Graced evenly over a terrain evenly flat are the rays of sunlight over the suburban town, for no buildings are greater than two stories of height, and they're decently spread apart along the network of black roads that weave through the green lands populated with natural trees sprinkled throughout –albeit without leaves due to the season–, not uncontrolled like a forest but in symbiosis with the community that drives over those roads in their humming pods that sparsely occupy the light traffic. Complexes composed of buildings grouped along lanes, corners, or full boxes populate the majority of the infrastructure at least in this portion of the town, each complex accompanied with their own dedicated parking lots made of the same black surface as the roads though these surfaces are more intimate with the vehicles over them as the vehicles in the lot nearly sit on the ground whereas the ones in motion levitate high above even the trees. Similar to the light traffic, most of these parking lots aren't too densely occupied, even the ones within the complexes housing multiple buildings that all need to share one parking space.
However this desolation is most present in one parking lot significantly larger than those distant complexes, furthermore not being shared by multiple buildings but instead a single wide facility just about one and a half stories tall similar to a warehouse, identified by the huge red holographic sign along the front face of the building which reads: 'BIG,' likely the name of the establishment. For there are still customers indeed, some of them exiting the wide doors from the front, accompanied by family but also long boxes made of metal wire, fitted with passive blue strip lights, resembling shopping carts which hover to the height of their hips and follow to the lot. The majority of the traffic interfacing with the building seems to be departing, however there is one pod that soars down the road connecting to the lot for entry, a red minivan pod given the length slightly greater than a typical SUV.
That lack of activity within this parking lot stands in favor of the minivan which has the liberty of choice in terms of where to park in relation to the store, and as it gradually descents concurrent to its deceleration down to a crawl, it navigates to the front of the lot closest to the store. Ultimately as it lingers only a few feet above the ground, it finds its spot in a slot amongst the parking grid bordering the lane separating the lot from the facility, where it comes to a full stop, the hum softening before being entirely silenced.
Sparse traffic runs the largely empty lot, with only a few customers leaving with their carts full of various items diversely packaged in bags and colorful boxes ranging in size and shape. At a quick glance, none of the customers passing by have hair on their heads regardless of gender, and they all seem to have a strange black dot on their forehead. Regardless, as they all walk in the direction away from the building, the driver's door of the red minivan disintegrates to allow the exit of a teenage boy, about eighteen at a glance, dressed in dark gray sweatpants and a black hoodie that has a graphic on the face resembling some emblem of a lightning bolt in flames yet emitting a frosty mist. The boy's head is covered with a cap that has two brims, one in front and one in the back, low enough that it obscures the detail of whether or not he has hair while also concealing the middle of the forehead where the dot would be. The boy glances around at the departing customers before turning to face the facility which he begins to approach as the driver's door materializes once more, locking the vehicle.
Down the lane, the boy walks in the direction opposite from the rest, some of the older folk casting strange glances at him as though in disapproval. They don't pay too much mind though and carry on with their business as the boy enters the facility through the doors still open.
Pacing down the white floors, same color as the tall ceiling, the boy nearly immediately is met by the sudden materialization of the same metalwired box that accompanied the other customers earlier, which freely hovers to his waist before him. He pays little mind and continues strolling forward, commanding the shopping cart to follow ahead of him, all while he glances around the interior to find tables displaying scattered bright fruits like apples and blueberries albeit in scarcity while along the right wall are shelves carrying sparse green vegetables down to the end.
Further ahead, the boy gazes at the columns of shelves that occupy the majority of the otherwise open interior, each column starting only about twenty feet from him but extending to seemingly the back of the store. Between these long shelves are a few remaining customers, each with their own shopping carts partially full, inspecting the shelves for their own needs.
A cyan holographic screen the size of a paper sheet emerges in front of the boy to his right, holding text in the format of a list which moves with the boy to remain fixed to his body's position for easy reference. He takes one glance at it as he walks past another column of lanes to his left, although these are not housing tall shelves but rather simple booths each of which is identified with a holographic sign indicating a number, and in that moment a woman leads a shopping cart through the booth, as stepping past the booth causes the shopping cart's passive blue lights to flash green.
He instead turns to the right, approaching the shelves of vegetables to begin his grocery shopping. He walks along the shelves as the holographic list slides directly ahead of him to no longer block his right view, letting him study the various greens displayed, or at the ones present as many sections of the shelves are entirely empty, and the ones with vegetables are not bountifully stocked either.
Concern creeps up on his face upon recognizing this pattern of meager inventory, and after passing a few balls of iceberg lettuce, he comes to a stop to focus on a section of the shelf currently empty. He just oddly stares at the section for a few moments, glancing to the right to remind himself of the lettuce's position before glancing back to the empty section, then doing a double take between the two as though to properly judge reality as if it had the chance of changing right then and there.
