My Dream Book

January 17

Bryce isn't real.

Bryce and I were on the run. We were both wearing black hoodies that we stole from a Macy's back in Nevada. We had bandanas covering our faces.

Now, we were trapped in the middle of a living room, of a random house, in California. Bryce was armed with a machete, soaked in fresh blood. I had a large supply of throwing knives, and a metal bat, also bloody.

We were being rushed by guys in white full body suits, like they were in a hazardous area. They were all armed with firearms of various calibers. They didn't hurt as much though.

Bryce and I, we were part of an experiment. Project Rage. The objective was for us to become ruthless killers, for their own purposes. The first stage required surgery to put metal under our skin, then an injection of some sort, so we would have an extremely high tolerance for pain. It was a long process, Bryce and I in solitary confinement for months at a time.

The final stage was to rid us of our emotions, to make killing second nature.

To do that, they had to tap into our heads, see what we were afraid of, our fears. And eliminate them. And they had to make sure we didn't have any connections, or friends.

Bryce and I didn't want that. We wanted to keep that. We had been on the run since July. Now it's the middle of January.

"Roger, you good?"

"Yeah, one sec." I reached down and pulled a shotgun shell out of my leg. "Alright."

Just then, the doors burst open, and all hell broke loose. They came in waves. I pulled out some knives and hurled them at the first wave. Four crumpled instantly.

With a shout, Bryce and I rushed back, getting hit with bullet after bullet. Most would bounce off our skin, but some, like shotgun shells and rifles would lodge into our skin. We hacked and smashed out way through about 30 guys, bobbing and weaving through.

Then the guys in the back with more power came in. They hit us with buckshot. Every time one dropped, three more filled in.

"Roger, here! I got an idea. Cover me!" He threw me his machete. I caught it and rushed them again. My bat had broken over some guy's head and I hurled the part at another. I slashed and hacked my way through, keeping jog them at bay.

I saw Bryce pull the pin of a grenade and hurl it into the middle of the mass. One of them picked it up and tried to throw it back, but it blew up inches from his hand. I ducked a piece of shrapnel and got back up with an M6 in my hand. I started firing, and they dropped like flies. I dropped the machete and reloaded.

I saw a grenade fly up the stairs to the second floor. A boom, followed by, "AH! Shit..."

"You good?!"

"Yeah! Don't worry, I'm fine!"

"Bullshit." I made my way up the stairs without getting hit by anything somehow. Bryce was on the floor, his left arm and leg blown off. "What the fuck?!"

He waved me off. "Their getting closer!"

I turned and fired point blank into someone's face, and kicked him down the stairs, knocking down a couple more trying to come up.

Suddenly, a grenade dropped at my feet out of nowhere. It went off, and I flew backwards into Bryce.

"Ahhh... sorry man..." I heard a muffled , "I'm ok..." Underneath me.

I looked back up, in time to see the end of a shotgun barrel flash bright.

Time lapse

When I woke up, I was strapped down to a chair. A man was facing me. He was so familiar... "Doctor Alan..."

"You and your friend have caused a lot of trouble the last few months, boy..." He hit me across the face. My head snapped to the left, but didn't break. I saw Bryce, still out, also strapped down.

When I turned back, he was getting something I couldn't see. He turned back around, with a headset. He put it on my head. "Now, lets finish this project..."

He pressed a button on a computer, and my head started hurting. "Agh..." He was probing my head, looking for my fears, trying to draw them out.

I struggled against the straps, grunting.

"Get out of my head you fucker!"

"This would be easier if you just cooperate, Roger..." He said in a calm voice.

"GET OUT!"

I kept fighting.

He pressed another button, and the pain increased tenfold. "AGH!"

"Come on Roger, what are you afraid of..."

"N... NOTHING... AGH!"

"Everyone is afraid of something..."

"You're not getting into my head, Alan."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not scared of anything anymore."

I screamed louder. The computer screen cracked, and smoked. Alan stepped back, nervous. "Wh... what...?"

"I'm not scared of anything anymore. All of my nightmares already came to life."

I screamed in defiance, and the monitor blew up. The whole room imploded.

I woke up, with my quote playing through my head.