The walk took a long time, and Michael was grateful for the quality boots he had on his feet when he had woken up. They had turned out to be a sturdy pair of leather boots that seemed to have been made for him. They felt comfortable, and they protected his feet from the rough terrain he was traversing. Never underestimate good footwear.

As the sun began to set, Michael finally reached the quiet street where his and Mr. Jenkins' house was located. He felt relieved to be back in familiar territory, but he knew that he wasn't completely safe yet. Bandits and other dangers could still be lurking around, and he needed to be on guard at all times.

Michael stepped onto the porch of a two-story house, his stomach tense with apprehension. He took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles against the door three times. Silence was the only response – no creaking of floorboards, no shuffling of feet. He rapped harder this time, his knuckles grazing against the wood, but there was still no answer.

Fear crept into Michael's chest as he realized that Mr. Jenkins was not home. Had something happened to him? He shook away the thought; he refused to believe that the old man had died and instead chose to think that an errand or appointment must have taken him away from home.

Despondent, Michael trudged toward his home. The dilapidated structure was smaller than before and the roof, once made of cheap wood, was now thatched with corn stalks and cattails, bound together with thin strips of straw.

He grasped the crude doorknob and pushed it open. In the ensuing darkness, he fumbled around for several moments, until he found an ancient window latch. He yanked on the metal lever and the wooden shutter slowly creaked open. Cold air swept into the room and a thin sliver of light cut through the darkness. Michael squinted as he surveyed his new living quarters; most of his possessions were missing or reduced to mere shadows of their former selves.

Michael sat down on the bed, feeling overwhelmed. He couldn't believe that this was his life now. He had gone from a criminal to an escapee immigrant to a survivor in a world that he didn't understand. He wondered what had happened to the rest of the world. Had they disappeared, or had they been transported to another time and place like he had?

Michael got up from the bed and walked over to the small kitchen area. His supplies were still there, but they had been transformed into their medieval equivalents.Canned meats had become salted, dried meat where canned beans were turned into their raw form. Even his supply of long lasting energy bars had been replaced with various types of nuts and seeds. He sighed with relief when he saw the flour was still the same, knowing that he could at least make bread with it.

Picking up his flashlight, now turned lantern with a tallow candle, he wondered how useful it actually was. He needed to build a fire just to light it and that wasn't very practical.

Michael suddenly remembered that it was time for him to take his pills. Michael's heart raced as he desperately searched the kitchen cabinets - his life-saving medicine was nowhere to be found. He knew if he didn't take it soon, it could have dire consequences. Frustration and panic combined into a raging inferno in his chest as he realized that the same fate that had changed the world must have done something strange to his precious medication too.

He grabbed the handle of the last nightstand drawer and yanked it open. The sound of glass clinking against one another sent dread coursing through his veins. His stomach sank when he saw that the small plastic bottle of antidepressant had been replaced with several glass bottles of clear liquid, a tiny wooden stopper sealing each one. He carefully picked up one of the bottles and unscrewed the stopper. A sharp smell of alcohol assaulted his senses, confirming what he already knew to be true. He was fucked.

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That night, Michael’s dreams were filled with a strange and unearthly light. The mysterious radiance followed him everywhere, beckoning him forward, its intensity increasing whenever he reached out in an attempt to grab it. He kept running towards the source of this supernatural bright spot but every time he thought he was getting close, the light would move further away.

Finally, the light stopped at a large black stone structure and as soon as Michael stepped within arm’s reach, it began pulsing rapidly, so bright that his eyes felt like they were being seared by hot coals. Closer and closer he moved until he was within arms’ reach of the black pillar, whereupon the searing light exploded one final time and burnt into his mind's eye like a branding iron.

Michael awoke screaming, hands clasping over his face in primal reflex. He lay there shivering in a fetal position on the straw mattress - sweat dripping from every inch of his body.

Minutes passed as he heaved, trying to diffuse the phantom agony. Occasionally his muscles twitched in reflex, like a dog flinching when he expected to get hurt.

Eventually his breathing slowed down and the twitching stopped. Slowly peeking one eye open into the darkness of his cupped arms. When he deemed it safe enough, he made a small gap between his fingers, letting some of the morning light in. He flinched on reflex and closed his eye again but no pain came.

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Slowly dropping his hands and opening eyes he breathed a sigh of relief. That was the worst nightmare he ever had. Could the fact that he had not taken his pills affected him this much this quickly? The guard, no police officer, said it was two days already since most people awoke. Perhaps his body went three days without its medicine. That was long enough for his symptoms to start showing up.

