The Substack Zone: The Sun and the Moon

FORGED Series Prequel: In Homage to The Twilight Zone

Nov 24, 2024

The Twilight Zone redefined storytelling, drawing audiences into the unimaginable. Now, 66 years later, top writers, artists, and musicians are stepping into its eerie glow with a fresh twist. Ready to see where they’ll take you?

This post is public, so feel free to share it.
Someone in your community might be interested too!

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Welcome to the world of the FORGED series. This prequel is set thirty-three years before Shattered, book one, to be published by Provender Press in 2025.

After the Great Changes ravaged the world, changing geography and the political landscape, the Pacific Northwest banded together to form a new nation, the United Pacific Territories.

It’s not hard to imagine a culture that is reliant upon and dedicated to the pursuit of science above all things, where, after years of seismic activity and natural disasters, society shifts reliance upon hydroelectric and other green energy sources. Metropolitan areas are abandoned, condemned as unsafe for habitation. The construction of new dams causes former cities to flood and new urban centers, UCs, to spring up around these power-generating sites.

Yet humanity is consistent, and even in this dystopian future, young adults face challenges and struggles that mirror those in our present society.

CONTENT NOTICE: drug abuse, death, anxiety disorder.

Photo by Stormseeker on Unsplash. Logo by @shanebzdok. Edited with Canva.

The Sun and the Moon

Thursday 16 June 2101 16:16

The cursor blinked, mocking him. The flashing vertical line on the otherwise blank screen taunted him and his inability to pull words from his brain or form coherent thoughts. His inability to answer the stupid, fucking essay prompt.

Besides being one week from his application deadline for early admission to university, he was also one week from his sixteenth birthday, which meant one week from his mandatory VasROC sterilization procedure.

All these looming deadlines were chasing him like a patrol drone but with no possibility of escape.

He grabbed the small metal container from his pocket and started his calming routine. Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Only a few Alert pills remained, judging by the sound. He’d need to pick up more tomorrow. With a slight pressure of his thumb, the air-tight container slid open. Sure enough, he was almost out.

A brief thought about going through the pills too quickly flittered through his mind, but he had no choice. If he was going to finish this essay, he needed the clarity they provided. The quick-melt tab dissolved under his tongue, and the sharp sting made him curse. He tried to alternate sides as the pills irritated the thin membranes under his tongue. But he embraced the pain and welcomed the anticipated spark of alertness.

He gripped the edge of the desk and rolled his chair back and forth. The whir of the wheels on the cork tiles vibrated through the seat to his thighs. He grabbed the corners of his computer screen and adjusted the curve to find just the right angle.

His reflection on the blank screen caught his attention, interrupting his process.

Blank eyes stared back at him. Hollow. Dead.

Was that really how he looked?

In his last appointment, Dr. Michol, his neurologist, complained that his progress lagged behind the other test subjects. She was, of course, beyond disappointed.

Would she kick him out of the program? It would be humiliating and a huge disappointment to everyone, but some days he wished for that escape more than anything.

Even his younger twin sisters exhibited steeper improvements from the neural enhancements they’d all undergone seven years ago. Of course, the twins had only been five at the time, while his nine-year-old brain had already matured beyond the optimal age for the procedure. This didn’t lessen everyone’s expectations of him, however. If anything, they held him to an even higher standard.

This essay would prove whether or not he was worthy to remain in the program. And his high school counselor was breathing down his neck, demanding to see it tomorrow, which meant he had to write it tonight.

He kneaded the muscle tension in his shoulders and sighed.

Everyone was either comparing him to the twins or to that pompous twit, Tello Hernan. Tello was a year older than Noah and set the curve—the expectations of success—for the others in the program.

Noah ground his teeth in irritation.

He’d never beat Tello’s record-setting marks from last year. The tightness in his chest paralyzed him, and he rubbed his knuckles against the gripping pain. Squeezing his eyes closed, he drew in a long breath to ease the building panic.

