The only thing left of Brant McCain on Earth was a car in the parking deck. This was simply moved a couple of streets over and picked clean to an empty husk in the matter of hours.
His name was briefly mentioned in an Atlanta journal Constitution article, noting he was one of ten officers to go missing that year. With a flick of his fingers all mention of the gaming executive and his address were erased from anything Brant McCain had ever touched.
Brant’s life force had given him the last bit of energy he needed to conjure his final move. On a warm April morning, a large envelope from an eccentric billionaire named Mr. Blue arrived at the Sugarpig Productions office.
A week later, a young looking man with an eighties haircut and wardrobe showed up to the quarantine zone, ready to join earths first extraterrestrial colony on Moebius-9; Neo Miami.
As he checked into the facility, he brought with him his clothes, some computer equipment, and a clear backpack containing his best friend in the whole world, Mary. As he passed through the doors to enter the quarantine zone, a punk-rock looking girl reached out and stopped him.
She handed him his identification and said “Welcome to Neo Miami, 2372.”
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2372 will return. His goddess demands it.