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Notes. This is my first TG story, so please, have mercy! I will forewarn that this is an identity death story. If you aren't a fan of the identity death genre, then please avoid giving criticism for that reason alone. But this is also meant to be a horror story. So if you enjoy horror stories then perhaps consider giving it a read. I wanted to avoid just jumping to the erotic scenes as quickly as possible, but if you are here for that, then jump to chapter seven. The story does continue past the obligatory sex scene so keep reading after! This is a prelude to what I hope can be a new universe that I will return to from time to time. Ultimately the story did not turn out exactly how I wanted it, even after many edits. The length got out of control perhaps as well as others pointed out. I originally placed this on TG Storytime, but since the Fictionmania archive will outlast humanity itself. I decided to place it here too. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 1 Ryan practically crawled his way up the delicate staircase and found himself in the upstairs section of the bookstore. A hidden world lay ahead. It was reasonably well stocked, but it appeared that the owner used it more or less as at dumping ground for books considered unsellable or too obscure for public interest. He weaved between the bookcases and found a few academics that he had read in the later days of undergraduate studies. They were the kind you read in year one of the course, perhaps you stole a paragraph or three to include in some flimsily constructed essay but then quickly forgot about them. Others were some of the minor contributors and madmen that never made a difference. He scanned the names of authors... Robinson, Jones, and Bloch. He pulled out the book with the gilded writing on the spine that said "Jones". "Oh dear, no one should read this." He ducked down to a lower shelf then forcefully thrust the book behind a clutch of others. "I can't inflict that on anyone else... the man spent more time on his feud with Irving than proving his actual theory." As he lifted himself up, he heard shuffling behind him, which made him do a half-turn around nervously. There was someone else there, they glanced momentarily his way, but he could barely make out any details in the glassy haze of indirect perception, not even gender. Their hair was shaggy, and their clothes loose and frumpy. The figure moved quickly out of perception and moved over to back of the room. He looked back to the shelves in front of him and spent his patience trying to flick through each one "Absolutely frickin worthless." He now saw the trouble with this place. It was all fine if you want to pick up Jurassic era editions, or novelties, but not for the superlative editions or near-latest textbooks. They had probably been picked off slowly by everyone doing the same course over the years. He'd have been better off buying on Amazon, which would have saved an hour to work on his dissertation. But... at least the town was nice. "So... definitely no Yale edition of the satires of Horace then. Hm... by the gods," he sighed. Being a post-graduate had begun to make his brain feel sluggish, like a envoy of trains pulling out of station one after the other. One thought would come but another took a few seconds and a bit of force of will. They were expected to have such high-grade, masterful knowledge of the subject, but he wished some space in his brain was freed up. He pulled out his Android phone and flipped up the list of books. He pulled his finger and thumb together and zoomed in... "Mort D'Arthur, Parzival, The Art of Courtly Love. Montaillou. Um...right let's look for the Penguin Mort D'Arthur." He swept the room once more and took in the stale smell of varnished leather. Montaillou caught his eye and he pulled out of the shelf with a grin. He heard the creaky patter of someone making their way down the steps. It seemed his fleeting companion found what they were looking for. He almost felt like longingly calling after them. "Well, now I have the whole room to myself," he said out loud with a chuckle. He didn't feel so awkward about nipping from bookcase to bookcase now, and quickly managed to snipe out each of the books he needed, then dropped them each carelessly into his creased supermarket bag. "A night packed with repressed sexuality, betrayal and flowery poetry then. I definitely dodged a bullet by not following the Theology angle." He was ready to check out with the owner, when a soft thought made him close his eyes. "I shouldn't forget my sister. She's probably already finished the last book I bought her." He hoped one day she would follow in the footsteps of their father, and hopefully himself too. Ah, to spend your life on a higher purpose. She too could earn no money while writing piles of essays for the private eyes of only a few... but things were unacceptably difficult for her. He really just wanted to encourage her a tad. He didn't want her to give up on life completely. He sighed and wandered over to the 'Children's' section. "I'll try ease her into it with some more medieval fairy-tale like claptrap. But no more of that brain-dead horror comic nonsense," he whispered to himself. He was utterly unqualified to judge the quality of these books. He had long ago lost touch with his childhood. The matter of his sister, and how often their family moved around, made it less about having lost touch and more of sprinting ahead of it... and checking precariously behind before it caught up. Besides, he preferred to occupy his free time with video games then and now. The imagination works miracles but it needs time to cook, while a video game presented a whole meal already prepared. With flashing colours, bombastic noise and promises of easy advancement and blonde princesses to save. He had already began introducing his sister to some of his old role playing games. He chuckled to himself as he noted many of the 'children's' books were like abridged versions of his medieval romances. He tried not to let his cynicism get the better of him. So, he picked out 'The Princess Destiny' for her. A charming tale of an angry little princess soothed by an angelic beast. According to the blurb anyway... kind of sounds like the name cruise ship though. Upon further browsing he found a book which appeared way too thick for a children's book. He flicked open the cover and let out a whistle of appreciation. There were some astoundingly detailed illustrations inside of alien lands and fantastical creatures, like some of speculations in Greek mythology. They were beautifully chalked and tinted with something similar to crushed beetle dye, or pastel paint. The cover struck him as odd, it seemed and felt positively medieval, he'd touched others like it. This was something else. "Fascinating," he cooed. And below it another book instantly caught his eye. What could only be described as a tome. This... now this.... looked like it belonged in a private collection or in a museum, the leather was weathered and hardy and full of deep ripples. The bindings were made of a simple metal, bound and crooked around the spine like iron bars. He kept his hand on the cover a moment before opening it, as if it was a holy book burning away the flesh of a hand directed towards deceit. As he carefully peeled the pages apart inside, he could see volumes of writing in an unknown alphabet, something truly bizarre. But what the hell was it? Was it just some childish make-believe language? Wait no... could it be? Ancient Greek. He began to frantically flick through the pages and his mind reeled. This is some kind of commentary about the book. Some Ancient Greek writer was just as confused as he was. This book was storied even then? But genuine Ancient Greek... here? The pages looked archaic enough, and they had an imprinted texture, as if they had been crushed and