Tales from Jackson's - End of a Dream

July 2067. After the emergence of the rekashiza in the middle of Shard, Vince Jackson has to deal with another, closer threat: his soon-to-be-wife Kia's ex-husband is now the head of a cult that worships the Shadow Gallery and has sent a mysterious invitation to her. Vince cannot let this slide this time and is ready to go all out to keep his future wedding safe from interferences.

Crimson lights in a dark room, red tiles, a black substance dripping out of the gruesome gargoyles, forming puddles of ooze, streaming like rivers of sludge, splitting around a small platform. Standing on it, a human figure, his arms spread, his irises reflecting the light, endless blue tainted by crimson, his robes grazing the fluid, dipping into it.

“The time has come for our Lord to reveal their Will! The Dream shall take over our fake reality, not long from now! And the Four Eyed Emperor will accept us in his Home!”

An echo, a choir of voices from all corners of the room, hidden in the shadows. Robed figures, masked. White, featureless porcelain hiding their faces, slits open, only for their eyes. Arms raised, voices chanting.

“Glory be Arkaneis! Glory be Arkaneis!”

The figure at the center standing immobile, his eyes closed, his arms stretched.

“This won’t happen today. This won’t happen tomorrow! But it will happen! And the world will witness the truth! A truth we all know, even if the miscreants don’t believe us!”

His index finger pointing at each and everyone of the other people, in a circle, a continuous motion, a hypnotic pattern.

Before stopping, pointing at the viewer.

“If you wake up every night in the Dream World, in the blood desert under the black sky, surrounded by His vines... know we do too.”

Close up on his face, on his golden hair, on the blue eyes.

“You are one of us.”

Black screen. One eye-link for more information. Then, nothing.

Veckert sighed. That was such a dumb ad. The ominous music, the cave, the ooze, the chants, the masks. It really felt like watching the music video of a gothic funeral doom metal band.

Except, those were much more entertaining. She lazily browsed the pile of documents on her desk. Printed stuff, so 2000s. One could easily upload them on a tablet, but no, tell it to her bosses. Finding information inside that amorphous mass of cellulose was time-consuming as hell, especially without a readily available, end-of-last-century search function. Even her former office in St. Patrick SHIELD had a more modern setup, and that was rich coming from a city that had been kept isolated from the rest of the world for the better part of fifty years.

Still, that was a much needed change of pace, after her break-up. Or, rather, her break-ups, plural.

She rolled her eyes. None of her relationships had survived the two years mark. Once her charm faded, her hyperfocused personality made all of them women run away. Laese, Geri, Kirsten, Mari, Juno, Lilianne, Djale, Lorraine... the list was so depressingly long. They were coming for her like flies, for her exotic blue hair and her deep green eyes, her general ladykiller demeanor, her fame as a badass hound of Yard. They were all leaving when that wasn’t enough anymore. Veckert shoved her head between her arms, let out a louder groan. She was thirty-one and running. The first white strand had started to peek out of her azure mane. That wasn’t good news. Yet, instead of trying to get something more out of her romantic life, she was sitting there, in that office, watching promotional clips made by the 2060s equivalent of one of those new age sects she heard about so often. Not too dissimilar from Helios, from a certain point of view. Her mind wandered back at that odd bunch of beige-robed affluent pricks – pricks who founded a cult about idolizing their lost Sun, pontificated that the world outside St. Patrick was controlling the city for their convenience and that haemophages (pardon, hematophages, as that obnoxious monsterfucking biologist kept on remarking on public TV) were a government conspiracy.

The were right on about half of their claims. Indeed, the world outside the SHIELD was controlling St. Patrick for its own convenience, namely as a useful meat grinder to keep the Dead Zone at bay. But hematos? No, those were real and killing people every day in the outer districts of the city, in spite of what those Helios believers kept touting from their horns. Dumb, high-class, drug-addicted idiots, this is what they were. No empathy for the civilians, the hunters and the soldiers fighting that silent war that kept District 2, 3 and 4 safe. Being given the order to arrest them all after she caught them red-handed with their little opium rooms had been source of glee and satisfaction for her. Now, most of those sun-revering bastards were all watching it through the bars of a state prison. People who never had to beg for their daily bread. People who never had to perform any sort of labor to survive. People who were born rich. That was the make-up of Helios. However, when it came to compare them with the Dreamers of the True World (a cheesy name, she retorted), that analogy seemed to break down.

First off, contrary to Helios, there was no real estate entry ticket to become a member. No transfer of ownership either. Applying to become part of the Dreamers was as simple as signing a form and paying a very small monthly fee for management costs, something almost everyone could afford. But there was a catch – only those who dreamed of the true world were eligible. Which meant having to answer a very, very detailed form with more than one hundred questions. Fail more than two, and you are out, forever.

If that was not enough, the list of adepts was a well-guarded secret. Contrary to Helios, that sect made of confidentiality one of its strong suits. The only member with a known face and identity was their leader, Saìl Takara – also known under the frankly embarrassingly high-fantasy moniker of Brother Derakines.

Thirty-seven years old. Half-Japanese, half German. Divorced. His ex-wife Kia was still living in New Langdon with her two children, Hiro and Jake. She never requested any economic support or allowance, but nevertheless obtained a restraining order for him due to domestic violence. The police were still tracking him through a compulsory bracelet. Veckert could see the GPS track on her monitor, moving around the area of the Bonzaga Tower. At least, finding him in case of need wouldn’t have been too hard. Which was good, because his ex-wife was going to remarry soon – and preventing him from ruining her wedding by crash-landing in the middle of it was a good enough reason to keep him under surveillance. Veckert rolled her eyes.

What if this idiot made up all of this just to cope with his wife leaving him?

That was a comforting thought. A hoax. A get-rich-quick pyramid scheme. Except, it wasn’t. And that’s why she was investigating it: Because Dreamers were a real phenomenon, even if not alarmingly widespread. And the person she was waiting for, in that cramped, old-looking, Yard office in New Langdon, was one of them.

Any minute now.

Right as she thought that, the door creaked, opened slowly, letting a ray of light in from the corridor. Veckert raised her head from the pile of crammed paper, to meet the gaze of the guest.

Golden irises, with a pupil oscillating between a traditional rounded shape and a more oval, feline form. Scar-like tattoos all over her skin. Golden hair, neck long, spiky and probably conditioned. A jeans jacket, with patches and logos from many rock bands she also listened to. Jeans trousers too, of the same faint blue color as her jacket. And a semi-transparent white t-shirt with black ink shapes scattered around. With nothing underneath. Veckert blushed a little bit at that sight. That woman that just entered the room cleared seven out of nine of her “to bang immediately on the desk and regret it later” checks. Absolutely weird. But absolutely stunning. And shameless too, with that provocative attire. She groaned. That was what being single caused her – a drive that clouded her vision, amplified her cravings and warmed her sensitive bits. Fortunately for her, not enough to make her forget her duties. She was a professional and had to act like one, full stop. But, as a melodic voice left the lips of the newcomer, she cursed both being on duty and the fact that the girl was already taken.

“... detective Rainer? It’s nice to see you ‘gain!”

Lejl Kaleidos. Twenty-five years old. Formerly working at Le Fleurs du Mal, now bartender and shift manager at a cafe named Jackson’s. One of the few people who had direct contacts with Baal the Mad – pardon, Silman Simmerik, or whatever was inhabiting his skin – in the past four years. Veckert drew a deep breath, moved her hand to indicate the empty seat in front of her.

“I apologize for having you come this late in the evening, but I had no other free slots. Please, sit down, Ms. Kaleidos.”

“Lejl. Lejl is enough. We’ve already met twice, right?”

Veckert sighed once more. First name basis, in her current state of mind, was a dangerous proposal. Her flesh was weak, but not that weak that she would jeopardize her investigation because of it.

“I’d like to keep it formal, Ms. Kaleidos. Pleasantries can be dropped for after-work coffees, not for official statements. And you’re here today as a witness, not as a guest.”

The woman named Lejl shrugged with a mixture of surprise and annoyance, took place at the table.

“As you wish, detective Rainer. I thought it would make it easier for us, if we tuned down the formalities by a notch or two.”

Veckert scanned her visage, her features, in complete silence. Four months had passed since their last meeting, inside that decrepit flower shop in the harbor of New Langdon. In that time, another girlfriend had come and gone. As a result, Veckert had seriously considered letting everything go to hell and starting dating her own robot colleague, a VORS named Blame. Blame, though, was more akin to a big brother than a possible love interest. So, she went down the rabbit hole of cheap lesbian dating sim video games instead, clearing several of them while looking for a new outlook for her sentimental life. And, at the same time, venting her frustration by following the trail left by Silman Simmerik. The breadcrumbs behind his apparent demise, behind his last magic trick. That path surprisingly led through a wealth of events, organizations, people and companies that nobody sane would have ever connected with the tainted mind of a serial killer.

Bonzaga Holding. The Black Lightning Disaster. The Fishface Crime Syndicate. Encorp. Zavira.

All of them had a part, as small as it might have been, in leading to the present situation – which was as surprising as it was chilling. Then, that damn flower bloomed in Shard... and everything really went to hell. Local economy collapse, emergency meeting, all-hands-on-deck speeches. All resources were redirected to the departments working on the containment of that absolute menace, leaving the ROPES section starving for money and with a skeleton crew of five detectives. To make matters worse, a formal request for investigating Saìl Takara made it to her desk, disrupting her plan even further. The only bright side had been having a chance to question Kia Takara, a truly fascinating thirty-three years old half-Japanese, half-Swedish woman, ex-wife of that wannabe messiah. A woman who was going to marry another man, in less than a month.

Talk about bad luck.

Now, this Lejl – right age range, openly sapphic, ticking all her “to date” boxes. Already taken too, living together with another girl, four years younger than her and ten years younger than Veckert.

Ten years.

All of a sudden, she felt decrepit, hopeless even. No, that case had no redeeming qualities. Yet, she wouldn’t just wing it. Veckert’s life might had been in an absolutely depressing conjuncture, but being an investigator was what she was good at. No way she’d let someone take that away from her.

She frowned a bit, crossed her gloved hands under her chin.

“I’ll cut the chase, Ms. Kaleidos. You are here because of a piece of information detective EiN

obtained from an acquaintance of yours – a sharkman called...”

She browsed through the papers scattered on the desk, grabbed one.

“... well, let’s say he gave us five or six different aliases, but we can refer to him as Shaz.”

Lejl puffed her cheeks, waved her hand.

“Of course it was the dumb shark. Listen, whatever he told you, I didn’t do anything. We’ve already settled that lawsuit for property damage...”

“You were a member of the Dreamers of the True World, correct?”

Silence.

