Convergence

It was cold. He was lying down on something. Voices could be heard murmuring in the background. There was a great whirring noise of machinery. Or was it humming? His mind was in a fog and he couldn’t see. Someone started to move him. He must’ve been on a gurney of some sort. The voices continued. He could make out sounds but not words. Suddenly, he stopped. He heard footsteps and more voices. There seemed to be people surrounding him. Gradually, the voices died down and the people walked away. But one remained. It whispered something to him.

Bastion woke up. He felt strangely uneasy, but he couldn’t remember what his dream was. The morning sun beamed through the ceiling intensifiers, bouncing between the light mirrors and illuminating the room. He started his day as he would any other; brewing a fresh cup of coffee on the solar stove before promptly leaving for work.

He joined the other velocars on the highway. The familiar sound of whirring gears and chain drives filled the air before he decided to turn on the radio.

“..Following another decisive strategic victory in the contested Borealian archipelagos, the end may finally be in sight for the Resource War in the Arctic. The brutal Aurelians have held a defensive position on key oil reserves for the last several months. However, with the brilliant strategic planning from The Capital, the Third Marine Battalion, led by General Hayes, blindsided the Aurelians with a flanking charge…”

“At least I’ll have warm water at night for the next while,”thought Bastion. The Captial didn’t command the largest military; far from it. Yet they somehow always seemed to win. It was simply a matter of when they would catch the enemy off guard. Strategy was their strength he supposed.

Bastion’s mind wandered as the details of the war droned on in the background. He thought he was lucky to not be a soldier. Shivering on the front lines for years on end wasn’t a very appealing life. His physical prowess score on the KNAT was certainly high enough to be assigned to be a soldier. However, his equally high morality score had him ultimately placed as a police officer—a comparatively more comfortable life.

“..wraps up the news for today folks. As per the weekday schedule, the station will be powered for the next two hours to provide for your morning commute. Stay tuned for mixed music and…”

He noticed his legs feeling heavier. Bastion turned off the radio. The extra effort in pedalling to power it for music just didn’t seem worth it. He did wonder, however, if he would be a pedi-train conductor right now had he taken up swimming in third grade. The minutes blurred past as he made his way to the headquarters downtown. Pollock, as usual, was already there before him.

“Morning!”said Pollock.

“Morning.”

“Did you hear the news?”

“Debrief me on the new cases in my office.”

“You seem tired. Skipped out on your morning coffee today?”

“No, I’m just tired. Now can we get to work, we’re burning credits here.”

“Y’know, a CerebroScan can really improve your mood and fatigue. I mean, it would be a really nice change of pace around here to hear some jokes from you. I’m sure you’ve—”

“I’m not taking one. You know why.”

Pollock sighed.

“We got a couple of new cases, nothing special though. I’ll bring them up to you in a couple of minutes.”

Bastion nodded and headed up to his office. He walked past the great skylights with beams of sunlight scattering across the light mirrors. Hung throughout the walls were various portraits of past police chiefs. Being one required at least a decade of excellent service as an officer—it was one of the rare few occupations that wasn’t assigned directly from the KNAT. He sat down at his desk, staring at the pile of paperwork from the previous day. He moved them aside next to his lamp, a state-issued luxury for police officers. They were considered a Class A occupation, absolutely vital to the function of society. It was ironic, however, that such classes were even created. Almost every occupation was KNAT assigned and consequently treated fairly equally. Credits were paid not by type of occupation but rather by the effort put into the occupation. There were no real social classes, no conflict, and no poverty. In a sense, a police officer was more of a desk occupation than anything else. The high physical aptitude requirement on the KNAT was only kept for the rare instances of aggressive crime—usually caused by mental deterioration from overworking.

Pollock came into Bastion’s office.

“Well, we got a report this morning of a missing pedi-train conductor. He did eventually clock in, so I’ll leave it to you to file to the ODI registry.”

“Was this a first-time occurrence?”

“Yeah, think so. A lot of complaints came in pretty quickly for the delay, however.”

“I’ll issue an SMH checkup. Take this down to Simmons and let me know when the confirmation from State Health comes back.

Pollock opened his mouth to object but decided against it. A CerebroScan was usually standard practice for any instance of occupational disobedience. He knew, however, that Bastion would not like that idea.

