Sleeper

by Codexwriter476

Rating: mature
Tags: Human, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other
Length: 3573

0. 14. 9. 4. 19. 6. 26. 0. 2. 7. 10. 10. 6. 5. 11. 12. 3. 3. 5. ... Operative in position- awaiting further orders.

10.1.0.20.10.9.17.20.11.9.27.20.15.12.03.20.12.4.7.6.20.15.12.17.9.6.0.1.0.1.3.24.22.19.7.19.21.10.1.0.20.10.9.17.20.11.9.27.20.15.25.1.1.5.2.0.7

To any who this may concern...
My name is 6.3.19.8.6.4 and I want to warn you of what is to come. I've been having these gaps in my memories, I don't know if they were really mine or p 4.12.9.0.2.7.0 I can't remember.
I keep seeing them, I keep hearing them; THOSE FUCKING 6.4.10.15.6.3.19.0.8!!
They planned this- ALL OF IT!! Ever si 1.9.8.3.0.0 and I think I've been infected or brainwashed; I don't fucking know!
What I do know is that there are m 4.19.0.5.7.18.11.14 waiting for something!
...
I'm not crazy! I'm NOT CRAZY!!
The F 8.5.17.22.0.2.4.1 friends have been heard since.
...
...
We need to wake up
10.1.0.20.10.12.16.21.4.30.7.0.1.0.4.6.10.12.16.7.2.7.8.4.5.10.1.0.20.1.0

Published 2016-05-11 04:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-21 03:08:10 UTC

Dreams

Every night it’s the same.

I see myself walking down a crowded boulevard, maneuvering amongst the throngs before a white soulless building with a crested seal embellished above its set of double doors. I can see the throngs screaming at those entering, but I hear no sounds. The line to the doors shuffled slowly as they are pelted by small bottles, rocks and loose bricks from the desiccant buildings around them.

Flyers and posters nailed to cheap plywood sticks rise and fall above the crowds, all with demoralizing slurs that would put even the ruthless and cold hearted Westborough to shame- almost demonizing to be blunt. Mixtures of anger and stress painted these once humble faces, many of whom I’ve called friends and neighbors in this Mid-town Manhattan block.

The skies were grey and clouded by the once proud New York sky-line, a couple now stripped and abandoned of its occupants as the world around us slowly withered and decayed. Time had also seemed to slow with figures becoming blurs when I turned my gaze towards the pristine white structure before us. Even the slow shuffles seemed to last eternity, one foot nearly moving slower than a snail’s pace.
Amongst the second set of doors, leading away from the building, I see small clusters of those… things. Their bright colors nearly blinding at first sight against the cold steel and concrete, all spectrums of a rainbow from visible to barely recognizable; all with smiles and cheer plastered on their face.

I feel something brush my shoulder, to see a blur masked with a bandana and grey hood hiding his face force through the masses, a bottle filled with a foul smelling liquid and a damp rag in his hand with silver lighter in the other. I know a Molotov when I see one, having once been arrested for protesting myself back in the day.

I reach out to grab his arm holding the concoction, but time now afflicted me as the world began to regain its sense. The low whispers began to engulf my ear, then speaking and finally shouting as the man with the Molotov brought the lighter to the rag. A small spark clicked, almost deafening compared to the slurs and shouts starting to gain speed as slowed even faster. I wanted to speak but no words broke this silence.
A flame birthed from the spark rapidly ignited the rag, the embers and magnificence of the red and orange canvas devouring it with tremendous ease as the man pulled back the small silver box, preparing for the worse.

Then came a distorted and eriee sound, muffled by the bandana; again deafening as the flick if his lighter. Unlike the slurs and shouts of those around us, his sharpened almost instantly as the bottle began to slide from his fingers. To my utter amazement and horrified surprise, his words rang a hauntingly uncanny prose of an educated man, for rare if not anyone today would speak of an eventful night in our nation’s history.

“Sic Semper Tyrannus!”

