Mighty Max is a unique establishment just on the outskirts of Sapulpa, OK, where Sapulpa begins and Tulsa ends. It is in what used to be an old Walmart back before Walmart became only SuperCenters or Neighborhood Markets. It was set just off the highway and after it was closed, the store sat abandoned for several years. Finally, a low-budget entrepreneur named Max Greene bought it with the idea of turning it into a massive Truck Stop, Flea Market and Indian Trading Post, well, basically a Truck Stop, I’m pretty sure the Flea Market and Indian Trading Post were just to get the tourists to stop here. He dug up a lot of the parking lot, installed a huge number of diesel and gas pumps, then installed Wifi, an internet café, showers, locker rooms, a bunch of truck parking as well as a big convenience store with a built-in pizza place and a soda fountain. That took up most of the area both inside and outside, the rest he filled with cheap Chinese-made Indian (that’s Native American for you people that don’t get that in Oklahoma, Indian means well, Indian as in Cowboys and …) souvenirs and allowed people to rent booth space around the outskirts of the interior of the building to make up the flea market. Surprisingly, it worked. The shakes and burgers at the soda fountain were great (gourmet quality) and the pizza was excellent too. Locals started coming for the pizza and shakes and burgers, and the truckers came for the showers and the pizza, and the tourists came for the cheap souvenirs, oh, and he had this stuffed buffalo that had a vacuum in its mouth that would suck up your trash. People loved to get their pictures taken with it. Crazy, but like I said, somehow the setup worked. Anyhow, the name of this place was Mighty Max’s Truck Stop, Flea Market and Indian Trading Post.
Anyway, I stopped to get a hamburger, to fill up my gas tank, and to think about what I was going to do with my life. I may not have inherited the planning gene from my mother, but even I recognized that I needed to do something while I was figuring out what to do long term. As I walked in the door of Max’s (that’s what us people that work here call it), I noticed a help wanted sign. I asked for an application and while I ate my burger and fries, I filled it out. Who knew that a philosophy degree was almost a prerequisite for being hired as a night stocker at a truck stop! And that’s been my life for the past four weeks. After nothing else happened after the Dot, the President’s tame scientists announced that it was a shared psychosis, that it didn’t really happen, that it was a product of our nation shared subconscious or a mutual misunderstanding or something similar. Anyway, they declare the excitement over, nothing to see here folks, move on with your lives, and so people did. Talking about the Dot was déclassé and, if you persisted, people tended to get upset and quit inviting you over or returning your phone calls.
I didn’t buy what the President was selling, but I didn’t talk about it much either. Instead, I became a little bit of a Prepper, I guess you’d call it. I bought myself a trailer (a little 12 footer) and put a trailer hitch on the rear of the caddy. I started buying weapons (mainly swords, polearms, knives, daggers, and bows and, even a couple of crossbows.) I also bought a bunch of MREs and extra clothes, Carhartt coveralls, Doc Martin boots, even a shield. I stored it all in the trailer. Big Mike, the manager, let me use the store's address as my delivery address for UPS, just as well, since I was basically living there. I slept out in the car (he let me use one of the unused delivery bays to park both my trailer and my car) and would shower in Max’s showers, and do my laundry in the locker room Washer and Dryers at night.
That night that the apocalypse kicked off, I was doing what I normally did, cleaning and stocking. I’m just going to say it. I hate public bathrooms. Well, I don’t hate them, I just hate the fact that people seem to almost relish destroying them. I am not sure why people think that if it is public, it means that, well, you can crap on it, but that is how they treated the bathrooms in Maxs. I mean really people, it is quite simple, you sit and do your business. Then you stand up, WASH YOUR HANDS, and get the hell out and back to your pizza or hamburger or to your car. I’ve seen some messes that you wouldn’t believe! I swear once I cleaned up a stall where it looked like a guy’s butt must have exploded. I still get the chills thinking about it. Anyway, I was just entering the Men’s bathroom, after posting my little sign in the door that said “Temporarily Closed For Servicing,” carrying my bucket full of cleansers when the Apocalypse started.
