Sep.1, Thorne Blackwood's Residence, Charles Street, Vancouver; Early Morning

The last few days had passed uneventfully. At the very least, Thorne was now equipped with all the school supplies he was expected to have for the upcoming school year. It wasn't even 7:00 AM yet, but Thorne was awake. He lay in his bed, in his underwear, looking at the light coming through the window. He looked down at his phone. Nothing particularly new, except for a reminder that the first day of school was only six more days away. It was raining outside… what a surprise. "It always rains in B.C…." he groaned. He was actually surprised it had only rained once before since he had gotten to Vancouver.

He got out of bed and lazily got dressed, then went to the bathroom and washed himself, splashing cold water in his face to hopefully wake himself up. He looked at his reflection, and got a bit closer to the mirror. He used is reflection to fix his gray-tipped black hair into his preferred style. It looked like he had a little-tiny-bit more beard than the last time he checked. It still wasn't much, but it made him feel proud of himself.

It was a little bit later in the morning after he made breakfast. He got a text from Heather, which made his phone make a sound. He read it. "Hey. I desperately need coffee. Meet at Dollar Star again?" the text message read.

"Sure," he responded. He turned towards the bathroom door and shouted in the direction of his grandfather's bedroom, "I'm going out!"

No response.

Thorne switched his messaging app from Heather's messages to his grandfather's messages. There were a few messages already in the log, from the time before and immediately after Thorne had moved to Vancouver, but he sent a new one. "I'm out at Dollar Star when you read this. I'll be back before the afternoon probably."

Thorne grabbed his wallet and his house key and put them into the pockets of his denim jeans. He checked once more to ensure that he had everything, then went out to catch a skytrain closer to Commercial Dr.

Sep. 1, Dollar Star, North Commercial Dr., Vancouver; Late Morning

"Hey," Heather waved. She was already sipping on a hot high-caffeine beverage.

"What'cha got there?" Thorne asked.

"Maple macchiato with extra espresso," explained Heather with another sip of the hot beverage.

"Mm, sounds good," Thorne commented. "Maybe I'll get one."

He walked up to the counter, where he observed that the same barista was working today as the last time he had been there. "Oh, hey," he smiled. "You were here last time."

"That's… kinda what having a job does to you," the girl commented with a flat tone. "What can I get for you?"

The girl had an interesting look. She had an Asian-looking facial structure with the skin texture of a Caucasian person. She had long, straight hair that way gray at the roots and black at the tips; almost like the reverse of Thorne's.

Thorne thought for a moment, before thinking of how sweet Heather's drink smelled just from across the table. "Can I get one medium maple macchiato?"

"Would you like extra espresso with that, like your friend?" the barista inquired.

"No, I'm alright with it as normal," answered Thorne. He paid the girl using the debit card his grandfather had gotten him when he moved to the big city.

"Name?" the girl asked.

"Thorne."

"Is there an 'e' in that?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"Perfect," she smiled. "That'll be ready for you in just a moment." She took a medium-sized paper cup out from underneath the counter and began the complicated-looking process of preparing the drink. Thorne managed a glance at her nametag. 'Snow' it said.

Huh, he thought internally. Snow. Now that's an interesting name.

"You know," the girl commented. "I've never met someone named Thorne. I always thought it was a fairytale character's name."

Thorne made a sound of acknowledgement.

"You know, maybe like a rugged outlaw with messy hair, staring up longingly at the moon," she described.

"Well, I gotta admit," Thorne responded. "The moon is nice to look at. But I'm not an outlaw, as far as I know. Could you imagine?" He went on, "Moving to a new city and immediately being called an outlaw?"

"Oh, so you're new to Vancouver?" the barista asked.

"Well, yeah," he responded.

"Cool. Your drink's ready."

"Oh! That was fast." Thorne took the drink, thanked the barista, and went to sit down with Heather.

"So, how's the week gone for you so far?" Heather asked Thorne.

"So crazy…" sighed Thorne. "I've only been in Vancouver for a week and I've already… I don't even know."

"So, tell me about it," Heather inquired, crossing her fingers in interest and leaning forward.

"It was crazy…" Thorne began. He described, "I guess I passed out or something… I just remember getting lightheaded while walking through the alley… but no one else was there. I don't think it had anything to do with drugs, as much as it might sound that way. Anyway, when I woke up, er, 'woke up'," he said, gesturing with finger quotations, "it looked like a computer was starting up… and then I was in some mansion or something, and some girl was there. She was wearing a princess-y dress, and a mask, but her lips and chin reminded me of yours, and when I looked at my phone it said that she had your name."

"That's… bizarre…" Heather acknowledged. "Go on?"

"The girl said she was planning a ball in 'just a few short days'," he explained. "She said it was to celebrate 'rising back into grace' or something…"

"Like I said over texting, I definitely wasn't there," Heather confirmed. "Maybe you were dreaming?"

