AEON CODE  - EDITED

Episode 1: What if Reality isn't What You Think

D.M. Denert

The alarm rings. 5:30 p.m.

I blink. Time to log off.

The game stutters—just for a second. My character freezes mid-step while the background drags behind, like the frame rate dropped. I tap the keyboard. A short delay. Then it catches up.

I exhale, rub my face, and check my ping. 41. Not great, but not awful.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes, stretching my neck until it cracks. My glasses slide down slightly, some relief from the frame pressure.

"I'm so tired," I murmur to myself. I barely slept because of that damn dream again.

But whatever. I don’t want to be home when he comes back.

My father gets home at 6. If I’m still here, I’ll hear it all over again. The same yelling, the same slurred insults. How useless I am. How I ruined everything.

I roll my shoulders, ignoring the tightness in my chest. Not tonight.

I grab my jacket and step out into the hallway of my 27th-floor apartment.

The door clicks shut behind me, muffling the faint sound of a TV playing in someone’s apartment. They must have washed the floors today—there’s that sharp, over-chemical smell covering the scent of too many people living in too little space.

As I move toward a the elevator I hear.

“Hi, Derek.”

I look up. “Oh—Ms. Rose.”

She smiles, shifting a grocery bag in one arm, keys in the other, nudging her door open with her hip. "Told you—just call me Kate. Makes me feel younger."

I nod, reaching for the elevator button, though a part of me notes her lingering gaze—almost as if she’s been watching me. Calling her Kate feels off, though; she’s clearly in her thirties.

A sliver of light glints off her sleek black jacket, marked by a faded ‘10’ that seems oddly out of place. It’s subtle, but I notice it. ‘10’. 

She tilts her head and asks, “Snowing already? Did you see?”

I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t out yet.”

She exhales slowly, her eyes narrowing just a touch, as if measuring my response. “So… you skipped school today?”

I rub my thumb over my knuckle. “Not really.”

She chuckles softly, a sound that carries a hint of mischief. “Mm.”

Adjusting the grocery bag, she pushes her door open a bit wider—a gesture that seems to invite more than just casual conversation. “Don’t worry—I won’t tell.”

I pause. “Thanks, I guess.”

She lingers just a little longer than normal. Not long enough to be weird. But long enough that I notice.

Then she smirks. “Take care, Derek.”

She steps inside. The door swings halfway shut, but before it fully closes, she calls back—casual, almost like an afterthought:

“And blast that music I love.”

I freeze.

The door clicks shut.

Music she loves?

A weird chill crawls up my spine.

I step into the elevator, pressing the button harder than necessary.

The doors slide shut.

I exhale slowly, shaking off the weird feeling creeping up my spine.

The number 10 lights up.

I’m sure I didn’t press it.

Didn’t I just see that number? On her jacket?

I press the lobby button again, just to be sure. The elevator hums softly as it moves. The metal walls feel colder than usual.

Stupid elevator. Always something wrong with it.

The numbers flick down. 27… 26… 25… but when it reaches 10, the elevator stops.

The doors don’t close.

I wait. It lingers. Like someone’s pressing the open button on the other side.

A tight feeling curls in my stomach.

I press close.

The doors hesitate—then shut.

The elevator continues down.

The lobby is empty except for the security guard at his desk.

I nod at him out of habit, then glance outside.

Not even 6 PM, and it’s completely dark. The snow falls heavy, swirling under the streetlights, flakes flickering like static against the lamps.

"You're only wearing that?"

I look back. The guard just put down his book.

"You’ll freeze out there."

I glance down at myself—thin jacket, hoodie. "I’ll be fine."

Then I see it.

His book is open—page 41.

It could be random. But after the ping… elevator… after Ms. Rose’s jacket…

Why does it feel like something’s pulling me toward these numbers?

I shake it off. Not today.

I slip on my headphones, and Marilyn Manson’s The Nobodies drowns out the world.

The cold barely registers as I start walking.

Usually, I keep my head down, letting the music carry me—avoiding stares, avoiding faces.

But today, the streets are empty.

Even in this freezing weather, Bleecker should be buzzing—cabs blaring, college kids staggering between bars, voices clashing on busy streets.

Instead, there’s only silence.

A thick fog and relentless snowfall drape the city like a layer of static, dimming every light and sound, as if reality is quietly resetting.

I head toward 14th Street, slicing through Washington Square Park—a place that should be packed with street performers, protestors, lost tourists, and NYU kids trying way too hard to look important.

