Ouroboros

“You want this?”

Devon Parker pulled a container from the inner pocket of his black leather jacket “I know you're following me. Consider yourself detected.”

The city street was sparsely lit by poorly maintained streetlights and obscured moonbeams. Down the street, a neon OUROBOROS sign flickered near the harbor.

“You’re still playing a game.” The young man in a white coat standing in the shadows shouted back.

“I know it’s a game. It’s a game you just lost.” Devon looked up scanning the buildings, light poles, and veneer surfaces for hidden cameras. “I don’t know what you think you're doing, but you should try harder. You’ve been following me for a while now. You might as well hand over your clue.” Impatiently Devon waved his arms signaling for a moderator to come forward and arbitrate as was custom. The young man didn’t make any effort to surrender a clue. “Fine, we’ll just wait for an official to eliminate you from the game.”

“You don’t understand, I am an official.” The man in the coat cautiously tried to approach, but Devon returned the case to his inner pocket and calculated evasive action. There was no way this player would trick him out of his clue.

Where are they? The moderators must be out to lunch and this player is trying to take advantage. With inevitable cyclic urgency, thoughts of his eleven-year-old son Brian returned. Tragically Brian had been stricken with a rare yet curable type of Leukemia. Devon could not afford the necessary treatment but winning the game’s half-a-million-dollar prize was how he could save his son’s life. In his mind losing was not an option.

Without another thought, he bolted off into a nearby alley, leaped onto a dumpster, and from the dumpster jumped up onto a nine-foot-high gate. He traversed across the gate until he squared himself with a concrete awning. Once he pulled himself up, he could reach the bottom of a fire escape ladder. When he glanced back, he noticed the man in the white coat entering the alleyway. He stopped climbing the ladder and deliberately quieted his breathing pattern. The man in the white coat looked up in his direction but in the dim alleyway, Devon was merely another shadow. Once the man in the white coat exited the alleyway Devon returned climbing the fire escape.

Dammit, I lost my mark, and this guy is still hot on my tail! Devon lamented to himself as he continued to ascend the ladder. His mark Rowan was the person he was assigned to follow in the game.

The game was structured in a circular chain. He was assigned to follow someone: his mark, who in turn was assigned to follow someone else, and so on in a circle of espionage. The last person in his chain was the person following him like a snake eating its tail. Each person in the circle holds a single clue. The only way to appropriate the clue from your mark is by spying, stealing, or tricking them to reveal their clue. The only way to get eliminated from the circle is to have your clue captured by another player or to get caught trying to capture someone else's clue.

When someone is caught, a moderator would intervene to eliminate them from the circle thus consolidating the clues into a smaller circle. The first player to acquire the most clues would have enough puzzle pieces to find the key and the box containing the half-a-million-dollar prize.

Devon ascended thirty stories to the rooftop of the city building. The moon shone down reflecting on puddles gathered in the recesses of the tar-covered roof. From the north side, he had an overview of the dark alleyway from which he rose. He walked to the eastern edge overlooking Ritenour Street. The street was eerily vacant. Aside from the moonlight, only a few random streetlamps and flickering neon signs illuminated the once-bustling street. Why is it so quiet? How can they film all of this with so little light? He wondered.

Devon knew that thousands of spectators around the country watched Ouroboros from the comfort of their living rooms, man caves, and barstools. But he only cared about one spectator, his son. His son Brian was rooting for him. He knew that with the advantage of his more objective perspective, he may be privy to crucial insights that Devon could not see. In desperation, he closed his eyes and tried to communicate with him psychically. Where is Rowan? Why can’t I remember where I last saw her last? Devon had to find his mark if he wanted to have any chance of winning the game.

In the west, Devon heard the distant sound of a dog bark echo crisply between the buildings, followed by a loud hum. He ran to the western edge and caught a fleeting glimpse of a bright magnesium flash quickly dissipating and a lone man who seemed to be looking up at him. He couldn’t make out the details from so high but assumed the man was his stalker in the white coat. He briskly stepped back from the edge so as not to be seen.

It seemed the game was winding down, but he knew Rowan was still on the prow. Rowan is an exceptional player; she’s probably consuming her marks like Pacman pellets. All I need to do is defeat her to win the game.

At the center of the top of the building, there was an egress with a doorway that should lead to the building’s interior. Devon decided to go and test the door to see if it was open. To find Rowan he would need to do some sleuthing. His memories of the countless hours he spent tracking Rowan were somehow diminished. Upon recollection, only vague, partially disintegrated confabulations came to light. Most of his recollections were of encounters with his stalker in the white coat. He put his hand on the door handle and twisted it. It was open. A distant voice caught his ear. A woman was crying somewhere near the south end. Quickly he ran to the south end of the rooftop edge and scanned out over the harbor. The letters “SUROBOROU” accompanied the rippled reflections of the moon on the harbor water. Then he noticed a whimper from a fire escape balcony four floors below.