The teenager spins around completely with a lost expression eager for guidance, setting his eyes on an older bald man between the fruit tables, dressed in a green button-up shirt underneath vibrant red overalls. The boy's posture perks up in a sudden burst of optimism, and he takes a step towards the man before pleading, "Hey sir, where can I find the collards?"
' The man who's currently studying an empty portion of the table next to a few transparent boxes of blueberries doesn't immediately change his focus as if he couldn't hear him, instead focusing on his own matters that have left his face with a disappointed mask. Surprised at the man's oblivion, the teenager takes another step towards him before projecting with a louder voice, "Sir? Hello?"
At last the man's attention is caught, for he raises his head to face the boy, seemingly befuddled by the call judging by his raised eyebrow and reluctance to give an immediate answer.
At least now having the man's focus, the teenager repeats: "Where can I find the collards?"
Now properly receiving the question, the man just sharpens his eyes before leaning to the right as if to gaze around the boy, raising his chin for a better angle. He answers with a voice exhausted albeit delivering with factual: "Shouldn't they be like right behind you? To the left of the icebergs."
Initially perplexed, the teenager shakes his head before taking a step to the left to allow clear visibility of the empty section before verbalizing, "There's nothing here though. Did they move it somewhere else?"
Oddly grunting as though in frustration to the innocent question, the older man sternly declines, "If it's not there then it's probably not here, I don't think they've ever changed the placement so I doubt they would've done it now for something like that."
Dread of a confirmed fear covers the boy's face in desperation before he pleads, "Wait, can you check at least just to be sure? Or do you know when it'll be in stock again?"
Exuding a deeply fatigued sigh, the man reveals in casual annoyance, "Kid, it didn't move, we both know that. And I don't know what you want from me, I don't even work here."
From dreary defeat, the teenager's head uplifts in a sudden shock of bafflement before shaking his head and interpreting, "Wait, you don't?? But what about the uniform?"
Also initially perplexed, the man glances down at his attire, staring at his own clothing for several seconds, clearly entirely disoriented at the comment. The reason clicks with his tongue as he raises focus back to the boy to clarify, "Oh wait, yeah I guess these clothes are confusing, I didn't think about that before heading here. My bad kid, but yeah I don't work here, I'm not sure if anything's in right now either. All I can say is I don't think I've actually seen them restock anything from this section in a while, nothing on that wall there and nothing here either. I guess they just ran out of strawberries recently too, usually they refresh daily but it's practically been a week. At this rate I'd just look somewhere else, good luck though."
First embarrassment floods the boy from the shameful mixup, though the mention of a lacking resupply returns the melancholy within him, leaving him to a solemn frown with his head low in acknowledgement. He simply, albeit weakly thanks, "Ah I see, thanks, and sorry about that."
The man grabs one box of blueberries before assuring, "No worries, I'll probably check WellPath, I'd order but a lot of my other orders have been freezing so I don't know what's going on there. Take care." With that, he spins around and strolls the other way, leaving the produce section with the boy alone, still without the first item on his list.
That boy takes another glance at said list, just as the first item is automatically deleted followed by the fifth, allowing the whole list to slide up the page, all while the boy emits a soft sigh before noting to himself in a murmur, "Well…I guess that gets rid of strawberries too." He glances to the side, pivots to the left, and walks past the iceberg lettuce balls to a few transparent bags holding bunches of romaine lettuce which he grabs two of to then toss on his cart. He then returns to his cart and continues onward, leading the wired box as the list again shrinks to accommodate the completed item. He slowly strolls along the wall, studying the shelves beside him, grabbing a bag of yellow squash and tossing it in the cart which removes another list item, but he removes an additional upon passing an empty shelf despite not grabbing anything, for he understands he'd not find it elsewhere.
Looped back to the fruit tables after passing through the shelves, the list hovering by the teenager has shrunk though there's not much else added to the cart, and as the boy glances at the empty section of the table that the older man was gazing at previously, he sighs in disappointment. He glances over at the blueberries, then at the apples, murmuring to himself: "They don't like these though…I guess tomorrow I'll go somewhere else anyways." He ultimately turns away from the table and begins walking deeper into the store where the long aisles are, allowing more items from the list to be deleted without being truly found.
In between shelves, the teenager passes jars of mayonnaise, but he stops upon finding that the next block of the shelves are practically empty, with nothing visibly out in front on any of the boards from top to bottom. He dashes forward in desperation, pivoting to face the shelves head on to find that it's nearly empty but for a few small jars deep in the back containing what looks to be peanut butter, though each jar is the size of a small cup. He turns his head to survey the block of shelves, even awkwardly jumping to get a better glimpse at the higher boards, however nothing is there. With no other choice, he just reaches his arm deep into the shelves to grab one of the jars, murmuring: "Guess it'll do for tomorrow," before tossing it on the cart.
At the back of the store, the boy studies tables beneath shelves along the wall, all of which provide various packaged meats of differing cuts and colors. Once again while a solid handful of shelves are indeed populated, they are only scarcely, and of course there are still shelves and tables that are empty. The teenager focuses on a few shelves with various cuts of deer from ribs to loins, however his eyes dwindle to the racks beside it which themselves lack inventory, all except for a few packages of pork ribs on the table.
