text: Hello, my name is Aiden Mayer. I'm not entirely sure how well this post will work and where this stuff ends up. Blame it on my age. Never mind that; I suppose you'll come to know me soon. My life started unraveling on a mild spring morning. I was in my office working as an assistant physicist at Ametherom Institute of Technology, my Alma Mater. You may have never heard of the city I called home, which would come as no surprise. Ametherom was a quaint, bustling seaside city on the eastern coast of my small but prosperous Island Nation of Igadi. It rose up around the mouth of the Bay of Basir and was divided by the river Manu into the northern densely-packed City Centre and the southern cobblestone streets of Old Town. Ametherom had the heart of a proper city. The streets and buildings sprung up organically around the bay and the river, feeling as natural as the marshes and trees interspersed within and surrounding it. Three large iron bridges crossed over the river connecting the streets of City Centre to Old Town. Beneath the central and most ornate bridge ran a slender white footbridge uniting two halves of a large pedestrian's circle. The circle was paved with a mandala of white and pastel stones and nearly always bustling with street vendors, food stalls, and performers. A city built for community and connection. I love my little city. The older I grow, the more I wish I could visit once again. Unfortunately, I do not believe that is a possibility. I spent my whole life in Ametherom, from the day I was left at an orphanage until the day I was ripped from my comfortable reality and thrust into a war that ravaged everything that made me human. Ametherom was my home--my family. I miss its comfort. I, like most orphans, was raised in a private boarding school. I fit in fine with the other kids with whom I shared dorm rooms and classes. I made it through to graduation with high marks and got accepted into Ametherom Institute of Technology, where, upon graduating, I took a physicist position. This, as you may recall, is where my story really starts. **Broheim McIntosh** Being a researcher conjures the mental image of white lab coats and bubbling beakers, but I am chagrined to say my position wasn't so glamorous. Most of my days were spent poring over abstracts and hacking together lines of code and equations in the modest-sized office I shared with my research partner and long-time friend, Broheim. The morning my world broke started so innocuously, as every other dull, typical day previously had. Bro swung around the door five minutes late, his unruly orange hair bouncing as he ushered in a box of doughnuts. "I got you an eclair, Aiden!" he said melodiously with a bright smile. "Thanks Bro, my favourite!" I chuckled. "Hey, have you checked out the new pub on 11th street yet?" I asked as he dramatically plopped into his chair with a quick spin. "Next month is Cass and my anniversary, and I figured--" "A pub, Aiden? Com'on, this is your third year together. Take her somewhere nice and pop the question already! You do know you aren't getting any younger, right?" he prodded. "Alright then, Mum, sheesh." I rolled my eyes. "And to answer your question, yes. I happened to have met a lovely lass there two nights ago and from what I remember it was a cosy little pub. Not much of an amber selection though..." "Well you know Cass doesn't like going out to fancy places. I'll call them ahead, see if they do flowers." "You're a right lady-killer, eh? Any-who, how are we coming on Project 1183?" "Glad you asked, Mr. McIntosh!" I beamed, "Come and have a look at this." Broheim shot me a quizzical look as he brushed crumbs from his shirt and rolled his chair next to mine to peer at my monitor. "So, I was going over a few results last night, when I stumbled upon this. I think this sheds some light on that photon dilemma, eh?" I grinned unabashedly at my own joke. He didn't say a word as he stared into the black and white text. "Crazy, innit?" I laughed, "Are you at a loss for words, my man?" My laughter faltered and fell as I watched his eyes transfixed to the screen, blank and distant. "Are you OK, mate?" Bro's body stiffened as he fell hard to the floor. I jumped back in shock before crouching down. I carefully grabbed his shoulders. "Bro?" He began to convulse and thrash; his eyes were still distant and blank. "Somebody help!!" I screamed as I raced to my phone, pounding in the emergency line. My stomach dropped as I was greeted with a disconnected signal. I dashed into the hallway, screaming for help and trying doors to my colleagues' offices, but no one answered. For some reason, every door was locked. I started pounding on Professor Mark Stevens' door, yelling that Broheim needed help and the lines were down, pleading for him to answer. I heard a door slam behind me and whipped around to see four stately men carrying a stretcher, dressed in white scrubs and masks. My brief shock at their timely arrival was overwhelmed by relief. "Are you paramedics?" No response. I jogged down the hallway to our office just as they loaded Bro up and started for the exit. "Which hospital are you taking him to?" Not a single one of them acknowledged me, let alone my inquiry. "Hello?!" I followed them out the front doors, still asking them frantic questions, which they still ignored. They loaded Bro up in a white box van that looked like an ambulance without the lights. Tires squealed as they peeled out down the road. I was able to catch the letters "AMM" stencilled in black on the side of the vehicle. Then it careened out of sight. I rushed back inside to confront my boss, and as I burst through the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks and glanced about. Jeananne, who had returned to the front desk, narrowed her eyes at me as she held the phone to her ear as if to say, "quiet down." My other colleagues seemed unfazed. Their doors that were locked tight moments ago now stood open, and the nonchalant discussions I so frequently heard murmur through the walls had resumed. I slowly walked down the hall to Professor Stevens' office, my mouth no doubt agape as I struggled to process this strange event. I rapped sharply upon his door. His voice called "Come in" and shook me out of my shocked trance. I pulled the door closed behind me a bit too hard. "With all due respect, Professor...What the hell? Where were you?! I was calling for help! The phones are down, I couldn't call the emergency services, and you wouldn't even answer your door! Who the hell knows who came and got Broheim! They looked like doctors but they gave me a bad feeling. And--" "Call down, Aiden--take a deep breath and have a seat." I grabbed my composure and calmed my breathing into a steady rhythm. "Start from the top, now...What happened?" "I was going over our progress on 1183 and suddenly Broheim had some sort of seizure. He's been taken away into a van or ambulance. I called for you but--" "Aiden, first of all, who is Broheim?" "Is this some sort of joke, sir? He's my office mate, we started here the same week." "I am positive we have never had a Broheim working here. Also, from what I can recall, due to your outstanding performance you have been entitled to a private office for two years now." My face and chest went cold as a particular type of knot tied up my throat. With barely a croak, I uttered, "Is...Are you playing a joke?" "No Aiden... Are you feeling alright? I know Project 1183 is pretty intense, maybe you need a vacation, that's all." "This isn't funny!" blood flushed my face as I rose to my feet. "Sit back down, Aiden. There is no need to get worked up." I glared at him as I sank back into my seat. "If anyone else had come in swinging like you did just now, I would terminate them on the spot for blatant disrespect. I've known you since you enrolled here at the university and I have seen your exemplary work. I don't want to let you go, but I need you to calm down and get help with whatever...this is." He motioned his hand as if to encompass all of me. I swallowed my protest and pride and cast my eyes to my feet. "Aiden, take this." His tone had softened. I looked up as he passed me a weighty, off-white business card. "Doctor Walsh and I worked together for a number of years. I can certainly attest to her excellence." I examined the elegant golden script embossed into the card. Dr. Alexis Walsh, Psy. Ph.D. "A shrink?" I looked up incredulously. "I would highly recommend you speak with her before returning to work. You are to be placed on paid leave for the next two weeks. Take some time to rest and reset, Aiden." I retreated inward as I walked out of his office. The whispers of my colleagues swirled around as if I was underwater. I walked to my office to gather my things and nearly fell to the floor when I saw that my desk was standing alone. Everything that graced Broheim's cluttered desk and shelves--and the furniture itself--was gone. How did they cover this up so quickly? More importantly...