Bert

The outdated pop music became background noise after a while.Most people either stopped noticing after a few weeks or went quietly mad and learned to live with it. Bert mostly treated it as a reminder that he was never going to be let down or given up on. By who, he wasn't entirely sure. Whatever the song was, it had apparently been emotionally devastating in the late eighties.

That combined with The fluorescent tubes overhead humming  at a pitch between fly and mosquito. After eight hours beneath them, Bert's skin always looked faintly waxy, like he'd been preserved rather than employed.He scanned another box. The scanner chirped.

Bubblegum and carrot soda.

He placed it on the shelf between the ‘Tastes like’ ginger beer and the sugar-free Artificial lemonade that tasted like regret.

Sometimes while stocking shelves he'd catch himself staring at the endless rows that never seemed to stay full, listening to the buzz above him and wondering whether human beings were ever actually designed to spend eight hours a day filling empty spaces beneath artificial daylight.The answer was probably no.

But the alternative was unemployment, and unemployment didn't pay for tortilla chips or the streaming service he used to watch Sarcastic Detective.

Priorities.

The tannoy beeped overhead, asking for someone to clean up a spill in Aisle 4, and reminded him he'd drifted off again. Bert sighed and scanned the box once more.

"Bubblegum and carrot soda," he muttered. "A truly thriving civilization."

No one paid him any attention. That was one of the things he liked about supermarket work. People generally left you alone unless they needed to know where the pesto sauce was.

The scanner chirped.

BATTERY LOW.

Bert shoved the pallet forward with his foot, feeling the familiar resistance of cheap plastic wheels against linoleum that had been mopped too many times and cleaned not quite enough.

Above him the lights dimmed.Just slightly. Barely noticeable.Then one of them flickered—a brief stutter, like a heartbeat skipping.Bert paused, hand hovering over the next box.

For a brief second the entire aisle seemed to stutter in white flashes, the products on the shelves losing definition beneath the strobing light.Then it steadied again.Bert stood completely still.Something about it felt wrong.Not dangerous. Familiar.Like hearing half a remembered song through a wall.He stared at the light for longer than was reasonable.

"You alright there, Bert?"

He glanced over. Al from fruit and veg was heading toward the break room, already opening his can of iced coffee.It was ten in the morning.

"Yeah," Bert said.

"You were just standing there staring at the lights."

"I do that sometimes."

Al nodded like that explained absolutely nothing.

"Well it makes you look weird, little brother."

Bert continued scanning, trying to ignore the faint unease settling in his chest like cold water.

Black pepper.

Ramen.

Earl Grey tea.

Air freshener.

Dish soap.

The rhythm of it was almost meditative. Scan, place, scan, place. The same motion repeated until his wrist ached and his thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.He wondered briefly what he could do with the last can of beans in his cupboard.Beans on chips maybe.Then he wondered how beans would taste on crisps.Probably terrible.He'd still try it.

That train of thought was interrupted by the sudden and deeply annoying reminder that he still hadn't watched the season finale of Sarcastic Detective because the streaming service crashed halfway through episode seven last night.That bothered him significantly more than the flickering lights.Which was probably a sign of something.Bert glanced down at the scanner again.Still low battery.The red light blinked at him accusingly.

"Sod it," he muttered. "Break time."Mostly because he wanted coffee. Partly because winding Al up was one of the few joys still available to modern civilisation. The break room smelled faintly of burnt toast and industrial floor cleaner—the kind that promised to eliminate 99.9% of bacteria but mostly just made everything smell vaguely chemical with a hint of artificial candyfloss. Someone had left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter beside the microwave.It had been there since Tuesday, It was now Thursday.Al was already sitting at the table eating crisps while scrolling through his phone, the empty iced coffee can beside him like a small monument to poor life choices.

"You haven't drunk that already?" Bert asked, nodding toward the can.

"Don't worry little brother," Al said without looking up. "It's only my third. The kettle'll boil in a second."

As if on cue, the kettle clicked.Bert laughed quietly.

"That's genuinely upsetting."

"I've evolved beyond needing sleep," Al said proudly.

"You've evolved into a health crisis."

Al grinned.

"Same thing."

