Fractured Reality

All the terrible experiences of the past few days had found a way to burn themselves into his mind, erasing all other memories. Billy Jones was living entirely in a nightmare. And if it hadn’t been for the undertaker, who turned out to be a psychiatrist at his own funeral (what was his name again?), and Conrad Blake (the supervisor or, now, a police captain), reminding him of something he still needed to check out, he probably would’ve followed the call and checked himself into a mental hospital.

He felt dizzy.

His stomach growled, twisted, churned.

The pain was coming back.

He pressed another pill out of the nameless blister pack and swallowed it with the last bit of saliva in his mouth. To distract himself from the physical pain, he looked up at the screen, which had suddenly dropped from the ceiling of the train, showing the greasy face of the Thandros spokesperson again, this time in an advertisement.

"...Coral reefs are dying, one-third of the Caribbean beaches have disappeared, and a quarter of Earth's animal species are on the verge of extinction. Since 2010, sea levels have risen by almost a meter. Massive dams and barriers have had to be built in New York, Rio de Janeiro, and Shanghai to protect against flooding. Many poor coastal villages no longer exist! Should we let this continue? Should we allow it? You can save the world. YOU! Give us a future—apply to Thandros and give us your vote in the next election!"

Everything was spinning for Billy. He felt hot and cold at the same time as the nausea surged inside him. He clamped his mouth shut, but it was already too late. Before he could vomit into his hands, he gave up and threw up violently onto the floor.

Disgusted and startled, people stood up and moved to other seats.

Not again.

It's normal for your eyes to tear up from the pressure when you throw up. But in his case, it was probably just crying. Partly out of shame, because he felt miserable, and partly because the situation overwhelmed him completely.

The sharp stench of stomach acid quickly spread through the entire train car, causing many passengers to open the window flaps with a disdainful cough. Even though the sight of his half-digested remains (there wasn’t much) was revolting, he preferred to stare at his vomit rather than face the judgmental looks of the other passengers. And so he sat there for a while, thinking back to a similar experience from his youth, when a homeless man had sat next to him on the train and, like Billy now, had thrown up. Back then, all Billy had for the man was a huge dose of disgust and a disapproving shake of the head. But now, looking at things differently, Billy even considered that maybe the homeless man had suffered the same fate he was enduring now. Instead of asking if the man needed help, Billy had just moved to another seat, like everyone else.

If he wanted to survive, he needed to come up with something soon.

But with the flood of chaotic thoughts swirling around in his head all at once, it was hard to find any order.

Who was the creature that had run in front of Billy’s car?

Why was his body changing?

Whose memories were filling his mind?

Billy Jones, who still called himself that because he didn’t know what else to call himself, stared at the mist-covered houses as they slipped past the train. He couldn’t see much through the reflections on the window, but he could clearly make out how the white cloud cover was slowly breaking apart, revealing the moon. At least there was a good chance the storm would end soon.

The moonlight.

No solid proof, but at least a sign of a shift in the weather.

What were the chances that he hadn’t lost his mind?

And if he wasn’t crazy, what reality would offer him any alternative?

What were his odds of winning against an unknown force that had managed to erase him from his life?

"Never tell me the odds," he whispered to himself. A movie quote he’d held onto since childhood, from some shady smuggler trying to lead his crew through an asteroid field to escape their pursuers. Billy envied the guy’s courage. Or maybe just the asteroid field. After all, he didn’t even know who his pursuers were, if they even existed, or if it was all in his head.

_____

The station escalators carried him to the surface, up to what used to be a busy shopping street in Brooklyn. But by 2050, there wasn’t much left. Back then, you could find any kind of store here, from tiny thrift shops to high-end boutiques and massive department stores. Now, there was nothing left to take from the people who lived in these abandoned districts. The buildings were occupied by refugees, the homeless, and junkies. On this early winter evening, when night and all its shadows ruled, the place felt surreal. Not too long ago, it seemed, Billy had walked this path with his mom, looking for toys he’d seen advertised on TV. Back then, the world seemed fine, but probably only because, as a kid, he hadn’t understood enough about it yet.

The walls of the occupied shops were covered in graffiti, like they were wearing clothes. Even the enormous Apple Store had the slogans of the Stranded sprayed across its glass facade. NO FUTURE was their motto, and it seemed like a must-have on the walls of every big corporation.

The creativity in the different ways that phrase had been written was almost impressive. But this time, Billy felt like he could relate to it. He couldn’t help but see the two words in front of him as a dark omen. Who was left in these times that still understood justice? The puddles on the cracked streets reflected the night sky in perfect detail. It was an almost dreamlike sight.

