Lincoln Park, Chicago

August, 2030.

Down a dark, narrow alley filled with fog, two little girls let go of each other’s hands to loosen the six metal buckles on their Mickey Mouse gas masks. The laughter of children and the brief, frightened scream of a man are absorbed into the thick, swirling fog. The same fog that hides the stepsisters, and the game they’re about to play …

“Ready?” asked Zephyrin, the younger mouse.

“Do you promise to start counting right away this time?” pleaded Abella, the older mouse.

“Yes! …

Ready? …

Set …”

Rubber mouse ears clutched in small, sweaty palms …

“GO!”

Abella closed her eyes and pinched her lips together, hugging her mask to her chest. Her pale cheeks inflate as she holds her breath, and her sister counts aloud on her fingers. “One, two, three, …”

A teenage girl in a Mark 4 gas mask and hospital gown watches the girls through the fog. She narrates what she sees, but no one here can hear. “My step-sister and I used to play a game— ‘How long could we breathe Public Air without our masks?’ I once went five whole minutes before Abby made me put mine back on. But, when it was Abby’s turn, she’d always start coughing so fast … so each time, I’d ask her to try for just a little longer…”

“... six, seven, eight, …”

“I never wanted to hurt her!”

“...ten, eleven, …”

“But I think our parents still secretly blame me for Abby getting sick. Like none of it would have ever happened unless …”

“... fourteen, fifteen, sixt—”

Violent coughing interrupted Zephyrin’s count, and forced Abella’s blue eyes open. “I can’t do it anymore, Zeph!” She choked. “It’s, it’s—too disgusting! I hafta put my mask back on!”

“C’mon Abby! You can go for just a few more seconds!” Zephyrin urged. “I know you can! I’ll start counting from fifteen—”

“No, Zephy! I can’t! I really can’t!” Abella gasped, her hands trembling as she secured the buckles of her mask tight behind her head.

The girls left the alley with Zephyrin following behind, patting her sister’s back gently and helping her to catch her breath. When they stopped to cross the street, Zephyrin asked softly, “What happened, Abby?”

“Same as always!” Abby coughed. “Public Air smells like garbage, and it burns my throat.”

“But Abby, you hold your breath the whole time! I promise you’ll get used to it the more you try … ”

A strong wind blew around them, clearing the fog and revealing their apartment building, The Peltham, an old four-story brick covered in dried ivy with an old, green front door. Their Chicago apartment has always reminded the sisters of a medieval castle in a far-away land, with turrets, battlements, and secret dungeons.

“Let’s just go back inside okay, Zephy?” Abella whined and hurried across the street without looking back.

Hearing the laughter and shouts of children running behind her, Zephyrin turned to find a little boy in an oversized respirator who’d stopped running long enough to wave. “Miles.” She whispered, and lifted her hand to wave back, but the fog had already taken him from her view. Zephyrin sighed and pulled her mask back over her head, and stalked towards the castle door to find her sister.

The hologram around the girl in the hospital gown faded from the foggy Chicago alley, back to a dark room inside of an old hospital. The girl doesn’t notice as she sobs in the corner of a padded room that locks from the outside.

***

Zephyrin counted down in mumbled whispers as she hurried down a long hospital corridor, holding her elbows in her hands. “Ten. Nine. Eight. …” Down a procedure wing with rows and rows of giant, glass vivariums lit from above with harsh fluorescent bulbs, each room showcases a procedure more horrible than the last. She tried not to glance inside any of them on her way to the interrogation room—an exercise in futility.

A room where a beautiful blonde in red heels handles squarish lumps of blue meat with eyes and teeth. Their long appendages and throbbing suckers squirm in the air as she transports them from one end of the room to the other, and attaches each pulsing, wet pile to one of the many hoses that hang from the ceiling. Once secured by one of their oral cavities, the creatures suck and hang from their hoses, dripping orange slime onto the ground. The front of the blonde’s dress is covered in their secretions.

“Nope. That’s not real! … Seven. Six. Five …”

An office full of monsters working in cubicles and answering phones. Long, prehensile tentacles control human heads that have been severed from nose to collarbone, manipulating the dead meat behind their lips like sock puppets, using stolen voice boxes to answer the phone in cheerful human voices. Useless spines dangle in the air, as if the monsters had kept them on only for decoration.

“None of that is real! Four, three, two …

… one.”

Room 686. A room with walls of frosted glass, two metal chairs, and a long ‘therapist’s couch’ that resembles a metal autopsy table. The room’s occupants address each other from behind federally-issued Mark 4 gas masks.

“Come in. State your name nice and loud, please.”

