The room was white. It had a floor, as Matt was standing on it, but it was just white—endless white—all around him. Matt couldn’t see walls or a ceiling; the white just seemed to go on, in all directions, empty, forever. He looked down. The floor didn’t even look…

Vertigo. Matt tried to reach for something to steady himself, but nothing was there. He made his way to the ground, stumbling, having to trust that his feet knew where to find it.

Seated, Matt took a deep, self-soothing breath. He pressed down with his hands: hard, smooth, solid. It was solid. It was real. The room was bright, and Matt realized he’d been squinting. He took another deep breath.

“Brenda?” he asked the blank white space. She had fallen. He took another deep breath, lifted his glasses, and wiped at his eyes. He reached at his pocket, then stopped. No phone.

Then, two women were standing straight ahead, about a cubicle’s distance away. Where are the cubes? The women were of a similar height and looked around Matt’s age. Are they from the office?

Their clothing looked office-ish. The brunette wore a soft green blouse, dressy joggers, practical shoes. The second woman had a bleach-blond buzz cut, which was striking against her darker skin; her white shirtdress was oversized and belted. Matt guessed she must be in some sort of design role or Marketing. Did they have those at his firm?

They’re both pretty, Matt thought. I would have noticed them—unless they just started.

Matt carefully stood back up and then slowly turned to survey the area. More people. Their lips were moving—a lot looked upset—but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. A whole crowd spread out across the white space—many, many more people.

Why can’t I hear them?

A high-pitched ring rose in his ears. Matt staggered back and scrunched his eyes. He remembered the falling coffee mugs—his coffee—and looked down. He wasn’t warm, burnt, wet. He was dry. There was a large coffee stain on his shirt and pants.

Damn it, I wore the wrong colors today.

It looked like he’d peed himself, and then some. And now here he was, in the middle of somewhere with all of these people. He rubbed at his hand, remembering where the mug struck his knuckles.

I’m okay, he told himself. Am I dreaming?

The wavy brunette was looking at him. Then the blond glanced over too. Matt closed the distance with three steps forward.

“Hey, uh,” Matt began. “Do you know where we are?” He felt stupid, not knowing and standing there in his pee-pants.

“We were hoping you did,” replied the blond one. “Is your phone gone too?”

“Yeah,” Matt confirmed, running a hand along the back of his head.

“Sorry for just talking about you,” the brunette jumped in. “We didn’t mean to be rude. This place is just… weird.”

He hadn’t heard them talking about him; he hadn’t heard anyone until now. Sound was so strange in this place.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Matt.” He held out a hand like he was meeting someone in business, and then immediately thought, Why did I do that?

“Fallyn Quinn,” the brunette said, shaking his hand with a firm grip and then holding it. She squinted at Matt. “Tell me something I couldn’t possibly know.”

“Double-entry bookkeeping was invented by Luca Pacioli in 1494?”

“Anika Lee,” the blond woman said, giving a little wave.

Fallyn let go of his hand and said slowly, “I don’t think I knew that before.”

“Uh, Kelsey is my last name,” Matt added. “Nice to meet you Fallyn, Anika.” Matt had been told once that repeating someone’s name helps you remember it. He had also heard that people like it when you use their name in conversation. So, either way, he would hopefully come out ahead.

“Hey, I think I know that guy,” Anika said.

“Which?” asked Fallyn.

“Black hair, tall Italian over there.” She pointed to her left. “He’s in my yoga class. He brought in zeppole from his nonna.”

Anika was already striding towards him. Fallyn and Matt followed. A woman angrily gestured a few feet to Matt's left. The crowd was a sprawling watching silent movie.

“Thank god, someone I know!” The man exclaimed with a slight accent. “I was just talking to Ashanti here and neither of us know anyone.”

“Fallyn, Matt, this is Manuele,” Anika introduced.

“And you’re Ashanti?” Matt confirmed.

“Ash,” she said with a shrug. She was several inches shorter than the group. She looked extra-short next to Manuele, who was a bit taller than Matt.

Ash wore a gray pocketed t-shirt, half-tucked into jeans, and combat boots on her feet. Manuele was in a lighter gray t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Definitely not from the office.

“This is wonderful,” Manuele exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see someone I know! Anika and I have been going to the same Saturday yoga for almost… has it been two years? Lotus Yin in Mission Bay.”

“Wait, where is that?” Matt asked. Mission Bay didn’t sound like Toronto.

“Mission Bay? San Francisco?” Manuele continued, “It’s a great little studio, relaxing, de-stressing…”

“Are you all from San Francisco?” Matt asked.

“Seattle,” Ash said.

