The neon lights of the city cast jagged shadows across fractured pavement, each flicker a grim pulse against the decay. Elias Vance hugged the alley's mouth, heart thudding like a war drum against his ribs. The air was thick with ozone and rot, a choking fog that clung to his throat. Above, the sky bore the bruises of endless night, towers humming ominously.
He checked his watch—an antique with a fading face—and cursed under his breath. Midnight had passed, and no patrol in sight. The Collective's enforcers were never late. Something was amiss.
Elias shifted his weight, trying to stave off the numbness creeping into his toes. His tattered jacket offered little warmth, more an illusion than comfort. Breath misted in the frigid air, each exhale a silent plea for dawn.
A distant rumble echoed through the narrow streets—a sound he knew too well. The patrol approached. Elias melted deeper into the shadows, willing himself invisible against graffiti-scared walls. His gaze darted between the alley's recesses and the advancing glow of flashlights cutting through gloom.
The patrol's voices drifted to him, harsh and mechanical. "Sector clear. Proceed to the next block." Boots echoed on concrete, a morbid metronome counting down his heartbeats. Elias held his breath as they passed, a flashlight beam flickering briefly into his sanctuary before moving on.
Relief washed over him, brief and shallow. A new sound pierced the silence—a choked cry, raw and desperate. It clawed at his gut, dread curling around his spine.
Elias hesitated, every instinct screaming to flee. But that cry echoed in his mind, unyielding. He stepped out of the alley, ears straining against the night. The sound came again, closer, a garbled plea for help.
He moved cautiously, each step deliberate and silent. The city held its breath around him, distant sirens and murmurs hushed as if anticipating his discovery. Elias rounded a corner and saw her—a woman huddled against a crumbling wall, body wracked with convulsions.
Her eyes met his, wide and terror-filled. "Help me," she mouthed, though no sound escaped her lips.
Elias's instincts warred—fight or flight, curiosity or self-preservation. He glanced back at the empty alley, then to the woman, shaking and desperate. Something in her gaze anchored him, a silent plea he couldn't ignore.
He approached slowly, hands raised. "It's okay," he said softly, knowing it was a lie. Nothing was okay in this city.
As he neared, she reached out a trembling hand, fingers brushing his arm. Her touch was ice-cold, grip surprisingly strong as she pulled him closer. Elias leaned in, hearing her ragged breaths, feeling the tremors that wracked her frame. She whispered something, too low for him to catch.
"What?" he asked, leaning closer still.
Her eyes flashed with intensity. "They're taking me," she rasped. Her gaze darted past him, and Elias turned just in time to see shadowy figures emerging from the dark—a second patrol, silent as ghosts.
Elias reacted on instinct, wrenching his arm free and lunging back. But it was too late. They swarmed him, strong hands gripping his shoulders, pinning him down. Panic surged through him, hot and wild.
A sharp sting in his neck—a syringe. Darkness rushed in at the edges of his vision, swallowing the cityscape whole. His last thought before oblivion: Not again.
Elias surfaced from darkness to harsh fluorescent light, antiseptic burning his nostrils. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog. The room was sterile, white walls stark against cold metal beds lined up in neat rows. Figures moved at the periphery—nurses, doctors, all cloaked in bland uniforms.
One approached him, face half-hidden by a surgical mask. Only her eyes were visible, sharp and assessing. She jotted something on a clipboard, voice clipped and professional. "Your vitals are stable. You should rest."
Elias tried to sit up, but dizziness hit hard. He sank back, mind racing. The alley... the woman... the patrol.
"Where is she?" he demanded, voice raw as gravel. "The woman I was with—what happened to her?"
The nurse paused, pen hovering over the clipboard. For a moment, Elias thought he saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes—a sadness, a weariness. Then it was gone, replaced by cold professionalism.
"We don't know," she said quietly. "No one else was found at the scene."
Elias's gut twisted. No one else? What did that mean?
Dr. Thorne entered the room, tall and broad-shouldered in a crisp white coat. He moved with authority, eyes piercing as they assessed Elias. Consulting a tablet, he said, "Elias Vance. Quite the night you've had."
Elias glared at him, suspicion gnawing. "Where am I? What happened to me?"
Dr. Thorne ignored his questions. "Your bloodwork shows elevated neurochemicals. We're running tests, but it seems you've experienced something... unusual."
Unusual. Elias's heart pounded. What did that mean?
The doctor met his gaze steadily. "You were found unconscious in an alleyway. The Collective brought you in for observation. Standard procedure."
Observation. Elias's mind rebelled against the word. He wasn't a specimen.