Bert reached for two mugs from the cupboard above the sink. One had a faded logo for an insurance company that no longer existed. The other said WORLD'S BEST DAD in letters that were peeling off.Neither of them were fathers.

The lights flickered again.Both of them looked up.This time it lasted longer. A full second of stuttering white light that made the break room feel suddenly colder, like the walls had thinned and something vast and empty was pressing against them from the other side.Then it steadied.

"When's Kevin actually gonna replace those?" Bert asked, trying to keep his voice casual as he reached for the coffee jar.

"He says he's waiting for a delivery," Al replied, still looking at the ceiling. "Apparently they've gotta be a certain brand to make them company standard."

Bert snorted and started spooning aggressively average own-brand coffee into the mugs. The granules looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd heard about coffee but never actually tasted it.

"Corporate loyalty," he said.

"Corporate bulk discount," Al corrected.

Bert poured the water and watched the steam rise beneath the fluorescent lights. For a moment he felt oddly disconnected from the room, like he was watching himself from somewhere else. A man making instant coffee in a break room that smelled like chemicals and failure beneath lights that flickered for reasons nobody could quite explain.Then the feeling passed.Probably low blood sugar.Or a brain tumour.Those were the two options the internet usually offered.He carried the mugs over and sat opposite Al.

"What you reading?"

Al turned the phone around slightly.

"Apparently a bunch of phone companies are getting complaints about flickering screens. Turns out they all use parts from the same manufacturer."

He scrolled down.

"Look at this. People saying their phones flicker at random times. Some bloke in Manchester says his went completely white for like ten seconds."

Al chuckled.

"And people still fight over which phone's best. They're like cults."

Bert nodded slowly, staring at the article.

The rational explanation was right there.Faulty parts,Manufacturing defect.Simple,Logical.But something about it felt wrong.Not the explanation itself. That made perfect sense.It was the timing.The specificity.The way the lights above him had flickered at exactly the moment he'd been thinking about them.

"That does explain Fruit users," Bert said.

Al pointed at him.

"There he is. That's the bitterness I like to see."

Bert took a sip of coffee and immediately regretted it.

"You on Spreadsheets Online tonight or do you fancy shooting zombies instead?"

"Nah," Al said with a small grin. "Big delivery tomorrow. I signed up to start early."

"Why?"

"Money."

"Fair enough."

Bert finished the coffee and after seeing another cat meme from Orangecake he stood.It's never dog ones, he thought.

"See you at nine then," he said mockingly, knowing full well that even if Al was up early he would be online that night.

"Try not to stare at any lights on the way back."

"No promises."

After his shift, walking home beneath the orange haze of the city sky, Bert stopped at a crossing and looked upward.He always wondered what the stars looked like without the street lights drowning them out.Then, for one brief impossible second, every star above him flickered at exactly the same time.As if they'd heard him.

Traffic moved again behind him and someone shouted for him to get out the bloody road.Bert blinked and carried on walking. Some people were weirdly aggressive for a Thursday.He shook the carrier bag hanging from his wrist just to make sure the tortilla chips and blueberry muffins were still there.Priorities.

Bert's flat was technically a one-bedroom, though that description depended heavily on how generously a person defined both "room" and "bedroom." The radiator in the living room hissed like it held a personal grudge against humanity and one of the kitchen cupboard doors only opened if you kicked the lower hinge first.Still, it was quiet.Mostly.

Once you got used to the sirens.And the takeaway underneath closing at one in the morning.That counted for a lot.Bert dropped onto the sofa, threw his keys onto the coffee table and finally opened Sarcastic Detective.

"Right," he muttered. "No interruptions tonight."

The streaming app froze immediately.Bert stared at the screen.The loading symbol spun once.Twice.Then the television went black.Not off.Black.Completely black.

Bert sighed. "Of course."

The bloody song started looping through his head again.Low.Rhythmic.Familiar.

"Bloody earworm," he muttered. "Hope they change the playlist tomorrow."

The television flickered.For a split second he saw something reflected in the dark screen behind himself.Not his flat.A silhouette of a massive city behind an impossibly tall wall.Towering shapes disappearing into sunlight.Then it vanished.The streaming service menu returned.Bert sat completely still.The first explanation was exhaustion.The second was stress.The third was that he'd finally lost his mind.The annoying thing was all three felt equally plausible.After a moment he picked up the remote, turned the television off and then unplugged it from the wall for good measure.