“Matt, man, what happened to your pants?” Manuele asked more quietly, looking down.

“Mississauga,” Fallyn said slowly, politely ignoring Manuele’s comment.

“Where’s that?” asked Ash.

“Sorry, Canada,” she clarified.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“I know where that is,” offered Matt. “I’m in Toronto. This makes no sense.” Or I’m dreaming…

“I need to find Maria,” Manuele announced. “My girlfriend, Maria, will you help me look for her? We were just together, eating, and now…” He gestured broadly with his hand. “I can’t call her, I can’t…” He sounded panicked. “Help me look?”

Manuele started walking without waiting for a reply. The group followed him. While these were strangers, they were slightly less strangerly than everyone else.

Matt didn’t know what they were looking for—other than the name ‘Maria’—but he tagged along all the same. He kept an eye out for Brenda, and anyone else he might know—Mom, Dad, Emily. Emily was… whatever it’s called when it takes you two months to go on four dates. He wasn’t seeing anyone else, but it was only four dates; they were both busy.

She would be freaking out if she were here, he thought. But this is my dream, so no freak-outs, okay Subconscious?

A lot of the crowd had formed into small groups. Matt tried to stay in the middle of his, so he could hide the front of his pants. He got snippets of conversation each time they weaved close enough to someone speaking.

“We need to figure out what’s happened here,” a blond woman said in one group.

“I don’t like this place!” a Hispanic man declared in the next.

“Where is my husband?!”

“Where is my wife?”

Crying.

“Why is it white?”

“You mean, you’re not from Texas?” a thickly accented man accused next. From what Matt had picked up so far, everyone was from North America.

A few groups later, Matt was thankful for the partitioned sound. “Where are my children?!” a woman shrieked.

Matt leaped back in surprise at the volume—the loudest speaker yet. From a silent-movie distance, Matt took stock. The woman continued, expressively moving her lips, eyebrows, and hands.

Then Matt realized: There are no children. He spun around. No grandparents either. Everyone looked in their twenties to maybe forty or fifty at most. Matt wasn’t great at judging age, but it was clear that the younger and older demographics were missing.

I don’t think Brenda’s here, he thought. His parents wouldn’t be either.

Matt jogged to catch up. Manuele had kept them moving at an almost speed-walking pace. The man mostly looked at each group, scanning their faces. He occasionally asked, “Have you seen Maria?” Sometimes it was, “Have you met Maria?” or “Do you know Maria?” People usually responded by shaking their heads or with a simple “No,” as if too overwhelmed to muster anything more.

“What about someone named Emily?” Matt added.

The responses he got were the same.

This had to be a dream but, if it somehow wasn’t, Matt hoped everyone was okay.

“Welcome to Pre-Start,” an announcement blared.

Matt turned three-sixty, looking for the source of the noise. The voice had been female, dry—and loud.

“You will now configure your access.”

Matt felt cold. It started in his lower back and then radiated. He crossed his arms and gripped opposite biceps.

This is a dream, Matt told himself.

“Where is that coming from?” Manuele slowed and then stopped. “Hello? Are you in charge?” He yelled loudly, tilting his head upwards. “I’m looking for my girlfriend, Maria.”

“Begin by setting your name,” the voice continued.

“I want to talk to someone in charge!” Manuele demanded of the whiteness. He spun around, looking for the source of the announcement. “Who is in charge here?”

Matt turned in a slow circle, looking too, catching expressions of shock, upset, and confusion in the silent crowd.

“I need to talk to the person in charge!” Manuele yelled.

“Cool it, Karen,” Ash said with a smirk.

The word ‘Karen’ appeared, floating above Manuele’s head in bright green letters.

Ash stared up at it, holding in a laugh, folding her lips in on themselves.

“My name is Fallyn Quinn,” Fallyn said quickly. ‘Fallyn Quinn’ appeared above her head.

“What is this?” Anika whispered, poking at the bright green letters. Her finger passed right through.

“Choose the name for your access,” the voice responded, but less loudly than before.

Matt looked around. It seemed like the other groups didn’t hear that clarification. He wasn’t 100% sure, but he also wasn’t willing to ask. Matt didn’t want to say the wrong thing and get Karened.

“Anika Lee is my name.”

“My name is Matt Kelsey.”

“Set mine to Sharkie.”

They all turned to look at Ash.

“Sharkie?” Matt said, eyebrows raised. He was safe; his name was already set.

“Yeah. The guys at work call me that.” She shrugged. “It’s more fun than Ashanti Jacobs.”

Manuele tried to copy. “My name is Manuele De Rosa.”

