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The Black Heart Tree by Elliot Pearson

It started with a pulsating

in the heart of the oldest tree in the world,

observed by Jasmine, her eyes a deep azure—

biologist and caretaker of the old oak.

It stretched like an organic gelatine mass,

rising and falling as if breathing—

the globulin center bulging like an ageing gut

leaking glistening obsidian resin

atop the last hill, dripping down, gleaming,

where forest once writhed and wound for miles around,

the land now flattened and plaster cast,

the tree alone and surrounded by the gray city,

home to a lost population not long for this world,

that did not see,

that had no need

for the tree that was cheered and revered

by Jasmine alone.

Outsider. Outcast.

Yet, with the tree, never alone.

 

She reached out to place her palm on its cracking, blackening bark,

before the gas-masked men in hazmats cordoned it off.

Stay back. Step away. An infection, they say.

But there was nothing they could do as the land above

where the roots grew began to turn gray,

and what flora and fauna remained turned ashen and died,

disintegrated, struck by a sharp wind, drifting away.

The tree’s limbs slackened and withered slight,

and the once lush green leaves Jasmine had nurtured fell,

the light in her eyes fading, azure to gray,

sent for decontamination and treatment

as her skin began to blister and bubble—

never to be seen again.

 

But the tree did not die, for something kept it alive.

That black beating heart inside, harder and faster now.

Deep scarlet veins reached out from within

like bloody skeletal hands wrapping around,

growing on the outside, a myriad of vessels

like a harlequin baby

that writhed, reaching out further for the gray city

with a silent cry.

 

Terraformers toiling on a distant star

could not have seen nor known

that their work angered a voiceless consciousness

unknown to humankind,

for they could only comprehend what they could see.

Their efforts to turn seemingly barren worlds

into another Earth,

chasing a nostalgic dream,

a one done thing,

only to poison it in the blink of an eye before

moving on to the next

and the next,

while unknowingly corrupting and destroying

all that the all-seeing eyes had known

since before the beginning of time.

 

It had watched as humans began to spread among the stars

after laying waste to their home of green and blue,

toiling away,

turning it as gray as the dull minds

of the inhabitants of the day,

who neither saw nor spoke of stories and oak,

but lost their way in artificial worlds and work

and didn’t stop to question why.

If the oldest oak in the world could not be seen,

the all-seeing eyes would molest and corrupt

and spread its wrath for all to see—

as the sky turned black,

where day never came, casting shadows no longer,

as the land turned black,

stretching to the streets

in the concrete city that turned black

from hacked up phlegm

from char-grilled lungs from

blackened bodies stepping over

lifeless bloated black bodies.

 

The bleeding black oak glowing red atop the hill,

the only light in the sky, rising

above for all to see—

who raised their heads and opened their eyes,

transfixed by the open chest of what was once

the old oak tree,

revealing now that bleeding, black beating heart.

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Elliot Pearson

Elliot Pearson is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry. His work can be found in Starline, The Banyan Review, and in several past editions of The Stygian Lepus. He lives in New Mexico.
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Growing, Always Growing by Elliot Pearson

A hunk of metal drifting in a sea of iridescent stars,

blinking, reflecting in the station windows, but she doesn’t see—

Christine is where she’s always wanted to be,

alone

with the fungal root harvested from a wandering star,

away from it all,

like she was as a girl in the garden at home

in a world of her own.

 

The root is her prize and hers alone.

She sits and watches for hours at this dark, alluring little thing—

speaks to it and greets it good morning and wishes it good night

when there is neither in the black vacuum—

keeping it alive, secure in the lab

as it’s growing, always growing.

Hers and hers alone.

 

Oh, what joy to never see another soul,

to wake up with the sole purpose of feeding the root,

to watch it grow,

black as tar and pulsating—

growing, always growing

as the mold spreads,

and Christine is inhaling, always inhaling,

for what use is a filtration mask with such

a harmless specimen?

