'Fuck brotherhood!'
The man chasing him was also Black, but when Jordy had tried to talk his way out of being attacked, he had felt no sense of kinship between them. No, calling him 'brother' had only made things worse. He should have turned around the moment he walked into that corner and locked eyes with them. But racism—especially against his own kind—was something he refused to justify, not even in an alternate reality. Or at least, he refused to entertain his own intrusive thoughts about it.
Now, he was running for his life, and that other voice in his head was screaming that, no matter what, survival mattered more than his ridiculous inner debates.
The first bullet felt like a soft tap on his back, like being hit by a pebble—no pain, just a dull impact. So he kept running. But something was wrong. He only realized it when the other three shots landed. They struck in sequence, forming a triangle in his lower back, and the piercing pain stole his breath away.
'I'm being killed!'
His body lurched forward, survival instincts kicking in. The nagging voice in his mind vanished—there was no room for anything but raw, primal urgency.
His legs failed. The world shook violently in front of him, and a moment later, his vision was level with the ground.
People were watching. Cold eyes flashed like lanterns in the dark, illuminating the street. Of course, they were feeding off the spectacle of his death. No one would lift a finger to save him. He wouldn't have either, if he were in their place.
Now his killer stood above him. Jordy rolled onto his back, agony exploding through his body. Of course, it was painful—dying had always been painful these past few months. So painful that he was desperate to avoid what was coming.
The killer loomed over him, the two others closing in. The gun had disappeared, replaced by a knife—a long, cruel blade gleaming under the streetlights.
The man raised it high above his shoulder, and Jordy threw up his arms in a frantic attempt to protect himself.
The killer kicked them down, searching for an opening. Left. Right. Another kick. Again and again, until, finally, he found it—and plunged the knife in without hesitation.
Unlike the bullets, the blade ignited a burning agony that spread through his flesh instantly. What little air he had left abandoned him in a silent scream.
Two, three, four stabs followed in quick succession. Each one worse than the last.
'I'm dying... just let it end!'
Strength drained from him. He could no longer feel his legs. Breathing became impossible. A deafening screech overtook his hearing, muting the rest of the world. His vision flickered, darkened.
This was it. He was dying for sure.
"What?! Why do you want to kill me?!" he cried, barely able to force out the words.
And then everything slowed down.
Another sign of death.
If only things still worked like before. There was a time when, at this exact moment—when terror gripped him so tightly that he could feel nothing but pain, the screeching sound, and his thunderous heartbeat—he could escape.
But not anymore.
Not unless he did something drastic. Something absolute.
He steadied his thoughts. Focused. Everything had become shadows now, but he had to concentrate. Where was the killer?
The darkest shadow closest to him. That was the one. That was his executioner.
He centered all his attention on it. Slowly, his sight returned.
There it was—the murderous grimace, the grotesque grin, the cold, dead eyes.
'No human looks like that.'
Of course, this wasn't real.
Or was it?
"This is a dream," he muttered.
The secret code. The forbidden words.
"This is a dream. This world... isn't real."
The man with the grimace froze. So did the other two. He couldn't see the crowd, but he could feel them all halting in unison.
The pain hadn't left, but the unnatural stillness around him brought back his hearing. At first, he could only perceive absolute silence.
That instant lasted an eternity. Nothing moved.
Then, the killer's hand twitched—and it happened.
His eyes bulged out of proportion, his entire form twisting into something unnatural, something devious.
Jordy only needed to let it unfold. He had seen this before. In dreams, anything could happen. A gun could turn into a knife for no reason. A man could become a demon.
But this time, he had spoken.
He had broken the rule.
You're never supposed to reveal you're in a dream while you're dreaming.
That was the ultimate taboo.
*****
The news was at it again. Wars erupting everywhere. Reports of terrorist attacks flooding in from across the world. The strange part? No one claimed responsibility. Nations accused each other, lashing out blindly in desperation.
And then, there was the sickness. 200 more deaths today.
It had started seven months ago. At first, people thought it was an internet hoax—a creepy ghost story about people dying in their sleep. But then the rumors became too real to dismiss. The deaths could happen anywhere, anytime. No pattern. No warning. Young or old, rich or poor—anyone could go to sleep and never wake up. Soon, the world plunged into a new kind of pandemic.
Then came the terrorist attacks. Explosions. Massacres with no discernible motive. Hundreds turned into thousands in mere weeks. Now, everyone was locked inside. A nationwide red alert forbade people from going out. Yet the deaths in sleep continued, with no medical explanation.
People became terrified of sleeping. They resisted it, dosing themselves with drugs to stay awake. Some mothers knelt beside their children's beds, praying they would wake up the next morning.
And there was another strange phenomenon—most people claimed they no longer dreamed. Sleep was an empty void, a plunge into nothingness.
Science had no answers. The only ones offering explanations were spiritual leaders and doomsayers. Some spoke of the apocalypse. Others—like a strange old woman on TV—rambled about alien invaders or demons consuming dreams to break into our world.
Jordy didn't believe any of it. Not because he had faith in science. Not because he trusted the government.
But because he could still dream.
He didn't always remember them clearly, but his dreams had become more vivid than ever in the past few months. Strange, unsettling nightmares that left him with an uneasy feeling long after waking.
Like the last one. He knew he had been attacked again. That much was clear. But the ending... something important had happened, something his mind refused to recall.
The internet was full of people discussing 'dreamers'—those who could still see things when they slept. Forums dedicated to their experiences flourished, filled with stories of terror and wonder. Some even claimed to have developed abilities inside their dreams—abilities they could use at will. Some swore they could fly or summon fire from their eyes.
That part was obviously bullshit.
But the part about dreams feeling more real? That hit too close to home.
That was why Jordy had started keeping a dream journal. Writing down everything the moment he woke up, trying to hold onto the details before they slipped away. He spent his nights awake, combing through online discussions, trying to filter out the paranoia and the lies.
Three days ago, he had finally responded to a message from his stepsister. She claimed she was worried about him. He doubted that. He had cut them off months ago because he knew they didn't actually care.
Other messages sat unanswered in his inbox. A government notice. Something from a Dr. Amherst, which he dismissed as spam and deleted without opening. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he wasn't about to waste his time.
Then, a knock at the door.
"Sir, all tenants are required downstairs. The police are requesting everyone's presence."
Jordy sighed.
He had heard the announcements over the intercom and ignored them.
Now, it seemed he had no choice.
When he opened the door, expecting to see the old man's face, he instead found him accompanied by two cops. He hated cops.
"Sir, please come with us. We need to check something."
What were the cops doing at his door?
"Yes, of course. Let me just find my keys first—I don't remember where I left them."
The policeman on the left looked annoyed.
"Listen, son, you'll have time to look for them later. Don't worry, this gentleman here will make sure nothing happens to your property. Now, come with us."
Jordy couldn't hide a grimace of irritation but complied and followed the officers.
As they passed through the hallway and stepped into the main corridor, he was surprised to find it full of policemen and what appeared to be medical personnel. In the middle of them was a familiar face.
Then, he heard a scream.
"Don't talk about your world!!"
It was a memory from his last dream.
"Never tell them that you are dreaming!!"
The face of that woman—he had seen her before, among the multitude of observers in his dream. And just like then, he was back in that moment. She screamed from the crowd. The man-demon was now two, maybe three times bigger. His entire form had transformed into a grotesque, horned beast.
"You have to wake up now!"
Dr. Amherst was running toward him, screaming desperately:
"Wake up!!!"