Three loud beeps woke Dave. The emergency alert flashed: Do not be alarmed. Everything is under control. He scratched his head. Outside the sounds of screeching tyres, shouts, crashes destroyed the morning calm. Frowning, he pulled back the curtain. Everyone was just standing in the street, staring up at the dark hole in the sky.
A shadow beamed through the hole, sweeping across the road, reducing the watchers to blackened shadows on the pavement.
Dave’s phone beeped again: This is an emergency. Seek shelter. Dave turned to run just as his window melted, and his skin ignited.
They had arrived.
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alt="A Torso for Tomorrow by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Rip in Time by Andrew Kurtz"
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alt="Tomorrow by B.G. Smith"
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alt="The Curvature of Space/Time by Lynne Lumsden Green"
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