The still and quiet emptiness of the post-midnight air in the fields behind the Butch Snyder biker bar, about thirty miles outside of Detroit, was abruptly broken by the crackling sound of a lightning bolt, followed by the deafening boom of thunder. The fact that the sudden bolt came out of nowhere, with zero warning while the sky was perfectly clear, was already a decent enough hint that this was no ordinary act of weather. But its result, had anyone been standing in the right place to see the spot where the bolt actually struck, would have made that even more apparent.

  What had once been flat, weed-covered dirt about twenty yards or so behind the bar now had a hole in it. The crater was ten feet across, and just about as deep. Nor was that hole empty. A silver and blue object sat in that space, taking up most of it. The object was roughly egg-shaped, though a bit more elongated. Like a mix between an egg and a coffin. It was also hot enough that smoke was coming off the thing, while any weeds within twenty feet had been burned away.

  From the front door of the bar, opposite where one would need to be to see the crater, a dozen or so bikers came pouring out, their voices shouting over one another as they demanded to know what the hell that was. Several looked up to the sky and pointed out the lack of clouds, while a couple more moved to look up and down the nearby highway, convinced there must have been some sort of massive car accident. Still others looked to their bikes to make sure those hadn’t spontaneously exploded. And finally, three thought to check around the back of the bar, recognizing that the sound they all heard had to have come from there, not from the road.

  Those three were just slightly too late. Because even as the leather-clad, loudly grumbling and cursing bikers hiked their way around the bar, a change was happening to that egg-coffin. It had started to melt. The structure turned to liquid, pouring down into the hole and then disappearing through the ground. As it did so, a form inside was revealed. A thin, clearly feminine figure, who had been tightly encased within the egg form, came into view. She wore a blue-silver jumpsuit along with a thin metallic helmet that was tightly enclosed around her head. It was thin enough to be more like a mask. There was no visible visor or any other spot on the front to indicate where one would see through. The surface was simply blank, slightly curved silver-blue metal, polished enough that a person standing close enough could actually see their own reflection.

  Once the egg had finished melting away from her, the figure slumped down, dropping another foot or so deeper into the crater before lifting her head to look around. She saw dirt walls on all sides, before turning a bit to look straight up. A grunt came then, as she began to clamber her way up and out of that hole. The helmet she wore provided a heads-up display, telling her the air temperature in that spot was a good four hundred and ninety degrees fahrenheit, thanks to the egg’s dramatic arrival. Too hot for a human to stand in, but the suit she wore protected her from that. Just as it, along with the structure of the egg itself, had protected the girl from that journey.

  Those three bikers had just finished coming around the bar, coming into view in time to see the girl half-crawl her way out of the hole before flopping onto her back to stare at the night sky. She was breathing heavily, and muttering curses under her breath. The trio exchanged very brief looks before rushing that way. One called back toward the front of the bar that they had found someone, while the other two approached while asking if she was okay, and what the hell had happened. They all had to stop before reaching her, as the heat coming off the girl made them reel.

  One of the men, a heavyset guy with a very long brown beard and bald head, grimaced with a glance toward his companions before digging a phone out of his pocket. “Hang on, I’ll call Tony, he’ll know what to do. This is Touched shit, it’s gotta be. He deals with the Eights all the time.”

  “You sure we shouldn’t call Ten Towers or something?” one of the other bikers, a thin black guy with long braided hair and a thick mustache, asked uncertainly. Then he called out to the girl on the ground, “Yo, you want us to call Towers for you, get someone out here? What team you on?”

  “Damn it, Ric,” the third man, a tall and quite muscular white guy with more tattoos than exposed skin cursed while snatching the phone out of his hand. “We ain’t calling Towers, or the cops, or any other bunch of bastards who’re gonna take that as an excuse to turn the bar inside out. You think those fucks aren’t just praying for a reason to go digging into our shit? We don’t need them anywhere near this place. Unless you wanna go tell Butch why you gave them probable cause.”