handled by thousands of fingers over thousands of lifetimes. He was caught by one of the notes on the first page which read roughly... "For my son. May this be one of many gifts to come," the memento barely registered with him, he had already begun thinking of his own future. "Holy shit. I'll definitely get some acknowledgement with this. Hell, it will jump-start my career. Maybe even make me into a household name." He tried to absorb the notes further, but quickly came to a rough realisation that was not so fluent in Attic Greek. He beamed a grin, it seemed like a good day's work in all honestly, he had everything he needed. And discovered something truly epic. He just needed to wrest it from the possession of the shopkeeper. He hugged the wall of the staircase and crept down the stairs. As he made his way to the front desk he passed by the best-sellers and modern literature. He flowed around the haphazardly placed stepladders and then the slightly new editions of the classics. The tired and bulky looking clerk lifted up his head expectantly. He certainly was not the type of man you expected to work in the book store. His build resembled more of a longshore man or a docker. His body was well-hewn and packed with a lot of muscle mass. Every single part of him had a deep natural tan and his skin looked over-stretched, as if it didn't fit over his muscles. "You know you were up there nearly an hour kid, I shoulda closed up an hour ago. I really hope you're bringing in some dough for me today," he smiled wirily. "Or buying something really weird. This place has changed hands a few times... so it's still capable of pulling out the odd surprise y'know." his voice had a springy and young sound to it, like a student. Ryan winked at the owner, and began pulling everything out of his bag. "I found everything I'll ever need. Although, I need to tap your brain about this one book." He slammed the grimoire down on the table. "You know I've never seen anything like this. My Dad is a historian, and I don't recognise half the languages in this book," he voiced excitedly. The old man clamped his teeth together hard. "Do you remember who brought it in?" he said. The old man seemed all too ready to answer after inspecting it only a few seconds. "Ohhhh... That ugly thing, it belonged to a tall black guy, who came around one day. He crept up on me, just popped up right at the counter. I didn't even hear him come in. He had long grey hair, some thick-rimmed glasses. Shoes and suit that looked like he gave them more attention than he's probably ever gave any woman. Yeesh... yeah, and the accent, it was all professional and unplaceable. Like he was a bureaucrat, or worked for the government. He left it is a donation and didn't give me the chance to argue about it." He stared at the man with disbelief and crunched his face up, as if fiercely concentrating. Then it dawned on him that the owner was just teasing him. The owner shrugged. "I was screwing with you. I don't have a clue." Ryan gave the owner a sarcastic smile. "Like I said, lots of surprises up there." "Aren't you curious though?" The owner's joke just made him more determined. "Frankly, no, I just don't have any in me to give a damn." "Well, you should, because if you have anything more like this it might bring a lot of attention your way." The owner crossed his arms tightly. "What if I don't need any attention? Maybe I'm happy with my three customers a day." Ryan bowed his head submissively, he didn't want to lose the book. So, he chose his next words carefully. "I'm not trying to criticise you or your establishment... I guess I just didn't expect to find something this extraordinary here. You have some impressively old inventory but... books like this are usually locked in vaults with the British Museum." The owner stroked his chin. "Made a discovery then?" "I believe so... I really believe so." He laughed nervously. The owner pointed at him hard. "You sound fairly certain of yourself. I'm glad you're gonna get a kick out of this." "What do you mean?" he replied. "I caught your face when you walked in. You got those blank eyes, not a bit of life in them. It looks like you need a new project to get you going again," Ryan didn't have anything to add. "Where you from then?" the man said. "Alum Rock," he stated cleanly. The man seemed surprised. "You came all the way out here on your weekend for some books? In Winter? Ain't there somewhere in the city just as good?" "Well, your store has a great reputation... online... and I needed a break from the city. I like the freedom out here," Ryan said. The bulky man grinned smugly. "Wow. Would you look at that. I guess I don't need the customers after all." Ryan gave a polite smile back, and at this point the owner actually started packing the books back into his bag. He thought about all the hipster reviews he read through to found this place. Stuff about how the owner always had a life-changing book in stock. "What are these?" the man flipped over one of the books and grinned "Romance novels? A bit of under the covers reading?" He winked. He shook his head and didn't reply, feeling slightly awkward about that when talking to another man. They didn't deem half as important now though. The owner then pointed to himself with both hands. "Me, I love sports books, and the guys who do sports. Especially Boxing, Wrestling and all types of Martial Arts. Some of those men really lived hard lives you know. They lived in another plane from us... like gods or something." Ryan threw in a few words "I prefer fantasy heroes, like, heroes from epic fantasy. You know that Bruce Lee could never beat say... Achilles." "Achilles died from a dumb freakin' arrow in his foot. Bruce Lee had no weaknesses. Nobody ever beat him, you got that?" Looks like he was a fanboy, Ryan thought. "Yeah, I saw the movie Troy," the man said with confidence. Ah crap, a casual. Ryan's mouth drooped. "I'm kidding, I mean come on, I said I run a book store right? Have some faith." Ryan nodded impressed. "So, you're staying here for a couple more days then?" He nodded again in reply. The owner gave him a cool touch on the shoulder "I might go visit my nephew up in Alum. I need to close up for the winter one week or another. So maybe I'll see you around." That was unlikely in a city the size of Alum Rock, but Ryan smiled back. "Adios. Enjoy your books, and your break kid." The owner handed him the bag and gave him a brief wave. "I doubt I'll have time to read them all properly, but thanks. Later," he replied. That guy wasn't so bad. But did he really appreciate his workplace? That explains how badly organised everything was. Hm... maybe should I should get a job somewhere like this. It could be fun, and I need the money. Heh, and it would give me more time to read for pleasure." He stepped out into the glacial air, and immediately reached in his pocket for a scarf and a set of gloves. He tightened the scarf around and forced a sigh of hot musky air. He started down the Main Street and took in the beautiful old town around him... He followed the thick set and crisscrossing footprints in the snow ahead of him. He winced at the snow landing on his face and twisted the handle of his bag, to protect the contents from the wet snow. He looked at the Victorian houses lining the streets. They screamed exorbitant wealth and provincial privilege that was totally out of the reach of most people. This was about as 'ancient' as you could get in this part of the world. Far from Gothic castles or stately homes, yet it was charming, not unlike being trapped in a snow globe. He was walking through the park now, he could hear the harsh barking of unseen hounds through the rushing blasts of the snow. He needed to brace himself against this cold, warm his body, and just... relax a bit. He found a bench and wiped away the muddy ice sludge mixture. Life after undergraduate studies had been miserable. He was back