"Right," he said quietly. "Either I'm having a breakdown or this streaming service has become significantly more immersive."

His phone buzzed.Bert rubbed his eyes and picked it up.

AL:
where are you guys

BERT:
5 min

AL:
comms?

BERT:
Make it 10, im making a drink

ORANGECAKE:
out with the mrs, gonna be late lads

AL:
traitor

.

He was tired.That was all.Too much work.Too little sleep.Too much sci-fi nonsense melting his brain.

Nothing mysterious about that.Bert walked over to his PC and started it up. While it loaded he wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on.Decaf this time.Better not tell Al, he thought. Apparently it didn't count as a real drink unless it could legally dissolve anxiety through a ceramic mug.Outside, somewhere above the city, something moved silently across the stars.

Bert never noticed.

The headset crackled softly beneath the constant background noise of gunfire, explosions and OrangeCake shouting tactical information several seconds too late to be useful.

Bert leaned forward in his chair, lit almost entirely by the flickering glow of his ageing monitor. Empty mugs sat scattered around the desk beside half-open packets of crisps and a screwdriver he’d been meaning to use on the radiator for at least three weeks.Outside, rain tapped quietly against the flat window.Inside, digital zombies screamed somewhere down a virtual corridor.

“What the fuck dude, how are you surviving?” Bert heard over the headpiece after his seventh close shave of the evening. And it had to be Orangecake, he thought. Bert liked Orange, despite his trigger finger leading to a lot of friendly fire.

“You know me, Orange,” Bert replied. “Natural talent.”

“Okay care bear,” Al mocked. “We all know you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”

“Hold on a minute,” Bert said. “I only lose because none of you communicate. It’s not my fault your tactical strategy is screaming after you’re already dead.”

OrangeCake laughed down the headset.

“Mate, you walked directly into a wall of zombies.”

“That, my friend, is what I call strategic positioning,” Bert said dryly.

“You got trapped in a bathroom,” Al added, chuckling.

Bert ignored them both.

“Anyway once I get a new monitor I’ll be fine. I’m sick of this one flickering. I’m just glad it didn’t go static again tonight.”

“How long’s it been doing that?” Orange asked.

“A couple weeks maybe.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Neither is voluntarily playing with you lot three nights a week but here we are.”

Al laughed.

“That’s fair.”

Bert glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen.

00:47

“Shit,” he muttered. “I wanted to be asleep before one. I’m off.”

“Night brother,” Al said.

“Later lads,” Orange added.

The call disconnected.Silence settled across the flat almost instantly.Bert leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The monitor flickered once, then stabilised again.

“Yeah alright,” he muttered. “Message received.”

The dreams started three nights later.At first they didn’t even feel like dreams.Just fragments.Noise,Shapes.A woman’s voice saying something he almost understood. Not English, but close enough that his brain kept trying to translate it anyway.White clouds lit from beneath.A massive ring hanging in darkness.Rows of figures kneeling beneath banners he couldn’t read.Then:

fire.

A city breaking apart in complete silence.Bert woke suddenly in darkness, breathing hard.His alarm clock blinked:

03:33

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

He lay there staring at the ceiling while the remains of the dream dissolved from his mind like smoke.

Only one thing lingered.A feeling.Not fear or Grief.Like remembering somewhere he’d never been.

The next morning things got worse.Automatic doors opened before he reached them.

Jedi, he thought immediately.

His phone battery jumped from sixty-six percent to full charge while he was holding it.At lunch the self-checkout suddenly displayed:

WELCOME HOME

before immediately resetting itself.Bert stared at the screen.A teenage coworker looked over from the next till.

“You alright Bertie?”

“Yeah,” Bert said slowly. “I think the till just welcomed me like family.”

She blinked.

“…what?”

“Nothing.”

Back at work, Al found him staring suspiciously at a shelf full of macaroni cheese.

“You look rough.”

“I had weird dreams.”

“Well, have you considered a healthy diet?”

Bert considered this seriously.

“No,” he sighed. “Because then I’d have to develop as a person.”

