And Whatever Comes After

retro-futuristic horror

It was sometime after 3AM and Juniper didn’t care for the thick mire of dreams. She lay on her side in bed. Her eyes remained on the wall opposite, where the orange reflection of rain bled. Her fan clicked.

She ought to sleep. The next day hurdled toward her at breakneck speed. But the barrier between today and tomorrow, that gentle thief, was the end of her own time. From the moment her alarm blared, Juniper ceased to exist as herself; she was property of Dualis Industries. There was humor in the reality for many of her coworkers, all devoted to what Dualis called ‘the next evolution of wellness’. Without looking, she knew that dozens of windows would shed light. The employee dorms were filled with life even at this hour, a small, tired revenge against the hours they’d traded.

She’d been “sick” for two days (not exactly a lie). Each day Juniper entered those big glass doors, her heart rate would accelerate. She could feel herself heading in a direction that she didn’t like.

After yearly review of her vitals, HR commented that she needed to start medication to get it under control. Your production value will decrease, they warned. They’d prescribed her Cynoril.

Juniper never filled it. This was an excuse to remain in the comfortable confines of her little apartment. The sheets were washed, her floors sparkled, tub scoured.

Unfortunately, the little vacation had come at a high price. She was certain a write-up would be waiting for her upon arrival. If not when she returned, then the next quarter when they reviewed her body’s fluctuations and would know that she lied about being sick. There was a mandatory company-wide meeting that took place the day before. Juniper had unplugged her computer and telephone.

Rising, Juniper made her way to the kitchen and opened the cupboards. Quick fingers prepared lavender tea. As it steeped in warm milk, she laid down on the couch and closed her eyes.

That was how 5:58AM found her.

Her mouth was dry. There was a terrible stiffness in her neck and shoulders. Groaning, she pressed her hands beneath her body. The rough fibers caught beneath her nails as she arched her back against sleep. She let her hair fall over her face as she sat up. Juniper’s eyes opened to a sea of white. Fog pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The scene before her was as blank as the page she’d face today. A white screen, a metronomic cursor and… and well, whatever comes after.

A sense of doom filled her. It was as though a hammer was hovering above her head, waiting for her to look up to strike a fatal blow. Her chest tightened.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. Maybe she should pick up Cynoril on the way to work.

Nausea closed its iron fist around her gut as she deposited her eggs onto a buttered english muffin. Sighing, she folded it into tinfoil and placed it alongside three others in the freezer.

Now, Juniper was running behind. She hurried, barely noticing the flickering florescent lights. It would be a month before anyone bothered to fix it.

While waiting for the elevator, Juniper noted the faceless reflection. She could make out with great detail the tired grey slacks and fitted blue sweater. Her face was blurred, a skin-colored smear.

She was happy to discover that this morning, she had the elevator to herself. The metro stopped in the basement of the building—a perk of the employee dorms. The downside was 5,000 residents (the other half was on the night shift) stampeding to Dualis Industries simultaneously.

Today, however, was different.

Juniper checked her watch, 6:30AM. Strange that she didn’t have to maneuver her small body between elbows.

The elevator shivered before its decent. As it did, Juniper felt her gut churn.

She wasn’t certain something was wrong until the doors opened.

No sea of black suits awaited. No Mirra¹ projected images or pressed to the faces of their owners.

A gentle voice echoed alone the subway tile: “The world moves faster now. Between today and tomorrow… sometimes, you forget to taste.” The holographic image of a pale woman smiled. She took a bite and closed her eyes in orgasmic bliss.

Lights flickered faintly.

Juniper took a single step. Her heel clicked glaringly loud, black on white, noise against nothing.

Did I miss something?

She opened her Mirra and scrolled through the fifteen shared calendars. No notice of cancellation. The group chat was silent as well.

Odd.

The speaker chimed thrice with a merry tune.

Bing, bing, bing!

“Train approaching. Stand back.”

The tunnel exhaled.

Juniper felt it before she heard it. A trickle of air brushed her ankles, cool and sterile. The overhead lights wavered once, twice, before steadying.

Then came the train.

It slipped into view like a mirage—silver, seamless, too quiet. Quickly and silently, it came to a halt. The double doors slid open with a hiss.

“Now boarding for Dualis Industries.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Juniper entered. There was no one here.

No wait.

There was someone.

A woman sat in the far corner, head bowed and black hair falling forward so it hid her face. Her thin arms wrapped tightly around her torso, pulling her blazer taught. She wasn’t moving.

Juniper pursed her lips. So, it was just her and some hungover coworker who showed up today. Things were not looking good. Yet, as she tried to force a sense of anger or exasperation, the only sensation that followed was… disquiet.

Clearing her throat, Juniper neared the woman. “Excuse me, are you alright?” The words left her mouth too softly, swallowed by the hum of the metro and its lights. The woman didn’t respond.

Hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was weird.

Juniper took another step forward. The motion lights above her flickered and steadied. The holographic advertisement on the opposite wall looped again: “Each flavor, remembered exactly how you love it.”

Something in her wanted to run.

She glanced back the empty platform. The tunnel yawned black in both directions.

Her heel lifted.
Then stopped.

The huddled figure twitched. It was a small, unnatural movement, like a puppet string being tested.

Something was clicking.

Juniper froze.

For a long moment, everything was still. Only the train’s systems breathed. Then the figure’s head turned, slow and deliberate. A face came into view, half-covered, bloodshot eyes reflecting the sterile glow of the lights. She was smiling too wide. And… her jaws were snapping open and shut.

The announcement chimed cheerfully overhead:
“Doors closing. Please stand clear.”

Several things happened at once. Juniper stumbled back, the woman lunged, the doors closed.

Juniper’s shoulder hit the wall. The impact jarred her spine and sent her bag tumbling to the floor, contents scattering. The woman slammed into the door, nails scratching, head twitching.

Click.

Click.

Click.

For a single, frozen moment Juniper got a good look at the woman framed in the window. She was still smiling, her face warped by the distortion of the glass. Then the train slid away, silent as a blade.

Juniper’s chest heaved.

Her Mirra flickered weakly in her pocket, projecting a faint line of text before dying again:

“It’s time to take a breather! Please remain calm while we verify your wellness metrics.”

1. The Mirra isn’t just a phone. It’s a psychometric interface that responds to touch and mood. It is impossibly thin, lighter than air, and translucent! Its edges softly illuminate with a pale, shifting light.

When inactive, it looks like a sheet of frosted glass no thicker than a credit card. When active, images and text appear inside the glass rather than on it. No visible ports, buttons, or speaker holes. Sound resonates directly through the glass via micro-resonant vibrations. It feels cool to the touch, but subtly warms to your hand (as though it recognizes you).

When laid flat, it projects 3D holographic displays that hang a few inches above the surface, shimmering faintly like reflections on water.

It translates thought impulses into interface commands, learning from micro-expressions and electrical signals in the skin.

It is a vital part of life, personal and work.