at home, with the same family he had left behind all those years ago. When he was younger, he sometimes wished his sister would have just disappeared. She got all the little attention Dad could muster, and he was left to his own devices. He was just being a brat of course, he taught himself since then that he drew that unlucky ticket called a broken family. Her mother tried to love them both... for a while, but then she left them too. That cowardly bitch. He remembered throwing so many accusations around about his new sister, and snidely whined behind her back to his school yard friends. He felt that it was her fault. Petulant teenager that he was. A dog covered in a mat of snow ran past him, its master precariously power-walked behind it on the ice. He was struck with another memory. Not even buying a pet had helped his mood. His dad was an anti-social academic... so he brought in this animal to do his job for him. He bought a parrot of rather dubious origin, and let it waste away in the living room. Ryan played with it and fed it but he eventually got bored. It was a pretty useless thing, and didn't even manage to learn one word before it dropped dead one day, probably from the climate. His sister cried on and off for days though. Then a few days afterwards she was having a monster tantrum. Ryan remembered that day; because some prick was messing around with his girlfriend at school and they got into a fight. That was his excuse anyway. He got home and she was tugging at his clothes and bawling at him, she just wouldn't leave him alone. It wasn't unusual, but he was just so frayed that day...and so he slapped her hard. She didn't speak to him for weeks, probably didn't even understand why he did it, and didn't say anything to Dad. She lost the use of her legs a few weeks afterwards. He thought it certain that it was his fault, and visited her every day hospital and begged her forgiveness. In the end, it turned out to be part of the natural progression of her... disease. He had become much more protective of her afterwards. He tried to chew out anybody out who tried to mess with her, but it was so constant, and drew so much heat on himself, that he eventually gave up. He shuffled on the bench as cold despair slithered along his nerves. Does she even remember...? And god, Dad is a damn invalid at this point, too old and sodden most days. Then there were the whores, and random women he brought around... Ryan had to look after them both now, and miraculously finish his Postgrad. Then he could move somewhere better maybe. He would have to leave them both behind again. "With a PhD in History? Just keep on dreaming," he whispered. Worse was that the old adages provided no mercy for him. A problem shared is a problem halved. Well, no one wanted to share anything with him. No woman wanted anything to do with someone living at home, who had the black dog routinely humping their leg. He screwed up the few dates he had gotten when his problems began flying out his mouth, their faces would crunch up in disgust like he had just spat all over them. He shook his head and laughed, then spluttered as the cold air caught his throat. "What the hell am I doing thinking about all this. Fuck. I have to go back and greet them all soon... this will just make it worse," he squinted his frosty eyelids and looked down at his bag of books. The giddy promise of his discovery was still lurking at the back of his mind. "I need peace of mind," he whispered. He made his way back through the town, occasionally he went down the wrong street, but he eventually made it back to the car. He sat and shivered, it was like a meat locker. It smelt like it could be anyway. He jammed the key in the ignition and waited for the car to warm up. In the meantime, he couldn't wait to crack open the book and take another peek at its contents. He lifted out the book of illustrations too. 'She pouted at the Unicorn. She was a naughty and ill-tempered Princess who unfortunately owned a lot of stuff and servants. The only thing she didn't own in the world, was the Unicorn. She would do anything to get it.' Uhh, no... He swapped it out for the bigger book and placed it on the hand-rest. He opened up the grimoire and tried to ascertain anything new. He took notice of the beautiful artwork and fine penmanship on the borders of some of the pages without commentary, reminiscent of a cherished tome in a Monastery. He opened up the picture book and compared the two side by side. Yes, it was certainly possible they were done by one illustrator, or a great imitator. As he flicked through he began to pick out more of the Ancient Greek commentary, and noted some of it was mixed in with a bit of Phoenician, even Akkadian also featured from time to time. There were notes and briefs in the commentaries of what could only be described as alchemical rituals and transmutation. But he could read sentences at best. There were some odd descriptions of reality being like 'tadpole spawn'. There was evidence of a religious manual here of some kind. The book was beginning to stretch his knowledge of dead languages. The main script was still totally indecipherable. However, more than a few minutes of reading through the book had left him with an odd curdling in his stomach. He felt a pinch of nauseousness even. Maybe it was time he picked himself up a new pair of glasses? No, it wasn't an eyesight problem, was it? He was just finding it hard to avert his gaze from the book. He'd forgot to blink, that was all. Melting ice began to thump off the car window and onto the floor. He placed everything quickly back in the bag, then revved up the engine. He stroked his pendant and sighed. "Time to go home then." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 2 Rushing down the open highway led him straight into the mouth of Alum Rock, its infamous smog shimmering along the red winter sky. The three prongs, the strongholds of the rich and powerful, loomed over the skyline, along with the hideous skeletons of new steel builds with no form or function except reaching the stratosphere. Sure, Alum Rock wasn't quite as corporate as London, Berlin or New York yet but it was getting there. He occasionally wondered when the class war would kick off. If he wasn't too old, then he could perhaps vandalise a few Armani stores and smash out some windows. It was unsustainable, six million people all breaking bread and parlaying in this crater of a city. He turned off onto the slip road. The city just had no identity outside of its franchises and chain stores, that's why he was fond of visiting the country. Or maybe he was just sick of circulating the same groups his entire life. He weaved through the deprived inner city, and caught glimpses of the usual situations. It was like his daily route was just a replay of various recordings. There was a mixed-race couple arguing outside a convenience store. Some confused parents trying to bundle their kids into a crappy van with too much gear packed on top of it. An old man repairing damage to a shop window with the help of a younger man. Always the same shit, maybe they were probably all unhappy when it came down to it. He felt that strong wave of nauseousness again. He was beginning to worry, he couldn't keep driving in this state. He pulled into a lay-by opposite a gas station and stopped to collect himself. He couldn't stop for long though, or the frost might creep back into the car. It was entirely inappropriate, but he felt a quiet urge to crack open the book again. He fixated on the outline of the books as they pressed up against the plastic bag, and as he did, he swore he was edging slowly towards sleep. A rapping noise at the window woke him up. There was a tanned-ish thin man with a thick coal black beard mouthing someone through the glass. He was typically dressed, with a tartan shirt and a duffle coat. Ryan shook his head after watching the mime show, and began to