The boy comments while eyeing the ribs gloomily, "I know they'd prefer pork but we can't do anything with ribs…damn I was hoping for loin at least…I mean I guess we can just…," before he turns his gaze to the deer meats, specifically the rack holding a package of backstraps in a row. He reaches for the backstraps while, "I guess we can use this instead of pork loin, hopefully they're fine with it," before tossing it in the cart too.
He sighs to himself, raising his head to the ceiling as he regrets, "I should've come here with them, now I just look lazy," but with more left on the list despite the few removals, he turns around and continues walking beside the wall, guiding the cart which does at least have more items populating it than before.
At another aisle, the shelves are blocked off by translucent blue walls as if barricading the contents behind in a style more akin to wardrobes than the typical racks, those contents next to the boy being jugs of milk. Attention isn't paid to them anyways, but he does stop upon reaching the next section only to find there to be nothing there, and once again he starts trying to peer up at every shelf by rising to the tips of his toes and raising his chin, yet to no avail for there's truly nothing between the milk jugs and the next section of cheese blocks.
But neither of those two products interest the boy, for he focuses solely on the empty center, contemplating to himself, "We don't have a lot of eggs left…not even one here…really…?" He turns around to glance at the shelves behind him, but his samely disappointed expression persisting proves little to be gained from that check. He pivots back around to focus on the empty section, sighing before facing the cart, then the list hovering by him which at this point has only a few items left. One of those items is deleted, but the boy just grunts before continuing to walk forward, shaking his head in shame while his cart follows.
Eventually the shopping concludes with the teenager guiding the cart towards those exit lanes– no longer projecting the grocery list–, none of which down the long row are occupied, as at this time there aren't even other people visible from the boy's position. He stops in front of one lane before turning around to scan his surroundings to confirm such, seemingly the only person left in the grocery store, as while the lights are still just as bright there's a sense of abandonment that chills him. He frowns in his panoramic search, clenching his teeth slightly in this eerie atmosphere, but nonetheless he faces forward and continues his walk down the lane.
Passing the booth results in the boy's shopping cart flashing green, and after reaching the end of the lane he takes a turn to walk along the back wall, his footsteps echoing in an otherwise silent building. The wall to his side also has racks stocked with scarce items like boxes with images of potato chips, their vibrant red and blue coloring shining off the balanced white store lighting. Clean, best for clarity of color and objects, standard, yet cold and desolate just the same.
On his approach to the exit, the teenager takes another gaze around but again finds nobody in his peripheral, and before he can study for too long he reaches the open wide stores, leading him back outside where the sky has shifted to a more predominantly cyan shade due to the supersun sitting lower in the sky at a gradual descent in sunset. The boy walks across the short lane and into the parking lot which is now almost completely empty, only a few pods scattered deeper into the grid, the closest one being the red minivan that he immediately approaches in a fatigued amble.
It doesn't take long for him to reach his pod though, nearly walking past it but stopping to guide the cart to pause right behind the vehicle. It only takes about a second before the back of the pod projects a conal blue light over the shopping cart, meshing over the boxes and bags before all those items vanish in just a second, being absorbed into the pod which leaves the shopping cart empty. The cart's blue lights then switch to yellow just as it begins moving forward without the teenager's motions, instead driving autonomously as it turns around and passes the boy, approaching the store where it was summoned in the first place.
The teenager watches the cart drive off and away, passing through the lane and entering through the store's doors, where moments later it vaporizes completely. The boy then returns his focus back on his pod, walking around it to the driver's side where the door disintegrates to allow him to slide himself in the vehicle, the interior sporting a beige palette for its seats and overall surfaces. From inside the pod, the engine awakens with a few coughs before roaring, booting up the holographic dashboard as gauges appear over the windshield. As he faces forward with a subtle frown, the vehicle rises a few feet in the air before pulling itself backwards, spinning around to then drive forwards while climbing higher at an acceleration that grows the gentle hum.
As the window next to the boy indicates that he's driven out of the parking lot, climbing higher than the grocery store itself, his tired expression frightens at the sudden emergence of another holographic screen to his side with the icon of a traditional phone above the title 'Mom is calling…." He turns to face the screen, allowing it to switch to a panel interface providing options as the call begins, indicated by the sudden voice of an adult woman asking through said screen: "Where are you Chamey? It's getting late, you didn't go out with your friends did you?!"
Recovering from that initial shock and showing offense by the uncalled accusation, the teenager known as Chamey shakes his head before justifying, "What, no mom I didn't, I'm driving home right now, I'll be there soon."
The pod now high above any other buildings as there's not much of a view through the windows other than distant traffic indicated by blue dots in front of the descending sun, the driver listens to his mother demand, "Well get home soon, we're cooking right now and we realize we need some of your ingredients, that's why I asked you to go earlier."
