Seaside Megalopolis

Time Isn't Holding Up; Time Is a Doughnut

Time spools out before you, curving almost imperceptibly, racing to meet itself on the other side. If you could stand above it -- far, far, far above it -- you'd see the truth: time is a donut, and we are all but grains of powdered sugar atop it. What is, will be, and what was, is, and what will be, was. Your head starts to spin a little as you remember the future.

You will open your eyes in a tiny apartment in a huge high-rise thousands of stories tall. You will walk over to the window and look out to see the city that is Seaside Megalopolis. It stretches all the way from the Nearby Plains Golf Community to the Desert Beach Estates to the Big Mountain Housing Projects For the Poor or Otherwise Unpleasant. Then you'll remember that you live on the ground floor of your crappy apartment building, and that window was just a Handy Exposition Viewscreen 3000.

You will be Decken Houston, your bald-headed, wise-cracking, grizzled, great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson.

You will then start getting your narrative in present tense, because it's the future, we get it, no need to run that joke into the ground.

A cheerful automated voice informs you that your coffee is brewing, and that should you choose to end your life today, your relatives would get an extra 10% bonus from the World Government. You strap on some shiny, implausible future clothes and head out into the Megalopolis.

Head Out