The hissing and thumping of the pipes and hoses comes to a sudden stop. There is a deep, resonating groan. Even the sound of the fighters in grey smashing at the safety window halts as they stop to listen. It is the sound of tearing steel from deep underground, the ripping and rending of firmly rooted machinery. The Reality Machine has grown larger and larger as it affected itself; who knows how deep into the ground it has dug itself?

There is a final smash as the window gives way. The warriors striving to stop the machine will be here in moments. Will they kill me? Maybe. But they won't stop the machine. I hear their boots clatter up the hallway, and soon they are there, facing me. John's girl, whose name I have not yet learned, leads the way.

Before she can speak there is a jarring thump that makes the floor move beneath our feet. We grab for the walls. There is more noise from below, deep booming sounds coming up to us.

"What have you done?" screams the girl, gripping heavy black hoses running along the wall.

"You'll see soon enough," I say. There is another thump and we are shaken again. We fall to the floor and my head swims with vertigo. I have the sudden feeling that we are being carried upwards. There is groaning and clanging all around us, and the room begins to grow in dimensions, the walls pushing out and the ceiling soaring above. I look over my shoulder at the concentric circles of steel shielding The Reality Machine.

The outermost circle begins to move outward, allowing thin light to escape from inside. Each circle in turn, one by one, begins growing and narrowing and moving out, and soon light floods the chamber. As the light pours out, the shifting of the shape and size of the building increases.

There are screams of fear from the warriors down the hall as we are thrown violently about, the floor heaving beneath us. The ceiling splits open to reveal another ceiling, which splits open to reveal more ceilings, again and again. The walls break down, segment and reconfigure as the whole building morphs. And the heart of the machine, right there with us, reaches skyward, rising from deep below the monstrous building to finally emerge through one last false ceiling to face the blackened night sky.

As the last ceiling breaks away we see the new reality: End City boils as it shifts and changes at hyperactive speed. Lighting lashes the shifting peaks. We find ourselves rising higher and higher. The Machine's shielding, those last shining steel circles, disappear before blinding white light that affects all it touches. The Reality Effect reaches all of the sky and the earth, and although we, as visitors from another world, are not affected, End City is.

The Effect reaches its climax and we fall, the building and the machine itself dissolving beneath us. We tumble down through the failing Matrix of What Is, landing safe and unconscious in What Could Be.

Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Five

We woke up in early morning sunshine, lying naked in fields of green grass. There was a distant sound, a sort of distorted metallic throbbing. I stood up and looked around. The sound was the surf crashing on the distant shore.

End City was gone. Where it stood, running on for endless miles in all direction, there was only gently rolling plains and grass and scattered trees, all leading down to the shore. As far as we could see there was no evidence of human civilization. There only five men, a woman and a girl: John, Sissy, the four fighters and I. Whatever monstrosity Klang had eventually mutated into was gone. So were the bodies of Beth and Edgar Bonmeyer, and the men from National Industry and Finance.

There was teeming life, however. The sky was full of birds, and grazing animals dotted the horizon, casually nibbling the foliage. Were these the citizens of End City? Was this what became of them when the Reality Effect touched them? Perhaps. The Machine itself was gone, and so was the technology that brought us from our own world.

We all stood, facing each other without shame, alone and naked in a brand new world. I would have expected anger from the fighters; rage that by opening the Reality Machine, I had taken away their chance to return to the home that they couldn't even remember. Instead, there was just stunned silence from everyone. We stood together. Tears rolled down our cheeks as we tried to comprehend the life that now lay ahead for us.

The history of mankind would start again with us. We would make tools with rocks and sticks and scratch out our food from the dirt. We would wander and try to meet others like us. We would take care of each other. We would build.

* * *

Two seasons later I stand on top of the hill, surveying our territory. Below in the valley are the huts our group has built as shelter from the elements. Winter will be coming on soon, and we'll have to see if the crude structures will keep us safe. If not, we will migrate south to warmer climes.

There are more of us now. As the doomsday seekers expected, not every person was changed or wiped away by the Effect. Of the teeming millions that lived in End City, eleven individuals found us, and together we have built our village.

John acts as father-figure to Sissy, and also spends hours each day with the girl who gave herself the name Jane. They talk at length, trying to discover how they knew about each other, and what their connection was in the world before this one. Like all of us, they are taking things very slowly, as they try to understand who they are and what their place is in the world.

We call our village The Beginning. It has a tribal feel that appeals to me. We work hard to feed ourselves, but the whole scene is idyllic. We work and then we rest and enjoy each other's company.

Every night around sunset I climb to the top of the nearby hill and look over the land, from the great plains down to the coast. I watch and wait, hoping that maybe one day Beth will come walking over the horizon, drifting back into my life. So far she has not appeared, and I work all day in silence wondering about the mystery girl who died so many times right in front of me. I think about her, but I do not speak of her. I would rather not have the moment of her death at the hands of my fellow villagers become a discussion point.

At night we huddle around fires and tell each other stories of our own making. Some of us feel it is a sad scene, as it is the last remains of a once dominating society that put its fingerprints on every corner of the world. Other think it is hopeful, since we can look forward to a new future. I think it is all part of a cycle. Just as Beth died and came back to life over and over again, the world continues to get second chances. Every end is also a new beginning.

The End/Beginning

June 25, 2010.