Lejl froze, closed her knees, her hands resting on her legs, her head turned down. Veckert squinted her eyes, stared at her. Trembling. She was trembling. Shaking. Breathing heavily too, as if her heart had stopped for a second.

“... don’t tell anything to Cyphr. Please, don’t. Keep it among us. I’ll answer all your questions, but... but please don’t...”

Her eyes were wet. Almost to the point of crying, of bursting into tears. Veckert let out a loud sigh, nodded.

“You have my word. As long as you cooperate, you have nothing to fear. Confidentiality is one of the tenets of the ROPES department. We see so much weird stuff that we can hardly believe half of it.”

And nobody outside of us would believe the rest, she thought. She extended her arm, her fingers touched Lejl’s chin, slowly raised it, so that she could look right into her scared eyes.

“So, please, help me get to the truth about them. About these people. About the Dream.”

**

“That sounds shady.”

Vince frowned, mumbled something unintelligible. It was late evening, at Jackson’s. Time to deal with the second shift, but without a shift manager – since apparently she had to skip work due to a police interrogation. It was always the cops ruining it, whether when they questioned his cash flow and his sources of income or decided to investigate those allegations of serving weed-based whiskey to minors. He really couldn’t catch a break, not even two weeks before his long-sought-after wedding. Absent his shameless subordinate, the good old task of managing the cafe fell back to him, to the owner. An owner that was less than pleased to have to go through said motions once again. Yet, his night was far from ruined, as his soon-to-be-wife was sitting there, at the counter of his bar, quietly sipping a Heaven Denied cocktail.

“It does. And I don’t know what to do.”

The hatted man finished cleaning a glass, put it back on the counter, ready for his waiters to pick up. Music inside the venue, a low jazz tune mixed with synth instruments. Neonlight Sonata, by Thieves by Midnight – a hit in the 2040s, now considered a vintage track. Moody, but not sad. A good combination for a slow day, with far less customers than usual – both a blessing and a curse, seen his lack of key personnel. Yet, he knew that the worst had yet to come. The rekashiza, the plant blossomed in Shard... the effects of that event were already spreading at an alarming rate. Price hikes, protests, doomsday cults multiplying, suicides, less patrons overall due to the general panic. He sighed. That didn’t bode well for him and his cafe, but he had to be positive, focus on the current moment. In the distance, sitting at a table, he could spot the blue fin of a burly sharkman, slowly drinking what he assumed to be lemonade. Two children were running right around him, pulling his jacket, trying to get his attention, only for the great white to smile at them with his countless teeth. The woman in front of him chuckled, at the sight of those two little pests prancing around the tables.

“At least, someone’s having fun.”

Vince nodded. Kia’s children, Hiro and Jake. Nine and seven years old respectively. Smart kids, both as blond as their mother. They loved his stories about the Black Lighting Disaster, the Shadow Gallery and the Sad Emperor, so much that they begged him to bring them to the cinema, when “Schwarzerblitz” was announced. He frowned. Yes, Schwarzerblitz. That colossally disappointing B-movie produced by none other than the greediest reptilian bastard that ever walked the face of Earth.

Notorious Smithson my ass .

Watching that movie had been a disasterrific experience. Mr. Daevka had mangled the story so much, twisted names and locations, put together something that could have been defined only as a recollection of events told by a drunken guy, who happened to watch them from the sidelines, to a deaf druggie on LSD that was vaguely familiar with the setting. Starting with the names of the characters. Notorious Smithson. Chazz Altar. Commander Jaguar. DONNER BADLIGHTNING. Red was surely rolling in his grave, every time that name was uttered on screen. Donner Badlightning. How in heavens could someone come up with such a cheesy moniker, for what amounted to a tragic hero? Oh wait. In the movie he wasn’t even tragic. He was a one-note villain who wanted to destroy the world with his Black Lightning Powers. That take on his story was so wrong it went around a full circle and became tastelessly straightforward. The depiction of the Shadow Gallery was downright bizarre too, amounting to little more than an AI-generated landscape with touches of an acid trip. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t even the weirdest part. The moment when he really considered snapping the neck of that old lizard was when he found out about the other movie.

Schwanzerblitz.

That wasn’t a typo. That was the real title, the title of nothing less than a direct-to-video porn parody of Schwarzerblitz, based on a dirty German double-entendre. Produced by the same people. And starring the same actor who played Chazz Altar in the main movie, now in the role of Chad Harder. Said sharkman, informally known as Gaetano Lagodigarda, was, without doubt, the same great white sitting now in his cafe. A great white who risked to be filleted and sold in slices at the local fish market, once Vince got wind of that.

Notorious Dickson. The man with all cock sizes at once.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Not Chad Harder, not Skull Boner, not commander Knot Furry, not Lorenzo Lubrifica and Elena Bagnata, not even the Squirting Night.

Notorious Dickson was it. A character based on him. A not-safe-for-work parody of a living person, which was officially based on the urban legend of the Man with the Hat – a public domain story. That left him with no retort and no legal avenue to follow. It sucked so much to feel so powerless that he often fantasized of shooting the goddamn reptile in the kneecaps with a sawed-off shotgun. That gave him some peace of mind, at least, but no real closure.

To make matters worse, that compromising movie went one oops away from ending in the shopping basket of his wife’s children, due to how easy it was to mix up the names. Fortunately, he intervened soon enough and avoided having to explain those two rascals why sharkmen have only one penis and why they like tentacles. One day, they might even have appreciated it, but that was not the day.

Kia drank the last of her drink, left empty the glass on the counter, as Vince’s hand caressed hers.

“Show me that message again.”

She sighed, pulled her phone out of her pocket, placed it on the lacquered wood, unlocked the screen. Vince’s attention was caught by a green speech bubble, coming from an anonymous contact.

“Hey, Kitty. Meet you at the top of the Bonzaga Tower, 10PM tonight. Don’t be late, or there will be consequences. No cops, I’ll know it. Your Sasa. ”

Vince shook his head. That wasn’t shady. That was beyond shady. That was plain blackmail. He browsed his vest for his own phone, clumsily tapping on its screen to try and retrieve some additional specks of information. Kia read the message again, pointed at the time.

“I’ve received this message one hour ago. I came here immediately, I... I don’t know what to do, Vince.”

Vince pushed his hat on his head (a hat of a bright lime green color, that evening), growled while still fighting against his device, a device that was resisting each and every one of his attempts at unlocking.

“Are you sure it’s him? Your ex-husband?”

“No, but... he was the only one calling me Kitty. And Sasa was the nickname I gave him.”

“Okay. Now, if only...”

Kia ripped the phone out of his hands, tapped her finger on the display, drew an elegant pattern on it, unlocking it on the spot. Vince blinked a couple times, before going back to looking at her. She giggled, stuck her tongue out at him, tapped her hand on his defeated fedora. If someone could have discerned the expression on Vince’s face, they would have been welcomed by a warm smile. With his phone finally unlocked, he started looking for information about that unusual meeting place. He was unsure about what to expect.

“... the Bonzaga Tower, huh? There’s a public, open concert venue on the top floor, but I see no event scheduled for tonight. Weird place to call an ex-wife to, especially after... how many years?”

“Two. Well, almost. I blocked all his contacts after our divorce, and he’s never looked for me ever since.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

Actually, he didn’t. That was stranger than he wanted to admit. Vince toyed with his device, managed to lock it again, hiding it inside his pocket. Saìl Takara, now known as Derakines, had become a self-referential messianic figure, on the edge between madness and genius. A brilliant communicator, who worked as an assistant movie director in his twenties, one of the few hundred people who found themselves near the epicenter of the first Black Lightning Disaster and survived. Saìl was in Euterpe, during that fateful day in 2064, directing a small spot for an advertisement agency. When the first storm broke down, he and his camera troupe started recording it, seeing as a one-of-a-kind historical event. The explosion wiped out the entire city block, killing almost everyone in the process. But Saìl miraculously survived, much to Kia’s relief.

A relief that didn’t last long.

“What should I do, Vince? We have... only around two hours. Even if I wanted to forward this to the police, there isn’t enough time for them to organize. What if...”

Vince groaned, while putting away the glass Kia drank from.

“I say we go. Together.”

“But...”

“He said no cops, not nobody.”

Vince clapped his hands, waved his hand in the direction of the sharkman still playing with Kia’s kids.

“Shaz? Fancy doing a favor to a friend?”

The great white lazily turned his head towards him, snapped his fingers.

“Course I’d do! What can I do for ye?”

“Can you help your former colleagues keep this place afloat until I’m back? Without a shift manager, they’ll need a little bit of coordination.”

“What about the horny gremlin?”

Vince groaned. It was truly a marvel that Shaz and Lejl could work together so well, despite all their mutual teasing and scorning.

“She’s being questioned by the police, right now.”

“Shit! Whadda she do? I’d swear we already settled that civil lawsuit for property damage!”

Property damage didn’t even begin to describe the ruckus the two of them had caused while working for him. It was more akin to accidental vandalism and might or might not have involved a toy drone, two barrels of flammable liquid and the total destruction of a luxury limousine. Lejl and Shaz had to pay a sizable chunk of their total affordance to cover for whatever they destroyed, but that was it. So, Vince shrugged it off as inconsequential to his employee’s current predicament.

“Beats me. But I’d eat my hat if it’s still about that old incident.”

Not that he would ever do that. Each and every one of his hats was a coveted treasure – biting them was completely out of question. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling something weird was happening.

“You know what? Give her a call and ask her. If it’s because of that accidental fire, I swear I’ll buy you the most expensive sunglasses I can find on the market. Now, excuse me but I have to go and help Kia with something. Unexpected business at the Bonzaga Tower – nothing serious, I hope.”

Shaz winked twice in a row, smirked.

“Vince, Vince, Vince... that’s a nice cover story, but yer honeymoon is in leeeeess than three weeks! Can’t ya just wait a tiny bit longer ‘fore unleashing yer sea monster?”

Vince rolled his eyes at that remark. As if he needed any excuse to have some private time with Kia. Maybe he should have really called Lejl, instead of trusting that idiotic shark who happened to be his best friend, to tell her to get back now, and to hell with the police. Still...

What if they are tracking my phone?

Kia didn’t call him, came straight to his cafe. Probably, she had also considered the admittedly small chance that Saìl was – somehow – intercepting her communications. Which could mean, he was being intercepted too. Calling Lejl could have given Saìl and his cronies a hint that he was coming to the secret appointment too. But Shaz? No chance they could ever listen to his calls. He switched phone number with the same frequency someone would change their underwear, and sometimes even burned his devices – both figuratively and literally. Even if he was in no danger from the Fishface mafia anymore, old habits did, indeed, die hard.

