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away any further hesitation. He took a step forward and the doors slid open.
    Whether it was fate or just a stroke of dumb luck, he walked inside his intended location. The small cafe contained an unoccupied stage and a collection of small tables. Thankfully, only a couple of them were occupied. Most of the patrons held their own tablets and dressed in bright colors, many of them with light facial hair similar to Wasley’s. The words: Sub Terr hung above the stage, painted in muted orange. Ian took a seat at the back table and tried not to attract any attention, however no one looked up. The clock above a counter in the corner of the room read nine thirty. The person behind the register, a tall man with a goatee, was absorbed in a paper book lying open on the counter. The entire group of customers appeared to be detached from reality.
    In the corner opposite of the register stood a small book shelf crammed with old paper books. Ian slid off of his chair and approached. It would be a few hours before Prophet would arrive.

Chapter Nine
    â€œHow long have you been here?” A man in a black beret asked as he seated himself in front of Ian.
    He looked up with a start and closed the book he held. The title read: Before the Great Collapse: A Journal by Anonymous . He put it on the table and the man reached for it.
    â€œOh, good book. It was written by one of us.” The man stroked his clean shaven chin while flipping through the pages. “It can tell us a lot about the times before.”
    â€œWho?” Ian said, dumbly. “Anonymous?” The word slipped out before he could catch it. The man had intruded into his presence seemingly out of nowhere and Ian hadn’t had a chance to sort out his thoughts.
    The man smiled and shook his head. “We’ll meet under the heavens…”
    The sentence struck a chord deep within Ian as his insides suddenly became cold as ice. The man nodded toward Ian expectantly. He knew the response but couldn’t get his tongue to work at first, but suddenly blurted out, “…before the sky cracks,” a bit too loudly. The cashier and a couple of the other patrons lifted their heads and looked toward Ian’s direction.
    The man chucked softly. “I’m Prophet.”
    Ian nodded as he felt a wave of heat wash across his face.
    â€œOkay, then. Do you know what you’re getting into? Do you want to help us?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said and quickly looked around to see if anyone still stared, however, they had already returned to their reading. He also noticed
    that some more tables had filled up.
    â€œDidn’t your teacher tell you what this was all about?”
    Ian shook his head.
    â€œAs I figured. He loves to tell stories, but seems to leave some important things out.” He also gave the room a quick glance. “I can’t say much because they’re always watching, but think about this: Phineas is real and your nightmares do mean something.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œIs that all you have to say, really?” His brow furrowed. “I can’t believe that he had me take time out of my schedule to talk to you personally.”
    â€œHe said that he wanted me to get out of the house.”
    â€œYeah, I know about your problem and it’s pretty sad I think. People are everywhere. Get used to it.” The man removed his black jacket to reveal the red, long-sleeved, plaid shirt he wore underneath. A number of bracelets adorned his wrists. “Anyway, are you going to help us?”
    â€œI don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
    â€œThat doesn’t really matter. Let me put it this way, do you want the world to be real again? Do you like the fake sky and trees?”
    Ian thought of the hateful trees. “No.”
    â€œNo to what? Be specific. You really don’t talk to people, do you?”
    Ian felt his face redden again. “I