“John. John, wake up.” He hears, his eyes still glued shut. “Please wake up John… John?” He hears again. Unwillingly, he opens his eyes; the comfort of sleep withering away.

  He sees Amy on all fours to his side, looking over top of him with mild concern. John grunts as he continues to wake up. “Mmmmmghh, what is it?”

  Amy grabs his hand and rubs it since it’s warm. She is clearly distraught. “I can't get to sleep. And I haven't been tired.”

  John's eyes bulge slightly at the suggestion. “Can't sleep? Not tired?! It's been forever, how could you not?!”

  “I don't know. I keep… replaying things in my head. It's so… I… I don't even know it just sucks.” She answers.

  John rolls over to look at her better; a slight struggle as his tarnished jacket gets caught. “I think I've had something like that before. Like a bad memory being played on loop?”

  Amy nods while looking away, confirming his assessment.

  “Yeah, I know that feeling. It does suck. Do… do you ever get it like, so, instead of a memory it's more like an event? Like you're worried something won't go well?” She nods again.

  “I know that feeling very well.” He pauses, looking down momentarily. “Do you know what the time is?” Amy opens her digiphone and answers him. “Apparently two hours have passed. Huh, gosh.”

  John sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. “Two hours of sleep is pretty good. I'll try and give you some company until you can go to bed too.”

  John opens them again to see her looking back at him. While she still looks spent and upset, he sees just the faintest beginnings of a smile play on her lips. Unfortunately, it is ripped away as another idea enters her mind.

  “He's been providing me company too.” She says.

  John asks her. “Who? SERaMACs?”

  Amy shakes her head. “No, not really. Just that man over there.” She points to the dark corner of the room by the door.

  John jolts upright. “A man!? Where is he!?” He asks, looking around frantically. Amy keeps pointing. “That man over there, in the corner. He's been staring at me for a while. I'm not actually sure if it's a man.”

  John looks to the corner and sees nothing there.

  “I don't— I don't see what you're talking about?”

  “You don't see him?” She asks, opening her image gallery.

  John answers, his heart rate raised. “No?! No, I don't see anyone there. What does he look like?” Amy turns her digiphone screen to John, showing him an image she captured. “That's him right there. The black silhouette. Kinda looks like smoke coming off of him.”

  John looks the photo up and down, and then back to the corner of the room, then back to the photo. “I'm… yeah no sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. I can't see anyone.”

  Amy turns her device back around and looks at the screen. “But… but he was right there.” She says, looking back at the corner.

  “He is right there? Maybe I just can't get him in a photo.”

  John pulls out his digiphone and opens SERaMACs. He switches it to text only, writing it a question. “Hey SERaMACs, what does it mean when someone sees people that aren't there?” SERaMACs answer lightning quick.

  “Hey John, it has been a minute. Typically, when people see something or someone that is not actually there, they are looking at what is called a Hologram. Holograms are magnetic particle fields suspended by electrically actuated mechanisms, through which light particles are projected. They create the illusion of objects which are not actually there. They are popularly used as means of product recommendation and meta-virtual experiences. May I suggest some popular high-quality holographic products?”

  Frustration mounts within John, as does confusion. “God damn it, this always happens with this stupid AI.” He thinks, typing clarification.

  “No. As in what does it mean when two people look at the same place at the same time but only one can see something while the other can't?”

  SERaMACs begin forming its response.

  “Typically, when two people look at the same place at the same time but only one of those two people can see something, this usually means that the other person who cannot see is blind.

  Alternatively, it could also mean that they have their eyes clo—”

  John shuts off the response before it finishes generating, closing his digiphone in anger. “My SERaMACs isn't being helpful. Do you… uh… know how long it's been since you last slept?”

  John asks Amy, who has also put away her digiphone.

  She still looks towards the corner. “I've lost track. Maybe… a hundred hours? It would be close to that.”

  John ponders for a minute, freeing his jacket from a hook in the mattress. “Maybe that could be why. Because there is no man there. It's just… just your brain making holograms, or something.”

  He tries to comfort her while she stares blankly at the corner.

  “Yeah… he isn’t there...” She replies, her comment directed more at herself than John. John gets up off the mattress, offering her his place

  She lies down and shuts her eyes where he was lying, all while he takes a second to observe the room again.

  Its walls and floor and ceiling are thick with concrete and a few bits of rebar. Brutal and practical while cracks and grease muddy the surface. His steps and voice echo like an auditorium, even as he tries to be quiet.

  He looks again to Amy who lay restless. He asks.

  “Do you think you’ll get some sleep soon?” She nods her head, cuddling her jacket as a makeshift plushie.

  “That’s good. I’m gonna go out and explore the facility as I don’t think I’ll be going back to sleep. I promise I’ll be back within the next few hours.”

