Chapter 2

Nexus Mapping Sequence

3154 4898 - film - Speed (1994)

5482 4039 – song – NOFX – The Decline

3154 4898 - film - The Matrix

* Nexus Mapping Sequence media is provided to support chapter contents.

When the bus finally pulled up, it was late and packed to the brim. Ethan sighed heavily, already regretting his decision to stick to public transit. Stepping on board, he was greeted by a wall of stale, humid air that carried a potent mix of sweat and exhaust fumes. The only available spot was a narrow sliver of space between two burly construction workers, their bright neon vests dulled with grime.

Squeezing in, Ethan immediately regretted it. Each man was determined to claim the title of "worst armpits in Atlanta," and the cramped quarters left Ethan with no room to escape the suffocating stench. He shifted uncomfortably, pressing his back against the handrail and clutching his bag to his chest, all the while mentally kicking himself for not accepting Will’s offer of a ride.

By the time Ethan reached his destination—after two transfers and what felt like a lifetime—he was sweaty, frazzled, and just a few minutes late. He stepped off the bus into the bright, unforgiving sunlight, smoothing his rumpled shirt as he trudged toward the building.

The manufacturing company’s lobby was bland and sterile, with plain white walls, industrial gray carpet, and an out-of-place potted plant wilting in the corner. Ethan’s heart sank when he spotted a man in a pressed navy suit waiting by the reception desk, arms crossed and expression stern.

"Five minutes late is not a good sign for your first day," the man said, glancing pointedly at his watch. His sharp features and perfectly combed gray hair gave him an air of authority that was impossible to ignore.

"Sorry, Mr. Garvey," Ethan said, swallowing his nerves.

"Just don’t make it a habit," Mr. Garvey replied curtly. "Come on, let me show you your desk."

Ethan followed Mr. Garvey through a maze of hallways, his polished dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floors. The walls were lined with motivational posters featuring generic slogans like Teamwork Makes the Dream Work and Excellence is a Habit, Not an Act. They passed a break room with flickering fluorescent lights and a few employees hunched over their food, their faces devoid of enthusiasm.

Eventually, Mr. Garvey stopped in front of a small, dimly lit office space. "Here we are," he said, gesturing toward a room with four desks crammed together in the center. Each desk was equipped with an outdated computer, tangled cords snaking across the surfaces like vines. The walls were bare except for a corkboard that held a few faded notices and a calendar from three years ago.

Ethan stepped inside, noting the faint smell of stale coffee and the hum of an ancient air-conditioning unit struggling to keep the room cool. He glanced at the desks’ occupants—three other employees, all immersed in their screens, typing mechanically.

Before Ethan could introduce himself to the three other workers seated around the cramped office, Mr. Garvey handed him a small stack of paperwork and gestured toward a computer.

"You’ll start with the training videos," Mr. Garvey said flatly. "Everything you need to know is covered there. Let me know if you run into any problems."

Ethan nodded, watching as Mr. Garvey disappeared down the hallway. Turning back to the small, cramped office, he let out a quiet sigh. It was going to be a long day.

Ethan sat down, the office chair creaking under his weight, and logged into the outdated computer. The screen flickered to life, revealing a clunky training program with garish colors and overly cheerful voiceovers. Clicking Start, Ethan braced himself for monotony.

The first video was a mind-numbing overview of the company’s history—complete with low-resolution stock footage and droning narration. By the third video, which explained the process of organizing paper orders into digital entries, Ethan’s eyelids grew heavy. The monotone voice of the presenter felt like a lullaby, and he found himself repeatedly shaking his head to stay awake.

Each subsequent video was somehow worse than the last, diving into painfully obvious instructions with excruciating detail. Ethan glanced around the room at his coworkers, all of whom seemed unfazed by the monotony. One man absently tapped his pen against his desk, while another scrolled through his phone under the guise of reviewing paperwork.

By the time lunch rolled around, Ethan had slogged through enough material to piece together the basics of his new job. Paper orders flowed into the office from various departments, and it was the "data entry specialists’" job to log them into the system. Ethan couldn’t help but smirk at the title. Specialist? He’d expected something a little more impressive.

The work itself required almost no thought—just endless typing and clicking. It felt like a task that could have been automated years ago, and the idea of spending his days this way made Ethan’s stomach churn. He leaned back in his chair and let out a quiet sigh, watching as his people shuffled down the hall.

"If you want, I can show you where the break room is," a man beside Ethan offered, breaking the monotony of the day.

Ethan blinked, startled. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts and the training videos that he hadn’t even noticed the three other people sharing the cramped office space with him. Nodding wordlessly, he got up and followed the man out of the room.