The bottle rocketed out from his hand, skyward as all of time exploded to normalcy. Every aspect of sound as clear as day engulfed me, forcing me to grasps my head in agony from such sudden thunder yet my eyes remained on the flaming toxin flying through the air, before returning to the earth.
The smashed glass and following inferno transfixed the crowds, both protesting and forfeiting to shock and horror, oh alas I wish this was the end of it all. This was just the beginning as suddenly the street erupted in volcanic splendor, with a chorus presenting itself from the white marbled bastion before us. The seal above its doors cascading from its mount, screams of all strangled the slurs and silent remorse as debris and bodies flooded the air.
Shockwaves shattered glass of all the shops and apartments and car doors, splintering into panic chattel that was the mob and the defeated; even the bright colors of these beings that were once denizens of Kip’s Bay were not spared of the carnage and crimson stains. The inferno that wished to deem itself the gates of Hell spout form the blisters it made of the structure, incinerating all within a blink of an eye…
And charging at me.
I wanted to close my eyes, screaming to myself that it was all a dream. I peered through the slit form between my lids to see the masked Molotover, his back towards the flame staring back as he pulled the bandana down. Now I wished it was some stranger; a Front thug that had no name greeted me, but instead I see but a mirror.
I saw myself.
The flames engulfing us did not burn but instead decayed to strobing red markings, digitized numbers spanning from zero to nine, several combing to form two digits no more than thirty. An unfamiliar feminine voice started to speak as I look around me. The gruesome and horrific scene around me silenced by her announcing. The digits splintering and impacting everything and everyone around us. I look back to see the imposter suddenly in front of me as the announcing numbers grew louder, accompanied by a low buzz as he knelt down to meet his “eyes” to mine.

“We need to wake up the others.”

I jolted upright, sweating coating every inch of my exposed skin and breathing heavily. I could hear the buzzing and rapidly scanned every aspect of my room, to find the source being my cheap radio alarm clock lent to me by my father, bless his soul. The red digitized numbers read out seven oh one in the morning. My hyperventilation started to slow as I once again glanced about my small bedroom. Nothing was out of place, nothing was burning and certainly no horrendous doppelganger was standing over my bed or in one of the darkened corners.
It was all a dream. I took a deep sigh and crashed back onto the pillow. This had been the seventh night in a row that I’ve had this same dream and within the past month as well. I don’t mind listening to a few creepy things on YouTube before bed and barely work up a whimper, yet this one keeps me up at night and wake up soaking wet everywhere?

The mind works in mysterious ways.

Normally I’d try to get a little more shuteye but today was a big day down at the shop, the company had an announcement to make, as well as yet another large order of product we couldn’t even put out until next week for a big launch come the start of the month. In this case, I really wanted to stay in bed.

However, doing so would mean less money and the landlord’s already on my ass about missing last month’s rent so begrudgingly I crawl my way out of the sheets and towards the bathroom, passing my wall calendar pinned to the wall near the window, exposing the bright morning sun rising over the Hudson River… or was it the East River? I couldn’t tell and I could care less in my current state of mind.

The date was April the thirtieth, two thousand and twenty-one; unknowing to everyone in every aspect of life on this Earth, a date that would change our way of life, humanity and all.

A date in which, somewhere beyond the skylines and sunrise, an island emerged from the fog.

Author's Note

I LIVE!!!

SIGNS

“Hey, you alright man? You seem to be out of it today?” A coworker of mine nudged me. I sputtered and gagged on my own saliva as I was rudely aroused from my unexpected slumber. I was resting against the controls of a stalled out forklift down at the shop’s warehouse when it happened. Working for a retail center like Abel’s sometimes has its perks, one being there was some opportunities to find other employment should my boss finally find the balls to fire me; sleeping on the job for the past three weeks and last night was no different, but the energy boost I had on the way in should have kept me up by now.

“How- how long was I out?” I slurred.

About a half an hour. The boss actually sent me to wake you up, and with good reason. Had you actually veered off to the right a couple more inches, you would have speared the new crap we’re launching tomorrow, which could have really pissed off the shipment supervisor.” The coworker explained. I lean over the wheel to see what he meant. The forklift’s right fork was barely a couple inches from the edge or some rather expensive merchandise, the angle in peculiarly resembling a number, which had me take a double glance.
For a second there, I thought it looked like a one, like the one from last night’s dream. I shook it off and restarted the lift, pulling the prongs away. It then hit me, if the boss and coworker was here then where was the shipment supervisor. He was usually here before me, getting a head start on shipments like this.

"Speaking of which, where is the supervisor? I asked.

“No idea. The boss called up his place twice this morning. It’s not normal for him to miss work; especially on major shipment days like this.” The coworker responded. Before I shifted gears for the lift, a short hairy Greek man of a boss walked over, as if he was noticing the slowdown of not only one of his employees but now the other he sent to get him moving.

