A plaid jacket flew out of the closet, joining the pile of rejected clothes beneath it. “Nope.” It was followed by a faded pair of ripped jeans, a mustard stained muscle shirt, and finally a horrendously gaudy bejeweled polo shirt. “How did you even get in there?! I destroyed you!”
The offending shirt thrown against the far wall rather than allow it to foul the normal clothes with its presence. Stepping away from the closet, Tom let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Guess its going to be plain jeans and a t-shirt.”
Nearly ten minutes of sorting through clothes only to settle on something he'd wear normally anyway. Mary was going to kill him.
The digital clock on the desk glowed with a cheery green 1:40 PM. He had promised Mary that he'd be at her parents by two and that clearly wasn't happening. A twenty minute drive through downtown and Sunday traffic meant he was going to be late by at least thirty minutes.
Wincing, he took out his cell and sent her a quick text
'Running late, be there about 2:15. love you<3'
Hopefully she wouldn't be too upset, she understood why he was taking so long at least. The plan was to ask her father, T.J., for permission to marry his daughter and the thought of confronting the scary old bastard had both of them high strung.
Tom was of the personal opinion that they should just get married regardless and tell him afterwards. Mary had emphatically explained as to why that was a “Fucking terrible idea, are you retarded?”
The issue boiling down to the fact that T.J was about as traditional as they came. Construction worker, army veteran, factory foreman, you name it and odds were, if the job required extreme physical labor or had the risk of bodily injury the old man had done it.
If he thought that Tom had somehow seduced his precious little girl and eloped then no place on Earth would stop the old man from hunting him down and personally and painfully ripping him a second ass.
So Tom was here, agonizing over what to wear as if the crusty old fucker would care in the slightest. He sighed and put on his chosen outfit. Irritated that he had taken so long over something as trivial as clothes. Usually he was decisive and didn't bother to second guess, but anything involving Mary turned his brain inside out and left him a drooling idiot.
“Guess that's what love is after all.” He grinned to himself and grabbed his car keys, phone vibrating in his pocket.
'I'm going to kill u <3'
So she was only a little bit annoyed, thank god. He headed outside, whistling as he went. The second love of his life waiting patiently in the driveway. The shining silver body of his newly purchased Mercedes begging to be driven around. Tom wasn't anything close to a car guy, or any variation on the phrase.
Much like a magpie, he just enjoyed collecting shiny things. So when his poor jalopy had given up the ghost and he went shopping and saw the chrome goddess waiting for him in the dealer lot, he knew what had to be done. The perks of having settlement money paying off yet again.
Beeping happily, the door swung open and Tom dropped into the driver seat. Popping the key into the ignition and giving it a twist, waiting for the sweet purr of the engine revving up.
Instead he was greeted by nothing. No click, no attempt at start up. Just cold silence made worse by the fact that the car had only been off the lot for a week. “No, no, no! You cannot be serious. Don't do this to me, I'm begging you, girl!”
His pleas went unanswered as he frantically tried to start the car to no avail. Disbelief giving way to anger as he climbed out of the car and yanked his phone out of his pocket, hitting the speed dial for Mary.
He was greeted by a harsh static that made him jerk away from the phone. “Ow, what the f-” The signal bar displaying a fat red X in the corner. “Are you shitting me right now?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Tom leaned against the car door and restarted his phone.
Still no signal. Cursing up a storm, he turned to stomp back into the house only to be blindsided by a massive blue text box that filled the entirety of his vision.
Overseer System initialized. Integration into Greater Network starting in 5 seconds.
He walked straight into the front door out of surprise “Ah fuck, what?” Rubbing at his nose, he looked at the box only for it to vanish, replaced by another one.
Overseer System operational. Welcome to the Greater Network of Worlds.
All non-active travel has been suspended until further notice. 30 minute grace period granted for active vehicles to come to a stop. Communications have been disabled to allow for full integration into the Network. Thank you for your patience.
Tom blinked and shifted his head to the side, only for the box to follow him. Endless questions ran through his head. Suspended travel? Communications blackout?
What the hell was going on? Overseer? Worlds? Had aliens finally decided to make their presence known to humanity?
Could he be having a psychotic episode? His mother's side of the family had a history of mental illness but this..felt real. The roar of a jet filled the air, the silver and red of a passenger plane banking sharply cut through the corner of Tom's vision, on the outer edge of the text box.
A third panel appeared as the second blinked away.
Further information will be provided shortly, please remain calm
Data shows that panicking during System activation leads to a 70% chance of suffering a fatal encounter with newly transplanted wildlife. Please arm yourself and standby. First Gates will open in thirty (30) Earth minutes. Implementation of the Restricted Action System will commence concurrently with Gate opening.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
After the final box appeared and Tom read its contents, it vanished and was replaced by a small timer in the bottom right corner of his vision showing a 30:00 and slowly beginning to count down.
Although his heart felt like it wanted to slam straight through his rib cage and do a jig on the sidewalk, he forced himself to calm down. Taking a full minute to simply focus on his breathing. His physical therapist had taught the trick to him in order to help deal with fatigue but it worked for anxiety too.
The early afternoon sun helped, warming his shoulders as he leaned against the car door and thought over the situation. Though the box didn't say it outright, it implied that things were going to get dangerous after thirty minutes. Whenever the 'Gates' opened, whatever that meant.