  He tells her as she shuffles and turns away.

  John heads to the door, zipping up his jacket and pockets. As he grabs the door release lever, he tells her. “If you need anything, just call me and I’ll be right back.”

  The door slides shut behind him, and he is greeted by the harsh, dim violets and ultramarines of the hallway. The hallway is the same monotonous concrete, yet the saturation of ads and posters paint it so vibrantly it becomes an eyesore.

  He paces through, hearing the clack of his boots, thankful that the buzz of the light is gone at least. Various groans, yells, thuds and music seep through the doors of the many duplicate rooms.

  At the end of the hall was the second flight of stairs he had to ascend on his way here. He tilts his head with surprise as it looks unfamiliar. Perhaps he really was just that tired to not have remembered coming up.

  And the stairs are even dimmer than the walkway, only lit by neon bars placed at the end of each step. He descends, loading the Unity Transit Point map on his digiphone and projecting the schematics in his view to follow.

  It was a cyan wireframe model of the building, with a red dot saying ‘You Are Here' to denote his location.

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  He arrives at a balcony overlooking the main station square, appearing as little more than a warehouse filled with absurdly large crates or machines. He rests over the sticky railing to take in the brief view.

  The building seems hollow in the middle where all this storage is; the walls acting as the rooms for the passengers; the collection terminals at the entrances within.

  He spots a second passenger depot on the opposite side of the building, and two smaller ones flanking either side.

  The design looks identical to the ones he left in Detroit. He turns around, and is greeted by the sign of an amicable, warmly lit bar.

  One wide window constructs the entire far wall, forging an overlook above the deadened plains. The bar was devoid of people as he took a step in and took a seat before the bartender.

  John leans over the golden counter, the bartender turning to welcome him. John reads his name badge, named ‘Que’.

  “What can I get started for you citizen?” Que asks. His oversized television of a head displays the digital characteristics of a cat. John answers. “Not too much. Just seeing what's around. Are you a robot or a human?”

  He asks back, curious to the appearance of Que.

  “Well, that's a bit of a rude question.” Que answers, the television appearing grumpily. “But if you must know then yes, I am a human. Are you… here just to talk?”

  John leans back taking in a deep breath.

  “I guess you could say that. Weird, I know. Come to think of it… you wouldn't have many people engaging in small talk around here, would you?”

  Que answers, a mix of fluster and humor.

  “Haha, as if people come to the bar to be social! Pfft, yeah no not often.”

  Que leans over the bench, his white gloves intersecting, his red diner uniform shifting as he continues speaking.

  “...are you thinking what I'm thinking?” He asks.

  John looks at him funny, answering. “Nope. What are you thinking?” Que turns his head to John, addressing him in a high-pitched voice.

  “Well… not many people come around here. I don't suppose you have a few more credits you're willing to part with?”

  John analyses the look of the television's face, seeing hints of deviancy and suggestion. “No, I don't. And whatever you're trying to sell me; I don't want it.”

  “Mmm that's okay. I can always organize something at home.” Que replies contently; John noticing the thing even has a tail. Getting up, he moves to a farther corner of the room where both walls are windows and overlook the outside

  He sits and opens SERaMACs, navigating to its settings to change its name. He thought about it for a moment before settling on the name Infodump. “Hey Infodump.” He asks it. “Don't try to talk to me, just tell me the following. When does my next hyperrailer depart, where is it heading, how long will the trip be, what will be the transport from there, and who is…”

  He struggles to remember the name for a moment. “...Jane Morton?”

  Infodump replies, its female voice monotone and heedless.

  “Your next departure is in two hours and thirty minutes, ahead of schedule. The trip will take approximately two hours and thirty minutes. You are headed to North Platte City. From the next depot, you will be transported via autocab to your new residence.

  Dr Jane Morton, wife of James Mourner— former senator for Baja State—was an accomplice in his many illegal back dealings. She is currently under arrest and awaiting trial.”

  Lighting strikes close by, roaring through the glass and bouncing all throughout the walls. Another hyperrailer blitzes straight through the depot, flying off to John's right with uncanny speed.

  Soon, all goes back to the light patter of the rainfall upon the surface of the glass. John contemplates the information he has been given, finding a sudden reprieve from directionlessness as he forms connections in his head.

  “Hey, Que.” John asks, facing again to his left. “Know where I can buy some new clothing?”

  Que replies from the other side of the bar, his high-pitched voice heard as clear as steam. “Yeah… but you probably can't afford them sorry. Come here so I can talk to you better.”

  John gets back up, returning to the counter, met by the petite television smiling at him. “There you are.” Que says.

  “You'd have a hard time finding anything here for less than fifty credits. But… I have an offer for you.”