“Whatever, take care of my cafe, alright? And keep an eye on the kids.”

**

The clouds above New Langdon were as beautiful as they’d ever be, reflecting the pale moonlight and the faded stars around in a kaleidoscope of accents. The skyscrapers and lights from the city center were but a mocking imitation of the real deal, as impressive as they looked. But that was fine, as they were both one and the same.

A fake.

He smiled, from atop the high-rise. That moon. Those stars. The city under his gaze. All but real. A tainted memory of what once was. His 2067 wasn’t the real 2067. It didn’t feel like future, just a used present that slowly iterated on itself after the disaster of 2014 caused technological development to take a dip, in all fields except energy and computing. Yet, even without that, that world of his couldn’t be right.

He knew it.

He saw the truth. He lived it on his own skin.

Then, that plant blossomed.

The rekashiza. In Shard. And the Flowers. Inside the Dream. That was it, that was definitive evidence. Reality was starting to crumble and he was on the right side of history.

Silence. He listened to the silence. Enjoyed it too. Alone, on the rooftop. Waiting. He flipped open his phone, looked at the screen. The GPS track was moving as expected, right towards him.

All he needed to do was waiting.

**

“Once more. From the beginning.”

Veckert yawned. Her second coffee had come and gone, as Lejl had talked, and talked, and talked, and talked. So much raw information, she could barely keep tab of it – if not for her speech recorder with automatic text transcription. That made her life much, much easier. Still, even speech recognition engines had their limits, and she had to automatically correct the log every time it misspelled “Arkaneis” as “Arkansas”. She wanted to get a clear picture of that... Dream she had heard about, but that was easier said than done. Dreamers rarely talked about it, especially with the police. There were layers and layers of mistrust. In her investigation so far, she couldn’t get much more than what was already publicly available. Lejl had been an unexpected treasure trove of new insights.

“From the beginning? Again?”

Veckert looked at the time. Almost nine in the evening. Already late, even for her standard.

“Okay, not really from the beginning. More like... can we go through your deposition together? As a closing summary?”

Lejl nodded weakly, her eyes were swollen, still somehow wet with tears. It hadn’t been easy for her to recount the whole ordeal without breaking down a bit. Veckert went through her notes, tapped her finger on the display.

“This Dream of yours. You said you are having it since the moment you were born, correct?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Every night.”

“Not literally every night. In the past two years, I have started having it less and less often... but yes, at least two or three times per week. It’s the only kind of dream I experience. Either that or complete blackness.”

“And the landscape...”

“A red desert, with mountains and valleys, but always covered in ashes and sand. The sky is black and red too, and there are puddles of dark... water? I’m not sure if it’s water, but they are all around. No animals in sight, except for some weird insects. Lately, though, I have seen some weird... flowers. Red, but of a different red and... quite gruesome. Like rafflesia, right? They smell the same too – rotten meat all along. I kept my distance from them. I have had bad experiences with flowers. They looked just like...”

Veckert nodded. She knew what Lejl was referring to. A scene that could have been carved out of a horror movie. A scene they both witnessed, not that long ago. Lejl paused for an instant, just in time to recollect her thoughts. Then, she started waving her hands.

“And tentacles. Oh yeah, the tentacles! God, those are truly unsettling.”

“First time I heard about them, I thought this was going to be an erotic dream caused by overconsumption of hentai. Like, come on, a naked girl roaming a wasteland populated only by tentacles?”

Lejl shook her head gravely.

“Far from it. They twitch and twist in strange patterns, and they are definitely alive, but they are just... revolting. Even if they are quite passive. Never seen one of them actively reaching for me.”

“If that happened, that would definitely be the opening scene of an adult movie, Ms. Kaleidos.”

An adult movie I would gladly watch – she thought, picturing Lejl’s nude body in her mind surrounded by black appendages craving for her. She sighed. Not now, old wolf.

“Anyway...”

Veckert stared at the monitor, scrolled the transcript with two fingers.

“You mentioned ruins of a city that looks like London, and scraps of newspaper dated 2014. Also, a radio tower, some other structures like power lines and pylons and... the Four-eyed Emperor?”

“He’s a recurring figure in the Dream. Saìl Takara calls him Arkaneis. The ruler of the one true world.”

Veckert yawned again. The existence of Arkaneis was one of the few bits of public information about the Dream, as Saìl made him as the centerpiece of his narration. But, apparently, his name wasn’t known to anybody except to him. None of the Dreamers ever heard him speak. That could have just been yet another marketing stunt by the self-proclaimed Brother Derakines, after all.

“So, once you found out about his little sect, you joined them to...”

“... to find answers about my condition, maybe a cure for it, yes. I hoped there was one. But...”

Lejl sighed, wiped her eyes one more time, trying to keep her voice from breaking down.

“I kept it secret from my girlfriend. I didn’t want her to worry about me. She... doesn’t know yet.”

“I’d say concealing information like that isn’t healthy for a long-term relationship, Ms. Kaleidos.”

Says the woman who can’t seem to keep a stable partner, she thought while saying that. Lejl answered with a wry smile.

“How would you feel if you knew that the mind of the person you loved tumbled into some weird abomination of a place every night, as soon as she fell asleep, and you couldn’t do anything to help her?”

Silence. Veckert looked down to her desk, without saying a word, while Lejl continued.

“Ignorance is rarely bliss, detective Rainer, but at times like this... it might be.”

Veckert looked at her, without saying a word. She went back to her screen instead, wildly tapping through a plethora of balloons and notes.

“You left the Dreamers after just a couple meetings, right?”

Lejl’s eyes opened wide, her pupil shifted to their cat-like form, determination filling her irises.

“Yes, right as Saìl Takara – Derakines – made his first appearance.”

**

“Has anybody managed to reach the radio tower?”

Lejl was curious, excited even. For the first time in years, she was able to share her experiences about the Shadow Gallery with other people, openly, without filters. It felt refreshing, liberating,

exhilarating – all together. Knowing it was a shared dream. Knowing other people saw the things she saw. She wasn’t alone, and that was beautiful.

“I’ve tried to, but I always wake up before I can get to it.”

The person who replied was a teenager, probably sixteen-seventeen years old. He seemed the most intrigued out of the bunch of people she was sitting with. Their ages spanned the whole spectrum, people of all genders and ethnicity. A truly varied ensemble of twenty strangers who happened to meet under the same roof, in the main antechamber of the building known as the Gate. It was a pretty large room, with blue walls and pearly columns, embellished by bright decorations and bas-reliefs. Aside from the participants, only two other people occupied the room – two men donning a complex suit of armor, who were apparently managing the general security.

One had a full black helmet with dim led lamps near his eyes, the other wore a featureless white mask. Still, the people sitting in the circle couldn’t care less about the two of them – they felt like part of the furniture of the room, for better or worse. Lejl ignored them as well, being more intrigued by the discourse about the landmarks of the Shadow Gallery. She puffed her cheeks with disappointment.

“So, nobody got a good look at it yet? That’s soooo lame!”

“I’ve never encountered the tower you mentioned, but I think I have seen the Big Ben.”, another person quipped, a middle aged man with thick glasses.

“The Big Ben? Not that Big Ben?”, the teen answered again, his eyes wide with surprise.

“The one New Langdon’s Old Ben clock tower was modeled after, yes.”

Lejl didn’t even know what the Big Ben was supposed to be, until that day. Old Ben, though, was such a nuisance. From her flat in Turing Avenue, she could listen to its obnoxious bells at any given hour. If said Big Ben didn’t exist anymore, nothing of value would have been lost to her. Yet, many of her peers seemed to be shocked by that recount, excitable teen included.

“That’s crazy! So, the Dream is set in the past!”

“Or in the present, and what we all see are ruins. What if what we are seeing is a... what if scenario? Our planet after a major catastrophe or alien invasion?”

“Whatever, I just want to stop dreaming. I have a life, a job to do too. That dream is messing with my sleep hygiene.”

This time, it was a muscular woman in overalls, who looked like a specialized worker in her lunch break.

“I want a cure, so that I can go back to my normal life. Because there is a cure, right?”

Lejl couldn’t help but nod.

“I... hope so too. I’m... tired of it.”

“Tired? Be not, my child.”

That voice.

That voice came from beyond, from above. Speakers. There had to be concealed speakers in the room. Lights went down, darkness fell, everyone gasped, some screamed. Lejl kept her senses sharp, her eyes adapting immediately to her surroundings, being able to discern the complex web of mechanisms opening the door of the room, the silhouette moving through it at a leisurely pace. She kept her eyes focused on that figure, who looked like a man dressed in a bizarre robe, watched him as he made his way through the circle of chairs, reaching for the middle as everybody was still trying to figure out what happened.

Then, the lights went on again.

And he was there, among them, with his arms spread, an affable smile, golden hair falling on a black and purple ceremonial dress. A choir of utterances and panic welcomed him, everyone shocked or startled. Everyone but Lejl, who had followed his movements from the moment he had stepped into the room. That was the advantage of having been one with the night. Her eyes were able to see everything perfectly in any given condition – in the darkest darkness, in the brightest light. Some thought her pupils were artificial, because of how unusual they looked, shifting between a rounded and a more oval shape depending on her needs, with that bright yellow iris to boot. But no, much as her tattoos, they were a result of how she was born, of what she really was. A construct of the Shadow Gallery who happened to interact so much with the matrix of existence that she got a real, physical body... or something that looked like one. She had to give it to that man, though – that trick was simple yet effective. Way to set the mood and expectations with a scenic entrance. On his side, the man in question was rather displeased by the look of that weird-eyed woman. She was unfazed, openly challenging him by just staring at him, as if he was some sort of exotic animal in a zoo.

Whatever, he thought, you can’t win them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gate. You are here for a reason – to find the truth about your condition. And this is what I’ve come to tell you – the truth.”

He bowed in front of his audience, taking a good look at all of the people gathered in the room, one by one, staring back at that tattooed weirdo that openly challenged him with her piercing gaze.

“My name is Saìl Takara and, like all of you, I’m a Dreamer. You can call me Derakines.”

He raised his hands, snapped his fingers. The walls of the room changed shape, giant displays emerged from them, completely surrounded the circle of chairs. Then, all of a sudden, they were there. In the middle of a desert. Under a black sky. Surrounded by tentacles and ruins.

Lejl gasped. A computer simulation, of incredibly good quality. It was as if she was there, but this time she wasn’t sleeping. The accuracy, the sharpness of the details was astounding. She stared back at Saìl, while most of her peers were still lost in the view of those barren landscapes. Some in awe, some in despair, some downright crying. The middle-aged man was curled into a ball.

“N... no! Not now! I’m not sleeping, why? Why?”

“It’s... just a render. But it looks amazing.”

