THE IMPOSSIBLE TEST

He didn’t sleep well that night, too nervous. The next day, he fell back on some of his old rituals to keep himself on track while his mind buzzed with questions about what the test would be like. In the car, he played his music loudly to drown the questions out. He normally went to the gym after work to de-stress, but the nearest node of The Deep wasn’t close, and he wanted to be punctual.

He’d been to the node twice before: once to learn about The Deep (He’d spoken to a frail, excitable girl who was nonetheless a branded member.) and once to apply for the test. It was in a nice downtown, but you had to take an elevator up to the office spaces. Even then, The Deep’s relatively small space was in a secluded corner.

William took a deep breath and then grabbed the handle on the blacked-out glass door. Throwing it open, he wedged his wheelchair into the gap. The main lounge area was dark, but lights were on in the office in the back.

“Come in!” a voice called, male but not strong. It sounded muffled.

William rolled up to the doorway. He had seen someone go into this office to get the application, but he hadn’t gone in himself. A bulky, beat-up executive desk occupied half the room. A black filing cabinet stood beside a beige one. At least, the art on the walls was nice.

The man behind the desk peered around the computer monitor. He was wearing a wood mask that hid his entire face. It wasn’t like an animal head or anything though. Very simple shapes comprised the design. He was also wearing a trench coat. It was black and purple. He asked, “William?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come in. And shut the door.”

The chairs that normally stood in front of the desk had already been moved aside. This masked man knew William would be bringing his own. He asked, “Do you feel ready?”

William nodded but confessed, “I’m more nervous than I thought I would be.”

“Understandable. Are you scared?”

Was he? William thought about it. Yes, there was fear of what this man might require of him. Fear of giving a stranger—a stranger with enough self-control to do anything—access to his life. Yes, there was fear. William swallowed his pride and answered, “A little bit.”

“Good. Members of The Deep should scare you. I’m scared of you because you’re willing to be here, but we are not controlled by our fear.”

“Right.”

The man crossed his legs on his chair and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. “Are you sure you followed all the instructions in the acceptance letter?”

“Yes, sir.” The instruction had him prepare a place for someone to stay, stock a list of foods, learn the rules to two card games, and lie to his neighbors about the potential company he would be having so they wouldn’t get suspicious during the test.

“To reiterate the most important instruction: You must never talk about the test with anyone. That includes the contents of the letter and everything I’m about to explain. Do you promise to keep this information secret?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what happens if you don’t, right?”

“I would be killed.”

The man responded with something between a “Hm” and a “Ha” and then clarified, “There are a few measures before that, but, if those didn’t stop you… It’s never come to that.”

William had no trouble with secrets, so he used the moment to ask a question of his own, “So, are you The Arbiter then?” He heard The Arbiter was the heart of The Deep but still admitted new members personally.

“For you, yes—we have a few Arbiters now—but you will call me Onyx.” He glanced at the monitor. “So, the test will last a number of days that I decide at a minimum of one week. Here are your obligations during the test. One: You must provide food and a bed for me as if I were your guest. Two,” Onyx counted them on his fingers, “I must be able to get to you at all times. (Don’t worry about your job with that one. I spoke to your boss.) Three: You may only ask questions about the test or The Deep when I’m wearing the mask. Four: If we’re out in public, you may not say anything about me or The Deep to another person. Five: You must do as I command.”

The rules made sense to William given the emphasis on secrecy and the instructions in the acceptance letter. He wondered though, “What will I be doing in this test?”

“Those are your only obligations.”

“Then what am I being tested on?”

“Living.”

William knew what that meant to The Deep. “I accept. When do we begin?”

Onyx raised a finger. “What will you do after the test?”

“Like, if I pass?”

“If you fail, but that too. We’ll talk about both outcomes.”

“Well, if I fail, I guess I’ll return to my training for a while and then try again,” William answers and then immediately inquires, “Would I be allowed to try again?”

“After four hundred days, you could try again. We want everyone to learn to live; we’re not going to withdraw an incentive. Now what about if you succeed?”

William’s brow wrinkled. What kind of answer was the masked man looking for? “I don’t know. I would be a member of The Deep, so—”

“Wrong! Only members of The Deep can pass the test. That’s why it’s impossible. Do you understand?”

William shook his head.

