New York in 2101 is a wondrous place: Flying cars, markets where one can buy memories, and monthly subscriptions to Shake Shack.
“AAAAAAAAH!!!”
Hopper plummeted through the air, limbs flailing. This was not what he had signed up for. When denizens of Hell visited earth, typically they did so via demonic possession of vulnerable human souls: recently traumatized children, failing musicians, that sort of thing. Waking up in a weak, human body wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but it was better than this. Was Heaven really this low budget?
He fell from the sky, his only company the sounds of whipping wind and his own scream. Around him, colorful, ethereal light danced playfully, as if mocking him for his misfortune. He fell for what felt like hours, until at some point it stopped being terrifying and instead became monotonous. Gradually, the lights began to fade, giving way to thick, white clouds, like great marshmallows in the sky. By that time, Hopper had fallen asleep just waiting to arrive. He began to have wonderful dreams, dreams of his time as a human, and even as a lesser demon - a time in his life before all the corporate pandering and lack of work life balance. His dreams were interrupted by a sudden-
BOOM!
Hopper awoke in a smoldering crater in the earth. The smell of ash and sulfur tickled his nose and made his head spin. He rolled over onto his back. Every inch of his body was sore, as if he’d run ten marathons and then had an intense bodybuilding session.
“Oh, good, you’re here!”
Hopper looked up to find Lyra standing at the edge of the crater, studying him intently. Unlike him, she seemed perfectly fine, and even had a smile on her face.
“Took you long enough,” Lyra said. “I’ve been waiting for...” She checked her watch. “At least an hour.”
“H-How did you get here so quickly?” Hopper retorted, still lightheaded.
“I controlled my descent with my wings, of course,” Lyra said. “Don’t you have them?”
“No...”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Perks of Heaven, I guess.”
Hopper groaned and forced himself to his feet. He crawled out of the crater and found himself in the middle of a lush forest, surrounded on all sides by towering pines and rolling, green hills.
“Where are we?” Hopper asked.
Lyra tapped her chin thoughtfully with one finger. “Five Ponds Wilderness, I think. Somewhere in the Adirondack Mountains.”
Hopper scowled. “Weren’t we supposed to land in New York City?”
“We can’t just land in the middle of a crowded city, Hopper,” Lyra chided him. “We have to land somewhere remote, so that humans don’t see us fall from the sky. The good news is we’re already in New York State.”
He began to rub the back of his head. A lump was beginning to form there. “Great. So how far are we from the city, then?”
“A little over three hundred miles. If we start walking now, we’ll get there in about five days.”
“Five days?! What the fuck?!”
Lyra shrugged. “Could be worse. Until the fifteenth century angels who took the chute always landed outside of Jerusalem. Imagine trying to get to New York from there.” She paused. “Granted, New York didn’t exist back then. I guess instead you’d have wanted to walk to Monmouth or something. In England. That would have been quite a distance, it was-”
“I get it!” Hopper sighed. “Alright, well... I guess we should get going then.”
Lyra beamed. “Exactly what I was thinking! Come on, demon man, let’s get to New York!” She began marching away, humming pleasantly to herself.
“Wait! Do you even know where we’re-” Hopper face palmed. “Ugh, whatever. Fine. This is fine.” He scurried after her.
After about ten minutes Lyra’s humming turned to outright song.
“But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door!”
Hopper groaned anew. If Lyra noticed his objection to her song, she didn’t make it known. She continued singing the exact same song throughout their journey, even as days became nights and nights became days. It was pointless to ask her to shut up. Anytime he did, she apologized, then resumed singing less than an hour later.
Three hundred and fifty miles later, they found themselves in Manhattan.
All around skyscrapers loomed over them, blotting out the sun. Their glass facades shimmered in synthetic sunlight, the real sun having been blocked out by floating advertising boards swimming through the sky. On rooftops, elite "airstaurants" served meals made from lab-grown delicacies that attempted to mimic the taste of real food, like 'Almost-Chicken' or 'Virtually-Veggie Burger'.
A thick smog of pride and pollution lingered over the city. The elite of New York traveled in personal hover-limos, sipping on recycled water sourced from pre-21st-century glaciers (because, you know, it's "vintage"). A number of said elites sported what appeared to be cybernetic body parts: a bionic right arm here, a glowing golden eye there. Fashion had apparently become very weird. Numerous men wore satin suits with strange, bouncing coils growing out of their shoulders, like slinkies had been sewn into their attire. A number of women wore giant glass hats that doubled as fish bowls bearing endangered species like the clownfish and salmon.
