The air was heavy with heat, thick with smoke.
A car blazed in the distance, its metal frame shrieking as it warped.
He ran toward it, every step pounding in his chest.
The girl was there—trapped, coughing, her hands clawing at the seatbelt.
He pulled hard, dragging her free. Her weight collapsed into his arms.
Her face was impossible to see—blurred like smeared paint.
Her lips moved, but the sounds were gibberish, sharp and broken.
The heat pressed closer, almost swallowing them whole—
Liam's eyes opened, and everything was white.
Sky, ground, horizon—no separation, no shadows, just endless, depthless white.
He sat up slowly, squinting against the brightness. "Where… the hell am I?"
A sound behind him—a faint step, light, deliberate.
He turned, and a silhouette stood a few paces away. Definitely female in shape, but beyond that, she was incomprehensible. His eyes slid off her edges, like trying to focus on a face underwater.
Then she began to become clearer.
That was when the pain hit.
It started as a sharp pressure in his skull, then swelled, doubling, tripling, until it felt like someone was driving nails into his brain. Images began to strobe across his vision—memories that weren't his. A man in a lecture hall. A squad moving through fog. A man in a suit collapsing over a champagne glass. A scalpel in bloodied hands.
The clearer she became, the more the agony swelled, until his vision went white-hot. He gasped, gripping his head, feeling like he'd already died ten times over.
The figure stepped forward, placed her palm against his forehead.
His senses roared to life—every sound deafening, every color painfully sharp, the faintest breath of air like sandpaper on his skin.
She spoke, one word, low and steady, and for the first time he understood her:
"It's… too soon. We'll meet again…
Darkness
The white swallowed him, then collapsed into black. For a moment, there was nothing—until he heard voices.
Arguing
They came like static through a broken radio—shouting, overlapping, all teeth and anger.
"—telling you, that's not how it happened—"
"—you weren't there, I saw it—"
"—both of you shut the hell up—"
"Agh! Will you guys shut up already?!"
Liam bolted upright in bed, chest heaving.
His wife was asleep beside him, undisturbed. The curtains were drawn, the room dim.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. "That stupid dream again… No… it was longer this time."
Slipping out of bed, he padded to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and splashed water over his face. Droplets clung to his skin as he stared into the mirror.
Then the headache hit.
It slammed into him like a freight train, doubling him over. Flashes ripped through his mind again—faces, deaths, lives that weren't his. His hands braced against the counter as his legs trembled.
The pain climbed, unbearable. He stumbled to the toilet, lowering himself to the seat before his body gave out completely.
Then—
A blue screen, hanging in the air before his eyes like some kind of hologram:
INSTABILITY DETECTED — FORCED SHUTDOWN INITIATED
"What… the hell…"
Before he could make sense of it, the world went black again.
The voices returned—louder now, clearer.
Liam opened his eyes to find himself seated at a long table that stretched so far he couldn't see either end.
Four others were there—but not quietly.
A thick-shouldered man in tactical fatigues had a wiry man in glasses by the collar, half-yanking him over the table. "Start talking, professor. Where are we? Who sent you? Was it Zaitsev's crew?"
The professor's face was flushed, glasses crooked. "I told you—I have no idea what you're talking about!"
The man in a tailored suit sat off to the side, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. "Drop the theatrics, soldier. How much did my wife pay you to drag me into whatever this is? Name your price, and I'll triple it."
A fourth man, gaunt and in a white coat, stood with his arms folded tight across his chest. His eyes flicked between the others with clinical caution. "You can all keep your games to yourselves. I'll make this clear now—you're not taking my organs without a fight."
Liam blinked, taking in the madness. "…Uh. Excuse me, where am I?"
They all froze for half a second.
The professor finally shoved the soldier's arm away and straightened his shirt. "Look, I'm telling you, this is a big misunderstanding. I'm sure I took—"
He stopped.
His brow furrowed. His mouth opened, closed. "…I… took… my own life."
The words came out slow, as if each one weighed more than the last. His voice grew quieter. "I… was in my apartment. The gun. The rain. I… Oh God." His hands trembled as he sank back into his chair.
The soldier's grip loosened completely. His eyes narrowed, a shadow crossing his face. "I was on a mission," he said, voice low. "Recon on a suspected bioweapons facility. We landed by boat… moved in quiet. Perimeter cleared. Intel was good. Too good."
He looked at the table but didn't seem to see it anymore. "Beeping. I remember the beeping. My guys—Lopez, Hale—they were right there and then—" His voice cracked, and he sat down hard. "…Bomb. We didn't make it out."
The businessman's smirk faltered for the first time. His hands fidgeted with his cufflinks. "I was at dinner. Anniversary dinner. My wife poured the wine. We toasted." His jaw tightened. "My chest started burning. She… smiled at me. And then—" His gaze went unfocused. "…No. No, that's not…" But his voice lacked conviction.
The doctor had gone still, the tension in his body changing from readiness to realization. "…The basement," he said, almost to himself. "Two men held me. Howard was there. Said I asked too many questions. The needle—" His hand went to his neck as though he could still feel it. "…I didn't wake up."
A heavy silence followed, each man's thoughts tangled in the moment they understood.
Liam leaned back, frowning. "…Okay. Definitely one of those crazy dreams."
Four heads turned toward him.
"You're not listening," the professor said, voice shaking.
"Yeah, yeah," Liam waved him off. "Lucid dream. Got it. Which means…" He folded his arms behind his head. "…what happens if I go to sleep while dreaming?"
"What—are you serious right now?" the soldier demanded.
"Going back to sleep."
In less than ten seconds, his breathing slowed. Then—
Poof.
The chair sat empty.
The soldier's head whipped toward the others. "What—where did the other guy go?!"