“The radio tower! That’s the radio tower!”

“And that figure there...”

The panorama disappeared, the cameras zoomed in on a dark, tall creature, standing in the distance, closed in at breakneck pace. And four bright slits took center stage, watching back the watchers.

“The Emperor.”

Saìl waved his hand around. The displays switched off immediately, absorbed back into the walls.

Everyone stared in confusion, looked back at the man, then at one another, trying to find answers.

Answers he was going to administer in small quantities, drip-feeding them as he always did.

“Fellow Dreamers... that was him. The intelligence behind the Dream. The creature known as Emperor Arkaneis. The ruler of the one true world.”

Lejl frowned. An emperor? The Shadow Gallery didn’t need a ruler. It was a beautiful chaos of interconnected neural trails, without a central focus. A figure such as that would have broken the symmetry of the Gallery, smeared its existence. That wasn’t compatible with her view of that reality, but was indeed a creature she had met during her trips. He looked sad, defeated. Chai saw him too, even if she wasn’t a Dreamer. Yet, she had somehow managed to build a connection with him (her? Them?). Lejl tried to talk to him once, but words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. Only tears, and whispers, and moans.

The muscular woman rolled her eyes, growled at the man keeping their attention hostage.

“An emperor. Sure. God, I have taken a day off work to come here, and this is what I get? A bunch of fantasy bullcrap?”

Saìl seemed unfazed, smiled at her instead, with his deep blue eyes on show too.

“Liv O’Conner, twenty-seven. You entered the Dream after a workshop accident that should have lopped your head off, but didn’t – despite many people swearing they had seen you being decapitated under their gaze. Is it right?”

The woman fell into an uncomfortable silence, as Saìl kept on talking. He pointed his finger to another young woman, with long black hair and Asian traits.

“Liu Akemi, former ENiGMA pilot. You entered the Dream after a motorcycle accident, with several eyewitnesses recounting how you fell down a cliff and on the rocks down there... something that

– from your perspective – didn’t happen.”

The woman called Liu remained silent, her eyes wide open as if she had seen a ghost. Saìl directed his attention to the middle-aged man with thick glasses.

“Eric Lamorgese, journalist. Survived unscathed the bombing of the American embassy in Shard, even if two soldiers handed in a written report describing your charred body.”

Again, the reaction to his words was of pure, existential dread. Saìl smirked.

“Yes. I know. I could go forth and tell everything about all of you and the circumstances surrounding your entrance into the Dream.”

He glanced at Lejl, while saying that. Almost all of them. That woman, Lejl Kaleidos, was a mystery wrapped into a mystery. No public records of her existence before 2065. No birth registered in any known country. Identity documents issued in St. Patrick SHIELD, which meant they could be as good as a three pounds bill. Yet, she was unmistakably a Dreamer – one that knew more about the Dream than he himself. Her admission questionnaire was impossibly detailed, containing remarks about sections of the Dream not even his closest adepts had managed to map, as if moving inside it was like a second nature for her. Then, that remark about the Tides. The Tides, that unsightly phenomenon that scrambled the Dream. Almost nobody was privy to that detail, yet she knew of them. Saìl was equally scared and intrigued by her. On her side, Lejl had started to draw a connection. All those people there were glitches. They shouldn’t have existed, not in the state they were there today. And, since they were defective, incomplete or simply paradoxical, they were halfway into the Shadow Gallery. Which meant, Saìl Takara had to be a glitch too. But which kind of glitch?

He waved his hand again, as if to draw the attention on himself.

“You are here to look for understanding. To find a cure to your condition. To go back to your dull, empty, fake everyday lives.”

He closed his eyes, turned around, walked through the crowd.

“But what if I told you... that you got it wrong? We call it the Dream, but what if... what if those moments where we experience that world, that reality...”

Eyes wide open, his irises flashing, staring without blinking.

“... are the only moments where we are really awake?”

Silence fell. Confused gazes, empty glances, puzzlement. Saìl licked his lips, grinning with satisfaction.

“That’s right. The dream, the real dream, is what we call reality. And the reality, the true reality, is what we call the Dream.”

Murmurs, silent words, whispers.

“This is so dumb...”

“But if that’s real...”

“Oh, come on...”

Saìl mentally counted up to ten, leaving himself with enough time to scan all their faces, to ascertain who was already sold and who needed just another push. Well, that was coming next, just as planned.

“The world, our world, ended in 2014. The Helsinki Meltdown caused an extinction level event and all humans on Earth died. What we experience as a reality is a simulation, remnants of something that doesn’t exist anymore! The one true world... is the Dream!”

Murmurs, whispers, words, half-phrases. A scenic pause before continuing, to let his message sink in.

“I have spent the last two years gathering evidence of this! And evidence came, in the form of thousands and thousands of inconsistencies, piling up year over year, evidence I will share with you all!”

The displays emerged from the walls again. Pictures of documents, movies, small animations, historical facts kept on emerging and emerging anew, shifting at breakneck pace.

“See, this... this means that we, we so-called Dreamers, are the only humans alive who can access the true world! We are safe! We will not disappear when this reality crumbles! Because we are the chosen ones, the ones Emperor Arkaneis wanted by his side!”

Saìl waved his hands once more, as his guests were enraptured by those ephemeral visions, collections of facts and events that walked the line between two realities, oscillating between them, but never settling on one. Then, his gaze landed on Lejl, on her ever-changing pupils. She looked like she was on the brink of a personal revelation, at odds with his one. He should have curbed that, before it spread like wildfire.

“Ms. Kaleidos, you seem strangely calm. We’re you already aware of this? Have you reached this selfsame conclusion yourself?”

Lejl stared at him, remained in silence for a long second. Then, she broke into laughter.

“Chosen ones? That’s rich! We got the short end of the stick, that’s how it is! Thanks to your stunt, I got it – I found out what makes us similar: we here are all rounding errors! The Shadow Ga... the Dream must be a sort of garbage collector. Our mind goes there every night because, at the moment of our death, we weren’t overwritten as we should have been. Thus, one part of us is already stranded there, while what’s left here...”

She listened to the echo of her own words, while watching the pale face of Saìl Takara.

“... is defective. Feels empty, as if it didn’t belong anymore to this world. Isn’t it? Isn’t it what all of you have experienced? Except, maybe it’s not even like that. The truth is, that whatever this Dream is, it’s not a safe haven. It’s a hellish landscape. Hardly fitting for so-called chosen ones.”

Saìl blinked without saying a word. Not chosen ones. Defective, broken shells. That was... the exact opposite of his vision. He clenched his fist, gritted his teeth. Just like Kia. That woman was just like his ex-wife. Misunderstanding. Drawing wrong conclusions, despite having access to all facts. The worst kind of people. He raised his hand, ready to retort with a carefully rehearsed speech. Only to stare at blank space. Lejl Kaleidos was already walking out of the door, without even waiting for him.

“Ms. Kaleidos! That’s...”

“If I wanted to hear fairy tales, I would have gone to the theater. Good luck, Mr. Derakines. And say hi to your emperor for me.”

That said, she left for the exit, smashing the door closed behind her.

**

“It’s cold, out here...”

“Wanna use my jacket?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks, Vince.”

Vince had just opened the door to the rooftop. He was surprised by the lack of security – he didn’t expect the terrace of the Bonzaga Tower to be so easily accessible without any fee or check. Yet, here he was, together with Kia, twenty minutes before the time the man they believed to be Saìl Takara asked them to show up. Apparently, the last floor of the tower had been rented for the whole evening by some company, which was why it was possible for them to go up there. The people at the reception had been instructed to let in any woman identifying as Kia Takara and – surprisingly – to whomever came with her. Which meant that Vince didn’t need to crack their skulls open, as he originally planned. That was a relief, as he didn’t really want to exercise unnecessary violence in front of his wife-to-be, but if there were no other way, he would have done that immediately. Now, they were standing atop the tallest building in that part of New Langdon, watching the night sky as the moon peeked from behind the clouds. The concert venue was deserted, completely empty. The stage wasn’t even mounted, nor where the usually countless chairs. Only utter, complete emptiness, aside from one single silhouette standing near the railings, watching the city from above.

“You arrived early. I wasn’t expecting you for fifteen more minutes...”

A silhouette slowly turning around to met the two newcomers.

“... my dear Kitty.”

The silhouette of Saìl Takara. Kia stood her ground, as her emerald eyes met the blue oceans of her ex-husband, as her golden hair matched and clashed agains his equally short golden mane.

Both half-Japanese, half-European. Both mixtures of different cultures and backgrounds. Grown together. Married. Divided. Divorced.

And then, Vincent Jackson.

That mysterious Jackson who stole her from him.

A man without face or – from a certain point of view – with too many of them. The same Jackson who was rumored to be the infamous Man with the Hat – now proud bartender and cafe owner. As expected, he followed her. He couldn’t let her go alone. And, as expected, the kids weren’t with them. His kids. Hiro, Jake. The continuation of the Takara bloodline. Saìl’s heirs. The heirs of Derakines. Her sons too. Sons she was going to fight for with teeth and nails, as the mother bear she was.

“Why did you call me here, after two years?”

“The time is ripe, Kia. I was waiting for a sign.”

He extended his arm, pointed his finger towards the horizon, towards Shard.

“There. The plant is the sign. The rekashiza. It’s an omen. This reality is crumbling, or will crumble soon. This world is gonna end, Kia... but I don’t want you to be swallowed by the tide. I’m here to save you. Save you... and our children.”

“Good grief. You sure are a mouthful.”

Vince’s words broke Saìl’s monologue. He frowned. What could have Kia possibly seen in such a joke of nature, dressed as a colorblind dandy in a horrible neon green suit.

“What do you want from Kia? Tell me and I might decide not to flatten your face.”

Saìl gritted his teeth. That arrogant, insolent, hatted piece of work.

“I just wanted to show her the truth. I wanted Saìl’s – my kids to know the truth.”

Kia stepped forward, staring at him in the eyes.

“You never mentioned them in your message! I haven’t brought them with me! And I wouldn’t have, even if you asked me.”

“That hardly matters.”

His voice turned into a cold blade of ice, piercing through the shocked expression of both of them. Immediately, Vince took his phone from the pocket. Kia did the same, unlocked it, fiddled with the digital scanner.

“... no signal? How...”

“As if I didn’t think of it.”

Saìl smirked, touched the tip of his earlobe, a small communicator concealed as an earring.

“Deshvawn? Where are you?”

Silence. He touched the earring again, as Vince and Kia were still desperately trying to get a call through, despite the jammers installed as a part of the concert venue – a nice extra that made choosing that place for their meeting even more alluring. They were thought as an anti-piracy measure to avoid people restreaming the live events online, but preventing his marks from calling the police or any person whatsoever was definitely as handy as it sounded.