“Zephyrin Tyler.”

“You can have a seat on a chair this time, Ms. Tyler. For the record, what’s your age?” “Thirty-three as of last week, July seventh.”

“What day is it today?”

“Friday.”

“What year is it?”

“Twenty-fifty-three.”

The one asking the questions is named Kyla Kennedy. She’s smartly dressed in a white blouse and a knee-length black skirt. The soles of her black stiletto pumps pulse a slow, hypnotic, red light while idle and crossed over one knee. A silver cuff encircles one of her wrists, and she holds a lighted stylus in her hand, poised to capture the answers she hears from her patient on a clear-screened electronic clipboard. The triangle tips of her manicure glow softly, cycling in soft shades of neon: pinks, blues, and purples. The dual hose tubes on Ms. Kennedy’s mask connect to a polished blue air canister marked: HS6.

The respondent, Zephyrin Tyler, wears a hospital gown secured in the back with red LED light straps, and red hospital socks with grip on the bottom. Her nails are bitten short and her cuticles are bloody from picking. Around her wrist is a tarnished silver cuff. Her gas mask is connected to a rusted filter canister, empty and devoid of premium air.

“Where are you, Ms. Tyler?”

“Room 686.”

“Please be more specific.”

“The Chicago Sanitarium for Psychiatric Health.”

“Correct.” Ms. Kennedy scrolled to a new section of her clipboard and continued without looking up: “Do you understand that your answers during this interview determine whether you’ll be released today?”

“Yes. I do.”

Green check. “Tell me why you were initially admitted, Ms. Tyler.”

“Hallucinations and delusions as a result of psychosis.”

Ms. Kennedy put down her stylus, the light turning off as the pen rested on her clipboard. “How about we forget about the technical terms? And, since it’s just the two of us … let’s remove our masks, shall we?” Ms. Kennedy lifted her wrist and spoke into her bracelet: “Equip room to breathe HS6.”

Zephyrin waited for her therapist to remove the harnesses of her mask before undoing her own.

“We had a few tanks of HS6 generously donated to the hospital.” Ms. Kennedy explained with an encouraging smile after noticing the doubt in Zephyrin’s eyes. Her coiffed updo and neon pink lipstick remain perfect; while Zephyrin’s short, dark hair is stuck in sweaty, matted clumps against her head. Both women lifted their faces towards the vents, wrinkling their noses from the smell of the new air flowing into the room, but neither mentioned it.

Ms. Kennedy picked up her stylus, the light glowing once again. “Alright, Ms. Tyler. Please tell me why you’re here. In your own words.”

“Because I see …” Zephyrin shook her head, “I meant that … I used to see things that weren’t really there.”

“Like what, Ms. Tyler?”

Zephyrin cleared her throat. “Like, um … false realities. And … people that weren’t really people. Like … monsters, in human skin.”

“It’s ok to feel embarrassed.” The therapist reassured her. “It’s healthy, actually, and a strong indicator that you’ve truly reformed from those kinds of thoughts.” She smiled before logging a new green check on her clipboard screen. She scrolled to a new page, and looked up at her patient again. “Ms. Tyler, what did you believe to be true about your family?”

Zephyrin stared at her socks before meeting Ms. Kennedy’s eyes. “I thought that my step-mother and step-sister were aliens.”

“And what do you think now, Zephyrin?”

“I know that they’re just as human as you, or I.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because … aliens aren’t real. We’ve been to the moon and Mars, and there’s nothing out there.” She breathed. “No intelligent life. No habitable planets.”

“Hmm. Do you still see strange things sometimes, Ms. Tyler?”

… “No.”

… “Tell me what you would do, if you thought you saw something strange, but weren’t sure if it was real?”

“I’d confirm reality using visualization dismissal. I’d close my eyes, and count down from ten … and when I open my eyes—and there’s nothing there—it proves that what I thought I saw, was never there to begin with.”

“That’s right, Zephyrin. Because the mind is a powerful thing, and sometimes, we need to take charge and tell ourselves what to think—despite what we may see, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Excellent.” green check. “Now, how about telling me how you feel about Public Air?”

Room 686’s walls morph from frosted glass to floor to ceiling display screens, and a familiar commercial plays on all four walls. A woman dressed like a 1950s housewife carries a steaming roast chicken to her family’s dinner table. She, her husband, and the children all wear Mark 4 gas masks with canisters of HS6 attached—even a baby seated in a high chair wears the mask. As her family studies the roast, the matriarch turns to the cameras and inquires,

“WHY BREATHE PUBLIC AIR… WHEN YOU COULD HAVE THE BEST?