  Que approaches from his side of the golden bench, leaning towards John. “I don't have much use for this uniform… care to buy it off me for fifteen credits? It'll be all yours.”

  John is taken aback. He looks Que up and down, seeing that his uniform would've surely cost him far more than that. “Really? For that much? What are you gonna wear?”

  Que looks away as he answers, the screen forming a simulated blush which disgusts John on a very deep, yet very buried level. “Well… regulation doesn't say I have to wear anything so… feel free to use your imagination.”

  In John's eyes, Que sees minor signs of repulsion at the prospect. He continues as if none-the-wiser.

  “Oh! And one other thing… fifteen credits… and your number.”

  John stares at Que with a sense of disappointment, knowing he cannot refuse the value of such an offer.

  “God dammit. What's your finance number?” The two pull out their digiphones and exchange details, John transferring him the fifteen credits along with adding himself to Que’s contacts list. The list, he is sad to see, is enormous. “Alright, it's done. Now give me your shirt and stuff.”

  John sits there as Que remains silent for a second. Then two seconds. Then three. “Oh!” Que says. “You want a show too, don't you?”

  John's repulsion grows so strong that he pushes himself away from the counter, turning to face the opposite direction while doing so.

  “Absolutely not. Hurry up so I can leave.”

  He can hear the faint rustle of fabric through the ambiance of rainfall. He feels them thrown at the back of his head.

  “They're all yours!” Que says from behind.

  John picks them up off the carpet and leaves the bar without a word. “Smell ya later, alligator!” He hears Que say as he exits.

  “What the fuck is an alligator?” He asks himself; new clothes underarm. He finally returns to his room, deflated and dissatisfied. He is met with Amy sound asleep, which is nice at least.

  He takes his old, tired, hospice-bound clothes off for his new, shiny, retro-looking diner uniform. He doesn't care much for the appearance, for he lacks a mirror.

  All he cares for is that they're lighter, warmer, and cleaner— even if they smell a twinge like retirement. He waits out the next hours, scrolling mindlessly on the contentsphere to pass the time, projecting himself onto influencers he follows. Fantasizing about leading the types of lives they do. Consuming a bunch of trivia and celebrity bullshit that he is sure to forget as soon as he turns his digiphone off.

  Soon enough, it's half an hour before departure, and John decides to wake Amy up. “Mmmmmghh, what time is it?” Amy asks, rolling over, her voice croaky. John replies, his hand on her shoulder.

  “Our ride was rescheduled so we're leaving earlier. Half an hour.”

  “Oh cool.” She says, looking to the corner to see if it's still there. “The man is gone too. You must have been right. I didn't know sleep could do that.”

  “Neither did I.” John replies, raising to his feet with an extended hand for her to take. “So, we'd better get going. It's the depot opposite the one we came to, I think.”

  “So, we won't have to look at that man's corpse again?” Amy asks, still trying to wake up. John's heart sinks at hearing that. He hadn't realized she exposed herself to the sight; one he deliberately avoided looking at. “...no we won't Amy. Let's get going.”

  The pair exit into the hallway and down the staircase.

  John holds on to his old clothes. Amy looks at him as they go, deciding to ask about it as they reach the main area. “Where'd you get that suit by the way? It looks quite… different on you.”

  John answers her, taking the lead to the ground level. “I got it for a very cheap price. I would prefer not to talk about it.”

  “I believe you. Can I wear your old ones if it gets colder?” She asks while holding his arm.

  “That's exactly why I kept them. They’ll be way too big for you but I'm sure you'll make it work.” He assures, smiling to her as she smiles back in kind. They soon reach their next hyperrailer; some of the first to arrive there.

  They board and take a seat in one of the farthest forward cabins, close to the engine cell. John continues to scroll content, reading something about a weather event near Pine Ridge, wherever that is. Something about explicitly terrible weather nearby but… of course there is, as he looks outside. Amy continues to chat with her SERaMACs. Before long, everyone else floods in. And the hyperrailer departs.

  The ride is uneventful and monotonous; this hyperrailer being more tattered than the one before— though both manage to stay dry.

  And as they get closer to the next depot, they get confirmation of their belongings and networks. All has been successfully transferred to the new location via auto transportation. Amy looks outside and sees that they're approaching a Neopine Forest. Their trunks, coated in ceramic and their leaves replaced with screens that glow with a cyan grid.

  Amy becomes transfixed to the not-shrubbery for a brief moment; it's cool that they're replacing the dying forests with a synthetic equivalent. But it doesn't make her feel cool. Just amused and… rather hollow.

  The hyperrailer once again slows, meaning they’re soon to arrive at what is yet another point of transition. A duplicate place of movement and entropy. At the beginning, of the end, of this vacant journey.