Elysian Inc.

Elysian Inc. Headquarters

The man stands in his stark white office, looking out of his tenth story floor-to-ceiling plexiglass window, at the bustling city below him. A tear runs down his cheek which he quickly swipes away. He looks around in embarrassment to reassure himself that no one saw it, even though he knows he is the only person in the room.

Turning away from the window, he sits at his desk. He looks down at his tailored crisp white suit which blends into his colorless environment. Not a single piece of lint on his immaculately clean outfit, not a single strand of silvery-white hair out of place on his head.

He sighs and brings his gaze back up, glancing around the room, his eyes searching. He sees the filing cabinets, chairs, walls, paperwork, the nameplate facing towards the door which labels him as the CEO, his eyes finally fixating on his small black notebook laying on his desk. Its pitch blackness and utter contrast of his surroundings helplessly draw his eyes toward it. The casual observer would practically be blinded by the ivory brightness of the place and everything in it, but the sheer intensity of the absence of color would quickly become diminished after looking at the notebook, which seemed to absorb some of that intensity and soothe the eyes.

The man grabs his notebook and flips it open, exposing its soft cream colored pages. Contained within the book is page upon page of mathematical equations, which he had obsessively written out in order to calculate his corporation’s profits and losses, as well as any personal investment or purchase he had made. Flipping through the pages, his eyes begin to feel hot and prickly again. He rubs his eyes in a vain attempt to ward off the tears, but as soon as he removes his hands, the tears fall uncontrollably and he feels like screaming, but because he wants to keep what little control he has over his emotions and because he doesn’t want to alarm anyone else in the building, he shakily grasps his pen. He flips to a new page, breathing hard, feeling like he is on the verge of insanity, and he writes:

Money is my God and He is eating my soul.

Slamming the pen down, scrambling to get out of his chair, he races out of his office and down the hallway. A few employees attempt to greet him but he hurriedly moves past them, finally reaching the elevator. With one trembling finger he pushes the button for the thirteenth floor.

My God is Money and I can’t escape Him.

The elevator lets him off, and he bolts out of it and scans his ID to be let into the science lab. He is barely noticed as he quietly enters, and ducks into one room where the company keeps any new drugs that are being worked on that have yet to be finalized.

After a minute of searching, he finds the pill. A smooth, white, nondescript capsule. He swallows it dry.

A few minutes later, he is let off the elevator back onto the tenth floor, calm and composed, walking back to his office to finish up some paperwork. An employee greets him and expresses concern about why he was in such a rush a few minutes before.

He laughs pleasantly and responds, “Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go, you know what I mean?”

My God is—

Urgent Medical Care Center

A young man is jolted awake by an unrelenting, aching pain in his entire body. It takes him but a moment of confusion to realize that he’s lying in a hospital bed. He silently curses at himself as he lies there, motionless and with his eyes screwed firmly shut to block out the harsh fluorescent lighting that seems to be trying to creep in and sear his eyes.

This is the second time he has had a drug overdose since rehab.

How the hell am I still alive?

Moaning, he slowly opens his eyes and is blinded for a second by the light, which causes his head to ache even more. His body is so sore he can barely move at all.

“Hey, Alec.”

Startled, he opens his eyes wider which momentarily increases his discomfort, which is quickly replaced by a strong sense of guilt and embarrassment when he sees his older brother, Jake, looking at him. He’s sitting on a chair pulled up next to the bed, relief evident in his face, but also overcast with sadness and even a bit of anger.

“How are you feeling?” Jake asks as he looks down at his baby brother’s frail and anorexic body, before shifting his gaze back to his empty and distant eyes.

“Like shit,” Alec responds, his voice hoarse.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Jake’s eyes begin welling up with tears, but his voice sounds bitter and cold. “One of these times you’re gonna end up dead. You can’t keep doing this.”

A strong sense of guilt overtakes Alec and he looks away. “I know,” he chokes out, “and I’m sorry I keep letting you down. I’m so sorry. I keep telling myself I’ll never use again, but sometimes I feel like I don’t have any control over it. I’m sorry.” He begins to sob and continues to apologize profusely, but Jake cuts him off.