"But the app that appeared in my dream…" Thorne insisted. "It's on my phone now!"

"Lemme see."

Thorne turned on his screen. There, on the bottom-right of the screen, was the app, labeled PsykoLink. Unsure of what it would do, he hadn't dared touch it ever since it appeared. "I tried to delete it, but it says it can't be deleted."

"Maybe it's a virus. You should get your phone checked," Heather suggested.

Thorne sighed. "Maybe…" He had a thought… maybe, as idiotic of an idea as it seemed… maybe, he should touch it. Open the app, and see what happened. Even if it did take him to that place… he now knew how to escape in an instant.

Thorne finished the last sip of his macchiato. "You ready for school next week?" he asked.

Heather looked up from her phone. "Oh, uh, yeah," she said. "I guess."

"What are you doing on your phone?" Thorne asked.

"Oh, just on that group I told you about," she explained. She smiled at the screen.

There was a message on her screen. It read as follows: "Wow, haha, that outfit looks really cool. I can't wait to see you at school, Heather! You're cooler than I thought." The message was from a girl named Samantha.

Sep. 1, Heather Holland's Masquerade, PsykoNet; Late Afternoon

Moments before, Thorne had been sitting alone in the middle of a small park, watching the clouds glide through the briskly-winded sky. He had tapped the PsykoLink app that had appeared on his phone, even against his better judgement. To his surprise, it opened into a real, professional-looking application. There was space for a list of names, but only one name appeared. It said 'Heather Holland' and the picture of the masked girl was next to it in a neat box.

Thorne had tapped on Heather Holland's name. Coming here this time was considerably less disorienting. His head didn't even hurt this time. Though he did still lose his balance on the ground that appeared beneath him.

"I wonder what that would look like to anyone who saw it…" he muttered to himself. "Well…" he sighed, "we're here now… so now what do I do…?" He looked around. "I guess I might as well investigate."

He walked forward. The app had taken him to the same hallway that he had been brought to the first time. This time, though, he was tempted to walk through the doors on the sides of the hallways. To see what he could figure out about the bizarre happening.

His phone made a soft jingling sound, almost like the sound a video game would make to alert you that you've done something right. He checked it, curious what the sound was for. His phone screen was automatically turned on like before, and he noticed he couldn't turn off the screen even if he held down the power button itself. His phone gave off a green glow from its screen… There was something highlighted on the screen.

It was a tab; a button saying 'Map'. It appeared on the bottom of his screen, next to the tab which said 'Headquarters'. He touched it. The screen swiped over to an overview. It seemed to display a map… obviously. However, the map only showed the small area which Thorne had already walked through. Thankfully, he noticed that it also included the areas that he'd walked through on his last visit. "This is helpful," he smiled.

Quietly, he opened the heavy door closest to him. It gave a resounding creak, but no one seemed to be present, so he slinked inside, keeping his eyes sharp. The room looked similar to the hallway it was connected to, but it had furniture in it, and a bookcase. Thorne looked around, inquisitive about everything he saw. There was a flower vase on a glass-topped table positioned between two curvy red velvet couches. He snooped around the bookcase, scanning the books on it. Most of the books didn't seem to have anything written on their pages, but a couple of them did. Thorne flipped through the pages, glancing through for information that could help him figure out what was going on.

"In this age, it is imperative that everyone where a mask.

By accepting the masks given to you as gifts by the people around you, you may find true

Happiness."

It was structured like a poem, though the message was much more like a constitutional law.

"By accepting the masks given to you as gifts by other people?" Thorne asked. "I don't understand…"

Sep. 1, Heather Holland's Residence, King Junior Ave., Vancouver

Meanwhile, Heather had just arrived home. "Heather," her mother greeted. "Did you enjoy your day out on the town? Did you hang out with those girls from school?"

"Um… yeah… I did…" Heather lied.

"Well? How'd it go?" her mother asked.

"I… uh… went to Dollar Star… got a coffee…" she explained, retelling her day with Thorne as if it had been with a different person.

"I made lunch, dear," her mom said with a smile. "Tomato soup and grilled cheese. It's a bit cold by now, but the microwave still works." The woman chuckled.

"Thanks, but..." Heather sighed, "grilled cheese is too much for my stomach right now."

"What do you mean? You haven't eaten since last night's dinner," her mom asked, feeling a little let down.

"I'm just not hungry. I, uh… I had a snack at Dollar Star." That, too, was a lie.

"Oh… all right, honey, I trust you." Her mom turned back towards the sink and continued cleaning the dishes like she had been.

Heather went up to her bedroom and plugged in her dying phone to the wall. She continued to use it, though. She pulled up a social media app, and posted a photo to it. It was a photo of her drinking her maple macchiato. She imposed a hashtag onto the image. "#dollarstarlife" she typed. She sent it out for the world to see. Immediately, she was rewarded with a small handful of digital 'likes'.