Matt stared up at the ‘Karen’ above Manuele’s head. He winced, bracing himself to break the news.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Sharkie said. And then she couldn’t help but laugh.

Matt watched the crowd as, one by one, bright green names popped up above heads. It reminded him of white ice gum—minty cool with green flecks—except that this place didn’t have a particular temperature, it was just white, flecked with green. The cold Matt felt was of his own making.

It looked like most people were choosing their given names, but Matt did spot a ‘Crap’ two groups right, and a ‘Zuul the Gatekeeper’ another group beyond that.

Sharkie and Karen-Manuele argued while Matt continued his scan of names.

Oprah Winfrey, Matt read. That is not Oprah. That is a 40-year-old man. Cathleen Merrill, Travis no last name, Ryan Jurvanan…

“And, what is that?” he whispered aloud.

He spotted an Asian man wearing some sort of orange cat costume. The man was talking expressively, moving his arms in big gestures at a group of four. They laughed in response, but something told Matt they were nervous. The cat-man stepped forward, and they shuffled back. One of the women bumped into a man behind her, glanced back, and said something. Matt assumed it was an “excuse me” or an apology.

“We’ll try to change it,” Fallyn said in a calm, soothing voice. “We’ll all do our best to help. Sharkie is sorry. And, right now, we just don’t know much of anything.”

“Change my name to Manuele De Rosa,” Manuele tried.

“Invalid command,” the voice responded, in that lower volume, which seemed just for their group.

“Change my name to Manuele De Rosa,” he tried again.

“What are you looking at?” Anika asked quietly, leaning in towards Matt.

“What do you think’s going on over there?” Matt asked her, nodding his chin towards the cat-man group.

Anika turned to see them. Matt noticed that her name text didn’t rotate.

“Hey Anika, keep turning around,” Matt suggested. “Just go three-sixty.”

“Okay…” she said questioningly but did it.

Strange.

“Hey Manuele,” Matt continued, “what does Anika’s name look like? Above her head?”

Manuele was on Matt’s left in their circle, facing almost perpendicular. He responded, “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

“Sorry,” Matt apologized. “I didn’t mean. I mean, there’s something strange with how the names are showing. I’m trying to confirm. It looks like it’s…” Matt struggled to explain. “From here to here,” he held up his hands. “And then, across,” he gestured from left to right.

“What do you mean?” Manuele frustratedly mirrored Matt’s gesture.

Fallyn, from the other side of the circle, understood. “It should be backwards for me, or like I’m looking from behind. But it’s not.”

“Okay, but my name still says the wrong thing,” Karen insisted.

“Hello friends!” the cat-man interjected with enthusiasm. “I am Kurtis Aoki.” He gestured at the area above his head. Indeed, it said ‘Kurtis Aoki’ in floating green letters.

After the initial shock of this energetic, orange person coming out of nowhere, Sharkie said, “Dude, you’re a cat.”

“You’re a shark,” he responded with a shrug.

“I like him,” Sharkie declared.

Up close, the cat-man’s costume didn’t look like a costume. It’s got to be movie makeup or something, Matt thought. He tried not to look him over too obviously, but he couldn’t help it. The ears, the tail! Is this guy one of those furries? Please tell me it’s not a sex thing.

“Is it okay to ask,” Manuele began. “Do you always look like this?”

Kurtis’ big orange cat ears twitched in Manuele’s direction.

Holy crap, they moved!

“There aren’t any mirrors in this place.” Kurtis shrugged and pushed up his round-rimmed glasses.

Matt adjusted his own glasses, and then he and the cat-man exchanged a smile.

“I guess this is new for sure.” Kurtis swished his tail forward and held it in his hand. “My cat’s orange like this,” he reflected. “His name is Ralph. I wonder what he’d think of all this.”

Matt wasn’t sure if by ‘all this,’ Kurtis meant the cat features—or the whole situation. In addition to the ears and tail, the tip of Kurtis’ nose was like a pink cat’s nose. He didn’t have any whiskers. Instead, Kurtis had the hint of a mustache and beard, black like his eyebrows but barely there. Matt could see tabby patterns on the sides of Kurtis’ neck, ducking down beneath his tan v-neck to emerge on his arms and extend to the back of his hands. There was even a thin layer of fur.

“I saw you guys look my way and…” Kurtis trailed off, glancing down. “I hope it’s okay I came over. I don’t really know anyone here.” Kurtis reached up, nervously running a hand through his fur-hair, and then awkwardly stopping at a cat ear. Withdrawing the hand he sighed. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“Access names have been locked,” the announcement blared at full volume. “You will now select your Aspects.”