“What are you doing lounging about?! We got shit to put out, come on!” God, I hated how he stereotyped the New York accent, even if he signs my paycheck. Don’t get me wrong I like working at Abel’s, I just wished I had a more likable- and hygienic- boss. The energy shot may not have woken me up, but his “cheap” cologne did.

“Christ man, ever heard of a shower?!” I jumped gagging at my boss.

“You’re lucky your supervisor says your hard working Marston, otherwise I would have shoved one of those forklift prongs right up your fired ass!” He slams a clipboard with shop orders into my chest. “Hilts, you got the seventh floor deliveries in bay two. Marston, get that lift over to dock five. The Balcony department store on tenth has a large shipment today, and don’t fucking crash it again like last time.” He spat and resumed his patrol further on, leaving the now two disgruntled coworker to their labors.

“Someday that fat bastard’s gonna get it.” Hilts hissed through his teeth and left for his assignment. I couldn’t help but agree; at least they weren’t the only ones who shared a similar point of view. That slave driver of a Boss had emigrated from Greece, in hopes of escaping its economic crisis only to be greeted by the presidency of 2016, and again in 2020 nearly losing everything but his job… and shitty cologne.
Still, this job paid most of the bills and only the graceful word of his supervisor was saving him from the streets again. I started the lift and drove off to the dock where the shipment was waiting, seeing the driver and receiver signing off and talking about something. I could see their lips moving but why was I hearing numbers?

Damn it Marston, keep it together. You didn’t finish off the rest of your shot this morning. The forklift was steadily shifting towards the racks, only to swerve away with each jolt of sudden adrenaline fighting sleep deprivation. With each jolt, that soft chant of random numbers are humming deep in my mind, followed by some unidentified murmur, accompanied by some gentle shoves. I looked up towards whoever was bugging me now, to see the supervisor and it looked like he was trying to get my attention.

“Wake up Grenadier.”

“Wh-what did you say?” I asked confused.

“I said are you okay? You seem out of it today.” The supervisor asked again, his voice now coming loud and clear. He had one foot on the forklift and right arm hanging to the frame; hitching a ride to either take over the lift or something else, I don’t know. The lift itself was stalled out, the prong mere inches away from a stunned coworker on the other side of the shelving units. Did I raise them up by accident?! The scene knocked some sense back into my being.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry man!” I cussed myself out as the Sup took the keys from the ignition.

“We need to talk. Now.” He hopped off the lift and pocketed the keys into one of the vest pockets. I hesitated for a couple seconds then followed behind towards the elevator shaft that lead to the upper levels of Abel’s usually off limits to customers. As the platform shuttered and creaked to life, there was an undeniably stunned silence and a cart of merchandise separating us. The silence was broken when the Sup gave a sigh.

“Let me guess, another rough night out at the clubs?” He asked.

“Yeah, I suppose.” I replied. Crap when was the last time I went out partying? I can’t remember.

“Look Frank, I can tell when someone’s almost dead tired and that little incident could have landed you up nowhere nice as the streets with a slip. Are you sure you’re alright?” The Sup was just as concerned as my coworkers, perhaps more since he actually cared about my employment. New York in 2021 was just a crowded as it was two decades ago but the political atmosphere was just as questionable and rough as the economic sibling, not to mention the news going off about something out in the Atlantic that just appeared overnight had the social media going in an orgie of conspiracies and doomsday prophecies coming true. Even the missing person reports were flooding into stations all along the East Coast as far as Canada and Cuba spanning from a fishing trawl to international flights.
“I’ve been having some messed up stuff happening when I sleep, mainly this same dream over and over…” I tried my best to explain last night’s dream to the Sup while telling myself why would I bother telling someone about it. As far as I’m concerned, he could round it up to just playing games overnight or still peaked by drugs and beer. But not, the Sup just listened and let me speak my mind.
One of the reasons I liked working with this guy.

A couple minutes passed as we were at our destination; delivering the contents on the cart to a toy shop on sixth floor. I didn’t even recall leaving the elevator.

“Do you think it maybe your old riot days back in LA?” He asked, wanting to piece more of the details together.

“That’s just it man. It was right here in NYC in front of a white building, and there’s some…things walking out where people go in…” I paused when I glanced down to get the next case of toys, the lids pulled back exposing its colorful and plushed contents. I jumped back, dropping the case of stuff animals onto the ground.

Several plush ponies from the last generation of My Little Pony tussled out.

“Frank! The hell was that about?!” The Sup’s demeanor changed on a dime from the attentive consultant to almost a twin of the Boss. “You gave my heart a start!”

