---
BEEP!
The sound slices through the air, bouncing off the curved dome walls, leaving an aftertaste of dread. The entire crowd falls silent, thousands of breaths caught mid-throat. The only sound after it fades is Mikey—strapped in, thrashing faintly, sweat running down his temples like rain streaking glass. His jaw is clenched so hard it looks like his teeth might shatter, his body twisting against the restraints in small spasms. His eyes stay shut, lids pressed together in a pained grimace, as if he's fighting demons clawing from the inside.
Up above, Isaak's voice cuts the silence like a blade."First beep has happened. Only one left, then he fails."
The way he says it—flat, definitive—stirs a ripple of unease through the audience. He drops the mic, the clatter echoing down into the dome like a gavel slamming judgment.
From the first row, Bobo grips the railing until his knuckles pale. He leans forward so far it looks like the metal itself might bend beneath him. His eyes stay locked on Mikey, that boy thrashing like a trapped animal.
He isn't the only one rattled. Luce sits beside him, her face a mask of stone, lips parted, but her eyes betraying her—confusion bleeding through the cracks. Tobi leans back hard into his seat, his brows furrowed deep, hands clasped together as though prayer might help. Marlene clutches Ryosuke's arm so tightly her nails dig in, but his gaze never leaves Mikey. Amelia looks at Bobo, her voice sharp and trembling.
"What's happening to him?"
Bobo's mouth opens, but no words come. His throat locks. Before he can even find something to say, a sound breaks through the stillness—faint at first, almost lost beneath the hum of the dome.
Mikey's voice.
A low mumble. A dreamer talking in his sleep. But then it grows, picking up, words slurred with grief.
"Dad... Mom..."
Bobo's eyes widen, and his chest caves in with a whisper. "No..."
Mikey's voice cracks, ragged, a boy pleading with shadows."Mom... I'm sorry... Dad! I missed you guys! I love you so much! I'm sorry! I failed you!"
His body jerks as if the words themselves are wrung from his bones. His pulse spikes, veins standing out along his neck. Sweat shines on his skin, and tears squeeze out from beneath his closed eyes, dripping down his temples. The image is unbearable.
Amelia gasps, her hands clamping over her mouth, her eyes filling, spilling, breaking. "What are they doing to him?"
Bobo snaps to Tobi, his voice breaking like thunder. "Tobi! What's happening?!"
Tobi stammers, his usual composure gone, swallowed by panic. His hands twitch as he speaks, his voice tripping over itself."I—I told you, it's... diluted Linnium—it's a p-psychedelic, a hallucinogen. His brain's... it's firing, conjuring memories, illusions. It's random, usually—but with that much in his system... it'll drag out what's buried deepest. Trauma, grief, whatever's left clawing in the back of his head."
Mikey shakes violently, tears streaking down his cheeks. His voice splits the dome with its rawness.
"Dad! I'm sorry! I let you die! Mom! I failed! I'm sorry!"
Each word is a knife. Each syllable, a wound.
Amelia leans forward, openly crying now, the sound of her sobs almost as piercing as Mikey's pleas.
"What are they doing to him?! Stop it!"
Bobo erupts, shoving himself up from his seat, his voice booming with fury.
"Isaak! You coward! I'll kill you, I swear to God! He's just a boy! He's just a boy!"
Luce grabs him, clinging to his arm, grounding him. Her other hand covers her face as if she can't bear to watch but can't turn away either. She pulls him back into his seat, her voice breaking through with a low, pained rasp."Bo... this ain't right. He's been through too much. This isn't right."
Bobo gathers her into his chest, his arms locking around her as if shielding her from what they're seeing. His voice is low, torn between rage and prayer.
"I know. I know, Luce. Our boy's strong. He's stronger than any of us. Dez and Dar won't fail him now. They won't."
Angelica, small and trembling, points toward the floor of the dome. Her little voice quivers as tears streak down her cheeks.
"Mr. Mikey is crying... I don't like it... It makes me feel weird."
Ryosuke quickly turns her face away, shielding her with a hand as she buries into his lap, covering her ears. But his eyes remain fixed on Isaak, burning with fury. He isn't alone. The crowd, once silent, begins to stir, the sound of murmurs rising like the growl of a beast.
Then it bursts. Shouts. Accusations. Hundreds of voices turning on Isaak, their outrage thick and booming, filling every corner of the dome. The collective anger of strangers who know instinctively, in their bones, that what they are witnessing is wrong.