Chamey frowns from the berating, only being able to comply with the assurance, "I'm coming, I'm coming. Sorry."
"Good, love you," the mother leaves before ending the call immediately given the closure of the screen, letting Chamey sigh in peace.
Another screen projects next to him, though this doesn't frighten him as he was the one to deploy it, not being a call alert but rather a messenger service opened to the logs of a chat conversation, bubbles on each side for each message, all of them beneath the title defining the communicator: 'Arthan.' The text bar on the bottom begins to fill with a new message that, when sent, deploys a small gray bubble to the log reading: 'Just went grocerying and there's nothing at the store,' followed by another text sent with: 'I guess we starving now.'
He faces forward to focus on his driving, though in a few moments there appears another message bubble though in green on the other side, one he glances at to read from the other side: 'Wait actually? Weird, I just went earlier and mine was pretty stocked. Just less lines but that's about it.'
After reading the message, Chamey smacks his lips as if in annoyance, grunting before typing out his followup message which he sends as: 'Wait what how,' along with, 'I wish it was just that, like half of everything I wanted wasn't there.'
Again he faces forward to prioritize the direction of his driving, but he's called back to the message log upon another one sent to him, which he reads: 'That's weird, I don't know what to say but sorry. I mean I don't think I saw them slapping as many local Earth 48 brands at the front of everything as usual, maybe it's an importing thing who knows. I'm sure it'll be fixed soon though.'
Reading that message brings out another glimpse of irritation from Chamey as his eyebrows curl and forehead wrinkles, grunting again as he types up and sends back, 'Well we're weird about interplanetary imports so I wouldn't be surprised if we're just not getting them as much,' appended with, 'At least when it comes to food they do basically everything themselves even though we use basically the same tech which is just stupid.'
He then releases a heavy breath to calm himself, facing forward again as the hum of his pod serves like a gentle ambiance to keep his environment from becoming truly silent. There's a greater pause between responses this time, leaving him to sit in his own thoughts, grunting again from what seems to be disdain not towards his friend but rather his own ecosystem. He is ultimately called back upon another response albeit shorter, reading: 'Ah sorry yeah that's shitty, wish I could help.'
With little to go off on from that brief response, Chamey frowns with not as much fire in his eyes, instead just sending back a similarly simple message of: 'It is what it is.' He glances forward once more before returning his eyes back to the screen to mention, 'I'm nearing home, talk to you later,' which receives a near instant response of: 'Take care.'
Reading that final message, Chamey returns his gaze ahead one more time, sighing as the holographic screen closes out to leave him to his priorities. He slightly leans forward from his seat in anticipation as the hum of his pod begins to depress as it seems to descend too judging by the surrounding trees now being visible through the side windows.
Indeed the red minivan has now reached an area far different from before, a residential suburb with one main road branching off to shorter driveways leading up to houses only up to two stories tall, built of wood and brick beneath triangular roofs. Leafless trees scatter around the green plains between the black roads, civilization mixed with nature, not only in the front lawns between the houses and roads but also the backyards each house has with noticeably taller trees covering a wider area. The sky above has progressively darkened as the supersun is now partially etched into the horizon, leaving the sky itself a darkening cyan, sunset in its apex, scarce sparse clouds in the sky.
At the end of the road is a dead end circle, though the minivan doesn't reach there before turning onto one of the driveways, crawling up quietly towards the wide garage door which vaporizes to reveal the garage itself that already has a parked emerald green SUV on the left. The minivan navigates up the driveway only a few feet off the ground after its descent, moving steadily into the garage where it comes to an absolute stop, lightly lowering before the hum absolutely silences and the tail lights lose their glow. Moments later, the parked pod shines a wide blue light off the back down to the ground, and after turning off it reveals a single large crate that rises from the ground to a few feet up, upon which the driver's door vaporizes.
Swinging out of the driver's door is Chamey who lands on his feet, stumbling forward before catching himself as it's clear he's physically drained and perhaps emotionally too given his melancholic expression. Nonetheless he walks around the pod towards the hovering crate, assessing it to find all the groceries purchased to be neatly tucked in the crate: boxes of blueberries, the jar of peanut butter, package of deer meat among other goods all able to fit in a box only as wide as his shoulders, it's length about half.
Inspecting all he bought despite not being much, he turns around and walks past the parked SUV towards a closed door in the beige garage, which disintegrates into a cloud upon proximity as the main garage door materializes once more. Just as the white lights of the garage take prominence over the sunlight, Chamey steps inside a small white room, the crate following close behind him with the results of the journey.
Walking through the doorway to leave the small white room, Chamey finds himself inside a living room of sorts with wooden floors and beige walls, the corner of the room housing two complementary leather sofas with a single glass table in front, all hovering over a large green carpet. On the corner next to the sofas is a doorway leading deeper into the house where voices mix with the sounds of chopping and the whooshes of doors phasing between states.