  Grimacing visibly, Ric shook his head quickly at the suggestion. “Nah, I’m good, shit. But look at her, shouldn’t we get something to help? Like… I dunno, a fire extinguisher or a bucket of cold water? How’s she still alive? Hey, you are alive over there, ain’t ya? Can you hear us, girl?”

  “Tony’ll take care of it,” the third man insisted, nodding toward the first one, who was still on the phone, explaining the situation. “He’ll get her out of here and do whatever he needs to to keep it quiet. Whoever this chick is, it ain’t none of our business. We don’t need that sort of attention here.”

  By that point, the rest of the bikers had arrived. None of them could get any closer to the girl. The heat coming off her hadn’t died down yet, and she wasn’t responding to anything they said. She was just lying there, staring up at the sky as though watching the stars without a care in the world. If she heard anything the bikers were saying to her, she didn’t give any indication of it.

  Finally, after the mysterious and apparently well-connected ‘Tony’ was said to be on his way, the metallic-clad figure laying in the dirt sat up. She grunted, pushing herself to her feet with a soft curse, then turned to face the group of bikers. For a moment, she was silent, just taking them in as they stared back at her. After a few seconds of that, she cursed quietly again before speaking up. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her gloved hand rose to point to the building behind them, voice sharp. “There’s not supposed to be a bar there. When the fuck did it get built? Who put it there?”

  It was, to put it mildly, not the sort of reaction the men had expected. But then again, to be totally honest, what sort of response could they have expected in this situation. It was hardly a normal thing. The group muttered to one another, before one of them stepped forward. He raised a hand as though to test the air, grimacing a little at the heat. “Look, could you turn down the temperature a little? What’re you, some sort of fire-manipulating Touched or something? I never seen you before. Least not dressed like that. Not that I’m complaining about the view.” He gave her another once-over before adding, “And that back there is Butch Snyder’s place. He bought the land and built the place… I guess it’s gotta be six years ago?”

  “Six years…” the girl muttered, shaking her head. “It’s different. This place is different. This isn’t the way it was supposed to--” She cursed once more, before touching something on her arm. As soon as she did, a wave of cool air filled the area around her, dropping the temperature back to a more reasonable level. Then she started to walk toward the building. “I need to see something inside. You have a basement in that place, or a cellar?” Her voice was crisp and commanding.

  “Hey, hey!” The tall, muscular man with all the tattoos cut in, moving around in front of her. “Look, you still haven’t answered any of our questions. You might be some fancy fire-wielding Touched, but don’t think that means you can just throw your weight around here and do anything you want. We want an explanation. So, just who the hell are you and where’d you come from? What the fuck are you talking about? And you ain’t goin’ in our bar until you tell us what’s going on. Even then, you ain’t going in the basement.” He was doing his level best to sound confident and in charge, though it was clear that the idea of potentially pissing off someone who seemed to have powers over heat like that made him more nervous than he was eager to admit to. His firm voice caught just a bit through all that.

  Seeing the assortment of bikers line up in front of her, the girl stopped. Her helmet-covered head turned slowly, taking them in while all they could see was their own reflections in that polished metal surface. As she replied, her voice was flat. “Move, or be moved. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Aight, that’s it, we tried to play nice.” One of the men took a step that way, testing the air before grabbing her arm. “Take a look over there.” With his free hand, he indicated the roof of the building, where two more bikers had appeared with rifles raised. “You try to burn me, and they’ll put you down before I even feel singed. Then the boys here’ll finish you off.” By the time he had finished saying that, every other biker there had produced their own weapons. The whole situation had escalated quickly from the moment she mentioned wanting to go into the bar. They were positively friendly, all things considered, until then. But now they were making it very clear that going inside absolutely wasn’t in the cards. Even for someone they found so curious (and, if they were being honest, intimidating). She might’ve been a Touched of some sort, but everyone knew Touched weren’t invincible. Star or Fell, all you had to do was put enough bullets into them. Even that cocknozzle Pencil had gone down eventually, and this chick was no Pencil.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  For her part, the girl had stood almost entirely motionless from the moment this man grabbed her arm. Her head turned just a bit, taking in the view of the men on the roof, as well as the ones now spread out all around her with their own weapons drawn and ready. The featureless metal mask gave away no facial expression, and her body language was similarly mysterious. After taking in the whole sight, she slowly turned her head to look at the man who was holding her arm. Then, just as slowly, her head tilted a bit more to look at the hand he was using to do that.

