Dr. Jackson Steele stared at the full syringe on the table. He hadn't followed the medical mandate; and now that it was done, the unsettled feeling in his gut had grown in magnitude.

In truth, he had no right to put her in danger, the danger of what might have occurred if he had been wrong. He was here only to monitor the brainwave activity, not as the attending physician. It wasn't his call to make. He didn't even have access to that part of her medical chart or history; and yet, he couldn't stop himself. He had to see what would happen if he withheld the substance. Something hadn't felt right around here in a long time; and now, he was certain.

Tonight was the first and only night that Jackson had not been accompanied by Alexander "Xander" Saggito, the man that hired and brought him here. Night after night, Jackson had stood by while the man injected the syringe contents into her I.V. He said it was to help her during the transition, ease the pain and sedate her into sleep faster; but, something about the look in his eye was disturbing. There was almost a glimpse of sheer pleasure as she screamed in agony. Xander's overnight business trip provided him the first opportunity to prove his theory.

Whatever is in that syringe does not ease her suffering. Instead, it is the cause of her tormented screams.

He couldn't explain it, especially considering they had never even shared a conversation, but Jackson had fallen in love with her. She wouldn't feel the same. She didn't even know he existed, but he knew her well. He had watched and listened on more days than he cared to admit as she survived, solved problems, even conversed with herself. His breath had caught in his throat many times during his vigil as she answered her own question or responded to herself with the same words rolling off of his own lips.

Even though he would probably never get the chance to explore those feelings on a real level, he didn't want to jeopardize their time together. He also understood that if something nefarious was going on here... he was the only one that would help her. Everyone else had written her off. To them, she was an experiment: a Jane Doe that brought state funding and additional research to further their cause.

I need to dig deeper and somehow do it with no one knowing.

He wasn't sure what would happen if his snooping around was discovered, but most certainly he would lose his position. The thought of not seeing her again was more than he could bear. Still, he had to act. He couldn't just ignore his discovery.

Jumping to his feet, he quickly gathered what he needed and emptied the syringe into a vial. He had a friend that would discreetly analyze the contents for him, but that would take time. He would have to deliver it in person, and right now, he wasn't sure when he could make that journey. Not to mention, he feared what would happen if he wasn't watching over her.

In all of his time at S.O.S. he hadn't taken a single day off. His choice. Instead, he opted to sleep right here in the Penthouse Lab and use the building facilities. She was his main charge. This way he could easily monitor her scan feed during the two most crucial events, the daily entrance and exit. Besides, not like he had anywhere else to go, or anyone at home waiting for him. The attending night nurse had even been reassigned.

After securing the vial in his coat pocket, he sat back down and held her hand while he mulled over his plans. He needed to learn more about this place and all those involved. Probably something he should have done before taking the position, but the instant he saw her there was no turning back.

His life as a general practitioner now seemed like a distant past, but it had only been ten weeks since he closed the clinic's doors. It all transpired so quickly.

* * *

"Dr. Steele? I'm here to offer a neurological research opportunity you won't be able to refuse," enticed Xander standing on the clinic steps. He had been waiting for Jackson as he closed up for the day.

Jackson held a doctorate in neurology and could have gone into brain and behavior research as a specialist long ago. He had done all the necessary work and was well-known in the field, but on a daily basis, he preferred to work directly with patients. His firm belief that medicine had lost the personal touch made the choice easy. He wanted to know his patients by name, not by a number on a scan. Still, Xander's enthusiastic request intrigued him enough to walk down the street to the coffee shop. Their conversation did indeed present many surprises.

Xander shared how a brain specialist was needed to advance the Synaptic Optical Sanctuary, S.O.S., Virtual Immersion Program. Contract negotiations with senior centers and state prisons required a full-time expert to monitor the subjects' brain activity. He ended his explanation with the formal offer again.

"We would like you to be the full-time expert."

"Subjects? You mean patients, right?"

