“So, this time,” said Proto, “I want to know about the dreamer before we get into the dream. Not some after-the-fact heartrending bio to make me feel worse about screwing things up.” He was following Astrid down the misty blue hallways at a couple paces’ distance, as usual.

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  He stared at her back. “Just like that? Okay?”

  “Personally, I like not knowing,” she replied. “Once you know about the dreamer’s real life, you tend to think up an easy solution for his problems, and you try to steer the dream that way. But it doesn’t work. Your easy solution doesn’t work. And if you’d just gone into the dream without any preconceptions, you’d have found the real solution, lurking there in the dream. Something the dreamer sort of senses but hasn’t quite worked out.”

  “Remember, they know their lives better than you do,” she said. “If fixing their lives were easy, they already would’ve done it. Don’t presume you know better. Especially from a one-minute bio.”

  Astrid strode on, as he slowed and pondered. This sort of made sense, though he struggled to fully wrap his mind around what she meant.

  He also was distracted by the sway of her curved form in the tight grey jumpsuit. Its stripes of blue and purple glistened as she moved.

  Proto shook his head and hurried to catch up. “If you don’t like knowing, then why did you go to the Shadowcaster with Dahlia yesterday? Isn’t that where you see the dreamers’ real lives?”

  “Because,” she responded patiently, “I won’t be the one visiting them. I was helping to pick our visitors for those dreamers. We’re all good at different things here. We like to make sure there’s a good match between our visitor and the dreamer.”

  “So,” said Proto slowly, “you think I’m a good match for this dreamer?”

  “With you, it was more a matter of picking the least bad option,” she replied instantly.

  “Yeah, I lobbed you a softball there,” he sighed. But he felt better after hearing a stifled laugh from ahead. “Anyway, how about that bio?”

  “You still want to know? Suit yourself,” said Astrid. “She’s thirty-two years old and a consultant in the city. Works sixty-hour weeks. She’s had the same boyfriend for seven years. They both have a dream of moving to the country and starting a bison farm. But they also have a dream of getting married, and they have to get around to that first. And before that, they have to pay off their student loans. If they tried to do all that right now, it would leave them awfully poor. They’d really have to cut back. So they talk about the future a lot, but remain firmly in the present.”

  “Hm.” Proto found himself thinking about his own job.

  As a young boy, he’d dreamt of being a knight or wizard. As a teen, he’d dreamt of making video games involving knights and wizards. By his mid-twenties, he’d dreamt of sitting by the sea and fishing.

  Instead, he did A/B testing for a marketing company, testing various versions of ads on customers and analyzing their reactions. It was not a job he’d ever dreamt of. But then, it also wasn’t the sort of job one has nightmares about. It was what it was.

  That was true of every part of Proto’s life, more or less. Nothing to have nightmares about, but nothing worthy of dreams either.

  Well, that had been true, anyway.

  He strode along in silence for a moment. “Could I see this Shadowcaster sometime?”

  “I suppose you can tag along next time I go.”

  “Awesome. Field trip time.”

  “Are we ten years old?” she said.

  “Twenty-seven years young!” he replied.

  She turned and regarded him with violet eyes, parting her lips to say something—then, resumed walking.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of that look. But she was always eying him like the guy pushing the door with the pull handle. So he didn’t make too much of it.

  Instead, he just followed her lead and admired the way her silvery-blue hair swished across the back of her jumpsuit.

  Within a couple minutes, she tapped a white door, and it slid open. “Remember. You have to find a way to make us part of the dream. Sometimes, that’s harder than others.”

  “Duly noted!” Proto brushed past her and through the doorway. He passed through the mirky passage toward an only slightly less mirky cityscape beyond it.

  It was at once more and less than any city he’d seen. More dense with skyscrapers soaring higher than seemed possible, completely blotting out the sun and leaving the streets a shadowscape. Yet almost every building was in a dilapidated state of partial collapse, with rusted beams and girders exposed. Many buildings had large light-up signs and screens, but all were stained and dusty, and none were turned on. Everything was tinged brown and grey.

  There was no one else in sight; indeed, no other life in sight, not even weeds. But he did faintly hear voices from around a corner ahead. He cautiously approached the intersection, keeping out of view behind the nearest building, and listened.