“That’s them!! Those things I was talking about!” I could only point as the Sup started to gather them back up but unlike anyone else working here, he attempted to brush them off before putting them back into the case. In my slight panic attack, that voice chimed off another random set of numbers deep into my mind.

“I didn’t know you had Pony dreams; never saw you as that kind of guy. Heh, you learn something new every day.” The Sup shrugged it off, but he still seemed to be talking. One this I didn’t like about him was that he muttered to himself. Once the last pink pony was brushed off and placed back into the case, the Sup looked back to me the demeanor slowly creeping back to a passive state. “Look, maybe you should just go home and take the rest of the day off. I’ll convince Mr. Heilogas that for the safety of everyone on Freight detail you needed some time off. I mean when’s the last time you had a day off?” He said ending with a question.

“I don’t know. Maybe a couple weeks ago? Times are tough and money is money, right?” I stumbled for words. Another likable tab about the guy; puts people over product. Why he left his previous jobs was anyone’s guess, but he did use to call himself a Box Ghost for again anyone’s guess. However it was also his double edge sword and can turn on a dime as well; just like brushing off toys from a dry spill on the ground.

Wait, why is there one of those pony things on his watch?

“Go on and clock out. I’ll take care of this.” That was the last thing I heard the Sup say. I brushed my head off and headed back towards the elevator shaft back down the hallway, leaving him to clean up my mess. I guess this will be a large price for me financially, especially when the HR hears about the forklift matter.

My eyes blinked. I swore I saw a number fallout from the wall towards me, with a slight static and pop. I blinked again and there was nothing.

“Maybe my supervisor’s right. I just need to get some sleep.” I said taking a small drink at the bar. Instead of head right back to the apartment, I had to make a stop to Carlo’s Side bar near Mid-town. This place was usually empty around eleven in the morning, aside from a few other patrons watching a match on the overhead.

“Could be, or you should be out having more drinks with your buds. Nothing beats a hangover like a peer pressured hangover.” Antino smirked, sneaking another drink up to me. Carlos Antino was once an illegal from Mexico but after the Wall War back in ’18, he managed to earn his citizenship plus he made the best Tejelo-Vodka this side of the border and nobody (at least his patrons) didn’t want to give that up without a fight. He even told a select few; myself included, that this concoction was just a flammable as a Molotov but tastier. Old family recipe he calls it with pride.

Wait, Molotov… why was that being a red flag?

“Even with a hangover man, I still can’t shake it off- shit man I almost killed a coworker this morning! That’s how bad it is.” With that came a large swig of the CATV; a patron ataman for his drink. Just as I was about to put the glass down, I saw yet more numbers bleeding from the droplets of the drink onto the bar top accompanied by what sounded like missiles and static pops; but there was something new…

Is there someone new? Their voice sounded regal to the tone but almost haunting and they were saying the numbers.

“Hey man, you look like you’re going to kill somebody. I didn’t think Molotov had that sort of effect on people.” Carlo happened to look back to me, void of life and trance-like towards the wood of the bar at a few spills. Molotov?

“Molotov? But isn’t this CATV?” I broke the trance and turned to Carlo.

“Are you gringo loco? Why would I serve Molotovs? Those things are for riots not drinking man.” He even pulled away the fresh glass from my direction, a sure tell sign of patrons having enough. “For once, I’m gonna have to send you home as you is. I don’t want another call up from the cops.” He was talking but something was drawing my attention away to the far corner of the bar that lead towards the restrooms; a bright color blob moving too fast to make out anything specific- at least not out of the usual.

That red trail of numbers.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll head home. Just put it on my tab Carlo. I gotta go.” I didn’t hesitate and got up but instead of heading towards the doors, I stumbled towards the restrooms. Carlo’s Mexican laced protests were being drowned out as my pace quickened. I brushed off one of the returning patrons with force as I went, but when I got there, I just black out. Nothing hit me but it could have felt that way but the world around me continued to speak but more voices were chiming in, all speaking numbers.

A-2.4.11.4.18.19.8.0.22.7.8.19.4.7.14.20.18.4.3.4.2.17.4.4.22.14.17.11.3.0.2.19.8.21.0.19.4.

This is NBC Nightly News with 11.4.18.19.4.17.....We just received word from the white house that the strange occurrence out in the Atlantic Ocean has just been confirmed to have ties with the countless missing person reports, as well as a special announcement from what most would take from a little girl’s imagination who claims ownership of the landmass.

Author's Note