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Stanford knew that there was a lot he missed when he was hopping dimensions for thirty years; technological and scientific advancements, cultural and political change; but he had confidence that he was acclimating quite well under the circumstances. He'd seen things way beyond Earth's possibilities, of course he could handle 'cell phones'.
Months had passed since Weirdmageddon, and Ford didn't find himself around much technology besides the kind he created himself. Sailing the Arctic on a boat didn't leave much room for luxuries. Unfortunately, in a freak accident involving a Kraken and Stanley's brass knuckles, their boat was wrecked. It took much longer than either of them had wanted to find a populated area after that. As their intention was sailing home for the summer, much consideration narrowed down their main option; flying home.
To say Stanford was baffled by the level of security was an understatement. He'd gotten into an argument with something called "TSA" for a good twenty minutes! He eventually gave up, now venting his frustrations to his twin, both of them sitting in the fairly empty airport.
"They threatened to call security, Stanley! My weapons are very necessary, thank you! They have no business asking me my intentions!"
Stanley simply crossed his arms and nodded.
"Can't bring those kinds of weapons on a plane, Sixer. Trust me, I tried. And failed. And got banned from most airlines."
"What is the meaning of all this security? The only thing that could warrant this level of caution would be some sort of..."
Ford paused, scratching his chin.
"Some sort of national tragedy!"
Stan winced, sighing at the burden that was just placed upon him.
"Shit. Well, the good news is you're exactly right."
Ford raised an eyebrow, a silent way of urging Stan to indulge more information.
"Okay, uh, wow, this is awkward. Basically, September 11th, 2001, some shit went down."
"Exactly what 'shit', Stanley?"
"You know the Twin Towers? Yeah. Some terrorist group hijacked a plane and flew it into one of the towers."
Ford's eyes widened. He knew something was off about the modern photographs of New York's skyline.
"I'm doubting the damage was minimal."
"Oh no, yeah. Another plane hit the second one. They collapsed, people jumped out, all that kinda shit."
"Oh my God..."
Ford put his hand back on his chin, internally running through the possible statistics of the death toll and the consequences thereafter.
"Oh shit, I almost forgot! They hit the Pentagon, too."
"THE PENTAGON? THE GOVERNMENT BUILDING? IN WASHINGTON D.C.?"
"Sixer, keep your voice down!"
Ford complied, now bringing his tone to an aggravated whisper.
"Who is responsible for this? Were they caught?"
"Oh, they caught the guy. Some crazy theorists think it was an inside job, though."
"Inside job? I'm researching this when we get home."
"Of course you are. Can't take my word for it, huh? Just don't be like those crazy tinfoil hat people. They're great for scamming, but I don't wanna live with one."
Ford ignored the joke. This was insane. September 11th, 2001. What a fucking day