Cybelysium

By Adam Patterson

The year is 2057 AD and nobody fears death. Cybelysium is the new sensation sweeping the globe, where people can live on in cyberspace after death, in a world of luxury and pleasure.
This was until a terrorist group called the Brotherhood of God uploaded a virus into the system - a virus so devastating it turned the virtual heaven into a virtual hell.
Only one man, a Roman Catholic priest, believes he can save the tormented souls from an eternity of suffering within this cyber-hell.
But there is only one problem...
One has to be dead to enter Cybelysium.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Patterson
• Release date: Sep 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311202291

Adam Patterson

Adam Patterson is currently residing between England and Thailand with his wife. Being a keen writer of horror, science fiction and suspense, he is hoping to publish many more novels and short stories in the near future. Any comments, please feel free to contact me at [e-mail]

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CYBELYSIUM

By Adam Patterson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Adam Patterson

www.smashwords.com/adampatterson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

1

"Be thou faithful unto death; and I will give thee a crown of life."

(REVELATION 2:10)

"The internet is a vessel for evil to spread its corruption and influence upon the nation."

(Father David McCann)

Cybelysium

The sun was shining again.

But here it always shines. Here, the golden sand of the beaches was eternally clean and virginal. Here, the deep blue of the sky was forever present until the fresh dark of the warm night came with its breathtaking display of constellations and giant, fairytale moon. Only scattered wisps of cloud, so high one could barely detect them, gave the heavens of the daylight hours a sense of realism. If it did rain, it never originated from the clouds but appeared to fall from the blue itself – a warm, invigorating cascade of jewels. Birds were singing, merging with the light sweep of the tide breaking onto the beach. The air, like a good wine, had hints of aromas such as coconut, pineapple, the salt of the ocean, the flowers forever blooming in the woodland beyond the shore and… the smell of a barbecue.

George Howard lifted his head from his sun lounger in the direction of Kevin Woods as he stood by the grill surrounded by smoke. He was currently poking and prodding the food with a prong as he silently mouthed the words to a tune playing on his radio.

He sat up and sniffed the air. Sausages again, Kev?

Kevin Woods, a short, plump man with wild, curly hair that complimented his beard, looked up at his friend. What else, mate? came the familiar Australian accent. Pork sausages and beer, what more do you need? He turned to a pile of rocks for his opened can of beer, raised it to his mouth and took a long swig of the cold, golden liquid. Even though the can sat fully exposed to the heat of the sun, it never got even slightly warm.

George sniffed the air audibly again before lying back upon his sun bed. Love that smell. He closed his eyes and was about to drift back into his doze when he decided it better to give the young female lying next to him a playful slap on her naked butt. When the sound of her giggling followed the sharp sound of his hand contacting bare flesh, George smiled, adjusted his sunglasses and relaxed again. Nobody needed sunglasses here, but they felt and looked good. Everything felt and looked good here.

Fancy a fuck?

George opened his eyes again and turned his head. The girl next to him was gazing back at him, and the only thing she wore was the usual sexy smile he could never resist. Charlotte was not wearing sunglasses, so her large dreamy blue eyes complimented by long curly lashes were as naked as her slender, shapely body. Her angelic face made him melt faster than ice cream in the hot sun (although that never happened any more in this place).

Do you have to talk in riddles babe? he said. Can’t you just get straight to the point?

Charlotte giggled again and shifted on her sun bed to face him. George feasted upon the sight of her exposed, ample breasts, her flat abdomen and the curvature of her hips. He never grew tired of her. In fact, he never grew tired of anything on this paradise island.

Well, if you insist… George beamed and began to pull down his shorts when Kevin’s voice pierced through the tranquil air.

If you’re gonna have a shag, then make it quick. Food’s about to be served!

George felt a rumble in his stomach, even though they never needed to eat.

Don’t worry, Kev, he replied, I’ll just take her to heaven and back and we’ll come and join you!

Heaven? Kevin yelled and laughed. I thought we’re already there!

George shrugged his shoulders before rolling on top of his girlfriend. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body and began smothering his face with kisses.

Not bad for a man who’s been dead for over a decade! he told her before their lovemaking began.

Kevin looked over at the copulating duo and smiled to himself. Life’s a beach, he muttered before placing a sizzling-hot sausage into his mouth that never burnt him. He swallowed it and reached for his ice-cold beer. Yeah: life’s a total beach!

2

Marin County New State Penitentiary, California U.S.A

2057 A.D

Father McCann?