Isaak doesn't meet their eyes. He can't. He looks away, his jaw clenching, shame bleeding into his face, tangled with hatred. His father leans close, whispering into his ear, words only for him. Then, a patronizing pat on the back, like consolation for a game well played.
But the crowd sees none of that. They only see Mikey—suffering, pleading, drowning in ghosts—and Isaak, the architect of his torment.
---
In Mikey's mind, he sits at the dinner table, the surface gleaming with faint scratches from years of use. The setting sun glows through the wide glass wall behind his mother, flooding the room in a warm gradient of gold and violet. Shadows stretch long across the marble floor. His mother's hand is wrapped around his, soft and steady, her thumb brushing the back of his knuckles. Mikey sniffles, wiping at his swollen eyes, but his gaze never leaves her—afraid that if he blinks, she'll disappear.
Across the room, Desmond paces by the kitchen island, phone pressed to his ear, his deep voice low and deliberate. He ends the call and exhales before striding over.
"I just got off the phone with Dr. Aleck," he says, slipping into the chair beside Mikey, his voice calm but carrying weight. "I told him everything you told us, son. He says you've got something called Dream Amnesia. It's rare, but it happens. Sometimes you dream so vividly that it feels like years pass. You smell things, touch things, live a whole other life—but it isn't real. The doc says your memory will level out after tomorrow. You'll remember your real life again."
He rests his large hand on Mikey's shoulder, his eyes soft with regret. "It sounded brutal, son. I'm sorry you had to go through that... losing your mother, losing me. It's a lot for anyone to carry."
Mikey stares at them both in silence for a long beat, his chest trembling. Finally, he lets out a shaky laugh. "I... I missed you guys so much. I felt like I failed you, over and over, and now I don't even know what to say." His voice cracks into a laugh that doesn't quite land. "Sorry if I'm acting weird... it's just—I never got to see Mom this old."
Darla giggles, swatting his hand lightly. "Ouch."
"No, Mom, I didn't mean it like that," Mikey says quickly, flustered. "I just—when you died, I was eleven. Seven years ago. But it felt so real. I lived it. I joined the Defectors, fought the Council, and—I can't believe I'm saying this—but I actually became kind of a badass." His laugh breaks into a sniffle.
Desmond watches him closely, shaking his head with a bemused grin.
"I don't doubt that, son. But... the Defectors? You've mentioned them a couple times. Is that a band? Some kind of new-age club?"
Mikey blinks, chuckling incredulously. "What? No, it was a resistance group. A rebellion against the Council. You fought with them, Dad. You knew Bobo, Luce, Ryosuke, Tobi, Amelia—"
Desmond chuckles, waving a hand. "I've never met anyone by those names."
Darla giggles and leans forward, her emerald eyes sparkling. "Wait... did you say Amelia? Like your girlfriend Amelia?"
Mikey's face freezes, his heart skipping. "M-my... girlfriend? I—I have a girlfriend named Amelia?"
Both of them laugh, exchanging knowing glances, their expressions brimming with affection.
"Yes, sweetie. You do," Darla says warmly. She rises, padding to the wall and plucking a framed photo from its hook. She returns and presses it into Mikey's trembling hands. Mikey's breath hitches. His eyes flood instantly.
"That's... that's her. The one from my dream."
The photo shows him in a park, holding Amelia's hand. His grin is wide and foolish, and Amelia leans into him with her black hair falling down her shoulders, her pale skin radiant in the sunlight. Her blue eyes shine, looking not at the camera but sideways into his, her smile soft and shy, her small frame pressed against his arm. It's her. It's real. Mikey's tears spill freely as he traces the photo with shaking fingers.
"I... i-is she happy? Are we happy? Does she... does she have a family?"
Desmond smiles, his broad shoulders easing. "She sure does. And she's happy, son. You both are."
Darla bends down beside him, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. Her voice is tender, aching with love. "I don't know what you saw in that dream, baby boy. But from the sound of it... it breaks my heart. My little boy carried so much pain."
Mikey closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad."
Both of them embrace him tightly, their voices overlapping in perfect harmony.
"We love you too, son."
"We love you, sweetie."
And in that golden-lit dining room, surrounded by warmth and familiarity, Mikey lets himself believe that this is real.