CRT monitors, OLED displays
You came too in a bright room — sterile, white. Visions of it dangle before your consciousness; occasionally, it would be interrupted by blobs, which you eventually pieced together as doctors and nurses. You felt that if you opened your eyes, you’d be faced with something you didn’t want, something life changing. To avoid it, you let yourself fade back out of consciousness, until your eyes would no longer stay closed, and you were forced acknowledge where you were.
“Doctor,” a female voice called, “Doctor, she’s awake.”
Anything above the soft beeps of medical equipment strained your ears, and her voice was no exception. You groaned, moving your head to the side in an effort to mute the noise. You go to rub some crust from you eyes, but she stops you.
“Oh, dear, don’t try to move yet, you’ve been through an awful lot.”
She’s right, you suppose, given that you can’t quite remember why you’re in a hospital. You have the faintest idea that something should be nagging at you when the feeling of nausea overtakes you, “I’m gonna—“ a kidney dish is shoved in front of you as clear bile comes up from you throat.
You try to sit up, maybe against your better judgment, but find yourself unable to.
The nurse comes over and places a hand on your shoulder, “Hon, the doctor is here.” She takes a damp cloth and wipes at your eyes, removing the crust and allowing you to finally see the room properly.
“Congratulations miss, you’re the second to wake up,” A male voice sounds from the foot of your hospital bed. A lit dart rests between his lips as he flips through your chart, never taking his eyes off of it.
“Dr. Storm was the first to wake up, we just have to check you before you’re allowed to join her.”
You look to the nurse in disbelief, trying to figure out if she could see the stick of tobacco as well, or if it’s just a figment of your imagination. That’s when you noticed her uniform. No royal blue scrubs, or scrubs at all, not even a military nurses uniform — just a white dress and a white nurses hat, red cross and all.
Something is definitely not right, and looking around the room confirms it. There were monitors, but not the sleek flat screens you were accustomed to; rather, there were a few clunky, cathode-ray tubes monitors displaying your vitals, while your IV bag dripped a vibrant yellow liquid.
You’d heard stories before, from years ago when you were just a teen. Your dad would’ve had a drink with dinner and would regale you, your mother, and your sister with (appropriate) tales from working at SHIELD. One such night, it was the tale of Steve Rogers waking up — SHIELD had made a replica 40s hospital room in order to ease him into the 21st century, with inaccuracies to gauge his mental state. You wondered, briefly, if you were living through the same scenario.
There were a few things wrong with this theory: first of all, SHIELD had disbanded a decade ago, and second… this was defiantly not a 21st century hospital room.
“Which hospital am I at?”
“All Saints,” the nurse replies.
You’d never seen a wing of All Saints that looked like this.
The doctor makes his way over to you, stethoscope in hand and dart between his fingers. While listening to your breaths and examining your blood pressure, the nurse listed off questions to assess your mental state. Your name, your age, personal information. You wait for her to share a look with the doctor, something to indicate that your answer is wrong. Something to confirm your suspicion that something is wrong.
“Thank you nurse,” the doctor said, finishing his exam and blowing some smoke to the side, “you seem to be fine. We’ll continue to monitor you as we wait for everyone else to wake up. The world is looking forward to hearing from Dr. Richards.”
It took some convincing, but you were wheeled out of your room eventually, with the promise of seeing your team mates. The halls only reiterated what you had believed in your hospital room, that this was a wing of All Saints that was not privy to public, or prying eyes.
Sue was a sight for sore eyes, seated in a windowless, white waiting room. In her own wheel chair, she chewed the edge of one of her typically perfectly manicured nails while flipping through a magazine that obviously did not hold her interest. She perked up at your entrance, though visibly deflated upon realized you were neither her brother nor her currently off-again-boyfriend.
Your nurse parked you beside her and gave instructions that you don’t leave your chair, and grab a nurse if you need something.
You had no clue where to start with Sue. The pair of you stared at the floor, thankful that neither of you were sole survivors of a horrific accident that you still had yet to remember.
“Does something seem-“
“Somethings defiantly off.” Sue cut you off, passing you the magazine from her lap. The models inside wore drop waist swing dresses in pastel colours, pencil dresses in rich, deep tones, all with backcombed curled bobs and beehives.
“Vintage…” You looked from the page to Sue, attempting to understand her meaning.
She took the booklet back, flipping to the cover and pointing to the print date. Vogue magazine, March issue from this year.
“So it’s a throw back issue — Sue, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
She rolled her eyes and grabbed another magazine from her pile, “they’re all photographed the same, same styles, everything. But more importantly, they’re current, and describe this as the current fashion.”
You looked back at the magazine and began flipping through it yourself. She was right. It was like JFK had been shot and everything froze, you even recognized some of the models in the magazine. This confirmed it: you were not in your New York.
“I haven’t been able to find any science literature, I doubt the hospital would have any for light reading…” She trailed off as you thought, anything on what else added to your ongoing theory.