Another glance showed that his phone still had no signal. He sent a brief message to Mary telling her he was going to come anyway and to be safe, on the off chance it would go through if the signal came back then headed inside.
After closing and locking the door behind him, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV only to be greeted by static. Channel surfing rewarded him with the same black and gray fuzz on every station. His laptop was the same, it worked, but had no signal to any outside source.
The timer in the corner of his vision had steadily ticked down, now showing a 22:00, much to his surprise.
“How have I wasted eight minutes?! Sloppy, too sloppy, get it together, Tom.”
The message had said to arm himself, so he set about doing that to distract from the rapidly draining countdown.
Heading back to the bedroom, he pulled the closet door open and began to dig around for the second time that day. Tossing aside clothes that fallen off their hangers and shifting a box to the side finally allowed him to free his prize.
It was a dusty old bolt action .22. The first gun he had ever received in fact. A birthday gift from his grandpa Rick to celebrate him turning eight.
Tom had enjoyed shooting competitively at one point, and even hunted deer at a club during his teenage years at a club the very same grandpa managed and it was all thanks to the gun in his hands.
It had helped instill a healthy understanding and respect for firearms in the man, though he hadn't picked up a gun in the years. A combination of Rick dying and life events sapping his desire to have anything to do with guns.
Taking a seat on his bed, he cleared the bolt and ensured there was nothing in the chamber before wiping the dust away from the stock and scope with a careful hand. His initials, carved into the stock by his grandfather's careful hands nearly twenty years ago were still there. The memory of receiving the gift bringing a sad smile to his face.
With a melancholy sigh, he laid the gun out on the bed and fished out the small box of ammo he kept for it. Only twenty bullets in the pack but better than shooting dust.
The timer was down to 18:00 now, and there was something in the air. Not a literal thing, more of a feeling like before a major storm. That expectation that comes before the sky drops out. A building of tension and pressure as nature readies itself to unleash hell on everything.
A few minutes later and he had built a small stack of supplies on the counter. Mostly canned goods and a few of the nicer kitchen knives. Tom had briefly considered walking over to one of the neighbors and checking on them, but he didn't really have the kind of relationship that would warrant doing so.
He wanted confirmation that this wasn't just him seeing things, but risking getting shot from a jumpy homeowner didn't feel like it was worth it when he could just wait for the countdown and know regardless.
Having filled a duffel bag with the canned food and placed his rifle on the counter, Tom went and changed into an old pair of cargo pants and loose t-shirt he used to wear when doing painting work. After making some more room in the bag, he also added a few pairs of clothes and socks, filling it to capacity and leaving it difficult to zip up completely.
T.J had always talked about the importance of having a 'bug out bag' as he called it. A stash of clothes and other important things that you could grab when you needed to leave in a hurry. It was a practical thing to have for normal emergencies but having the idea pitched to him by a self confessed conspiracy theorist had turned Tom off the idea, which he was now regretting immensely as he rushed around trying to think of anything important he may have missed.
The countdown showed 8 minutes left. That feeling of expectation in the air, of something about to happen, had grown deeper. Tom was sure at this point it wasn't just him. A glance through the window showed clouds building in the sky from a previously sunny, if chilly, Fall afternoon.
With nothing left to do but wait, he took a seat on his favorite recliner and stared out the window, eyes flicking between the growing thunderheads above and the timer in the corner of his vision.
As it hit 3 minutes left, a faint buzz began to fill the air, slowly growing into a cacophony of sound. Tom picked at an ear for a moment before realizing it wasn't coming from him. It was all around, the very air was buzzing like a swarm of enraged hornets.
Sweat began to bead on Tom's forehead, his hands subconsciously wrapping around the gun in his lap as he stared out the window.
1:00
The air began to vibrate, the ceaseless buzzing turning into a deep thrum that pounded against the windows and vibrated inside Tom's gut like the bass at a rock concert.
0:30
Clouds outside swirled unnaturally, twisting and bending around one another like someone was yanking them around as lightning flashed and forked through the air.
:05
:04
:03
The thrum was nearly unbearable, the windows rattled and pulsed with each beat and Tom had to grit his teeth as his ears rang, but he refused to look away from the window or release his grip on the gun in his lap.
:02
:01
:00
Reaching its crescendo, the thrumming ceased only to be replaced by thunderous beams of light that ripped the clouds apart. Different colored cylinders of light punched through the thunderheads above, each one accompanied by a boom that rattled the entire house. Again and again they dropped from the heavens. Blue, green, orange, beige, teal, a kaleidoscope of colors slamming to earth.
They dropped with such intensity that the windows cracked and the house shook like it was an earth quake. Plates fell from the cabinets in the kitchen and shattered across the floor as a purple beam slammed down a few streets over, the shockwave shattering the windows and spraying shards of glass across the living room.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the celestial light show ended, leaving the sky filled with scattered clouds and sparkling white dust that floated through the air.
Gates successfully connected, uplink established!
Restricted Action System now active for combat encounters. Communication and vehicular transport will be re enabled at a later date.
The Overseer welcomes you, on behalf of the Greater Network of Worlds. May you prosper.
“What. The. Fuck.”