WHY BREATHE THE SAME AIR AS THE REST, WHEN YOU CAN HAVE—

HIGH SOCIETY SIX?!”

The housewife picks a carving knife up from the table before turning back to the camera, her voice becoming serious as she emphasizes her words with the blade like a nagging finger,

“DON’T BE FOOLED, CHICAGO! PUBLIC AIR IS A FAST AND SILENT KILLER!

AREN’T YOUR LIFE AND HEALTH WORTH MORE THAN JUST A FEW CUBITS A DAY?

AFTER JUST ONE INHALE OF HIGH SOCIETY SIX, YOU’LL WONDER HOW YOU EVER LET ANYTHING LESS INTO YOUR LUNGS!

JUST SAY: I WANT HS6—RIGHT NOW!”

The whole family, including the baby, look at the camera, waiting expectantly.

Ms. Kennedy coughed and hurried to cover her mouth before lowering her hand and smiling at Zephyrin. “How about we turn off the walls while we talk? We’re so close to being complete, and I don’t want anything to influence your answers.” She spoke into her bracelet and the walls dimmed back to frosted white.

Zephyrin looked up with interest for the first time in her tired, light green eyes. “You’re allowed to do that?”

“Well, you can’t, but we can … and only while we’re here, and just for a little while. So, let’s focus on the questions, shall we? … How about….” She scrolled on her clipboard again before asking, “Ah, yes! … How do you feel about Public Air?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Okay.” green check. “What don’t you like about Public Air?”

“It smells like garbage.”

“That’s right, Ms. Tyler!” She beamed. “Public Air does smell like garbage!” Ms. Kennedy made another green check on her board that faded away after being logged. She opened her mouth to speak again, when the building’s power suddenly went with a dying WHIRIRRrrrr sound.

After a few moments, Ms. Kennedy spoke to Zephyrin in the dark, her voice in a kind, gentle tone that’s barely above a whisper, “Honey, look at me and listen while we have the time. You’re going to do great out there, okay? You’ve made enormous progress. You have to do whatever it takes to never come back. You don’t belong here, Zeph.”

“But…I don’t know if I want to go home, Kyla. It’s been so long …”

“Oh, sweetie. I know it may seem a little scary. A lot has changed since you’ve been here. Your parents and your sister may very well seem like strangers, at first. Age regression is also common when reconciling with one’s parents after an extended time apart; but keep in mind that it’ll be hard for them to not think of you as the little girl you were either, so try to give them—and yourself some grace, okay? … The world isn’t what it used to be, Zeph. Besides the air going bad, Florida’s lost under the Atlantic, California sank deep into the tar pits, and New York as you know, is nothing but rubble, thanks to the earthquakes. The majority of Illinois is a wasteland too, same as the rest of the United States. Everywhere except for downtown Chicago is practically hell on earth, and Zeph—that’s where you’re headed!”

“Hell?”

“No, sweetheart! Downtown Chicago! Your family lives downtown now, and downtown Chicago is for the bourgeoisie! The elites—high society! Or, at the very least, the highest of what remains of society. ‘Regular’ people aren’t even allowed over the Chicago River, Zeph! They’ll have to lower one of the bridges just to let you in!” She went on, excited now. “Zephyrin, downtown, no one has to breathe Public Air, and everyone wears an Oxygen Utility Device instead of Mark 4’s! I heard the elites even have vehicles they drive around downtown! I wish we could drive on this side!” she sighed longingly. “Shit, I’d take a train, or even a bus! It’s not like banning everything has improved the fog any …” She shook her head and met Zephyrin’s eyes with a sad smile. “My point is, it likely will take you some time to fit into their new lifestyle, and that’s perfectly normal, but you have to do your best to fit in, Zeph. Your family is all you have, and most importantly—there’s nowhere else to go, anymore. Compliance isn’t surrender—it’s being smart. Do you understand?”

Zephyrin nodded slowly, and Kyla leaned in closer. “Remember, honey—everything that’s really in front of you will be reflected in those shiny masks they call O.U.D.’s. That will also help with reality checking, and faster than having to count.”

She reached out her hand to Zephyrin, her fingernails like fireflies in a dark sky. “But no matter what you see, always remember that—”

The power came back on with a jolting WheerrIRRR sound, and Ms. Kennedy pulled her hand back with lightning speed. Her voice quavered for only a moment before quickly returning back to clinical mode.

… “Cor-correct, Ms. Tyler. You’re doing very well so far. We’re getting close to the end now. Let’s proceed with you telling me,” scroll, scroll, scroll, … what’s inside the Merchandise Mart?”