It hit you after a moment, “The monitors,” you whipped your head around the room (much to your necks dismay) to try and find one, “they’re all CRT style, but they all have OLED style graphics.”
She looked at you for a moment, waiting for you to elaborate. You forget sometimes that doctorates are specific, and that she’s an archeologist.
You spot a monitor and spy around for a remote, “I used to watch a lot of TV at my grandparents house,” you spot one, though its more accurate name is probably a ‘clicker’ and wheel yourself over to it despite the nurses previous instructions.
“Remember going to your grandparents place, or, like, the first TV you had — it was probably big an boxy like this, called a CRT. You’d feel static off it when you’d get close to the screen, it let off white noise constantly, it took forever to turn on and off, but, but most importantly the picture was fuzzy because of a lower resolution and less pixels and — whatever,” you wave your hand, dismissing yourself as your press the bright red power button.
The screen clicks on, instantly and silently, displaying a woman on the shopping channel promoting cubic zirconia earrings. The picture was remarkably clear, to the point of being able to see the weeks worth of growth on her pearl-pink acrylic manicure
Gesturing to the screen, you continue: “This is way too clear for a CRT display, this is more like our TV’s now. Ours work off of OLED displays, which allow for HD picture. To refit an OLED display to a CRT system would be ridiculous, you’d spend more time doing it than its worth and the cost-”
“It shouldn’t exist in a hospital of all places.” Sue cuts you off, understanding the gist of what you were saying.
You nod, “I’m sure if you found some tech magazine you’d find a lot of the same. Old hardware, new software.”
The epiphany sits heavy in the room. Something is decidedly not right, and neither of you have any way to fix it, nor as the rest of your group awoken.
It hits you that your family is not here, and all you can do is sit and stare as the woman on screen moves on to a pair of pink, faux spinel earrings, then a (shockingly) real blue sapphire pendant. The program started itself over. Neither of you took the clicker to change it.
Johnny and Reed had been next, wheeled in simultaneously, then hours later Ben. Though you felt camaraderie with each of them, and Ben had asked you if you were okay, you realized a wall had gone up, with you as an outsider and them as insiders.
It had been like this before, but you had hoped this shared experience would remedy it. Sue shared your findings with them, and compliments on her intelligence began to pour from Reeds mouth; when she pointed out that it was you who had made the connection, his complements changed to a simple ‘Oh, good work.’
Status quo returned.
Your doctor returned and debriefed you all on what had happened, given that the lot of you were suffering from some serious short term amnesia:
“At seven hundred, thirty hours, the extra terrestrial storms you had been studying hit your space craft, causing systems wide malfunctions; the black box on board indicated that you as well as a small sample of the storm made it to the emergency escape pod at seven hundred forty-five hours, and ejected. At nine hundred hours, your emergency craft was recovered from the Atlantic Ocean, with minimal damage, approximately twenty minutes after impact.” He paused and looked at the group, before cracking a smile and pulling a pack of darts from his pocket, shaking one out and bringing it to his lips before lighting it.
“You’re all, remarkably, in perfect shape. More or less. I’ve discussed with each of you individually if theres any concern. I am extremely happy to let you all know that you will be returning to the Baxter building tonight.”
Johnny let out a hoot and some awkward thank you’s were given to the doctor.
“Now, this is only because we are confident in your health, as well as Dr. Richards amenities at the Baxter building — my colleagues and I will personally be visiting to monitor your on going health until we can be sure there are no long term effects from your trip.”
It all felt very dream-like, like how your brain will tell you that the person in your dream is your life long best friend, but their wearing someone else’s face. You were being told everything was fine, that nothing had changed, but your senses told you otherwise. The world simply passed you by, nurses putting you in hospital issue clothing, packing you into a car, and ending you off. No one spoke, same as the waiting room.
Arrival at the Baxter building compounded on what you already knew: the lay out was almost the same, but the furniture was all wrong.
There was one stark difference.
A four and a half foot tall white robot greeted you all at the threshold of the penthouse, seemingly rejoicing at your return. And though it didn’t speak, at least not any known dialect, you knew what it, what he, ment.
The other four members of your group brushed him off, leaving in search of their rooms. You, however, had not ben gifted with a room in the Baxter building. Another way for Reed to keep prying, government eyes from his work.
The robot, with ‘HERBIE’ etched into his chest stuck close to you, gears whirring and pincers looking you over, almost like a younger cousin making sure you were okay after you wiped out. Then, he turned around abruptly, leaving you like the rest of the group had.
It stung a little more than the rest of them. This robot was obviously programmed to care about you all, and now he had spent all the energy it had for you. He was going to move on, find someone else to fuss over, and you’d be alone again. Only this time you didn’t know if you had a home to return to, nor the energy to try and bring down the emotional wall between you and the rest of the team.