“Anything else?”asked Bastion

“Well, aside from that there was a velocar accident on the V80 last night, but Grayson already went to clean up the scene.”

“Good. I’ll be here verifying the occupational performance reports we received last week if you need me.”

“See you at lunch then?”

“Sure.”

Pollock started out the door. He was abruptly interrupted by the thunking sound of a capsule falling into Bastion’s urgent messages tube. They both stared at each other. Urgent message tubes were reserved for either missing persons incidents or cases of violent crime. Both were exceptionally rare.

“Well, about time something exciting happened around here,”said Pollock, as he carefully took the message out of the capsule.

“Let’s see what we got—”

Pollock froze. He stared blankly at the paper. Bastion suddenly felt very uneasy.

“You okay? What is it?”asked Bastion

Pollock didn’t answer. A few moments passed before Bastion started to get up out of his chair.

“I’m sorry.”stammered Pollock eventually.

Bastion took the message from Pollock and read it himself. His heart stopped for a moment. It was a report of a potential homicide. The name on the report rang in his head. Daxton Stilgard. His younger brother. All he had left to call family.

“Prep the velocar.”

Like clockwork, Bastion and Pollock collected their investigative kits and equipped their anti-personnel equipment before leaving the station.

As Pollock pedalled, Bastion’s mind boiled with thoughts of Daxton. He wouldn’t believe the report in his hands until he saw Daxton’s body in person. His younger brother was a lot of things. But certainly not stupid enough to get caught up in the wrong net.

They arrived at the scene, entering Daxton’s apartment. The main foyer looked pristine. The shelves were orderly, chairs placed neatly under the dining table. There were no signs of a struggle or fight. Bastion and Pollock walked slowly through the room, their pistols held in front of them. Bastion’s eyes darted around for threats, but he would only see his reflections in the light mirrors. They checked the various rooms, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, Pollock signalled Bastion over. There was a speck of blood on the ground outside of a door. Bastion’s grip tightened on his pistol. He walked diagonally behind Pollock and gave him a nod. Pollock kicked the door open and they swept their guns across the room. There was no one there except the bloodied body slumped over on a single wooden chair. Pollock breathed out.

“Shit.”

On the ground was a make-shift double-barrelled shotgun. Guns were only issued to occupations that required them. They were otherwise long since outlawed for the average citizen. One could, however, gather the various raw materials from different stores and perhaps manufacture their own. It didn’t make sense to Bastion. He knew Daxton was intelligent enough to be able to pull off such a feat. But the motivation was a mystery. No one in their right mind would waste time and credits making a gun—and even if they decided to commit suicide, there were far easier options.

The room was considerably darker than the rest of the apartment; the bloodstained light mirrors blocked a lot of the reflected sunlight. Aside from the body, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary in the room. Bastion took a closer look at it. The face was blown open—an unrecognizable mess of blood and flesh. The scene almost undeniably pointed to a suicide. But Bastion refused to accept that Daxton would do such a thing.

“Why would he do this?”thought Pollock aloud.

“He wouldn’t,”said Bastion.

Pollock shook his head.

“I can’t look at this any longer. I’ll sample the fingerprints around the room and send it down to headquarters. I’m sorry Bastion, but it just seems like a suicide.”

Bastion stared blankly at the body.

“I’ll stay here and look around for a bit longer.”

He walked around the room and looked into the various drawers and closets. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He just wanted to find something, anything that could lead him to the truth. The body was unidentifiable as of now. It meant that there was a possibility that it wasn’t Daxton, and because of that, Bastion kept looking. He went through everything that he could possibly examine, his eyes straining in the dimly lit space. Nothing. The hours passed as Bastion scrutinized every inch of the apartment.

He felt angry that he didn’t know the apartment better. Soon after the KNAT, Bastion was distanced from his younger brother. Daxton wasn’t as physically adept as Bastion but was a lot more intelligent. While Bastion went into police training, Daxton was sent to pursue neuroscience research at State Health.

Bastion eventually came upon a framed portrait. It was of Mother in her youth. He stared at it sorrowfully. It was shortly after their KNAT assignments that he and Daxton received news of Mother’s death. They were told it was a velocar accident. A worn-down chain had snapped, causing her to lose control on the highway. At the time, Bastion didn’t believe it. Mother was always an extremely cautious person. He knew that she would never disregard the velocar to the point where a chain snap would occur.

