Insomnia

4

 "You've seen him?" asked Esme. Her tone was sharp and intense, causing the man to flinch.

"Y-yes," he grunted. He struggled to keep eye contact. She tried to soften her gaze. It seemed to help. "A few nights ago. After work. I was about to log out - wake up - see my kids - get breakfast ready - ..."

He rattled on for a few moments longer, describing his morning routine. She let him talk through it. Talk of normalcy could be calming.

"What's your name?" she asked. It was in moments like these that Esme was grateful she had listened to her brother drone on about interview techniques after he came home from work.

"Alan," he whispered back. "Alan Carver."

Esme nodded.

"Where do you work?"

"Office Space. Billings department at Apolline. They're a -- ."

"Virtual doctor's office. I know." Her patience was rapidly growing thin.

The conversation halted. Alan looked side to side, nervous, twitching.

"The Knightmare," she pushed gently. "You saw him."

Alan gulped. A nod.

"He... took me. It was like I lost control. Made my body - change -, twist." For a moment his hand shifted out of place, the wrist backwards, a pinky jutting out into space. Then it flashed back to normal. He shuddered. "That still happens sometimes. My body stops working here. Gets twisted." A soft groan. "Hurts."

Esme winced at the sight, but privately noted that he'd gotten off easy compared to some other victims of Psionic attacks, even those not perpetrated by the Knightmare.

Somnus interfaced with mechanisms inside their masks, which in turn talked directly to the brain. That connection could be overstimulated indirectly by subjecting someone to intense Psionic pressure. It became possible to convince a user's body that they were under attack, which could trigger a variety of painful physiological responses. Nerve damage, phantom pains and other kinds of trauma in the real world were a serious risk.

The Knightmare's infiltration of dreams took the danger a step further. In public dreams, there were enough layers separating the brain from Somnus that it was difficult to cause more than minor injuries, even with extreme effort. The same was true of private dream worlds, which restricted access to specific users, but relied on the same physical mechanisms as the public ones.

But by generating attacks inside their personal dreams, the Knightmare was that much closer to the vulnerable nervous tissue and could do considerably more damage. There had already been several fatalities written off by the police as freak accidents.

"What did he look like?" Esme asked. His story sounded legitimate, but she needed to be sure.

"I...I'm not completely sure. His appearance changed. At first he was just hulking muscle. It spilled over the waistband of his jeans. There were little notches scratched along his spine. Grey skin. It glowed." A sharp intake of breath. "Not sure how grey can glow. But it did. I know it did."

A flash of disappointment. None of the others had given similar descriptions. Esme masked her feelings. Atticus had always said it was best not to contaminate witness testimony by displaying personal reactions.

"I believe you. Go on."

A grateful sigh.

"H-his eyes turned black," continued Alan. "Not just the pupils. The whole thing. He made me touch them. They were rough. Like stone. His skin started flaking off. Dripped off, actually. Melting. He... poured it into my mouth." Those last words trailed off into a choked rasp.