  *********

  There was a protesting creak from old, well-worn wood as the girl stepped up onto the porch of the bar, leaving behind an assortment of injured, groaning, thoroughly incapacitated bikers spread through the field, the parking lot, and even on the roof. She paused, looking over at a cat resting lazily in the gravel near the line of bikes. The cat stared at her for a moment, as though checking to see if treats were incoming. When it became clear they weren’t, it yawned and went right back to its nap. The girl, in turn, replied in a simple, matter-of-fact voice, “You’re no Bailey.”

  With that, she turned back to the door of the bar and walked right in. On the way, she touched a hidden button on one of her gloves and began to speak out loud again. “Record one. I made it, believe it or not. At least, I think I did. The machine definitely sent me somewhere, but I’m not sure it’s exactly the one we were aiming at. This should’ve been in the middle of nowhere, just like it was on our side, but there’s a building here, a biker bar. As far as I can tell, it’s the right spot. The stars are the same. The road looks the same. It all looks the same, except this building is here. It shouldn’t be here.”

  Stepping into the bar, the masked figure looked around, a sigh escaping her. “I wish someone else came over with me. I wish we had a second pod for the trip. I wish--” She stopped, muttering a soft curse before her head shook. “Delete Record one. Start over. I made it, believe it or not. At least…” From there, she continued to describe the situation, that time without lamenting her lack of company. All while walking through the empty bar to the back corridor, checking for any stairs.

  In the end, she found what she was looking for in the supply closet behind the actual bar part of the bar, next to the manager’s office. A set of cement steps led down, with a lightswitch nearby. Flicking it on, she descended into the slightly chilly basement. There were crates of bottles and large kegs down there, among other, more drug-related supplies. But she ignored all of that, using her helmet’s heads-up display once more to lead her to the exact spot she needed, in the far left corner, opposite the stairs. She had to step around a large crate, finding herself in the darkest area of the basement.

  “The building has a cellar,” she announced to the record she’d been making. “Guess it’s a good thing we decided to send that supply cache through a hundred feet underground, or whoever built this place would’ve stumbled onto something pretty weird.” After taking a moment to make absolutely certain she was lined up properly, the girl took a knee and tapped the cement floor a couple times, testingly. Then she used her other hand to touch something on her arm, making a holographic keyboard display and small screen appear. Her fingers tapped out a code, and as she confirmed it, there was a pleasant chime, followed by a male computerized voice telling her to take a step back. She did, rising to move out of the way, as a loud grinding sound filled the air.

  The grinding grew louder by the second, until the cement she had tapped tore apart as a drill came tearing up through it. The drill, about a foot across, was attached to what looked like a metal suitcase. As soon as it was done tearing its way up out of the cement floor, the girl reached down to pick the thing up with a grunt. “Great, now let’s just hope it’s still in one piece.” Immediately after saying that, she added, in a rushed tone, “Like Usopp.” That was followed by a brief moment of silence before the girl sighed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not here to play the game with me, but I still get the points, damn it. I said a One Piece character before you did, ten points for me.”

  For a couple seconds, she went quiet again, holding the once-buried suitcase against her chest as though hugging the only thing she could. Then she visibly shook it off and turned to walk back to the stairs, speaking again. “I’ve got the supplies, but I’m not opening it here. Too big of a chance of being interrupted. I’ll see how things look in the city. If the Cataclysm hasn’t hit this side yet, there’ll probably be a motel or something I can stay in.” That was followed by a short bark of laughter. “How weird does that sound? A working motel, one that’s renting to real customers. When was the last time we had one of those back home?” A pause, then, “Yeah. Three years.”

