Story debate.

He fell out of bed. The blanket came off with him and Arnie glimpsed a mass of blood soaking the sheets which his entire lower body had rested upon. He did not scream. In the dim light saw that his clothes were bloody as well. His brown jacket had moved from his closet door to his chair and the clock over his desk read 6:07 (something in him insisted this didn't jive, but he realized he might lose it if he tried to question it further).Arnie shut his eyes again, this time for a full minute. Everything seemed perfectly, impossibly consistent. He opened his eyes. The bloody bed was still there, like a hallucination come to life. He stared at it, then shrugged. If this is how it would be, then he needed to accept that what he saw in front of him was solid reality, and construct a reasonable explanation around it... Frustration was building up inside Arnie. He wasn't used to being outsmarted, ever, not least by his own psyche. He had absolutely no idea what had just happened to him. It was, literally, unimaginable. Then he looked at the clock again, now displaying 6:09, and realized that if he had gotten up at 6:06, then the time he spent in the prison hadn't passed at all. Arnie got to his feet. The door was slightly ajar (although he couldn't imagine ever forgetting to close it), so he pushed it outward with slow caution and glanced outside. The hallway seemed normal, but slightly off, in a disconcertingly familar way. There were voices downstairs. Creeping along the hardwood floor with a minimum of noise, Arnie quickly descended the stairs. As he stood at the bottom, taking in his living room, he realized in a dull way that he was in shock. It was a dull, alien place. The wooden bookcase was smashed to splinters (with books scattered here and there throughout the room), pieces of the ceiling were hanging loose, and blood and broken glass littered the floor. There were body parts poking out of the wreckage. Without thinking about it- he no longer could think- he grabbed a piece of wood and ran back upstairs. The voices from the kitchen paused. As he jumped out the window of the second story bathroom, he heard the siren approaching, and knew that he would never see his home again. ******* The quake finally tapered off and Alexander was sent in. Dislocation is something he could have experienced his entire life and still never really acclimate to. Someone had Bitten the Apple in some out-of-the-way suburb in Ontario, and it was way too fresh to risk sending anyone without natural temporal stability. Alexander had been in quakes before and, to his own surprise, emerged to find the world almost identical to before he went in. Psychological conditioning and preparation takes a hunter only so far, and full resets remove almost all the experience they gather over the decades. So naturally, Alexander had to go. Reality hadn't completely settled when he arrived on the corner of the street. Trees grew all around him in full springtime, and the houses were large and surprisingly well-kept. He turned onto the sidewalk and moved towards the house, with constant feed. Apple was not a normal sort of drug. Take a dose, and you would soon find yourself whisked away to inhabit the body of another you- that is, someone else in the multiverse whose brain physiology almost perfectly matched yours. They would themselves be shoved aside into another alter ego, and ad infinitum. The temporal pressure builds, until- like a rubber band snapping back- the last person in line goes into the body of the original user. They almost never have similar memories or experiences at that point, but identical physiology all around. There are billions of links down the chain. And that's why apes couldn't be allowed to use such power. Someone snaps and murders their whole family, and escapes through Apple- scrambling reality around them and multiplying the chaos a hundredfold. The ripples echo throughout the multiverse.