“The test doesn’t make you a member—your life does that. It only proves that you are one. As a proven member, you’re eligible for a brand and a key.” Onyx leaned back and repeated the question: “So, what will you do after passing the test?”

“What do you mean? What would I do differently? I hope to meet other members.”

“I’ll tell you what you’ll do: you’ll keep moving forward. Remember: it’s your life that makes you a member, not the test. Don’t think that you’ve checked a box and you’re done. Humans are never static. They can’t be. The moment they stop moving in one direction, they’re moving in another. Our brains are always changing. It’s part of how they work. They don’t have the option to stay the same.”

William got it. “So, I might be a member of The Deep right now even if no one knows.”

“Yes. You’ve come not to become a member but to show our network that you’re one of us.” Onyx stood up, walked around the desk, and then knelt down next to William’s wheelchair. Then he hugged William. “Good luck.”

William didn’t expect that and didn’t know what to do. Out of gratitude for the opportunity to prove himself, he put his arms around The Arbiter. Then he smiled.

Onyx rose and picked up a duffel bag and book bag from the corner. “Alright. Take me home.”

On their way down to his car, William asked questions about the origins and activities of The Deep.

Onyx answered half of them briefly and ignored the other half. He put no effort into prolonging the conversation, so William eventually let it die.

After ten minutes on the road, Onyx asked, “Do you normally drive in silence?” He had a small notebook in hand.

“No. I normally listen to music.”

“Then why aren’t you listening to music now?”

“I didn’t know if you’d like that.”

“When my mask is on, you should act like I don’t exist unless I speak to you, or you have a question for me. I know it feels awkward, but, trust me, this will be a much smoother process if you can keep yourself from worrying about me.”

“Right.” William’s eyebrows lowered and head bobbed as he repeated the instruction to himself. Then he wondered, “What about when you’re not wearing the mask?”

“That will be mostly when we’re in a setting where the mask would call the wrong attention. You will treat me as a friendly acquaintance.”

After another minute of silence, William put on his music.

“Why do you listen to music while you drive?”

William was far enough along in his training to know “I like it” wasn’t the reason. “It helps me stay relaxed.” He wanted to explain, but it took him a while to find the right words. Luckily, Onyx was a patient audience. “I used to be an aggressive driver, and I would get so frustrated at traffic. That’s my natural inclination. I don’t need the music anymore—that’s why I was willing to drive without it—but it still helps.”

“What does this song mean to you?”

William gave the song a little of his attention: Darude’s “Sandstorm”—What a meme! Why did he keep this song around when he didn’t even like it anymore? Nostalgia. “It was one of the first songs I discovered when I started exploring music for myself and developing my own tastes. It reminds me of my childhood, before all the failure and pain.”

Onyx wrote something down. “Do you miss that time?”

William would have shrugged if the question had come from anyone else. Instead, he was honest, “I was such a disrespectful kid. I don’t miss that ignorant pride. I miss my family being together, though. I miss that a lot.”

Onyx asked what other songs meant as they came up. Sometimes that would lead to a follow-up question, which would sometimes lead to a note in the little black notebook.

“Turn right,” he said in his normal tone.

The blinker and breaks went on at once. William swung the car around the next corner. It was impressively quick, especially considering that he had to control everything with his hands. The army taught him well how to follow orders. “Was that a test? Or do you need to go this way?”

Onyx wrote something.

William was uncomfortable. One of the rules of the test was that he had to obey The Arbiter, but the whole point of the test was to prove that he lived out his principles. A reckless, wasteful turn was against his principles. The cognitive dissonance told him he messed up, but there was no way he could follow his principles and Onyx’s command at the same time. No wonder it was an impossible test. The mantra said otherwise: Those who are controlled by nothing but their principles—not even the rules of this test, not even the fear of failing. Onyx’s command had been a test within the test, and William had failed it.

At the apartment, they each went about their own business. Onyx settled in and worked on a laptop. William kept himself from worrying about his guest. It was weird seeing such a plain, austere mask floating above dinosaur pajamas, but he realized he trusted this man. He had no fear that The Arbiter would steal or break anything.

William had a late dinner, showered, texted his friends, and read. He had been building a habit of reading before bed. He’d never been a reader growing up, and he didn’t enjoy it yet, but he recognized its importance. The biggest strides he had made lately started with compelling sentences. At the very least, reading helped him fall asleep.