  It mostly was a woman speaking and occasionally a man replying. “Let’s hope it’s right,” he heard the woman saying. “Or else we’ve got some searching to do.”

  “Maybe,” replied the man. “But not too much. Wouldn’t want to be here after nightfall.”

  “Yeah, well.” The woman sounded about ten yards away now. “We can’t always get what we what.”

  “Can’t and don’t,” the man agreed.

  Yes, this woman was probably their dreamer. Proto pondered hiding or at least waiting quietly. But then what? Let them stumble upon him and be startled? Best to be open about it and get it over with.

  “Afternoon,” called Proto as they walked into view, prompting them both to whirl and face him. He looked at the mirky, sunless sky. “I think.”

  The woman had shoulder-length brown hair and big brown eyes, younger than her hardened face. She looked like she naturally had a curvy frame, but was so skinny that it didn’t show through much. Her hand had fallen to the handle of something at her waist, as mists swirled up around her ankles.

  The man instantly grabbed her arm, squeezing it slightly. She let loose the handle, giving him a narrow-eyed glance.

  “Afternoon.” The man’s voice was wary but not fearful. He had dirty blond hair and was about five days unshaven. He stood a foot taller than the woman at his side. His pale eyes were as narrow as hers were wide. “You . . . out for a jog?” He waved toward Proto’s tracksuit.

  He looked down at the navy-blue Saturn emblem. “Good weather for a run.” He shrugged.

  “Then who’s that?” asked the woman, pointing past Proto. “And why is she dressed like she just stepped off her starship?”

  He looked behind him. There was Astrid, arms folded beneath her breasts in her grey jumpsuit. She was regarding all this calmly, as a breeze brushed through her silvery-blue hair.

  What the hell. Now she decides to show herself?!

  The mists had risen to about waist level. They whirled and crept upward with each passing second.

  Proto thought for a split-second. “She’s—”

  “She can speak for herself,” replied Astrid. “No, we’re not here to jog. We’re here for the same reason you are. Judging by what you were just talking about, for all the world to hear.”

  The man and woman looked at each other, their lips pressed tight. They seemed to be debating what to do.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Don’t worry.” Proto held a reassuring palm above the mists, which were just below his breast. “We don’t want to get in your way. There’s plenty here for us all.” He wasn’t sure what they were here for. But he had a feeling this was the right thing to say. The mists, at least, had stopped inching upward. “In fact, maybe we can help each other.”

  The tall man looked at the woman, who was peering at Proto. He couldn’t see her hand in the mists, but judging by her arm position, she seemed to be holding that handle at her waist again. “Maybe, maybe not. How do you plan to help us?”

  “Well.” Proto reached behind him and drew a retro-futuristic pistol from a holster at his waist, conjuring all this up with his mind on the fly. The gun was sleek and silvery with a few rings around it, but dull with grime and stained. He was careful not to point it at anyone. But even so, the dreamer stepped backward, eyes flashing, and the mists crept a little higher. “I’m pretty good with this.”

  “Did you dig that up at an old military research center?” The woman squinted at the weapon, her forehead furrowing. “Or a cosplay convention?”

  “I wasn’t the one who found it,” replied Proto. “All I know is, it works.”

  “And what does she do?” The woman waved toward Astrid in her striped grey jumpsuit. “Fly your spaceship?”

  “I tell him where to point that thing,” replied Astrid. “It’s most effective when there’s a brain guiding it.”

  The dreamer’s lips curved upward.

  Oh, is that how it’s going to be? Proto decided to go with it. “Exactly right, she’s the brainiac here. A computer hacker. Don’t let her near your terminal! Or your passwords, your identity, and your bank account will all belong to a Nigerian prince in seconds flat.”

  Astrid’s violet gaze wrinkled at him behind her windblown hair.

  “She doesn’t look like it, huh? Total geek!” he went on languidly. “She’s that rarity of rarities: the hot nerd. Which makes me an awfully lucky guy.”

  Astrid scoffed and tossed her hair back.

  “You and me both, brother,” said the blond man. He gave Proto a fistbump.

  The dreamer couldn’t quite scowl away her smile at him. “Well, anyway, you’re right.” The mists had dwindled down to ankle level. “There should be food enough for us all, and then some. And if we run into any Prototypes, we’re better off with four than two. Assuming you’re not Prototypes.” Her expression was only half-joking.