Tonight? Nothing.

Only a glowing arch stands against the dark, like a mysterious portal to somewhere else.

I should feel calm. The quiet is almost peaceful, even dreamlike.

But my mind won’t settle. The music—usually my refuge—only stokes my agitation.

Are we all just nobodies, desperate to be somebodies?

What exactly am I moving toward?

Or am I simply running away?

And those damn numbers. 10. 41.

As if someone planted them in my head—without asking, without reason.

I shake it off, trying to steady my thoughts, to ground myself in this unsettling reality.

Then—it happens.

Something slams into my left shoulder—hard.

I stagger back, catching myself just before I fall. My head jerks up, eyes darting around.

Nothing.

No one.

I spin, scanning the sidewalk, the street, the curb, even the park fence.

Nothing.

I know someone hit me. I felt it.

New York is full of crazies, but this? This feels different.

I exhale, trying to shake off the shock, but my shoulder throbbs where I was struck.

I glance at the street sign.

10th Street.

My stomach tightens.

This is the third inexplicable incident since I left home—the elevator stopping, Kate’s jacket, and now this blow.

It’s as if something unseen is pulling me in.

I roll my shoulder, the ache spreading on my left side.

I turn in place, scanning the empty street, desperate for an explanation.

But nothing adds up.

I should turn left.

The thought isn’t my own, it’s as if my body has already chosen, ahead of my mind.

I hesitate. The road is unnervingly quiet—too quiet.

Yet I move.

Left.

Toward 6th Avenue.

My steps slow, weighted.

The air feels heavier—not merely from the biting cold or the snow’s burden, but from something else.

Something unseen.

As if this moment was waiting for me all along.

I step onto 10th Street.

Ahead, between 5th Ave and 6th Ave, roughly midway down the block, I sense two figures.

They aren’t immediately clear—more like fleeting impressions in the murky darkness.

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One appears tall and lean; the other, shorter and more compact. They’re barely discernible amid the heavy snowfall and thick fog, as if they belong to a different world.

I continue along the opposite side of the street, but an unsettling feeling lingers—like a prickling at the back of my neck, a subtle awareness that unseen eyes are tracking my every move.

I steal a glance upward, though the darkness makes it nearly impossible to be sure. For a moment, I think I catch the faintest curl of a grin—a smirk that might be real or just another trick of my mind.

My breath catches. I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or something more, but the sensation is undeniable.

As I step further into the emptiness, a whisper, soft and insistent, weaves through the music in my headphones:

"Look up, Derek."

It’s not a shout—it’s an inner murmur, as if the darkness itself is urging me to see what isn’t clearly there.

I stop, my heart pounding, uncertain whether to trust my eyes or the gnawing feeling that someone—or something—is watching.

Slowly, I lift my gaze toward the two figures.

I half expect them to be illusions—just tricks of my tired mind. But they’re there, fixed on me, their presence unmistakable even through the swirling snow.

The street between us seems to stretch and warp under the weight of their silent scrutiny.

Then—a car passes.

For a fleeting second, its headlights reveal their forms against the fog.

The blond guy stands tall—elegant, too composed for this biting cold. Dressed as if for a different season, he wears a black wool coat paired with a striking red scarf and thick earmuffs that frame his nearly perfect blond hair.

He remains unmoving, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

Beside him is the other figure—a shorter, stockier man. His build is muscular rather than fat, with a presence that hints at hidden strength. He shifts uneasily, his hood shadowing messy brown hair. His hands are deep in his pockets, and his right shoulder, slightly tensed—as if nursing a recent hit—betrays a subtle discomfort.

While the blond guy radiates cool assurance, his companion exudes an edge of vulnerability.

The car speeds past, and in that brief illumination, I catch every detail before the light vanishes, swallowing their faces into shadow once more.

But I know what I saw.

Somehow, I’m certain they’ve been waiting for me.

I rip off my headphones and pull my hood down as my breath comes in ragged bursts.

I stand there, frozen—fight or flight pulsing in every nerve.

How do they know my name?

I don’t know them.

And how the hell would anyone recognize me under this hood?

I swallow, my throat tight with a mix of dread and excitement.

"Come on," the blond guy calls, his smile unwavering. "I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time."

My stomach knots. His words don’t feel casual; they carry a weight of truth, as if he knows secrets I can’t even imagine.

I glance around—left, right. The street remains dead, empty.

