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?

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AUTHOR’S NOTES

Set in the world of the FORGED Series, this homage to The Twilight Zone takes place thirty-three years before the opening of Shattered, book one in the series.

The Great Changes have ravaged the world, changing the geography and the political landscape. The Pacific Northwest is now part of the young nation, the United Pacific Territories.

After years of seismic activity and natural disasters, major metropolitan areas are deemed unsafe for habitation. Former cities, including the old Boise downtown, have been flooded behind the construction of additional dams as society shifted to green hydroelectric energy sources. New urban centers, UCs, popped up around the power generation sites. Yet even in this dystopian future, young adults face challenges and struggles that mirror those in our present society.

TRIGGER WARNING: 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 at him, mocking him. The flashing vertical line on the otherwise blank screen ridiculed his inability to pull words from his brain. His inability to form coherent thoughts. His inability to answer the stupid fucking prompt.

He was one week from his sixteenth birthday. One week from needing to turn in his application for early admission to university. One week from his mandatory emasculation, the VasROC sterilization procedure. All these looming deadlines were like a patrol drone chasing him but without the possibility of escape.

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

The quick-melt tab dissolved under his tongue. The sharp sting made him curse. They’d warn him to alternate sides as the pills would irritate the thin membranes under his tongue from overuse. He embraced the pain and welcomed the spark of alacrity echoing through his body, his brain. He had to finish this essay.

He gripped the edge of the desk and pushed his chair back and forth. The wheels whirred over the cork tiles, vibrating through the seat to his thighs. He grabbed the corners of his computer screen and adjusted the curve. Just right. His reflection caught his attention and interrupted his process.

Blank eyes stared back at him. Hollow. Dead.

Was this what I looked like to everyone else?

In his last appointment with Dr. Michol, she complained that his progress lagged behind the other test subjects. She was beyond disappointed. Would she kick him out of the program?

Even his twin sisters, years younger than him, 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. His brain had already matured beyond the optimal age for the procedure. It didn’t lessen everyone’s expectations of him. If anything, he was being held to an even higher standard. And this essay would prove his worth to remain in the program. If he could finish it.

He rubbed the building tension out of his shoulders and sighed.

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

He ground his teeth together in irritation.

The high school counselor was breathing down his neck to turn in his essay. She demanded to see it tomorrow, which meant he had to write it… tonight.

The tightness in his chest paralyzed him—he was never going to beat Tello’s record-setting marks from last year.

He rubbed his palm against the gripping pain.

He could write an essay good enough to fool the panel into granting him early admission, right?

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

He had to be kidding himself if good enough would be acceptable. Good enough was not an option. He had to meet or beat Tello’s marks. His essay needed to be perfect. And after six months of working on it, all he had was a fucking blank screen.

It’s not like he hadn’t started. Multiple times. His essay always turned out more like a diary entry. A confessional instead of the highlights of a personal triumph.

He 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. I need to jump-start my brain and finish this damn thing.

He pushed back and forth. Checked the curvature of his screen. Gulped his energy drink. Snapped his Ominband on his wrist twice. A swipe illuminated the display screen, and he restarted the playlist, adjusting the 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 opened up 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 popped his eyes open. Even over the bass pounding through his earclips, he heard the tell-tale sounds of his twin sisters fighting. He stopped the music and heard more pounding.

“Not again,” he muttered and pushed back with a huff.

The three of them were alone for a couple more hours, so he was responsible for ensuring the twelve-year-olds were still alive when their parents got home.

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

He stepped in front of her to stop her, trying to stay clear of her flailing fists, though she landed a few well-placed thumps on his chest. “Hey. What’s going on, Luna?”

At the sound of his nickname for her, she calmed and wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her close, feeling his irritation fade, and smoothed down her wild, dark curls—dark like a moonless night. She continued to sob, soaking his shirt with her tears but not answering his question.

He tried the doorknob—locked, as he expected—and rapped his knuckles 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.”

The lock clicked, and the latch released. He gently nudged the door wider until he could see her bright blond hair in the mirror, bright as the morning sun glinting off Lake Boise. Too bad her disposition didn’t match.

“I’m trying to finish my essay for the admissions panel. It’s hard enough as it is to write without you yelling at each other. Can you two 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 wrapped around his waist. He pushed her away and grabbed both of their shoulders. Leaning down to their eye level, he said, “When I’m at university, I won’t be here to broker a peace treaty between you two. You're gonna have to look out for each other. Work together. Okay?”

