The Great Mall Mirage

The Richest Man Alive

The room is bright and the bed is hard and the sheets strap you to the bed in a way that reminds you all too well of the tendrils that suffocated you... how long ago?

You bolt upright and strain against the starched white sheets. A man in a crisp black suit, dark sunglasses, and shiny leather shoes — he seems to be a security guard — places a hand on your forehead and pushes you back down.

"Relax," he says. "Relax. You're safe now."

Your eyes blur into focus and you find yourself in a room with blue and white tiles, whitewashed walls, and row upon row of stiff, metal-framed beds. A hospital. You catch a glimpse of Jack in an identical bed to your right and let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. The man offers you a glass of water from the nightstand. You take a sip. It's cold, refreshing, and so very real.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"You're welcome." The man stands, straightens his jacket, and beams a white smile at you and Jack simultaneously. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Jack ignores the pleasantries. "Where are Mr. Roots and Mr. Aspen?"

"Headed to the entrance of the mall, I believe."

Jack sinks back into the granite slab of a pillow, his lips pressed together, thinking. The man beams another blindingly white smile. "If you two are ready, there is something you should see."

You both throw off the sheets and follow him as he marches out of the hospital ward. After you time spent in the darkest pits of hell, the fluorescent lights of the hallways blind you. You squint as you follow him through hallway after hallway that reeks of antiseptic. Each is identical: whitewashed walls marked only by repeating rows of identical doors that lead to yet more hallways. They continue straight and true onto infinity. Empty. Devoid of life.

You've lost track of the turns a long time ago, but you're sure the path he's taking you down was meant to confuse. You wouldn't know if you were being led in the same loop over and over. It's all the same.

After some interminable amount of time, the man stops with a squeak of his shiny leather shoes. He pivots to the door, opens it, and ushers you inside. Another hallway. Blue and white tiles, fluorescent lights. But instead of smooth stucco walls with empty gray doors, there are nine turquoise elevators and one silver one.

He pulls a keycard from his hip and presses it to the scanner. The door murmurs open, revealing a blindingly shiny interior. Every surface is polished silver that reflews the glow of the room back at your eyes. It's a light to put all light to shame. The man presses the button for the 100th floor and turns towards the door, hands folded in front of him, perfectly still.

The minutes pass in silence. The door slides open.

Two cyborgs turn to face you. You stiffen. What if they attack?

But the man instead nods at them and they bow in turn, stepping aside for the three of you to enter.

It's like a club. Or what you'd imagine a club should be. Dance music pounds from the speakers, and the purple strobe lights pulsate with every drop in the beat. People are dancing so hard that the floor seems to shake as they jump in unison. There's a bar, and a mix of humans and cyborgs at the stools sipping all manner of brightly colored drink. It's quite literally shaking you to the soul.

The crowds part for this man in the crisp black suit, lowering their eyes in a half bow as he passes. He flashes that grin that shows all his teeth at each and every one of them.

In the middle of the area, he spreads his arms as if to encourage you to take the whole scene in. "This," he yells, fighting to be heard over the pounding beat, "is the food court."

You and Jack press closer to each other, trying not to be buffeted away by the crowds. The noise, the lights, the shaking bodies — it's all overwhelming. The man's shoes squeak as he turns around. You stagger behind him.

He leads you through the crowds, past the bar, and through a silver doorway. As soon as the door swings shut behind you, the pounding beat is replaced by silence. Pure, sweet silence. You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, and feel yourself relax.

The room is like a blown-up version of the elevator: every surface is silver. Silver walls, silver chandelier, and silver and glass furniture that looks none too comfortable, but all too classy. Jack's neck is craned upwards, his eyes wide at the sight. He shudders in awe.

Soft white light comes from everywhere and nowhere at all, making the surfaces sparkle, but not blind you. The man takes off his sunglasses and places them in his breast pocket. Your eyes are drawn away from the room, and towards his eyes. There's something in the dark brown, sharp eyes that seems familiar, like the eyes of an actor that you've seen before, but can't quite place.

He gestures for you to sit down at the silvery sofa. Jack and you crowd close to each other, perched at one corner. It's softer than you think. The thick pile hugs you.

He paces back and forth behind the glass coffee table, all semblance of his security guard reserve gone. He is a businessman in front of the board of directors.

"This mall was meant to be my crowning achievement. I don't want to be remembered for the other things — the luxury hotels, the jets, the space station. Those are the domain of the rich and powerful, the luxuries that most cannot afford. This is what I wanted to be remembered as: the man who brought innovation, beauty, and creation to the masses. The visionary willing to share his dreams."

Jack meets your gaze and in his brown eyes you see the words that you want to say. It's him. The man in front of you is Miles Dane.

You whisper his name and he flashes you a blinding, camera-ready grin. "Yes, I am. I'm surprised you didn't figure that out earlier. I'm Miles Dane, and this is my castle."

He sweeps his arm, drawing your gaze away from the shimmering surfaces and towards the picture windows. Below you stretches the skyline of Midtown, all needles and blocks that sparkle in the pinks and turquoises of the sunset. You, at the highest floor, are at the top of it all. The king of the world.

"Why?" Jack asks. "Why tell us this?"

"Because somebody needs to take this over when I'm gone. Someone needs to preserve my legacy, keep this place for the enjoyment of all."

"But why us?"

He stops pacing and kneels down before the two of you, his wide blue eyes staring into yours. His gaze is icy, and fierce. Behind the warmth of his white-toothed smile you sense a coldness — a fish-eyed deadness — that makes you draw back.

"Because you remind me of me." He turns the full force of his gaze towards you, and a shudder runs through you as if you've been hit by a wall of icy water. "Because you're young. Young enough to take risks, young enough to be bold. But old enough to be clever. Old enough to know the value of something."

He turns to Jack, and the room grows just a little warmer. Jack, unlike you, meets his gaze with an uplifted chin and narrowed eyes. His jaw's clenched. "And you, you're passionate. You've a fire burning in your soul. That's something you don't see very much these days."

"Why this game then?" Jack asks.

Miles Dane lifts his knee off the ground and brushes invisible dust off his pressed slacks. "Because I need to know that you're worthy."