Then—another car passes.

For a split second, its headlights reveal a number above the house they stand before.

My chest constricts. Those numbers—first 10 at the elevator, then 10th Street, and now house number 41, just like the page in the security guard’s book and the ping.

What is going on? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not here by accident.

My heart pounds, and my fingers clench into fists. I know I could walk away, but something deep inside tugs at me—like a fish caught on a line, helpless yet drawn in.

No way they’d chase me. The blond guy is too poised to run, and the other, despite his unease, seems tethered to this moment.

Yet if I turn back now… I’d be left with a lifetime of wondering.

Taking a deep breath, I start toward them.

I mean, what do I have to lose? My life already feels like it’s on pause.

Slowly, I step off the curb and cross the street.

The blond guy’s grin widens. "Pretty good. Got here on your first try."

He tilts his head toward the shorter one. "Bruno here took his sweet time. Like, two hours before he figured it out."

I hesitate. I want to ask what—what I figured out, what he means.

But somehow, I think I already know.

Bruno groans. "Oh, shut up. Can we go inside now? I'm freezing my nuts off."

The blond guy chuckles. "In a minute."

He extends a hand. "Name’s Kai. And as you probably already guessed, that’s Bruno."

I reach out instinctively, shaking his hand. "I’m De—" I stop.

Kai’s smirk deepens.

I guess he already knows.

Bruno mutters, shaking my hand next. "Sorry if I hit you too hard on the shoulder. My bad, but you were walking so fast."

I tense. It was him?

But how?

Bruno shivers, rubbing his arms. "How are you not freezing?"

I glance down at myself. Thin jacket. No gloves. No hat. The cold should be biting into me by now.

I just shrug. "I don’t know. I never really get cold. Or hot."

For the first time, neither of them speaks.

They exchange a glance—subtle, quick, but I catch it.

Kai looks back at me, eyes sharper now. "Interesting."

Then his smirk returns.

He watches me, like he already knows the answer.

"Before we go inside," he says, "let’s see if you’re worth the trouble."

His hands slide into his coat pockets, head tilting slightly.

"I need to ask you three questions."

I nod.

Whatever this is, I’m already too deep to back out now.

Kai watches me, hands in his coat pockets, like he already knows what I’m going to say.

"First question," he says. "Have you ever felt—deep inside—that reality isn’t what it seems?"

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t know the answer.

But because I’ve never said it out loud before.

I nod. "Yeah."

Kai studies me, then smirks. "You ever feel like nothing’s real?"

His hand lifts lazily, gesturing at the street, the buildings, the falling snow.

"Like… have you ever wondered if this place is just a script? Playing out exactly how it’s supposed to?"

My chest tightens.

"Sometimes."

Kai chuckles. "Good. Then you’re already ahead of most people."

"Second question," he continues. "Do you think reality changed on its own… or did YOU cause it?"

I exhale.

"I don’t know. Mostly random. But…" I pause, the words forming before I even realize I’m saying them.

"At times, I feel like I did it."

Kai’s grin widens.

"Then you’re paying attention."

Bruno mutters, shaking his head. "That’s all we needed to hear."

Kai tilts his head slightly.

"Last question."

His voice is calm, but there’s something behind it.

"What scares you more—losing control, or never having it?"

The answer comes before I even think.

"Losing control."

Kai grins. "Then you’re gonna fit in just fine."

Bruno sighs, rubbing his hands together. "Another one."

Kai turns to the house and pushes the door open. “Let’s go—time to see how deep this really goes.”

I peek inside. A stark, white hallway greets me. The air feels… off.

I take a breath and stop at the threshold. I should turn back. I should conjure up a reason to stay out. But every time I try, a counterthought rushes in—reminders of those numbers, of 10 and 41, and a persistent whisper that tells me leaving now would be a mistake.

I stand there, breath shallow, fingers curling at my sides, caught between caution and an irresistible pull. A quiet voice—almost like my own—murmurs, “If you leave now, you’ll regret it.”

It’s subtle yet overpowering, silencing every spark of resistance. I feel the weight of every argument against entering, only to be countered by an even stronger, inexplicable force suggesting that this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

With no clear choice left, I step inside.

The door swings shut behind me; I don’t hear it, but I know it’s closed.

Inside, the air is thick and still. It isn’t heavy or suffocating—just… too clean, as if this place isn’t real.

I glance around. The house from the street is gone. Everything is white—walls, floors, ceiling. Not a scuff or speck of dust, like a brand-new showroom nobody ever lived in.