I’m proud of my Big Bucket of Clean – what I called it. I should tell you all about it because it plays a hand in what came next. It started life as a five-gallon white plastic tub, I guess you’d call it. Like cat litter or paint might come in. While I was hanging out at Home Depot, trying to figure out what I could buy or build to survive the end of the world, I discovered this nifty apron that fit over the bucket and provided a bunch of pockets and hangers for various things. Home Depot meant it for tools, I used it for my cleaning supplies, as well as tools. I had a hammer – heavy claw hammer, a toilet scrubber, a plunger, Windex, Simple Green cleaner, as well as my special Clorox blend cleaner, a couple of screwdrivers (Phillips and Regular), a razor blade paint scraper, black sharpie pens (for covering up the key marks on the stalls), and a huge yellowish-orange sponge as well as my blue Dr. Love gloves (really just an extra strength pair of blue, giant-sized gloves that extended up past my elbows), and face masks. I’m not sure that they really worked, but they made me feel better at times … remember the guy whose butt exploded?
Anyway, I was just entering the bathroom when a blue screen appeared in my vision:
Welcome to the Apocalypse
testing, testing, 1, 2, 3, 4
The blue screen looked just like the MS Windows blue screen of death and the numbers on the base of the screen kept slowly increasing until they reached the number 10 and then the whole screen vanished and was replaced by another which said:
Thank you for your attention!
Please do not worry, well, might as well not, it won’t change anything. In approximately five (5) minutes there will be a general system announcement. Make yourself comfortable and prepare yourself. The system announcement will take approximately five (5) minutes to receive.
04:59:58:98.98.98
Of course, the numbers after the seconds were moving so fast that basically, all you could see was a blur, so I’m not sure what they actually said, but I’m assuming they were numbers, just numbers spinning very fast. In any case, the screen hung in my vision much like a stop sign or some other actual sign. It was only after I quit concentrating on it (when I let go of the restroom door and it hit me in the face) that I realized that it was capable of fading back into the background.
I thought about leaving the restroom to head toward the snack bar, to maybe be around some other people, but then I decided that it was probably appropriate to hear about the end of the world in a toilet, so I dropped trou and settled in on a porcelain throne and watched the numbers spin.
Outside, I could hear people yelling and the sound of things being dropped. I also could hear engines starting and cars pulling away, tires squealing. I wondered how people could drive safely, but judging by the sound of cars colliding I guessed that they couldn’t. But surprisingly enough, none of the collisions sounded bad, more fender bender-ish rather than pileups
Anyway as I sat there and waited, I began to experiment with the blue screen. I discovered that I could minimize it (by wishing it so or by looking past it), I could freeze the countdown (again by wishing it so, like a stopwatches lap timer), or I could look through the message (leaving it still visible, but kind of reducing its opacity). I could also change the location where the message appeared, dragging it around the area of my vision. I could make it blink from location to location instead of sliding, I could make it larger or smaller, about the time I started being able to change the tint of the background blue, the timer ran out and the message disappeared. The funny thing was that I knew that the message was gone, rather than minimized or hidden. How? I don’t know, but, for some reason, I knew that the message was done, gone, complete, no more.
Thanks for your attention!
We are the Collective. We have purchased your universe from its former owner, your creator. All current religions are hereby declared null and void. We realize that this may cause a problem for many of you; however, on the face of it, that’s not the biggest problem you’ll presently be facing.
But let’s look on the positive side. Change is an immutable fact, the only difference is how much change is going to occur. Well, we are happy to announce it’s gonna be a lot. Don’t worry about these messages, their content, it’s different from person to person. We’ve been evaluating you for the past four weeks individually and feel that we’ve got a pretty good handle on you all individually (remember we’re The Collective, you’re not) and so each of you is receiving your very own customized end of the world as you know it message. Now, where was I?
…
The message stopped there with only a line of dots that grew for a while and then picked up again:
Oh yes, I remember. Here’s a broad list of what we’ve decided to change:
* Your ecology
* Your basic physical laws, things like chemical reaction speed, as a hint, gunpowder won’t work anymore, on the plus side, neither will nuclear weapons.
* Your culture, we’re pretty sure that your current form of government won’t survive.
* Your monetary system. Basically, we’re moving to the gold standard. … and it’s our standard. We’ll be converting all real monetary wealth to a gold standard. And by real, we mean actual wealth. No credit cards, no loans. Governments no longer have the capability of issuing money.
* Your physiognomy
* Your environment
* Your tools
* Your weapons
* Your clothing
* Your entertainment
Basically everything. Won’t this be a hoot?
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Oh, and we hope you like blue screens, because they are here to stay, at least the functionality of them.
“What?” I shouted out.
