Welcome to the Metaverse
A strong shudder leapt the carriages around, tumbling them from side to side as if caused by the turbulence of a nearby aircraft. Down here in the tunnels, the deepened depths of London itself, the train soared by slowly and raced around the continuously unending rails. Even when the tracks themselves twisted and turned beyond normal comprehensible levels, the inside of the cabin remained firm and untouched. Barely a loop in the tracks themselves was capable of shifting even the cups of tea stirring upon the master's desk. Certainly out of place for what it was, the mahogany enrichment of his desk stuck out effortlessly. All around him sat the shadowed mists of passengers all with their heads facing towards the ground, as if asleep. Many were awaiting their reawakening and soon the time would allow for such to do so. Indeed, time was not a overly valuable concept, but those who prowled the metaverse with the intention of bloodlust, unjustified rulership and corrupt infliction were soon to be challenged. His own trick, his own gamble per se, was a necessary step into the generation of traversing travellers, ones who could bend the reality of the metaverse with the world around them at will. Some rumoured that perhaps it'd be a reformation of society, or a literal war between two raging parties that sought to gain the upper-hand, yet Igor himself was too entranced in the possibilities to know the truth for sure. Every thought and possibility left him chuckling, knowing that the stakes were either high or low depending on the outcome. He had no intention in leading them on a righteous path, that was for them to discover themselves of course. All he could do was watch over with interest and intrigue, commenting on their progress through finding purpose and psyching them up for what could be their final sacrifice.
From across the room, he noticed the attendant waltzing around with a care-free attitude, as if bored by the wait of the first arrivals. Igor couldn't but smile to himself at their movement, slinging back and forth amidst the carry-handles of the Underground Train carriage. Elegant in their formation, they seemed to be making great practice of their free time. However, Igor knew that their focus would have to be reevaluated sooner rather than later, knowing full well that the upcoming arrivals were to give them both a heap of work and scrutiny to commit towards. Taking a long sip from his blackened mug, a freshness of exhalation spewed from behind his gaping mouth before he broke the silent accompaniment of the train's murmur.
"Amari, if you may position yourself accordingly I would be most gratified." Snapping out of their wicked trance, the Attendant straightened their posture and neatly brushed their fingers between the filaments of their silvery hair, smiling as they did so. Without a word, Igor could tell they were excited to finally unveil their own true purpose as an attendant. This was, indeed, history within the making. An unforeseen pathway of either destruction, devastation or justice was to come, where the choices these individuals make were to shape their own future. Or something like that. "The time to place our bets, dear Amari, draws nigh. Compose yourself, and we'll be presentable for our new guests."
Amari nodded, watching over the lengthened carriage before them. Amongst the sea of shadowy silhouettes resting their heads downwards were the flickers of a few heartbeats. Amari wondered which would lift first, and what faces would form from beneath the misty figures' eyes. They'd always disliked the continuous grim-sky attitude of these shadowy figures, and yearned to see more colour brighten up the carriage as it was. Igor's message of it coming closer filled them with joy, intrigue and a sense of responsibility. Straightening themselves once more, Amari took to the right flank of Igor's out-of-place desk and folded their arms, preparing for the release of the first passengers.
An echoed roar of the alarm shot Laurence awake, rushing him out of the peaceful dream he'd been having beforehand. As his head lunged upwards, his forehead clipped the edge of his wall, forcing him to recoil once more in shock. If anything, he swore quietly to himself, cursing the amplified screech of the alarm clock and placing a heavy hand down upon it. As soon as the snooze button was hit, probably around the third attempt of trying to do so, Laurence sat up fully and stretched, rubbing his eyes gently and yawning without any real care for the time. If the alarm meant anything, he was on time and not exactly lacking behind on anything in general. It was a Tuesday after all, and the morning itself had less timetabled lessons than most days. If anything, it was a good day to rest, yet Laurence knew doing so for too long would spell out doom for his sleeping schedule. October wasn't too much of a busy period for the Year 13's lives, considering all that the applications for University and what-not came later at the end of the year and the start of the next. For now, he was at the least stressful part of the entire year, settling in once again to his humble student abode whilst wishing the days wouldn't be as slow. When rising out of his bed, Laurence made the daily tradition of checking his phone and walking to his mail box, hoping to find something written to him from a specific group of individuals. And yet, to his sadness and lack of surprise, all he saw was the empty message boxes of his previous family conversation groups. No letters had come through, other than the recent online order he'd made for a book he desperately wished to read.
Laurence unpacked it slowly, tearing away at the cardboard like some excited child on Christmas morning, surrounded by hundreds of familial cameras and faces waiting to see his reaction. Well, the last factor of such a simile was all but false now, wasn't it? With the thought crossing his mind that such a childhood would not be experienced ever again. Age was a weary opponent to life, continuously gnawing away and chewing away at his mind slowly. His body aged and grew as the minutes and days went by, now allowing him to become a semi-well presented young man. Even so, was he really a individual of his own accord? Still he tried to honestly reconnect and rely on the family that had so desperately tossed him aside yet he wanted to at least garner success under his own terms.
Oh well! Laurence didn't like to ponder on negativity too much, otherwise it would affect his willingness to keep studying and working here in Evergreen. He didn't have too many friends at the current time, but indeed made an effort to stay friendly with everyone he came across, even if he yearned for a true circle of camaraderie. Carefully, Laurence plucked the book out of the package and gazed upon it beautifully, seeing the illustrious formations of artwork laid upon its cover. A simplified maroon backdrop engraved with golden silky strings curling and twisting around one another. Together, in their intertwined dance, they spelt out the title: Beyond our Veil - A D.R. Isara novel. From a favourite author of his own, raised and drawn straight from Essex and arrived in London herself, Isara was definitely a figure that continued to inspire him throughout his youthful life. Opening the front cover, and looking at the foreword given by his idolised and acclaimed author, Laurence saw once again the infamous puzzle pieces that connected to her previous novels. It was her sort of quirk, one that made her famous as such. The foreword only stated: 'Spirits and Spooks watch you'. Laurence was at least enough of a fan to realise the reference was dating back to her debut novel, 'A View from the Reality Window', in which the supernatural world was used to heavily emphasise the reasons for people doing such bizarre things in life.
"Alluring me to a sequel, are you? Crafty genius just knows how to suck my pockets dry of change." Once again he yawned and packed the book straight into his bag, hoping to dress himself smartly under the school's attire. Once his blazer was neatly buttoned up, his teeth were clean and the bland taste of toast was propped gently between his teeth, he headed outside of the door and made his way to the courtyard of the student accommodation. Here was a hotspot for upper-education students of Evergreen and St. Paul's, making it a reliable meeting point for those who had upcoming plans. Laurence wasn't one of them, but didn't stray far from its comforting atmosphere. Every now and then someone would talk to him for a while, and other times he was left to his own devices to read and write to himself. But for now, all he did was take the morning air in, step outside and place his backside against the same table he always went to, as if by a natural instinct to do so. And from there, he opened the book slowly, unaware of the future cryptically written upon each paragraph.