The narrow hallways were lined with the same uninspiring gray walls and scuffed floors that made up the rest of the building. They passed a few bulletin boards cluttered with faded flyers and outdated safety notices before arriving at the break room.

Ethan’s mood lifted as soon as he spotted two familiar faces seated at a corner table—Bobbi and Marco, already halfway through their lunches. Relief washed over him. These were the friends who had helped him land the job, and seeing them here was like finding a beacon of light in the dreariness of the office.

Marco looked up first, his easy grin spreading across his face. Bobbi leaned back in his chair, waving a fry in greeting.

"Yo, Ethan!" Bobbi called out, his voice still tinged with the laid-back Southern California accent he’d brought with him years ago. Despite living in Georgia for nearly a decade, it hadn’t faded.

"Hey, guys," Ethan said, sliding into the chair beside them.

Marco and Ethan had been friends since high school, their bond forged over shared classes, endless video game sessions, and a mutual love of junk food. Bobbi, on the other hand, was a newer addition to Ethan’s life. They’d met in an Intro to Sociology class during Ethan’s first semester of college. While Ethan had slogged through the material, barely scraping by, Bobbi had treated the subject like a thrilling puzzle.

Ethan had been shocked to discover that Bobbi had already graduated with a degree in graphic design and was taking the class just for fun. The idea of someone voluntarily enrolling in extra coursework blew Ethan’s mind. While Ethan agonized over simple decisions like what to eat for breakfast, Bobbi actively sought out new things to learn.

Marco, meanwhile, was on a clear path, having just finished his sophomore year at Georgia Tech. To Ethan, Marco and Bobbi seemed like they had everything figured out—or at least gave off the illusion of it.

"What’s up, Ethan?" Bobbi asked, tossing a fry into his mouth.

"Oh, nothing much," Ethan replied, sighing dramatically. "Just soaking up the joys of data entry."

"Don’t worry, man," Marco said, grinning. "It gets better."

"Really?" Ethan asked, hopeful for a second.

"No," Bobbi chimed in with a smirk, "not really."

Ethan couldn’t help but laugh.

The three of them worked in different departments. Bobbi had landed a spot in the art department, where he thrived, his creativity shining through in projects that Ethan could barely wrap his head around. Marco, on the other hand, worked in the warehouse, coordinating shipments and inventory.

As they ate, Bobbi reminded Ethan about movie night. He’d texted earlier, suggesting they switch things up from their usual routine of playing Minecraft or Elden Ring. Instead, they’d be watching Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Ethan had seen the movie a dozen times, but it didn’t matter—it was Bobbi’s favorite, and spending the evening with his friends felt like a much-needed escape from the chaos of his life.

"Hey, man, do you need a ride tonight?" Bobbi asked, glancing up from his phone.

"No, I should be okay," Ethan said quickly. "It’s not too far of a walk."

He didn’t want to admit the truth—that "not too far" meant from his mom’s house. Moving back home after dropping out of college had been a bitter pill to swallow, and even now, the sting of it hadn’t faded. His independence felt shattered, and the return to his childhood room left him feeling like a failure.

As they wrapped up lunch, Ethan found himself grateful for moments like this. His life might feel like it was spiraling, but at least he had friends to keep him grounded—even if they were spiraling alongside him.

While Marco would do anything for Ethan, he wasn’t the type to let him off the hook. Marco had a way of keeping Ethan grounded, and nothing was off-limits when it came to teasing him—especially living with his mom.

"I know you hate hearing it, but you gotta move out of your mom’s place," Marco said, nudging Ethan with his elbow. "Why don’t you move in with us?"

"I don’t know, man," Ethan said, scratching the back of his head. "I’m so broke right now, and this job doesn’t exactly pay well."

"No worries, bro, we got you," Bobbi chimed in, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah," Marco added with a grin. "You’re welcome at our place anytime."

The two had moved in together a few months ago, and their house had quickly become the go-to hangout spot for their circle of friends. In truth, Ethan already spent more time there than at home. Since moving back in with his mom, he found their interactions grating. As much as he loved her, the closeness brought old frustrations to the surface. If things kept going the way they were, Ethan thought, maybe he would take Bobbi and Marco up on their offer.

Lunch came and went, and the rest of the workday dragged by. Ethan processed a few orders, feeling satisfied that he’d managed to do everything correctly. His main goal was to avoid any further interaction with Mr. Garvey, whose odd demeanor had set off warning bells on day one.

When five o’clock finally rolled around, Ethan bolted for the bus stop, eager to get home. The ride was painfully slow, but his mind raced ahead to the evening. He had just enough time to shower, grab a bite, and head out the door.