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

Noah rolled his eyes and left the two of them, but 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, No-No.”

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

“You’ll make it in.” Her watery eyes glistened. She had more confidence in him than anyone else.

His parents? His teachers? Dr. Michol? They all looked at him like he’d already failed. Just because Tello Hernan entered university a year early, it was somehow now expected everyone in the program had to do the same. Which meant he was next. He had to prove the neural enhancements were worth the expense. Not for the first time, Noah wished his parents hadn’t insisted that he be in the program.

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

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

“You’re right. You”—he poked her shoulder—“are going to have to watch out for your sister. Just like the moon follows the sun, Luna, you have to follow Sunny.”

“Why? She never wants me around.”

“I know. But she needs you to look out for her.”

“Why?” Her brow furrowed over her big eyes.

Noah sighed. “Because Sunny can't see the forest for the trees.”

“What do you mean?”

Noah rubbed his neck. How could he explain it so the tween understood 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 ended up getting turned around. Lost in the backwoods. And what did you do?”

“I followed her voice.”

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

“Okay,” she sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I’ll always follow her. Keep her safe.”

Noah smiled and left her in the hallway. He closed his door tight and glanced at his computer. Still blank.

Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Slide. He’d need to pick up more pills. Tomorrow. What he needed now was to clear his mind.

“Fuck it,” he said to the blank screen and turned to race out of his bedroom.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash. Edited in Canva.

In ten minutes, he was waterside, tugging the controller glove onto his hand and nestling the goggles over his eyes. He pulled the single-person propulsion foil surfboard from the case he’d carried on his back. 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.

In the shadows of the pedestrian viewpoint above his head, he inched away from shore along the substructure. When the water was deep enough for the wings of his proFoil to submerge, he stepped on the board. The underwater realm materialized before him with a click on his goggles. This close to shore, not much lay hidden under the dark water. Further out, he’d need to watch the display carefully to avoid the submerged traps—remnants of buildings and structures in their watery grave.

Easing through the water until he cleared the platform’s braces, he used the controller glove to crank up the motor and flew across the glass-like surface. To his left, the three-mile-wide Morrison Dam formed the 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.

Noah steered away from the dam’s curve, avoiding the grid-like obstruction clearly displayed in the holographic image before his eyes–the heavy underwater mesh netting stopped the debris and rubble of the past civilization from damaging the present.

If only his past could stop damaging his present.

He leaned into the turn, and his proFoil picked up speed. The wind through his hair calmed his nerves. The tension finally eased out of his shoulders. Soaring on the water, the haunting deadlines were forgotten, left in his wake. This was what he needed to clear his mind.

Before him, dilapidated buildings poked above the waterline, easy enough to avoid. On his goggles display, what couldn’t be seen by the naked eye was revealed. His body moved in rhythm to the twists and turns to avoid the unseen dangers, a dance 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, but admitting his illegal activities would only cause him more problems. He’d kiss goodbye any chance of early admissions—or attending university at all—if he were arrested for trespassing. Lake Boise has been off-limits since some kids exploring the Grove Arena died last summer, not that a warning sign was going to stop him. Not even a …

“Oh, shit,” Noah muttered.

A large monitoring drone popped up from the exposed roof of the JB Towers, side-by-side circular buildings whose top floor cleared the water line year-round. Noah dodged right, using the structure to block the drone's sightline. It wouldn’t work long. As soon as the drone had enough height, he’d be spotted.

He slowed and eased closer to the crumbling brick, dragging his gloved hand against the vertical surface. He knew the drone would be looking for his heat signature, so he squatted and used his free hand to scoop up cold water. The cold dousing of his head and shoulders made him shiver, but his shape would be obscured.

Then he stilled.

Heat, movement, noise—that’s what attracted the drones.

At least it was the unwieldy monitoring drone. He could outrun the giant beast among the ruins as it lacked the agility of the smaller, faster patrol drones. The problem was that both were nearly impossible to lose in open water. And if the monitoring drone caught his path, patrol drones would be in pursuit in no time.

Patience, Wells, he told himself.

He marked the movement on his display and watched it glide further away. The tell-tale buzzing of the eight propellors also faded.

Good, it’s going the wrong way.