Al nodded thoughtfully.

“thats true, brother.”

That evening Bert searched:

WHY DO WE DREAM

Then:

WHAT DO DREAMS MEAN

Then:

CAN STARS FLICKER AT THE SAME TIME

That search returned significantly more conspiracy theories than he was comfortable with.

One thread claimed the stars were “government satellites pretending to be stars.”Another insisted humanity had actually ended in 2012 and everyone currently alive was technically a spiritual afterimage.

A third appeared to just be a man threatening the moon personally.Bert closed the browser,Then reopened it thirty seconds later because, in fairness, the moon had been acting suspicious recently.

After a moment he searched:

WHY WAS FUNNY SITCOM CANCELLED

The answer somehow involved taxes, cocaine, a Rubik’s Cube and a mascot lawsuit.Bert was halfway through reading a twelve-year-old forum argument about it when the lights in his flat flickered once.

Then again.He sighed.

“Bloody updates.”

“Susan, turn on kettle,” he said absent-mindedly.

After a brief pause he added, “Thank you,” as though worried about offending the helpful AI.

“Okay,” replied the small cylinder on his desk in a calm artificial voice.From the kitchen came the soft click of the smart kettle switching on. The bubbling started to get louder and more frequent.A few seconds later the microwave started humming.Bert frowned. It was starting to become a thing now. He made a mental note to read the instructions when he had time.

“Susan, turn microwave off.”

The microwave stopped.Then the coffee machine started.Bert slowly turned in his chair.That’s a new one, he thought.It was a new addition to his kitchen. Apparently you could get twelve different types of coffee pods for it. He tried to remember if it was AI compatible or not.

“Susan stop.”

The coffee machine died, thensilence.

Then all seventeen fans inside his PC suddenly accelerated at once.

WHIRRRRRRRR.

For one genuinely alarming second Bert thought a swarm of bees had somehow broken into the flat.

Every screen in the room turned white.

Monitor,Television,Phone,Microwave clock.

Somewhere in the kitchen his smart toaster suddenly started playing a song about a man who was far too confident about being sexy.Bert frowned.It reminded him of his work shirt somehow.Then a single line of text appeared across the monitor.

GENETIC RESONANCE DETECTED

PLEASE LOG IN…

Then everything shut off.Silence filled the flat.Bert sat frozen in front of the monitor for a very long time. Then quietly reached for his coat.If he was losing his mind, he decided, he was at least going to do it outside for a bit.It was late and the takeaway shop below his flat was shut.

As he walked down the stairs, opened the door and stepped onto the now-empty street, the sight of abandoned takeaway trays and crushed drink cans somehow made the world feel reassuringly normal.

Bert shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets.He needed a drink. He still had work in the morning but after what happened upstairs he was craving something non-sugary to perk him up.Not coffee.Something cold,Cherry flavoured, preferably.

As he walked down the road to the nearest 24/7 he noticed the street lights seemed a bit dimmer than usual. Maybe it was one of those energy-saving schemes councils were always using to save money, he thought, so he looked up to see if he could spot more stars.As he looked up he stopped and wondered.Still there, he thought.

He tried to find the Big Dipper, then for a brief moment became aware of someone nearby.Not footsteps or movement.Just the strange certainty that he was no longer entirely alone.

He looked around but there was nothing. Everything was as it should be considering it was a main road. He carried on walking slightly faster than usual. Being out this late always made him feel uneasy.

When he finally reached the twenty-four-hour shop he pushed the door open and immediately regretted it.

The fluorescent lights inside hit him like a flashbang.Bert squinted and pulled his hood lower as the automatic doors hissed shut behind him.Earlier he had been a Jedi but this felt significantly more Sith.

The drinks fridge stretched almost the entire back wall.

Watermelon soda.

Apple fizz.

Kiwi lemonade.

Elderflower tonic.

So many choices.

Then he found them.

Cherry cola or Cherry lemonade.

Decisions, decisions.

Bert glanced sideways toward the multi-fruit cola and felt a sudden dangerous urge to become adventurous.What a time to be alive.Then, feeling half asleep, he yawned and headed to the counter to pay. Keeping his head down to avoid any kind of interaction, including himself, Bert remembered he had to get up in the morning and was starting to regret going out this late.