roll down the window. The bearded man seemed relieved. "Hey there, sorry to be a pain, but could you please, just possibly, help me push my car up here? I kinda let myself run out of gas just down the road... unlucky, right?" He gave the man a tired smile, though Ryan realised his hand was actually already inside the plastic bag. He pressed down on the door- handle and stepped out of the car. The moment he managed to stand up- right, the bearded man moved suddenly and pressed the sharp and cold point of a knife against the cotton of his shirt. He pulled up his hands submissively as the bearded man pushed him right up against the metal of the car, bending his back horribly. "Really pal? No one is that polite anymore. Kinda surprised that worked," the bearded man said snidely. "Well, some of us are still a little old-fashioned, prick," Ryan shot back. The thug dug the knife-point in a little bit more. "Empty out your wallet, gimme your cards too," the bearded man said hurriedly. He reluctantly did so and handed the bearded man everything, he avoided eye contact, trying not to aggravate him. "Never thought I'd be robbed by a lumberjack," he remarked. "I was a store manager actually." the man looked away with a hint of shame. The bearded man peered into the interior of the car and pointed the knife inside at the plastic bag. "What's in the bag?" he said. He felt a slurry in his stomach. No, please don't touch the books. He had a bad feeling but he believed it was probably best not to lie. "Just some antique books," Ryan said. "That's nice, well... I will take a look anyway thank you, just to be sure," he reached in and grabbed the bag. He opened it up and pulled out the picture book with one hand. He flicked it open, knife still firmly in his left hand. The man's face contorted and his voice exploded with rage. "Fucking kiddies books, what the fuck can you do with these? Can you eat them? No," he kept looking through the illustration book and shook his head in disgust. "No! Leave that alone!" Ryan screamed. "Keep your fucking mouth shut," the bearded man said. He then ripped out and tore up a few pages of the book, and threw them on the floor, followed by the book itself. The man then pulled out the grimoire, but nearly dropped it back in after realising its weight. He then dropped the entire bag down on the wet floor. "Who's this crayon book for then? You?" "It was for my sister you ass," he said, not attempting to conceal his anger. The bearded man opened up the grimoire. He kept the knife firmly held in his right hand. It wasn't pointed at him right now, but he thought it was best not to try outmanoeuvre the man. "Get her something fucking useful next time. This all means shit to me. Doesn't mean anything for anyone else either I bet," the man shook his head and laughed. "It's a book for a child." His eyes squinted at he waited for the man to say something else. "Right. Well...I'm done with you, you can go back to your book," the bearded man backed off, knife still pointed in his direction, before he ran off sprinting, occasionally sliding and stumbling a bit over a patch of ice. "Nihilist dick," he scowled. He checked the damage to the picture book. There were only a few pages gone but he might as well have burned the whole book. If this really was a compliment to the grimoire, well it could totally erase the possibility of determining the meaning of the whole. "That guy had no clue what he held in his hands, okay... well... neither do I yet but..." He placed everything back in and got ready to start the car. He decided he wouldn't mention the incident to the family. Not for a while at least. He'd cancel his cards and ring the police. His mind was teetering on a mental cliff. He needed to get back home, bury his head in these books and maybe take a snooze on them. He finally pulled up in the driveway of their house and relaxed with a sigh. He prepared himself for family time and gathered up his belongings. He kicked some snow off the pathway and then knocked on the door once before opening it. "It's just me... Maria, Dad." He heard a mousy voice reply something unintelligible. Then a gruff voice said something upstairs but it didn't sound directed at him. He guessed that his Dad was talking with an old work colleague. So he tip- toed through the passage to fetch Maria. She was already waiting in her wheelchair, blocking the door frame of the living room. She was wearing her ill-fitting red cap on backwards, and her pajamas with the cartoon sheep pattern. Dad obviously hadn't made her bathe for a few days since her dirty blonde hair was straggly and dry, like tinder. Her withered left arm was lolling by her side, completely covered by the whole sleeve of her shirt. The harsh winter had made her look fourteen and not eleven. As they both opened their mouth to speak, he felt a gust of icy wind as the door went behind him. Seems there was a new acquaintance he should be introduced to. "Ryan!" She grinned. "Sis," he bent down and straightened out some of her clothing. "What you been up to?" he asked with a grin. "I've been watching the new adventures of The Contenders," she replied, her grin growing even larger. "Which episode?" Ryan smiled. "The one with Paratrax." "Ohh wow... their greatest foe to date." "He talked so much. They beat him so baaad though. Bad guys who talk a lot are the easiest to beat." Not if today's experience meant anything he thought. He stood up and prodded her cap a couple of times. "And have you played any of my games I dug out for you?" Ryan asked. "I guess they were kinda fun. Not immersive enough though." "Oho. deep criticism, you have to look past the graphics. Took me ages to find them for you but... I'm glad you at least tried them out," he could already see the ticking slot machine in her mind landing on the next topic. "Have you seen Spaceblasters episode two yet?" she said. He grinned "We already talked about that episode." "What did you think about the clockwork city then?" She looked at him annoyed. He knew he really shouldn't be watching those kids shows, but they kept him kind of youthful. He acted to change the subject. "You know I got you something cool from the book store. You know how me and dad are always looking at dumb old drawings in our books?" "You haven't seen the episode yet! And you call yourself a fan," she growled. "Maria, I don't have time to watch cartoons all day, and we already talked about it I'm sure... anyways I bought you a present," he said firmly. She seemed curious at the word 'present' and began to rock her chair with excitement. He fumbled behind him trying to pick up the plastic bag before he realised he had left it in the car. "Crap. Wait here sis." "Sure," she said with sarcasm. He ran back to the car, he struggled trying to open the car door, all the while feeling the bite of the cold on his numb fingertips. He heard a shout pierce the air from the other side of the street. "Yo, yo, Ryan. Soup mah boyee."' Ryan bowed his head exasperated and shouted back. "Michael... nice to see you uh. Why are you talking like that?" Michael ran over the road to Ryan. He seemed slightly worn out, a look of disappointment snuck onto his face. "Just jokes. You don't remember the jokes?" he said. Ryan rubbed the back of his head and then shrugged. "A Nigerian guy, that's moi, trying to blend in with the crowd because he has the harshest English accent in the world. So, I tried to speak like, you know... African-American." Michael was from a family of Nigerian converts, right. He picked up the accent from his teacher. He hadn't hung out with Michael for years, and he definitely felt the time gap. His accent was diminishing somewhat actually. "How's it going anyway?" Michael asked cheerfully Ryan felt like he had explained this a hundred times today. Why wouldn't he just leave him alone so he could study? "I went to a book store in Rose and Wyatt, enjoyed some of the old town