 

It is what keeps her connected, her root,

and the mold is spreading, growing in her now,

and she is changing, always changing,

waking each morning, growing closer to the root,

as if they were becoming one,

as the microscopic spores dance and drift into her open holes,

settling and seeding

as the mold takes over her mind.

 

She is unaware, complacent, no longer performing tests on herself,

coughs and sneezes blood into white paper sheets,

her hair falling out in clumps forming a sleek dark carpet

on the cold metal floor

as she wanders down the station corridors

in blood-soaked coveralls,

and she sheds her skin and peels it off in the shower

and it drops heavy to the wet tiles like thick pig skin

and the blood flows in the running water

and the steaming shower makes the flesh burn

that is no longer hers

as her bloated eyeballs push forth and pop out of her skull—

but she doesn’t feel a thing

because she is one with the mold.

 

Christine rots from within

but she is alive,

for the root has her mind

and they are a dyad.

They are legion

and they are many,

plotting a course back to Earth—

and there the mold will keep growing, always growing,

and Christine will make roots where she was once never able.

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Elliot Pearson

Elliot Pearson is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry. His work can be found in Starline, The Banyan Review, and in several past editions of The Stygian Lepus. He lives in New Mexico.
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Deliverance – Part One by Elliot Pearson

Apex Interactive Headquarters. Austin, Texas. 1999

Apex Interactive CEO, Dennis Enright, was slumped in his chair, smoking at his desk, awaiting the arrival of Tore Lund, studio head of Kaleidoscope Studios—one of Apex’s flagship studios.

Kaleidoscope had been responsible for developing the Deliverance series, which had launched a highly successful video game franchise that was known for innovation and pushing the industry forward by an unprecedented degree.

But the series had seemingly run its course. Gamers wanted more than a simple corridor shooter.

This wasn’t 1993.

Deliverance VI was the latest release in the series—more of the same, no longer the pinnacle of boundary-pushing technology. It couldn’t compete with the story-driven shooters that were on the rise. As a result, Kaleidoscope had worked hard to develop a project completely different to their long-established series, but Apex had rushed its development, wanting to get it out for summer of 1999.

The doomed, resulting product was shipped on too many discs. Bloated and rife with bugs and glitches, it was practically broken, slammed by critics for having no clear identity and for being almost unplayable.

Dennis had called the meeting with Tore to discuss the future of the studio and his clandestine plans for a new project that might just change the future of the entertainment industry once again—perhaps even forever.

Dennis spun around in his chair and faced the Austin skyline from his vast office window. This could all be gone soon, if we don’t take drastic measures, he thought. If we don’t innovate.

Dennis’s meek secretary opened the door and peeked her head through.

“Mr Lund is here to see you, Mr Enright.”

Dennis spun back around. “Let him in.”

Tore Lund entered the room and closed the door behind him.

He had a patchy adolescent beard that always looked in need of a good trim. No one would have guessed this guy was responsible for creating the high-octane, ultraviolent Deliverance series.

But men have much to hide.

“Hi, Dennis.”

“Tore. Great to see you.” Dennis motioned with his hand. “Please, sit.”

Tore took the seat opposite. Dennis swiveled from side to side anxiously. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You sure? Water? I can get the girl to bring you something.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Alright. Straight to business then.” Dennis cleared his throat. “As you are aware, Octogun underperformed. Badly.”

Tore’s eyes were downcast. “Sales expectations were high, Dennis.”

Dennis grimaced. “Why shouldn’t they be? We’re in a highly competitive industry. There are studios popping up all over the place, making huge deals with our rivals. They’re doing what Kaleidoscope used to do very well, and with a lot less money. Could you tell me what it is they’re doing very well?”

“Innovating…”

“Innovating. Damn right. Octogun wasn’t innovating, my friend. It was imitating.”