Was there something that you didn’t understand,? …
appeared in my vision. “Huh?”, I mumbled, perplexed and bewildered by the blue screens, the fact that beings that called themselves The Collective seemed to be talking/writing to me, and well, basically everything that was happening.
“No, I guess I understand what you’ve written, but what gives you the right, why do you want to make all of these changes?” I said.
Boredom and Power
the voice wrote. I realize that it seems odd to talk about a voice when it’s actually a line of text, but somehow, the text seemed to be not just seen, but also heard, as if its words were echoing around inside my chest and head.
Your God sold you. We bought you (at least we bought the universe that you reside in), so since you have nowhere to go, welcome to the Apocalypse. Now, please don’t interrupt, there will be plenty of time for questions at the end of the trial period. …. at least for those of you that survive.
Anyway, in approximately two (2) hours, your world will change. You will change along with it. Many of you who have felt uncomfortable within your own skins, will have new skins. Many of you that have felt discouraged about your world, will find yourself rejoicing in a new world. Remember, change can be both good and bad. Try not to focus on what you have lost, but what you’ve gained instead. That’s all for now. Good luck and we hope this announcement was helpful.
“Huh?’ I thought. ‘I mean WTF? So according to some “god-like” beings known as the Collective who claim to now own this universe, I’m about to undergo a world of pain – well, my family and I along with every other person on the planet will. But that thought brings up another. Did anyone else hear or see this? Is it just a psychosis or are there beings of godlike power really talking to me? God, I hope so or else I’ve totally lost it!’
Just then I heard another car crash, a few more voices yelling and then the sound of metal bending and tires squealing out in the parking lot. I took that as a sign that I wasn’t alone in hearing/seeing the voices.
Big Mike’s voice came over the store intercom system, imagine a white, southern Barry White. “Attention Mighty-Max customers. As I’m sure you know, something fucked up is going on. Pardon my French. As a result, I think we all need to get back to our families, someplace safe and protected. I’d advise each and every one of you to gather up whatever it is that you need and make your way to the front of the store. Cause I’m about to close this bitch down. Please make your way to the front and exit out of my store. Attention Mighty-Max staff, there will be a short staff meeting in approximately 10 minutes in my office. Those of you on the floor, please escort our guests to the front of the store. Thank you for your patience.
I started for the front of the store, looking down the aisles to make sure no one was in them. Not surprisingly, there was not anyone remaining. Most of the customers had taken off when the first window with the five-minute countdown had appeared. The rest had pretty obediently (I’m guessing they were shell-shocked) made their way out the front doors where Mike stood saying “God bless you! Be safe!” or something similar to each one of them as they left.
He caught my eye and asked, “Anyone?” to which I shook my head no, whereupon he closed and locked the door. “Ok, crew! My office, now!”
We all worked our way down the hallway next to the soda fountain, past the front bathrooms and kind of crowded into his office. We were about an hour into the night shift which began at 11:30 pm, so only the night crew was present. It was Big Mike’s turn to work the graveyard shift, the manager (three of them) rotated each month, Mike took one week, the other two assistant managers took two and one weeks on a rotating basis.
“Hey, boss! What’s going on?” said one of the other two night stockers nicknamed “Dogleg.” You don’t want to know how he got it, but it had something to do with him rubbing himself on some girl’s leg once when he was younger and the name both fit and stuck.
“Hang on,” said Mike. “Monsoon, what do you think.”
“Let me confirm something first,” I said. “How many of you heard or saw the voices/text?”
They all started to answer at once, but I quickly shouted, “Just a show of hands, people! Let’s make sure we’re all on the same page here!”
Not surprisingly, all of them raised their hands, with the exception of Big Mike, who did after he realized that he was the only person that hadn’t. “Sorry,” he said. “I did. I was just looking around.”
“Now,” I said. “How many of you heard/saw the name ‘The Collective’?” This time only about half of them did, the others heard or saw variations on it, things like the Group, the Holy Pantheon while a few Dogleg, Slogger, Mixer Beast and Twilight just heard the name, God.
“OK, final question,” I said. “Who heard the voice/text talk about the apocalypse in 2 hours?” Once again everybody raised their hands. Not surprising really, the South, of which Oklahoma is generally considered a part of, is raised on stories of the Apocalypse.
“Big Mike,” I said. “We’re totally hosed!” I pause a second to let that sink in and then continued. “I know most of you have families nearby. If I was you, I’d grab a bunch of non-perishable food, things like cans of soup, pasta, spaghetti sauce, toilet paper, toothpaste, etc., as much as you can carry, load up your cars, and head home to them.