  Prototypes? It sounded like she expected them to know what that meant. He’d have to get them to explain without asking directly.

  “I’m Genevieve. Or Jen,” the dreamer continued. “And this is Archibald.”

  “Or Arch.” The man inclined an eyebrow at her, and she patted his back with a smile.

  Proto nodded at them. “This is Astrid, and I’m Proto.”

  The man and woman blinked and exchanged a glance. “Of all the aliases a Prototype might have,” said Jen slowly, as the mists swelled up to knee level, “I suppose ‘Proto’ is about the least likely. Ha.”

  “True.” Arch’s eyes lingered a moment on Proto. “Anyway, we’re headed that way.” He pointed down the road, where the faint smog darkened to a haze.

  “Somewhere specific then?” asked Astrid.

  “Yep. Heard someone talking about a Sealed Door over there,” replied Arch. Jen gave him a wary look but didn’t say anything.

  “Still sealed, after all these years?” Astrid’s head was tilted at them. “But not for long, I take it?”

  Good improvising, Proto mused.

  “Not for long,” affirmed Arch. Jen gave him a wide-eyed frown and opened her mouth, but he waved at her dismissively. “Jen, if they’re with us, they’re with us. Why keep secrets that we’ll have to share five minutes from now?”

  The dreamer sighed and rolled her youthful brown eyes.

  “The secret of how you can open that Sealed Door, when no one else can, you mean?” asked Astrid. They both narrowed their eyes at her cautiously. She smiled. “Don’t worry. Whatever you have, we don’t need. We have what we need right here.” She tapped her temple.

  Yeah, she’s good at this. Proto pointed at Astrid and nodded. “Mad hacking skills. If it’s electronic, we’ve got access.”

  “Well, that’s good. Because this will get the door open.” Jen lifted a large key from a pouch. It was glossy and white, and its head was skull-shaped. “But it won’t disable any security systems. Maybe you can help with that.”

  “You find me a terminal, I’ll take care of it.” Astrid flicked back her hair cockily.

  “Where’d you find a treasure like that?” Proto pointed at the key.

  Jen tilted her head and scrunched her eyes at him. The mists abruptly began rising—knee level, waist level, chest level—and gyring violently. “Where I found this, you mean . . . ? The Skeleton Key . . . ?” She seemed to be holding it up and staring at it, but it wasn’t even visible beneath the mists.

  Uh oh. Astrid was glaring at him, her violet eyes seemingly aglow. What did I do?

  “The only other Skeleton Key I’ve heard of,” said Astrid hurriedly, “was in the glove compartment of an old wrecked car. Friend of a friend said his cousin found it there. Looking for an old gun or something.” She was looking and speaking at Arch rather than Jen. “Talk about luck.”

  “That’s how it goes in the City,” nodded the dirty-blond man. “Slave away till you get lucky or die trying.”

  “Ugh. Are we going to talk about this right now?” said Jen. “We’re here in the City because—”

  “As for me,” Arch broke in, “I got lucky.” He reached around Jen’s shoulder and drew her in close with a mollifying smile.

  And, judging by her curved-up lips and silence, she was mollified.

  Meanwhile, the mists had settled down to waist level. Proto let out a quiet sigh as his heartbeat slowed.

  As Jen and Arch continued leading the way, Astrid leaned toward Proto from several strides behind them.

  “Never put the dreamer on the spot like that!” she whispered, her curved eyes fixed upon him. “Don’t ask questions they might not have answers to. Don’t ask questions that force them to invent a whole history on the spot. Surefire way to wake someone up. If you have to ask that sort of question, ask anyone besides the dreamer.”

  He nodded. “That’s why you switched and talked to Arch instead of her.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you have at least half a brain.” It wasn’t much of a compliment, but the slight surprise in her violet eyes was.

  “I get by, thanks to my better half,” he replied suavely, extending a hand to her.

  She reached to take it, then swatted the back of his head and walked in front of him.

  Smoothing his mussed-up hair, he started whistling Hurts So Good. And she just shook her head.

  They walked a few more minutes through the urban mirk before they saw an old woman. She was wrapped in a brown blanket and huddled against the side of a building. She shifted as they drew nearer but didn’t rise. The blanket was hooded over her, obscuring her face.

  “Odd place to be sitting,” mused Proto quietly.

