{DR34D} - Madness Combat

DR34M

(Random update: minor edits)

I hate dreams. In Nevada, dreams won't just be dreams. They always show you something. The people you'll meet. Who you'll become. For some of us—like me—Purgatory. It shows ya the good parts too. Friends you make. Family you find.
But you don't remember the good bits. It's the bad ones—the ones that have you wake up in a cold sweat. Those are the ones that stay. Fresh in your memory.
Sometimes it gets confusing. Shows you things that don't happen. I once saw me getting shot in the back by some that fuckin' clown bastard while flying a chopper. Another one I was betrayed by... something. Can't really explain what.
I'm one of the lucky ones though. I can remember the good parts. Some of 'em, at least. Sanford. He was one of the good ones. Call it psychopathy, but I've never been happier than slaughtering hundreds alongside 'im. Hank. Don't know whether he'd be a good or a bad bit, but he's stayed there either way.
The dream that I had when I was picked up by Hank and Sanford? That stayed. Burnt into my mind from beginning to end.

It started off fairly normal, at least in comparison to the rest of it. I was lyin' on my back. Unbearable pain, like someone's pressing a fuckin' soldering iron on every molecule of my body. I think that I'm on fire, right? So I start rollin' around, like I'm tryna put it out. Finally it starts to cool off, so I lay there for a second, just catchin' my breath.
Then my surroundings change. It's my old L337 base, before I got reassigned to that shitshed bar.
This grunt that I knew—real good friend of mine—was facing the wall away from me. He was puttin' something up. I go up and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around, looks at me for a sec.
Then he reaches to his side and pulls out a knife. A fuckin' knife! He swipes it at me, but I was always just that bit faster than him. I move outta the way and push him back.
His head slams into the wall with this impossibly loud cracking noise, and he falls to the ground.
I'm standing there thinkin' 'Holy shit, I just fuckin' killed this guy.' Then I look up at what he was hanging up.
Deimos.
Wanted for traitorism, murder, and smoking.
A nice picture of me tryna fit three cigarettes in my mouth at once. I remember that day. Almost fuckin' died.
And then an Engineer rounds the corner to the left of me. I'd only ever seen these guys in posters and photographs, and they were real fuckin' scary up close. He starts unloading his QBZ-95. I'm pretty lucky when it comes to not bein' shot, but my luck ran out. Round after round hits me, basically dissolving the left side of my face into nothing more than blood and bone, and I die.
I know what it feels like to die in reality, and that experience wasn't far off. It's this initial panic, your adrenaline kickin' in so you want to kick, punch, scream for your life. But then as that dies down, you relax a little bit. Some people go a bit giggly. Some know what's happening. It's all just dependent on how much of a grip on reality you had before.
I was something in between. I didn't start laughing like a maniac, but I didn't feel like I was dying. I just felt tired.
Tired of the AAHW.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of Nevada.
I just wanted to sleep.

Then I woke up. At first I didn't see anything. Pitch black room, shutters on the windows closed, barely tell the walls and floor apart.
I rub my eyes, tryna get used to the darkness, and I look again. It was a bit better, but still dark as all hell. I groan and slide myself out of the mattress-less bed frame I'd been lying on. I was gonna kill whoever put me on that. Fuck, the floors were carpeted, it would've been easier sleeping on that. Still, I appreciated not being driven off a cliff in the truck while I slept.
I went over to what I assumed to be the door. Usually they slide open when you get near 'em—most have motion sensors—but this one stayed shut. Locked. Course it fuckin' was.

What else was in the room... the window. I walked over and pulled the shutters off. The glass seemed fairly breakable. I pulled my hand back, ready to punch it, but then the door slid open behind me.
"I hope you're not trying to do what I think you are."
I turned around. It ain't Hank, thankfully. It was his grunt sidekick.
"Why are you keeping me here?" I asked him.
He gave me this annoyed look, and said "If it's okay with you, I'll be asking the questions here."
I didn't like the idea of interrogation, but it wasn't like there was something I could do to stop him.
"That fire shit. How'd you do it?"
"The fuck you want me to say? Magic? I don't fuckin' know."
"You sure?"
I paused for a bit. "Yeah."
The grunt raised his eyebrow. It was pretty clear that he didn't believe me.
"I seriously don't know, man. I have ideas about it, most of them having to do with the Drive, but I honestly don't know."

He looked annoyed, but understanding. Like he believed me, but didn't like the answer. "Alright," he said, and he turned to walk out.
"Wait."
He stopped and turned around to look at me. "What?"
"This will sound pretty weird if you don't know what I'm talking about, but... whaddaya see in your dreams?"
The grunt looked at me closely for a few seconds, but apparently couldn't find any sign of a trick question.
"I see a traitor of the AAHW," he finally answered. "Joining us to help save Nevada."
"Have ya seen... y'know. Death?"
"A lot of it."
"Yours?"
That stopped him for a bit, but his expression didn't change.

"Hank'll be in soon," and he walked out.