Welcome to the University of Oregon! Sco Ducks!
Hopper's eyes fluttered open. Gone were the neon lights and the cacophony of the New York holograms and androids. Instead, he found himself seated in an earthy colored coffee shop, the quaint, intellectual kind with large windows and an air of coziness created by warm Christmas lights on the walls. Outside, a gentle rain pattered against the glass.
He glanced around, investigating the rustic interior of the space. There were three main rooms, two indoor and one outdoor. The aroma of freshly ground coffee hung heavy in the air, blending with the subtle scent of outside rain and grass. There was something familiar here, something he couldn’t quite place.
Through the large windows Hopper could see a series of small, brick buildings, their vintage charm a refreshing change from the towering skyscrapers of New York or Hell. Judging by the look of the place and the youthfulness of the coffee shop’s clientele, they appeared to be nestled in the heart of a college campus somewhere. Across the street, the university store displayed an array of college paraphernalia in the windows, from hoodies and caps to football memorabilia, all bearing the university’s crest: a bipedal, grinning duck in sunglasses.
“Dude... where am I?” Hopper murmured to himself.
He glanced down at the table and noticed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Next to the cup lay an open notebook, filled with what must be the worst, most indecipherable handwriting ever conceived of. The letters, obtusely written as if to match size 16 Times New Roman font, all drooped like they wanted to melt through the lines of the page. They were bulbous things, less letters and more squiggles that somehow approximated letters, as if this person couldn’t decide whether to write in print or cursive.
“How the hell does this guy study?” Hopper muttered. He hesitated, glancing around the room to ensure no one had heard him. It would be so typical for him to suddenly spot a co-worker, grinning at him while mouthing, actually in this case, you must mean ‘what the earth!’
Hopper turned his attention back inside. The cafe buzzed with the gentle clink of cups and the soft murmurs of discussion. He picked up his own steaming cup and lifted it to his lips. He figured he may as well. Technically it belonged to the person whose memory this was, but for the moment he was the one living the memory, which meant this coffee belonged to him. That was sound logic, right? There was a sweetness to the drink that surprised Hopper. Was that chai in the coffee?
“Ah, Sasha!”
Hopper looked up to find a tall, skinny figure standing by his table. The man wore a tweed jacket and rectangle glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his thin nose. He looked like a grown-up version of the stereotypical nerd from one of those 80s or 90s high school flicks, one of those who had tried to compensate for a lack of physical presence by gracefully aging into an erudite professor.
Hopper was about to ask the man who he was, when his body spun around of its own volition. He felt a grin creeping up his face, and was unable to stop it. “What’s up, Professor Birch?!” he exclaimed.
It was a weird feeling, surreal, like one of those out of body experiences taken to a whole other level. Though during most moments Hopper felt in control of his body and actions, every now and again he was compelled to move or speak in a specific way as if by some invisible force. It reminded him of being a passenger in a car, able to watch the journey without impacting it. He guessed those moments were the actions and words this ‘Sasha’ guy had actually taken when he’d initially made this memory.
“How’s that paper coming along?” Professor Birch asked. “Still using ‘Game of Thrones’ as your primary example?”
“That’s right, you’re going to love it,” Hopper’s body, or most specifically this ‘Sasha’ guy, said.
The professor beamed, adjusting his glasses. "With the last season coming up your paper has been quite the talk in the faculty lounge. We're all eager to see how you connect mechanisms of political power to the families and events of the series."
Game of Thrones? Hopper thought. What the fuck year is it?
“I just hope you don’t drop my grade for criticizing Ned Stark,” Sasha said with a chuckle.
The professor chuckled in turn. “Don’t worry. It’s true that he was my favorite, but even I won’t pretend he made good decisions in King’s Landing. What was it you called him during my office hours?”
“A troglodyte,” Sasha supplied helpfully.
Birch laughed. “Ah, yes. You thought he was even less intelligent than the average cave dweller.”
Sasha shrugged. “Look, Professor. Anyone who trusts a guy that acts and sounds like Littlefinger is an idiot.”
The professor nodded surreptitiously. “You’re quite right about that.” He straightened. “Well, brilliant! Anyway, don’t let me keep you. I’m off to grade my 101 papers right now. Remember that your class’s paper is due next Monday, and if you need any help, my door is always open.”
“Thanks, Professor!” Sasha said, grinning as the professor wandered off.
Hopper sat back in his chair, feeling control of his body return to him. He glanced outside at the rain-soaked campus, pondering his next move. Wasn’t this supposed to be a memory of a divine encounter? Instead, here he was, apparently enrolled in a university course with a paper due on ‘Game of Thrones.’ Come to think of it, this ‘Sasha’ fellow was probably dead by now, if he’d been in college when Game of Thrones had been airing. Hopper wondered idly whether he could find Sasha somewhere in Hell. Given the topic of the guy’s paper, it seemed likely.