The man just shrugged, "Call them what you want. The truth is that we are all navigating new territory. Not only in the field you love but also in logistics. It is less expensive for the state to pay for a day in our Virtual Sanctuary than it is to feed and house them in their current situation."

"Why me? Out of all the experts in the field, why do you want me for this position? Sure, I do seminars and consult on complex cases as requested, but I work as a general practitioner. If this is all you say it is, dedicated neurologists and neuroscientists should be banging on your door."

"It's true, we do; but, this is why we want you," replied Xander as he slid a bound scientific paper across the table.

"So, okay you have read one of my studies. There are hundreds of other published neurologists out there. Pardon my frankness, but I get the impression there is something you are not telling me. I ask you again. Specifically, why are you offering me this position?"

"I knew I would like you, Dr. Steele," Xander said. "Smart, knowledgeable and intuitive. Okay, all cards on the table. S.O.S. recently lost the system creator in a tragedy. In all honesty, there are things we don't understand. In addition to fulfilling that contract requirement, I think YOU can help us figure things out."

"What's this?" Jackson queried as Xander slid another object across the table. It was a scientific journal with numerous bookmarker flags hanging out of the side.

"Open it. I'm sure it will make a lot more sense to you than it has to me or any of my staff. That is one of the creator's notebooks, and each of those flags is a reference to your work. Apparently, she was a big fan. At one point, she even states that without your work, S.O.S. would still be an idea, not a reality... or virtual reality to be more accurate," snickered the man with a grin.

Jackson took about fifteen minutes skimming through the notes. He was quite impressed and regretted never meeting the person who created such a unique concept. Something told him, though, that without her guidance the company was going in a direction to which she would not approve.

"I see here that this virtual program was originally designed to help retrain brains for mentally and physically challenged individuals, that documented progress exists in areas of mobility, speech and cognitive abilities. How did it move from this objective to the work you are describing?"

"Without the creator, the research grant is gone. In short, we have to branch out to stay afloat. These new contracts will provide the necessary funding for all participants. So, are you interested?" Xander posed with complete confidence of acceptance.

"To be honest, not really. I would have loved to consult with the creator, Jeannie Doxide, is it?"

Xander nodded.

"But I've stayed in the general practice arena for a reason. I have no desire to abandon my patients. I would, of course, be open to consults with the expert you finally choose."

Not willing to take no for an answer, Xander pressed on.

"I tell you what. Before you make that your final answer, come take a look at our facility. You can see the individuals outlined in that first section there and take a look at their progress first hand. At the very least, it will give you a defined concept for those consultations you have graciously offered."

Jackson looked at the man squarely. He was good. He dangled just enough of a carrot to fuel his intrigue. Besides, his office was closed tomorrow. Unless there was a patient emergency, what else did he really have to do?

Jackson agreed, and the following day he drove the hour upstate with no intention of taking the position. Even after seeing the program in action, he remained steadfast in that resolve. It was at that point that Xander looked at him slyly with his head cocked sideways.

"Okay, one last stop. If this doesn't change your mind, nothing will. Follow me."

Jackson complied, wondering what was about to be revealed as they entered the elevator and Xander chose the button for the very top floor.

"All the subjects, excuse me, patients, that you have seen thus far are voluntary. To them, coming to the Sanctuary is like going to school. What you are about to see is the full-time immersive program. The same one that will be used for the senior citizens and prisoners in our first wave.

"Not too long ago, after I began those negotiations, I was contacted about a Jane Doe. No identification on her person, paralyzed from the neck down and in a coma. The first request was to see if immersion could help figure out who she was, but it didn't take us long to realize that she also has complete memory loss. The experts called it Transient Global Amnesia. Cognitive function seems to be there, but even she doesn't know who she is. So, the decision was made to just let her remain. Monitoring changes in her brain activity, behavior and memory retrieval would be one of your primary duties."

"That all sounds very interesting, but I assure you that my mind is made up," Jackson reiterated.