for a while. Now I'm back home again in Silkhill." Michael nodded. "Wish I had the time to go over there." A fond, slash, disturbing memory rose to the surface of Ryan's mind. "So, how is the quest going?" Ryan asked. The quest was simple and the basest act of vengeance. Michael's family were controlling, and kept trying to foist marriage partners on him. He had them convinced their religious brainwashing was working. But Michael decided to get laid with as many women as possible, then he would provide the evidence to his parents one day and give them both on the spot aneurysms. "Oh, it goes exceedingly well Ryan. Only couple more years before I stick up all the texts and Facebook stuff from the backup drive on every wall in the living room." Ryan cracked a smile. Just as he remembered... disturbing. They both bounced up and down in the drive way shivering a bit. He could see a mischievous sparkle in Michael's eyes. "Man, you wanna come around later and play the latest meat-grinder RPG? Then we can go get wasted and sing karaoke at O'Hannons? You know, like we used to?" Ryan laughed. "You really want another night of awkward quasi-racist questions and dirty Punk songs?" Michael grinned. "Those Irish guys did mean well. You know it wasn't so bad, I made it work for me. It was you who killed it, with your bloody Renaissance fair song," he said. Ryan folded his arms and shook his head, his teeth chattered like a wind-up toy. He snorted. "I told you that song is still popular in provincial usage in Denmark. Anyways, some other day Michael. I have to chat with my family for a while." Michael thwacked Ryan's coat and then began moving on. "Alright alright, I got you, but you gotta come back to us one day traveller." As soon as Michael was off on his own path, Ryan clamored inside the car for the books. They rested peacefully in the bag, just waiting to be mined for knowledge. He made his way back inside with them and found his dad and sister in the kitchen hanging around each other. He prayed that his Dad was sober, he really needed his help this time. Maria rolled up in her wheelchair and snatched the plastic bag, she then made a bang gesture in his direction "Show me the goods." "Poor choice of words sister," he sighed. "What?" she asked. "I'll tell you about it later," he replied. He let out a grunt of annoyance. Dad was obviously, and unfortunately, hungover. He had spent the last minute staring into his tea on the bench. Surprising since he was so chatty before.with his guest He approached his Dad from behind and prodded him. His Dad jumped to attention. "Ah yes, son, it take it everything went well?" He moved in to hug Ryan, but he backed off and gave a tiny sound of irritation. "You had someone up there?" he asked. "Just a friend of a neighbor. She's been keeping me company," He replied with a grin. "Do you even know her name?" Ryan folded his arms. "Sure I do. It begins with... M or... B...." his voice trailed off. "Right. Anyways I feel like I've been trying to run the gauntlet in a tomb to get back here but yes, Rose and Wyatt was lovely. Not one soul in sight," he kept talking before his Dad could say anything back. "Listen, I know you are busy losing job interviews, but I have something that could..." "Which book is mine?" Maria chimed in. "The smallest one," he replied. "It's something that potentially could make us very famous and get us all out of the rat race," his Dad's expression remained hard. "In a book store, I found a positively ancient book, like nothing I've seen outside of your old collections under lock and key. The owner had no idea how it got into their inventory, but I've been looking through it and there is Ancient Greek and Phoenician commentary. Some more modern Occitan scribblings. I don't recognise the primary language at all." His Dad stroked his shaved chin briefly. Maria held the book at an awkward angle in front of her, and tried to look through the pictures. "It could need a cypher?" his Dad asked. "Well I theorise that it could be part of a pairing with that odd picture book. That would be the aid to decipher it were the case," Ryan stroked his chin. "Hey Maria be careful with that one! It's the other book, about the Unicorn or Monkey Unicorn or whatever," Ryan scolded. "Unicorns!" She squealed excitedly "How sure are you? I find it hard to believe that something as you describe would not have been picked out already by the hundreds of discerning eyes that would have seen it," his dad picked up the grimoire and gently opened it. He pulled out his reading glasses from the draw under the microwave. Maria was talking to herself already. "Yeah, kill the old crone! Stab her in the head!" "Uh, is that really what's happening in the book?" He wasn't expecting it to be that violent, he mused. He watched his Dad inspect the book. He ran his fingers along the lines and occasionally made a faint, undecipherable sound of surprise and interest. "I suppose I could show it to some of my former colleagues through Skype. There are of course, thousands of extinct dialects and languages. It could be that this book belonged to a civilisation from a very isolated language tree. Perhaps not absolutely revolutionary, especially if it's from a well catalogued region overall. It could be the translation of the Bible in the dialect of some mountain tribe of the Caucus." His Dad barely breathed between spewing all that out. He wasn't really thinking though, just providing a rehearsed professor's response. Ryan blinked and pointed towards the book. "Did you read the commentary?? Did you make any of it out?" His Dad simply laughed. "I'll do that tomorrow, Ryan. I need another vodka, then maybe a quick chase of whisky. I'm feeling sleepy." Ryan gritted his teeth. "Oh, so when I want something it's time for a drink. Gotcha." "What's your rush? You have my professional opinion. Besides, the book isn't going to disintegrate overnight." "Have you seen it? It might. And that was a textbook answer Dad," Ryan said. As he glared at the book, yet another sticking point jumped out at him. The book didn't match his idea of bound work from the classical period. The leather did not look usual, like it was made from the hide of some utterly exotic animal. He was getting more excited while his Dad wasn't letting his past experiences work at him. "Look, it's just easy to get your hopes up with these things. I get it, you're a grad student, you feel pretty damn important. However, I find if you're going to be disappointed, then better stave it off for a day or two," Ryan tried to ignore the potential insult there. "Come on! Please? Just read a couple of pages of commentary," he hated begging anything from his Dad. "Alright alright. We'll look it in my study after dinner together. If you promise to make the dinner." "I always make dinner!" Ryan grumbled. "Then make a dessert too," his Dad replied. Ryan pushed his sister's wheelchair to her spot on the table. His dad sat down as well, placing down a small glass of vodka. Maria tucked her knees under and waited for Ryan to return with her omelette. He went into the kitchen and picked them up, but couldn't stop himself staring at the book for a few seconds. He just needed to sleep probably, and he had an unusual level of impatience today. He did the round and placed the omelettes on each of their plates. Maria started to eat right away, but his Dad bleached his mouth out with vodka first. "How's school been?" Ryan asked as he sat down. "Uh... okay I guess," She replied hesitantly. "There must be something else interesting going on Maria. Your teachers can't be that boring. Did you learn anything? ," his Dad said. "I don't have much fun in class at the moment," She choked down a whimpering sound. "Who the hell is it now?" his Dad raised his voice. "It's Sally and Michelle! They don't listen to me. And they tell everyone else ignore me. I have smart things to say, but they tell everyone to