“Oh … would you like to know what’s really in there, or what I used to think?”

“Both.”

Zephyrin cleared her throat and picked at the skin around her fingernails. “When I was younger, I thought that the Merchandise Mart sold … humans. Like, their bodies … their skins, … for uh—skinsuits.” She took a deep breath before rushing on to say, “I believed that the Merchandise Mart was full of hidden rooms holding hundreds of thousands of human bodies in cryostasis.”

“Why cryostasis, specifically Ms. Tyler, and not just dead, if they’re only using them for their skins?”

“Because they want to keep the meat fresh until it’s time to wear it. They look more realistic that way.”

“I see … and who are the clientele for a place like this?”

“Aliens. Wearing human skinsuits allows them to walk freely among us without being detected. Well, that’s what I used to believe, anyway. But now, I know that the Merchandise Mart has stores, offices, and restaurants inside. And although it’s the largest commercial building in the world—they don’t have a stock of frozen humans on hangers.”

“Excellent, Ms. Taylor.” green check. scroll. “Well, it looks like we’ve concluded the question portion. Now let’s go over your attitude audit.” scroll. scroll. “It shows that you’ve had zero outbursts, and have required no mandatory sedation in over a year. That’s quite the improvement from years past.” scroll. “No fires started in over three—has it really been that long? Quite the improvement, indeed! I commend you, Ms. Tyler.” scroll. scroll. scroll.

Ms. Kennedy looked up at her patient with a nod and a quick smile. “We’ve officially come to the end of your interview Ms. Tyler.”

Zephyrin closed her eyes, waiting for her fate to be determined.

“In my professional opinion, I believe you to be fully rehabilitated Zephyrin Tyler, and therefore, you’ll be discharged this afternoon, and are free to head home.”

Zephyrin hung her head and sighed.

Ms. Kennedy read the next instructions from her clipboard, and pointed towards the wall with a glowing fingernail. “In those drawers there—you’ll find a clean change of clothes that your step-mother has sent ahead for you: one red satin gown, two elbow-length gloves, also red satin, one ruby jewelry set: including one necklace, two earrings, and six matching hair stones; and one pair of red stiletto heels adorned in rubies, size seven and a half.”

“Heels? How far will I have to walk?”

“Not very far. Don’t worry, wearing heels is like riding a bike. You’ll be fine.” “But, I’ve never ridden a bike…”

“And one winter parka, with an insulated hood.” Ms. Kennedy finished. “White, size: large.”

“Is it very cold out there?”

“Hold the front of your gown, please.” Ms. Kennedy tapped her bracelet to each of the red LED straps on the back of Zephyrin’s gown to unlock them. “It seems to get colder every year, thanks to the smog blocking the sun. We’ll reconvene in the hallway after you’re dressed, and then I’ll escort you to the exit. Don’t forget your mask.”

Zephyrin tried to stay steady on what felt like stilts, while following Kyla’s glowing heels tapping expertly down another wing of testing rooms. The rooms on this floor are dim, lit only by ancient, flickering bulbs hanging on strings, and all appear empty—all except for the last room on the left. This room is full of rows of what seems to be test subjects furiously scribbling data on clipboards like Ms. Kennedy’s. But instead of wearing the same type of rubber masks that cover Zephyrin and Ms. Kennedy’s heads, these specimens wear an elliptical mound of highly polished silver over only the lower half of their faces. The kidney-bean shaped metal completely covered their noses and mouths, and on some of the smaller faces, the majority of their cheeks and chins, as well.

“Wow. Are those the …?”

“Yup, those are THE Oxygen Utility Devices, or oh-you-dees—the dang lucky ducks! Some people really do have all the fun!” Ms. Kennedy gushed. The eyes of the test subjects followed the women until they’re out of sight.

After a quiet elevator ride to the hospital’s main floor, Kyla turned to Zephyrin once they reached the exit doors and said, “Alright, Ms. Tyler. Your family unit has been notified of your release. Your bracelet will provide them with your coordinates, and you with instructions for your pick up. You may feel free to enjoy the city in the meantime, just be sure to keep your mask on at all times. You’ll be breathing Public Air until you cross over the river.”

Zephyrin nodded, then stood waiting for the therapist to speak into her bracelet and open the door, but Ms. Kennedy simply gestured that she was free to leave.

“Do you mean, that this whole time … I could’ve just walked out the front door? Why didn’t I ever try that?”

“You know, everyone says that when it’s their time to leave!” Ms. Kennedy offers with a twinkle in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Ms. Tyler, and stay out of Lower Wacker Drive!”