Axel

An ordinary Thursday ceased to be ordinary at exactly 3:42 PM.

Elizabeth was taking off her apron at the campus diner at that moment. The smell of coffee and syrup lingered on her fingers, and the chemistry formula she'd been repeating between tables filled her head. She left through the back door to take the shortcut to the university and stepped into silence.

The world flipped like a page. Instead of a garbage dump, there was a gray wasteland. Instead of the sun, there was a murky spot.

Axel and Michael were arguing about baseball in the lobby of the business wing at the same time. Axel was adjusting his expensive sweatshirt, Michael was laughing, kicking an empty energy drink can. They turned into the "forbidden" east gallery, which was closed for renovations. The door slammed shut, and the corridor stretched out, turning into a long, gray, windowless tunnel.

Now they are separated by kilometers of this seamy side. They don't know that they have all fallen through together, but for now, they are apart.

In the distance, against the backdrop of a collapsed skyscraper, a long shadow moves. It's not coming toward them. It's simply circling, as if sniffing the air.