As I sank deeper into the abyss, after those two names kissed me goodnight, I realized something strange:
I was still me.I knew it was a dream—but I was fully aware.
Fear was constant. So thick I could feel the cold, and the smell of sulfur burned its way into my nose.
Great.
First knockout of my life.
I'm starting to think those pills had something to do with this bad trip.
I tried to move.To walk.To do anything.
Nothing.
Just a pull.
A constant dragging—deeper and deeper. No permission asked. No room for but wait. Just invisible hands yanking me downward, like they wanted me closer.Closer to somewhere… or something.
This wasn't simple darkness.
It had layers.Stacked.Reinforced.
A black so dense it made regular black look like daylight—the kind of void even light doesn't bother trying to escape.
Absolute.
No bottom.No walls.No sound.
Just a rift swallowing everything.
For a moment, I wondered if this was some weird side effect of the Macallan. I mean—first time drinking something that good. Maybe my mouth wasn't made for it. Maybe my brain got fried by the taste. And why should I be suspicious of that sexy lady and those blister packs, right?
Time didn't mean shit there.Minutes. Hours. Who knows.
The pull never stopped.
Shapes twitched at the edges of my vision… or maybe my brain was panicking, trying to decorate the emptiness with anything at all.
And then—
A crack.
A flash.
Lightning tore the void open. For a split second, I saw the darkness recoil—peeling away like something alive, unwilling to be driven out.
And then—
I wake up.
Damn.
My head is still spinning.
What?
It's already sunrise?
With my eyes barely open, all I can see at first is light cutting through the night.
For a second, I think the dream was just my subconscious telling me I slept all night. That would make sense.
But it doesn't feel right.
How was I able to feel cold?And why does my nose itch like it's still burning with sulfur?
I look down.
There's something black smeared across my skin.
That's when panic really starts knocking.
I try to move.
Slow. Careful.
The world comes into focus—and it's completely unfamiliar.
Sunny Town is green. Fertile. Alive.
This place is none of that.
I'm lying on a military stretcher. An IV drips fluids straight into my veins. My body feels heavy, like it doesn't fully belong to me yet.
I turn my head.
Around me, I count them.
Nineteen souls.
Nineteen people sharing the same fate as me.
Some are awake, staring at nothing.Others are still unconscious.
All of us look young. Between twenty and thirty, maybe.
That's not random.
In front of our group, three figures stand together, talking quietly.
Behind them, stretching across the dunes, I can see a handful of military desert tents. Not many. Just enough.
The three men are hard to look at.
Scars cut across their faces. Their skin looks reforged by sun and heat—burned, healed, and burned again. These are people who live under the sun, not visit it.
They're wearing desert combat uniforms. Plain. Functional. Sand-colored patches with a single coiled S.Coyote boots.Chest holsters—each one carrying a Glock 19.
I recognize it from video games and movies.
Unfortunately.
Nothing about them is decorative. Everything has a purpose.
They don't look rushed.They don't look worried.
They look like this is routine.
And that's when it hits me.
My blood freezes. My nervous system screams at me to run as my body slowly starts coming back online—but let's be honest.
Even without trying, I know I'm not a match for any of them.
Even if every other soul here jumped them with me, we wouldn't make them feel threatened.
Not even a little.
So I decide the wisest choice is to stay right where I am—lying down, playing dead as convincingly as possible.
Think about it.
Why bother with IVs if they meant to kill us?Why use stretchers, even these shitty ones?If we were here for spare parts, they wouldn't risk damaging the merchandise.
No.
Whatever this is—it's not sloppy.
So I stay still.Not even an eyelid moves.
Whatever brought me here—whatever Ruby started,whatever Saphira with those pills finished—
This wasn't an accident.
I start thinking of a hundred different ways to escape this predicament. Enough to write a book—some clever, others unbelievably dumb.
But just as the sun is about to hit us in full force, the oldest man steps forward and gives an order, loud and sharp:
"Fall in!"
And with that command, my mind stops working.
Every escape plan evaporates