  “Not odd for a Prototype,” replied Jen. “Alone. No companions. Not integrated in society. Just waiting and watching. The prototypical Prototype.” Her hand was not on that handle by her waist, but it was close.

  “Should leave us alone if we keep our distance,” remarked Astrid. “Group of four with its wits about it. Not the sort of prey she’d be looking for.”

  Arch nodded. After a second’s pause, Jen did the same, with only a slight and brief swelling of the mists.

  And, indeed, the far off woman stayed in place. But, judging by the way her hood turned, her unseen eyes followed them as they passed.

  They’d only advanced another minute when a little girl sprinted in front of them at the crossroads about thirty yards away. Her feet were bare, and she looked skinnier than she should. Her hair bounced behind her in a rudimentary braid. She glanced behind her fearfully as she continued running.

  Astrid opened her mouth and started to hold up a hand, a look of infinite tenderness on her face.

  “Don’t!” hissed Jen, slapping a hand over Astrid’s mouth.

  Astrid stepped back and frowned at Jen, watching the girl shrink into the distance and disappear behind a corner.

  “You think some ten-year-old girl just happened to be here?” asked Jen. “Miraculously surviving? Scrounging up food day by day? Odds are ten to one that’s a Prototype.”

  “And there’s a one in ten chance she’s not. We’re just going to accept that?” replied Astrid.

  Jen sighed and shook her head. “She’d try to stab us in the back the first chance she got. And it’d rip my heart out to do what we’d have to do at that point. Best not to get involved.”

  Proto studied the woman. Her young eyes had fallen to the floor, as the corners of her lips creased. But she was the first to continue along the path a moment later, followed by Arch.

  As Proto and Astrid resumed walking behind them, he leaned toward her and whispered, “You seemed awfully concerned about that girl, given that this is all a dream.”

  “Was I?” Astrid replied. “Or was I just doing exactly what the dreamer expected me to do? Was I just confirming what she already believed—that everyone around her is too na?ve and softhearted to do what’s best? That it’s up to her to be the hero in her life story, making the hard decisions that others won’t make? Did I make a mistake? Or did I allow the narrative to progress properly to its next step?”

  Proto looked at her. As usual, she seemed entirely self-possessed. And the explanation of her actions made perfect sense.

  Yet the way she reached out toward the little girl! That earnestness in her violet gaze! If that’d been acting, it’d been very good acting.

  Ahead of them, Jen was walking a little stiffly. She eventually looked up at Arch. “What if that girl was . . . ?” she asked quietly.

  Arch shook his head and put his arm around her, pulling her in. “We’re doing the best we can. It’s not our fault we couldn’t help her. It’s not our fault the world works that way. All we can do is survive and try to carve out some small space where things don’t work that way.”

  Jen smiled up at him, brushing the corner of a wide young eye, and continued onward.

  “He seems like a good guy,” Proto murmured to Astrid, observing all this from behind.

  “Probably is,” shrugged Astrid. “Remember, though. He is her. Everything here is her. He’s not real. Only she’s real. Only she matters.”

  “Sounds like my ex-girlfriend’s philosophy,” replied Proto.

  Astrid rolled her eyes, but not before a laugh escaped.

  To be fair, that probably didn’t do justice to the ex-girlfriend in question, Karen Black. About half of the most memorable moments in his not-so-memorable life came from the few weeks he’d dated her, the summer after high school graduation.

  One of the most prominent was when they’d been watching T.V. on the basement couch at her aunt’s house, and they’d held hands, and then their fingers had started playing over each other’s hands, and then rather more than hands, and . . . well. Things had quickly gone where such things go.

  The other most prominent memory was when she’d betrayed him and made a fool of him to half his high school class, shattering his inborn romantic nature, and leaving him as a boring striver who majored in statistics and set out to climb the corporate ladder at a marketing firm.

  Indeed, he’d recently been on the verge of asking out a nice barista at Starbucks, after—against all odds—getting her to genuinely laugh while she was handing him his cold brew. Then, he’d frozen up for two seconds, as memories of Karen had popped into his head. And, before he knew it, the moment was gone, and she was talking to the next customer, and that was that.

  Proto shook his head and forced himself back to the present. He quickened his pace to catch up with the lithe and silvery figure of Astrid, who now was several steps ahead of him.