“With all due respect, Dennis, we had many plans that had to be scrapped. Innovative plans, which—”

“You had an entire year. A year of no releases from Kaleidoscope. You were working on one project. One. Don’t tell me you didn’t have enough time. Sounds to me like your team need to buck up their ideas. This is a business.”

“Well, Dennis, we could have done with another six months. That’s all I’m saying. Maybe even another year.”

“A year! Listen to me, Tore. We don’t have a year. Apex is in financial dire straits.”

Tore cringed. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late to be sorry.” Dennis sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’ve put too much pressure on the studio. Too much money into too many projects. Projects that didn’t have the potential to be successful in the way we wanted. We’re going to restart Project Deliverance. We need to bring Ace Sterling back from the dead. The ultimate fucking badass antihero who made this company a shitload of money. Which put us on the map. Your game, Tore. You put us on the map. The innovator. The genius!”

“But I thought those plans fell through? I thought studies concluded the public was done with Ace and Deliverance? Like you said—six was a disaster.”

“Listen—we could do something completely unprecedented with a new Deliverance. Something nobody’s done before. It’s not just about the in-game tech. We need to develop an entirely new way of playing.”

Tore’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re talking about the virtual reality experience?”

“Damn right, I am.”

“With the donor?” Tore leaned forward.

“Yep.” Dennis grinned maniacally, entwined his fingers like a stereotypical evil scheming dark lord.

Tore shook his head. “Dennis. You know how I feel about that. It’s unethical.”

Dennis put his hands up in the air. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Tore. Just think about it. This would change everything.”

Tore sighed. “When would production begin? The technology is nowhere near ready.”

“I’m speaking to some people. It’s a few years out.”

“You said we don’t even have a year. How can the company survive that long?”

“It has to, Mr Lund. And do you know how we’re going to do that?”

“How?”

“We’re going to loan the tech to the military, or whoever wants to buy it. I don’t care who. They’re going to be lining up outside this building on their knees for this shit.”

“What would they use that kind of technology for?”

“Who cares what they use it for. We keep the rights, loan it out, and use the money to fund even more project. We could have a new trilogy on our hands. We’ll become rich. Heroes of the industry. No one will be able to compete with us. No one. We’ll have complete dominion over the entertainment industry.”

“And the donor? Who is it exactly?”

“Details, Tore. Details.”

“I need to know the details. Did they have a choice in the matter?”

“A choice? Of course they had a choice. We’re not monsters. It was death row or signing up to be a donor and live forever.”

“Who is it?”

“A vegetable. Practically comatose. What more is there to know? It’s just a body. A vessel.”

“Who is it?”

Dennis sighed and lit another cigarette. He exhaled in Tore’s direction. Tore swiped the pungent smoke out of his face.

“It is a sicario. DEA picked him up two weeks ago. They’ve been after him for years. Being delivered to the facility at 0800 in two days’ time. Despicable individual. Responsible for the murders of countless men, women and children. The guy’s a scumbag. We’re doing the world a favor by taking him out of it. Real psycho—but a pro. Absolutely perfect for us. God damn perfect.”

“No matter who it is, I don’t think I can be party to this, Dennis. It’s not right. It’s a human rights violation. I should resign.”

Dennis rose to his feet, slammed his hands on the desk. “Resign? Are you fucking kidding me? Think about it. Just think for a second. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Both our dreams would come true. We’d change the world, man. We’d be rich. That, I can guarantee. Think about it. Deliverance VR! No, wait. Deliverance Returns! Deliverance for Real! Deliverance Forever!”

“Wasn’t that a Batman movie? The one with the nipples?”

“Duke Nukem. And look how that’s turning out. No—not Deliverance Forever…”

“How about just…Deliverance?”

“God damn.” Dennis sat back down and stared with mad, wide eyes at Tore. He took another drag, exhaled. “You’re a genius. That’s it. You always had the best ideas. I knew you’d do it again. It’s rebranding without rebranding. A rebirth. No. A reboot. It’s fantastic!”