The accident also occurred after her first CerebroScan. She was always wary of them ever since Bastion could remember. Yearly CerebroScans were highly recommended by State Health. They were free, and were claimed to be able to cure all sorts of mental ailments, promoting a happier and more productive life. Yet, every time an announcement came on promoting CerebroScan checkups, Mother always turned the radio off. She told Bastion and Daxton not to believe what they were saying. Bastion never understood why—everyone around him had been taking them, and they all seemed happier and healthier than ever. Even still, he listened to Mother and made sure Daxton listened too.

It was only after connecting the accident and Mother’s first CerebroScan that Bastion finally believed Mother. She was only forced to take it after being late for work once. In the days following, Bastion desperately searched for answers. But all those he questioned simply told him it was a tragic coincidence. and that CerebroScans were the safest medical procedure created. It never sat well with Bastion.

Daxton on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered. It angered Bastion for a long time. After the accident, Daxton simply continued on in his education. He didn’t even show up to Mother’s funeral. In his early days working as an officer, Bastion had to file occupational health reports from various state faculties. He noticed that Daxton was on the file. He was taking his yearly CerebroScans. They rarely saw each other, let alone talked, yet they were still family. It comforted Bastion a little that Daxton at least kept a picture of Mother around.

As he gripped the framed portrait, Bastion noticed something was off. He felt there was a slight bump on the back of the frame. He took the frame apart carefully and removed the picture. Behind it was a small silver key. Bastion’s heart started to beat a little faster. Daxton was hiding something.

Bastion couldn’t recall seeing anything in the apartment with a small enough keyhole. Then, he realised that there was still one spot he never really checked, directly underneath the body. Bastion went back to Daxton’s room. He breathed out and hoisted the body off of the chair and onto the bed, his gloves becoming stained red. He then moved the bloodstained chair and carpet aside, revealing the wooden floor underneath. Squinting at the floor for a while, Bastion finally saw it. A small, painted-over keyhole on the floor. He tried it with the silver key and sure enough, it opened. A small mechanism clicked and pushed a piece of the floor up. Bastion picked it up and set it aside. Underneath it was a small leather-bound book. It was a journal of some sort. He flipped through it, but couldn’t read the small scrawled writing; the sun was setting and the room was starting to darken. Bastion needed to look through the book with his lamp.

He slipped the book into an evidence bag and left the apartment. His mind raced as he pedalled back to the police headquarters. Perhaps there was a lot more about Daxton that he didn’t know about. As Bastion went up to his office, he ran into Pollock.

“I was getting worried that you weren’t going to come back.”

“I did a search of the whole apartment. Found this book. I think I’m going to spend the night at the office looking it over.”

Pollock shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but the report from the forensics department came back. It was Daxton’s blood on that body. And all the fingerprints around the apartment and on the gun were also his.”

“Daxton wouldn’t kill himself.”

“The case is being closed right now. Chief is going to sign off on it soon. I won’t stop you from looking through that book but I really don’t think it’s going to change this case.”

Bastion was silent.

“Look, you know I miss Daxton as much as you do. But, there’s just nothing we can do right now. I’m just as confused as you are as to why he would do such a thing, but the truth is the truth.”

“I think the truth is that there’s more to this.”

Pollock sighed.

“Shifts ending soon, I’m going to clock out for the night. I don’t think this is going to change anything, but I hope I’m wrong.”

“Goodnight Pollock.”

Bastion sat down in his darkening office. He reached over and turned on his lamp. The bright artificial light illuminated the book. It seemed to Bastion almost as if it were glowing. He began to slowly read through the pages. Much of it was old notes from post-KNAT education—chemical equations and neural diagrams were scribbled over every page. He didn’t understand any of it, yet he flipped through each page and read every word. The hours passed by. Bastion couldn’t find anything except for one word that strangely repeated in a lot of the pages: “oneiraopsis” He’d never heard of the word before. Most of the words in Daxton’s notebook were medical jargon, however. Even still, it was strange why Daxton seemed to pay so much attention to one word in particular. As the night drifted by, Bastion felt his eyelids closing. He certainly went through a lot that day. Before long he fell asleep, his lamp still illuminating Daxton’s book in the dark.

