Chapter 2: An Interview

It was almost cliché.

No, it was absolutely cliché. I expected Morgan Freeman to walk in at any moment with a disappointed shake of his head.

I was reclining on a bench in the middle of a completely white, sterile-feeling space. Other than the edges of the table I was on, there were no objects I could see. The room had no doors, no windows, not even corners. The place was uniformly lit, so I couldn’t determine how large it was either. Only the faint grid on the floor and ceiling gave me any sense of orientation. Still, even they seemed to fade out into infinity. I tried to get up but quickly realized my body wouldn’t move. I wasn’t strapped down; it felt more like I was paralyzed from the neck down.

I don’t think many people have actually been alone with their thoughts. I can tell you it’s not a pleasant experience. I had just finished considering how this might be how moths and butterflies felt when pinned to an amateur entomologist’s display board. Luckily, I was interrupted before existentially questioning, “Do you have a body if you can’t feel it?”

They walked into the room straight through the wall. They had no apparent gender. It was as if you had put all of humanity in a blender. The skin color could have been genetic or just a tan. The eyes looked Korean at one moment and then European at the next. They were flat-chested but without broad shoulders or muscles. It’s as if a seven-year-old of indeterminate lineage was scaled up to adult size. They were wearing a (surprise) white, seamless garment that was some combination of a toga, kimono, and lab coat. On the jacket was an ironically typical, blue-bordered, stick-on name tag that read “Hi.” I was too out of my element to process anything, so my brain responded on autopilot with something between asshole and incredulity.

“No fucking way.”

They looked slightly surprised at my outburst, then responded with curiosity, “My presence does not surprise you?”

As long as I wasn’t doing anything else, I figured I’d play along.

“I’m going to take a swing here: you can grant me a second life, good health, and perfect physical condition, but I have to be your guinea pig and spend it on some backward, primitive copy of ancient Earth carrying only what I can fit in a wagon?” I had read things, you see.

They took a second before responding, “I assume ‘guinea pig’ is an idiom in your language because you certainly will remain in human form. Yes, we can achieve everything you said, but you don’t get a wagon. Is life not enough of a gift?”

“Well, fuck” I said once again in too few minutes. “So that horny bastard was right. But it’s not ‘redneck conquers the world’; it’s ‘modern bastard learns all about taking a dump in the woods,’ isn’t it?”

They cocked their head and looked confused, so I made an end-run in the interest of time. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing here so we’re all on the same page.”

They smiled, but it was off somehow—like they had just learned how a few hours ago. “First, let me introduce myself, Chester. You may call me Alex. You have died on your home planet. You have been chosen as a candidate for one of our programs. How and why you have been selected will not be explained. We extracted your soul—as you would call it—and placed it in this new body. The body is an almost perfect replica of the one you had on Earth. We have corrected several genetic imperfections and years of wear and abuse. We have also improved certain functions. We did not do any of this out of benevolence. It is easier for us to construct a new body than to repair and modify an existing one. This is especially true given how much damage your body had taken at the time of your death.

“The program you have been selected for is somewhat similar to your reality television. You will not be filmed in any sense you are familiar with, but your experiences will be monetized for entertainment purposes. We can do this because of the enhancements in your new body. They allow us complete access to your thoughts, emotions, senses, and everything else you consider brain functions. Everything about you will be monitored and recorded continuously and exhaustively. Past candidates of your species have raised concerns, so I will inform you that these modifications are non-negotiable.”

They paused as if to make sure I agreed. I still wasn’t sure what this was all about, but it appeared to be an alternative to death, so I nodded my acceptance.

“Should you choose to accept our offer, you will be transported to a planet much like your Earth but at a lesser evolutionary stage. You may select a population in one of three developmental stages: tribal paleolithic, feudal agrarian, or early iron age. You will start your new life in a relatively safe area away from people and predators, with shelter and sustenance nearby. You will be provided supplies equivalent to what your average camper would carry. How you proceed from there is primarily up to you. However, we may intervene with assistance at times.

“Should you decline the offer, you will simply cease to exist exactly as if you had died in the vehicular collision.”

I didn’t expect such a clear and to-the-point exposition, and it took a few minutes to process what they had said. It sounded too good to be true. On the other hand, it was a literal “get out of death, free” card.

“What type of assistance?”

“You are not our first candidate. There have been negative reactions from our audience when a candidate stumbled into danger or a lethal situation before they were ready. You may be warned if it appears you are about to enter a similar situation or even advised how to remove yourself from one.”

“So you’re going to be watching me all the time and might—if it pleases you—keep me from dying?” I said sarcastically.