"I want to leave," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Dr. Thorne raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment."
Elias's fingers curled into fists beneath the blanket. Not again. The words echoed in his mind, a silent scream of defiance. He wouldn't be trapped here, not like before.
The doctor must have seen the rebellion in his eyes because he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Elias," he said, voice lowering to something almost conspiratorial. "I know this is scary. But we need to understand what happened to you. It could be important."
Elias stared at him, uncertainty warring with desperation.
"Just give us a few days," Dr. Thorne continued. "Help us figure this out. Then, if everything checks out, I'll make sure you're returned safely."
A few days. Elias's mind raced. He thought of the woman, her terrified eyes, the patrol... the syringe. Something wasn't right.
Dr. Thorne held out a hand, palm up. "Trust me," he said softly. "I want to help you."
Elias looked at the hand, then at the doctor's face. There was sincerity there, but also something else—a hunger, almost. A need to know.
He thought of the alley, the darkness, the choking fear. And then, like a beacon cutting through the fog, he remembered the message scrawled on the wall before everything went black.
They Dream.
Elias took a deep breath and made his decision. For now, he would stay. But he wouldn't be passive. He would watch, listen, learn. When the time was right, he would find out what happened to that woman. And why they were so desperate to keep him here.
He reached out and took Dr. Thorne's hand, sealing his fate with a firm shake.
Elias lay back on the hospital bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The room was quiet except for machinery humming and distant murmurs. He felt a strange detachment, as if his body were lead while his mind floated above.
He closed his eyes, trying to will sleep away. But exhaustion gnawed at him, relentless. His lids fluttered open again, staring at the door, half-expecting it to burst open with more questions, demands.
Instead, silence. A blessed, if eerie, quiet. Elias took stock of his surroundings—the stark white walls, beeping monitors, sterile smell. It reminded him of another time, another place. A memory surfaced, unwelcome: a similar room, smaller, the hum of machines drowning out his mother's ragged breaths.
He pushed the thought away, focusing on the present. The Collective had brought him here for observation, Dr. Thorne had said. But why? What did they want with him?
His thoughts circled back to the woman in the alley—the terror in her eyes, her desperate plea. They're taking me. A chill ran down his spine.
Elias shifted uncomfortably on the bed, reaching out a tentative hand towards the IV drip attached to his arm. The urge to rip it out was strong, but he hesitated. Better to bide his time, gather information.
A soft knock at the door startled him. Before he could respond, Dr. Thorne slipped inside, tablet in hand. He moved with quiet efficiency, eyes scanning Elias's vitals on the nearby monitor.
"You're awake," he noted, glancing up from the screen. "How are you feeling?"
Elias shrugged, noncommittal. "Fine."
Dr. Thorne raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, he tapped something into his tablet, brow furrowed in concentration. "I need to run a few more tests," he said finally.
Elias's grip tightened on the blanket. Tests. The word sent a jolt of unease through him. He remembered needles, probing questions, endless hours strapped to machines. Not again.
"Is that necessary?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "I feel fine."
The doctor looked up, meeting Elias's gaze with an intensity that made him flinch. "It's procedure," Dr. Thorne said firmly. "We need to understand what happened to you."
Elias held the man's stare for a long moment before looking away. There was no use arguing. For now, he would comply.
Dr. Thorne moved around the bed, untying the straps of Elias's gown. Elias flinched at the cool air hitting his skin but didn't resist as the doctor attached electrodes to his temples, chest, and wrists. Each touch sent a jolt through him, a reminder of how vulnerable he was.
The room fell silent except for machinery humming and monitors beeping softly. Elias focused on his breathing, in and out, trying to calm the storm inside. Dr. Thorne worked efficiently, adjusting settings and noting readings with detached professionalism.
Elias watched him, fear and fascination churning in his gut. This man knew something—he could feel it. But what? And why was he so invested in Elias's strange encounter?
The doctor finished attaching the last electrode and stepped back, observing Elias critically. "You ready?" he asked.
Elias nodded, though readiness was far from how he felt. The doctor tapped something on his tablet, and suddenly, Elias's vision swam. Colors blurred at the edges, sounds warped into an eerie cacophony. He clenched his jaw, fighting disorientation.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the sensation stopped. Elias blinked, taking in the sterile room once more. Dr. Thorne stood over him, tablet still in hand, expression unreadable.
"What... what did you do?" Elias asked, voice shaky.
Dr. Thorne looked up, meeting Elias's gaze with a hint of excitement. "We're just getting started, Elias," he said softly. "Just getting started."