Chamey takes in a deep breath as if needing to prepare himself before he walks down the room with the crate behind him, his footsteps gentle as his shoes are off and all he has are black socks, though his presence couldn't be tapered for long. Upon passing through the doorway leading straight into a hallway, he follows the hall which at the end opens up to a different room with white tiled floors, the origin of the sound including those voices.
To the end of the corridor he walks, entering the larger room which functions like a kitchen in that it has marble tabletops over cabinets along the walls of the room as well as an island in the middle, all the surfaces covered with various objects like plates, bowls, and small packages like boxes. On one side of the kitchen is also what appears to be a stovetop judging by the distinct black surface where a pot and pan sit, both of them emitting heavy steam, moderated by an older bald man dressed in business attire of a white buttoned shirt and khakis, tending to the stove as on the other side stands another bald woman adorned in a casual green dress, wielding a large knife that she uses to precisely chop up a stick of what seems to be cilantro.
The woman is the first to perk her head up at the noticed presence of Chamey, and she smiles to greet in the familiar voice from the call: "Chamey, you're finally home!" which also triggers the old man to turn around and join, "Oh there you are, your mother thought you had run away for the night."
Chamey instinctively lets out a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head, although his fingers only cling to his cap, as he assures once again: "I wasn't out for that long, come on, I'm fine. But I did go to the store." He steps to the side to allow the crate to enter the kitchen room, to which the woman places the knife down and approaches the box, grabbing it on its sides to peer over and inspect it with keen, sharp eyes. Still holding the box, she turns around and carries it physically towards the island table as she observes, "Huh…I'm pretty sure I put a lot more on the list…but I don't remember putting deer, did you mess with this honey?"
The father immediately contends, "I didn't touch the list, that's your domain, not mine," while he returns his focus back on the stovetop, choosing to disengage from the potential argument.
Chamey steps forward and chuckles again even more anxiously before admitting, "Well…yeah there was more on the list, but Big didn't have most of it. Like they were just missing a lot today, that doesn't usually happen but I couldn't get most of it, and the deer was the best alternative meat I could find."
The mother clicks her tongue thrice as the crate sits on the island, and she reaches inside to start pulling out the various goods to place on the countertop. She mentions, "Did you try anywhere else like Dammart? I guess we can try working with the deer for now…but we really needed the collards for tonight…it's just not going to turn out right without them."
"Well, this is what happens when we do things at the last minute," the father chimes in, targeting Chamey who sighs before reluctantly apologizing, "I know, I'm sorry, I was just busy."
"Busy on your Connect you mean, your school's still on break isn't it," the father grills more deeply while cooking, catching Chamey's lie dead on the spot, leaving him more flustered as all he can do is lower his head and feebly contend, "I…was doing work…."
"Well…I guess we can try to make the most of this," the mother hopes as she plucks the bag of squash out of the crate, though her tone doesn't hold great confidence as she admits, "I would probably go to the store right now but…augh I can't right now." She then turns to face Chamey to get a proper glance at him before her eyes oddly sharpen and she sternly demands, "Take that cap off at least when you're in the house," to which Chamey grunts before whining, "Come on, do I have to?" The mother begins to march towards him, reaching for his head as she asserts, "Yes, you're blocking your parietal," to which Chamey takes a defensive step back, though the father extinguishes, "Just leave him be honey, you know he's like that now." The mother complies by pausing her assault, grunting back and turning around to return to the island table as the father appends, "He's trying to be like his cool Connect friends isn't he?"
"Come on dad, it's not like that," weakly argues Chamey though his defense comes flat as the mother responds to the father, "This is why I didn't want him to have a Connect so early, he has no backbone about these kinds of things."
"Mom," Chamey moans but to no avail especially with no attempted argument, though she at the very least switches the conversation with: "Well if Big really was missing all of this, I think we should steer clear for some time and let them sort themselves out. This is disappointing, but I guess this must be an issue with the farms, I'm sure everywhere has these same problems so maybe other stores won't be that different."
Stepping back into the kitchen now that he feels safe once again after the near attack, Chamey huffs before commenting, "Well, it's not everywhere, my friends were telling me that the stores around them still have everything."
Still keeping his eyes on the pot and pan, the father simply asks, "Your school friends?"
Caught in a tight spot from the mindless blurt, Chamey bites his tongue and clenches his teeth in nervousness, realizing he wouldn't be able to easily deceive his way out. He just sighs before admitting in defeat, "Well…no…my other ones."
While the mother fires a glare, the father doesn't show any reaction other than to explain, "Well I'm sure it's different for them, they'll accept food from basically any world they can, they don't care about things like quality, but half the stuff there is so badly produced you can hardly call it food to begin with."
Chamey lowers his head with a frown, contemplating for a few moments before considering quietly, "But at least they have something to eat…they're actually helping each other stand afloat, I mean even beyond groceries all the food spots like Mables is shutting down so there's less around here meanwhile my friends are saying for them their spots are just shifting to more online orders but they're still running."