It was cold. He was lying down on a sort of padded gurney. He heard voices behind him. There was a soft humming of machinery around him. He couldn’t see or move, but the voices started to become more clear. Someone started to move him.

“Are the oneiragraphs processed?”

“Yes. The convergence coefficient is the highest we’ve seen in a while.”

“What was the event?”

The voices started to trail off into an unintelligible murmur. He suddenly stopped moving. He heard a large whirring mechanism surround him, pressing against his head and torso. More footsteps in the background. The murmurs started to become clear again.

“The neural content has been scanned and fitted with the T-51b predictive models.”

“Subject state?”

“Stable and ready to undergo oneiraoptic imprinting.”

“You’ve done well.”

“Thank you sir.”

“We’ll leave it to you to oversee the procedure then. I expect a report tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

Gradually the footsteps faded away into the distance. There was a growing pressure on his head, as if the machine was trying to split it open. A weight started to mount on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He felt a panic arise in him. Suddenly, the machine stopped. For a moment everything was still. Then, the machine began to lift off of him. There was still one person next to him. They leaned down close to his ear. He heard them whisper something to him.

Bastion snapped awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. The sun was starting to rise. He sighed and looked down at his desk. His lamp had already gone out—he definitely went past the continuous use limit for artificial light. Daxton’s notebook was still sitting in front of him, opened to the last page he read before falling asleep. Bastion picked the notebook back up and started to read again while the dim sunlight slowly started to fill the room. He went through more pages of scientific diagrams and technical nonsense. It wasn't until he had almost reached the last page that something finally caught his eye.

Two words: “The Captial” It was underlined with points made beneath it. As Bastion read, he realized they were all requirements of some sort. A certain research quota filled, a performance cutoff, the list went on. However, at the bottom of the page were the words scrawled in a different colour: “Mother - Oneiraopsis - CerebroScans” Bastion suddenly began to understand. Daxton never acted indifferent out of a lack of compassion. He never took CerebroScans as an act of disobedience to her. He was only playing fool to gain access to The Captial. He saw something in Mother’s death that Bastion didn’t.

There was something sinister going on with The Captial. He could feel it now. The circumstances surrounding Daxton’s death didn’t make sense; a suicide just as he was aiming to enter The Captial. Bastion needed to learn more. There was still that one word lingering in his head: “oneiraopsis.”

He started to rummage through old files and reports, looking for any connections to Daxton. Eventually, he came upon a set of State Health reports from the institute that Daxton worked at. Listed on the report were colleagues of Daxton. Bastion scanned down the page, looking for anyone who would be close enough to Daxton to be able to explain things. His eyes landed on Daxton’s lab supervisor: Luna Keller. He needed to get to the institute and ask her questions. As Bastion started out the door he noticed the time. It was almost nine. Normally, he would clock in at this time and sit at his desk filling various reports and cases. That was the expected work procedure for an officer. Any unwarranted deviation from standard work procedure was considered an act of occupational disobedience, a law he knew all too well from filling ODIs day in and day out. His rational mind told him to sit back down and that he could investigate this on his own time. However, there was a primal urge gnawing at him, telling him that if he didn’t go now he would never find out the truth. He had a lead on explaining Daxton’s and Mother’s death, the CerebroScans, everything. He was not going to risk squandering it by waiting.

Bastion started out his office. Of course, he saw Pollock clocking in early as usual.

“Jeez, you really did stay the night here, didn’t you? Find anything?”asked Pollock.

“I have a lead. There was something about a term called oneiraposis and its connection to CerebroScans. Daxton was trying to get into The Captial before the suicide. There’s something sinister that’s going on Pollock.”

Bastion’s eyes were wild. Pollock was stunned for a moment—he had never seen Bastion act like this before.

“The case got closed as an open and shut suicide I’m afraid. Chief already signed off on it. I believe you though, we’ll just have to tackle this on our own after work hours.”

“No. I have to leave now. The longer we wait, the more time we give them to cover all of this up.”

Pollock was taken aback again.

“Let’s slow down okay? How are they to know you figured this out? If you leave now, we both know you’ll be caught for occupational disobedience. Then what happens to you will be up to the Chief. I don’t think we want that.”

“I don’t care. He can take away my position for all I care. This is far too important Pollock. You know why I need to do this now.”

There was silence for a moment. Pollock took a deep breath

“Okay. I’ll try to cover for you while I can. But the Chief is definitely going to find out one way or another.”

Bastion nodded.

“Thanks.”

He quickly left the building when no one was looking. Bastion got into his velocar and started towards the State Health institute where Daxton used to work. It was located on the other side of the downtown core; if anyone found out he was gone, it wouldn’t take long for them to find him. As the buildings blurred by, that one word repeated in his head: “Oneriaopsis.” Soon, he made it to the State Health building. He entered into the grand foyer, a wide open space with a full skylight beaming sunlight into intensifiers that snaked across to various light mirrors. In the middle of the foyer was a glass prism sculpture of the founder of State Health, doubling as a specialized light diffuser. Above the marble floor hung signs pointing to various hallways and rooms. One of them was coloured differently and labelled in bold font: “CerebroScans” Bastion ignored it and went to the reception desk.

“Welcome to State Health, how may I help you?”

Bastion pulled out his badge.

“Officer Stilgard. I need to see Luna Keller for an investigation”

The receptionist’s expression suddenly changed.

“It’s about Daxton isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. Where can I find Luna Keller?”

“I saw it in the news. I thought they closed the case.”

“Please.”

The receptionist seemed conflicted for a moment but responded.

“She’s on the sixth floor, lab 61a. There are floor plans outside of each elevator if you need them.”

“Thank you.”

Bastion started to rush to the sixth floor. He knew sooner or later, he was going to be caught. He exited the elevator and made his way through the winding hallways to lab 61a. As he entered the lab, we walked past rows of tables with various glassware and medical equipment. The walls were filled with diagrams and schematics. He saw someone at the end of the room, sitting behind a computer. Only those with high-ranking, technically challenging occupations were given the privilege of one. She was most likely the person Bastion was looking for.

“Are you Luna Keller?”

Luna was startled and looked up from her computer.

“Yes. Is this about Daxton?”

Bastion nodded.

He handed her Daxton’s notebook.

“Can you explain what Oneriaopsis is?”

She flipped through the notebook, her eyes wide with amazement.

“The writing here. It’s all notes and research on dreams and consciousness. It’s brilliant…I knew Daxton was ambitious but, this, these theorems, these models, I’ve never seen them before.”

Luna looked up at Bastion.

“Daxton would often wander off on his own during work hours. He never left the premises so I never bothered reporting it. But this is what he must have been working on.”

“Do you know what he means by Oneriaopsis?”

“Yes. It’s a branch of neuroscience related to predictive dreams. A lot of people think it’s a myth. Alternate timelines and universes, convergent and divergent events, it all seems like a fantasy. But for those aiming for a job in The Captial, a breakthrough in this field would most certainly guarantee one.”

“What do you mean by predictive dreams?”

“Dreams that predict the future. There's a theory that every dream depicts a certain universe, a timeline if you will. Most people dream of random universes, events and situations that aren’t related to our world. But there is a condition, Oneriaopsis, that causes some people’s dreams to align with our reality—and when harnessed can predict future events.”

“How do you know if someone has Oneriaopsis?”

“I’m not sure. People’s memories of dreams are often non-existent or unreliable. As I said, the field itself is disputed among many researchers. But clearly, Daxton was onto something here.

“Is there any relation to CerebroScans?”

“All I know is that CerebroScans work by taking the neural cognition patterns of people when they’re asleep. When they were introduced years ago, State Health claimed that they studied subconscious activity in the primary somatosensory cortex, the main part of the brain responsible for pain. The research and patents are there to back it up too.”

“But you are required to be asleep in order to have a CerebroScan performed.”

“Yes.”

“Where can I learn more about CerebroScans?”

“Not here, I’m afraid. We have access to the schematics and patents, but I’ve looked through them myself. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. If you want to find out more, you’ll have to go to The Captial.”

“What Daxton was planning to do.”

“Yes, exactly.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I have to ask. Why did he do it? I’ve only ever known him as a brilliant and ambitious researcher.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I think there’s something more to all this. There’s a mystery that Daxton was trying to solve.”

Luna opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Shit.”breathed Bastion.

A group of officers came in. Pollock was among them. He gave Bastion a sideways smile.

“I tried, I’m sorry.”

Luna was bewildered.

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know if I find anything new,”said Bastion.

He held his hands out as Pollock cuffed them.

“I don’t think you really need to hear this, but don’t argue with the Chief alright? I’ll miss you if he strips you of your job.”

Bastion gave a dry smile as he was walked out of the room.

Chief Thornton sighed.

“I won’t lie, I never would have expected this out of you Stilgard.”

Bastion was silent.

“Not clocking in for work, leaving the premises without due reason, pursuing a case that has been closed. I could strip your position, and send you back to another KNAT assignment.”

“I understand.”

“But, I’ll admit. I like you Stilgard. You’ve been a diligent officer for many years, and you’ve saved me a lot of headaches in the past. So here’s what I’ll do for you. I’ll assign a CerebroScan, and put you on unpaid leave for a week. Then, when you’re feeling like yourself again, you can come back to the station and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Yes sir.”

As Bastion got up to leave, Thornton stopped him.

“Do indulge me though, why did you feel you had to pursue this?”

Bastion paused. He wondered if he should reveal what he found to Thornton. He decided against it.

“I got emotional over the case. It was my brother after all.”

“Hm. I understand. Either way, that CerebroScan should fix you up.”

Bastion nodded and left.

He was taken back to State Health. But this time, he was sent to the CerebroScan room. Bastion was apprehensive, yet also strangely eager now. He knew that Daxton had done them safely. He thought by undergoing the procedure, he could learn more about it and continue where Daxton had left off.

His escorts motioned Bastion into the room. As he walked in, he immediately noticed the humming sound of the machinery. It seemed strangely familiar. In the centre of the room was a geriatric chair and above it, a large mechanical arm fitted with a hollowed hemisphere. Bastion assumed that was for scanning his head. All across the walls were various machines with technical displays that he couldn’t make out. It was a stunning scene to him. He’d never seen so much electrical equipment in one place.

“Bastion Stilgard, correct?”

There was a doctor in the corner of the room writing something down on a notepad.

“Yes.”

“Please take a seat.”

Bastion sat down in the large padded chair.

“I’ll have to put you to sleep for the procedure. You’ll feel an injection very soon.”

Suddenly, Bastion felt a sense of urgency. He still wasn’t sure what would happen to him after the scan, the possibility still lingered in his mind that he’d end up like Mother. He took his chance and gave the doctor a question.

“What does this machine do?”

The doctor seemed confused. People didn’t normally question any aspect of CerebroScans.

“It analyzes your neurological brain patterns in the primary somatosensory cortex while you sleep. In that time, it corrects any abnormal brain behaviour.”

“No. What does this machine actually do?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’re behaving irrationally right now. The procedure should help remedy that.”

Bastion considered getting out of the chair and threatening the doctor for answers, but before he could move, a needle was injected into his arm and he rapidly began to feel drowsy. Soon enough, he fell into a deep sleep.

It was cold. He was lying down on a surgical gurney. There was a distinct sterile feel to the air. He heard two separate voices behind him. There was a soft, steady humming of machinery around him. He was paralyzed, but acutely conscious. The voices became more clear as two people approached him. Someone started to move him.

“Are the oneiragraphs processed?”

“Yes. The convergence coefficient is the highest we’ve seen in a while.”

“What was the event?”

“This one. What’s happening right now. Strange isn’t it?”

“So the subject knew about the oneiraoptic war program?”

“Not exactly. It’s unlikely they would remember the dreams in detail.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Prepare the subject for imprinting. I’ll go get the others.”

He suddenly stopped moving. There was a shuffling of footsteps around him. He heard a large whirring mechanism surround him, pressing against his head and torso. The feeling felt strangely familiar. He heard more footsteps in the background approaching him.

“So this is the subject everyone has been talking about.”

“A stabilized convergence coefficient of 9.3”

“Impressive.”

There was silence for a moment as one other set of footsteps could be heard approaching him.

“Status?”

“The neural content has been scanned and fitted with the T-51b predictive models.”

“Subject state?”

“Stable and ready to undergo oneiraoptic imprinting.”

“You’ve done well.”

“Thank you sir.”

“We’ll leave it to you to oversee the procedure then. I expect a report tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

Gradually the footsteps faded away into the distance. There was a murmuring chatter among the footsteps that were leaving. Slowly, the noises faded. A few more moments went past. Then, he heard a clicking mechanism start. There was a growing pressure on his head, as if the machine was trying to split it open. A weight started to mount on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He felt a panic arise in him. He heard shuffling footsteps. Suddenly, the machine stopped. For a moment everything was still. Then, the machine began to lift off of him. There was still one person next to him. They leaned down close to his ear. He heard them whisper something to him. He felt relieved.

