Displaced - Book One of the Alternate Reality Series

Chapter 10

Eric stood outside of his 1950s Los Angeles apartment, eyes and lips wide open, both hands gripping the second story railing. With a pounding heart and heaving chest, he took in the city before him, a metropolis that proved light-years beyond anything he could've imagined.

The urban landscape whirred with an onslaught of sensory experience–sights, sounds, even smells. Cars rumbled by looking like bloated fish out of water. Trolleys traversed the streets while connected to cables, the cars stuffed with people travelling to who-knows-where. Men and women strolled along the sidewalks, the men in suits, the women in long colorful dresses. Children bounced here and there, laughing while clutching onto handheld objects.

Toys. From the look of it, they're playing with toys.

He kept glancing about, now focusing on the nostalgia flooding the landscape. Glass milk bottles, newspapers, bus stops, chipped paint, hideous tangles of electric power lines, bicycles that needing peddling for propulsion–everything outdated, everything moving, as if a 1950s photo suddenly sprang to life. And for his part, Eric couldn't believe that he stood in the middle of it.

He looked down at his analogue watch, the hands reporting just past noon. Good. Now he could take his time with the mission. And why not? Why not move about slowly, just like in his apartment, letting his senses absorb this strange and wonderful world?

Deciding on exactly that, he descended the stairs and started down the sidewalk, moving measuredly, appreciating the world's details. And given their abundance, how much time did it take to create something so exquisite?

He assumed that humans conjured up the idea, then automated systems carried out the constructive efforts, but that had to be the case. Too much existed for mere mortals to create all their own, even a dedicated army. Either way, the outcome sucked the virtual breath from his lungs, which mattered above all else.

As Eric scratched and sniffed everything in sight, his eyes darted back and forth. The passersby were observing him with cautious curiosity. Still, he couldn't resist. He even stepped into the street when a cargo truck rolled by, just to inhale its exhaust, the noxious fumes strangely delightful.

"New, I'm guessin'?" said a male voice.

Eric turned, and spotted a suited man a few feet away, probably upper 40s, and eyeballing him with a grin. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you new here? Is it your first time in this world?"

Eric stepped back onto the sidewalk. Perhaps his actions came across too gleefully, and he should tone them down to maintain anonymity. In the same vein, he shouldn't discuss himself. But after appraising the man, he seemed harmless enough to answer. "This is my first time in any world."

The man whistled. "So that's why you look like a kid on Christmas mornin'."

Eric smiled.

"This being your first time, you must be pretty young in real space."

"Young? No. I'm..." Eric considered lying, but again, the man couldn't be more benign. "I'm thirty-four. In real space, I'm thirty-four."

The man's bushy brow rose. "You're thirty-four, and this is your first go in any virtual world? My friend, you have some catchin' up to do."

"You know, you're probably more right about that than you realize." Eric didn't miss his statement's sentiment, and he would've considered this further but the man responded too rapidly.