He glanced back at the university store, the grinning duck mascot seeming to mock his confusion.
The door to the coffee shop opened suddenly. An old Chinese man with a thick mustache and a bald head sauntered in. Hopper was struck by the man’s outfit: a pristine white tuxedo with a black shawl lapel and a deep red bowtie. This was a man of style, moving with a grace that seemed to defy the muggy weather outside. Despite the rain, he was perfectly dry, not a single droplet on his suit. His eyes scanned the room before settling on Hopper. The man approached his table, then pulled out the chair across from Hopper and sat down.
Once again, Hopper felt that strange sense of displacement, as if 'Sasha' was resurfacing, taking control of his actions and words. "Can I help you?" Sasha's voice came out of Hopper's mouth, tinged with a hint of curiosity.
The old man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve always felt you were made for something more, haven’t you?"
Hopper, as Sasha, raised an eyebrow. "Are you one of those guys from Amway Global? Because let me tell you, I’ve read ‘Rich Dad, Poor Dad,’ Kiyosaki’s a douchebag, and I’m not joining a pyramid scheme."
The old man smiled warmly. “It’s nothing like that, Sasha, I promise you.”
Hopper felt his brow tighten. “How do you know my name? Who are you?” Sasha’s voice had grown hostile. His hand dropped off the table and scraped along his right side pocket, alerting Hopper to the presence of a hidden knife.
“You won’t need that,” the old man said. “That business outside of the gas station in Springfield, while unfortunate, will not be repeated in your lifetime.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. “How do you...?!”
The old man’s smile widened. “The same way I know you’ve spent most of your life dreaming of something bigger than what your material world can offer, or that you stopped being as public about your ambitious nature when other children at camp teased you for wanting to be a superhero.”
“I’ve never told anyone that.” Sasha began to drum his fingers on the table.
“No, but I was watching you, as I always have.”
Sasha sneered. “So what? Are you supposed to be God, then?”
The old man beamed. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
Sasha frowned. “Why don’t you look like Morgan Freeman?”
God chuckled. “I thought this form would be more inconspicuous, as well as comforting to you.”
“Hmph,” Sasha huffed. “Then prove it. If you know me so well, you know I’ll never accept the premise that you’re God without incontrovertible-”
Hopper abruptly gasped at the same time that Sasha did. Suddenly he’d become full of this feeling that he couldn’t quite describe. It was as if he wanted to call it warm and beautiful, but there was something empty about those words. He could have written poetry about it, but such an endeavor would have failed to capture even a modicum of the gushing emotion welling in his chest. Looking at the man before him, he suddenly knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was God.
“Okay,” Sasha decided. “Fair enough. Either you’re God, or a supernatural entity capable of convincing me he’s God. Either way, you’ve got my attention. You’ve got a reason for talking to me here, right? God, I hope you’re not here to tell me to stop drinking.” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry.”
God reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, ornate box, placing it on the table. "Inside this box is something very special, something very powerful.”
Sasha reached for the box and opened it. His eyes widened. “Is that a city?!”
Inside lay a tiny model city, but calling it a 'model' seemed almost an insult to its craftsmanship. It was a perfect replica, meticulously detailed down to the smallest element. The buildings weren't made of plastic or cardboard; they looked as though they were constructed from the very materials used in real-life architecture - brick, glass, steel, and concrete.
Moreover, the cityscape was alive. Tiny residents milled about on the streets, cars the size of ants moved along the roads, and minuscule streetlights flickered on as the model cycled into a night scene. It was as if he was looking down on an actual city from an impossible height, observing the ebb and flow of daily life in fast-forward. None of the residents seemed to notice Sasha looking at them.
Even had he been in control of the body, Hopper couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle any more than Sasha could. "This is incredible," he muttered. "What city is this?"
God leaned back, a look of satisfaction on his face. "This is Elysium Prime.”
Sasha's brow furrowed. "Elysium Prime? I've never heard of it."
"It's a special place," God explained. "You might call it an experiment.”
“An experiment?” The curiosity was evident in Sasha’s voice.
“Yes,” God said. “You see, Sasha, the human experiment on earth is coming to a close. It won’t happen in your lifetime, nor that of your children or even your grandchildren. In the grand scheme of things, however, humanity has more time behind it than in front of it.”
“Why?” Sasha and Hopper asked simultaneously. “Why end it now in particular?”