Could he write an essay good enough to fool the panel into granting him early admission? He doubted it.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he drew in a long breath to ease the building panic.

Good enough was never an option anyway. He had to meet or beat Tello’s marks. In other words, his essay had to be perfect. But after six months, all he had was a fucking blank screen.

It’s not like he hadn’t started. Multiple times. But it always turned out to be more like an entry in a diary. A confessional instead of the highlights of a personal triumph.

He shook his head, looked away from his reflection, and started his calming process again. Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Slide. He needed to pick up more pills. Tomorrow. Before school.

Had he taken one already? Oh well. Two couldn’t hurt. He just needed to jump-start his sluggish brain and finish the damn thing.

He rolled his chair back and forth. Checked the curvature of his screen. Gulped his energy drink. Snapped the Omniband on his wrist twice. Swiped the display screen to restart his playlist and adjusted his earclips to clarify the sound.

He closed his eyes to relish the pounding beat, then finished his process with a self-adjustment to his neck—the satisfying crack opening his senses. The pills helped too.

Meet Noah Wells, a high-achieving high schooler on track to finish in three years instead of four. The heavy weight of academic expectations—from teachers, neuroscientists, parents, and himself—have warped his self-esteem to the point of extreme duress. With deadlines ticking down to zero, his pursuit for the perfect essay for early admissions to university eludes him.
Tonight, Noah’s grasp for some semblance of control, no matter how fleeting, takes him on a quest to find relief from the chronic anxiety plaguing him. Will his impulsive behavior finally open his mind to self-acceptance or highlight how maladaptive perfectionism manifests when faced with the fear of failure? Somewhere between light and shadow, where the familiar twists into the unfamiliar, we find out as we travel through The Substack Zone.

SLAM!

Noah jerked and opened his eyes. Even over the bass pounding through his earclips, he could hear his twin sisters fighting. He stopped the music. More pounding.

“Not again,” he muttered.

The three of them were alone for a couple more hours, and he was responsible for the twelve-year-olds until their parents got home. He pushed back from his desk with a huff and left his room.

Lara stood outside the bathroom door, pounding and crying, “Let me in, Sara!”

“Hey. What’s going on, Luna?” He slid between her and the door and pushed her back with firm hands on her shoulders, ignoring the thumps from her flailing fists that landed on his chest.

Calmed by the sound of his nickname for her, she wrapped her arms around his waist but didn’t answer his question. Her continued sobs soaked his shirt with her tears.

His irritation fading, Noah held his sensitive sister close and smoothed down her wild curls that were dark as a moonless night.

He tried the doorknob—locked, of course—and rapped on the door. “Sunny, open up.”

“No!” she shouted. “She’s always hogging the counter space. She can wait her turn!”

“Sunny,” he pleaded. “Please open so we can talk.”

After a moment, the latch released, and he gently nudged the door wider until he could see Sara, her bright-blond hair glinting like the morning sun off Lake Boise. Too bad her disposition didn’t match.

He tried reason. “I’m trying to finish my essay for the admissions panel. It’s hard enough without you two yelling. Can you please share the bathroom like normal humans without fighting?”

Sara huffed in disgust. “Fine. But she has to stay on her side.”

Noah walked in with Lara still clinging to him. He pushed her back and gripped each girl’s shoulder, leaning down and looking into their eyes. “When I’m at university, I won’t be here to broker peace between you two. You're gonna have to look out for each other and work together. Okay?”

“Fine.” Sara turned to the mirror, hair whipping dramatically.

Noah headed back to his room, rolling his eyes.

He was no more than two steps down the hall when arms snaked around his waist again.

“I don’t want you to go away,” Lara murmured into his back.

“Luna,” he sighed and twisted to look at her. “I might not even make it in …”

Her watery eyes glistened. “You will.”