The priest nodded, smiled politely through his nervousness before rising from his chair. He was surprised to see that the prison warden was a young woman – an attractive one at that – and shook her hand when she offered it to him. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

I’m Warden Anderson. Sorry to keep you waiting but there were last minute complications. I believe you are here for Brandon West’s… last rites?

I am, he replied, his mouth dry. His head was aching again and he no longer wanted to do this. Now he regretted volunteering – enough to want to make an excuse and leave. But now the warden was marching away toward an open doorway where she had just appeared, her heels clacking on the hard surface, and Father David McCann had to hurry to keep pace. Is it still at nine o’clock as planned?

It’s now at ten, she told him, never slowing or turning her head. There was a stay of execution after more last minute appeals with West’s lawyers, but it came to nothing again. This time we hope to put him down.

McCann swallowed hard at the word ‘put him down’, as though she was referring to a sick animal rather than a human being. Is that so, he could only mumble in return. They came to a long, narrow corridor where at the far end was an open door to a brightly lit room. When they approached, he saw a uniformed man sitting at a desk facing a computer hologram monitor. Without a word, he beckoned them to pass by and into another room beyond.

Agent Van Houten is also waiting to see the prisoner, Anderson said as she ushered him into the small windowless room lit only by an overhead light. He will take you from here.

A lone figure studying wall charts turned at the sound of voices to greet the new arrival. McCann thanked his escort before she departed, leaving them alone together. Van Houten was tall and sturdily built, handsome but with cold blue eyes, and McCann guessed that he was in his early thirties. Dressed in a plain black suit, he stood dead straight with his arms relaxed by his sides, never attempting a welcoming smile, never taking those piercing eyes from him as he studied his visitor.

Good morning. You’ll probably guess by the way I’m dressed that I’m Father David McCann. I’m pleased to meet you.

There was no reaction from Van Houten at first – only the closing of his eyes for a few seconds and a slight shift in the position of his head. He then turned and beckoned him toward a table and two chairs central to the room.

I was expecting no one else, he finally said. But I must admit I didn’t know what to expect. He sat opposite McCann after he had settled in one of the chairs. By your appearance, I mean.

Oh! The priest gave a little chuckle, attempting to mask the tension he was feeling. My attire is what a typical Catholic priest would wear when not preaching at the altar. My clerical or ‘dog’ collar is the only thing that distinguishes me.

The agent simply nodded. Have you done this before? Been present at an execution?

This is my first time, and I must admit I hope this’ll be my last. I certainly enjoy the routine duties of a priest, but to be present at executions is not what I intended.

But I would have thought that death and the afterlife was a large part of your job, Father.

Quite so, quite so, but having to witness the actual transition from life to death I find rather… distasteful.

Van Houten nodded. Would you like some refreshments until time to meet the prisoner?

Just a glass of water would be nice, thank you. His mouth was dry with nerves and he needed to take more painkillers. The agent called for water to be brought to the room via an intercom on the desktop and then continued to study the priest with his cold eyes.

No doubt you’ve heard of Cybelysium, Father, he eventually said. I don’t think one could go anywhere in this world without having its commercial shoved down their throat.

Of course, yes, McCann replied. People pay vast amounts of money to become a digitalized copy when they die – to live on in cyberspace. He shook his head as if in pity.

But you people don’t agree with it, Van Houten said dryly.

Well… I’m not exactly a man of science, but I suppose those people are not technically dead yet.

The agent continued to study him as they sat in momentary silence. The pain in McCann’s head began to change from a steady pulsating throb into a constant burning sensation. Now his eyes began to water and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

But they are dead, he said finally. Once their heart has stopped beating and their brain has ceased functioning, then, if they have bought a plot in Cybelysium, they are copied and altered to the specifics they requested. Every piece of D.N.A is meticulously recreated and sometimes modified; every selected neuron in their brain mimicked to recreate desired memories and characteristics. They can make your body perfect by omitting any defects and adjusting it to your desires.

So basically, it’s a lot like cloning, McCann said.