And yet, there was something more to his dream. That light. It was the same one that he found the in the void. Was that just his mind playing tricks on him? After all, any of his thoughts were fair game for his illness. Such thoughts were dangerous for someone with a mental illness like his, yet he felt drawn towards finding answers.

But then, what was the black pillar the light has been trying to show him? And more importantly, why did he know where to go looking for it?

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Michael looked around the kitchen and found some dried fruit as well as seeds and nuts. While he would have preferred a more complex meal, he wanted to set out quickly. He needed to check on Mr. Jenkins, surely he would be home by now, right?

He felt a little better after eating and decided to go out and search for Mr. Jenkins. As he stepped outside, he noticed that the sun was still low in the sky. The quiet of the morning was almost eerie, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation. Michael made his way towards Mr. Jenkins' house and knocked on the door again, but still no answer. He kept banging for several minutes, hoping the old men was just sleeping but to no avail.

Michael's heart sank as he realized that something must have happened to his only friend in this world. He had to search the city for any signs of Mr. Jenkins' whereabouts, he just refused to believe the old man was dead.

He walked around the neighborhood, catching people as soon as they left their houses on their daily business, whatever it may be. Each time he described the old man and asked if they knew anything, each time the same answer. No, not since everybody has woken up.

Michael continued his now desperate, and seemingly hopeless search, knowing well there was no way to search the entirety of Chicago on his own. Mr. Jenkins could be anywhere.

He swallowed hard as he walked through the empty streets of the city. The once-bustling metropolis was now nothing more than a medieval town, complete with dirt roads and thatched roofs.

Michael couldn't help but worry about the future of the city. With a population population of almost 10 million, how would they all be able to survive with the limited resources available?

There were no more grocery stores or restaurants, no more delivery services or fast food chains. They were all thrown back to a time where they had to hunt and gather their own food or grow them from the ground.

The thought of running out of food and water was terrifying, and he wondered how long it would be until they were forced to make some tough decisions.

The thought of it made him shudder. If he was right, they would soon see people scrambling for food and resources, looting empty stores and houses. It was only a matter of time before their supplies ran out, and they were forced to fend for themselves.

He wondered how long the food he found in his kitchen would last him. He needed to start thinking about how to get more and what he could do to ration it. Maybe he could start a small garden, but he wasn't sure how to do that. Unlike his mother, he had never been much of a green thumb.

Then there was the issue of living space. The city was already packed with people before the world changed, and now there would be even fewer places to live. Michael wondered if people would start to band together to build shelters or if they would be forced to live in the streets.

He also wondered how the authorities, or what was left of them, would try to maintain some semblance of law and order in such a chaotic world. Would they be able to keep the peace, or would they resort to violence and oppression to maintain control?

He needed to confirm his suspicions.

Now actively looking for the police officers turned guardsman, it didn't take long to spot a pair patrolling around one of the streets with higher traffic. Michael quickened his pace as he approached them, his heart racing with anticipation. When he got close enough, he cleared his throat and addressed them.

"Excuse me, officers. Can I ask you a question?" he said, trying to sound as calm and polite as possible.

The men turned to look at him, their expressions guarded. Michael noticed the way they held their weapons - they were ready to attack at a moment's notice.

"What do you want?" one of them growled.

Michael took a deep breath and kept his voice steady. "I was wondering if you could tell me more about the current state of the city?"

After a long pause, one of the guards spoke up. "We don't know much more than you do," he said. "The world has changed, and we're all just trying to survive."

"What about the food supply? Is it not possible that the city will soon run out of food?" They had to know something.

The guardsmen exchanged a look before one of them stepped forward, showing him with his hands. "How about you mind your own business. Our food is none of your concern, thieving scum!"

Having dealt with law enforcement in the past he almost subconsciously raised his hands and lowered his eyes, showing he was no threat. Submitting was usually the easiest way to solve these ego trip conflicts with authorities.

They stared hard at him. "Don't show up around here again or we will continue where we left off."

One more shove and a spit between his feet and they were on their way.

He should follow them, find out where they lived and give them a late night visit. He doubted they slept in chain mail, no sane man would.

He clammed down on his thoughts. Shaking his head he once again rued the loss of his pills. He refocused on the matter at hand.

The food situation was obviously a sensitive topic with the guardsmen, meaning they must be very aware of the problems the city would soon face. Not to mention how on edge those two were even before he approached them. They must be expecting trouble.

Now the real question was, what would those with the knowledge do? Leave the city while possible, taking what supplies they could with them? Hoard the supplies and bunker down? Or perhaps stir up a crowd and take from those other two?

It seemed like a bad time to stay in the city.