The first thing I felt was the mattress. It was lumpy, smelling of stale fabric softener and old oil.
The second thing I felt was the silence. No hum of a spaceship. No scream of a void-drive. No psychic roar of a billion deleted souls.
Just the rhythmic, annoying beep-beep-beep of a digital alarm clock.
I gasped, shooting up in bed, my hands scrabbling for a weapon that wasn't there. I wasn't wearing a void-suit. I was wearing an oversized t-shirt with a grease stain on the hem. I wasn't in the Sanctuary or the Nullity Command Ship.
I was in my bedroom above the garage in Coldwater.
I slapped the alarm clock, knocking it off the milk crate I used as a nightstand. It hit the floor but kept beeping. I looked at the red LED display.
OCTOBER 14. 6:00 AM.
The date burned into my retinas
