20 October 2060
I woke up hungover the day after Kuala Lumpur was supposed to end. At first, all I could understand was the sharp, heavy pain in my head. The outline of the room swam. A whole- body achiness gripped me. Slowly, things started to register: my desk across from the bed, Eddie’s face down next to me, his breathing still deep with sleep—then the smell.
A green fish-tank dankness swirled in the air. A gust of it hit me as I sat up, and bile roiled up from my stomach. I clamped a hand over my mouth, swung my legs out of bed, and screamed: my feet had sunk into slimy water.
“What? What?” Eddie was still groggy.
He rolled over to look, and I fought the urge to vomit at the sensation of warm, viscous, ankle-deep water.
“Fuck,” he said.