His little sister had more confidence in him than anyone, including himself. His parents? His teachers? Dr. Michol? They all looked at him with impatience or disappointment, like he’d already failed. Ever since Tello Hernan entered university early, they’d raised their expectations for everyone in the program. Which meant he had to prove his neural enhancements were worth the expense. Not for the first time, Noah wished his parents hadn’t insisted he be in the program.

He placed his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Well, assuming I do, I’ll only be on the other side of the UC.”

“It won’t be the same without you here.”

“You’re right. You”—he poked her shoulder—“are going to have to look out for your sister.”

“But she never wants me around.”

“I know. But she’s going to need you.”

“Why?” Her big eyes regarded him with confusion beneath furrowed brows.

Noah sighed. How could he explain this? After a moment, he said, “Because Sunny can't see the forest for the trees.”

“What do you mean?”

Noah rubbed his neck, knowing his tween sisters couldn’t even begin to understand the pressure they’d be under in the coming years. “She loses sight of the big picture. Remember when we went hiking last summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Sunny headed off trail to chase some bird. She got all turned around and lost. And what did you do?”

“I followed her.”

“Yeah, but you marked your path so you could find your way back. When Sara gets lost, she’s gonna need your help to find her way.”

“Okay.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Noah returned to his room, closed his door, and glanced at his still-blank computer screen.

Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Slide. He’d need to pick up more pills. Tomorrow.

What he needed was to clear his mind. “Fuck it,” he said to the blank screen and turned to race back out of his bedroom.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash. Edited in Canva.

In what seemed like no time at all, he was staring out across Lake Boise from his secret launch site beneath the pedestrian viewpoint. After tugging the controller glove onto his hand and nestling the goggles over his eyes, he pulled the single-person propulsion foil surfboard from its case. The grippy platform housed a compact eight-hour battery that hummed to life with a flip of a switch. He secured the sleek 50-cm carbon fiber mast, propeller, and wings unit to the bottom of the board with a satisfying snap.

Staying in the shadow of the platform overhead for as long as he could, he inched from shore along the substructure. When the water was deep enough for the wings of his proFoil to submerge, he stepped on the board.

With a click on his goggles, he could clearly see the watery realm beneath. This close to shore, not much lay hidden down there, but further out, above the heart of the former city, he’d have to watch the display more carefully to avoid submerged buildings in their watery grave.

He eased through the dark water until he’d cleared the platform’s braces, then cranked the motor and flew across the glass-like surface. To his left, the three-mile-wide Morrison Dam formed a blockade. Like Hadrian’s Wall controlling the Roman’s northern frontier from the Caledonians, the dam kept the water out of the lower valley. Not that there was anything down there to protect. The desert valley floor had been taken over by the Wilds years ago.

Guided by the holographic image display, Noah steered away from the dam’s curve to avoiding the grid-like obstruction. The heavy underwater mesh prevented the debris and rubble of the past civilization from damaging the present.

If only his own past didn’t have such an impact on his present.

He leaned into the turn, and his proFoil picked up speed. The wind through his hair calmed his nerves as it always did, and tension finally eased from his shoulders. Soaring across the water, leaving all the deadlines in his wake . . . This was just what he’d needed to clear his mind.

The evening sun brightened the foothills in the distance, providing a stark contrast with the silhouettes of the dilapidated buildings where they poked above the lake’s surface. With his goggles displaying the unseen dangers below, he twisted and turned in a dance across the lake that he’d performed many times before. It was the one thing he knew he could perform with perfection.

If only he could write about exploring the ruins. Of course, that would mean admitting his illegal activities. Getting arrested for trespassing would mean kissing early admissions—or attending university at all—goodbye. Lake Boise had been off-limits since last summer when some kids died while exploring the Grove Arena, not that a warning sign was going to stop him. Not even a…

“Oh, shit,” Noah muttered.

A large monitoring drone had popped up from the exposed roof of the side-by-side circular buildings whose top floor cleared the water line year-round.

