Beatle's Tale

 “Before there was Truck-kun, there was Tyler Greene.” said Debuu-ni.

It was later in the day. They were sitting in the shrine once more, after Inês had taken a few moments to regroup. For the first time since they'd gotten to this world, it wasn't snowing; it was hailing. The hard, icy rocks fell from the sky with might and threatened to tear through the shrine at any instant. Still, Debuu-ni sat solemnly with his back to the rice paper door, facing the four teens. Jin was eager to listen to what the bug had to say, but Marcel seemed jumbled. Lu was nervous, tapping her fingers on her leg mechanically. Inês, for her part, was ready to know the truth.

Debuu-ni inhaled calmly and started.

“It'll be easier if you see it for yourselves.”

As it said that, a glow came from behind the group; the mirror that had once granted them sentai powers was rippling and growing anew. They watched it hover over them and turn to face them behind Debuu-ni, who's red eyes were also gleaming. The reflective surface soon morphed into a sunny, urban street, with palm trees and a school building; in front, a sign read: Centennial High School, Welcome, Education Starts on Time. A bell rang a piercing sound and scores of kids soon flooded the way. A black boy with buzzed hair and baggy clothes was walking at a brisk pace with books in hand, looking back and around as if to make sure someone wasn't following him; Inês soon understood why. Among the sea of bodies, a taunting voice called out: “Here comes Ty-kun, about to tell us why the sky's blue in Japanese!”

A group of kids, a baker's dozen, laughed; others simply watched or averted their gaze as they quickly hurried past.

“Tell me, Green Bean.” continued the boy “Why do you have to be such a Carlton all the damn time? You know it pisses me off.”

Tyler turned and started to walk away without responding, but the boy swiftly grabbed the books he was holding.

“What do we have here?” he said glibly.

He skimmed through the collection of magazines, some of which seemed homemade, as well as the cellophane-covered manga.

“Anime Insider, Otaku USA, Gaijin Japanophile…” he read with disdain. “And Death Note?”

He looked at Tyler with a temper, his eyes dark.

“You're a fuckin' freak, you know that?” he said. “What's Death Note? You're looking for inspiration to shoot up the school? You finally decided to go full white?”

The boy pushed Tyler on the lawn, who fell on his back. He ripped the magazines and books apart, letting their pages fall like snow on him as he and his friends kicked and beat Tyler. Then, the bell rang again and he found himself alone, laying on the floor, bloodied.

Tyler was a young man, now, sitting at someone's bedside in a white hospital room. In the bed, laid a white middle-aged woman; she was pale and had deep, dark circles under her eyes. Her head was bare and covered by a scarf. They held hands as she tried to maintain a soft, pained smile.

They saw a cramped apartment. They couldn't tell if it was small or big, nice or dingy, for the place was filled wall to wall with books, magazines, DVD, VHS, video games, boxed figurines and toys, and miscellaneous anime merchandise. A lone calico cat with a pompon tail moseyed around the precarious piles of treasure, playing here and there with a gachapon. Tyler entered the room; he might have been in his mid-twenties, now.

“Beatle!” he called.

The cat scurried over to him excitedly and rolled at his feet. Tyler picked him up and pet him; the cat let out a pleased meow.

“Have you been lonely?” he asked. “Sorry about that. They've been keeping me busy at work. I'll try to make more time for you. Let's get you some chicken.”

It was a clear and balmy night; Los Angeles was full of light, and Tyler Greene was working late again. Inside of his company's self-driving ice cream truck prototype, he monitored the vehicle's stats and supervised the ride to ensure safety. Everything went without a hitch and the truck returned to its warehouse. Tyler stepped out and the door closed on its own behind him. He jotted down a few notes for his superior, and as he did, he heard something behind him, like a movement or a scuffle. Except for him, the place was empty at this time. He looked back: the truck's back doors, the ones which led to the freezer were both open. That was strange, he thought. He stepped forward to look and flashed his phone's light inside: the freezer was empty. He entered it, standing with one knee on the truck floor, and the other leg still out, hesitating. He was about to jump out when the door kicked him in the back and he fell in. They heard punches and yells from inside the truck, but it remained irremediably closed. Tyler Greene frozen, the truck left its Angelino warehouse.

They saw layers; strata of reality, like sediment in a riverbed. Some were ancient and dense, sinking at the bottom, other were translucent and new, dancing toward the top.

Humming like blood underneath the skin, pulsed the signals: words, thoughts, concepts, code, heat, noise. It was all meaningless until it wasn't.

There was a viridescent echo, too. No boundary between information and self.

There were layers of perception, and a master to guide them.

Truck-kun was born.