Fear and despair are spreading across the world.
People wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, eyes wide with terror. Some never wake up at all. Others lose their minds slowly, day by day, after reliving the same horrors night after night.
Entire cities are reporting clusters of identical dreams. Faces twisted in pain. Skies raining fire. A door that never opens. And always, always, the sound of something breathing in the dark.
It began with one man.
Dr. Elias Vorne, age 78, physicist, neurologist, and creator of the world's first neural-lucid interface, what he once called his "Bridge to the Subconscious." A device designed to explore human dreams.
It was supposed to cure trauma, treat mental illness, and help stroke patients rebuild neural paths. But something went wrong.
Six months ago, Dr. Vorne locked himself inside his lab in northern Sweden and cut off contact with everyone. Three weeks later, the first mass dream event was recorded in Berlin.
Four patients in a psychiatric ward described the same terrifying dream: a burning staircase that led nowhere and a man standing at the top with his face missing.
It spread fast.
By the time the UN launched a formal investigation, over 30,000 people worldwide had reported the same recurring dreams. And they all pointed back to the same man. Elias Vorne.
Inside a small, heavily guarded medical facility outside Lulea, Dr. Vorne lies comatose. His body is weak, muscles atrophied, but his brain scans show abnormal levels of activity, off the charts, constant, unrelenting. As if he's dreaming without pause. As if he's stuck.
"He's broadcasting something," said Dr. Yara Kessari, lead neurologist on the case. "We don't know how or why, but his dreams are leaking into the global conscious network. If we don't stop it soon, we'll have a worldwide psychological collapse."
Leon Raines.
Thirty-four. Ex-military. Neuroscience background. One of only a dozen people on Earth trained to use the very technology that caused the outbreak.
Four people have tried entering Elias' dreams using the neural bridge. None of them came back.
Now it's his turn.
They lower him into the chair at 7:06 a.m. The room is dark, lit only by low blue medical lights. Electrodes trace the sides of his head like veins of silver. A hum fills the chamber.
Yara stands behind the glass.
"You only get one full entry," she says. "The neural gate can't be re-opened without destroying your mind's anchor. If you die there…"
"I know," Leon cuts in. "It's over."
He closes his eyes. The hum rises. The world flickers.
[DREAM ENTRY INITIATED]
They told him he could escape a dream if he figured out what it was and how to solve it.
That was the only rule.
He opened his eyes to darkness. A long alley stretched ahead, lined with cracked stone walls. The heat coming from here felt real. Somewhere behind him, footsteps echoed, slow and steady.
He turned.
Two shadow-figures. Tall and silent, their forms shimmered, flickering like flame in reverse, blackness swallowing light. No eyes, no faces. Just outlines and movement.
Leon didn't wait; he ran.
The alley twisted into corners. He kept going, faster, breathing sharp in his chest. The footsteps behind him never sped up, but somehow, they stayed close. Always a few steps back and always there.
He ducked behind a wall, pressing his back to it, silence.
Then they turned the corner.
The shadows stopped in front of him. One pointed. The other opened its mouth and screamed.
The sound wasn't loud, it was deep. It hit his bones. His head throbbed. The pain came suddenly, like a spike driven through his skull. His knees buckled.
He hit the ground, clutching his temples. Despair flooded him, thick and crushing. It wasn't fear like running from a bear, it was the kind of fear that paralyzes you. The kind that makes you want to stop existing.
You're nothing.
You'll never escape.
You are a failure.
The shadows loomed over him.
But something clicked in his head.
This is a dream.
The rule. Solve it. What is this?
Leon forced himself to think. He pushed through the pain.
Chased. Monsters. Fear.
He remembered the briefing. He'd studied Elias Vorne's life before coming here. The scientist had grown up in a quiet house in Romania. But his childhood wasn't peaceful. His parents, strict, punishing and cold. Not discipline. Abusive and controlling.
These weren't just shadows.
Leon stood up slowly, even as his limbs shook.
"You're supposed to be his parents," he said aloud, voice hoarse.
The shadows froze.
He looked at them closer now. Their forms flickered. The shapes became clearer, hands, long and bony. One held a belt. The other, a ruler.
"But I'm not your kid," he said. "So, you can't do anything to me."
No response.
He remembered something else, something simple. Something human. What do kids do when the nightmare gets too scary?
They close their eyes.
And hope it goes away.
No. He will open his eyes and face it.
Leon stared at them. "That's it, isn't it? The only way to beat you is to stop being afraid."
He took a step forward.
The shadows twitched.
Another step.
They began to shrink.
He walked toward them now, faster. No more running. No more hiding. "He was afraid of you, but I'm not. You don't control this dream. He does. And I'm not him."
The moment he said it, the air lightened with every step forward, as if the shadows were sucking the darkness back into themselves.
The cracked stones beneath his boots brightened, the walls straightened, and the alley stretched wide enough to breathe again.
By the time the last wisp of shadow dissolved, the space smelled faintly of rain instead of smoke.
silence.
Leon stood alone in the empty alley.
He took a breath. His heart slowed. The pain faded. The heaviness lifted.
One dream down.