After war devastated the United States, a survivor buried himself deep underground in a cryostasis chamber connected to a digital world- Wonder City. Dedicated to creating a perfect society, Thomas O'Neil transported his consciousness to the city a...
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From the tallest skyscraper to the smallest house it was a place of beauty. A city where fear and pain had no place. A community where all was equal. A haven where the small were also the great. It was all this and more. Yet the lingering thought remained... How long could it last?
***
"You are clone #937. This is your name. This is your identity." The voice belonged to a middle-aged man standing in front of him. #937's hazy vision made that much out, but nothing more. His half-opened eyes saw brilliant shades of maroon red and dark blue tiles on the ceiling and chocolate brown on the walls to each side of himself. The air was rich with the scent of cedar wood and pomegranate.
The sound of male angelic choirs singing in harmony resonated off the walls.
His vocal cords came to life. Instinctively, his very first words were whispered into the world.
"Where am I?"
Silence.
The sound of his own voice, indistinguishable from the sound of the man in front of him, startled him.
He was the same height of #937 and wore a long white robe. As the man spoke again, 937 heard a warmth in his voice. "Welcome to the future."
Behind the man was a pillar made of red bricks. On it was a slab that read "Welcome to Wonder City. Welcome to the future."
#937 traced the outline of the blue and red checkerboard roof, wooden walls, and beautiful velvet carpet. It was decorated with the splendor and power of a heavenly throne room.
In the middle of the room was a single, narrow blue tile walkway with light poles on the left and right. Along the walls were red flags that were smooth to the touch. The choir sang louder and filled the room with their hymn. It was a beautiful, yet unfamiliar tune composed of syllables and a distinct lack of words.
"Come along." The man said, startling 937, who obeyed and instinctively moved back to the narrow blue tile.
"You've been given a purpose."
"What's that?"
The man handed him a small book. "I wish I could tell you, but it's for you to find out."
"Is this mine? Does everyone here have a book?"
"Everyone who exists, yes."
"Are you suggesting there are some who don't exist?" 937 asked.
"Depending on how you view the world ... I suppose it is possible to both exist and not exist ... all at the same time."
"How is that even ..."
The man cut #937 off and ushered him to a door on the right. "In your book you will find all you need to know."
With a push, 937 was thrown outside. He stumbled to the ground- a hard brick surface with elaborate, beautiful patterns. He could feel them pressing against his face and hands. To his right was a large tree and to his left a bridge. Two men stood atop it. Their facial features, body builds, and mannerisms were the same. There was no distinction between them other than the color of their shirts. If they wore robes, it would be easy to confuse them with the man in the hall.
