The room was quiet, save for the squeaking of the old fan hanging above Markus as he slowly read through his book. It wasn't anything special it was particularly dingy but what would you expect from a book found in the trash? Even though some would consider it odd, Markus didn't mind as he swiped through page after page of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, especially if it meant passing time in this god-forsaken office. 

It had been over six months since he had been hired by “Goddard & Sons”, an insurance company operating in the small town of Melville, Louisiana, and not a day went by where he wished he could have smacked his slightly younger self. When he finally graduated from Louisiana State University only a year prior, he had thought that with a degree in business and economics, he would have an easy time finding a job. Yet fate would dictate otherwise when a recession hit and whatever idea he had of an idea shattered like glass. 

Now, instead of sitting in a sleek office with a skyline view, discussing market trends or investment strategies, Markus spent his days in a dimly lit room, drowning in policy forms and customer disputes. The excitement he once had for the future had withered away, replaced by a dull routine that left him questioning every decision that led him here. The job paid the bills—just barely—but it didn’t take much to realize that he was just another cog in the machine, stuck in a place that drained more from him than it gave.

He had tried to make the best of it at first, telling himself it was just a stepping stone, a temporary stop until something better came along. But months passed, and the job never changed. The fluorescent lights buzzed just as harshly, the coffee in the break room remained just as stale, and the work—endless piles of meaningless paperwork—never seemed to lessen. The worst part? He had stopped expecting anything different. It was like being trapped in quicksand, sinking inch by inch with no real effort to pull himself free.

Which is why he found himself more often than not just sitting in his office, doing whatever to pass the time until he could head back to his apartment. At first, it had been doodling on pieces of scratch paper and tossing them into the wire trashcan before he eventually began to bring books with him. 

Science fiction, in particular, became his go-to. There was something about the vastness of space, the absurdity of other worlds, and the sheer unpredictability of the narratives that made him feel, for a brief moment, like he wasn’t stuck in a dead-end job in a nowhere town. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy had been his latest find, plucked from the trash behind the office, its cover barely hanging on and pages crinkled from past neglect. It was fitting, in a way—a book discarded, forgotten, yet still holding value for someone willing to pick it up.

Just as he turned the page to the ninth chapter, a voice rang out that made Markus close his eyes. That voice belonged to none other than Fredrick Goddard, son of the office's owner, David Goddard, and out of everyone inside the building, he was perhaps the one he hated the most. 

“Markus!” Fredrick barked from the doorway, his tone high-pitched as always. He stepped inside the room without invitation, his cologne an overpowering mix of citrus and something artificial. He was dressed in pressed slacks and a blue dress shirt. Gleaming on his hand, a designer watch could be seen, ticking time slowly. On his face, he wore the same arrogant smirk he always wore whenever he wanted to harass an employee. “Are you seriously just sitting here reading again?”

Markus didn’t bother looking up right away. He took a slow breath, eyes lingering on the pages of his book even though he wasn’t actually reading anymore. He had learned early on that giving Fredrick a reaction was exactly what he wanted. The man thrived on making others feel small, filling the empty space where his own competence should have been with pointless dominance games. Markus wasn’t interested in playing.

“I’m on my lunch break,” he said flatly, finally lifting his gaze. His tone wasn’t defensive, just a statement of fact. He wasn’t breaking any rules, not that Fredrick cared. The man made his own rules, bending and breaking them whenever it suited him.

Fredrick scoffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up one of the reports on Markus’s desk and flipped through it lazily. There had been times when Markus genuinely wondered if he could actually read what was on said papers. 

“You know, Markus, this is exactly why you’re stuck where you are,” he said, crossing his arms. “You sit around reading that garbage instead of working. Maybe if you put in half the effort the rest of us do, you wouldn’t be wasting away in this sad little office.”

Markus said nothing. He stared at his book, willing himself to focus on the words even though Fredrick’s voice was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t the first time he had heard this spiel, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Pathetic, really,” Fredrick continued, his smirk widening. “But, hey, I don’t have time to waste on lost causes. I’ve got a shareholder’s meeting to get to—something important, something that matters.” He adjusted his watch, making sure Markus saw the gleaming metal catch the light. “Dad’s got a big deal lined up. If all goes well, let’s just say my bank account’s about to get a whole lot fatter. You enjoy your little book, though. Someone’s gotta keep the bottom of the ladder warm.”

With that, Fredrick turned on his heel and strutted out of the office, his expensive shoes clicking against the worn-out tile. Markus waited a few seconds, listening to the echo of his footsteps fade into the hallway. Only when he was sure Fredrick was gone did he let out a long, exhausted sigh, running a hand down his face.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Motherfucker, I hate you” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before slumping back in his chair. He grabbed his book again, flipping back to where he had left off, but the words didn’t come as easily this time. The world of fiction wasn’t quite strong enough to drown out the frustration simmering in his chest.

***

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon by the time Markus trudged up the cracked concrete steps to his apartment. The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast long shadows across the parking lot, barely illuminating the faded numbers on the building’s peeling exterior. It wasn’t much—hell, it was barely above a dump—but it was his. The rent was cheap, and more importantly, he could pay it on time, which was more than some people could say in this economy.

