Finn Mason sipped his coffee, appreciating the bitter taste. Mind you, at two thousand Asias a cup, it needed appreciating. He’d spent less on a bottle of the finest wine before now.
Mason had recently seen a report on the VD about what little coffee production there was left in the world soon drying up. Land was fast running out, new factories gobbling up what little was left at an alarming rate.
Mason looked about the room. To call it opulent was an understatement - it dripped money. From the large commissioned artificial satellite hovering near the ceiling, casting its glow over the diners below, to the robowaiters bustling about the tables.
Mason felt a slap on his shoulder and looked across the table as a fat man sat opposite him. He wore a full beard, which was not only unusual, but in Mason’s opinion, made the man look ridiculous. He wasn’t however about to tell the richest man in the world that fact.
“You’ve been accepted,” the man told Mason without preamble. His voice carried an unmistakable note of pride. “It was hard work, but I persuaded them in the end. At least my money did,” he finished with a smile.
Mason sat back with a sigh, realising how tense he’d been.
The man slid a card across the table. “Be there in three days, at twenty-one hundred. Arrange to be gone for twenty days.”
As the man slipped away, Mason picked up the card, scrutinising it in the dim light.
The front had two words embossed across it - Fantasy Island. On the reverse side: “We Make All Your Fantasies Come Alive.,” followed by an address in a part of London, Mason didn’t recognise.
Tapping the edge of the card on the table, Mason finished his coffee in petite sips, letting his thoughts run wild.
* * *
“That’s it sir, try to relax. This won’t hurt a bit.”
The technician fussing about Mason’s head, strapped the bundle of fine wires together and stood back, checking a screen on which hundreds of green lines traced their way back and forth.
“Okay, that’s the neural net attached. Lean back and we’ll start.”
Mason leant back and the chair moved with him, until he was lying flat on his back. He felt a moment’s panic. This was the first time since his teenage years that he’d allowed anyone to have such dominance over him.
“Good. I’m going to plug you in now. You may feel a little dizzy.”
Mason suddenly felt detached from his body - disorientated. He was floating in nothingness, his thoughts returning to his first meeting with the man who had sent him here, and the astonishing explanation of how Fantasy Island operated.
Mason knew that prisoners were kept in suspended animation during their sentences, unlike the dark days when they were allowed to languish in comfortable cells. These days, the development of the neural net meant that their minds, disembodied and constantly awake, could be ‘re-educated’, a far cheaper option than building new prisons every few years.
The founder of Fantasy Island had discovered a way to hack into WorldJail’s computer network, gaining access to the thousands of minds imprisoned there, and what happened next was inevitable.
The costs of developing and running Fantasy Island’s software, and the fact that thousands of officials had to be bribed, were astronomical. Only the super-rich, like Mason, could afford to use such a service.
Prospective clients had to undergo a stringent background check before they were considered, and if they didn’t have an influential supporter like Mason had, then the process could take years.
Mason had been sceptical at first, but all the whispers he’d tracked down regarding the enterprise had convinced him about the authenticity of their claims.
Now here he was, his brain connected to a computer, waiting to see what would happen.
Mason had been very clear about his requirements. He was a sadist and wanted total control over his subject. He would take her to the edge of death and pull her back - over and over again. God, the thought made him feel —
Mason’s mind exploded in a ball of light, and when it cleared, he found himself strapped to an X frame in the middle of an arena, surrounded by hundreds of baying people seated in high tiers.
“So you little turd. You like being hurt do you? Well over the next twenty days, we’ll make good and sure your every fantasy comes true.”
“No. Stop!” Mason screamed at the woman circling him.” There’s been some dreadful mistake.”
But his voice was lost amongst the shouts and screams of the crowd and Mason was forced to watch in horrid fascination as the woman smiled, raising the steel tipped whip high above her head.