Noah dodged right, using the towering structure to block himself from the drone's sightline. Slowing, he eased to a stop beside the crumbling brick, resting his gloved hand against the vertical surface. He couldn’t hide here for long. He’d be spotted as soon as the drone gained enough altitude. Even in the deep shadows, the drone would detect his heat signature. So he squatted and used his free hand to scoop up some of the icy water and doused his head and shoulders to obscure his shape.

He shivered then stilled. Heat, movement, and noise were what attracted the drones.

At least it was an unwieldy monitoring drone. He could outrun the giant beast among the ruins as it lacked the agility of the smaller, faster patrol drones. But if the monitoring drone verified his presence, it would summon patrol drones without delay, and both were nearly impossible to lose over open water.

Patience, Wells, he told himself.

He marked the movement on his display and watched as the drone glided farther away. The telltale buzzing of eight propellors also faded as it retreated, thankfully going the opposite way from his planned course through the ruins.

He couldn’t stay where he was forever. The drone would complete a circuit of the building then settle on the roof again. He eyed the flat expanse of water between his hiding spot and the next obstacle poking out of the water.

Could he make the half-kilometer to the Grove Arena? He had to try. Dousing himself with water once more and keeping as much of the structure between himself and the drone as possible, he edged around the curved exterior. When he had a clear line to the old downtown core, he pushed off the wall, hunching down to make his lanky frame as small as possible.

Stealth was still necessary. Thankfully his upgraded, after-market propellor gave him a slight speed advantage, and the motor was silent. So the mast slicing through the water and his heavy breathing were the only noises to betray his location.

The evening sun glinted off a reflective surface, momentarily blinding him, but his body knew where to go, and with the shift in the reflected sound, he knew he’d zipped past the first tall building. With a subtle adjustment in direction, he veered out of sight from the circular towers and the monitoring drone. Noah eased back on the throttle before cutting a sharp curve that took him in among the challenging obstacles of exposed rafters and tilted concrete slabs created by the partially collapsed arena.

Noah zipped through the cluster of rubble with expert cuts and swerves, ducking or grabbing the debris to pivot around the skeletal remains of the arena. At the last curve, he allowed the board to lower into the water until the mast was only half exposed. Watching the display closely—timing was everything here—he leaned to his front leg and dipped the nose of the board low. Then, with a quick shift to his back leg, he tipped the nose up and maxed the throttle, launching the board into the air. The mast, propeller, and wings easily cleared an I-beam. The board made contact with the water on the far side, and Noah let his knees absorb the impact. A perfect landing!

“Whoo!” Noah’s voice reverberated off the vertical walls. Endorphins coursed through his body, and he left his self-doubt and stress over the essay in the wake and rubble behind him.

As he exited the arena, the broken, arched roof of the old capital came into view. The decayed walls of several taller, derelict buildings dotted the space between him and the dome. The setting sun behind him cast his shadow into grotesquely alien dimensions.

With slight shifts of his shoulders right and left, his proFoil carved the surface of the water in gentle arcs. Noah felt like he was flying when he spread his arms wide and dropped his head back. Peace flowed through his veins, and an indescribable warmth radiated from his center. If only he could bottle the sensation and access this comfort whenever he needed it.

Maybe he could develop a better pill than the ones he took. Surely, the right combinations of stimulants and compounds could recreate the sensations of elation and freedom he’d only ever felt while slicing his proFoil through the lake. He grimaced at the irony. He’d need a chemistry degree for that, which meant he’d have to write that damn essay.

Bzzzzzzz. A patrol drone.

“Shit.”

These fliers were only the size of a dinner plate, too small to see in the glare of the sun. But the high-pitched whine indicated that it was coming in hot.

He had to hide. Fast. He cut hard left, rounded a solitary wall whose companions had long since fallen, turned right, and nearly decapitated himself. Only ducking at the last second and dropping his board down to the waterline saved his skull from impact.

The high-pitched screaming of the drone was getting louder. Was it bouncing off the walls, or were multiple drones homing in on him? Adrenaline spiked, and his core temperature rose, which was not good if he wanted to hide from their heat sensors.