Devon entered the center egress door and descended four flights down the stairwell. He pushed open the emergency exit door which opened into a long hallway. The single door on the south-facing wall beckoned him. He twisted the knob and was surprised when it opened. The room was a vast, mostly empty dull grey warehouse with large windows facing the southern harbor. A sudden surge of Déjà vu set upon him.  I remember this room; I was here before. He heard another quiet whimper coming through the doorway of the fire escape balcony. He made his way through the exit. He saw the back of a woman contemplating the docks below, her body precariously leering off the edge. She emanated her distress into the night, inviting cold gusts of air from the harbor. Instinctively he spoke.

“Don’t do it.” His lips seemed to be moving without his will.

“I lost my mark.” Wailed the woman “It’s over.”

“It’s not over, it’s just a game.” More words came out unconsciously. “Who was your mark? Maybe I can help.”

The woman guffawed and slowly turned to look at Devon. He instantly recognized her.

“I tricked all my marks. The only one left is you.”

Devon felt his heart sink with defeat. She must have eliminated the other players. He and Rowan were two of the last players left, and he was that close to winning. At that moment a desperate thought entered his mind. She hasn’t won yet. I can still steal her clues. He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out the container with his clue, and handed it to her. Rowan didn’t move to receive the winning clue.

“We know what you’re planning to do next. Please, don’t do it this time. Break the cycle!” Came a voice from behind. Feeling ambushed, Devon turned quickly. Standing far across the room near the entrance. It was the young man in the white coat, “It’s over-don’t do it.”

“You know what I’m planning, huh? Tell me, what do I usually do right now?” Devon asked the young man in the coat.

“You wait for Rowan to approach you. Once she’s close enough, you grab her clue, run to the fire escape, and quickly try to descend the side of the building. As you hastily descend the fire escape you miscalculate a short jump and fall more than twenty stories.” The man paused. “Then you start the cycle all over again. This was a game but it’s not the game you think it is.”

Devon felt a rush of adrenaline flood his system. He was urgently compelled to try and steal Rowan's clue and run down the fire escape. But he slowed his reaction, just enough to realize what he wanted to do was exactly what the young man predicted. The man in the coat watched as the realization settled on Devon’s face.

“Think about it how else could I know exactly what you're about to think? You’re stuck in a loop. This is your chance to break the pattern.”

Devon still stood in the doorway to the fire escape. He turned back to see how Rowan was reacting to this information. Her holographic form flickered and then suddenly disappeared.

“This isn’t real...It’s not some stupid Reality TV competition, is it?”

“No, you were playing a game, but it was in Hyper-Reality not reality TV.”

“By Hyper-Reality you’re referring to the brand, you mean I’m in VR?” The young man in the white coat nodded confirmation. Devon scanned the room searching for some overlooked clue. He looked back at the balcony where Rowan had once stood.

“Where did she go?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s probably a good sign. To be honest, we never got this far before.”

“So, you don’t know what I will do next?”

“I don’t, but I hope you’ll at least hear me out.” The young man in the white coat carefully gestured to close the distance between Devon and himself. “Don’t worry, I don’t want your clue, and I’m not trying to get you eliminated. The game is over.”

“Rowan won?”

“Yes, Rowan won. She tricked all the other players and had more than enough clues to take the prize, but she waited for you. She was a completionist. She reveled in her cunning. She took pride in her effortless ability to deceive contestants, take their clues, and eliminate them. Rowan was a master. She didn’t play for the money she played because she enjoyed it.”

“When did the game end?” Devon asked with a slight quiver in his voice.

“You’ve been stuck in a VR coma loop for nine years. You keep reliving the last day before your defeat, futilely trying to prevent the inevitable. In the real world, your body is fed and cycled intravenously through your VR suite. Fortunately, your muscles have not atrophied because you are still moving and reacting to the game.”

Devon looked for something loose on the ground. He spotted scattered rusty chain links, nuts, bolts, and an old, opened lock. He picked the lock up and inspected it as if it held some freshly disinterred secret.

“Why don’t you just pull the plug, or remove me from the VR suit to get me out of this?”

“It's not that easy. Although rare, you’re not the first to get lost in a VR loop. Cutting the power to the VR causes a shock to the system. Often throwing the user into cardiac arrest, brain hemorrhage, or worse. The only way to safely extricate someone from a loop is to enter the VR and mentally prepare the user to initiate their transition back to physical reality.”Devon threw the lock as hard as he could into the massive harbor-facing window shattering it into countless shards. “For the last six years, I spent every day in here, following you. Trying to earn your trust, but you wouldn’t listen to me, you always run away. You thought I was playing the game; trying to take your clue.”

Devon picked a sharp shard of glass up and pierced his forearm. No blood exited the puncture. He pulled the container out of his pocket again and held it out.

“So, this is worthless…What do I do now?”

“Like I said Rowan didn't care about the money. After discovering that you got stuck in the game, she felt guilty for putting you in this VR coma. She gave all the money to Mom.” The young man in the white coat held out his hand, “You would not give up on me, now I’m glad I didn’t give up on you… Dad, please come home now.”