Take a look into the future with our upcoming slate of new releases for next week!
Updates about new shows and movies in a calendar format. Look here to know what to watch in the coming week!
The old wizard knew something big was brewing. For the past few weeks, every morning he had felt a dull ache in his bones, an ache, he knew, that signified some future calamity. He made his way up the winding castle stairway to his study housed in a rickety old turret. He had frequented the study even more than usual in his attempts to make sense of the ominous signs he had noticed. Poring over stacks of dusty tomes, he finally found the answer he had been looking for. Deep in the pages of a long forgotten book of prophecies, he found it, the words he had needed all along, the answer to his world’s salvation scrawled in ornate inkwork: “Your Weekly Guide to VRV.”
You walk to school using your normal route. Making your way down the neighborhood roads, you notice a stone well in the space separating two houses. Was that always there? You approach it, but suddenly stumble over a rock. You tumble into the well. You brace for impact with the ground… but it never comes. You fall and fall for what seems like an hour until, at last, you somehow find yourself outside again. But everything is… different. The architecture, the roads, the clothes people wear–all of it is different! Dazed, you stare around you and happen to spot a hooded figure. It approaches and hands you a scroll. Tentatively, you unravel it and read the words: “Your Weekly Guide to VRV.”
It’s a work day and you have just finished your coffee when you get a call on your cell phone. You scan the phone number but don’t recognize it and end the call. A few hours later, after lunch, you check your email. There is a new message labeled “iMpOrTaNt.” You figure it’s spam, but as you’re about to delete it you get a call from the mysterious number again. You end the call and glance at your inbox and see five more emails each with the same subject line as the one before. Your heart rate quickens. You leave for home, the entire commute your phone rings. You turn it off. It still rings. You get to your apartment and check your mail. There is a letter labeled “iMpOrTaNt.” Hands shaking, you open the envelope and find a sheet of paper labeled “Your Weekly Guide to VRV.”
You’re waiting for the walk signal at a crowded city intersection. Your breath forms into temporary clouds before dissolving into the clear, frigid air. You hear a tinny, artificial tone and look up to see the sign has changed to ‘walk.’ You look down at your phone as you’re walking, weaving in and out of the vast surge of pedestrians ebbing and flowing like a living river. Halfway across the street everything falls silent. You crash into the person in front of you and look up, dazed, frantically apologizing. “I’m sorry, uh-” You stop midway through your sentence. The entire world is frozen. People, feet extended half-gait; birds suspended in flight; the ripples of a puddle caught in some strange temporal stillness–time has stopped. You stand there, for how long you don’t know, not even trying to make sense of anything, but simply taking in the reality of it all. You get up and begin to walk, haltingly, through the street. You see a child on the sidewalk, his rubber ball trapped halfway between his open hand and the floor. You reach for it, grab it, attempt to move it, but it is immobile as a building. You explore the city this way, experimenting here and there as you did with the ball, but everything is similarly stuck. After hours (days?), you collapse on a park bench. Looking at the morning sun (it’s been morning for so long) winding through the tree branches overhead, your phone suddenly vibrates. Shocked out of your reverie it takes a moment for you to even remember what to do in this situation. You grasp your phone and see that an unfamiliar app has opened, something called… “Your Weekly Guide to VRV.”
You find yourself in an abandoned movie theater. A thick layer of dust coats everything from the ornate banisters lining the stairway to the faded, crumbling movie posters in glass frames. You slowly ascend the stairway and hear a crinkling sound underfoot. It’s an aged pamphlet. You pick it up and see the words “Coming Soon: VRV Film Buff Week” in ornate lettering on its cover. You reach the top of the stairs and come to a nondescript door. You open it to reveal a projection room, crowded with hundreds of film reels. One calls out to you. You spool it through the projector and turn it on. Through the projectionist’s window you see the theater screen illuminate with the words “Your Weekly Guide to VRV.” Sit back and enjoy its contents:
You find yourself in an ancient ruin, the crumbling walls thick with moss and overgrown vines. The vast corridor you walk through is completely silent, save for the echoing of your footsteps. You notice a dim glow ahead. You begin to approach, tentatively at first, but the warm light compels you to go faster and faster, until you break into a full sprint. At last you reach the source of the mysterious light: a pedestal. You’ve found them. You found the Sacred Texts. You wipe off the thick film of dust to reveal, in ornate script, the title of the volume: Your Weekly Guide to VRV. You crack the spine and find the following eldritch knowledge: