Meta No Peace

The apartment always felt smaller at night.

Maybe it was the way the single floor lamp in the corner cast a yellow haze over everything, shrinking the room into a box of shadow and stale air. Maybe it was the beer cans, emptied, crushed, stacked like little aluminum monuments to wasted evenings, crowding the glass coffee table at the center of it all. Or maybe it was the way three grown men in their mid-twenties could somehow fill the space with the restless, unfinished energy of boys who had not quite figured out how to grow up.

The television dominated the room. Sixty inches of bright, flickering ice. Onscreen, digital hockey players cut across a frozen rink, skates carving sharp arcs, the sound system exaggerating every scrape and slap. The puck snapped against sticks and ricocheted off the boards with artificial crispness.

Kirk and Pete were on the couch, hunched forward, controllers clutched in their hands, thumbs twitching with mechanical precision. Carson sat on the floor in front of them, back pressed against the couch, legs stretched out, a beer dangling lazily from his fingers. He was not playing. He rarely did anymore. He liked to watch. It let him observe both the game and the two of them, their competitiveness, their tells, the way Pete’s jaw tightened when he was losing and the way Kirk swore like it was a reflex.

“Ah, fuck!” Kirk barked as the puck deflected off the goalie’s glove. “Lucky save.”

“Lucky?” Pete shot back without looking away from the screen. “You’re shootin’ right at his glove.”

“He’s got a weak glove.”

Carson smirked and took a sip of his beer. “He won the MVP last year.”

“Who cares? That’s last year.”

“The game’s from last year,” Carson replied calmly.

Pete’s player broke free on a fast rush. A clean pass. A quick deke. A snap shot high corner.

“BOOM!”

The goal horn blared from the speakers, triumphant and obnoxious.

Kirk slumped back into the couch, exhaling sharply through his nose. A beat passed. The game reset for the faceoff. Then Kirk leaned forward again, eyes narrowed, competitive fire reignited.

“Double or nothing?”

“That was,” Pete said, still grinning.

“Triple down then.”

Carson tilted his head back toward them. “Good, so we can go?”

Pete tossed his controller onto the cushion beside him. “Yeah, I’m done anyway. I’m not gonna kill whatever pride he has left.”

He leaned back and drew from his vape, the tip glowing faintly before he exhaled a thick cloud toward the ceiling.

“One more beer before we go,” Kirk said.

“You said that last beer,” Carson replied.

Kirk cracked another can, the sound sharp and metallic in the small room. He winked at Carson. “I get it. You’re in a rush to see Kacie.”

Carson did not answer right away, but the slight lift at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“I don’t blame ya,” Kirk continued. “She’s been looking good lately.”

“Easy,” Pete said. “That’s his girlfriend now.”

Kirk’s eyebrows rose theatrically. “It’s official?”

Carson nodded once.

“Well shit,” Kirk said, raising his beer in salute. “Good on ya, buddy. Did Petey boy give you clearance?”

“Ah dude, shut up,” Pete groaned. “That was middle school.”

Carson twisted around slightly. “You dated her in middle school?”

“For like two weeks.”

“And what a glorious two weeks it was,” Kirk said, already laughing. “I remember you in my basement pouring your heart out about her.”

Pete rubbed his face. “Jesus Christ. That was the first time I ever smoked. I was high.”

“High on love.”

“Yeah,” Pete said dryly. “That was it.”

He tossed a pillow at Kirk, half-hearted, and it bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. Carson laughed. For a moment, the apartment felt warm in the comfortable way it always did when they were just three friends trading jabs.

“Pretty sure Codi will be there tonight,” Carson added.

“Oh, dibs!” Kirk said immediately.

“You can’t call dibs,” Pete shot back. “She doesn’t like you, man.”

Kirk spread his arms wide, mock offended. “What’s not to like?”

Pete shrugged. “I think her exact words were, ‘She can’t deal with someone who doesn’t have their shit together.’”

Kirk scoffed, pulling out his vape. “That was the old me. I got it together now.”

He blew smoke sideways this time, though it still drifted into Pete’s face.

“Can you hurry up with that?” Carson said.

“Relax. Don’t rush me.”

“And stop blowing the smoke in my eyes,” Pete muttered. “I can’t see shit.”

Kirk suddenly straightened. “Oh. That reminds me.”

He set his beer down and stood up abruptly.

“I got something to show you guys.”

He disappeared down the short hallway toward his bedroom.

Carson reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A notification lit up the screen.

Kacie: Where are you?? :)

He typed back quickly. We’ll be there soon!

From the bedroom, Kirk’s voice echoed. “Check these out!”

Carson slid his phone back into his pocket and looked up just as Kirk re-entered the living room.

He was wearing black-rimmed eyeglasses.

Pete blinked. “Glasses?”

“Not just any glasses,” Kirk said proudly. “Meta glasses.”

Carson frowned slightly. “What do they do?”

“Everything but see through women’s clothes.” He paused. “Hopefully that’s the next update.”

Pete groaned.

“Pete, slide over near Carson,” Kirk ordered.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Pete shifted reluctantly along the couch until he was closer to Carson.

Kirk squared his shoulders, adjusted the frames on his face, and stared at them like a magician about to reveal his greatest trick.

“Meta,” he said clearly. “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

There was a brief series of electronic beeps.

Then a smooth, neutral AI voice spoke from the glasses.

“You’re looking at two men. A TV is behind them. The video game NHL is on the screen.”

A final beep punctuated the sentence.

Kirk grinned triumphantly.

“Insane, right?”

Carson and Pete exchanged a glance.

“I mean,” Carson began.

“Isn’t that just what your regular eyes would tell you?” Pete finished.

Carson laughed.

Kirk’s grin faltered slightly. “Let me do it again.”

He adjusted the glasses.

“Meta, tell me more specifically what I am looking at.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You’re looking at two Caucasian men in their mid-twenties. The TV behind them is an Amazon Fire TV 60-inch flat screen. The video game NHL is from the year 2023.”

Beep.

Kirk beamed as if fireworks had gone off.

Pete shrugged. “Again, man. Stuff your eyes can tell you.”

“Yeah, but I know you. The glasses don’t.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “The things you spend your money on shock me.”

“One of you guys try,” Kirk insisted. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.”

“We already have eyes.”

“Just try.”

Carson raised both hands in surrender. “Alright. Relax. I’ll try.”

He took the glasses from Kirk. The plastic frames felt lighter than he expected. Cheap, almost.

“Alright,” Kirk said. “Just look directly at me and ask it.”

“Yeah, I think I got it.”

“Wait. Pete, move over here.”

Pete sighed but stood up and positioned himself beside Kirk.

Carson slid the glasses onto his face. The world shifted slightly, the frames narrowing his peripheral vision. He stood in front of them.

“So stupid,” Pete muttered.

“Shut up,” Kirk snapped.

Carson cleared his throat.

“Meta, please tell me what I am looking at.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Silence.

Pete smirked. “Oh no. They broke.”

“They’re not broken,” Kirk said quickly. “Just give it a second.”

“Please tell me you didn’t spend hundreds on these.”

“Just shut up.”

“Such a perfect waste.”

“It’ll work.”

“You could have bought.”

Beep.

“Shut up,” Kirk hissed. “It’s going.”

Beep. Beep.

The AI voice returned.

“You’re looking at.”

A long pause.

Carson felt something tighten in his chest.

“The man who your girlfriend cheated on you with.”

Beep.

Silence swallowed the room.

Pete stared at Kirk. Then he broke into a grin.

“Oh very funny, man. You’re hilarious. Programmed it to say that.”

Kirk’s face had gone pale. “I. No, I.”

“Dude, you’re such an idiot,” Carson said, yanking the glasses off.

“No, I didn’t. It’s obviously wrong, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Funny, dude. Real funny.”

“Can I see those?” Pete asked.

Carson handed them over.

“Okay guys,” Kirk insisted, words tumbling. “I didn’t. I don’t know how it.”

Pete examined the frames. “You plug it into a computer and write dialogue?”

He twisted them slightly.

“Careful!” Kirk lunged forward.

Pete pulled them away. “A fucked up trick, man.”

“I didn’t do anything to it.”

“Alright, let’s just go,” Pete said quickly. “Forget this whole shit.”

Carson’s eyes narrowed. “Why is it weird?”

“Huh?”

“I said, why is it weird?”

Pete chuckled too fast. “Because he made it say that.”

“I didn’t make.”

“Stop lying,” Pete cut in sharply. “We know you did.”

Carson looked at Kirk, and for a brief moment he believed him. The confusion on Kirk’s face seemed genuine. Then Carson turned back to Pete. Something in Pete’s tone, too eager, too defensive, did not sit right.

“Fuck that stupid thing,” Pete muttered. “I’m getting the Uber.”

He turned toward the door.

“Hold on,” Carson said.

Pete stopped but did not face him.

“Why don’t you try them on?”

Pete turned slowly. “You’re seriously going to play into his game of. You know what. Fine.”

He snatched the glasses.

“Alright,” he said with forced bravado. “I’m sure this is going to be a real spicy one, Kirk.”

Kirk stood there, stunned, scratching at the side of his head.

Pete slipped the glasses on.

“Alright, children,” he said. “Get close.”

He inhaled deeply.

“Meta. What do I appear to be looking at?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Silence again.

“Are you texting it right now?” Pete demanded.

Kirk threw his hands up. “I’m not doing a fucking thing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I swear I.”

Beep.

“Shut up,” Carson said.

Beep.