Bastion slowly awakened. He didn’t know where he was. Harsh lights illuminated his vision. He’d never seen anything so bright before. He wondered if he was looking right at the sun. His vision started to adjust. He could see that he was strapped onto a chair. Someone approached him. Bastion tried to struggle against the chair restraints.

“I understand if you’re panicking right now, but do let me explain.”

“Where am I?”Bastion asked, aggression rising in his voice.

“You’re in a Captial facility right now.”

“How?”

“You were transported here after the CerebroScan. You’re special, Bastion.”

“The hell does that mean.”

“Oneiraopsis. You were investigating it, yes? Well, you’ve been living with it your whole life. You are an oneiraoptic.”

Bastion was stunned for a moment.

“But my dreams, I don’t—”

“Yes. you don’t remember any specific predictive events. That’s common for oneiraoptics. But make no mistake, the dreams are there. That’s why you’re here to serve your country.”

“To what?”

“Serve this great nation by using your gift. You may not remember your dreams in your waking life, but they can still be harnessed and viewed through oneriagraph scans. Do you ever wonder why we are winning the Resource War despite our limited armed forces?”

“So it’s all real.”

“Indeed. We make a great effort to keep this within The Captial. For the prosperity of everyone, the details of oneriaopsis must be kept from the wrong hands.”

“Why are you telling me all this then?”

“It won’t matter.”

Bastion’s chest started to tighten.

“What are you saying.”

“For the greater good.”

“Tell me what’s going to happen.”

“You’ll be put in a stasis chamber, asleep, dreaming for the rest of your life. Your oneiraoptic ability will be harnessed to fit our predictive war models and used to predict the future. Just as with all the other oneiraoptics. Find comfort in the fact that you will be ensuring prosperity for the rest of your fellow citizens.”

“Go to hell.”

“I take it you don’t want to cooperate with us. A shame. We usually let those who are cooperative arrange their own deaths outside The Capital. Do not worry though, we’ll take care of it for you.”

“You motherf—”

Another needle was injected into Bastion’s arm. His vision started to blacken as he fell asleep once more.

He awoke. But something wasn’t right. It was cold. He was lying down on a surgical gurney. There was a distinct sterile feel to the air. He heard two separate voices behind him. There was a soft, steady humming of machinery around him. He was paralyzed, but acutely conscious. The voices became more clear as two people approached him. Someone started to move him.

“Are the oneiragraphs processed?”

“Yes. The convergence coefficient is the highest we’ve seen in a while.”

“What was the event?”

“This one. What’s happening right now. Strange isn’t it?”

“So the subject knew about the oneiraoptic war program?”

“Not exactly. It’s unlikely they would remember the dreams in detail.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Prepare the subject for imprinting. I’ll go get the others.”

He suddenly stopped moving. There was a shuffling of footsteps around him. He heard a large whirring mechanism surround him, pressing against his head and torso. The feeling felt strangely familiar. He heard more footsteps in the background approaching him.

“So this is the subject everyone has been talking about.”

“A stabilized convergence coefficient of 9.3”

“Impressive.”

There was silence for a moment as one other set of footsteps could be heard approaching him.

“Status?”

“The neural content has been scanned and fitted with the T-51b predictive models.”

“Subject state?”

“Stable and ready to undergo oneiraoptic imprinting.”

“You’ve done well.”

“Thank you sir.”

“We’ll leave it to you to oversee the procedure then. I expect a report tonight.”

“Yes sir.”

Gradually the footsteps faded away into the distance. There was a murmuring chatter among the footsteps that were leaving. Slowly, the noises faded. A few more moments went past. Then, he heard a clicking mechanism start. There was a growing pressure on his head, as if the machine was trying to split it open. A weight started to mount on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He felt a panic arise in him. He heard shuffling footsteps. Suddenly, the machine stopped. For a moment everything was still. Then, the machine began to lift off of him. There was still one person next to him. They leaned down close to his ear. He heard them whisper something to him.

“It’s me, Bastion. Mother is here too. I’m going to get you both out.”