“Deshvawn?”

Silence again. He glanced at his watch. Five to ten. He checked the communicator. Was it possible that the jammer somehow burned it? He choose that model because it was guaranteed to work on a specific radio frequency not dampened by those silencers. Yet...

A faint beep. Saìl sighed with relief.

“Good to hear you, Rygal. Now, bring in the kids.”

**

As soon as Kia’s phone trace had left Jackson’s and started moving towards the tower, Rygal Deshvawn had closed in. Cloaked in darkness, dressed in black, donning something that looked like a powered exosuit, culminating in a full-coverage high-tech helmet. No cape, though. Deshvawn would have liked to wear one, it made him feel like a superhero, a shadow crusader, whose identity was clouded in secret. Yet, Saìl Derakines had been adamant in having his elite supporters, his Soul Hunters as he used to call them, not wear one. First, he said, they looked ridiculous. Second, they were prone to causing a plethora of accidents, when not managed properly. And the Dreamers of the True World didn’t need to look like clowns.

He understood where his boss was coming from, but that didn’t necessarily mean he shared is point of view. Yet, among the Dreamers, Deshvawn was one of the few Saìl Derakines really trusted – or so he believed. So, when it came to decide who would be going to retrieve Hiro and Jake Takara – or rather Erwan and Ezariel Derakines, as those were their True Names, Deshvawn had been the natural choice. And there he was, crouched on a lamppost, right outside Jackson’s, monitoring the inside of the cafe, following every move of his little targets. The sharkman wasn’t accounted for, but if he was as dumb as it was told around, dealing with him would have been a mere nuisance. No need to ask for backup or call in Rishel, he could deal with it alone, and had more than a few reasons to do so. He was convinced that Rishel – his second in command – was jealous of him. Jealous of his role. He had to be standing somewhere nearby, though, because that was the deal. Still, he had managed to divert him to a more boring (and useless) observer role some city blocks away, so that he wouldn’t try to steal his spotlight. Deshvawn adjusted his visor, looked again through the window. There were still some late customers and waiters in the cafe, true, but he didn’t have the whole night. The suit would have protected his identity from the onlookers – collateral damage be damned.

He grinned under his face mask.

It was time to rock.

Deshvawn leapt from the lamppost, spun into the air.

And he pierced through the glass, shattering it in the process.

The waiters scrambled. The customers screamed. Panic ensued. That was one perfect landing, if he ever made one. An apt entrance. His helmet lightened up, two led lamps over his eyes, shining ominously. The dark knight, the Master of the Soul Hunters, struck fear into all of his opponents just by means of his masterful choreography. Scared preys had already lost. Thus, surrounded by fear and panic, he rose up, his armor shining like a black diamond, zeroing on his targets – his master’s progeny, the sons of the messiah. The lights beamed on them, marked them, as he slowly walked forward, in the general chaos. He smirked, as the oldest of the two children, Hiro, stood in front of Jake, waving his fists in the air without any form or flavor. Deshvawn smiled instinctively.

“Don’t be scared, kids. I’m bringing you to papa.”

Hiro’s small hand made contact with his knee, with his suit of armor. Nothing. Deshvawn felt nothing. Like being caressed with a feather – not even tickled by the kid’s futile attempt at resisting.

One second later, he was rolling on the floor, crashing on his back, his nape bouncing against the parquet. He shook his head, blinked once, twice, rose to his knees.

“... what...”

“Ya come uninvited, break stuff dressed like a scarecrow? Man, ya sure be an idiot.”

In front of him, stood a muscular sharkman, donning a brown leather jacket, a pink t-shirt, jeans and sunglasses. Menacingly cracking his knuckles.

Deshvawn reemerged from his state of stupor, adjusted his helmet. That eldritch creature sure packed a punch. Another sign of that world being fictional, fake. In the True Earth, there was no mutant, no freak. Only dead red sand, Gaians and Dreamers. He clenched his fist, lunged forward, unleashed his hook. The sharkman stopped it with his hands, before it could even go halfway through. Deshvawn stared at him in disbelief.

One second before being thrown out of the already broken window, landing badly on his back. He rolled on the asphalt, cursed under his breath. His suit had absorbed the impact, no damage to his body. He growled. A former army veteran, sambo fighter and Dreamer thrown around like a rag doll by a dirty shark mutant. That didn’t have any right to happen.

“Vince would be mad, if ye ruined more than that! The window alone will cost so much to replace!”

The sharkman was there, winding up his arm, cracking his neck, slowly walking outside of the venue.

“I hope ya get a good insurance, pal, ‘cause that ain’t it.”

Deshvawn leapt forward with a sudden sprint, punched him in the guts. Once, twice. Shaz hissed, raised his guard, as the armored man tried to lock his elbow. Then, he countered. A knee to the face, then an uppercut, right under his chin. Deshvawn flinched, growled. He shook his head, massaged his face mask. The shark hit him hard, caused him pain. It was time to give back some of that to him. He pushed a button on his palm, triggered the capacitors. His gloves holstered two small, single use tasers, just for cases like that – inflicting as much pain as possible without causing lethal wounds. He dashed, loaded his fist, hit Shaz on his pecs. A spark jolted through the connectors, went through the sharkman’s muscles, traversed his skin.

A high-pitched scream.

Shaz twitched, his body ignoring his brain’s order, spasms bending him in and out. Deshvawn loaded his other fist, struck him again. Electricity ran through his body once more, causing his eyes to roll, his mouth to open, his legs to falter. The man reacted with glee. That was it. That was the punishment for defying him. After his little show of strength, nobody would have risked their life to stop him. The children were as good as kidnapped.

A hand to his ankle.

He looked down, puzzled.

Another hand, to his other ankle.

He shook his head with annoyance. That idiotic mutant didn’t know when it was enough. He proceeded to kick him away.

Only, his leg didn’t move. His hands were clamped around his feet.

They pulled him down, with one swift motion, making him fall on his back – one more time. His vision was clouded for one long second, as the lights on his mask flickered, blinding him. When his eyes went back to normal, he saw it.

A shadow, looming on him.

Tall, muscular, imposing.

Signs of burns on his pink t-shirt, where the fist struck.

Two rows of teeth shining in the night.

It was then that Deshvawn felt it.

It was fear.

And it only got worse, as the sharkman began to talk.

“That hurt like hell, pal. Like, really. Ya see... I was considerin’ lettin’ ya go without much. But now?”

Shaz sneered at the downed man, his teeth lined up in a perfect chainsaw.

“Now, I’m pissed.”

He lifted Deshvawn with just one hand, headbutted him once, twice. The lights on the helmet went dark. One broke out of its socket. A knee to his stomach, a punch to his cheek, the other cheek, then the first again. Shaz lifted him above his head, only to slam him down at full force.

Then, he raised his foot.

And his heel crushed the visor, breaking the face mask too.

Deshvawn screamed, as his vision blurred. He felt something warm down his forehead.

Blood.

It was blood.

His blood.

He tried to calm himself down, to analyze the situation with a fresh mind. It was clear as day, he had underestimated that creature, underestimated that force of nature staring at him from a vantage point. He mentally browsed through his equipment, looking for a way to turn the tables.

And he found it, hidden in side pocket of his armored vest. Brute force alone wasn’t gonna work.

It was time to play his final trump card.

With the last of his strength, he stood up, drew a revolver, cocked it without even thinking. That thing wasn’t a man – it was a mutant – and to hell with the law! A friendly judge wasn’t hard to come by, he just needed to have the sympathy of a human suprematist or two and he would have walked away unscathed.

Shoot. Yes, shoot and get the kids. It’s everything that matters, nothing else.

But the sharkman shrugged.

“A gun? Really?”

Then, with an impossibly swift reaction, his jaws closed around Deshvawn’s elbow, before he could even do as much as aiming.

Deshvawn screamed, lost his grip, the weapon slipped through his fingers. Then, he heard a loud crack. His bones. His arm. Snapped in half. Bent in the wrong direction.

His brain refused to accept it. Refused to acknowledge the pain. Refused to let the neural impulses dictate his course of action. But that wasn’t enough to stop it.

It wasn’t enough to pretend everything was fine.

He fell on his knees, incapable of doing anything but raising his gaze, to meet the enraged eyes of the sharkman.

Right as he spread his arms, swinging them from opposite sides of his head, in one swift, violent motion.

“Good night, shithead.”

Then, everything went dark.

**

Saìl tapped his earlobe once more. No answer, despite the line being clear and active. Deshvawn wasn’t responding. Still, no news didn’t necessarily mean bad news, unless Deshvawn really screwed thighs up and was apprehended by the police. In that remote case, he still had a little bit of time, before they figured out where he was. And, before they could catch him, he would have definitely been able to leave them in the dust. He quietly disabled his communicator. Kids or not, there were things he wanted to say to his ex-wife. That show he put up... it was all for Kia. All for her to understand his righteousness, to get back to his side. Because he wanted her to survive. When the world crumbled, Kia had to survive. Nothing else mattered.

“Okay, I see my... family reunion didn’t really go as planned, Kitty. I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Kia remained silent, waiting for him to continue. But it was clear he wasn’t bulging. He was waiting for her to say something. She wanted her to ask the question. So, she did.

“What’s the meaning of this farce, Saìl?”

Saìl sighed.

“Once upon a time, you called me Sasa. What changed, between us?”

“You changed! All of a sudden!”

“Guess whose fault was it.”

Kia gulped, tried to say something, but he stopped her, put his hand forward to command her silence.

“Wanna know why I changed? How about... waking up in that nightmare world every single night.

Every single one. Being there alone. Without you. Without my children. Forcing myself to cope with it, Kitty...”

He clenched his fist, took a deep breath.

“... being misunderstood. Forced to go to therapy. Then, to a psychiatrist. Then, trapped in a hospital for months. Because you didn’t believe me, Kitty. Nobody believed me. Except... except the kids. Jake... Hiro... but you...”

He raised his finger, keeping his voice from breaking down.

“... you turned them against me, Kitty. You told them I was mad. You asked for divorce. And the court... the court took them away from me. Took me away from you. Forcibly. Because I was insane, right? Because I wanted... I craved your support. I wanted you to believe me. That was...

all that mattered.”

“Saìl...”

“Good grief.”

Vincent hugged Kia in front of Saìl, pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Are you done already? Blah blah therapy blah blah psychiatry blah blah always alone blah. Sending you to the doctor was what she though would be best for you! Everyone would have done that for their loved one! Do you think she was fine, witnessing your sanity slipping over, day by day? Saìl, why do you think the judge sided with her? Just a hint: she wasn’t the one who...”

