The front cover.
Silence turned into deafness. The rumble of your own body replacing the void, and with it coming the voices of risidual thoughts, harmonizing in converse to the rise and fall of one's own vibrations. For the only real sound that existed was the sound of Davis' body materializing around him. His own blood pumping, his own bones creaking, cartilage and muscle finding their grooves in each other.
And then the world came into being. A very familiar one in fact. First there was air. A slight hint of home cooking on the breeze, the transient waft of factory smoke. The ground touched his feet before his shoes covered it. The familiar tickle of poorly-pruned lawn, but just for a second. Then at the grass' edge, black tar crawled its way out of the abyss and bricks started to form around one another, moving as though they whispered silently to each other. A distant bark arrived with a slight gust of wind. Behind him, metal shifted like an animal into form. A tailpipe, disappearing into a red metal body, smoothing out across side-bumpers and doors, glass shimmering like water into a single sheet, just barely seen behind it the upholstery stitching itself together around the seats and interior, and the pink flesh oozing out of nothing. A car started driving after driving passed where it had never been. After breaking himself from fascinated interest, he saw a dog in the distance, pulling against a rope which tied it to wood. To a house. An entire neighbourhood.
Lively voices chirruped here and there, cars appearing more frequently. Davis, finally dropping into his body, stretched and took a look around him.
A suburban residential area. Nuclear unit households, similar architecture up until that distant third block, double story, wooden porch and painted trimmings, slanted roof and shingles. Three bedroom two bathroom by the looks of it. Separate kitchen led into a communal area. The floor plan was very familiar to Davis, seeing that his own dwelling followed the same serialized production standards. Some company building large-scale homes for middle class workers. Close to an industrial zone. Judging by the sense of space and the zoning, he assumed somewhere closer to the modern time period. The people and animals acted normally. The dog of course, two people who walked by, himself, two discernible birds in a nearby tree and what might have been a squirrel. the cars looked recent too by design. So it was a safe bet to say that this was definitely modern earth.
Davis finally breathed out and relaxed his shoulders and neck into a more natural semi-hunched position.
Fine then, he thought. His character's place to stay was probably in this area, since nothing special seemed to be going on. And judging by his clothes he was not bad off. Although they were rather baggy and worn, the odd fray and loose stitch here and there. A few stains. Some disgusting-looking ones on the pants and lower shirt too. Davis new the type all to well. Apparently his character didn't have a family, probably at all. Most likely a bachelor who had been on his own for a while, and the testosterone was unmistakable.
He looked to his left where he bordered a patch of grass. A slightly cracked concrete walkway, thinly demented. Unkempt garden tended to with dull blades. All of this information seemed to be coming too easily.
It was only then did Davis truly start paying attention to the detail of this world. The old lady down the way, the dogs collar and breed, the strewn-about miscellaneous objects and trash. The number on the house.
Davis Reed was standing outside, in front of his own lawn.
For the first time in nine years.
ns 172.70.126.188da2
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