“It’s quite simple, really.”

“Exactly. Beautiful in its simplicity. So—you’re in?”

Tore looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know.”

“You’d go down in history as the greatest video game developer of all time, my friend. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? You’ll be respected again. Adored. Everyone wants to be adored. This will be real game-changing shit.”

Tore sighed. “Alright. But—before anything else, what’s the guy’s name?”

“Huh? Who?”

“The donor.”

“Oh, some Spanish name. Let me check the file.” Dennis tapped on his keyboard and clicked a couple times. “Shit. Wait. Oh. Here’s the son of a bitch. Valdez. Romero Valdez.”

Tore looked past Dennis, out the window, imagining who this guy might be, wondering if he had a family. “Romero Valdez…”

“What does that matter? Romero Valdez ceases to exist. He’ll be the Ace—reborn for the new millennium. It’s going to be beautiful. Just beautiful.”

Kaleidoscope Studios. Dallas, Texas. 2052

Kashaf “Kash” Devlyn was typing spasmodically on her computer. She’d only started working at the newly reformed Kaleidoscope Studios six months ago and was eager to please the new studio owner—billionaire, Tobias Renko.

Getting a job at Kaleidoscope had been a dream. Kash would have been happy to just be the office janitor. She’d grown up on the studio’s games. Her father had introduced her to the Deliverance series when she was probably too young. He’d also shown her the underrated Octogun, which had received a cult following over the years, appreciated by those who had a thing for retro titles and buggy jank.

Kash didn’t believe it when she heard rumors circulating online that Kaleidoscope was being reformed, arisen from the ashes. Apex Interactive, the studio’s former owner, had gone bust and sold its assets. After many years, Tobias Renko purchased the studio in a bidding war.

Tobias promised long-term fans of Deliverance that they would see the return of legendary protagonist, mechanic turned neon demon slayer, Ace Sterling, in his crusade against the endless, insurmountable hordes of the Tek Demonik—a sinister bio-mechanical alien race from a distant dark star.

Kaleidoscope issued a statement that the new iteration of Ace would be more representative of the times. No longer a chain-smoking, crew cut misogynist who uttered sexist and offensive quips dressed in a blood and sweat stained wife-beater with a face modelled on disgraced Apex Interactive CEO, Dennis Enright—a man who’d been mired in a series of scandalous accusations of corruption. Enright was eventually assassinated in his own office just prior to the liquidation of Apex.

The return of the once-beloved studio had been a miraculous success story. But, as Tobias reminded Kash and all the employees at Kaleidoscope, they still had a long road ahead of them, and their first impossible task was rebooting the dead and buried Deliverance franchise.

As a talented programmer, Kash now found herself as part of the creative team leading the project, responsible for creating a sequel, reboot, requel, or whatever the hell it was, to her favorite gaming franchise of all time.

***

Tobias came out of his office and approached Kash. She typed a little faster and a little harder as he neared, careful not to shatter the keyboard in the process.

“Hey, Kash.” Tobias stood behind her. “You don’t have to work so hard all day, you know.” He grinned and placed his hand on Kash’s shoulder.

“Just working on some code.”

“Cool. Hey, take a break for a while. I’d like you to head down to the archives in the basement.”

Kash swiveled round in her chair. “Oh. I’ve never been down there. I thought all that stuff had been sifted through by the art department.”

“It has. And they found invaluable stuff. Great stuff. But I hadn’t hired you when I sent folks down there. And you’ve proven yourself to be the best programmer I’ve ever known. You’ll notice things the art guys never could.”

“Wow. Thanks, Tobias. I’m flattered. Really.”

“It’s the truth. There are some old hard drives and floppy discs I’d like you to take a look at. See what you can find and bring it up. But—not to your desk. I’d like you to take the drives into the private office. And switch the glass to black. Lock the door. I don’t want you disturbed.”