They arrived at Times Square before long, a hurricane of neon and holograms. Performers apparently didn’t need to physically be present anymore; they just sent their holograms to dance, sing, and beg for something called “Shiba Inu 7.”
Amid the cacophony of colors and sounds stood a holographic news stand, its ethereal structure shimmering amidst the chaos. The headline flashed: "San Francisco 49ers: Will THIS YEAR Finally Mark Their Sixth Superbowl Win?" Just below the main headline, in slightly dimmer lights, the date shone: February 5, 2101.
“So, where do we find this memory market?” Hopper asked.
“It’s here in Manhattan,” Lyra assured him. “But first, why don’t we get something to eat? I’m starving.”
Hopper frowned. “I didn’t think angels needed to eat.”
“We don’t, same as demons. But food is nice, isn’t it? So let’s get some.”
Hopper sighed. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”
Lyra grinned. “You ever heard of Shake Shack?”
A few minutes later they found themselves in a well-lit, outdoor lounge with wooden tables and chairs spread across the terrace. Behind the counter stood a wiry chap with deep bags under his eyes. In contrast to the sour look on his face he wore a hat that said “Always Smile!”
When he spoke his voice was a deflated monotone. “Hello and welcome to Shake Shack Max Plus. What would you like?”
Hopper scanned the menu, knitting his eyebrows in consternation as he realized that two thirds of it was made up of different brands of IPA beers, many of which had the strangest names; “Santa’s Balls 69 Proof Octuple IPA,” “Homo Drool,” “Elf On A Shelf Meets Vader On A Tater.”
He couldn’t make heads or tails of the drinks, so he decided to stick to food. “Uh. Can I get a double cheeseburger?”
“Will that be real meat, lab meat, or impossible meat?” the cashier drawled.
“Um. Real meat?”
The cashier pulled out a small retinal scanner, which he used to quickly scan Hopper’s eye.
“Hey!” Hopper exclaimed.
“I’m sorry sir,” the cashier said. “You need to have our Real Ingredients monthly subscription package to order that. I can sign you up for that here, if you’d like. It’s thirty four ninety nine a month.”
“Sure, whatever. Sign me up.” Hopper produced the credit card Satan had given him and handed it over.
The cashier scanned it, then frowned. “I’m so sorry, sir, but we don’t accept money here.”
“What do you mean you don’t accept money?!”
The cashier regarded him sympathetically. “You must be new to the city. Most restaurants here only take crypto. 34.99 in Shiba Inu 7 Coin, or 56.88 in Tesla X Federal Reserve Coin. I can get you a list of other cryptos we accept and their amounts, too, if you want.”
Fricking Satan, giving Hopper a credit card that didn’t even work in the city. If he didn’t know any better he’d have thought the devil was playing a practical joke on him. I really need to get another job. Hopper was quickly realizing that the corporate life in Hell was, in fact, kind of hellish.
He sighed loudly. “No, that’s fine, I-”
“Wait,” Lyra said. She pulled out a small, metal card and handed it to the cashier. His eyes widened. “I can get you twenty million followers if you give us the meal for free.” Lyra grinned.
“I-Yes of course! Right away. Uh, ma’am,” the cashier said. He hit a few buttons on the holographic keyboard in front of him, and a green checkmark with Hopper’s order appeared on the holographic screen. “That’s taken care of. What will you be wanting, ma’am?”
“Impossible burger, please, but with real bacon,” Lyra said.
“Right away!”
Hopper turned to her after they’d ordered. “How did you do that?”
“I’ve got a human persona here,” Lyra explained. “My persona works as an influencer influencer.”
“What is... what?!”
“An influencer influencer,” Lyra replied patiently. “We influence influencers, help people get followers on their sosh, stuff like that.”
“...Sosh?” Hopper repeated, somewhat fearful of finding out what that meant.
“Social media, dude. You know, like Twitter.”
“Humans still use Twitter? Didn’t that company go under like... eighty years ago? In Hell we use a simulation of their corporate space as one of our tortures. Pretty popular with demons. Sixty work hours per week, and the only benefit the humans get is a soft serve machine that only has vanilla.”
“Oh!” Lyra exclaimed. “No, you’re thinking of the original Twitter, the one that got rebranded as X. They went under, yeah. Then one of their competitors, Meta, bought out the name Twitter and made a new version.”
“That’s just ridiculous.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is. Just be grateful. Thanks to me, you got a burger!”
Hopper sighed again. “Right. Yeah. Thank you.” He was beginning to get the feeling that this was going to be a very long trip.
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