Operation: Merciless

Chapter Thirty-Two | Fresh Memories

~Dream's P.O.V~

Dream tapped on the glass. The officer had come earlier to tell him that Quackity wanted to speak to Dream. Instead of risking moving Dream, they had Quackity come and sit behind the glass.

Quackity came over with a pile of papers that perked Dream's interest. Quackity sat on the chair across from the table they had brought in. Dream decided against sitting on his bed and instead sat on the floor in front of Quackity, crossing his legs.

Quackity cleared his throat, "I want to confirm deaths with you."

Dream smirked behind his mask, relishing the moment. Finally, some entertainment had arrived. "Ask away, Quackity. I'm fairly certain they're no longer breathing," he commented with a dark chuckle. Drifting away briefly, Dream returned with a snap. "You see, Quackity, I don't keep hostages for extended periods, especially when they're undeserving."

Quackity acted confused. "Bad? Explain bad? What is considered bad to you?" Quackity asked, placing down his papers.

"Diseases, sickness, illness? Those with tainted blood..." Dream seemed to drift away as in some kind of memory lost to time.

"So blood? Their blood determines if you kill them instantly or not?" Quackity snapped him out of his memory.

"Yes, bad blood equals a bad person which equals a waste of my time." Dream resituated himself on the floor.

"So you gather blood samples of all your victims? And test those blood samples, then kill them if there's something wrong in their blood?" Quackity tried to understand his motives.

"Exactly, you catch on quickly!" Dream clapped his hands with glee.

"Then George? George had nothing bad in his blood?" Quackity asked causing Dream to lick his lips, craving the taste of the boy he loved.

"No, of course not. Not Georgie!" Dream was happy to talk about George, especially when he was away. Quackity nodded his head, understanding.

Quackity slid a photo toward Dream who widened his eyes at the photo. Quackity took note of that instantly. "Who's that?" Quackity asked.

Dream looked away for a moment, shifting uncomfortably. "A friend... An old friend..."

"Does he have a name?" Quackity asked. This person had Dreamer acting all nervous in a slight way.

"Sapnap..." Dream answered.

Quackity was confused. "Sapnap? That's his name?"

"No... not his real name." Dream snapped out of it, putting his guard back up.

"Did he work for you? Was he one of your victims? A childhood friend, perhaps?" Quackity was spit-firing questions which Dream didn't really want to answer.

The mention of his old friend remained a delicate matter, despite several months passing since their unfortunate demise. "All the above, but he crossed boundaries, and now he's no longer with us... and that's the end of it," Dream concluded, unwilling to delve further into the topic.

Quackity showed Dream different photos of his victims, asking if they were dead. Dream was paying attention because of the memories the photos brought him. It brought him back to the kills.

Eventually, Quackity caught on, putting the photos back into a pile. Dream got up. "That's all of them? I'm sure there's many more." Dream spoke, hoping that Quackity would continue to show him photos.

"Dreamer, I see what this is doing. I'm not that dumb. You're enjoying this far too much."

"I'm just trying to help..." Dream was being manipulative and Quackity knew.

"No, Dreamer, you're clearly right. Everyone you had is dead." That was the last words Quackity said before leaving Dream alone to think.

Despite the absence of the photos, the memories remained vivid in Dream's mind. He was reflecting on the lives that had been lost. Dream longed for those moments, yearned for the power of taking lives, and craved the sense of control it brought. Above all, he yearned for the presence of George, dearly missed.

Dream was dazed when he heard someone clear their throat, "Dazman, FBI, can we ask you a few questions?" Dream stood up to look more intimidating.  "How many I help you, Dazman of FBI?" Dream smirked.

Two prison guards cautiously approached from behind, brandishing electric batons as a precautionary measure in case Dreamer made any aggressive moves. While the batons had limited effectiveness, they managed to momentarily stun Dreamer. However, he acted, as if this encounter was nothing more than a leisurely retreat in the Bahamas.

Dazman walked into the room with a folder in his grasp his guess it told him all about Dreamer. He flopped it down sitting down in the chair and opening the folder. He felt the need to look but Dream also knew who he was, what would be in his folder.

"Before we begin, how about we discuss a potential deal?" Dazman proposed, capturing Dream's attention. "What sort of deal?" Dream chuckled. "If you disclose the location of one of your facilities, we might be able to strike an agreement." Dazman attempted to appear intimidating, but his efforts failed to perturb Dreamer.

"And what's in it for me? What could you possibly offer that would make me consider, given that it's evident I'm not going anywhere?" Dreamer toyed with his handcuffs, earning a glare from an officer, to which he simply responded with a smug smirk.

"Maybe access to outside?" Dazman questioned. Dream shook his head, "Daz? Can I call you Daz? Anyways you see Daz, I've lived in a underground facility all my life alone with nobody but my victims and George, do you really think I would care about going outside." Dream chuckled which eventually turned into a wheeze.

Daz rolled his eyes as if he already anticipated the answer. "What do you want than Dreamer?" Daz questioned. Dream leaned forward getting right in Daz's face.

"I want to see George."

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We are going back in time! Woah! Prison Dreamer Arc? Anyways if you read any chapters before or after this chapter please do not spoil it for the new people! I love you all glad to be back in the Dreamer's world

Stay calm, Stay alive
Onyx

#justicefordnf
- editor han