  Sighing with annoyance, the girl walked up the stairs and grumbled, “I hate this. I hate being by myself. I’m not good at it. I need you guys here. I need-- fuck.” That last bit came as she quickly jerked her head back out of the way, just after starting to step out into the bar. An instant later, a gunshot rang out, the bullet tearing through the door there and embedding itself in the brick wall behind her. She leaned back, muttering, “Pause recording. You guys shouldn’t hear this part.”

  Roughly thirty seconds later, three of the bikers, who had managed to pick themselves back up, were down once more, this time under quite a bit worse circumstances. She didn’t like being shot at. The girl strode out of the bar with the suitcase under one arm. Her gaze took in the line of motorcycles, before she raised her other hand to point that way. A twitch of her thumb against a button on her index finger sent a signal that made the bike on the end start up with a steady engine purr. She took a moment to disable the security tracker, then attached the suitcase to the luggage rack before mounting the bike herself. Within a few seconds, she was on the highway.

  Through the entire drive toward and into Detroit proper, the girl kept looking around in wonder. More than one car had to lean on its horn to make her pay attention to the road, given how distracted she was just from staring at the skyline. But eventually, she made her way through the increasingly busy streets, following the instructions from her heads-up display to find a motel that wouldn’t ask too many questions if the price was right. At least, it wouldn’t in her world. This one was supposed to be almost identical to what hers had been like before the Cataclysm. But then, that bar had been back there, so who the hell knew what else was different around here?

  Parking the bike behind the dilapidated old motel (it looked almost as bad as some of the less-damaged buildings in her own world), the girl climbed off it, looking around at the people passing by. A couple gave her curious glances, until she hit a button on the side of the helmet to make it pop open before pulling it off. Then they all went right back to minding their own business. As far as they were concerned, she was just wearing a fancy motorcycle helmet.

  For a few seconds, the only thing she could do was stand there in awe, watching people walk past, looking at the buildings towering around her, and inhaling the (admittedly not great) city air.

  Carrying the suitcase under one arm, and the helmet under the other, she walked into the motel. What she truly wanted to do was go running through the city, screaming at these people to enjoy what they had while it was still there. But at best, she’d be ignored. And at worst… well, the worst result would be attracting just a little too much attention from exactly the wrong person.

  Thankfully, the clerk behind the desk didn’t pay any more attention than it took to count the extra hundred dollars cash she slipped him (money she’d taken from the bikers who attacked her, which was at least one thing they were useful for), before handing over a key and mumbling that her room would be on the second floor next to the ice machine. Then he went back to his phone.

  There was a homeless man sleeping in the stairwell, who grumbled at her as she walked past. A moment later, she was unlocking the motel room door and stepping inside. Only then, after locking and chaining the door behind her, did she let out the breath she had been holding. The suitcase and helmet were tossed on the nearby bed, while she spoke aloud again. “Record two. I’m in the motel, no problems there so far. Everything’s…” She sighed heavily. “It’s like I remember it from before, guys. The buildings are all here. The streets are intact, there’s people driving to work, it’s just… it’s fine. This place is totally, completely fine. It’s like our world was three years ago. Like… fuck, it’s like going back in time. This world is so like ours, you guys. It’s… I can’t explain it. You should be here.” A pause came then, followed by a heavy sigh. “You should be here.”

  Walking into the bathroom to wash her face and hands, the girl continued to record. “I’m gonna find the people responsible for the Cataclysm. Whoever dumped those monsters in our world, I’ll find them. I’ll make them pay. I’ll make every last one of them pay.”

  With that, she looked at herself in the mirror, staring into her own eyes. The eyes of a girl who had only been able to come to this world because her equivalent was no longer here.

  The eyes of Arleigh Fosters.

  Joke Tags: Don’t Worry? You Can Keep The Clothes And Boots? She Only Needed The Motorcycle