The windows are sealed tight, not boarded up or covered, as if they were never meant to open.

I clear my throat. “Renovations?”

Kai pauses. For the first time, he seems taken aback—confused, even.

Then he smirks, giving the room a lazy, dismissive glance. “You could say that.”

We move deeper inside.

I notice him—a man in the farthest corner of the room. His back is turned, head tilted downward, as if transfixed by something in his lap. But no—it's not resting there at all; it's suspended in midair.

I narrow my eyes. A small, almost ethereal orb hovers just above his fingertips, moving in slow, deliberate circles. It never touches his skin—like one of those coin tricks, only inexplicably suspended.

A shiver of unease ripples through me. I part my lips to ask a question, but Kai grips my wrist firmly. "Come on," he urges.

Before I can speak further, Kai pulls me toward an old mirror hanging on the wall.

"Stand in front of it," Kai says. "Look at yourself. Now look away."

I step up to the mirror.

Messy dirt-blond hair, the sides shorter, the top unkempt—like I never bother fixing it. Thick-rimmed glasses, smudged from the cold. My hoodie damp from the snow, layered under a black jacket. Wrinkled. Lived in.

I look… tired.

Not just from lack of sleep. Like something’s been pulling at me for weeks.

Like I don’t belong here.

Like I don’t belong anywhere.

I glance away.

Then back.

For a second, nothing feels off.

Then I notice it.

The tiniest delay.

Like a buffering screen. Barely noticeable, just a fraction of a second.

I frown, shifting my weight. My reflection does the same, but a beat too late.

I lift my hand.

It lifts a second later.

The delay stretches—longer this time.

My chest tightens. "What the hell—"

"Relax," Kai says, smirking. "Reality’s just lagging a little."

I don’t move.

Neither does my reflection.

My breath feels heavy. The air too still.

I slowly raise my hand again.

My reflection doesn’t.

I freeze.

For a moment, we’re locked there. Me, watching it. It, watching me.

Then—it smiles.

Not a big grin. Not exaggerated.

Just a slight curl of the lips.

Like it knows something I don’t.

I take a step back. The air shifts. My head feels light.

This isn’t real.

I look at Kai. He watches me like a cat watching a mouse. Like he was waiting for this moment.

"Cool, right?"

He nods at my pocket. "Take out your phone."

I do, hands shaking slightly. The screen lights up.

6:17 PM.

Kai smirks. "Watch the time."

I blink.

The screen jumps.

6:23 PM.

I jolt, my grip tightening around the phone.

"No way."

Bruno exhales like he’s seen this before. "Hate this part."

I glance at him, my stomach knotting.

My body knows time passed.

But my mind doesn’t.

I look at Kai. He grins.

"Still think reality’s solid?"

Bruno shrugs, smirking. "You think that was weird? Wait till the last one."

I exhale sharply, still gripping my phone. "There’s a last one?"

Kai nods toward Bruno. "Watch him."

I shift my gaze, locking onto Bruno.

He stands still. Hands in his pockets.

Then I blink.

And he’s gone.

A jolt shoots through my chest.

I spin, heart hammering—

Bruno is behind me.

Not stepping, not moving—just already there.

I stagger back, breath caught in my throat. "What the hell?"

Bruno tilts his head, grinning. "I never moved."

I swallow hard, my pulse still racing. "I didn’t even see—"

"That’s the point." Kai smirks, hands in his pockets like this is all routine.

Bruno leans in slightly. "The moment you think you understand reality—you’re already lost."

I exhale, rubbing my hands over my face, trying to shake the dizziness settling in my head.

"What the hell was all that?"

Kai chuckles, stepping past me toward the hallway. "Welcome to the real world."

We walk toward the door.

The house still feels wrong. Too quiet. Too untouched.

The man in the corner never moved.

I keep my head down, trying to process everything—the mirror, the tests, the fact that I just watched time itself slip away like a glitch.

I glance at Kai.

"You sound like a damn movie character."

He shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just starting to notice the script."

My frown deepens. "What does that even mean? Is reality fake?"

Kai tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering how much to say.

"Not fake. Just… limited. A sandbox inside a bigger system."

Bruno flips up his hood, nodding toward the mirror we just left behind. "You think tonight was crazy?"

He exhales, shaking his head. "That? That was nothing."

I nod slowly, even though my brain is still screaming at me to make sense of this.