Maneuvering past the wall, he caught sight of the dome again and knew what he needed to do.

Just as a spotlight found him, he angled his board, coming to a full stop before taking a hard right. His display showed an open path down what would’ve been an alleyway in the old downtown. He hit the throttle as the drone overhead dropped elevation in pursuit.

Approaching the end of the alley, he elevated to half-mast on his board and punched the throttle to take the corner at full speed.

A second patrol drone converged as he rounded the corner. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the drone had lit up and was preparing to shoot a stun dart. The light flashed. It would shoot once the light stopped pulsing.

He continued to watch the chase drone, relying solely on his goggles to navigate. He eased to the center of what was once a wide boulevard to minimize any surprises.

As the light glared a solid red, he tucked into a ball and grabbed the edges of the board to shift his trajectory, sending up a spray of water. The dart ricocheted off the center of his back, and a dull jolt made his arms jerk spasmodically. He’d never been hit with a stun dart and hadn’t expected such a reaction to a glancing blow.

He needed to hide.

The dome was up ahead. Ninety meters and closing fast.

Noah juked left as one of the drones buzzed his head. Another drone was suddenly in his path, and he didn’t have time to dodge it. The small unit thudded into his chest, causing him to shift his weight. The board tipped back, but by some miracle, he didn’t lose his balance.

Thank the stars, he thought.

The drone against his chest was juicing up to release a stun dart, and this one wouldn’t miss. He throttled up with his gloved hand and with the other, he flung it away toward another patrol drone. They collided with a satisfying crash.

Two down! But it sounded like more were joining the chase.

He had to get to the dome.

Noah zipped around the side of the old capital building’s center structure, dodging broken columns and tipped-over statues. The opening—the result of a long-ago earthquake—came into sight. The waterline was not high enough. He’d have to jump. And for that, he’d need a better angle.

Noah zipped around the side of the old capital building’s center structure, dodging broken columns and tipped statues. The opening—the result of a long-ago earthquake—came into sight. The waterline was not high enough. He’d have to jump. And for that, he’d need a better angle.

As he adjusted his approach to be a wide arc, the remaining drone increased elevation and tracked his sweeping path with a spotlight. More drones were closing in. It was going to be close.

Throttle at max, he came out of the turn and lined up for the jump. Warnings on his goggles flashed. Alarms sounded. But there was no turning back. No other choice.

Committed to his path, Noah inhaled deeply. He dipped the nose down and grunted as he shifted back to soar out of the water, bending his knees and grasping the edges to pull the board higher.

A flash sparked, and Noah felt the shockwave as the wing clipped some steel. The gaping blackness of the hole swallowed him, and he was flying, this time without the board under him.

He gulped air, then hit the water’s surface, causing another jolt to pound through his body. His momentum slammed him into one of the marble columns, knocking the remaining breath from his lungs.

Momentarily stunned, he sank.

Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash. Edited in Canva.

Noah gasped awake. He was floating behind one of the marble pillars in a pocket of air created by the curved ceiling of the rotunda's uppermost walkway. His riding goggles were cracked, but the left eye display still worked enough to show three patrol drones searching the central cavity. They’d obviously lost his heat signature but circled his board a few times before losing interest.

He waited until the last drone had left through the hole. Then he waited some more.

Finally, Noah released his hold on the pillar’s Corinthian carving, took a deep breath, and swam under the lip of the ceiling. His proFoil bobbed in the water on the far side of the rotunda. Using the glove controller, Noah directed the board to come to him then hauled his upper body onto the platform, gasping from the effort. Everything ached.

Staying crouched, he motored toward the opening.

With a lot of grunting and cursing, Noah climbed the crumbling wall, heaving his board with him. He rested for a moment in the gap, his breath fogging in the moonless night air. He was exhausted, but he’d freeze if he didn’t get home and out of these water-logged clothes. He stood, teeth chattering, and reached into his front pocket for the metal container that held his pills.