pretend I said nothing," she cried. They waited patiently for her to settle down. She looked between them, like there was something obvious they were missing. "They all think I'm a monster! They call me freak, zombie girl, and they even said they were gonna stuff me in a suitcase. They never stop." "Try not to think about it Maria. Kids are just like that, but they will stop...when they grow up. For now, Dad will get your teacher to talk with them," Ryan said. That was a white lie that he hoped she never learned the harsh truth of. The average adult never stops taking full advantage of their ability to be an asshole to anyone who looks different "I don't think I'll have the time tomorrow. I have to read the latest peer reviews of the Global Journal on Medieval Warfare." "Come on, it's a ten minute phone call Dad," he said sternly. "And... can we really afford that subscription?" Ryan found himself glaring back into kitchen for some reason, like the tome was going to come floating into the room and flitter around Fantasia style. "I'm behind with the latest releases, and you know how this game works. Behind means out. And since you want my help tonight... No, you'll have to do it son. Help your sister out... I can't understand why anyone would want to hurt my little princess," he eyed up Maria and smiled. Maria rolled her eyes, wiping away some of the tears that had managed to escape afterwards. Ryan refrained from saying anything. This was just his lot in life as a surrogate parent. "Fetch us that dessert Ryan my boy," his dad ordered. Ryan hung in the doorway as Maria wheeled herself into her room and got herself into bed. He eeked forward and was going to make a move to help her, but then stopped to watch as she slowly lifted herself in. He had to let her gain more autonomy at some point. "So, which was your favourite of all my old games? Did you try the PC ones? I guess they might not work on a modern rig... I did find a couple of the modern adaptations on the iPad for you," Ryan said with a smile. "I liked Legend of Zelda, Icewind Dale, and uhm, Tales of Phantasia. They were pretty. I wish I could live in the games. It'd be so cool, except for all evil and ugly monsters... but there are heroes to fight them. I'd be a hero. Yup, walking through the thick forests and killing giants in the clouds." Maria closed her eyes. "When you were a kid, did you think about that?" Maria tilted her head. He could sense the direction this conversation was heading. He cleared his throat. "Um... part of me thinks like what you said, that those worlds would be terrifying and uncomfortable for normal people. Unless you are a mighty chosen one, or a powerful hero. Yeah, if you were gifted in some way it would be fun maybe." "If I lived in a place like that... maybe a magic spell could fix me and..." "You get what you are given in this life Maria," he interrupted, then dipped his head momentarily in shame. What an idiotic thing to say. Why did he say that? He could see the colour drain from her cheeks. "I mean, remember you always have to come back to reality. Try...try focus on being a hero in real life too." Maria remained motionless for a while and then looked up sheepishly at him. "Thanks for the weird book Ryan. It's cool. I wonder who managed to think up all those places and animals." Ryan shrugged. "That's what me and dad are going to find out." Not long after Maria had gone to bed, and after a few severe refusals of vodka later. Ryan and his Dad carried the grimoire into his study and picked out an assortment of books from the shelves. He remembered coming in here with his Gameboy as a child and watching his parents talk about the next country they were going to adventure to, or whatever were the latest happenings in the university history department. The study room was like a mini-library, packed with a lifetime of reading. His Dad had a couple of glass display containing artifacts he found in Egypt right below a shamsir given to him by a tribesman. Ryan placed his course books on the desk, adding to the clutter. His Dad seemed to be really forcing himself through his drunken malaise to read. He handed his Dad his pair of glasses, and waited for the magic to unfold. He watched as the pages were carefully turned. After maybe fifteen minutes, he eventually dropped his glasses and swiveled his chair around to face Ryan with a look of mild disapproval. "Son, let me be frank... you know this may be a forgery? I don't want you to become a laughing stock with your first publication. I don't think you do either." "Listen. Don't project your failures on me," I growled. His head was beginning to bake from his ridiculous cynicism. "Ryan, I lost my job when the Chateux Eileux manuscripts turned out to have been made by a damn teenage girl. That was it for me. Forgery is a real threat for academics, blame Capitalism. If it weren't for my previous positions around the world... if people weren't convinced even an expert can make an honest mistake...." his Dad spoke pensively. "I need you to help me Dad. I want them to take me seriously. I need to get out of this rut I'm in, and this house." He bowed his head. "Oh... and leave me and your sister behind? That's what this is about?" his Dad snorted derisively. "I love Maria," he said instinctively. His Dad appeared to relax his body, as if all the tension was sprung at once. "I suppose... I can't expect you to look after us both forever. Simone grew tired of us, and I knew you would too." He was an inch from slapping his Dad across the back of his head. He could feel his hands shake. Thoughtless piece of.... did you forget everything I've done? Comparing me to her... "This could help us both Dad. We could publish an article under both our names...." he said softly. "But I won't do anything unless I'm absolutely sure, don't worry." His Dad sighed and then returned to the book. The information churned in his mind piece by piece as he analysed the text. Ryan watched his Dad unblinkingly for twenty minutes. He eventually turned around again. "Interestingly, the discussion of alchemy was ongoing in Greece and Ancient Egypt. It was not purely a Renaissance fascination. The Philosopher's Stone etcetera. Anyways, some of the commentary claims that the incantations and rites within the book can be used to transmute reality into whatever the controller wishes. They claim that the book is empowered by the owner." "What else?" Ryan folded his arms and moved his jaw around lazily. "The book has brief accounts from the previous owners. There is a forum of languages within this book. There is a commentary written in Irish Gaelic. Well, It bears a resemblance, though I'm not certain. I can't read that part at all anyway," his Dad said with an unwieldy attempt at modesty. "Many of these more complete accounts seem like half-baked thoughts or sharp sudden warnings." Ryan opened his arms wide. "Well? What do they have to say? The Phoenician for example." "Yes well, the Phoenician just wrote a description of his hearth, home and his profession, in case the book got lost. The Bronze Age equivalent of glossy highlighter pen honestly." "What's next then? The Greek?" Ryan nodded. His Dad took in a deep breath and began to read the account. "I Sinocles of the tribe Naxati, write this forewarning in the hope whoever reads it shall not suffer the fate of my family. I implore you to discard the book. Cast it aside now, every breath taken in its presence is a risk. I purchased it from a courtier of the Persian Emperor. I then gifted it to my oldest son, as if it were a mere toy. A grave error. Upon the first night, both of my son's companions disappeared. Then one by one many of the slaves also... disappeared. We scoured the surrounding countryside but it all came to naught. On the fifth night, despite his room being guarded by three elite guards, and the night being relatively peaceful and absent wind, my beloved son... disappeared. Upon