Disturbed by the depths of a fever dream, Jessica sat up in a hot sweat, panting. The tip of her skull felt weighed down, wary from rest or lack thereof. Perhaps it was the encumbrance of a sleeping bag, or the hard floor. The sight of Beth and her friends drowning in a circle of fire did nothing to help.
The dark carried nothing but snores. Tip-toeing on concrete, she found her goggles and inspected the state of her friends. Shannon was fast asleep, snug on the couch. Valerie too. She walked over to Danielle, who seemed much nicer asleep than awake in her rocking chair. She couldn't believe they were dancing earlier. She couldn't believe they danced. Already, it felt like nights ago.
Something humiliated the quiet of the room, however. Goggles off, she observed a pale slight from the entrance. Enticed by the wind lull, she sauntered closer and found the cellar door open. Midnight held a mystery, so, sacrificing the makeshift generator, she returned her soles and put on her shoes. Then she made her way to the inviting night light, where a portrait played before her eyes.
Sensations and scenery hallucinated her thoughts, luring her back into a dreamer's mindset. Dampness in the air infused a chill abnormal for Summertime. Nevertheless, she stepped softly into the woods, motivated by the moon's glow. Though not bright, it coated the dark threads of bark with a glossy layer of blue, like an earthly sea that held a mirror to the heavens. She had dreams like this before but could never remember how they ended.
Curious impulse led her further, through azure leaves and black woods, until she laid eyes on snowfall. Snowfall lent credence, and she accepted a stroll into the dreamscape. When she tried to catch the flakes, they fell through her palms.
"This can't be real," she whispered and banged her head with a first. Nothing.
Stranger still, shadows crept and burrowed themselves in the nooks. There was no explaining the movement if it was real. If they were ghosts, she wanted to meet them. Perhaps they'd explain her visions, or at least explain the afterlife. Otherwise, the wandering was pointless. Perhaps fatigue, perhaps suppression of her other self had finally locked her mind into a shell of mourning. But if a dream could bring sweet relief, she was ready to follow it into the abyss.
On and on, her feet made no prints on the gathering snow. When she finally stopped, she stood near the precipice of a clearing where moon and shadow intermingled, where Heaven brought its light and Earth its dark. Then and there, her eyes leveled to a specter in the middle, a lone figure in a burly black coat.
Fearing evanescence, environed by terrible visions, Jessica stared at a head of long, gray hair. "That's not you," she whispered. The burning in her throat was poignant.
The head slowly turned.
Jessica's heart shot up into her throat. Quivering, she turned around and ran, not a single look back.
This is not a dream.
She ran with all the energy in her legs, despite the strain and the tug of tears pulling back. But nothing could surmount the pain of memory as she fled the illusion.
This is not a dream.
She stopped near the end of jagged woodland then bent over to catch her breath. Subtle relief poured from the tree line ahead, where the distant lanterns of the Woodsmen burned. Their mild resonance was the border of reality, while curiosity carried her gaze backward
Wilderness had its waltz under the moonlight; pale pockets crested between pillars of bark, and the boughs seemingly parted on the glow's behalf. Trees and their twisted forms curtailed into a macabre cover on the night portrait. But that portrait was smeared, overpowered by a soundless beam from the canopy.
Within the light, a single entity descended under the rim of the forest. Tall, a pristine white coat fell to the feet, the hem swaying by the wind, body like snow and propelling an angelic aura. The sight made sand of Jessica's feet until she saw the face; it was pure metal in its specular white.
Eventually, the entity touched down. Whatever power helped them float came from the boots; that was obvious now as he, she, or it, waited in silence.
Jessica could only gawk, and writhe within her brain. Was she still hallucinating? Even if she was, logic had to motivate her. When she elected caution and didn't move, the white figure slowly hovered closer. Immaculate and daunting, its angelic stature towered above her, inch by inch. Eyes like glass looked down, and so she stiffened, waiting for the impression to unravel and bring the surreal world along with it.