Saìl growled, pointed his finger against him in turn.

“Stop it! I wasn’t... I haven’t...”

“... tried to kill yourself with both of your children? Is that what a father should do?”

Saìl roared, hissed like a snake, as he waved his arm towards Jackson. His pupils shrunk, twisted into a feline-like oval.

“You know NOTHING about being a parent!”

“Funny you say that. I have two children and an ex-wife, somewhere in the world. They don’t know I’m alive and I can’t remember about them, but I guess it counts for something?”

A standoff of stares, loaded words in the coldness of the night, under the gaze of the moon.

Under the tears of Kia. Then, a noise from behind.

The door to the rooftop.

The three of them turned towards it, almost simultaneously. The door creaked open, as steps marched in, slowly but surely, one by one. A reflection under the light. A featureless, ceramic mask, white as snow, with two slits for the eyes. Black body armor, covering his whole body, with white plates reinforcing it on the shoulders and pectorals. The stranger left the door behind, bowed in front of Saìl without saying a word. Then, pulled a leash, tied to his right hand. And two children walked through the dark, their hands tied, right behind him.

“Mom? V... Vince?”

“Hiro! Jake!”

Jackson and Kia screamed in unison, as the masked man led the way to the rooftop, under the suspicious gaze of Saìl.

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Rishel. Where’s...”

“Deshvawn was completely humiliated by a heathen, brother Derakines. A mutant thrashed him to unconsciousness, before I could do anything. I didn’t have time to bring him to safety. The kids were my priority, as you commanded.”

Jackson looked at the newcomer, then at the kids, then at Saìl. Beaten up unconscious by a mutant. If someone could have recognized his expression, they would have seen him grinning. Then, his grin became a frown. If that Rishel was there with the kids...

“Shaz! What did you do to Shaz, you bastard?”

The masked man shrugged.

“Do you really care for mutant scum like him? Don’t worry, heathen – I didn’t kill him. Killing is against our rules. We are not terrorists. We want to help mankind evolve. This is why we follow brother Derakines.”

Saìl drew a deep breath. Deshvawn. Left unconscious, in a public place. With paramedic teams ready to storm it, the police too. Drawing connections between him and the Dreamers would have been easy. That was the end of the line. Deshvawn being apprehended was what set it in motion. He resisted the urge to slap Rishel. Recovering Deshvawn was all he was tasked to, in case something went wrong, but no – he took the initiative. And now, now his right hand man was going to be questioned and scanned, his ties with him uncovered. Just because his third-in-command had a spotlight-stealing moment.

It was fine, though.

Not that he had a reason to keep the Dream going. Not anymore.

“Let the children come to me, Rishel. I’ve waited so long for this moment. The moment... of our reunion.”

He waved his hand at his subordinate. Rishel nodded, drew a handgun out of his holster, pointed it at Jackson and Kia.

“Don’t move or I pull the trigger.”

Jackson shrugged, pushed his hat against his forehead.

“So much for killing is against our rules.”

Rishel cocked his weapon, the bullet loaded.

“Shooting you in the kneecaps hardly qualifies as killing.”

Jackson froze, pulled Kia, shielded her with his body, without breaking eye contact with the man in white. Saìl nodded, walked towards his children, patting Rishel on the shoulder as if to say good job.

Hiro’s eyes widened, his mouth agape. His father, the man he used to call “dad”, was gloating in front of him, dressed in what looked like a creepy ceremonial robe, his eyes switching between round and elongated irises at breakneck pace.

“Papa? What does this mean? Why did the white mister brought us here?”

Saìl kneeled in front of him, looking into his scared eyes.

“To free you and your brother from the illusion you have lived in until now.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Takara.”

A raucous voice, oddly feminine despite its roughness. An uninvited guest? Saìl blinked, raised his gaze with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Only to see another gun, pointed directly at him. And a mane of azure hair, framing the thirty-one old face of detective Veckert Rainer.

**

Shaz cursed, once more. Another time. And another time. His body was slowly reacting, his muscles under his control again. Not bad for someone who had been tasered four times in ten minutes by two different hitmen. Yet, it wasn’t enough, not by a mile.

“Gaetano! Gaetano! You hear me?”

He opened his eyelid, as one of the waiters from Jackson’s was shaking him wildly, trying to elicit a reaction. Shaz tried to stand, fell on his knees. His head was spinning, his balance tap dancing with a broken rhythm, making him feel as if he was sitting on a rollercoaster. That scarecrow. That white scarecrow. He punched him on the snout, on his ampullae, he tasered him there too. That bastard. He didn’t even have time to celebrate the dismissal of the black-masked idiot and bring the children to safety. Sucker punched with whatever thousand volts.

He groaned.

That guy kidnapped Kia’s kids. Vince’s soon-to-be sons. And that was his fault. He retched, fell on his knees again.

“Gaetano!”

“I’m here, ‘kay? Stop... shouting, yeah? Bloody moonfish, that was...”

He threw up. His digestive juices spilled on the ground in a pool of ooze and half-digested macaroni. The man in white did him good. Silent. Deadly. A double electric punch to his weak spot, the weak spot of every real shark, and he was down. Levels above the black-masked idiot. He could just hit him once, hard, to the chest – and even that had not been enough. But it wasn’t time for recrimination, it was time for action. He fought against his nausea, reached for his phone, shouted in its direction.

“Call Vince! Now!”

The phone ringed once.

No signal. Number unreachable.

“Call Kia!”

The phone ringed just once, again. No signal. Number unreachable.

“Bloody herring!”

The waiter helped him stand-up, as he tried to think. Thinking wasn’t his strong suite, but he had to make an effort. He glanced at the man in black, still unconscious, dried blood under his nose, poured on the measly rests of his face mask. He wouldn’t have been able to answer any question for quite some time. He cursed. The police? It would have been so hard to explain it to them, they didn’t know Vince, or Kia, or him. No, huh, they knew him, but as an ex-criminal to keep under their watch, not as a reliable witness.

Think, Shaz. Think. Think. Whom. Whom could he contact? Whom...

A flash from earlier that evening. The right person, at the right place. He roared, his voice echoing in the alley, once again directed to his burner phone.

“Call the horny gremlin! Now!”

**

When the sharkman’s voice poured out of Lejl’s phone, screaming something barely intelligible, Veckert didn’t know what to think about it. But then, hearing the words kidnapped Kia’s kids and Vince at the Bonzaga Tower in the same sentence turned her into full hound mode.

Kia Takara. Match. Kia’s children. Saìl’s children. Match. Bonzaga Tower. Match. One look at the monitor, at the GPS bracelet still showing the same location. Saìl was there. Kia and that Jackson were going there. Her kids had been kidnapped just as she was going there. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Not even one minute later, she had started running to her car, her gun held among her teeth as she rummaged her pockets for the key fob. Then, her Potenti Aquila had unleashed its torque, with a sudden acceleration that left Lejl speechless and sinking into the passenger seat.

Oh yes, Lejl. In the heat of the action, Veckert had just grabbed her and shoved her into her car, asking her to keep the communication open with the sharkman, while she was breaking every marked and unmarked speed limit to reach the tower in question. Yard would have covered her speeding tickets, to hell with the laws. And that had somehow worked, as they reached the tower just as a small van had parked in front of it, a van left soon after by a man clad in white armor – followed by two children.

Those children.

Too far to reach, but not to follow. Once inside, forcing the receptionist to comply hadn’t been hard. Then, to the roof, with the other elevator. In time for the big show. In time for hearing Saìl utter those words.

“To free you and your brother from the illusion you have lived in until now.”

In time to point her gun at him and ruin his evening.

“I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Takara.”

Saìl’s dumbfounded gaze fell on her, on the small-ish silhouette of that azure-haired woman, on her piercing deep green eyes, staring at him with utter contempt. And, behind her...

“Lejl Kaleidos...?”

The Dreamer who knew more of the Dream than he himself. His blood boiled, he gritted his teeth.

“You sold me to the cops? After all I did for us? For the Dream? For the Emperor?”

Then, he heard a loud thud. Something hit the ground. He turned for an instant, his attention snatched. Only to see Rishel kneeling, his gun kicked five or six meters away from him. He raised his gaze, trying to gauge the situation. And, as such, he saw him.

Vincent Jackson.

Standing tall, towering over his elite guard. Pushing his colorful hat against his forehead.

As an automatic reaction, Saìl closed his arms around his children, bringing both of them to him, moving them in front of himself, while retreating towards the handrail, the very limit of the roof they were standing on.

“Papa! Papa, it hurts!”

“It’s for your own good, Jake! Trust your dad, please! Please!”

Hiro tried to kick out of his grasp, Jake too. But that was useless. Their strength was not enough to overwhelm that of their father. Rishel took it as a cue, stood up again, raised his guard, started walking slowly, towards his gun. Veckert waved her weapon, moving it between her two main targets, trying to decide which to prioritize. Aiming at Saìl would have forced him to stand still, but allowed Rishel to move. Aiming at Rishel meant Saìl could do whatever he wanted with his two hostages.

She bit her lips, took aim, shot.

The bullet ricocheted on the downed gun, pushed it further away, before Rishel’s hand could reach for it. The man turned around, stared at her, his eyes filled with rage.

Then, the kick hit.

A perfect roundhouse, right onto the side of his face, sending him spinning, his back making contact with the floor one more time. Jackson, of course. Adjusting his hat with what looked like slight annoyance. I’ll deal with him. That’s what it seemed to say. Veckert grinned, nodded, pointed her firearm at Saìl once again. At Saìl, and his two small hostages.

“Takara, you aren’t doing this, are you? Putting your own children in danger, in front of their mother? Such a parental failure, you are.”

“As if you knew anything about family, Scarred Hound. I just want what’s best for those kids! I want to save them!”

“Save them from what, Takara? You can’t even save yourself! Now, please, let them go. Don’t make your situation worse than it already is.”

Then, Kia stepped forward, much to her surprise.

“Detective. Let me... talk with him.”

Veckert kept her gun aimed at the man, her eyes unwavering.

“Only if you remain by my side. Don’t go closer. He has two human shields, already. We don’t need him to get a third one for free.”