the following night I woke up from my wailing nightmares to find the rest of my household too had vanished. Perhaps it will be my fate to disappear too? I do not know what spirit I have offended to deserve this. But I can hear its echoes throughout the villa, despite absence of company. .I am left alone now, with this... book, and an empty soulless home." His Dad went on to add. "Eerie, but perhaps explainable in such immoral and savage times. It could have been animal attacks or even the slaves conspiring against their master," he loved when his Dad actually got into gear. It made him seem like the man he once knew. Ryan nodded, but the account had made him uneasy. "Maybe it was coincidence..." "Seems this fellow started a tradition anyway...." his Dad said. His Dads hands traced the lines as he continued chewing up and spitting out information. "Oh, there are some comments in Old Norse, his Dad pointed out excitedly. "Seriously? Nice. That escaped my attention. Let me take a look at that, this is my expertise." Ryan pushed his Dad in the chair out slightly to the side. The Norse sage claimed there was a entity within the book he conversed with at night. It recounted his dreams back to him, and claimed to itself be a God who needed man. The entity claimed it could provide him with whatever he wanted. It recreated fond memories of grapes, wine and all the exotic spices he'd tasted from the goods brought in on raids. He indulged himself with women of straw, constructs, who appeared for a whole day to service him, then disintegrated. All on his whim and demand. He then apparently merged three ugly slave women they caught in England together into one beautiful woman, who remained with him for the rest of his... apparently... enjoyable life." "Sounds perfectly ethical." Ryan quirked a brow. They heard a subtle creak from the oak door facing the desk. A meek voice called in from the black slither of darkness "Can I come in? I can't sleep when you have the light on in here..." "Sorry," Ryan said instantly. "Should we finish up for the night?" their Dad asked. "No. Just come in Maria. We can read together," Ryan said. His Dad quirked his brow. She pushed through the door and rolled herself beside Ryan "Why are you speaking with the hushed voices? Are you reading Halloween stories?" Maria said. "Eh. Close enough," Ryan grinned. Ryan thought he'd get the picture book while Maria was out here. "I'm going to get the illustration book, I found the grimoire near it after all. Might be a lead," Ryan quickly left the room, lights flashed on and off in the corridor as he picked up it out of Maria's room and returned. He was flicking through the book as he approached the desk. "Hm... now this passage perhaps should go here. Wouldn't you agree?" He turned around to see that his son wasn't there. "He's gone Dad," Maria giggled. "Nothing to indicate potential phonetic translations, but this book seemed just as old for certain. The embellishments within the grimoire clearly share the style of the illustrator," Ryan said while barging back into the room. He placed the book down near the grimoire as tenderly as possible. "Check the Akkadian guy dad, I think I saw something there about the illustration book." His Dad scanned the pages without complaint and then stuck his finger on one page. He quickly absorbed the information and then spoke. "That explains it, the Akkadian was an artist. He spent a night with the night at his side and claims he had a compulsion to these fantastical beings after they appeared in his dreams. He also decided to rebind the book, since it was falling apart." "Crumbling even by then? So, it simply must be Egyptian then," Ryan said. "Definitely. How else to explain the age?" their Dad replied. Maria listened attentively. "So, that's the story of that book. Let's get to the last account...what about the Occitan?" Ryan demanded. His Dad heaved with a sigh and sought out the passage, the growing stink of alcohol made Ryan pinch his nose. "This was not written by the Bard himself, but by a friend of a friend who hunted the book down," their Dad said matter of factually. "He claims he used it to create an entire world." "Wow. All these people were insane." Ryan felt his hopes begin to slip. Maybe it was all goose chase. Age itself wasn't good enough, he needed something coherent to base it all on for his thesis. "Apparently, this Bard was some kind of benevolent soul. He wrote... and sang, of the evils and wretchedness in the world. He pleaded to kings and dukes, and sought patronage from the church to compose grand condemnations of greed and corruption. He came upon the book in the collection of a Danish prince, and upon reading the previous accounts just like we are now... he began working with one of the court sages to decipher the inscriptions and incantations." Maria sighed and tutted mockingly. "Wow, so not smart. There are like millions of stories about why you shouldn't read from creepy old books." "Then the study of history would never have left the cradle," Ryan chuckled. "Besides, it's beautiful, not creepy." Their Dad idly picked his nose then continued. "They experimented... first with turning fruit into gold, wood into steel, and other elementary thoughts, until their ideas grew ultimately more... twisted. They convinced the Prince to give them some criminals awaiting execution. They then performed experiments, such as transforming them into various animals, and changing their appearances to whatever and whomever they liked. In the meantime, one of the Sages complained of tormenting dreams and daydreams, in which voices mumbled and whispered at the edge of his senses. He claimed something was communicating with him. He spent every waking second with the book and neglected his body and health entirely." "Did everyone who found this book have an obsessive personality disorder?" Ryan asked. He was beginning to wonder if he would wind up the same way. Gaunt, forgotten, and babbling to himself while attempting to discover every last buried secret in the tome. His Dad shifted in the chair, he was obviously growing uncomfortable with being the storyteller, or perhaps he was getting the sweats from finally sobering up a little. "They began discussing potential ways to effect change. The Sage suggested killing whoever they could by turning their insides to hot ash, or transforming one of their captives into a King or the Emperor of Byzantium. He figured they could threaten everyone with their incomparable power. In the end though the Bard decided all of these ideas lacked control. Any doppelg?nger they could make couldn't be controlled, nor could they control the after-effects of an assassination." Maria laughed coolly. "They lacked imagination." "Worrying behaviour Maria," Ryan said. Dad followed up with a chuckle and then returned to reading. "The voices then explained to the Sage that the book contained power to forge a new world in their own image. The Bard was troubled. He told his confidant that the Sage's mind had finally broke. A couple of days later, word of their machinations had somehow got out and the Vatican sent holy warriors to put a stop to it." Reading the book all together led Ryan away from his earlier pessimistic thoughts. He felt a tiny bit of warmth from it all. The banter between them, the shared sense of wonder. They were like some family out of morning action TV show. The Amazing Adventures of the Family Adamson. "Then a few nights later, after their confidant had left to parley in Germany. He returned to find the castle had disappeared, well... the people anyway, including those of the miles of surrounding farmland. The comparison to the county rolls indicates that nearly five-hundred people disappeared forever. There was chaos. This book however, showed up in Milan a decade later. The confidant instantly recognised it, bought it, and added to the accounts." Their Dad gasped for air