"Just wait," he said as he opened a door and entered the room, motioning for everyone else to clear out as Jackson observed the sight before him wide-eyed.

Strapped into a machine that looked far more advanced than the ones downstairs, a woman was suspended in the center of two, large circle-shaped frames. They were connected on top and bottom, diagonally offset by 45 degrees. A form-fitting suit, including a hood with a net-mesh over her rapidly-moving eyes, covered her entire body. Life-saving tubes and connection wires were attached to suit portals, all neatly tied to her trunk and limbs. Behind her, they dropped to huge messy harnesses as they extended to the surrounding feedback monitors, medical devices and computers. His jaw dropped as the machine swiveled in all directions, her arms and legs making swift and smooth motions.

"I thought you said she was paralyzed and in a coma," stated Jackson.

"So, she is, according to all the tests they put her through. The machine reacts to her brain impulses. It opens her eyes and moves her body accordingly. Apparently, a virtual coma with paralysis is far different than the normal experience. Dr. Doxide created this machine last year and was still testing it when she passed. It has worked so well, we are now manufacturing them for the entire program.

The first purpose was to keep the muscles from atrophying, but Dr. Doxide's entire premise was the attempt to retrain the brain. As an example, in this case, help the brain connect the dots and learn to walk again. Our Jane Doe here may be our first full-time immersion candidate, but we couldn't ask for a better one,"

Jackson again shook his head at the cold reference to the woman before him. He was saddened for this poor lost soul. Surely someone out there was looking for her. Then again, maybe she was like him. If it weren't for his daily duties that involved work, no one would even notice he was gone.

"You think my words are cold, that I don't care about her condition? Come look at this. I assure you, she is much better here with us than some hospital bed with no name. Come," he said again as he beckoned to the monitor.

Jackson couldn't believe his eyes as he watched a screen that looked more like television. Now the motions of her limbs in the machine made more sense. On the monitor was a beautiful naked woman juggling fruit, or trying to. She was also laughing and appeared to be talking.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Do each of the patients have these monitors? Why did I only see the brainwaves earlier?" Jackson asked.

"Well, monitoring the brainwaves would be your job here of course. The virtual reality viewers for those patients are in a different control room. They are monitored by others to explore educational and advancement possibilities; and, for their health, of course. They also have a teacher, a trained special educator, inside the reality with them. But our Jane Doe here, she is special. She believes she is stranded on a deserted island.

"This is what we call default mirror view, the camera reflecting what the user believes they would see in a mirror. These buttons here change the camera position, like this. Everything you see is recorded by her optic nerves, processed by the computer and returned to us."

"She looks like she is talking to someone?" Jackson stated and asked at the same time.

"Oh, sorry. Let me turn on the sound. We turned it off once she started talking to herself and only turn it on for small portions of the day to get a sense of her mental health. She talks a lot," he explained.

Xander turned up the sound as a captivated Jackson listened, unable to keep himself from smiling. She was funny, engaging, and obviously making the best of her situation.

"You said the others are in a classroom setting, so you can put more than one person in a location, right? Has anyone gone in and talked with her? To see what she knows?"

After seeing all of this, Jackson couldn't help but reconsider the offer. Xander Saggito had played his cards in the exact right order once again. Jackson was now far more intrigued about learning how his work and research had contributed to this incredible advancement. He had never seen or heard of anything like it.

"Don't look at me," Xander laughed. "Not my area of expertise. The short answer is the ones with the letters behind their names figured that ignorance was bliss. It is supposed to be reconsidered when other permanent residents are brought into the program. But, I guess, being stranded on a deserted island is better than knowing you are an unclaimed Jane Doe, paralyzed and in a coma, with no hope of ever leading a normal life."

* * *

That's it! That's what I need to do.

Jackson's trip down memory lane ended when he realized the idea. Maybe it was his desire to meet her face to face that ignited his excitement, but his gut was almost never wrong. He would still dig up research on all involved, still get the vial analyzed, but the first step was to find out what was really going on inside her head.

I need to get in there.