“Damn Hippies!” Came the thunderous voice breaking the silence inside the office. Its source, the NuHelix CEO, sat hunched in his chair, hands clenched and eyes bulging. Anger boiled over and spewed out of him.
“These little radicals are ruining everything…” Despite the volume being lowered, his words still held their burn, the last ounce of his self-control melting away. Did it matter? No one was in the building this late, save for a few janitors. They would keep quiet. They knew not to speak of what went on behind the closed doors of Orlandia’s biggest corporation.
The report that sparked his anger still sat right in front of Mr. Metz. His eyes hadn’t moved though his body shook furiously.
Despite the company’s best attempts, it seemed as though that once again the radicals that lived out in the Wyldes of Orlandia had stopped his plans. This had been going on for too long. There was a short time where it looked like they had finally let up, but it seemed, almost out of nowhere, the radicals had found a source of gems. They financed a large scale protest at one of the larger sites and completely chased off the workers.
Now it was all going downhill. The plans, the company, Orlandia. Mr. Metz was growing both weary and desperate. “I’m sick of this!” He yelled, slamming both fists onto the table. “Sick of these little… cretins.” Couldn’t they see that the world needed to advance? Saving the Wyldes would only stop progress and surely leave many without jobs, homes and food. All for the sake of the damn animals.
Illus. by Damon Dykes
It wasn’t as though he’d allow the entirety of every forest die off. He’d save some pieces, some animals, create a place for it all and put it in the new city that they desperately needed. Which would be paid for by the gems and jewels found in the ground beneath all of the untouched land. It would be perfect if it hadn’t been for the Wyldewood Preservation Society.
Mr. Metz let out an exasperated sigh and looked up from the desk. The sound had started minutes before, but he had ignored it originally. He believed it to be some noise down the hall or in another room. Now it was much too loud to ignore. It was… pulsing. As if a heart were slowly coming to life in his office. His eyes narrowed, looking closer at what should have been open space.
Right above the carpet, the air warped unnaturally. Mr. Metz stood up slowly, unblinking eyes wide with shock. His anger was forgotten. Now all that was left was a combination of curiosity, fear, and confusion. “What in the name in Orlandia…?” He whispered, pulling himself up fully from his chair.
Somehow, in some way, the warped air was making the pulsing noise.
Mr. Metz stood behind his desk, gazing forward. He wouldn’t approach. Not until he could find out exactly what this thing was. But how would he do that? He was no scientist; he was a business man.
Slowly, his hand reached into his pocket, aiming for his cell phone. Maybe he could reach someone to come quickly and identify this thing. When his hand wrapped around the piece of metal, the warped air let out a loud thump and then a noise like it was breathing in. Mr. Metz froze. Had movement made it… come to life. Did it know what he was trying to do?
It breathed again and then made the same pulsing noise as before, this time much louder. And then it fractured.
Illus. by April Amalfitano
From inside of the tear was flashing lights of various colors, rainbows of hues that started up and ended quicker than Mr. Metz could keep track of.
An air effect similar to that of a vacuum began to pull at the CEO. His papers flew off his desk, soon after followed by his various heavier objects like his stapler and small filing cabinet. He could feel his own body begin to be tugged forward. Mr. Metz’s hands quickly gripped the table in front of him, using all of his strength to hold onto the wood furniture.
It took only a few more seconds of the vacuum’s pull before the desk too was lifted off the ground and pulled towards the fracture. His feet left the ground, along with his chair, another side desk and everything else in his immediate sight.
It took no time for Mr. Metz to fly into the colors, to feel the strange warmth that came from being inside.
And then the pain ignited.
His mouth struggled to open. His eyes could only see the rainbows of colors and his hand lost grip on the desk a second later. It was as if his whole body was on fire; the comfortable warmth gone and replaced with the pain of an inferno.
As quickly as it came, it left and the colors vanished, leaving him partially blind. There was air. He could open his mouth. A wiggle of his fingers and toes allowed him to know that he was indeed alive and nothing seemed to be broken or injured. Both hands jumped to his eyes and rubbed them raw to draw away the stars left over in his vision.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, all he could see was an eerie blue light stretched across what he assumed to be the ceiling. As he came to realize this, his ears adjusted and he could hear faint beeps and shifts in the background, as if they were many rooms away. Or maybe the warp just damaged his hearing immensely.
Slowly Mr. Metz sat up. As his vision cleared, he saw that the room was empty save for one large, complex looking machine and a single man standing in front of it. A mask covered the man’s face and his arms were crossed over his chest.
“Glad for you to join me, Mr. Metz.”
“Who… Who are you? Where am I?! What was that?!” He let out, his voice hoarse. Rage began to build up again, this time at the mysterious man. “Do you know who I am?!”
“…Obviously I do. I just said your name,” The masked man replied with an edge to his voice. The answer made the CEO blink with a vacant look in his eyes. “Although you weren’t my first choice, I am limited on my control.” The last part of the man’s words were even sharper than the first, making it clear that he had his own frustrations.
“Well…where the hell am I then?” Mr. Metz fired back.
“Orlandia, Mr. Metz. But…a slightly different version of it.”
“What are you on about? Let me back to my office right-“ Mr. Metz’s words were cut from his tongue as the man launched forward and gripped his throat tightly with a clawed hand.
“Listen here you foul mouthed little slug. This is not your party anymore; it’s mine. You do what I say. You do that and I can promise you that we will get you a way around those pesky little activists in your part of the woods.”
Mr. Metz stared forward into the mask, slowly controlling his breathing. He reached up, nails digging into the stranger’s wrist. He growled and ripped the hand away from his throat. Eyes narrowed and through gritted teeth he replied, “I’m listening….”