as he finished reading. Ryan wasn't sure what to make of it. He began rationalising what he could. Could it be stories were a distortion of real historical events? Was the book a compendium of various folk incantations and spells gathered over the centuries? Maybe it only held a fascination for lunatics and madmen. "So...what if they weren't just crazy? Maybe could make a better world than this right? Whatever we want," Maria asked. "Dear, you shouldn't even waste a thought on these fairy tales," Dad looked apologetically at her. "And until it's dated, we should withhold all excitement about its authenticity." "Besides it didn't sound like they made a new world to me, just made a lot of people disappear," Ryan said nervously. "I'm starting to get a headache," their dad complained. "Let's look at the main script and finish up for the night," their Dad flicked the page over. They all huddled closer together. Ryan placed his hand on his chin studiously. Their Dad seemed to be totally entranced by symbols, and Maria was glaring at the book suspiciously. The symbols almost seemed 3- Dimensional, like they would jump out of the page at them. "It could be a modified version of a pre-existing alphabet," Ryan suggested. "No, we'd be able to draw a comparison by now I think. Like I said, we may need help over Skype with this," Dad replied. "Just a bit longer," Ryan whined. "I mean, how the hell did these others figure it out?" their Dad rubbed his temples then began drumming his fingers on the table. "it could be Proto-Sinaitic but it's unlikely the commentators would have known about it, let alone be able to translate it honestly." "Heh. And you still think this is fake?" Ryan groaned. "Maybe you need to ask it something?" Maria chimed in. They ignored Maria and then Ryan sighed. Why couldn't things be straightforward? He guessed he had expected too much of his Dad, as per usual. They all spent another minute staring at the pages and grimacing. "I expected too much, too quickly perhaps. Alright, let's get to bed then...." Ryan said with resignation. Their Dad stood upright like a ruler springing back into place. He winced and rubbed his back before he patted Ryan on the shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of it lad." He cleared up some clutter on the desk before he began pushing Maria towards the doorway. Ryan wearily followed and looked back into the room once cautiously, before flicking off the switch. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 3 Maria carefully pushed the door open, and an exchange of still winter night air passed between the room and the corridor. Maria held her small torch tightly and then thrust it into the room. It was like a whole other world in the darkness. She wheeled herself over to the desk and fumbled around until she found the book with all the cool pictures, then grinned. It calmed her just looking at the pictures, she was going to tell her friends about them tomorrow. The light of her torch passed over the nearby tome as she was getting ready to move. She looked up nervously at the entrance, and then slowly placed one hand on the book. "That's weird. Why is it so warm?" She pryed open the book and began turning the pages rapidly. "Whaat, English?" she whispered. The entire contents of the book were in English. Whereas before they had been just unreadable scratches, like a game of noughts and crosses. She settled on a random page and began reading out loud, her heart was thumping. "All prime matter is liquid. Comparable to the potter's clay." She clamped her mouth tight. "Maybe it's a bad idea to keep going...." She remembered what she herself had joked about before about reading mysterious old books, but something was pushing her on. Like a sense of adventure. "N-n-onetheless. something cannot be made from nothing. An exchange must be performed. Provide form and imagination and the magic can ap-pro- ximate your sacrifice." She brushed some hair out of her face and nodded. Could she really change anything she wanted? She'd start by turning Sally Henderson into a tiny mangy rat. Although it was not really a very heroic thing to do, but the Contenders sometimes did bad things to deal with the worst villains. "The following words of power can be used as part of a total re-con- struc-tion of reality. You must utter them while remaining totally focused on your con-cep-tion. State everything clearly. If you falter in your con-centration, you may invite an incomplete con-cep-tion. Then the gaps will be filled in." "So, it's true! I could really do it. So cool! My own world... a perfect world." she said the words of power in a hypnotic monotone. She wondered how she made no mistakes, despite its unfamiliarity. Maybe her English homework had actually been helping her like her teacher said it would. She tried to focus on the idea of a better world, of a happier world. Then she shuddered as she felt her words being thrown back in her face with venom. "A better world... for you?" She shook her head "For me, my brother...and Dad," That isn't so selfish, right? She waited for ten more seconds, expecting something more to happen. Yet she was left unsatisfied. There was no genie going to pop out the lamp. No commanding voice that said. "Your will be done." "It's fine. I get it. You're busy! I'll come back later," She slammed the grimoire cover down in annoyance. Then began wheeling herself back to her bedroom with the picture book clutched to her chest. Had she messed up the words? Or was it all a big stupid lie like Dad said? But then... why had the language changed just for her? "I can't tell Ryan and Dad about this." She pulled herself into her bed with a few grunts of frustration and buried her head in the pillow. There was unnerving silence. True, painful silence, as if all the background processes of the Universe had been halted in that one small room. Tendrils of pure astral energy began slithering out of the book. They grasped voraciously at the books nearby and consumed them. The tendrils began roving up the walls seeking and learning. At the same time, the streets of Alum Rock were nearly completely empty. It was Thursday night after all, but those few cars on the incoming highway watched dumbstruck as a shimmering wall of energy rose up in a ring around the city. Many of the cars halted on the road, and the cascading snow slowly buried their cars as they began twittering and calling up local news networks. Within fifteen minutes, thousands of people in the Southern Hemisphere, and hundreds still awake in the Northern, had already seen photos of the 'heaven's light' around Alum Rock. One Tumblr account described it as "Some kinda Aurora Borealis shit." The wall of light grew gradually more opaque. By the time the camera crews and overpaid journalists arrived, the city was no longer visible, having been hidden completely behind a prismatic bubble. The Internet and all phone signals were cut off, as communication waves seemed unable to pass through the wall. Then with a sudden crack of thunder, and an agonising shrill sound. The entire city disappeared into a white singularity, having been brutally carved out of our reality. The city and its inhabitants were warped and transformed into new forms. Based entirely upon the memories and tastes of one family. Some of inhabitants would accept their new fate nearly instantaneously, having been fed up with their old lives and yearning for something greater. Others... embraced it much less enthusiastically. Ryan yawned as he slowly became conscious. He felt utterly awful, was this to do with those few sips of vodka? He immediately noticed he was on an unusually soft downy surface, and the ceiling above was starting to look very unfamiliar to him. He pulled himself up without thinking and slammed his back against the headboard of the bed. Too much natural light was pouring into the room, he could barely see anything. "What ...the hell?