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

Could he make it the half-kilometer to the Grove Arena? He had to try. One more dosing of water down the back of his head, and he slowly edged around the curved exterior, keeping as much of the structure between him and the drone as possible. When he had a clear line to the old downtown core, he pushed off the wall. His upgraded after-market propellor gave him a slight speed advantage. Stealth was still necessary.

The drone’s motor sound remained muffled by the brick walls of the building, which meant the drone’s sight was also obstructed. His own motor was silent, the mast slicing through the water and his heavy breath were the only noises to betray his location. He hunched down, making his lanky frame as small as possible.

The evening sun glinted off a reflective surface, momentarily blinding him, but his body knew where to go even if his eyesight failed him. As soon as the sound shifted, he knew he’d zipped past the first tall building. With a subtle adjustment in direction, he was out of sight from the JB Towers and the monitoring drone. Noah eased back on the throttle, cruising down the long shadow. He cut a sharp curve into the cluster of buildings and prepared for the obstacle of exposed rafters and tilted concrete slabs created by the partially collapsed arena.

Noah allowed the board to lower into the water until the mast was half exposed. Watching the display closely—timing was everything here—he leaned to his front leg and dipped the board low in the front. With a quick shift to his back leg, the nose of the board tipped up, and he maxed the throttle. The board launched into the air. The mast, propeller, and wings easily cleared the I-beam. The board made contact with the water on the far side, and Noah adjusted his weight to absorb the impact. A perfect landing!

“Whoo!” Noah’s voice reverberated off the vertical walls of the abandoned high-rises. Endorphins coursed through his body. His thoughts of self-doubt and stress over the essay were lost in the wake and rubble behind him.

His path led him away from the arena, and 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 made his shadow appear grotesquely extended and alien-like. With slight shifts of his shoulders right and left, his proFoil carve gentle swerves in the water. Spreading his arms wide and dropping his head back, Noah felt like he was flying. Peace flowed through his veins, and an indescribable warmth radiated from his center. If only he could bottle this sensation and have its sustaining comfort all the time.

Maybe he could develop a better pill than the ones he took. He chuckled at the irony of the thought. He’d have to write that essay, after all, if he wanted any chance of earning a chemistry degree. With a degree, he could find the right combinations of stimulants and compounds to recreate what he had only ever felt slicing his proFoil through water.

That’s when he heard it. A patrol drone. The dinner plate-sized flyer was too small to see because of the glare from the sun. But the high-pitched whine indicated that it was coming at him… hot.

“Shit.” Noah looked around. 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. Ducking at the last second and dropping his board down to the waterline saved his skull from impact.

The high-pitched whirring was louder. Was it bouncing off the walls, or were multiple drones on his tail?

Adrenaline spiked his core temperature, which wouldn’t help him hide from their heat sensors.

He maneuvered past the wall and caught sight of the dome again. He knew what he needed to do. He had to get to the back side of the capital building.

A spotlight found him, and he angled his board up to come to a full stop, then took a hard right. His display showed an open path down what would’ve been an alleyway before the downtown was flooded. He hit the throttle as the drone over his head 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 made his eyes go wide. The drone lit up. A stun dart was coming. Noah watched the flashing speed up, knowing the dart would be released once it stopped pulsing.

Looking behind him meant he had to rely on the goggles to continue to provide intel on where his board traveled, so he eased to the center of what was once a road to minimize any surprises he might not have time to avoid. His eyes never faltered from the chase drone.

As the light glared solid, he tucked into a ball. He grabbed the edges of the board to shift his trajectory with a spray of water. The dart ricocheted off the center of his back, and a dull jolt jerked his arms unexpectedly. He’d never been hit with a stun dart, but he wasn’t expecting that to happen with a glancing blow.

He had to get out of there. The dome. Ninety meters and closing fast. Noah juked left as one of the drones buzzed his head. Another drone was in his new path, waiting for him, and he didn’t have time to dodge it. The small unit thudded into his chest. His unexpected weight shift caused the board to tip back. Somehow, he didn’t lose his balance.

Thank the stars, he thought.

A light blinked, and he realized the drone was still plastered against his chest. Another stun dart was juicing up. This one wouldn’t miss. He throttled up with his gloved hand and flung the drone with the other. It made a satisfying crash as it connected with the next closest patrol drone behind him.

Two down and one left, but it sounded like more were joining the chase.

The dome.