A mournful expression broke across God’s face. How did a deity manage to look so human? He shook his head. “The end of humanity doesn’t come by my choosing, but its own. Nuclear power, artificial intelligence, fossil fuels, political factions... the trajectory your world is on now is one humanity cannot sustain. The species is too divided, too self-interested.”
“Can’t you fix it?” Sasha asked. “I mean... you’re God.”
“I’ve sought to correct this many times throughout your history. The flood, Sodom, even the death of my own son. I have sent many great leaders to your people, tested humanity in ways meant to bring you all together. Nothing has ever worked.” The old man’s melancholy smile nearly brought Hopper to tears for how genuine and pained it was. “You will destroy yourselves, and I cannot stop you.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. When had he gotten his own cup? “I, however, am not ready for humanity to end. So I decided to start a new world, one with a new recipe. Heaven and earth as one, rather than separate. The Garden of Eden, but with more than two people.”
Hopper felt a chill run down Sasha’s spine. He could sense Sasha’s thoughts. The idea that humanity was on a path to self-destruction was not new to the youth. He had seen the signs, read the articles, debated in class about the political and environmental crises looming over the world. But hearing it so candidly from God himself – the very deity who was supposed to be humanity’s shepherd – was profoundly unsettling.
“Are you saying that Elysium Prime is like... a backup plan for humanity?” Sasha asked, his voice tinged with anxiety.
God nodded solemnly. “In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s a place where I’ve tried to distill the essence of what makes humanity beautiful and worthy of salvation, while removing the seeds of self-destruction that have been sown on Earth.”
Sasha leaned back in his chair, absorbing the weight of God’s words. “Why me?” he asked. “Why involve me in this?”
“But why me?” Sasha asked. “Why involve me in this?”
“When I first made humanity, I gave them free will and limited guidance,” God explained. “This time I will also give them a leader from the very beginning. Someone who can help keep them on a more prosperous path. You, Sasha, are a worthy candidate.”
“Me?!” Sasha exclaimed, incredulous. A few of the other students in the coffee shop looked up. “Uh, sorry!” he exclaimed. The students returned to their books and laptops. “Seriously though, me?” he continued.
God smiled, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You doubt yourself so much. You always have. But you are indeed worthy. Your insights, your perspective on human nature, and your inherent goodness make you an ideal candidate to help Elysium Prime. I’ve watched you grow, seen how you think, how you care. Every time you’ve hurt someone it has hurt you in turn, and you’ve always tried to be better. I believe you can help ensure that the mistakes of earth are not repeated in Elysium Prime.”
Sasha looked down at the box and gulped. “Dude, I’m just a college student. Like, yeah, you’re right, I try my best, but I’m barely 21. Sure, I know a lot about politics and governments. I study that shit plenty. But that’s not enough to run a whole new city, a whole new world. It’s just not.”
“Ah,” God said. “But I’m not talking about the you of this moment. It is as you said, you are inexperienced. You are worthy to be a candidate, but not yet to lead. First you must learn.”
Sasha frowned. “Learn?”
“From other worlds, of course,” God said. “And other people.” Sasha’s brow furrowed in further confusion. Seeing this, God put his hand over Sasha’s in a comforting gesture. “At a point of your choosing, I will send you to another world. Many of them, in fact. You will live, for a time, as an immortal, one who traverses dimensions and universes! And when you are finished learning from all of these places, I will ask you to return. At that time, you may be ready to lead Elysium Prime.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then someone else will be, and you still gain the adventure of a lifetime. What do you say?”
Sasha’s, and subsequently Hopper’s, head felt light. Everything God had told him so far defied imagination, as if it had come out of a science fiction novel. It was dizzying, almost vomit inducing to consider. And yet, the old man had been right. All his life, Sasha had hoped to accomplish something more.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Hopper's eyes snapped open, abruptly wrenching him back to the bustling memory market in New York. He found himself sitting across from Lyra and the old woman, his heart still racing from the extraordinary encounter he had just experienced.
Lyra, noticing the bewildered look on Hopper's face, leaned in with concern. "Hopper, what happened? What did you see in there?"
He blinked, trying to process all the new information. The lights and sounds of this city could be so overwhelming. They made it so hard to think. He turned to the old woman, his voice urgent. "Where did you get this memory?"
"A kind old man brought it to me a while back,” the old woman recalled. “He said it was special and that I should only sell it to the right client. He told me I would know who they were when they arrived." She looked at Hopper and Lyra intently. "I believe you two are the ones he meant."
Lyra, her curiosity piqued, pressed Hopper again. "Hopper, what did you see?"
Hopper took a deep breath, his mind still reeling. "We need to find a place called Elysium Prime. I think God is there. And I think he's expecting us."
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