by Kenneth Kao
People always ask me why I do it. They wonder how a man can stand in front of a rift-bomb and
calmly defuse it, knowing that at any moment it might suck me into oblivion.
I never answer them, or answer the question myself, but today is different because floating in
front of me is the rift-bomb that will kill me. I recognize it. It was meant for me, designed for
me. I am its trigger.
I should turn around and let someone else deal with it. But I don't.
No one is sure who sends the bombs or why. Are they sent to our reality by terrorists? By bored
alien children looking for amusement? No one knows. But they began appearing a decade ago,
popping up as tiny balls of antimatter in technological shells, waiting for the right trigger. We
thought we could contain them within our shield zones, little areas where nothing could come in
contact with the floating devices and absorb the antimatter should it explode, but there are too
many bombs now. We can't keep up.
And if the right trigger comes in contact with the right rift-bomb, without a shield zone --
Kaboom. No more world. Our reality is gone.
That's what our scientists believe, at least.