I awake. My first thoughts begin to coalesce from a long, dreamless sleep. The last thing I remember was coming off my mandatory wake period for my term of service. Floating in the suspension gel, a wave of melancholia rolls over me. It’s a strange, bittersweet feeling, like being in a place of serene calm while knowing the world outside is a storm of chaos. Like staring through a window at an extreme thunderstorm.

  That’s when I realize—the medical staff should have greeted me before I awoke. Something is wrong. Maybe I’ve woken too early?

  Moving sluggishly, as though trapped in molasses, panic grips me. I hammer my fists against the glass of the pod, the strikes weak and futile. My breaths come fast and shallow, the gel resisting every movement. Then it hits me: why am I acting like an ape? I’m a techie. My specialty is node administration. I have tools at my disposal. I facepalm in the viscous gel, silently berating myself.

  I mentally reach for the local node, hoping to establish a connection. To my relief, it responds immediately, listing the devices on this network. I see my pod’s identifier and confirm my permissions. When I attempt to access it, a mental waiver appears in my mind’s eye, asking me to confirm I am of sound mind.

  Without reading the legalese, I confirm.

  A list of user-level options floods my mental link. I select a soft wake cycle, expecting the pod to open. Instead, red lights flood the interior, blaring alarms reverberating in my skull. An error message blinks in my vision:

  "Oxygenation subsystem failure detected. Current suspension gel oxygen levels critically low. Estimated time to depletion: five minutes. Please contact support immediately. Remember: your safety is our priority!"

  Panic surges, but I force my racing mind to focus. I have five minutes, maybe less, before the oxygen in the gel is depleted. There was a guide for emergencies like this, but the memory is maddeningly absent, as though scrubbed from my mind. I query the pod again, desperate for options. Error messages clutter my vision, but beneath them, I spot a file labeled MANUAL.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I open it and scroll to the emergency section. There’s a diagram of the pod’s internal mechanics and instructions for a manual override. Apparently, there’s a breach bolt system that can blast the hinges and eject the pod door. Relief floods me, but it’s short-lived.

  The emergency lever is behind me.

  One minute left. My vision begins to darken, and my thoughts feel sluggish. Sleep seems so inviting. Just five more minutes, Mom…

  Jolting back to reality, I force my trembling hand to move. The lever, marked in red and white, feels impossibly far away. My hand crawls toward it as if weighed down by the gel. “Ten seconds remaining until oxygen depletion,” chimes a cold, synthetic voice in my mind.

  “Not helpful!” I think back, teeth clenched.

  The lever inches downward. Just as my vision narrows to a pinpoint, I feel the mechanism engage. The bolts blast, and the pod door flies open. Darkness engulfs me.

  I dream of endless rolling hills in a temperate land. Small copses of trees dot the eternal landscape. There’s a pristine lake encircled by thatch huts, thin plumes of smoke rising into the clear sky. A fisherman waves to someone on the shore. The scene feels impossibly perfect, a balm for the soul.

  “Hello, dreamer,” a voice calls, startling me.

  “Holy—why would you greet me like that?” I yelp, heart racing. “You’re liable to give someone a heart attack!”

  The owner of the voice comes into view. He’s the very picture of a “wise old man” stereotype: long white beard, gray robes, and a genuine smile that never falters. The smile reaches his eyes, giving him an air of profound kindness.

  He gestures toward me with open arms. “Dreamer, you know it’s too soon. Dreams can only be fulfilled at the end.”

  Confused, I cut him off. “What’s that supposed to mean? And why am I dreaming? This is just my brain’s way of coping, right?”

  The old man chuckles, a deep, rolling laugh that echoes in the dreamscape. “If that were the case, this would be a conversation with yourself. No, this isn’t just your dream. Some would say this is THE dream.” He puts weight on the word, making it feel heavy with meaning.

  I notice for the first time how the land around us seems untouched, perfect in a way the waking world never is. The fisherman’s wave feels deliberate, almost like an invitation.

  “Who are you?” I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice.

  The old man doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he says, “Dreamer, your kind sought to hide. But no one can stay hidden forever. There is no veil so thick it cannot be pierced.”

  I’m about to press him for answers, but my body betrays me. I start coughing uncontrollably. The old man’s expression shifts to concern. “It seems your visit is brief. Don’t worry. I’ve seen you at the end. This won’t be the last time we meet.”

  His words echo as my vision darkens. The rolling hills fade, and I awaken to a world of cold steel.