It is like cloning, Van Houten agreed, "but with an added brain transplant to include all the memories, personal thoughts, beliefs and imaginings. Once you’ve entered Cybelysium, you can bring all the best memories from your previous life with you and omit the bad and unwanted ones. You can be whomever you choose and do whatever you want within reason. If you want to be a super hero saving the world all day long, then once you’ve paid the fee, that’s what you’ll be. You can play with your new buddies on the biggest and most amazing golf courses for as long as you desire, sipping champagne and smoking cigars day and night without getting tired or bored. You could live in the biggest, wildest party for all eternity if you wish. Some people have become rock stars and are now living a rock star’s life. Some people have opted to be the busiest porn star for the rest of eternity. Some have wanted wings so they can fly, while others have only wanted to laze about on a tropical beach all day long.

"Customers choose what they bring within this virtual paradise. If you desire to include sleep, it is only to experience the ultimate in relaxation and to dream the sweetest of dreams. One does not need to eat, but many have chosen to feel mild hunger or thirst only so they can truly satisfy themselves with the most delicious food and drink they have ever tasted. One no longer feels sadness or loneliness, boredom or jealously, anger or hatred… all these negative emotions are omitted when you are ‘remade’.

This is a consumer’s world, Father. People are no longer scared of death. In fact, they look forward to dying because they know there really is a heaven to go to. Now, instead of thinking of what burial service you would like after your death, you can now go shopping for a designer afterlife. Van Houten sighed. "Although we now have the problem of people ending their life prematurely just so they can enter this world they have designed and purchased.

At the beginning, only the rich and famous could afford to buy a plot, but now, just eighteen years after its creation, you no longer need megabucks to pay for your little piece of cyber heaven. You probably know about the special lottery where one can win a plot in Cybelysium. It’s advertised everywhere.

But this Cybelysium is false, McCann said once Van Houten fell silent. It is just a world created by computers with false surroundings and bogus friends. You’ll be living in a giant lie.

The agent nodded his head. I understand what you are saying, Father, but look at it this way: what if I cut off all your senses to your brain, then how real will this world be?

McCann could only look at Van Houten, puzzled.

Reality is something that is not only physical, but something where you personally have a sense of existence, the agent explained. We consider ourselves ‘real’ because we can live and function amongst the many things in this world, and that those things around us have a structure of some form, whether it is a rock, a tree, a cloud or an ocean. It therefore has an appearance of some kind, a texture and will likely have an aroma. Tell me Father, when you dream, do you believe that what you are experiencing is real?

McCann nodded his head. Yes, I suppose I do.

Are you able to hear and physically touch things as well as see?

I believe so.

And are you also able to experience fear, joy or sadness… heat, cold or hunger?

The priest looked away as he considered his question. Yes, I’m sure I’ve experienced at least some of them.

And you only realized it was a dream once you awoke within the physical world, or what you refer to as the ‘real world’?

Well… yes, I suppose so.

And if you were locked in that dream forever, would you not carry on living in this new world that is just as real to you as the waking one?

Father McCann frowned. But dreams are just memories and experiences from one’s own waking life.

Exactly. So is Cybelysium.

The priest smiled. I think I’m getting what you’re trying to tell me. You are saying that the world is only real if you can interact with it and can sense the environment around you.

Near enough, Agent Van Houten returned. You and I, living on this planet together are made from the same basic elements. We belong to it and are a part of it. When Cybelysium recreates your body and the environment around you, you and it are made from the same thing – no longer physical but digital, but all the same existing and reacting as we are on this earth.

"But you are merely talking about our mortal, physical bodies but not our spirit – our soul. We believe that when we die, our souls return to God and His paradise… not continue recreating a life of possible debauchery within the mind of a computer."

Yes, but religion seems to be on the decline these days, Father, especially since the introduction of this virtual paradise. He said this without the slightest hint of scorn in his voice or mannerism.

The priest shifted uncomfortably in his seat, beginning to feel claustrophobic in this small, windowless room. Yet many people feel rather strongly against this new technology and its mockery of death and the afterlife.

Agent Van Houten nodded and looked somewhat pleased with his answer, and there was almost a hint of a smile creeping on one side of his face. Good. Now you are beginning to understand why we have a problem with the fanatics such as your client waiting in the cells below. On one hand, we have those who not only want to live forever, but also wish to live within their perfect dreams. On the other hand we have people like you, who put their faith in their religion and hope to enter the heaven promised by their god after death.

There was a rap on the door. A uniformed man entered with a glass of water, placed it on the desktop and turned away. McCann thanked him and reached into a pocket for his painkillers. Drawing the glass closer, he looked up at Van Houten.

I’ve got a tension headache. I must admit that I’m a little anxious about all this. The truth was that he had been having these headaches regularly and they seemed to be getting progressively worse, although he has been intending to visit the automated doctor but has never found the time.