It was raining when Bert saw him for the first time.Not dramatic rain,Not thunderstorms or cinematic sheets of water crashing against windows.Just miserable British rain that seemed personally offended by human happiness.The kind that soaked through your clothes slowly enough to feel personal.

It was half six in the morning and the sky already looked exhausted. Streetlights reflected across wet pavement in long blurry streaks while traffic hissed through standing water nearby. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed briefly before giving up, which felt appropriate for the hour.

Bert pulled his hood tighter and trudged down the pavement with all the energy of a man spiritually prepared to die in retail.He was already thirty minutes late ,Again.Several times that morning Bert had considered calling in sick. Unfortunately the supermarket remained stubbornly unsympathetic toward conditions such as exhaustion, despair, and “not wanting to deal with people before sunrise.”Besides, company policy didn’t pay for the first three sick days, and Bert’s current financial stability relied heavily upon not having to choose between electricity and gaming snacks.Mostly gaming snacks.

Rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of his hood as he pulled out his phone and checked the bus times.If he hurried, he could still catch the 6:42.Technically it only took three minutes to reach the stop.

Technically.

In practice, the combination of exhaustion, rain and a deep-rooted unwillingness to participate in mornings meant Bert moved with the urgency of a sedated sloth.He briskly walked anyway. Mostly because wet socks were one of the few remaining experiences capable of ruining his entire day before sunrise.By the time he reached the shelter, his coffee was already cooling in his hand. He stepped beneath the scratched plastic roof and took a cautious sip.Burnt cardboard. Slight hints of regret. Possibly nutmeg.

The man sat alone at the far end of the shelter. Grey coat,  Dark gloves, Perfect posture.

Something about him immediately felt strange.Not threatening, Precise.Like he’d been arranged there deliberately.Bert tried not to stare.The man looked up anyway.For one brief second Bert felt an odd pressure in his head, like static building behind his eyes.Then it vanished.The man spoke calmly.

“You’re sleeping poorly.”

Bert frowned.

“Dont we all?”

The man gestured slightly toward the dark circles beneath Bert’s eyes.

“Visual evidence.”

“Fair enough.”

Silence settled again.Rain tapped softly against the shelter roof.Then the man said:

“You’ve been experiencing unusual phenomena recently.”

Bert slowly turned toward him.

“Mate,” he said carefully, “if this is about crystals or a pyarmid I really haven’t had enough sleep for it.”

For the first time the man’s expression shifted slightly.

Confusion perhaps.

“Why would lack of sleep cause pyramid concern?” he asked.

Bert blinked.“…what?”

The man tilted his head slightly.

“you seem unhappy.  possible mineral exposure.” He taps on his device

Rain tapped softly against the shelter roof.

“Are you using resonance quartz?”

Bert stared at him.

“I genuinely cannot tell if you’re being serious”

The bus roared past without stopping.Neither of them reacted immediately.Bert stared after it.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I think that was my bus.”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then the man added:

“You are Bert Holden.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question.Bert felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Normally when strangers knew his name it meant one of three things:

debt collection,someone from work,or he'd accidentally left his clubcard at self-checkout again. None of those possibilities felt correct here.The man hadn’t asked if he was Bert Holden.

He’d said it the way someone might state the weather.Certain.

Outside the shelter a car hissed through standing rainwater.The stranger remained perfectly still.No shifting weight or checking his phone.No awkward little human movements people normally made when trapped beside each other before sunrise.Just complete, patient stillness.

Bert suddenly became aware that he had absolutely no idea how long the man had been sitting there.

Bert felt his stomach tighten slightly.

“How do you know that?”

The man studied him carefully for a moment before answering.

“My name is Smith,” he said. “And I think we need to talk.”

Bert stared at him.

“Dude I just want to catch the bus.”

Smith studied him silently for a few moments, as though comparing Bert to something only he could see.

“You’ve displayed no advanced resonance behaviour at all?”

Bert frowned.

“You keep saying words like I’m supposed to know what they mean.”

Smith considered this carefully.

“lower language exposure.”he mumbled

“Cool. Im glad are having a nice time.”

