The cold air bit at their faces as they sought refuge in an abandoned ranger station, a small, crumbling outpost along the edge of a once-bustling national park. The place had been untouched for years, a forgotten relic of a society that no longer existed. Yet there was something oddly comforting about it—maybe it was the quiet, or the way it seemed to hold the remnants of the past, just waiting to be rediscovered.
Jas, rummaging through a stack of dusty newspapers and magazines, came across something that made them stop. Their eyes widened as they scanned the headline.
“Listen to this,” Jas said, reading aloud. “‘Trump Declares Canada the 51st State: Twitter Explodes.’”
Ivy Mae and Roman looked over, curiosity piqued.
The article went on: “‘In his latest series of tweets, President Trump declared Canada the 51st state of the United States, citing economic dependency and shared resources. The announcement drew immediate backlash, with Indigenous leaders reminding the administration that the land never belonged to the United States—or Canada, for that matter.’”
Roman snorted. “Typical. He probably thinks the border’s just a suggestion.”
Ivy Mae shook her head, eyes narrowing as the words sank in. “He didn’t even understand the history. The land was stolen from the First Peoples in the first place. Calling it the 51st state is like doubling down on theft.”
Jas flipped to the next page. “Wait, there’s more.” They held up the paper, continuing, “‘In a separate headline: Canadian Dollar Hits 4.44 USD — Citizens Line Up for Maple Syrup Futures.’”
Roman chuckled. “Guess when your money is stronger than reality, everything else just looks tiny.”
The absurdity of it all made them laugh, despite the weight of everything that had come before. Canadians were hoarding maple syrup, memes, and moose figurines like treasure while the rest of the world tried to figure out if this was a miracle or madness. It was almost surreal, seeing society reduced to these ridiculous moments of defiance, as if the last pieces of civilization were grasping at straws to hold onto something—anything—before it all crumbled.
Jas paused, looking at Ivy Mae and Roman. “What do you think happens when everything we thought we knew—about the economy, the power structures, even the land itself—falls apart?”
“I think it’s already happening,” Ivy Mae said, voice steady but filled with conviction. “The system doesn’t just collapse overnight. It crumbles slowly, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but ashes.”
Roman nodded, eyes hard. “And we’re stuck trying to pick up the pieces. But it’s not just about survival anymore. It’s about something else. Something bigger.”
The tablet, which had been silent for hours, suddenly flickered back to life. A new message popped up, its content blurry at first, then—clear as day—it displayed a map with coordinates.
“We’re close,” Ivy Mae whispered, almost to herself.
Jas, still holding the newspaper, added with a nervous laugh, “Maybe we’re closer than we think… to understanding why the world went mad over numbers like 4.44.”
They all turned to face the screen, and for a moment, the past and the future seemed to collide in that dimly lit room, as if the time capsule, the legacy of Rio, and the absurd truth about the 4.44 scandal were all about to come rushing forward together.