Noah is a little confused by the injected memory, but not entirely surprised. It does bear some relevance. It’s odd that it was injected in response to his past-self wondering something. It had the feel of a sponsored broadcast, or perhaps it was simply a stitched-together series of clips. He’s pretty sure those didn’t all take place in a broadcast area, and it’s certainly no calibration record—not that he expected to get that lucky so soon; whatever a certain friend may think of his luck.

Clips then seems most likely, ones that fall under the Exclusion Treaty of Public Interest, and thus are available to be used now, in this interview.

Which still leaves the question of why the Interviewer deemed it fit to interject into Noah’s recounting.

Whatever the case, he resolves to be more careful and alert for interference as he continues the interview. Despite appearances, the flow of information is supposed to be to rather than from him.

“Right, so, where was I?”

The answer is a mix between his own thoughts, and the Interviewer’s will: Trying to get news about the rest of the world while Bob relieved himself.

When he got back from defiling my store’s bathroom, I was on my phone, having given up on trying to get any news from the world at large, and now instead attempting to call or message everyone in my contacts. The response was the same regardless of what I tried: Busy.

“I feel a kilo lighter.”

“Oh great. Hope you flushed this time.”

“I did put the seat up, I remember that much. Wasn’t comfortable. Some bad juju in there. Felt like the walls were closing in on me. Smelled strange too.”

“I don’t think your doses are as micro as you think.”

“Size is in the eye of the beholder.”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing.” I held up my phone. “I can’t contact anyone or look anything up.”

“Told you not to trust technology.” He patted his legs fondly. “I stick to the old-fashioned, me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna use them to check on Wayne and Emma.”

“Think you should be going out there?”

“Looks fine to me.”

Despite his words, he stood at the door for a good thirty seconds, looking out through its glass.

A car blew by in the street, screeched around a corner, then its roar quickly faded and all was silent, save for the slight sound of waves breaking against the shore.

“Change your mind?”

He grunted, unlocked the door, then stepped outside. He looked left, then right, then nodded once. He turned around and opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, staring up at something over my head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking up. All I saw was my shop’s sign.

If only I had looked more carefully.

He rubbed his eyes, blinked, then shook his head. “See you around kid. Try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Bob headed off, and I grimaced as he trudged through the pile of ash that had been Luke.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Bloody hell,” he grunted, shaking off his foot. “Someone dump an ashtray?” He stopped trying to get the ash off his shoes as he spotted something in the pile. “What’s this?”

His disturbance of the ashes had revealed something metallic.

I hoped it wasn’t a ring or something that had managed to survive that he might recognize. I couldn’t handle that right now.

Bob picked the item up. It was no ring, but a small metal cylinder. Bob shrugged and put it in his pocket, then turned to look at me. “See you around kid. Try—”

“Not to die, I know. I’ll do my best.”

He nodded once and headed off once more.

As I watched him walk down the road toward the beach, I expected some corrupted monster to appear from nowhere and eat him. But he made it all the way down to the sand without getting attacked, then disappeared from sight as he headed toward where Wayne usually beached his boat.

I closed and locked the door.

I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

I had enough supplies to last me for years, though I only had a few months’ worth at the store; the rest were at my apartment.

I sat in my chair in front of the TV behind the register, and finally took a look at the card I’d gotten from Luke’s body, opening up the storage grid with a thought and removing it.

You get used to system interfaces quickly, I’ll give them that. Even the weird reading slash speaking thing.

The card was a little smaller than a playing card, and like those, had a pattern on it, though it was on both sides rather than only the back.

You do not possess the powerpack.

You have one complimentary [Powerpack Token].

Would you like to use it now?

“Uh, sure.”

As with examining Luke, information appeared in my head, telling me what I was holding.

“Well,” I muttered to myself, “that doesn’t make any sense.”

‌

∎ ∎ ∎

After giving up on finding anything out from the TV or internet—I even tried an old radio I’d had lying around upstairs but couldn’t get it working—I went through the supplies I had stashed at the shop, making sure everything was in order.

It was, so it didn’t take long.

After that, I stood in front of the door, watching outside for a bit. I didn’t see anyone else.

It wasn’t a big town by any means, but it was still odd how empty it was. When I’d gotten lunch at Surf&Turk it hadn’t been busy, but there still had been people there.

Now there was no one.

I assumed everyone was just staying inside like I was, or maybe still sleeping off a hangover from New Year’s Eve.

I was only partially right.

Once it started getting dark, I became more anxious about how open the front of the shop was, so I dragged some bookcases in front of the large window.

I considered blocking the door as well, but I imagined Bob banging on it to be let in while a corrupted closed in on him, so settled for putting it in front of the door just far enough that I could open it, but close enough I could push it against the door in a hurry if needed.

After that I was beat, so I grabbed a beer and plopped down in front of the TV behind the counter, leaving it on in hopes the message would go away while I played Plague Inc on my phone for lack of anything better to do.

And to keep my mind from going to the dark places it liked to frequent.

A game about wiping out humanity wasn’t the best choice, but it was the only thing that I could get to load with the internet apparently being taken over.

I must have passed out, exhausted from the mental strain of the day and the physical strain of pushing heavy bookcases around, because the next thing I knew I was bolting up from my chair, my neck stiff as a board, the shop completely dark except for a flickering blue glow.

It felt like I’d been woken by some noise, but the shop was quiet. The only sound was the faint whine of the TV. It was the source of the light, still showing the same message as before.

Busy. Sorry.

Sincerely, your favorite system, System 3121-111

But there was another message as well, this one in my head.

Gateways are now open.

At the time I had no idea what that meant and was still half-asleep, and the insistence of my bladder was more pressing than deciphering some cryptic message, so I stumbled my way to the restroom.

But when I went in, instead of finding a nice gleaming toilet—complete with violet mood-lighting—waiting for me, I was shocked into full wakefulness by a blast of cold, damp air, and the realization that I was no longer in Kansas.

Or my store in Byron Bay, in this particular case.

Portal created.

You have entered [Whitehall Tower].

Welcome to the first floor.