"Oh please, Mables isn't real food, maybe it's a good thing you can't go there," the mother asserts somewhat coldly, leading to Chamey contending back, "But still, I mean right now it feels like they're just using what they have left but once that's all out, what are we all supposed to do then? Starve?"
"You're overreacting, it's not the end of the world," assures the mother despite Chamey not seeming very relieved, as instead he argues, "But really, what are they going to do? I could see them fixing things in maybe a couple months or at least getting to a point where they have some things running, but right now what are we supposed to do when nowhere near us has food?"
"So what do you want to do," the mother asks though in a snappier tone, growing in aggression to this debate as she sarcastically assumes, "You just want to move to where your friends are so you can get all their crappy imported food?"
"At least there'd be something-," Chamey immediately blurts out but is cut off as his mother suddenly slams the island countertop with her fist, silencing him in sudden fear to both his own words and the response so quickly returned. He stumbles a few steps back just as his mother turns to glare at him in visible rage, clearly angered to a great extent at that genuine response.
"So at the slightest inconvenience, you just want to pack everything and leave? You know, your father and I were born and raised here, never needed to leave. Our parents were also born and raised here, again, never needed to leave. Just because there are other worlds doesn't mean you need to be so hasty to jump to them, you see the fancy things they show off but I assure you they are hiding all their problems and you'll only find out when you land on their soil. What, your little online friends are making you feel bad for living in a place that can stand for itself, they're trying to tell you how much better their life is away from here? I swear, whoever you keep talking to has made you ashamed of where you're from, ashamed of who you are, really you look ridiculous walking around in that hat, and what even is that thing on your hoodie, I'm sure it's not from somewhere here."
Chamey opens his mouth to try protesting, though the mother doesn't relent, "You're always so interested in whatever your friends and their worlds are doing and you're never interested about here, you don't care about our politics you just like watching E.G.A debates, you don't care about our world history but you love spewing random facts about all the other ones. And now that you have an excuse, you want to get out of here as quickly as possible, and just leave everything and everyone from your life behind. Are you that eager to move out??"
Frozen in bewilderment to the outbursting lecture, Chamey just stands in place silently for a few seconds, trying to formulate a response though he walks on eggshells. He lowers his head with a frown, his mouth wavering as the stress has clearly been loaded onto him, especially knowing this wasn't a situation where he simply needed to win a debate as it was his mother's feelings that he had damaged.
He raises his head up with a response in mind, though before he could utter a word from his opening mouth he just stops himself and lowers his head again, realizing what he had in mind wouldn't work, for any direct engagement wouldn't work, for there is no winning here.
Instead, Chamey just murmurs in what's nearly a whisper, "I'll…check Dammart or WellPath to see if I can get us some collards…maybe they'll even have more pork meat if I can come back before you need it." He then turns around and begins to amble back the way he came, exiting the kitchen as his mother just stands in fury by the kitchen island, breathing heavily. The father simply glances at the son leaving, then turns to the mother, though she glares back at him which triggers him to break eye contact and return back to the stove as though he's wary too. He just remains silent as Chamey walks down the hallway and takes a turn, entering the living room once again though the voices and chopping have since silenced, leaving the house far quieter than when initially entered.
In a silent frown, Chamey just walks himself to the end of the living room, turning to walk into the white room, though he doesn't need to take a few steps before turning again and stepping towards a door that vaporizes in his presence, allowing him back in the garage. He strolls past the green SUV and walks up to the driver's side of the minivan, the door of which also disintegrates, allowing him to throw himself into the seat, letting out a soft grunt upon doing so. He just faces forward with that same dreary expression as the door beside him closes and the one behind him being the garage door itself opens up.
Just after the garage door opens, the pod coughs before roaring awake, the dashboard and holographic gauges lighting up just before the vehicle starts to drive backwards, backing out of the garage at a crawling pace. It maintains this pace as it moves down the driveway, where at the end the pod turns towards the road ahead which it begins to drive down at a gradual acceleration and ascension.
As the minivan begins its next journey right after ending its former, Chamey faces forward at the windshield, the sky ahead now in twilight, the supersun no longer visible though shades of the cyan light still persist by the horizon, blending into the gradient of the sky transitioning to night with an overall navy tone. That sky rests above the environment of other houses within the neighborhood among dead trees, for the pod remains low to the ground. It does steadily rise though as told by less of the houses being visible through the windshield same as the trees, for the pod would naturally raise itself to navigate out of the neighborhood and towards the local stores. As it passes the court the house is situated in, turning in on a different road, coiling around a white house with tall roofs, and zooming onwards in the direction of the grocery store, the hum steadily rising for a few seconds before finding a comfortable point same as the pod ending its climb to rest at a single altitude, Chamey just blankly stares forward in that same defeated frown.
