The Flash and the Fall
The music stopped.
The neon bar lights hummed like monks in quiet prayer.
Outside, the roads were icing over fast in the darkness of the evening. The owner had called earlier: “Close it up and get home safe.”
Amanda moved with purpose—sleeves rolled, rag over one shoulder, counting the final stack of bills before the register snapped shut.
“I’m taking off too, Amanda,” called a voice from the bar.
Frank pulled on his coat, his trucker hat tipped to the side just enough to prove he’d had a couple beers and was probably seeing a little tilted.
Without looking up, she said, “Okay, Frank. I’m right behind you. Be careful.”
He chuckled, eyes bleary but kind. “Need me to walk you home?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine,” she said, quickly washing his empty glass in the sink. Her tone was firm, but her smile carried that brand of Wisconsin warmth that could almost melt the two feet of snow piled outside.
When the door finally closed behind him, she locked it, killed the lights, and stepped out into the night. The town lay quiet under a full moon, every rooftop and parked car washed in winter silver.
The November air bit at her cheeks. Three blocks home, same route as always. She slid one earbud in, thumbed her phone, and the voice came through mid-sentence—“...and sometimes they don’t scream. They just vanish."
It was Chase Rowan, a movie star turned podcaster, just one of the countless voices filling the internet these days.
“Welcome to The Digital Detective. Wow, detectives—have I got a case for you! A missing person from 1994... but first, have you tried Promax Energy Drinks?”
Amanda smiled faintly. Typical late-night fast food for her brain — dark stories for the dark walk home.
She crossed the empty intersection, boots cracking through snow that sparkled under the moon like a blanket of sparkling diamonds. Her breath rose in quick bursts, turning her into a fog machine. The only sound was the snowplow groaning in the distance—small town nightlife. She wasn’t afraid. Not of the dark. Not of her little town.
Besides, it’s too cold for outdoor activity, even criminal.
She smiled to herself, thinking about tomorrow’s Wisconsin coffee. Coffee made with melted fresh snow instead of tap water. It wasn’t much, but it was her only real warmth in the cold last steps to her door.
Then—A flash of white swallowed everything.
Black.
When she opened her eyes, there was light everywhere.
She blinked hard. The world sharpened into light blue panels, curving like the inside of a massive sphere, with a strange, pulsing sound softly echoing in the quiet air.
She was lying on a padded table, one arm pulled from her coat sleeve and tucked into some sleek cuff that pulsed gently against her skin. Thin cords snaked from it into a glass console beside her, glowing every few seconds with a soft white light.
She looked down. Still wearing her jeans, her boots, even the smudge of salt from the walk home. Just... accessorized now. “Okay,” she whispered, “wait, what happened? Hello? Did I die or something?”
Across the room stretched rows of identical tables, each holding someone else—dozens of them—faces slack, bodies wired up to matching devices that hummed like refrigerators. The air smelled faintly of ozone and rain.
Amanda eased upright, her cuff tugging back, but accompanied as if it disapproved but allowed movement. The pulse quickened on the monitor, responding to her heartbeat. “Hello?” she called out, “If this is some kinda prank, you guys went all out on alien decor.”
Her throat tightened; her voice came out like a human megaphone. “All right, seriously, what is this? Why are all these people lying around like we’re at a sci-fi sleepover!” she called out.
“Aww. You’re so loud!” came a voice beside her as the man on the next table sat up.
She blinked. “What?”
He gestured toward a faint label near the head of her bed:
WISCONSIN – RED HAIR – FEMALE
“You’re tagged,” he said lightly, as if that explained everything.
Her jaw dropped. “Where am I? Is this some kinda alien shit?”
“Relax,” he said, raising a hand. “No one’s probing anyone. They’re just harvesting.”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed, her mind focusing, trying to find reality. “Harvesting what?”
“Look,” he said, “I don’t have all the answers either. They’re doing some kinda, you know, harmless energy thing. It doesn’t hurt.”
Amanda clenched her jaw. “Wait, are you Chase Rowan from those movies and Digital Detective?” she stopped.
“Yes, I am. Thanks for being a fan.” He smiled.
“Fan? Fuck you! Get me out of here.” Her voice echoed off every possible wall as she began to struggle with legs frozen in place, only her upper body responding.
“Take it easy, Wisconsin Red.” He said with his brow furrowed.
“Don’t call me Wisconsin Red,” she warned, “My name is Amanda.”
“Don’t care. Lie back down. You’ll be back and not remember any of it anyway.”
“Like hell, I’m getting out of here.”
“Okay, Wisconsin Red,” he said mockingly as he pressed a button next to her.
She tried to protest, “Don’t call me—” but sleep hit faster than words, and the world went black again.