The agent simply nodded and waited until he had swallowed his pills before continuing.

"You may or may not have been told that I am from a branch of Counter-Terrorism that mainly deals with cyber terrorism. Brandon West is from a religious order simply named ‘The Brotherhood of God.’ This organization is from a mishmash group of religious fanatics made from Christians, Muslims and others who have a serious grudge against Cybelysium and what they believe is a violation of God. Many scientists, staff, advertisers, security and any other person associated with this multi-billion dollar enterprise have been targeted by this brotherhood.

"West was arrested and charged with the murders of four of Cybelysium’s management and security staff after he and three others tried to break into their L.A offices for company information. After his arrest, we found he was heading some kind of cyber attack on Cybelysium’s virtual world by planning to hack into the system in order to cause serious damage. He proved to be a very… how should I put it… unforthcoming individual. Normally we are able to trace these rogues through the Dark Net where they often communicate and operate, but this fellow seemed to slip through our fingers every time. But now we have him and will soon be rid of him for good."

McCann raise his brow. The Dark Net? Is that the old net?

That’s right. What we call the Dark Net is the original Internet, now outlawed because of its insecurity. It is now the haven for criminal activity such as black marketers, sexual deviants, terrorist and Mafia organizations, and is virtually impossible to stop. The new Net, where every normal household and business is connected to, was designed to be impenetrable by hackers, virtually virus free and very closely monitored.

So your job is to hunt down any wrong-doers using this Dark Net?

Anyone caught tapping into this old system will be punished accordingly, Van Houten said. We can trace anyone using it, but the most organized groups such as the Brotherhood of God have a clever way of delaying us by using anti-tracking software and devices, or constantly keeping on the move via different units and different locations. It’s not easy for them either, but they normally manage to achieve what they want… until we catch up with them.

And this Cybelysium? Is this part of the new Net?

Although separate, almost every household has a link to Cybelysium where they can talk to their departed loved ones via home hologram units or through their cell phones.

McCann smiled and nodded. I’ve seen the adverts. One cannot spend a day without seeing one. He gave a little chuckle then fell silent for a moment, his smile rapidly melting into a look of deep concern. Can you tell me something?

I will if I can.

McCann hesitated. What will happen to the prisoner…Mr. West?

Van Houten just looked at him for a while before replying, studying him yet again with his cold eyes. After you give him his last rites, he will be sedated before taken to the execution chamber. Death is by lethal injection. Afterwards, he will be incinerated so that no part of his body remains to be illegally copied for afterlife in Cybelysium. Although we are fully aware that he would not wish to live on in virtual afterlife, it is standard procedure for any category A criminal to be denied access into Cybelysium.

Category A?

These are your murderers, rapists, pedophiles and terrorists… violent criminals and the like. People were becoming so unafraid of death since they knew they could live a better life in cyberspace that they believed they could do whatever they wanted. In fact, many purposely got themselves shot by police or killed in reckless activities so they could hasten their death. So to act as a deterrent, we have banned all category A criminals from entering Cybelysium.

Father McCann slowly shook his head and whispered mainly to himself, What has become of us?

There was another knock at the door and a guard stepped into the room. West is ready now, sir.

Van Houten gave a nod and turned back to the priest. It seems it’s now time to meet your client.

When McCann followed them out of the room, his heart began beating hard again, making his headache worse. The painkillers had no effect and as he began to rub at his temples, his vision swam briefly before him. An elevator took them the short journey to death row three floors below and they stepped out into a brightly lit grated floored corridor. Their footsteps rang out as they continued through two guarded doorways until stopping outside a holding cell. The door was open and McCann waited as Van Houten spoke quietly with one of the guards standing just beyond his vision. His nerves began to make his hands lightly tremble and the feeling of nausea began to rise up like a cold stone in his bowels. Eventually, the agent turned back to him and silently beckoned him inside.

When he hesitantly stepped into the small prison cell, he did not know what or who to expect. His imagination flashed images of a shackled giant of a man with boiling hatred in his lunatic eyes, or of a pathetic babbling creature weeping in fear of his impending fate. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised.

Father… Father McCann, I believe! The middle-aged man, speaking with a light Irish accent, rose to his feet the moment he entered his cell. He was of medium height and medium build, dressed in blue prison issue overalls. His eyes were brightly alert and his cheeks slightly rosy as though he had just returned from a brisk walk in an icy breeze. Thank you ever so much for coming. I so appreciate it. Please sit down and make yerself comfy if you can.