On his side, Rishel was trying to gauge his situation. The sharkman that crushed Deshvawn had left a scar on his body, just before being tasered a second time. A punch of his almost crushed his pectoral armor and the ribs underneath. Carrying Deshvawn’s body with those wounds would have been impossible, but he couldn’t admit it in front of Brother Derakines. The batteries of his tasers were empty too. He didn’t expect to have to fight more than once, for that night. Yet, that was the case again. Against a man whose face was blurred beyond comprehension, no less. Rishel had heard of urban legends about the man with the hat, the faceless creature lurking around the Witch Tower, accepting odd jobs and always, always wearing bright-colored clothes. Could Jackson be him? His kicks had come out of nowhere, with incredible strength, caught him flat-footed twice already. His gun was barely out of reach, too far to grasp it while confronting the hatted man’s swift movements. He considered his options. His suit of armor was still relatively intact, despite having been severely tested by the sharkman. He clenched his fists. Knocking out that Jackson and getting his gun back was his one chance of mathematically getting the upper hand and help Brother Derakines. He bent his arm, loaded his punch, ran forward, delivering a powerful straight. Just in time for Jackson to duck it, spinning his leg around in a perfect semicircle, sweeping his opponents’ ankles at the same time. Rishel lost his balance, fell on his back. Jackson raised his right leg, almost above his own head. Then, let gravity do its job, delivering a shattering axe kick. Rishel rolled on his side, avoided Jackson’s heel at the last moment, cursed under his breath, stood again. In front of his eyes, Jackson was leaping, preparing a sort of half moon kick. Rishel saw an opening, steeled his nerves, rammed forward. His shoulder hit Jackson as he was falling, slammed him down, his hat flying to the ground. Rishel saw his chance to even the odds. He didn’t press his advantage, but leapt backwards, running towards his gun, finally in his grasp. He grabbed it, loaded it, aimed it at his nemesis. Only for a jumping knee to make it fly away once more. Rishel’s arm was shaken by the impact, as he lost his weapon for the third time that night. For an instant, his brain refused to believe Jackson had already recovered. And it was right. Because, in front of his eyes, he didn’t see the featureless face of his foe. No. What he saw, were the bright, yellow irises of a girl, standing upside down, grinning while using his shoulders as a launchpad, twisting his torso around, then exploiting his own weight against him, while spinning above his head with perfect coordination. Rishel tumbled on the ground, his armored pads clattering at every impact. He raised his confused gaze, noticed a crumpled fedora in front of him. A bright, lime green fedora, no less. Then, he saw the hand, grabbing the hat, straightening its folds. He followed its arc with his eyes, somehow entranced by that slow, elegant motion. The hand placed the hat right on the head of its owner, the very Jackson he was fighting against. Then, he felt it. The impact. Last thing he heard, was the cracking of the air. All went black, as the kick smashed his face mask. His nape crashlanded, as the last hint of consciousness left his body. While crumpling down, his eyes registered the annoyance in the stare of his opponent. Funny, he thought, now I can kind of discern his features.

Then, his mind faded into darkness, as his brain switched off.

**

Saìl breathed slowly, focusing his attention on the two women in front of him. His ex-wife, mother of his children. And that azure-haired, scarred detective who seemed to be able to read each and every one of his moves. It was a nefariously unfortunate coincidence to have his reunion ruined like that – by a local celebrity, no less. But giving up was not an option. It had never been one. Saìl didn’t give up, when the Black Lightning Disaster happened. He didn’t give up, even as his life ended. So, why should he? After all, they had been one and the same, for a long time.

“Sasa, stop! How can you use your children as human shields?”

He nodded. That was a good question, indeed. He could see why Saìl liked her. Straight to the point. No-nonsense. Mother grizzly for her cute little piglets. No wonder Saìl loved her. No wonder he found her useful, endearing even.

It’s easy. They are not my children .

He grinned. That was the answer. They were Saìl’s children, not his. And whatever the remnants of Saìl’s personality thought, in the rare moments when he let them out, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t Saìl. He had stopped being Saìl when the Black Lightning struck. And, lately, he started being someone else entirely. It had to be the flowers.

Of course, it was the flowers.

O flowers o flowers o flowers.

They had germinated, bloomed inside the Dream for some time, just days before the rekashiza emerged.

O flowers o flowers o flowers.

All Dreamers saw them. Most touched them, got near them, loved them, became Seeds for them.

Some refused them, like that Lejl. An enemy of the flowers, despite having known ****. Despite having known the Gardener. Despite having known him.

O flowers o flowers o flowers.

But the flowers said he had no time left. So, he had to act. He had to break the pattern. He had to save his children, Saìl’s children, bring them to the flowers, before everything was lost. Show them the truth, let them Dream. Yet, Kia wouldn’t understand. He didn’t try to kill them. He tried to transport them to the Dream, to use a Tide to mesh them with the ever changing texture of the Dream. Because he asked so. His Emperor asked so. He wanted Jake and Hiro – Ezariel and Erwan. Or was it the flowers? No, no, there were no flowers before. Or were there? Those beautiful rafflesia flowers. Hiro and Jake needed to see them. It was the reason why he couldn’t wait. Yet, he should use his words carefully. The gun was aimed at his head. He couldn’t just say that. He needed to play his part, to play Saìl, as he did for the past three years. A discreet job that fooled many, but, unfortunately, didn’t land with Kia – the only person he really wanted to convince. No, that couldn’t, wouldn’t work. The truth. The truth was better. Kia would have accepted it better. She already got glimpses of it, that Saìl and he were not the same. Denying it would have just made her more suspicious.

Here goes nothing .

“Kitty, please... listen to me just once, alright?”

He stared at her, let his eyes return to their normal shape, from the feline oval they often switched to. He glanced at Rishel, currently fighting against Jackson, running to get his gun. An unplanned distraction, but a welcome one. It meant he could speak with Kia, without being interrupted by that hatted nuisance for a while longer.

“First off, I owe you the truth. Saìl, your Saìl... died. Three years ago, in Euterpe. I am not him. I have never been him, completely. I’m... just what he left behind. As all Dreamers are – shells of someone that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His voice was steady, yet grave. A burden lifted, something that pleased the little traces of the original not yet overwritten. Yet, Kia didn’t seem to believe. Her gaze was cold. Merciless. He shivered.

“I knew this all along, Kitty. Yet, I tried to be him. Tried to go forth with my life, as he would have.

Tried to be a father to your children. But... but the more I tried, the more I worked for it, the more I realized...”

His pupil shifted to their feline form, once more.

“... that there was no way for me to do that. Because my mind was in the Dream. Every. Single. Night. Reminding me that I am... I was a defective copy. But I loved you. And I loved your children. And I... I wanted them with me. Inside the Dream. To end... my loneliness. That was it. That was what I tried to achieve, when you... when you threatened me to bring them away.”

He could feel Hiro’s confused gaze, without even lowering his eyes. That was the tie that bound them. Family.

“P... papa? What are you saying? You are not my dad?”

“No, I’m not your father, Hiro. But, at the same time, he is... a part of me.”

Grunts, noises of clattering metal. Rishel had just been downed by a flying knee, followed by what looked like a spinning aerial grab. By Lejl, of all people. Lejl Kaleidos. Another Dreamer that refused the Dream. He stopped paying attention to her. She wasn’t worth it.

“So, Kitty... you have seen the rekashiza, right? It’s proof that this world is doomed! I want to save you and them! But... but even if I brought you to the Dream, your shell would diverge quickly, because you are too old, too close-minded! Hiro and Jake instead... their shells would be in a continuum! They would be able to live in both realities! If this fake layer collapsed, they could still... survive. I gave up, after you stopped me, but then... then I saw the truth! I saw the light! I SAW THE FLOWERS! They spoke to me, both inside and outside the gallery! Spoke with me and told me my time was over, but that I still could save Saìl’s children, make them mine, have them survive!”

He smiled, closed his eyes, spread his arms, loosening his grip on the kids.

“Survive, and see the flowers with m...”

“ENOUGH!”

A loud bang, a clear target in sight. He had dropped his guard. His ramblings. His ramblings were too similar to those of ****. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t leave him alive. Saìl – no, ****’s head bounced, as the projectile pierced its frontal lobe. Then another shot, and another, hitting his chest once, twice. **** gasped for air, as the impact cut his breath, under Kia’s horrified gaze.

Veckert shouted, her voice thundering above the noise.

“Jackson, the children! Now!”

As if her voice triggered something in his mind, Vince leapt towards the kids pulled them away from ****, shielded them from the sight, as his body started falling to the ground. Kia’s eyes widened, her hand reached for her mouth as her voice refused to leave her lungs.

But **** didn’t crumble. **** didn’t stiffen. ****, simply, didn’t die.

He glanced at them, as the hole in his head poured blood like a fountain. Blood, green blood, followed by something darker. Then, the voice came out, again. But it wasn’t that of Saìl. It was that of another man. A voice she knew all too well.

“Oooo flowers! O flowers! Ooooo...”

Another bang. Another. Another one. What looked like Saìl’s body jolted back and forward, pushed by the impact. Then, the mangled construct reached for the railing, stood near it, refusing to yield.

“SASA!”

Kia tried to leap forward, but Vince stopped her, grabbed her arm.

“Ooooh Kitty! Kittykittykitty! How... naive of you... to trust me...”

His grimace turned into a wicked grin, as he leaned on the cold metal.

“... did you really think... that in all these years... I haven’t replaced... one of them already?”

One last bang. ****’s head jolted backwards, as the projectile pierced it again. Then, his whole body tumbled, lost balance. And, somehow, fell over the protecting railing.

“SASAAAAA!”

Falling from the last floor of the Bonzaga Tower.

Falling to his doom.

**

Lejl opened the paper bag again, threw up once more. She coughed, tears clouding her reddened eyes, her tired cheeks. A hand offering her a new, fresh bag, while the other was firmly holding the steering wheel.

“Want one more? I have plenty of them left.”

She nodded weakly, grabbed the bag from Veckert’s hand, repeated that ritual one more time.

Veckert was staring at her with the corner of her eye. She had to drive too, couldn’t get too distracted or, in case of incident, the insurance would have eaten her alive. Yet, Lejl’s miserable state was something she couldn’t accept without doing anything. Most of all, she was surprised by her own reaction – or lack thereof. Maybe, working for the ROPES department for so long had desensitized her. Or, maybe, she didn’t have stakes in what had happened that night, except closing her case. A case with no silver lining, for her personal life.

“W... will I end up like him, detective?”

“Can’t say. I hope not, to be honest, but I’m no scientist. Just a hound of Yard.”

You know when it’s the case of keeping civilians out of the crime scene, Veckert. Yet, you didn’t stop them from following you. You didn’t tell them to wait. No, you let them – you let Kia and Lejl run with you towards the ground floor.

Towards his remains.

She sighed. What was done, was done.

If I knew what was coming, I would have been more cautious.

But what could have prepared them for what they actually found?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“Those vines... the flowers...”

Lejl’s puffed her cheeks, tried to contain herself. But she couldn’t. Once again, her gastric fluids flowed into the tiny paper bag.

“... just like him. Just like... Mr. Kissilmer.”

