Makun lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
One and a half weeks.
That was all it had taken. From suicidal employee to homeless wanderer to MIO investigator.
The speed of it should have terrified him.
It did not.
This wave, I am going to ride it.
Be it mystics, creatures, or the eyed hand itself, he would face them all, he would climb, he would find answers.
His eyes grew heavy.
And as sleep pulled him under, the familiar darkness of his recurring dreams reached up to meet him.
...
BEEP! BEEP!
Makun's hand shot out from under the blanket and silenced his phone.
5:00 AM.
He lay still for a moment, the echo of the dream fading. Chains, darkness, glass tubes, the same images, every night.
He pushed them aside and sat up.
The shower was brief, he had used water warm enough to remove the remaining sleep from his bones. He dressed up and stepped into the corridor.
The residential wing was quiet, most doors still closed.
"Morning, Makun."
