Present day, suburbs of Chicago
Robert Reynolds woke up, robed up and journeyed downstairs for a cup of green tea which would eventually prove to be too strong. Following the dumping of said tea in the sink, and what was sure to be around 4 or 5 cups of coffee, he was just about ready to begin his day. Folding the newspaper he had been half reading and placing it on the kitchen table, he stood, removing dirt from his sleeve before rubbing it into the bright badge of "Eriksson's paper packaging service" attached to his shirt. Letting out a not quite contented sigh as his keys slotted into the lock, Robert pulled open the door to his quiet suburban home, and cursed, aloud. The reason for his cursing, much like his cursing itself, seemed to be lost on his neighbour's. Quite a lot seemed to be lost on his neighbour's, mainly because they were rooted to the spot with terrified expressions plastered over their faces. Robert had no time to concern himself with this. He was far more worried about the bigger question, which at a guess would be why his house and its immediate surroundings had suddenly teleported to space.
Following the frozen eyes of Cindy, the jailbait next door and Buster, a strict follower of the "every barbecue is a toilet" school of thought, Robert arrived at what was probably a decent sized clue. For to his immediate left was a faceless figure that definitely wasn't there a second ago. Bob jumped back, away from the hatted mystery. "Wh-who are you?" he stuttered. The figure leaned back against an imaginary pole, folding its arms, and Bob could swear that it was smiling. "Are you human?" Bob asked, "where are we?"
"I don't know." The figure replied. "Do you?" The question was followed by a peculiar bout of laughter which seemed to linger in the air around them, without actually being heard.
"What did you do with all of these people?" Bob asked, looking around at the rest of the nightmarish Madame Tussaud's collection.
"What didn't I do?" was the answer he was given. Though this time, the words were amplified and repeated what seemed like a thousand times--
"CONTROL IT BOB." This voice was new. Springing from what seemed like nowhere and everywhere all at once. Robert grabbed his head in agony, yanking it downwards in an attempt to lessen the pain. As he let go and stood upright once more, the street was different. The people weren't the same, the new ones were unrecognisable. He had not seen them before, not even in passing, he was sure about it, despite being unsure about how he could possibly be this sure about something. No, these faces were scared, but not in the same way and certainly not by the same thing. Bob turned back to his left, but was met with the end of the street and a vast nothingness beyond.
"Focus pork chop." Bob snapped back to his right, attempting to triangulate the second voice's position on the street, surprised that he knew how to do this. "No. Try harder. See everything else at the same time. All at once." Bob shut his eyes tightly, his head a swelling mess of sounds, smells and tastes he doesn't remember experiencing at home. The tighter he shut his eyes the more light flooded them, until everything aligned together and the sharp sound of a loud horn caught him off balance, in the middle of New York City.
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