Sep. 1, Heather Holland's Masquerade, PsykoNet; Late Afternoon

Thorne was surprised to see an image materialize on the empty page before him. The setting of the photograph looked familiar… Yes, he had been looking at it not that much longer than an hour ago as he had conversed with Heather over a maple macchiato at Dollar Star. There was a female subject in the middle of the photograph, using her arms to make her breasts appear larger. There was also an iconic Dollar Star paper cup in the frame. Notably, the girl in the photo was wearing a red mask… a suspiciously familiar red mask.

Thorne put down the book, and sneaked back into the central hallway. He cautiously continued, into the central ballroom. Again, and unsurprisingly, it was devoid of people. In fact, not even Heather's masked lookalike was present. He followed the path that he had taken before, trudging up the curved staircase and through the hallway on the second floor where he had confronted the mysterious imposter the first time. Or, the 'real' Heather as the character had insisted.

There was a door at the end of the long hallway which had a huge, comical-looking pad lock imposed on it. Golden chains stretched from the bejeweled lock to the corners of the glamorous, imposing door.

Knowing he couldn't go through the locked door, he decided to look through a different room. He turned into one of the side rooms. This one was a huge closet full of outfits. Some of the outfits were on mannequins, while some were just hung. However, one thing was notable. None of the outfits were particularly formal.

There was a pencil dress, a hiking outfit, an outfit made up of acid-washed jeans and a skimpy-looking cropped top, and a few beachy two-piece outfits on mannequins, while the rest hung along the myriad clothing racks.

"Who could possibly need this many clothes?"

Sep. 1, Heather Holland's Residence, King Junior Ave., Vancouver

Heather scrolled through her media profile, looking through the photographs of herself and others that she'd shared. She pulled on up. It was a photo she had taken while on a family trip to the beach the previous week. She was sitting under an umbrella, wearing a sunhat and a black two-piece swimsuit. She was wearing wedged sandals and her shiny hair had sand stuck to its tips.

The image had been received poorly. Maybe it was just bad timing… Heather sighed when she noticed that there were only two digital 'likes' on the image. One of the comments said "Black again? Get over this goth phase already. Goth isn't cool anymore, and never was." Other comments reflected that same sentiment. She swiftly deleted the image. The two-piece swimsuit from the trip was still laying on her messy floor. She picked it up.

She looked at it… she liked it, but there was clearly something wrong with it. It was too black. Her style was too black. She was trying to be a goth, when goth wasn't cool… but was she? She didn't really feel any desire to express herself that way. Regardless, she threw the swimsuit back onto the ground as the words 'Photo Successfully Removed' appeared on her screen.

A distraught sigh blew through her lips. Silently, she resolved that clearly she shouldn't wear that outfit ever again.

Sep. 1, Heather Holland's Masquerade, PsykoNet; Late Afternoon

Before Thorne's very eyes, one of the mannequins fell over. It was a mannequin which was wearing a black swimsuit and wedged sandals with a cute-looking sunhat. He went to catch the mannequin, worrying its fall might alert someone who might be present. However, it clattered to the floor before he could even get close. As it hit the ground, it, and the outfit on it, disintegrated into computer code like dust.

Thorne was shocked. Did things in this world frequently just evaporate into computer code? He stumbled back out of surprised.

Thorne left the room, and proceeded into the hallway. He looked at the glamorously-locked door at the end of the hall. He curiously walked up to it. He stood before its imposing glory, and put a hand to his chin in thought. What could possibly be hidden behind such a glamorous door? That's when he heard high-heeled footsteps.

They quickly got closer. A lot quicker than Thorne could have expected. He turned around, practically cornered by the locked door. He expected to see the Heather Holland clone from before.

"It's you again…" sighed the false Heather. "I supposed I should be honoured that you're so excited for my ball as to come six days early, but I really must insist that you contain your excitement. It will do me much help if you just waited for those six short days to pass."

"Six days until the ball, huh?" Thorne asked, inquisitive.

'Heather' nodded.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know when it started. I was worried I'd miss it," Thorne cleverly fibbed.

"Well, now you're aware!" 'Heather' responded. "Although please, do come back in six more days."

"So the ball is on the 7th of September?" Thorne asked.

"Yes."

"Isn't that the first day of school?" he asked. "Do you expect a large turnout? People will be really busy that day, won't they?"

The masked hostess laughed, putting a silk-gloved hand up to her heavily made-up lips. "That's precisely why I planned it on that date! Nobody will ignore me on such an important date." She instructed, "Now, run along.,"

"Thank you for clarifying," Thorne sneered, fakely bowing from his shoulders. He pushed the 'Exit' button on his phone's screen and was taken back to the park. He didn't even lose his balance that time!

REVIEW QUESTION: Is it easy to tell when scenes switch between times, places, and perspectives? If not, do you have recommendations to make it easier to tell?