“Sounds like some sort of secret mission.” Kash laughed.

Tobias didn’t. “Something like that. I’d just like to keep things compartmentalized. I’d like the other teams to focus on what they do best. And for you to focus on what you do best. Understand?”

“Sure thing.”

Tobias smiled. “You’re doing a great job. Head on down, but why don’t you get something to eat first. Here’s some credit chips. Lunch is on me.”

He took out some multi-colored credits from his pocket and placed them on Kash’s desk, then squeezed her shoulder before returning to his office.

Kash didn’t mind Tobias. He was a good boss. Jovial and fair. But she wished he’d stop doing that.

***

Kash made her way to the elevator with a large soda in one hand and a paper bag containing a greasy burger and fries in the other.

In the basement, Kash sucked on the soda and took bites from the burger as made her way through piles of unsorted boxes until she found old desktop hard drives, large back-up drives, and several boxes full of CDs and floppy discs without labels.

God damn, she thought. What a mission.

Still—it’d be fun to go through all this old crap.

Who knew what she’d find.

***

Now in the private office, Kash pressed a wall switch to black out the smart crystal windows, then switched on the computer and started going through the storage devices one by one.

Most of the files were digital copies of things the team already had. Old concept art from the studios’ glory days.

Kash loved going through the folders. They were a gold mine to a fan like her. She was giddy and filled with a surging adrenaline until she reached the boring stuff. Boring development files about nothing or other. Kash skim read them until she came across a file pertaining to something called Project Deliverance.

The project had been spearheaded by Tore Lund, a true industry legend. He’d created Ace Sterling and Deliverance when he was barely out of his teens, before striking a deal with Apex and selling the game for millions. Tore was a genius programmer and designer. A legend to Kash. But he disappeared. Just didn’t show up to work one day, never seen or heard from again.

Kash kept reading.

To her surprise, virtual reality was mentioned as a real possibility as far back as 1999, with talk of developments having been made. But—nothing came to fruition. Just failed tests.

There was also mention of a donor. Kash had no idea what that meant. And a file on a man named Romero Valdez, a wanted criminal.

Kash eventually came to a file that mentioned a location on the outskirts of Austin where unspecified biotech was being stored in a place called Facility 200X.

She made a note of the location in her phone.

***

It was getting late. Kash switched off the computer and left the room. Her colleagues were peeling themselves from their desks, bleary-eyed and yawning, slowly making their way out of the office.

As she was closing the door, Tobias appeared behind her as he always did.

She jumped.

“Woah! Sorry, little lady. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kash held her chest. “It’s OK. My head was just elsewhere.”

Tobias smiled. “So—how’d it go? What did you find in those old pieces of junk?”

“Oh, nothing we don’t already have. Some intriguing mention of VR, but it never got off the ground. Never knew the studio was doing research into that so long ago. Did you?”

“Didn’t have a clue. I’d hoped there’d be some golden nugget in there somewhere.”

“There might still be. I haven’t finished looking through all the files yet.”

“Well, Kash—get back to it tomorrow. You’re doing great.” Tobias placed his hand on her shoulder.

She was growing very weary of that.

She feigned a smile. “See you tomorrow, then, Tobias. Have a good night.”

“You as well.” Tobias let his hand drop. It swung at his side like a dangle weed. His smile wavered a little. “Security will lock up.” He turned away and left.

Kash watched as he merged into the dark beyond corridor, heading for the elevator.

Once outside, Kash got in her car and began taking the usual route home, on autopilot, before seeing a sign to Austin. She thought of Facility 200X mentioned in the files.

Curiosity got the better of her.

She changed lanes and took the next intersection, punched the location mentioned in the file into her phone’s GPS and headed for Austin.

Picture of Elliot Pearson

Elliot Pearson

Elliot Pearson is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry. His work can be found in Starline, The Banyan Review, and in several past editions of The Stygian Lepus. He lives in New Mexico.
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