Between 8 am and 2 pm, Sunny's activities were minimal, primarily focused on swiftly restocking shelves, causing time to pass uneventfully.
While diligently working, Sunny immersed himself in the world of audio books, his preferred audio backdrop being in the realm of xianxia Chinese web novels. This unexpected genre choice became his guilty pleasure. Despite his attempts at discretion, Sunny's guilty pleasure wasn't as concealed as he might have thought. Random smirks and sudden bursts of laughter during work betrayed the audible joy he found in his chosen xianxia Chinese web novels, inadvertently sharing his secret delight with observant onlookers.
Unfazed by the odd glances from onlookers, Sunny relied on his shamelessly thick skin to act as a shield. His unabashed enjoyment of the peculiar audio tales remained unaffected.
If there was anything Sunny liked about those novels, it would be their sheer absurdity when it came to temper. For example, the main character could go to the restroom, and some arrogant young man, whose grandfather happened to be the owner of the universe, would come to odds with the main character over the smallest inconvenience. Then, the main character would "face slap" him and wipe out his whole bloodline in a hundred years or so.
Besides that, Sunny didn't do much else, which is why his coworkers thought he was a bit strange, but he didn't care much. The only person he really ever spoke with at work was Keys.
Keys is a childhood friend whom he played with before he moved to a different part of town. They had recently reconnected because of this job. It's just that Keys is and was extremely talkative, which also made Sunny talkative.
Although most of the time it was just two young adults talking about which girl looked better, Sunny couldn't help but admit that sometimes he really hit it off with Keys, reminiscing about their childhood.
Back when Sunny was a kid, he was always so quick to start a fight and release some steam because of how realistic the "dreams" were; they would haunt him and push him to the brink. So, even though he acted like everything was good with the family, when he left home for school or went to the local playground, he would always take his frustration and feelings out on everything around him. Thus, he didn't get along with the other kids very well.
Under those circumstances, Sunny met Keys one day, and they fought...
---
A 13-year-old boy slouched on the swing, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw revealing a turbulent sea of emotions beneath the surface, a subtle storm brewing in his troubled gaze.
This boy with the complex emotions on his face, was naturally Sunny.
"Damn it it's just some dream, so why does it bother me so much." he declared, fingers gripping the swing chains with a white-knuckled intensity.
Recalling the dream now, it felt ever so realistic...
Smoke billowing across the desolate landscape, that looked like a bustling city once upon a time. punctuated by the deafening symphony of distant explosions. The ground, scarred by craters, echoes of harsh footsteps of weary soldiers. Tattered flags flutter atop battered structures, witnesses to the relentless dance of chaos. The air is thick with the acrid scent of burning debris, and the anguished cries of wounded souls linger beneath the haunting backdrop of a war-torn sky.
Dashing through the battlefield, a boy, no more than 16 years old, moved with an unsettling calm. His eyes, drained of life, swept over the chaotic scene, registering neither fear nor emotion. Clinging to an AK-47, his grasp spoke of desperate solace, as though the cold steel provided the only semblance of warmth in the midst of the war's brutality.
The boy hurried toward a dilapidated residential structure, its skeletal frame bearing witness to the relentless bombardment of battle. Crumbling walls, shattered windows, and a haunting silence surrounded the once-vibrant home, now reduced to a mere echo of its former existence.
Within the decaying building, the boy unleashed a torrent of gunfire upon any approaching enemy. His movements were mechanical, devoid of emotion, as if he were an automaton designed solely for destruction. The relentless precision in his actions begged the question: what could strip a teen age youth of empathy to this extent?
Several hundred meters from the battlefield, a cluster of tents stood, radiating an eerie sense of merriment. Laughter echoed amidst the makeshift camp, creating a stark contrast to the relentless chaos nearby. The scene hinted at a different world altogether, where joy persisted amidst the unforgiving reality of the war zone.
Inside one of the spacious tents, a table took center stage, surrounded by middle-aged men in sharp business suits. Their attention fixated on a modest-sized TV, showing a live feed of the battlefield captured by drones. Despite the stark incongruity of the setting, their composed demeanor hinted at a detached involvement in the grim reality unfolding beyond the confines of their temporary haven.
"So, that's him! The brat who killed so many of my pieces."
One of them said.
"It's unreal, how can a boy at that age be so prone to taking life with such skill and ease. He's an utter monster."
Another one said.
"Hahaha, I'm afraid you'll lose this one luke, he's a rare speciceman I found!"
A Third one chipped in with laughter.
Shockingly, from this bit of conversation. It seemed as if they were using this battlefield as nothing but a chess game!
---
Behind the boy's apathetic expression, a tumultuous sea of emotions surged within him. Contrary to his outward demeanor, an internal tempest raged.
'Why can't I influence this body!'
'This kid, who's so effortlessly killing is clearly me!'
'What kind of dream is this? Why do I always fall into it but can't get out!' Panic and fear gripped the young boy's—Sunny's mind, his thoughts echoing with the weight of distress.
Meanwhile, In the realm of the boy's vivid dream, two ethereal beings engaged in a conversation, their voices resonating with a sense of disagreement with the reality that unfolded in the dreamer's subconscious.
"You fucking snake! As long as I exist in any shape or form, you know damn well you can never kill him so why put him through all this bullshit?!"
A woman's voice, laced with seething anger, reverberated through the dream world, causing ripples as if a rock had been dropped into a serene lake.
In stark contrast to the woman's anger, a small purple snake with blue azure pupils slithered into view in the dream. Its presence exuded both malice and majesty, casting an otherworldly aura that captivated the dream world with an enigmatic energy.
"So? If anything, you should be blaming yourself for that piece of shit's suffering. Just let him die already!" The snake replied lazily, relishing a perverse enjoyment derived from the boy's suffering.
"Have you not done enough to the boy? You already made his first 13 years of life an absolute hell." A surge of unusual sympathy welled within the woman, her voice softening as she addressed the boy within the intricate layers of the dream.