Everybody did just that with the exception of Tanya. Slogger (who rode his BMX bike to work) peddled off with a backpack full of Dinty Moore stews and a 24 pack of toilet paper on his handlebars. Tanya was a new hire. She hadn’t yet earned a nickname or came pre-nicknamed like I did. Big Mike turned off the parking lot lights and the gas pumps and then tossed me the keys.
“Monsoon,” he said. “I pray you’re not right, but something tells me you are. Be well and if we survive this, I hope to see you soon. Here are the keys. I know you’re basically living here, so, if you can, watch the place, but don’t sweat it too much. Max (the owner) is probably at home, not even worried about this place. I’d stay, but I’ve got a wife and four kids to worry about. Be safe!” and with that, he swept out the door and hopped into his fully-loaded Jeep Wrangler and peeled out heading for home.
I locked the door which gave me some time to think. I turned around and saw that Tanya was still there. I didn’t know much about her. She was pretty, very pretty, in that girl next door kind of way. Blond almost white, straight, straight hair, blue eyes, with a long, slender face, about 5’5” and (I’d guess) about 125 lbs. She had some family problems. Shortly after she was hired, a greasy little man with Arkansas plates on his SUV showed up and tried to drag her away. Big Mike put a stop to it with one punch and an armbar while forcing the man out to his SUV. He also held a quiet discussion with the man while the man was splayed out on the hood of his SUV, and the little man hadn’t been back since. She might have been beautiful, but she seemed to work at not being attractive. Even so, all of the guys, Dogleg, Slogger, Mixer Beast and Egirl, our resident lesbian, sat up and noticed when she came in the room.
“OK,” I said. “Are you ready for this?” I asked.
She shook her head no and said, “Are you?”
I laughed and said, “Is anyone? You got anyone to worry about? Anybody worried about you?”
“No,” she said. “My mom and little brother died in a car wreck about four months ago. The brakes went out on her car. My step-dad had just worked on them. I’d just turned 17 and was almost graduated. I was thinking of going to college, I had a couple of scholarship offers. My mom married that little prick a couple of months before that. At first, everything seemed cool, but then I noticed clothes moved, he would meet me in the hall whenever I took a shower, things like that. After my mom died, it got worse, he removed the lock on the bathroom door, so I moved out, couch surfed with my friends until I graduated, and then wound up here. How about you?”
“Yes, my mom and my cousin. I have an Aunt, but she’s a piece of work, drug and men problems. I truly believe that one day my mother may rule the world. My dad died when I was young. I’m expecting a call from ‘she who must be obeyed’ sometime soon. I wonder how much time there is before the big A kicks off?”
When I said that up in the corner of my vision there appeared a small digital clock counting down. Currently, it said 01:18:00 and the minutes and seconds were spinning backward. “Woah!” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“When I wondered/asked how much time there was before the Apocalypse, a small countdown timer appeared in my vision, like the blue screens. Try it?”
She appeared to be thinking about something and then she said, “Yes, it appeared. It doesn’t have to be voice activated.”
“Cool!” I said. “I wonder what else we can do. It seems like the Collective is moving things toward being like an RPG or an MMORPG. ‘Status,’ I thought. Sure enough, a status screen appeared, just like in some of my favorite fantasy/science fiction novels. None of the information was filled out though except my name and level which was set to zero.
Status
Name
Maysoon Alacrity Seebring “Monsoon”, “Chief”
Level
0
Class(es)
Profession(s)
Titles:
Strength
?
Intelligence
?
Dexterity
?
Wisdom
?
Agility
?
Perception
?
Constitution
?
Charisma
?
Vitality
?
Luck
?
Health:
?
Mana:
?
Qi:
?
Stamina:
?
“Try Status,” I told Tanya. Then, of course, I had to run through the whole litany of possible screens, inventory, skills, titles, chat, party, etc.
The results were hit and miss, mostly miss. Inventory displayed a blank blue screen with a section of 20 empty squares in it, along with a message that said, “Check back after the apocalypse. Skills was empty, so were titles and abilities, but both did display a notice that said, check back after the apocalypse begins. Chat had a list of friends and family members; however, it said that it would only work on party members. Party was blank but asked if I’d like to form a party. It also said that in order to start or join a party, you must be within 10 meters of the person or persons you wish to party with. ‘Who knew,’ my first thought was. ‘God is metric.’