

  “Okay, no problem. So our process at Stygian Synapses is very simple in principle. We offer a digital afterlife-based system where, upon your passing, your brainwaves are ported into your favourite video game, allowing for an almost lucid-dream-type scenario post-mortem. We learn your preferences and set up a digital backup that we amend yearly when you come to your appointments, pretty much capturing your memories up to that time. That way, should your death be unexpected, we have a fairly recent backup to work with.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Does it hurt – the transfer process?”

  “Not at all!” Dr Paisley replied. “Obviously, our technology is proprietary, so I can’t explain in great detail, but all you have to do is put on this headgear for about an hour. Worst-case scenario is that you may come away with a bad case of helmet hair afterwards.”

  “Oh no!” I laughed. “I’m headed out for drinks after this!”

  Dr Paisley chuckled.

  “Okay, you can make sure I am only going to go into Stardew Valley, right?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s no problem. Our processes are very strict in only entering patients into their approved game. Consent is our main concern.”

  “Alright then, let’s do it. I sent across the initial payment earlier today, so I think we’re good to go?” I said.

  “Yes, we received that. Let’s proceed.”

  Dr Paisley retrieved what looked like some sort of electronic briefcase and a wire and electrode headpiece that looked like what Frankenstein’s monster would wear if he were King of England. She stood up and walked behind me, placing the helmet on my head and plugging it into the briefcase.

  “I’m going to start the transfer process now. Please, lay back, relax and think about all the wonderful cocktails you’ll have this evening! I’m going to dim the lights and I’ll be back in about an hour. If you need anything, press this buzzer and we’ll be back immediately.”

  “Thank you Doctor,” I said as I reclined in the chair.

  “You can call me Sarah,” she said, heading out of the office.

  As I laid back in the chair, I stared over the city, the shining lights twinkling and illuminating the dim room. This is going to be great!