His eyes dart around his dashboard and gauges, sharpening slightly analytically, his eyebrow raising in contemplation. He softly grinds his teeth in self conflict within thoughts, his eyes unable to rest on any particular position. As the pod makes another turn, the boy's forehead wrinkles, but his eyes finally settle forward, and at that moment the pod gradually resumes its climb same as its acceleration.
Despite still being in the neighborhood where there doesn't seem to be much reason to continue rising, the pod begins to sharply angle upwards, enough that the boy falls back against his seat as though inside a rocket. The pod accelerates to maintain its speed at this new upwards velocity, the hum growing more aggressive as the view from the windshield no longer includes any sliver of houses or trees, in fact there's no sights of the world itself. Only the twilight sky embodies the view, not night sky yet as nebulas can't be seen, though perhaps gentle twinkles of faraway stars are beginning to bleed into the haven.
The sky and the cosmic infinity beyond it reflects in the boy's orange eyes and slit irises, his expression shifting as the conflict within him begins to calm, for he seems oddly accepting, anxious given the subtle quivering of his jaw yet intent enough to blaze forwards. That anxiety begins to rise again though as his eyes slowly drift up, inspecting the rear view screen at the top of the windshield, watching the neighborhood below him gradually begin to shrink the further away he moves. His teeth clamp together, that conflict brewing once more within him, acknowledging the immaturity of his idea. He just stares at the neighborhood through the rear screen, completely motionless, serene, as just from that view it seems so perfect, without dilemmas. Almost as though it's not trying to struggle to pull him back, just standing there drifting away in acceptance, leaving a void in the debate that he himself fills with doubts.
But just as he takes in a deep breath in an effort to quell his resistances, from the corner of his eye still tracking the rear view screen he notices one of the houses left in the neighborhood is suddenly penetrated through the roof by the abrupt emergence of a huge tendril that resembles the root of a tree yet the diameter of a forest tree, though entirely black. His eyes widen upon watching as all the sudden many more houses around the block quickly grow these black roots, some of which emerge from the green grass itself, rising as if growing at an absurdly unnatural rate, branching off frantically as if to quickly cover the sky in wires.
Instinctively Chamey drops the nose of the pod flat, abandoning the climb to instead get a better glance around himself, peeking down through the window screen at his side to watch as below him these black roots sprout all over the neighborhood, even further beyond to the roads and distant towns.
Not only do so many appear, but each one rises decently quickly without slowing down, approaching even him while continuously splitting more and more. Not all roots grow in the same direction, some of them barreling through multiple houses at a time with horizontal paths, though some grow upwards in the air, their constant branching resulting in umbrellas forming in the sky, like barriers severing the earth from the heavens, an unbridled and unholy infestation.
Some of them rise close enough to be more keenly observed, their material being a strange slimy bark that itself is purely black though from within shine white caustics like energy coursing through, the only source of light as sunlight doesn't brighten the roots.
They move at the speed of a racing pod too, smashing through houses with ease, severing the natural trees and leaving them collapsing over roofs and roads.
In a moment of morbid fascination he freezes, infatuated by such a demented sight. Yet here before him such a tree overshadows him, leaving him in a disorientation, one though abruptly broken from two quick blinks before he recalls in horror, "Wait, mom, dad!"
Whereas previously the pod's tip has leveled, it now sinks just before driving forwards, or rather back the way it had climbed from, at a speed vastly greater in a fall. He grits his teeth with sharp eyes, terrified yet persistent, however his eyes grow wider in fear as he finds himself driving straight into the continuously growing roots that obscure the straight path he took.
Yet he can't stall more, and so he sharpens his eyes before accelerating, sharply turning the minivan in avoidance of the roots, weaving between the tendrils while maintaining a downward descent towards his home. Though through this daring dive he dials in upon an interesting observation, noting that since the roots grow from the ground, there isn't necessarily the same density of hazards closer to the ground than higher where they have split. Taking this to mind, Chamey takes a steeper plunge, racing firstly for the surface, still needing to steer clear from the roots ahead though no longer does he fight directly against the current.
It only takes a few seconds before he can better see the black road beside the green grass, leveling out about fifty feet off the ground, just below the first branching of the roots. Now without as many obstructions other than the few roots he needs to steer around, he's able to more calmly view the neighborhood though his breathing remains rapid. However his surveillance captures nothing calm, only finding mobs rushing out of their homes in cries, many of them surrounded by holographic screens presumably to call for aid. Groups gather by the road in droves, a few of them noticing the minivan passing by them, the driver facing them back.
But it's during this survey where he notices that all the sudden from the sky drop bodies, so fast they almost seem simply black like silhouettes. Believing to be witnessing the lethal drops of innocent people, Chamey shuts his eyes and turns the other way, however it's that moment when the people staring up at the van show a spike of horror and quickly scurry away, a reaction to a latent trigger that being sudden thuds on the roof right above the boy who raises his head up in bewilderment. Not only one, but several thuds in quick succession, leading him to gradually descend the pod again with a nervous face, no longer confident in the safety of the vehicle. That all escalates when he finds humanoid bodies crawling from his roof over his windshield, shaped like people albeit incredibly lean, but more strangely completely black in color.
