Patrick felt nervous. And when Patrick gets nervous, he stutters.

“Are you, uh, well…” he was doing it again, inwardly cursing his awkwardness on the corner of what was once Maple Ave. in the heart of the Old City, which was what everyone called the officially unnamed buildings and streets outside City M24.

“Am I what, man? Come out with it, fer the love of Pete.” The grungy old man dressed in a tattered olive coat spat the words.

“No, my name’s Pat… Patrick. Not Pete.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Um…” the man was glaring at him, starting to get impatient. “Are you…dealing?”

The old man smiled on that, and fell into his “college boy” salesman stance. Why, of course, sir; always ready to do business with a gentleman such as yourself. Just step right this way and our dedicated team will find the perfect solution for you.

Patrick cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Levels.”

The walk back into Metropolis 24 was long and arduous for Patrick Aggert. For the bright, upstanding, and young student (only 153 next spring), the prospect of crossing open ground carrying illicit—scratch that, highly illegal drugs carried a definite fear. The Old City reeked of garbage, untold amounts that had been shipped off to the suburbs before the advent of “Clean Society.” Life without garbage, dirt, grime, and pests did have a certain appeal, but as Patrick took in the sights and the smells (especially the smells) of the decrepit town, he knew there was something to be said for dirt: it gave the scenery character, depth.

It didn’t take long for the clean, busy atmosphere of the city to return. A hypervert video screen floated by, a Government reminder flashing on the screen: “1.4 STEPS PER SECOND: EFFICIENT WALKING SPEED.” Pat sped his feet up to match, locking into the massive crowd that surrounded him, shuffling endlessly between towering buildings filled with living spaces. Patrick could see The Government Building from where he was standing, jutting up into the air high above all others like a towering suction-cup-base novelty dildo. The Grand Hypervert floated above it, broadcasting “REPORT ALL LEVEL-HEADS” to the entire city as Patrick shuffled into his apartment building, where he immediately felt the simultaneous rush and dismay of committing an expressly illegal act for the first time and subsequently realizing how easy it was.

The Levels were laid out on Patrick’s wall-tray. Small pills, three of them, the new hot commodity. They looked harmless, just like the vitamin pills he took every day along with the rest of the city. Of course, no one officially knew for sure what Levels were, since even admitting you had taken them carried harsh punishment. Possession or use: even worse. The dealer had been cryptic about the results.

“The first pill,” he had coughed out in barely recognizable standard language, “is a small dose. A relaxant.” He had held out the second pill, which was slightly larger. “The second dose is when you’ll feel physical effects…Have you ever been drunk?” Patrick had shaken his head no. “Well, it’s sort of like being drunk. A good feeling.” Patrick nodded. “Now, the third pill is what makes you Level.” He held out a tiny pill, smaller than the others, which glowed brilliant white like a pearl on the background of his dirty hand. “It will trigger the stronger ingredients in both pills.”

“What happens then?” Patrick asked.

A curious expression settled into the man’s face. “It’s different for everyone.” He said, and then mumbled, “But it will be something new.”

Patrick gobbled up the first pill, washing it down with a gulp of nutrient-enhanced tap water. He was looking forward to “something new.” He felt wonderful, regardless of any effects from the pill. He was stepping into uncharted territory, a pioneer of sorts. He had heard rumors that Levels were psychedelic, but the word on the street isn’t always gospel.

It was soon time to take the second pill. Patrick was excited to learn what being drunk was like. He hadn’t had an actual drink in his fifteen decades of life—a different kind of imposed “Clean Living” than garbage-less streets. The pill went down easily, and was followed almost immediately by a warm feeling in Patrick’s stomach that spread through the rest of his body. He found himself laughing for no reason, almost uncontrollably. He lost track of the time as he lolled in his verti-bed and watched his tiny cubicle swim pleasantly, and soon it was time to take the third pill.

As the pill traveled down his throat, Patrick settled back and waited for enlightenment. He studied the picture about two feet away on the far side of the apartment cube. The frame held an image of Maternal Chamber 42 at Hospital 32 in City B23. Those numbers were the only information Patrick had as to where he was born and raised. As he studied the picture, trying to conjure up lost or erased memories of his childhood, Patrick noticed that Maternity Chamber 42 seemed to be getting smaller. As he looked around the room in both apprehension and wonder, Patrick noticed that the entire room seemed…different. He glanced at the picture again; now it seemed to be 12 feet away, rather than two. Suddenly Patrick understood: the room was growing.

After confirming this fact, Patrick was able to step tentatively away from the verti-bed and move around his living cube, taking more than one consecutive step within his home for the first time in his life. He ran, skipped, and jumped from one end of the room to the other, which was now the size of a high-school gymnasium. And it was pulsing, growing ever larger and more magnificent. The furniture shrunk away into a corner and Patrick danced in frantic rhythms and styles across the unfettered floor. A state of pure bliss filled his body, and he couldn’t stop smiling a bright, ecstatic smile. Everything in Patrick’s life came back to him in one startling moment of realization, and suddenly the answers to his problems seemed to be within his grasp.

Patrick was so caught up in his newfound discoveries and freedom that he wasn’t even startled when he turned back to his verti-bed and saw his body there, just as he had been standing after taking his third pill. He wasn’t even alarmed when, two days later, The Police found the body and removed it from the cube. Patrick didn’t care; he just stood on the other side of the room, whose growth had slowed, but not stopped, and waited until they left.

And when the door of the living cube closed behind his body, Patrick simply stretched out and laid down on the floor.