Veckert nodded, furrowed. Just like him. Just like ****. Blossomed. Bloomed. Not a corpse, more like a cocoon. Ripped, squashed. What once was Saìl Takara, was no more. But that couldn’t be all, could it? Lejl had already seen it once. Why now, of all times?

“What if all Dreamers end up like him, when they die? What if... if...”

Oh, that was it. Nobody knew whether ****, whatever was inhabiting the body of Silman Simmerik was a Dreamer. But Saìl was. One hundred percent. And so were Rishel, and that other thug Deshvawn, and all the people that Lejl met at the Gate. If **** was a dreamer, and Saìl was a dreamer...

“Does it make a difference, Ms. Kaleidos?”

“Lejl. Please, call me Lejl. I have... I am...”

Veckert sighed once more, as she lazily turned the wheel. She didn’t want to get too informal, but in her state? Hell if you do, hell if you don’t.

“Okay, okay, Ms. Kale... Lejl. You can call me Veckert, then. But not Vicky. Say Vicky once, just once, and I will eject you out of the car. The passenger seat has a hidden rocket engine, like those in jet planes. Don’t make me pull the trigger.”

Of course, that was a lie, but – hey – anything to try and brighten a clouded mood. Unsurprisingly, her remark caused a chuckle, the first since she boarded her car, after the clean-up team from Yard arrived, together with the ever-obnoxious face of EiN.

“Nice blond chick you got there, gotta bang her on the backseats, Veck?”

“Fuck you, EiN.”

“You’d rather fuck me? I’m flattered, but also married. And not into lesbians, sorry.”

“Okay, to hell with you, EiN. Is that better?”

To think she had been his best woman at his wedding. At the time, she was still living together with Geri. Her longest relationship. Again, with a blonde. Yet, at least EiN and the team had taken care of Rishel (real name: Lai de’ Malevich, apparently) and his pal Deshvawn, offering them a one way trip to the nearest detention facility. So, as Vince, Kia and her children set off on their own car, a very-much-shaken Lejl had to be taken care of. And, of course, Veckert volunteered, not wanting to have to deal with paperwork, coroners or children.

“I’m scared, Veckert. My girlfriend... I’ve never told her anything. What if... what if I passed away during the night and... and...”

Oh, so that was the sticking point.

“You should just tell her the whole story, Lejl. You told me that ignorance is rarely bliss. Keeping your secret will create more problem than it solves. I had a couple relationships fall apart, because of that.”

A couple dozens, but she wouldn’t tell it to a woman she barely knew. Silence fell for a long second, as Lejl stared blankly around, trying to gather her thoughts. She started fidgeting with the stereo of the car, trying to find a good channel to listen to. To her surprise, the notes of one of her favorite blues songs filled the cockpit of her car. The Child behind Your Eyes, by The Bluesman and the Tiny Fox. First song she listened to, once the St. Patrick segregation ended. It was a funny, heartwarming coincidence for it to show up, all of a sudden, in the dark of a night that didn’t want to end.

“Veckert, I... I know this is a long shot, but... could you... could you help me? Could you come with me to my house now?”

“Now?”

“I’ll write Cyphy to wait for me. That I need to talk to her in person, but...”

Veckert kept her hands on the steering wheel, giving her time to complete the sentence.

“I don’t... want to wait. I need to do it, you are right. I’m... not sure I can do that alone. Could you please... just be there? By my side?”

That wasn’t even that bad. Except, she didn’t even had a decent dinner. And, probably, neither did Lejl.

“I’ll cook something... for the three of us. We didn’t... huh, even eat. Would it be fine with you?”

As if she had read her thoughts.

“... okay, but no asparagus, alright? Everything except asparagus. Really, I can’t stand that vegetable.”

“Neither can I, but Cyphy loves it.”

“OF COURSE she loves it! She’s German!”

Another chuckle, a little spark of life in her once dead eyes. Veckert let out a little smile too.

“Turing Avenue, was it? We’ll be there in fifteen minutes tops.”

Lejl nodded, her eyes wet.

“T... thank you, Veckert. How can... I ever pay you back?”

“Tell me, do you have by chance a twin sister, who’s into women and single? Or a blond friend in your age range, possibly plus one or two years – again, single and looking for a stable relationship?”

Lejl closed her eyes, shook her head.

“I’m... sorry, I don’t. I mean, I have one close friend who’s basically pan, but she isn’t blond and she... huh, works as an adult streamer. Aaand she’s blind, or well, she was blind, now not really, but... I’m not sure she’s looking for any sort of long-term story?”

Veckert almost stomped the brake pedal, as her heart skipped a beat. A non-blond porn streamer with visual impairments?

“... you are friend with BlindSeraphim?!”

“Yeah! We’ve been close for a while! Long time acquaintance of Cyphy! And... ugh, one moment.”

Another spasm, Lejl went for the paper bag again. A short pause, as she finally managed to stop her body from retching, this time without having to throw up. Relieved, she breathed deeply, cracked a smile towards her travel companion.

“You were saying?”

“Well, once, we’ve also been in bed, all together – Cyphy, her and I! She’s that good, Veckert, highly recommended! But... I think you might be – huh – too old for her.”

Veckert gritted her teeth, rolled her eyes. Not only that Lejl ticked all her boxes, she was already taken AND had sex with one of the few Booner streamers she fawned over, one she didn’t have any chance with because she was over thirty?

She growled silently, as her car started arcing toward the next intersection.

That case truly had no saving grace.

**

“Bloody moonfish! Ye’re fine! Ye little fellas are fine!”

As Shaz saw Hiro and Jake, safe and sound, he couldn’t resist the urge to hug both of them, crying like a baby in the process. Vince couldn’t help but feel his earth warming up a little bit, at that sight, the sight of a great white, with four taser burns, laughing and rejoicing at the sight of those two little rascals. Yet, not all was bright.

Kia was standing there, in silence, almost frozen. Vince hugged her.

“I’m sorry, Kia. I couldn’t do anything.”

“That thing...”

That picture. The picture of that mass of dead vines sprouting from a corpse, of that black pool of ooze surrounding it, of that mini-rekashiza, one that Vince had stepped on with extreme prejudice, was still vivid in her mind.

“That thing wasn’t my Sasa.”

Yet, she neither threw up, nor she cried nor she passed out. She held strong, dissociating that creature from the man she used to love, for the benefit of the man she now loved. She accepted Vince’s hug, let his finger caress her skin.

“He wasn’t, no. He was... something else. Posing as him, for the past three years.”

“I should have... I should have seen that coming. For my kids. Yet... yet...”

She shoved her head in his chest, sighing deeply.

“Do you think he said the truth? That he really replaced... Hiro or Jake... with a thing?”

Vince glanced at the two pests playing with Shaz, laughing together as he told them how he smashed Deshvawn’s face and mimicked the action in slow motion. They didn’t get a chance to see the corpse. Detective Rainer stopped them in time.

“No, it was one last bluff. Just to sow discord, doubt. If Hiro or Jake were Dreamers, they would have already told us, right? No kid wakes up in a nightmare landscape every night without telling all about it in the morning.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I’m always right. Even when I’m not.”

“Except when I am.”

“Except when you are, yes.”

She rested on his chest for a while, her eyes closed. Too many thoughts for that night. Too many events. Too much pain. She needed sleep. Vince too. Seeing him dealing with Rishel had been a surprise. Those kicks, that speed. He was no ordinary human. But he never hid that fact anyway.

“Good day, Mister, is this a new cafe?”

“I’m opening it in a couple days, yes. Name’s Jackson’s. Like its owner, which would be me.”

“I... huh, Mr. Jackson, yes? Wait, your face...? What happened to your face?”

“Silly me, I lost it in a bet with the devil years ago. Nah, truth is, I was kind of experimented on by the government. But it’s fine, I’ve got plenty of faces now. A different one each millisecond.”

“That’s pretty handy, when one doesn’t want to be recognized. But your clothes... kind of scream the opposite?”

“It’s a long story Ms...”

“Takara. Kia Takara. I have time. Waiting for my kids to get out of school, anyway.”

“Then, allow me to offer you the first coffee of Jackson’s. My treat.”

And that’s what she loved about him. No secrets. Open about his past, or lack thereof. Open about the speculations on his previous identity, on his life at the edge of the law as the man with the hat. That was her Vince, the man she was going to marry in two weeks.

And Vince thought the same about her. She hugged her tightly, caressing her long, blond hair, put his own prized hat on her head, as if to shield her from the world around them. And move on form that nightmare, from their past. Together.

**

A buzzing noise in the dark, where none should have been heard. After all, who can expect a TV

to switch on by itself in what’s left of a decrepit flower shop, closed forever after his owner vanished out of thin air?

Yet, the TV is switching on, even if electricity shouldn’t flow through its cables. But, apparently, this doesn’t concern it at all. The screen is bright, its pixels filled with digital noise, noise dancing and becoming one with the display, showing figures and silhouettes. The audio, though, is still a bit mangled, late. Just a millisecond or two, but enough to be perceptible. Enough to be noticeable.

It’s four in the night, and the channel is FTV, as the logo pops up in the lower right corner.

Surprise, it’s a rerun of Eliphya, of the infamous thorn episode that was pulled from syndication.

It’s the moment where the vines from Count Sebastien strip her naked, the moment that caused that sequence to be cut from the home release, after the death of the main actress. Why was that episode running on that TV, in a dilapidated flower shop? Most likely an error of someone at FTV.

Yeah, nobody would watch the TV at four in the night for that. Or, maybe some would. Nobody can judge all human cravings.

Yet, as the vines start removing the last layer of clothing, the image fades, burns, stops. A nice jingle plays, slightly distorted. It’s advertisement. Right at the climax, because it’s how it works.

A black room, filled with robed people. The smile of Saìl Derakines. One last ad, recorded days before the incident? We don’t know. Syndication is a weird beast.

“Rejoice, friends! The True World is coming, and you will be saved, if you Dream!”

It’s definitely Saìl, or rather ****. But seen how Rishel and Deshvawn are in the background, yes, this must be old.

“The rekashiza is the sign! But you can survive! Look for the Dream! Look for the Flowers!”

Camera pan around the room, every single person wearing a mask, shaped like a chrysanthemum.

“Because every Dreamer is a Seed.”

His finger pointed at the camera, his eye piercing the objective, breaking the fourth wall, glancing at the hypothetical viewer.

“Even you.”

Static. In a digital TV. Pictures of the rekashiza of Shard, of the Donners. Static. Pictures of ****’s corpse (how did he get the footage?), from that very flower shop.

Static.

The TV resumes the episode of Eliphya, the stripping scene plays out as the protagonist screams, as the camera pans on her defenseless body.

Then, it switches off, immediately after.

And the buzzing noise stops.