The four of them sat at the dining table—Mikey, his parents, and Payne. Darla had cooked steak and potatoes, her signature dish, seasoned perfectly as always. Mikey hadn't tasted her food in years, and the first bite nearly undid him. Juices ran over his tongue, the flavor so vivid it was like being reborn. He dove in hungrily, almost reverently, like it might be his last meal.
The table glowed with warmth. Laughter spilled between bites, stories rising and falling. Mikey found himself adjusting to this new reality with unsettling ease. Even his burning hatred for Payne was beginning to soften, the edges sizzling down into something almost tolerable.
After a while, Payne moved toward the kitchen island with Darla. Their voices hummed in low conversation. Mikey glanced up and caught sight of Payne discreetly opening a small box, tilting it so Darla could see. Inside was a silver ring that gleamed under the lights. Darla gasped softly, delighted, as Payne whispered about proposing to his girlfriend.
Mikey turned toward the great window, letting his gaze spill out over the city. Neon lights twinkled against the dark glass, a skyline of fire and promise. He felt the weight of it all pressing in, strange and serene.
"Psst. Psst. Mikey."
Mikey turned and saw his father beckoning him over with two fingers, an almost conspiratorial grin on his face. He stood and followed, weaving through the room.
"Hey, hon'," Desmond called to Darla, "I'm gonna talk to Mikey out on the balcony. Be back in a minute."
He waved Mikey toward the stairwell, and together they climbed to the second level. The glass wall stretched up into the night, a sliding door opening onto the wide balcony. The city below glowed alive, a sprawl of Sector C stretching endlessly into the dark.
"What's up, Dad?" Mikey asked.
"Nothing." Desmond smirked, producing a cold bottle of beer from behind his back. With a hiss, he cracked it open and handed it to Mikey. "Don't tell your mother."
Mikey grinned, took it, and clinked bottles with his father. The swig went down smooth, familiar, like he'd done it a hundred times before.
Desmond raised an eyebrow. "You've had a drink before? You're a natural. I thought I'd be the one to give you your first beer." He chuckled, shaking his head.
Mikey leaned against the railing, the glass cool beneath his arms, staring out over the skyline. "In my dream, I shared a lot of drinks with the people I met."
Desmond studied him quietly. "Speaking of people you met...how do you feel about your Uncle Payne now?"
Mikey thought for a moment. "Well… I guess I've thought about it. It wasn't real, so I'm fine. He seems like a good guy. I can't wait to remember him in the morning."
Desmond nodded, sipping from his bottle. The silence was companionable, broken only by the thrum of the city below.
"This city feels different," Mikey admitted. "Even now, I feel… dirty." He chuckled under his breath. "I hated this place, in the dream I mean."
Desmond gave him a sidelong glance, his voice quiet but certain. "I want you to know, if you ever were to really lose me and Mom… we wouldn't be far."
Mikey frowned. "What does that mean?"
"I'm just saying, son, we wouldn't abandon you. Even if we were gone, we'd be watching, talking in your ear. My advice—" he paused, gathering his words—"if you were still in that dream, it would be this: move on. Live your life without hatred, without sadness. Be a light for people. There's so much darkness in this world—cruel, unforgiving—but it's still beautiful. Worth protecting. Worth preserving. Don't choose hatred. It'll be hard, sometimes impossible, but you have to try, even just a little. Hatred and self-destruction… they're two sides of the same coin. Don't let yourself be their victim. I wish the dream version of me had instilled that in you. Maybe he wanted to, but just couldn't."
Mikey smirked faintly, lifting the bottle to his lips. "You're drunk."
Desmond laughed, bumping his shoulder. "How'd you know? Who do you work for?" He patted Mikey's back, still smiling, then turned serious again. "But I mean it, son. Every word. Now down that beer and let's head back inside."
They rejoined the others. Mikey tucked the empty bottle away before Darla could notice. At the table, stories unfolded again—Payne and Desmond recalling reckless childhood adventures.
"And this son of a gun got caught!" Payne laughed, and Desmond joined in, shaking his head.
"You boys are ridiculous," Darla said, giggling.
Payne leaned forward, eyes mischievous. "But that's not all. He—"
"Oh God, don't tell my wife and son this part…" Desmond cut in, laughing, hiding his face.
Mikey leaned in eagerly. "What happened?"
Payne slapped the table, cackling. "He got caught because he was trying to vault a fence. But ten feet to the left—swear to God—was an open gate. This dumbass could've just walked around."