The abrupt inexplicable sight causes Chamey to shriek in perplexed terror as he loses control, causing the pod to suddenly dive straight for the ground as multiple of these humanoids begin to crawl down his pod as seen from the passenger window beside him, further terrifying him into another cry right before the hard impact led with a boom that violently jerks him forward.
His body responsively jerked back to his seat just before his forehead could make contact with the dashboard, Chamey is pulled back to safety albeit in a pod no longer moving, nearly right on the ground though not leveled with it but instead tilted. He groans as the whiplash alone has disoriented him, his body slouching forward as though trying to be pulled down, his seat being all that's keeping him up. The driver's door beside him disintegrates automatically into a cloud, allowing the abrupt flood of sounds consisting majorly of shrieks and screams perpetually, disorienting the boy even more as he places his hand on his forehead before throwing himself off the seat, through the blood red clouds.
Stepping out through the other side as he begins to tune himself to this blunt soundstage, Chamey shakes his head while stumbling forward aimlessly before spinning around to find the minivan's nose plunged into the ground, having crashed straight into the road which has left debris scattered about. He's still disoriented as he can't focus for too long, struggling to notice the concerningly deep scratch marks all over the red finish that covers the hood, all the four doors open too.
Only when he slowly peels his hand off his head in a gradual acclimation to his environment is he suddenly yanked by the arm, pulled forward to which he shrieks so great his long split tongue flashes, spinning around to swing his arm at the aggressor, just to find it to be another man in his thirties, his body better built as it hardly reacts to the swing, just facing ahead whereas Chamey turns towards his minivan to bear witness to the sudden charge of another humanoid dive straight inside at a frantic speed, so quick that it's just like a black blur. The man turns left and right before the two of them hear a woman shout, "OVER HERE," to the left, turning both of their heads towards a house they're approaching where an adult woman in loungewear waves her hand to them. The man takes a turn towards the house as asks in a shout, "Can you walk?!" Chamey nods his head, signaling the man to gently let go of Chamey who's quick to land on his feet and run without question, pressing down on his cap to secure its place. The two race for the door towards the woman who doesn't show relief but rather horror as she suddenly stumbles back and shrieks, and before Chamey can even try to understand why, he's shoved to the right by the man who's immediately tackled by another black blur.
Chamey falls forward on his face, at least landing on the grass which lets him recover to his feet quickly, glancing back in confusion to the physical attack. But as he stands up and spins around, he finds himself at the sight of that very man laying on the ground, held down by another humanoid in all black, no features other than its lean figure. In a moment so quick yet entrancing, the black humanoid's head seems to expand out from its jaw as if being greatly flexible, apparently ninety degrees, before it drives its head into the man's and snaps shut, clamping the entire head off which causes the rest to burst red over the green grass.
That woman stumbles backwards inside her house as her door materializes shut, forcing Chamey in no other path but to turn around and begin sprinting the other way, huffing desperately with no tactic of escape, only wanting to distance from the black being who raises its head towards the door before abruptly charging straight for it in a sprint, running at speeds significantly greater than what the teenage boy can achieve. Yet he just keeps his gaze forward, continuing on in the direction for his home, running along the lawns of his neighbors who he finds ahead of him disbanding from the herds from prior, running away in screams as more black bodies fall limp from the sky, crashing on rooftops and the street.
Seconds after crashing to the surface, those humanoids awaken, crawling up to their feet, and only after a brief panoramic glance do they break into a sprint for their first victims. Unfortunately there's plenty in the streets, the crowds of people evacuated from their homes now out in the open wilderness, screaming as they race for their homes or any others they can reach. One of those fleeing clusters approaches Chamey from the side just as he runs along another lawn of a house pierced by a black root. The lawn before the house is decorated with a garden with a wall of bushes, and Chamey turns to the cluster in contemplation of joining them, seeking safety in community. However in that glance he notices a few of the monsters turn their heads to the attention of the large group, those monsters bodies inhumanly slender as if anorexic, their hands unnaturally large with sharp nails at the tips of strangely curved fingers, similar to their feet.
Their bodies are truly black, their skin if that's what it may be called a smooth texture like the roots that emerged prior. The feature that draws the most attention is the head though, which stretches vertically from a jaw mechanism but one in the middle of the head rather than by the chin. Inside the mouth is a densely spiraling row of black spikes like teeth yet with illuminated white edges, the end of the row difficult to determine as it instead seems to just continue down the throat endlessly. It lacks any other facial features like eyes, but those mouths open wider upon the observation of the group, right before a group of those monsters kick off in a sprint straight for them, shrieking like the humans yet in a voice extraterrestrial, echoing in a pitch like metal grinding against porcelain, yet with an undertone of a vibrating deep gargle all in a manner distinct from the human cries of terror, for these function more like barks of aggression.