Carson stared at Pete, searching his face.

Beep.

Kirk covered his mouth with his fist.

The AI voice began.

“You’re looking at.”

Another pause. Long enough to stretch nerves thin.

Carson did not look away from Pete.

Pete swallowed.

“The man whose girlfriend you cheated with. And the man who will kill you for it.”

Beep.

Pete ripped the glasses off and hurled them to the floor.

“Oh fuck this.”

They skidded across the hardwood.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kirk shouted.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re gonna break them.”

“Good. That’s what you get.”

“That’s what I get? I didn’t do anything.”

“You made it say that.”

Kirk bent down, scooping up the glasses and inspecting them frantically.

“If these are broken, you’re buying me new ones.”

“I’m not buying shit.”

“Yes you are.”

Their voices rose, overlapping, sharp and frantic.

But Carson barely heard them.

The world had narrowed again, this time not because of plastic frames, but because of something cracking open inside his chest.

The words echoed.

The man whose girlfriend you cheated with.

He told himself it was ridiculous. Technology glitching. A prank. A coincidence.

But why had Pete looked like that?

Carson stared at the shattered reflection of the room in the unbroken glass table beneath them. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.

“That’s not even possible,” Kirk was saying.

“You made it say that,” Pete snapped, his voice fraying at the edges.

“I’ll show you on the box it can’t be done.”

Carson raised a hand.

“Hold on.”

Silence fell in a jagged drop.

Pete lowered his head, shaking it, a strained chuckle escaping him.

“Pete,” Carson said quietly.

Pete looked up, eyes flicking.

“Is it true?”

“Oh my God,” Pete breathed. “You can’t seriously be believing this.”

“Just answer.”

“You’re really believing this shit?”

Pete dragged his hands down his face. “What the fuck is wrong with everyone?”

“Then just answer.”

“Answer what?”

“Is it true?”

Pete stepped toward the door.

Carson moved in front of him.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Just answer.”

“I’m not answering the stupid thing.”

Pete tried to sidestep him.

Carson blocked him again.

“Move, man.”

Pete pushed him lightly.

Carson pushed back.

“I want you to answer.”

“You’ve lost it,” Pete said, voice rising.

They were inches apart now.

Kirk tried to wedge himself between them. “Alright, chill. Chill.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Carson said.

“Fuck you,” Pete snapped.

They bumped shoulders.

“Say it.”

Kirk’s arm knocked against Carson’s side. The glasses slipped from his grip again and clattered to the floor.

Pete tried to shove past.

Carson shoved harder.

Pete’s heel caught on the Xbox controller lying abandoned on the rug.

Time seemed to slow in a way that felt unreal, as if the room itself had inhaled and refused to breathe out.

Pete’s eyes widened.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing for something solid to grab onto. The edge of the glass coffee table struck the small of his back. The thin metal legs shrieked against the hardwood as his weight drove into it.

And then it gave way.

The table did not simply crack. It exploded.

Glass burst outward in a violent spray, shards flashing in the lamplight like fragments of ice. The sound was enormous in the small apartment, a sharp detonation that seemed to punch the air from the room.

Pete fell with it.

His body disappeared into the collapsing frame, the remaining sheet of glass folding under him before shattering completely. A jagged chorus of splintering and scraping filled the space, followed by a dull, final thud as his head struck the hardwood beneath the wreckage.

Silence followed.

Not the casual silence of a pause in conversation, but the heavy, stunned quiet that settles after something irreversible has happened.

Kirk froze where he stood, one hand still half raised from trying to separate them.

Carson stared down.

Pete lay twisted in the ruin of the table, metal legs bent awkwardly around him. Shards of glass fanned out across the floor in every direction. Some were embedded in the couch cushion. Some glittered beneath the television stand. Some rested motionless against Pete’s clothes.

He did not move.

For a split second, Carson expected him to curse. To groan. To sit up angry and embarrassed.

Nothing came.

“Pete?” Kirk said.

Pete’s arm was flung out at an unnatural angle, palm open, fingers slightly curled. A thin line of red crept slowly across the hardwood, slipping between the cracks and pooling beneath the side of his head. It spread steadily, unhurried.

“Pete,” Kirk said again, louder.

The television crowd roared as the demo loop continued, skates carving across digital ice.

Pete did not blink.

Carson found himself staring at Pete’s chest, waiting for it to rise.

It did not.

Kirk stepped forward, glass crunching under his shoe. He reached down and shook Pete’s shoulder once.

Pete’s body shifted only because Kirk moved it.

It settled again, heavy and still.

The red pool widened, then stopped moving.

No one spoke.

The only sound in the apartment was the television and the faint electrical hum of the lamp.

On the floor, the shattered glass caught the light and held it, frozen.

Pete lay among it, perfectly still.

And the apartment, somehow, felt smaller than ever.