“Actually, I think I might’ve come across something that can help. You ever heard of Elysian Inc.?”

Alec looks back up and nods.

“Apparently it’s one of the fastest growing pharmaceutical companies in the world. They’ve recently come out with this new pill. You only have to take this one pill, and boom, that’s it, say goodbye to your addiction. I have a friend who works there and he’s been telling me about it. It’s a very recently developed drug, so they’re still in the human testing stage.”

Even through his pain, Alec is completely dumbstruck by this idea. “Are you saying…?” He lets the unfinished question float between them.

Jake offers a small smile, cautious hope shining in his eyes. “Yes. I think you should be one of their guinea pigs. My friend has complete confidence in your safety. The only thing that could go wrong, he said, is that it’s possible that the drug could have no effect on you. But this is our last hope. I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah, I guess so…” Alec can’t help but feel nervous at the thought of trying out a new drug. I should do it, though. If not for me, then for my brother.

“If that doesn’t convince you, I should add that you’d be getting paid.”

Alec raises his eyebrows. “How much?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

—

A few days have passed since Alec was released from the hospital.

He had just got back home from Elysian Inc., having taken the small, white pill that seemed to have already helped him immensely. He had flushed away his drugs and just the thought of taking them made him feel nauseated. When he had disposed of them, he was unable to even touch them. He had wrapped them up in a tissue and put on gloves to insure that they would not touch his skin. Afterwards, he had retched uncontrollably. But now that his drugs were gone and out of sight, he seemed to feel calm and at ease. Not to mention he is twenty thousand dollars richer.

A strong sense of peace comes over him, and he decides to go on a walk.

Outside, the sun is shining and the air is calm and warm. He takes a deep breath, enjoying his feeling of freedom that the anti-addiction pill had given him.

Walking down his front steps, his right foot slides out from underneath him. He has a chance to glance down for a second before he loses his footing entirely and sees that he had accidentally stepped on today’s newspaper, and because of the slick, wet plastic bag it’s protected in, his foot gives way, as does the rest of him as he tumbles down the steps.

At the bottom of the steps, he laughs at his clumsiness and stands up. While brushing himself off, he notices he had cut his arm during his fall.

There’s a dull pain emanating from the cut, which is lightly bleeding. He stares at the cut, seemingly transfixed by it. He stares, unblinking, as a drop of blood travels down his arm, until finally it lets go and drops to the ground.

He can’t take his eyes off of it. Slowly, like a man possessed, he climbs back up the stairs and re-enters his house, never to walk outside again.

Elysian Inc. Headquarters

The man in white chuckles as he reads that day's newspaper.

A young man had been found dead in his own home, with deep incisions covering every square inch of his body. The neighborhood he had resided in was in complete disarray. His former neighbors barely dared to venture outside out of fear of some knife-wielding psychopath jumping out at them and cutting them up into ribbons.

The man opens his small, black notebook. All of the pages that had contained the mathematical calculations had been torn out and disposed of. Now, all of the pages contain a long list of people’s names who had been test subjects for his company's anti-addiction pill.

My God is—

Flipping a page over, the man matches the name in the newspaper to one written in his list.

“Alec Foster," he quietly murmurs, "pre-pill drug addict. Post-pill pain addict. Or maybe it was the blood he was addicted to?"

Either way, it didn't matter. Taking his pen, he draws a straight line through Alec's name on his list. As he does so, an extreme sense of euphoria overcomes him, and he knows that Alec had also felt this intense high as he had made each and every incision in his skin.

My God is—

Putting his pen down, he leans back and examines the list of names, almost half of them crossed out, signifying the subject's death.

He closes his eyes, still riding the wave of euphoria. He knew it wouldn't be long until the authorities finally found out the cause of these deaths and came knocking on his office's door. He would lose everything he had, all his money and assets.

But I am no longer a slave to material possessions and money. I am no longer obsessed with finances and stressed over spending. That addiction was beaten by the pill. In its place, Death is all that remains.

My God, my addiction, is Death Himself.

So come and get me.