Kai exhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You think reality is solid? Fixed?"

A chill creeps through me, but not from the cold. "I mean… yeah?"

Kai smirks. "That’s what they want you to think. That’s the veil they pulled over your eyes."

I frown. "Who’s ‘they’?"

Kai doesn’t answer.

He just keeps walking, his gaze locked on the door ahead.

"Here’s the truth." He glances back at me. "Reality isn’t real. It’s just the most agreed-upon version of a lie."

I stop walking. "That’s crap."

Kai chuckles. "Is it?" He gestures around us. "How much of your life is based on what you were told to believe?"

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

Kai tilts his head, his voice lower now. "And what happens when you stop believing in their version of reality?"

Bruno, a few steps ahead, mutters, "It stops being real."

Kai nods. "Exactly."

We reach the door.

Kai opens it.

I freeze for a second.

The city outside looks… different.

The storm is still heavy. The streetlights flicker like static.

Like a distorted image that hasn’t fully loaded.

Kai sighs and stretches his arms. “I think that’s enough for today—before you have a full mental breakdown.”

He steps aside with a wry smile. “Go rest up, Derek. You did good.”

I step onto the townhouse stoop and pause, glancing back. Kai’s smirk lingers, and Bruno is still—unchanged, unmoving. Then, without a word, Kai pulls the door shut behind me. I stand there, frozen, heart pounding in a silence that feels too heavy.

I want to turn back, to knock on the door—maybe get some answers. But as I press my hand to the closed door, a cold shiver runs down my spine. What if I knock and find no trace of Kai, no sign of Bruno? What if the white room, that eerie world we just left, has vanished entirely?

The chill outside isn’t biting in the usual way; instead, it feels like a thin, fragile barrier between what I know and something far stranger. I lean against the stoop for a moment, trying to steady my racing thoughts. The streetlights flicker, and the muted sound of the storm only deepens my uncertainty.

I know I should check my phone, find some anchor in time, but even that seems irrelevant now. Before tonight, I believed I was just another nobody wandering through New York. Now, standing here on these steps, I’m gripped by a fear that everything—this very world—might be a mirage, a fragile illusion waiting to collapse.

I stand there, torn between the urge to knock and the paralyzing fear of discovering nothing at all.

I walk home in a daze, every step weighted with the surreal events of the night.

I step into the apartment and make my way to the kitchen.

As always, my father is slumped in his chair—passed out, a knocked-over bottle at his feet, murmuring incoherently. Same as always.

But what catches my eye isn’t him.

It’s the man sitting at the table. Probably my father's drinking buddy. There are plenty of those that come around.

Hands folded neatly. Perfectly still. Watching me.

But, this one feels different. Like he’s been waiting.

I stop cold. My pulse spikes.

He isn’t drunk. He isn’t slouched. He doesn’t belong here.

Or maybe—I don’t.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice steady. "I think you need to go now."

I glance at my father—still out cold.

The man doesn’t react. Doesn’t even acknowledge him.

His eyes stay locked on me.

Then he speaks.

"I’m not here for him."

A chill ripples through my spine.

"I’m here for you, Derek."

Before I can move—before I can even process it—

Everything stops.

The hum of the refrigerator. The ticking of the clock. The distant street noise outside.

Even the air—dust caught mid-motion, frozen in place.

I don’t hear my breath.

I don’t even feel my heartbeat.

Like the whole world just paused.

I suck in a sharp breath, but even that feels too loud.

I whirl around.

The chair is empty.

My stomach flips. He was just there.

I spin back—

And he’s standing in front of me.

Not stepping. Not moving.

Just there.

Like space adjusted itself to make way for him.

This wasn’t speed. This wasn’t misdirection.

This was control.

Like the rules of reality bent just to put him in my way.

I stagger back, my pulse hammering. My body knows something my mind can’t process.

The man watches me, calm. Unshaken.

His voice cuts through the frozen silence like a blade.

"The walls have ears."

His eyes don’t waver.

"Meet me tomorrow at 40 Irving Place. 11 a.m. Come alone."

Then—

Sound crashes back in.

The fridge hums. The clock ticks. The faucet drips.

The dust falls.

The chair is empty.

He’s gone.

Like he was never here at all.

I stand there, breath shallow, pulse still racing.

Did that just happen?

Or did something just rewind?

I stare at the empty chair, my hands clenched into fists. He’s gone.

 But something tells me this was only the beginning.