In the near future, the real world is dying.

Every geek’s fantasy is coming true. Superheroes, dragons, spaceships, giant robots, zombies, scantily clad French maids…they have all become real. It is miraculous that civilization has not plunged into total chaos.

What is causing this, and why?

Some nutcases think it is an alien invasion. Other nutcases think it is the beginning of the Apocalypse. Our three non-nutcase protagonists, however, just want to finish their college days in relative peace. Unfortunately, they are about to find themselves…

BEMUSED

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Somewhere in the aether of the cosmos, across from Zeus’ penthouse, next to Cthulhu’s condominium, a business meeting was going to hell. Not —the- Hell, though–that was a couple blocks away. The Eleven Muses were running out of options.

Calliope scowled. “Useless humans!”

“Bash them all you want, but you must admit: they have been pretty useful, given the circumstances.” Cenobia said meekly.

“’Given the circumstances!’ Do you have any idea how tired I am of hearing your relentless rationalizations?”

“Calliope, they’re mortals. You have to be patient with them.” Cenobia said. “They’re far more valuable than you think.”

“Valuable? They’re about as valuable as a dying crap apple tree!”

“I believe you mean a ‘crab’ apple tree.” Sappho said.

“Silence, you sniveling sycophant!” Calliope thundered. She gestured to her heavy tablet. “My words and deeds are written in stone!”

“If you're going to go around screaming insults, Calliope, I would suggest that you at least try to understand what they mean." Clio said. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do something productive.”

Clio massaged her aching temples. These conferences kept getting worse and worse. Whoever deemed Calliope the “wisest Muse” was either an imbecile or had a wicked sense of irony.

Erato scooped up another handful of potato chips and resumed her assault on the television remote. “Calliope has a point. Have you seen what’s on HBO lately? It’s awful. Even they can’t come up with new ideas.”

“Truly, the end is near.” Thalia whimpered.

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” Calliope said. “Have the humans forgotten how to think creatively? Surely, there must be some reason behind all this.”

Clio stopped typing at her laptop and looked pale. There was no doubt about it now: the statistics were right in front of her. “I think I’ve identified the culprits.”

“And who might they be?” Calliope said.

“Fanboys.”

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The restaurant was crowded, so it was hard to hear what the news anchor was saying. Not that it mattered to Steve. After all, the news was the same as yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that, too. “Dear God, when will people just move on with their lives?” Steve lamented, shaking his head disgustedly at the television. Yes, weird things were happening. Weird things had been happening regularly for the past six months. So why did everyone insist on calling them “weird?” It was weird.

“The world was shocked last week by the bizarre incident during the 5th Annual KlingCon at the Bertram Convention Center.” The anchor said.

Mike took another sip of his margarita. “Whatever. So Dirk, what was your take on the movie?”

Dirk’s posture suddenly became perfect, and Steve and Mike braced themselves for another dreaded otaku rant. “Personally, I thought the cyberpunk aspect was a bit overdone…but I was so thrilled when they made that Ghost in the Shell reference!”

Steve sighed. “A little bit too thrilled, I’d say. You looked like you were about to cream your pants.”

Dirk glared at him. “This is coming from the self-proclaimed ‘Master Debater?’”

“I told you to stop calling me that! I was drunk, and that was four years ago!”

On the television screen, the “Bertram Incident” was being shown. The grainy aerial video footage showed the Bertram Convention Center, a marvel of modern engineering. It was festooned with banners for the KlingCon sci-fi festival, complimenting its space-age architecture.

Seconds later, the building shattered into a sea of sparkling shards and astonished fanboys, all suspended in midair. As the camera zoomed in on the spectacle, the shards coalesced into a sleek black spaceship. Without so much as a goodbye, it blasted off into the deep blue sky, bringing thousands of diehard Trekkies with it. “Good riddance.” Steve thought.

“Authorities are still struggling to ascertain the current whereabouts and welfare of the victims. In other news, the Japanese Prime Minister announced today that he would introduce a bill to the Diet to control Tokyo’s insurance rates, which have been skyrocketing ever since the appearance of the so-called ‘mecha.’”

Mike plunked his glass down on the table. “Enough already! I didn’t organize this outing so we could bitch at each other! We have only one more year of college left. Then we’ll be scattered all over the country. Are you guys going to waste this time acting like six-year-olds?”

Dirk and Steve momentarily fell silent.

Dirk sighed. “I’ll pay the bill.”

“No, I’ll do it!” Steve countered.

“Shh! I’m trying to listen to this!” A nearby restaurant-goer whispered, much to Mike’s relief.

“Joining us tonight is Dr. Johann Jansen, who has been spearheading the effort to understand the meaning behind all these strange events.” The anchor droned. “Dr. Jansen, thank you for being with us tonight.”

“You’re welcome. As many of you are aware, the only apparent connection between the occurrences is that they have primarily affected ‘fandoms.’ However, the Bertram Incident makes it painfully clear that there is still much we do not understand. The question that lingers in everyone’s mind, scientist and layman alike, is ‘What will happen next?’”

Suddenly the screen went static. But that didn’t bother Steve. What did bother Steve was how everyone except for him and his friends seemed to be stuck in a loop, and not in a metaphorical sense.

A waitress moved to take a tray, jolted back, moved to take the tray, jolted back. The customer began to thank her, stopped, and began to thank her again. A man fell off his seat, reappeared on top of it, and then fell off.

“Uh, guys?”

Mike and Dirk had already noticed. The trio exchanged bewildered glances. Apparently, either they were the victims of an elaborate prank, or they were in the middle of a catastrophic chronological distortion. Or in laymen’s terms, time had just made a major f-up.

A beautiful blue sphere of light materialized in the center of the restaurant, capturing their gaze for an infinite second. Then it blossomed into a beautiful blue explosion that turned the entire building into smoldering wreckage. Beautiful smoldering wreckage.

Dirk had an enlightened thought before the blast engulfed him. It was something like, “ZOMGWTF?

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Beep…beep…

Though his mind was hazy, Dirk quickly realized that he was in some sort of recovery room.

He thought back. Last thing he had remembered, he was at some restaurant, then he had been blown up. That sucked. At least he didn’t need to pick up the tab. Mike was always ordering such expensive shit…

That started a new train of thought. Was Mike okay? Was Steve okay? Emphasis on Mike.

What had happened between now and then? He couldn’t recall anything save for---

A white conference room. Eleven women sat at a long rectangular table, staring at him balefully–

--and the words, Mist, Heatwave, and Breeze.

Where the hell did those thoughts come from? He could’ve sworn that he’d heard that people don’t dream if they’ve been knocked out. Now he could write a book about how wrong they were, win a Nobel Prize, and get to marry the President. Only for his money, though. He wasn’t gay. Not that there was anything wrong with being gay. It was only wrong if you, like, never wore anything but a Speedo and ran around punching grade-schoolers. Then you’d be an asshole, not gay.

Maybe his brain just needed to finish booting up. Yeah, that made sense.

“Good morning, Chosen One.”

If his body had not felt like a bag of rotting tomatoes, Dirk would’ve sat bolt upright.