Fantasylab is an undersea archi-vessel that specializes in fantasy production and enactment for the world’s super-rich— that is: an elite clientele of fabulously wealthy people whose idea of recreation goes far beyond that of the normally-rich (N.B.: we're talking about when a few lines of coke snorted off a hooker’s tits in a 25-star hotel on Miami’s South Beach simply won't do)The cache of f*lab is its very unique ability to produce fantasyworlds for its very unique clients. These worlds unfold as follows: the client is flown to f*lab on her private jet; on landing, she proceeds to check-in, and then onwards to the Extending Delayer, an expanding and contracting tube with screens that display a multitude of fantasies available at f*lab. (note: these fantasies have been accrued by lab technicians through a careful analysis and understanding of what the client might desire at any given moment; they are stored in and delivered by the f*stick; see drawings for details) Based on the client’s reaction to these screens, f*lab technicians conjure and deploy an appropriate fantasy, which progresses in the f*chamber. Having successfully engaged in the fantasy, the... BUT WAIT:You see, the client is under the impression that she is the only client present in f*lab. Anyone else she sees must, therefore, be present for her own edification. But the reality is that hundreds of clients may be walking the corridors of the (frankly, f*ing huge) lab at any given time. These clients wander through the vessel, assuming that the f*world and the f*people around them are, in fact, for them, and they act accordingly. The result is a radically displaced sense of reality: the threshold of the next fantasy may be ahead, or it may have just been crossed. Who knows? The client passes again into the Delayer, again into the f*chamber, etc. and so on, as f*lab unflinchingly lobs fantasies in her path. A blazing minefield of f*days; a starlit galaxy of f*nights. Etc. And so on. Etc. And so onIt is the ultimate fantasy: un(f*)stoppable.