Laughter rippled around the table. Mikey laughed too, harder than he could remember. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was happy. His parents alive. Payne, good and kind. The Council, harmless. Amelia—his girlfriend, whole and smiling. Everything perfect. Too perfect.
"I gotta drop off a pisser," Mikey said, rising.
"Go for it, son," Desmond said.
"TMI," Darla giggled.
Mikey smiled, but before he could leave, his father called after him. "Love you, son. We both love you, more than anything. You know that?"
Mikey paused, turned with a smile.
"Yeah… I do, Dad. I love you both."
The chatter of his parents faded as he walked down the hall. He entered the bathroom, unzipped, relieved himself with a sigh, flushed, and washed his hands. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, smiling with a rare, deep peace. For once, he felt whole.
Then—
RING. RING. RING.
A blue notification box flickered into the corner of his vision:
"INCOMING CALL FROM: AMELIA COSGROVE <3"
Mikey froze. His heart lurched. With trembling fingers, he pressed the implant at his temple, and it glowed blue.
"H.E.L.P., answer call from Amelia Cosgrove."
"Of course, Michael."
The call clicked on. Mikey smiled instinctively, excitement bubbling over. "Hey Amelia, how's it going—"
"Mikey… wake up… please…" Her voice shattered him. A sobbing, broken plea. "Mikey, please. Whatever you're seeing isn't real, okay? You're gonna be okay. Just… wake up."
Mikey stumbled back, his pulse hammering. "Amelia, what are you—"
Another voice cut through.
"Shit, he's seizing up!"
Then another.
"Bobo, do something!"
"Luce, what the hell am I supposed to do?! Kid, wake up!"
The names ripped into him like blades. Bobo, Luce, Amelia, all real voices, all real people. His heart clenched, his teeth grinding so hard it felt like they'd crack.
'What the hell… that was them. That was real…'
It clicked like a switch. Isaak's words echoed: 'This test measures your mind.'
He thought of the purple fluid, and the haze that quickly followed. Then—
BANG!
BANG!
Gunshots. The sound that lived in his bones. Mikey crashed through the bathroom door, sprinting to the kitchen. There—Payne stood with his back to him. Smoke curled from the gun in his hand. At his feet, Darla and Desmond sprawled on the floor. Blood blooming out onto the marble floor. Mikey's vision blurred, his breath ragged.
"Wha—"
Desmond stirred, crawling weakly, blood spilling from his mouth. "Mikey… why didn't you help—"
BANG!
The shot tore through his head. Flesh burst like a red flower, his body twitching before it slumped still. Mikey's lungs seized and he couldn't breathe, couldn't even move. Payne turned, lifting his face toward him. His voice was low, venomous.
"You thought—even in a dream—you could escape me?" He stepped closer. "You thought I wouldn't find you? That they could forgive you? Love you?"
Payne struck a match and flicked it onto the bodies. Flames roared, devouring them instantly. His hair fell out in clumps, revealing the bald head Mikey knew too well. His eyes darkened into black voids, his scar split open again, bleeding down his face. The man from his nightmares stood in the fire, monstrous and grinning.
"You pathetic boy. A terrible son."
Mikey shook violently, pulling at his own hair, trying to cling to the thought. That this is the test.
'This is the test. It's not real. It's not real.'
But he had seen them die again. Heard their screams, smelled their burning flesh. His body betrayed him, blood vessels bursting red across his eyes.
"No… Payne… I won't let you… I won't let you win…"
Mikey held himself back as much as he could. Payne tossed the gun aside, where it clattered against Darla's burning corpse. He stepped closer, sneering. "I'll kill your friends next. They're not safe because you can't even kill me if you tried. You can't save anyone."
Mikey's teeth gnashed together. His whole body trembled with fury.
'Sorry, Dad. I can't take your advice... I can't move on without hatred...'
"PAYNE!!!"
Mikey roared, charging. With each step his body shifted, reshaping into who he truly was. His hair grew long again, loose black curls falling to his shoulders. Scars crept back across his skin. His slacks hardened into black cargos, his shirt became the white long-sleeve, his boots heavy against the floor. The glowing implant vanished, replaced by a familiar scar. His mother's necklace appeared against his chest.
'I can't help it...'
He lunged, fist flying, and drove it into Payne's jaw with all the rage in the world.
'I'm a terrible son after all...'