He shoved his key into the rusted lock, twisting it twice before the door finally gave way with a groan. The air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of old carpet and whatever his neighbors had been cooking that night. Probably microwaved ramen or cheap takeout—both familiar scents in a place like this. Tossing his bag onto the worn-out couch, he let out a tired breath, standing in the middle of the room for a moment, just taking in the silence.

Flipping on the light, Markus made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge only to be greeted by the sight of half a loaf of bread, an almost-empty carton of milk, and a sad-looking takeout container that was probably pushing its expiration date. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, not that there was much to work with anyway. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the door, popped the cap off on the counter’s edge, and made his way back to the couch. 

He sank into the cushions, one hand resting on his forehead as he stared at the ceiling. Another day is done, another day closer to—what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. He just knew that this wasn’t the life he had planned. Markus took a slow sip of his beer, the bitter taste doing little to wash away the weight in his chest. He let his head rest against the back of the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling fan above him. It was barely moving, the dust-covered blades creaking with every sluggish rotation. Another broken thing in his life he hadn’t bothered to fix.

He took another sip of his beer, the glass bottle sweating in his grip. The heater in the corner rattled to life, barely doing anything to push back the creeping December chill that seeped in through the thin walls. His neighbor’s radio was playing through the plaster—some distant song, muffled but still recognizable. He thought he heard Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’ Bleeding Through, the kind of song that people played with hopeful enthusiasm, but right now, it just felt ironic.

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, Markus tapped one out and lit it with a worn Zippo, the flame flickering as he took a slow drag. He wasn’t even sure when he had picked up the habit—probably sometime after he started working at Goddard & Sons when he realized that a smoke break was one of the few acceptable ways to step away from his desk without getting an earful. He let the smoke curl from his lips, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The year was ending, and yet, nothing felt like it was moving forward. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to.

Time passed quickly as he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, letting the last tendrils of smoke curl into the air before exhaling slowly. The beer bottle was nearly empty by this point, condensation pooling on the coffee table where it had been resting. The soft glow of the TV flickered against the walls, Peter Falk’s gravelly voice filling the room as Columbo wrapped up yet another case.

Markus rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Without even bothering to clean his mess, Markus pulled himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom. The apartment was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the heater struggling to push out any warmth. Markus shuffled down the short hallway, the floor cold against his bare feet. He didn't bother turning on the light—he knew the layout well enough, and besides, he was too damn tired to care.

Once inside his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, letting his clothes fall wherever they landed. The mattress groaned under his weight as he collapsed onto it, arms sprawled out, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A streetlamp outside cast long, crooked shadows across the wall, the faint glow just enough to remind him he was still here, still stuck in the same cycle.

For a moment, he lay there, waiting—waiting for sleep to come, waiting for his mind to stop buzzing, waiting for something to change. But nothing did. Nothing ever did. With a heavy sigh, he turned onto his side, pulling the thin blanket over himself. Tomorrow would be the same as today. The same as yesterday. And for now, all he could do was close his eyes and let the night take him.

Yet even as he drifted to sleep, something was happening in his living room. As had become a habit of his whenever he stood up late, he forgot to turn off the TV. The old TV, its screen dim and grainy, continued flickering in the empty living room. The last rerun of Columbo had ended, and static briefly filled the air before the late-night broadcast cycle moved on. The faint glow cast eerie shadows against the walls, the restless hum of white noise barely noticeable over the distant city sounds outside.

Then, the screen shifted.

For a moment, it wasn’t the usual infomercial or the national anthem signaling the station’s sign-off. Instead, the image stuttered, glitching like a tape caught in rewind. The colors warped, lines of distortion running across the screen before settling into something… different. The grainy picture sharpened unnaturally, the black-and-white contrast deepening as if the broadcast had suddenly become too clear.

A figure appeared—a man, or at least something shaped like a man. His suit was dark, blending into the artificial static behind him, his face obscured by the kind of visual fuzz that made it impossible to tell if it was intentional or just a bad signal. He stood completely still, facing forward as if staring out of the screen itself.

The air in the apartment seemed to shift, an unnatural stillness settling over the room. The faint sound of static crackled softly, almost like whispers buried beneath the transmission. Then, without warning, the figure spoke, its voice hissing like a snake.

“World Synchronization complete, Have a nice rest of your day”

The words slithered through the static, mechanical yet organic as if spoken by something that barely understood human speech. The television screen pulsed, distorting for a brief moment before settling back into that eerie, too-clear picture. The figure stood motionless once again, its blurred face unreadable, its presence invasive in a way that defied explanation.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the screen cut to black.

The apartment remained still, the faint hum of the heater the only sound left in the room. A second later, the TV shut itself off completely, the glow of the screen vanishing into darkness. The only sign that it had ever been on at all was the faint crackle of static still lingering in the air, like an echo of something that shouldn't have been there in the first place.

In his bedroom, Markus shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing as if reacting to something just beyond the reach of his dreams. But he did not wake. He remained wrapped in unconsciousness, unaware that something had changed—that the whole world was about to change.