HERBIE paused a foot or so away from you, when he realized you weren’t following him. He whipped back around and grabbed hold of your sleeve with one of his pincers, forcing you to follow him.
Okay, maybe your overtired and traumatized brain disasterized a robot turning around.
You walked through the penthouse, marvelling at the decor and peaking into rooms when you could. This version of Reed had done well for himself, extremely well. You imagined that his wealth had to have rivalled Tony Starks. He had a god damn laboratory built into his apartment, and that was something your version Reed had cobbled together.
HERBIE paused at a door, pushing you towards it. Without much thought you opened it. It was, nearly mark for mark, a dated version of your bedroom at home. The colours were all there, some of the patterns — the most drastic difference being the style of furniture. A ball chair sat in the corner, next to a music centre. Upon a dresser sat trinkets and jewelry, beside a desk that was littered in papers, the same CRT style computers as the hospital, and photographs, and finally the bed — a double wide mattress topped a wood panelled bed frame, with built in side tables on both sides, again littered with photographs.
You raced to them, spying your parents, but not your sister. In her place was a boy. He was unmistakably her, with the photos being shot-for-shot recreations of the photographs you had at home. They could have been twins. You suppose. In some sort of cosmic way, they were twins. Footsteps paused at your door, and a glance back revealed Ben.
“Good, I’m glad you have a room. Didn’t want you out there.” He paused awkwardly before continuing. “It’s uh, it’s getting pretty dark. I’m gonna scrounge around for some food while Reed dumbs this all down for us.”
You nod and take one last glance at the photographs before getting up.
The living room consists of a blue conversation pit aligned around a free standing fireplace, with side tables scattered about inside of the pit, and abstract art hanging from the ceiling. The entire room overlooked a familiar, yet foreign New York skyline. Some staples were missing, most notably Avengers tower, though you could have sworn you saw the Chrysler building. Reed stood alone in the living room, overlooking the skyline and running his hands through his slicked back hair. You seem to recall that being one of his ‘I need to think’ quirks.
Connected to the living room was a sleek, orange and white kitchen and dining room, where Ben was currently scavenging. Glass refrigerator doors showed little in the way of fresh produce, some bottled drinks and preserves scarcely populated the shelves, and the pilot muttered to himself as he looked through cabinets. It was obvious no one had stocked up on groceries before they left.
With two notable members missing, you took it upon yourself to poke around the kitchen, while still staying out of Ben’s way. The cupboard yielding very little, save for a box of dried macaroni, some saltine crackers, and an unopened jar of pasta sauce. Thankfully, two of those items could create supper and Ben was able to pull something together, though he was none too pleased about the lack of spices to be found.
Your inspection of the fridge led you to an interesting discovery, a breadcrumb to this version of yourself: red pepper jelly.
It’s hard to find in New York City, much more popular with the more rural communities. You should know — you’ve scavenged every grocery store in the five boroughs looking for it, and have rarely found one worth the cost. Your parents have to bring it for you whenever they visit.
To your knowledge, the rest of the team hasn’t heard of it, based only on the confused looks you got when you had asked them if they had any clue where to get a jar of it. This, along with the room that seemed to belong to you, painted much more comforting picture of what this version of your life looked like.
Johnny came running in, jumping the couch cushions of the conversation pit and sliding against the floor, narrowly missing the fireplace. The commotion caused you and Reed to jump, then quickly look away as Sue entered the room already scolding her brother.
Interrupting Sue, much to her annoyance, Reed cleared his throat and clapped his hands, calling attention to himself as if he were back in his lecture hall.
“Well, as we have established, we have not made it home.” He sounded awkward for once, his usual charm and confidence showing some cracks, undoubtably from the days circumstances. You took a seat at the dining table, while Johnny and Sue sat on the couches, HERBIE becoming stationary next to you. Ben set a timer for the food and directed his attention towards his friend.
“I’m sure everybody remembers a few years ago when the hero ‘Mysterio” was all over the news. He had come from another reality, or rather another Earth. I believe that we are in the same situation.” Reed paced, muttering to himself before sharing his thoughts with the rest of you, “Theres no use in ruminating on all of this tonight, I’ll begin research tomorrow on what our exact situation is, and how to get us home.”
No body left after Reed’s explanation. There were no words of encouragement or affirmation. You all just continued sitting there, no words between you. Ben had distributed supper at some point, but no one gathered them for the dishwasher, they laid on side tables, developing a crust as the sauce sits in the open air.
You all slept in the living room that first night back. You and Sue on couches, Johnny and Reed upright in chairs, Ben… Ben laid on the floor. ‘Slept’ isn’t actually an accurate description of what happened that night: you were all awake, just too apprehensive to sleep. There was no talking, no joking, just the five of your trying to cope with your new reality and HERBIE powered down for the night.
You must have fallen asleep at some point, though. The morning elicited a symphony of screams from those in the living room, causing you to jolt upright.