It happened.
The surrounding snow lifted into inconsequential particles. Simultaneously, in a sequential fold, the metal face came undone, revealing mortal flesh. The identity changed her blood into water. Red eyes as bright as the fallen moon but more menacing. Fear became her.
"Greetings, Jessica."
"Malvis..."
She remembered the alien master of puppets. This was no dream but a nightmare where everything made sense. 'Wherever the Devil roams is cold...' She twisted in the search for more demons, to find nothing. Her mind sped into overdrive as her hand fell on her watch and found some semblance of security.
It would take me four seconds to call Babel, maybe 10 for him to make it. And at most, it would take Malvis 3 to stop me. Keep it together, Jessica...
Through sheer will, she forced her body to stop quivering.
"You're from Goliath."
"Correct."
"Why are you here?"
"I have come to speak with you. Consider it a peaceful close encounter."
"That's not funny..."
"Pleasantries are no requisite to parley. Do treat this meeting as an opportunity."
"Does this 'opportunity' bring answers, Helios?"
"How do you know that name?"
"You tell me."
"Helios is a fugitive, and that you know of him is a concern."
It's not him. "He's an acquaintance I never really got to know or like."
"That one is a variable to the regime. Then again, so are you. You are the Lynx, correct? Who wiped Ashenvale Academy's student records, Lynx who exposed gambling in intellectual properties designed for children, the same Lynx who cracked SK-3. It may be that I have, as your people say, scratched the surface."
"The fact that you're flapping your mouth instead of your weapon, I guess, sends its own message. Why not just say why you came here?"
"I am here to make amends, in a manner of speaking. I seek the Lynx for remedies to recent upheaval: terrorism, dissent, a conflict brewed from whispers of resistance. Despite impediments on the path to our mutual prosperity, the infantile relationship between Azareans and humans has not collapsed. As two species, we should not discount the serendipity in our establishing relations. Despite our differences. Despite... disparity."
"In other words, you're Azarean, I'm human, and you need my help because you're better than me."
"Communication is an imperfect marvel. Outsiders, criminals, rebels, Sub Terra, all byproducts of miscommunication. You can change that. Surrender the information I know lies in your custody. In so doing, maintain the peace towards which we have striven these hundred-odd years, Jessica..."
"I'm supposed to help you by looking the other way. Turn a blind eye and let you be the king of accountability, right?"
"You can mitigate the terror sown in the hearts and minds of New Sumerians."
"You're talking about the terror you cooked up when no human was looking?"
"The terror planted by dissent and naive murmurs of a minority."
"False. You can't even call a tomato a tomato."
"I am not here to consult you on vegetation."
"No, you're here to convince me you didn't destroy Pine Rim Hovels. You're here because you're delusional, and Goliath can't measure me in their risk assessment."
"I am here to accommodate you, despite that."
"Despite what?"
"Despite your knowledge on Goliath's... sacrifices, the social structures we have weaved for the sake of peace. The Azarean web is but the stroke of a higher power inspired by human epistemology."
"You call it 'sacrifices'? Stop trying to be a poet. Goliath has a bubble of crimes and lies just waiting to pop, and you're scared. You won't even spell out a single one, alone in the forest. That's how scared you are."
"What would it change, a corporation's involvement in terrorism? Goliath's actions, every step on the stairs, every grind of the cog, is a calculated sequence in the algorithm for a better Earth. As natural, inevitable, and unfortunate the maelstrom, life is recompense to prosperity. Humans must be programmed. Azareans live long, long enough to see idleness breed xenophobia, and idleness is a luxury of our intervention in your planet's primitive squabbles. Your species has survived an epoch beyond its expiration."
"Humph. I think I get it. You want to recruit me because you think we share a perspective."
"And our union would achieve more good than the alternative. Your mind—your place is as a bridge between paradises because, whether you believe or not, we are all Earthlings now."
"So... what would you say if this fellow Earthling asked you to get over yourself?"
"Explain."