At home, Ethan stepped into the foyer and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the overburdened coat rack near the door. The house smelled incredible, and his stomach rumbled as he followed the aroma to the kitchen.

His mom and younger brother, Vincent, were already eating dinner—a steaming tray of homemade lasagna, one of Ethan’s favorites, sat on the table. He immediately grew suspicious.

"Are you trying to bribe me or something?" Ethan asked, grinning.

"No, not me," Rachel Fuller replied warmly. "I felt bad about last night and wanted to do something nice after your first day."

Ethan sat down and helped himself to a generous portion. As much as he resented living at home, he could never stay mad when his mom cooked for him.

"So, how was your first day?" Rachel asked, passing him a napkin.

"Did you feel like the space monkey?" Vincent chimed in, his words muffled by a mouthful of lasagna.

"It wasn’t bad," Ethan said, shrugging. "And yeah, I definitely felt like a code monkey. But it went okay."

"Well, that’s good," Rachel said with a nod.

"Bobbi and Marco invited me to hang out tonight," Ethan said, his tone bright. "Hope you don’t mind if I eat and run."

"I thought we were going to hang out tonight," Vincent said, his face falling.

"Sorry, man," Ethan said, wincing. "Maybe next time."

Vincent sulked in his chair, stabbing at his lasagna with his fork. At fourteen, he idolized his older brother, even if Ethan didn’t always notice. Ethan regretted bailing on him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Vincent wanted to follow in his every footstep.

"You should hang out with your brother more," Rachel whispered as she stood up from the table. "He just wants to be in your life. He idolizes you."

"I know, I know," Ethan said, sighing. "I promise I’ll hang out with him tomorrow night."

Ethan turned back to Vincent, guilt tugging at his chest. "Next time, Vin."

"Sure, sure," Vincent muttered, not looking up.

After kissing his mom on the cheek, Ethan grabbed his jacket. Just as he reached the door, he spotted the iPod Will had given him poking out of his pocket. Pulling it out, he turned it on, fumbling to find a pair of headphones.

Once outside, Ethan scrolled through the archaic device. It felt almost magical, filled with hundreds of songs from bands he’d never heard of. One band name stood out: "Listen to me first." An underscore pushed it to the top of the list. Curious, Ethan selected it and saw 26 tracks labeled simply as "track-01," "track-02," and so on.

A shiver ran down his spine as his thumb hovered over the play button. Finally, he pressed it.

"Ethan," a welcoming voice said, raw with emotion. "I’m so sorry you have to listen to this."

Ethan froze, his breath catching. The voice was his father’s. Tears welled in his eyes as he paused the recording, trying to collect himself.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed play again.

"No one ever plans on dying," his father said. "But as a soldier, I had to make sure I didn’t leave you completely abandoned. I never wanted to leave you like this. I loved you more than anything in this world."

Ethan’s chest tightened as he struggled to process the words. Memories of his dad were so scarce—just fragments from old photos. Hearing his voice now felt surreal.

"Some soldiers write letters. Some make videos," Ethan’s father’s voice said, steady yet tinged with vulnerability. "But for me, music was always my anchor. It helped me make sense of the chaos, kept me grounded. I wanted to share that part of me with you. I hope these tracks help you understand who I was—not just as a soldier, but as a person, as your dad."

Ethan’s chest tightened, tears streaming freely down his face. His heart ached with the bittersweet weight of his father’s words, but for the first time, the ache wasn’t hollow. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, a small, trembling smile forming. It felt like a bridge had been built between them—a connection spanning across time.

"The first song I want to share with you," his dad’s voice continued, "is The Decline by a band called NOFX. It’s… well, it’s not just a song. It’s a journey. It’s anger, it’s rebellion, it’s everything I felt when the world didn’t make sense. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Maybe you’ll even find something in it for yourself."

The recording clicked off, and the sharp strum of heavy guitars roared to life in Ethan’s headphones. The sound was raw, unapologetic, and alive, crashing over him like a tidal wave. Urgent vocals drove the rhythm, every lyric slicing into him with startling clarity, like scripture from a sacred book.

He stood frozen for a moment, the world around him dimming under the weight of the music. And then he moved—his feet carrying him forward almost instinctively, each step fueled by the pounding energy in his ears. He no longer shuffled aimlessly but walked with purpose, the song lifting him out of his haze.

Ethan glanced up at the sky, now streaked with hues of orange and purple as dusk settled in. The music seemed to resonate with everything around him, turning his grief into something sharper, something meaningful.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ethan felt alive. He didn’t just exist—he moved, propelled by the rhythm, the words, and a new, unshakable sense of hope.