_____

Just under two miles separated him from his destination, a distance he could have easily covered in forty minutes on a good day. But with the stomach cramps, nausea, fear, and aching limbs, every step he took felt like a victory, and every step left to go seemed like an impossible challenge. The further he moved away from the subway station, past the old fish market, the darker and more deserted the area became. The abandoned railway tracks came into view, overgrown with moss, a sign that nature was slowly reclaiming what humanity had once taken: space to thrive. In the distance, Billy could see the colorless industrial zone. It loomed unnaturally, cold and imposing, with its giant cranes and smokestacks towering above every other building on the horizon. The floodlights bathed the cloud-covered night sky in brightness, making the clouds appear as bright as day. Though Billy had passed this place for years, tonight it felt eerie, making him wonder if there was a dark secret hidden behind the corporation’s steel-gray facade.

A few meters ahead was the crash site. He kept scouring the area, crawling on his knees through the muddy ground, brushing snow off the old tracks. Somewhere near the tracks, Isaac’s business card had gotten stuck nine days ago. It had to be here somewhere, Billy screamed to himself in frustration, continuing to crawl through the dirty industrial snow.

He had heard a helicopter in the distance for a while, but saw no reason to pay it any attention.

Until it got closer, hovering directly above him.

"What now?" he shouted, his voice drowned out by the deafening roar of the rotors, so loud that they nearly swallowed up the sound of his own voice.

Snow and sleet fell from the dark sky.

The helicopter was black, barely more than a silhouette against the cloudy night sky, with a few blinking signal lights and a sleek, futuristic shape. He suddenly remembered that he’d seen helicopters like this many times before, which Vivian had always thought was crazy. She had never seen one herself. Without warning, a searchlight flicked on from above, and the wide beam pointed straight down, lighting up the spot where Billy Jones stood, staring up helplessly into the rain.

The circle of light cut him and a section of the tracks out of the darkness. Billy was so pale that in the blinding light, he almost seemed to glow.

A patrol from the Thandros Corporation? he wondered. After all, the zero-emissions factory was nearby, always heavily guarded.

After a moment of squinting up into the blinding light with his hand raised against the glare, the beam clicked off, and the black helicopter rose higher, soon disappearing in the direction of the solar cell factory. The noise gradually faded until it was almost gone.

______

"Whazzup?" Buzz said, his eyes still on the newspaper resting on his lap. He only glanced at Billy Jones out of the corner of his eye.

"You’ve gotta do me a favor! Buzzy!"

Then he looked up.

"Ah! Damn it!" Buzz, the old man with the cowboy hat, dropped his reusable coffee cup in shock, spilling the hot liquid everywhere.

"Holy Mary! Someone’s throwing rotten cherries at me and calling me Betty. You’re the guy I picked up here a few days ago. The mushroom hunter!" Buzz’s tired eyes widened like marbles.

"Listen, I know I must look awful, but—"

"Awful, kiddo?" Buzz interrupted with a mocking laugh. "You look like one of the living dead, the kind we’re seeing more and more of on the streets. Here." He tapped his newspaper. "Read this, boy!"

China has become the world’s largest economy, surpassing the U.S.

The economies of India and Brazil are booming as well, while Germany has fallen behind.

"Not that, kiddo! Lower down! Right there!"

ALIENS ARE REAL!

Billy’s eyes wandered aimlessly over the words of the article, pulling out only the key information.

More and more people are reporting sightings of aliens wandering the streets. Thin, hairless creatures, aimlessly roaming around, unresponsive to anyone. So far, no one has been able to catch one...

"Ah, cursed souls. You’re one of them! But the newspapers make you out to be terrifying and monstrous. In reality, though, you’re... not that bad. There’s kindness in your face. Or maybe I’m just mistaken." Buzz sank deep into his chair, rolling back until he hit the white-painted wooden wall, staring at the alien with a mix of fear and fascination.

Billy only groaned. "Anyway, a friend of mine works here, and I desperately need his help! You have to give me his number, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or we’ll destroy Earth and its inhabitants," Billy said in an overly dramatic, jokingly threatening voice, trying to sound like an alien. Not that he knew how that would work.

"I… That’s not possible, kiddo. What makes you think I have access to the workers’ phone numbers? My only job is to make sure no crazies get in here. And definitely no aliens."

Buzz was right.

Why had Billy thought he’d have Isaac’s number? In hindsight, it was ridiculous. The old cowboy was just hired to let in workers who could show proper ID.

"Why are you looking for him?" Buzz asked.

"Because my life depends on it."

"That sounds serious. Sorry, but I can’t help you."

"Yeah, sure."

"But how about this, though? I’ll let you in, and you can look for him yourself?"

Billy froze.

He was almost touched.

But mostly, he was surprised.

Suspicious.

It was the world’s fault for making him that way.

"You’d really do that?" he asked. "I mean, you could get into a lot of trouble for it."

"Trouble? Pfft, kiddo! Let me tell you something: stay out of the mercenaries’ way, and keep that hood up so no one sees your glowing face. No offense, but around here, no one shines like that anymore."

Buzz pressed the button, opening the gate.

Without hesitation, Billy darted through, feeling like he was walking straight into a suicide mission.