Another silence settled between them.Bert took a cautious sip of coffee and immediately regretted it. Definitely nutmeg..

Smith watched him with uncomfortable focus.Not eye contact exactly.Observation.Like Bert was a puzzle missing several important pieces.

“so, you work in retail?” Smith asked eventually.

Bert looked at him suspiciously.“Why?”he finally said

“Your file suggested higher functionality.”

“My what?”

“No unusual abilities?”

Bert thought about it.

“I make a pretty decent spaghetti.”

Smith stared at him.

For the first time since arriving in this town, he looked genuinely confused.

“That’s it?”

“I mean… I can also stack shelves quite fast.”

Smith slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“This is going to be significantly more difficult than I anticipated,” he muttered.

Bert pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the bus times again.

Cancelled.

Of course it was. He sighed quietly. He already didn’t want to go to work and being late again was only going to make Kevin start doing that disappointed manager stare he’d perfected over the last few weeks.Not that Bert entirely blamed him.No matter how many times he changed his alarm, it kept resetting itself to 04:06:30 exactly.

Phone alarm, Microwave clock, Oven timer.

Once, somehow, the digital display on the self-checkout at work.Kevin had not appreciated Bert stopping an entire queue just to stare at frozen numbers. 04:06:30. Every time.

At this point Bert had mostly accepted that modern technology was powered by hatred.Technology had become significantly more irritating over the last few weeks.Rain continued hissing softly against the pavement outside the shelter.The longer Smith stood beside him the more uncomfortable Bert felt. Not threatened exactly.Just… aware.Like standing too close to electrical equipment.

Bert shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Sod it,” he muttered. “I’ll walk.”

The supermarket was only another twenty minutes on foot and honestly that sounded preferable to spending any more time talking to whatever this bloke’s deal was.He turned and started down the pavement.A few seconds later he heard footsteps behind him.Of course he did.

“Do you know where I can obtain a hot drink?” Smith asked.

Bert kept walking.“There’s probably a vending machine at the station.”

“I do not believe the station is this way.”

Bert sped up slightly.

The footsteps matched him perfectly.Smith reached out slightly, his gloved hand hovering near Bert’s shoulder without quite touching it.For a brief moment Bert felt an odd pull in the back of his mind. Warm. Familiar. Like the sudden urge to stop being rude to someone who technically hadn’t done anything wrong.He slowed without entirely meaning to.Smith noticed immediately.

“Your beverage is no longer retaining heat efficiently,” he observed. “I assumed this was undesirable.”

Bert stared at him.“…what?”

“The coffee,” Smith clarified. “You appeared disappointed by it earlier.”

Bert looked down at the paper cup in his hand.It was cold.“…right.”

A small silence followed.Then Bert sighed.

“There’s a café this way.”

They crossed the road together.Bert barely checked for traffic.A delivery van blasted its horn.Smith turned toward it instinctively.The horn abruptly died mid-blare.The van rolled past in confused silence.Bert slowed.

“…did you just break that bloke’s horn?”

Smith looked genuinely uncertain.

“I did not touch the vehicle.”

“Right.”

“Though the resonance field around local electronics remains unusually unstable.”

“You keep saying sentences that make sense right up until the end.”

They continued walking in uncomfortable silence while Bert tried to work out which poor life decision had ultimately resulted in this conversation.Smith glanced down at the thin black device in his hand. Pale lines of text moved silently across its surface.

“Curious,” he said quietly.

“What is?”

Smith looked up toward the rain.

“Precipitation in this region has increased by 8.2% during the current cycle.”

Bert stepped around a puddle.

“You talk like a disappointed weather app.”

Smith ignored this.

“The data suggests persistent atmospheric instability.”

“The data’s called England.”

Smith studied the grey sky for another moment.

“How long has your climate been considered acceptable for habitation?”

Bert looked at him.

“You really need to work on sounding less like an alien.”

Smith frowned slightly.

“I am not an alien.”

“That is exactly what an alien would say.”

Smith appeared to think about this carefully.

“That is statistically reasonable.”

Bert stared at him for a moment, rain dripping steadily from his hood.CIA, he thought. Or a dodgy corporation wanting to take over the world.At this point both seemed equally likely.