Noah zipped around the side of the old capital building’s center structure, dodging broken columns and tipped-over statues. The opening—damage from a long-ago earthquake—came into sight. From the display on his goggles, the waterline was thankfully high, though not high enough to make it without a jump. And for that, he’d need a better angle.

He shifted away from the dome and noticed that the remaining drone had increased elevation to get a spotlight on him. The light followed his sweeping path. More drones were closing in. It was going to be close. He had to get inside. Now.

With the throttle at the 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. He’d committed.

He inhaled deeply. Dipped the nose down and grunted as he shifted back. He soared out of the water. He bent his knees and grasped the edges to pull the board higher. The gaping blackness of the hole swallowed him. A flash sparked, and Noah felt the shockwave as the wing clipped some steel.

He was flying, this time without the board under him. He gulped air before colliding with the still water’s surface, causing another jolt to pound through his body. Momentum tugged him deeper, slamming into one of the marble columns. The remaining air was knocked out of him.

Momentarily stunned, his body continued to sink, sliding around the curve of the pillar. Thanks to the thick marble, the patrol drone that followed him through the opening lost his heat signature.

Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash. Edited in Canva.

When Noah awoke, he was floating in a pocket of air created by the curved ceiling surrounding the rotunda's uppermost walkway. His riding goggles were cracked. The display over his left eye worked enough to watch the movement of three patrol drones searching the watery cavity on the other side of his safe haven. They circled his board for a few minutes before losing interest. He waited until the last drone left through the hole, then waited some more.

The interior was pitch black when Noah finally released his hold on the Corinthian carved details of his life-saving column. He 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 let the board come to him. With chattering teeth, he 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. Sitting on the edge of the opening, his breath fogged in the moonless night air. He would freeze to death if he didn’t get home and out of the water-logged clothes. Preparing to stand, a jab of something in his front pocket reminded him of his pills.

Shake, pause. Shake, shake. He needed to get more pills. 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. Noah didn’t take any chances. He stuck to the shadows and went to the nearest hover-rail station in the foothills closest to his temporary sanctuary.

***

His clothes had dried during the warm train ride home. He propped his board against the wall near the back door. He’d have to get the case he’d hidden under the viewpoint. Tomorrow. Slowly turning the door handle, the latch released with a quiet click. He paused. Listened. Everyone should be upstairs getting ready for bed. He’d missed dinner. No worries.

The kitchen was dark, as was the dining room. Lights filtered from the entry and living room. Voices talking in hushed tones made him pause. Did he want to face his parents’ wrath?

No, thank you.

Shake, pause. Shake, shake. Tomorrow, he’d get more pills. Just one more to get through the night. He still had an essay to write tonight. Tension made his neck stiff just thinking about the application. He stopped at the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink.

Taking the stairs two at a time didn’t give him the opportunity to glance into the living room. All the better. His mom had a sixth sense and would’ve probably caught him looking at her. Better to get back to his desk and let her find him there like he never left.

More voices came from his room.

I’m gonna pummel the twins if they’re messing with my stuff.

In fact, no voices were behind him. He would’ve noticed that the living room was empty had he taken the time to look.

Noah paused at the doorway, taking in the sight.

What’s going on?

Confused by 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. Just like the moon follows the sun, Luna, you have to follow Sunny. When she gets lost, she’s gonna need you to find her way back. Keep her safe.

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

He glanced back at his parents, sitting on the edge of his bed. His father had his arm around his mom’s shoulders, holding her to his side as she silently wailed.

Mom.

She looked up, right at him. Right through him. Anguish flashed over her face, and her wailing picked up with sound. 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 on a backboard to carry it out of the room. Noah stepped to the side to let them pass. That’s when he noticed. The face was like the reflection in his computer monitor. His blank eyes stared back at him. Hollow. Dead.

Sunny stepped to his side and slid her hands over the lifeless face to close 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 from now, fourteen-year-old Tessa Wright's idyllic life in the Wilds is disrupted by the death of her family.

Haunted by mysterious memories and thrust into an urban society, Tessa struggles with grief while navigating high school among the privileged Elites and attempting to understand her true identity. She is drawn into the plot to uncover the truth behind a devastating terrorist attack and the sinister plans of the Ryker administration.

As Tessa unravels her past, she must fight for her newfound friends and dwindling freedoms. The lines between loyalty, love, and the cost of rebellion are blurred. Can she reclaim her true self before it's too late?

Check out other work inspired by The Twilight Zone.
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