We attached the explosives to the four corners of the Grid window with some clay-like bluish-grey putty. Al had upended the couch; using it and the cushions we made a sort of a pillow-fort—very reassuring, I know. He started to explain how it was actually the smart thing to do but Zoe cut him off. Once we were all underneath it, Zowie pressed the button.

It felt like fishing wires made out of needles were run through my body. Lots of bright lights, mostly blue-tinged, started flashing around. Broken glass flew everywhere. It was curiously silent, though—think “psychotic bass from a muffled subwoofer”, and that’s close.

I was the second one to come to. Al was staring out at the landscape before us, a very thoroughly destroyed city. Something seemed off about his face. It took a second to hit me—the guy was actually registering emotion.

“I know this place,” he said, as if he had read my mind.

“And where is it?” I asked.

He turned to me, staring with those pupil-less eyes of his. “This is where you died.”