He held out his hand and McCann shook it, and after a moment of uncertainty he sat down opposite him on a plastic chair.

Do you mind, Father, if I finish this? West pointed to a plastic cup by his side. It’s coffee with a dash of whisky from the homeland. It’s my last request, you see. He then lowered his voice to a mere whisper. My last tipple before I go.

Please go ahead, Mr. West, McCann replied and sat in silence while he watched the prisoner sip at his hot drink. From the corners of his eyes he noticed Van Houten and the two guards exchange nods and turn away, leaving them practically alone together for their private talk.

But the truth was that he did not truly know what to say to him. Although he felt more at ease now he had met the condemned man and considered him quite amicable despite his crimes, he found himself at a loss with what to tell a perfectly healthy man only moments away from having poison pumped into his veins. Maybe the usual words of comfort and courage between quotations from the Bible would suffice.

Just call me Brandon, please, he told him as he returned the cup to the tabletop. After settling back, he quickly eyed him up and down. You’re young, Father. Late twenties I would guess. He smiled warmly, and McCann could not believe this man had less than an hour to live.

I’m thirty-five, actually.

I must say you look in good shape. I’ve met quite a few priests during my time on death row. The one before you, Father Tucker, gave me communion only four days ago. It saddens me to hear he is away due to ill health, because I’ve known him now for just over two years. But it’s good to see you, too, Father.

McCann tried his best to return the smile. I hope I can be of some comfort. This is the first time I have visited death row.

Well, it’s not the best of places to visit, I must confess.

The priest dropped his weak smile and cleared his throat. Is there anything you would like to talk about before your confession, Brandon? Anything you wish to say… wish to speak of?

For the next ten minutes, West talked about his family and close friends. By this time only one guard remained, seated by the open cell door with holstered stun gun close to hand. The prisoner used this opportunity to turn his conversation around to the evils of the Internet and its virtual paradise.

Forgive me, Father, but most of my life I’ve not been a devoutly religious man. But I know evil when I see it, and Cybelysium is truly evil. They are defying the will of God, Father; living in eternal sin and pleasure, shunning the paradise that God had reserved for us all after death.

McCann attempted a sympathetic smile and soothing tone. I’m so sorry Brandon, but I cannot speak about this to you –

Have you heard of the Serpent’s Lair Father? he continued defiantly. Have you heard of it?

The priest sat straight in his chair with a bewildered look on his face. I have heard of that name, yes. It was discovered a long time ago; an ancient tomb or chamber, was it not?

West slowly nodded. Aye, Father, it was. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed McCann’s arm tightly, startling him enough to give a little yelp. The guard briefly looked up in their direction and returned his gaze to the walkway beyond.

"Forgive me… forgive us, Father, for what will soon happen, he told him just above a whisper, although his voice was hard and clear and sincere. Even his eyes appeared to be crying out to him. It is all beyond my control now."

I… I don’t know what you mean, Brandon, I –

You will soon, Father. You all will very soon. He then became silent and thoughtful for a while with his face turned toward the floor. Finally, West sat up straight in his chair and faced him again. To McCann, his eyes now looked very sad, very haunted, yet contained a soft inner kindness. I am ready to confess now.

McCann nodded his head, rose from his chair and stood before him.

3

Cybelysium

Emily Carter woke slowly from her dreamless sleep, a sleep that she chose to have because it gave her a sense of reality, order and custom. This time it was far, far better than in her former, earthly life, because there was no alarm clock to rudely waken her, no job or chores to look forward to and no having to spend time in making herself look at least half presentable for the day ahead. Now that she is in Cybelysium, she would wake up as fresh as the crisp morning breeze and look as beautiful and fit as she did before she went to sleep.

And of course, she never once in her previous, boring life woke up to three hunky, naked men sharing her bed, each sporting a huge, eternal hard-on at the ready for her convenience. Last night she made full use of them all, and this morning she never had the slightest suggestion of soreness, tiredness, guilt or regret that she got from her previous on-off relationships and one-night stands.

When Emily opened her eyes and raised her head from the pillow, another handsome hunk entered the room wearing nothing but a gleaming white-toothed smile. In one hand he held a glass of champagne; in the other he had his daily surprise gift. Whatever this gift was must be reasonably small, as the black box that contained it fit neatly in the palm of his outstretched hand.

Good morning my Queen, he told