Shake, pause. Shake, shake. He needed to get more. Tomorrow. He cursed at the sharp pain as the pill dissolved under his tongue. His heart rate picked up, and some warmth spread through his chest. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him home.

He reached his back door in no time and propped his board against the wall. Slowly turning the handle, the latch released with a quiet click, and he paused.

The kitchen was dark, as was the dining room. He’d missed dinner. No worries; he wasn’t hungry anyway.

Lights shone brightly from the foyer and living room. The sound of voices murmuring in hushed but urgent tones made him pause.

Was he about to get busted for ditching his sisters and staying out late on a school night? Did he want to face his parents’ wrath right now?

No, thank you.

Besides, he still had an essay to write tonight. Just thinking about the application made his neck stiff with tension. Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Just one more to get through the night. Tomorrow he’d get more.

Rushing past the door to the living room, he hoped his mom’s sixth sense wouldn’t make her look up. Better to get back to his room and have her find him working diligently at his desk like he’d never left.

He took the stairs two at a time, but as he drew closer to the top, he became aware that the voices were, in fact, coming from his room. He’d pummel the twins if they were messing with his stuff.

Noah paused in the doorway, taking in the sight. What was going on? Why all the people?

The twins. His parents… Emergency workers.

Sunny stood frozen in front of his computer. From the doorway, he could tell that the screen wasn’t blank like he thought he’d left it. The words blurred in and out of focus, finally crystallizing.

Stick close to Sunny, Luna. Keep her safe.
When she gets lost, she’s gonna need your help to find her way back.

The emergency workers shifted, and Noah saw Luna kneeling next to a torso, sobbing. He rubbed his chest and noticed it was wet, just like when her tears had soaked his shirt earlier.

He glanced over to his bed where his parents sat side by side. Dad had wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulders as she sobbed.

Mom?

As if she’d heard him, she looked up. But she looked right through him, and her face crumpled as she uttered an anguished wail. It reminded him of the high pitch of the patrol drones chasing him.

One emergency worker was wrapping up the defibrillator cords. Two others lifted the body onto a backboard then carried it out of the room. Noah stepped to the side to let them pass. That’s when he saw the face. Just like his reflection on the computer monitor, his blank eyes stared back at him. Hollow. Dead.

Sunny came over and gently closed the eyes. His eyes. She murmured, “I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way to fix you.”

In the quest for perfection, Noah Wells learned that letting go of expectations and living in the moment is the best form of euphoria. Yet, in letting go, he forgot to hold on to the reality of life and those around him. In a world where allowing yourself to feel everything means feeling nothing, it can only lead to one outcome. And so his quest for perfection was lost in the darkest shadows of The Substack Zone.

Shattered

In the remnants of the Pacific Northwest, 110 years in the future, fourteen-year-old Tessa Wright's idyllic life in the Wilds is disrupted by the death of her family, forcing her to move to the capital city of Bannock. Struggling with grief and adjusting to public school for the first time, she becomes haunted by fragmented memories about her past, revealing clues that suggest her family’s death was no accident.

As she grapples with these revelations, she’s drawn into a much larger conflict—one that threatens to change the course of her life and the future of her world. Amid rising tensions between the urban centers and the Wilds, the growing Underground movement threatens to expose dangerous secrets that could challenge the oppressive Ryker administration, changing everything.

As she unravels the truth, Tessa must confront her identity, decide whom to trust, and weigh the risks of fighting for justice. In a fractured and unstable society, time is running out for Tessa to reclaim her true self. In a world where nothing is as it seems, discovering the truth could cost her everything.

Check out other work inspired by The Twilight Zone.
Or to learn more about the FORGED Series, visit the Table of Contents.

Before you go

Did you enjoy this post? Tap the heart to let me know. Restack your favorite quote. Share with your community. Recommend me to your followers. Click subscribe so you don’t miss future posts. Leave a comment.