They soon reached the building they’d been headed toward. It was relatively short and stout at about fifteen stories tall. The facade was a wreck. It was missing about half its bricks, and beams and girders were visible behind them. Some entire rooms were exposed.

  “Is that safe to enter?” asked Proto as they approached and came to a stop.

  “Nothing’s safe. Everything’s a gamble,” replied Arch. “That’s life in the City. Gambling and winning or losing.”

  “That’s life, period,” Jen flatly corrected.

  “Maybe. But it’s not like we’ve tried anything else,” replied Arch. Mist was curling around their ankles now.

  “Well, if we hit jackpot today, maybe we can change that!” Jen declared. “Go out in nature and live the dream, like you’ve always wanted.”

  “And if we don’t hit jackpot? Not this year, or next year, or the next year?” he asked mildly. The mist had risen to around waist level.

  Jen shook her head and made a disgusted noise. “Do we really have to go through this again?”

  “Maybe another time!” suggested Proto, glancing nervously at those mists. They’d just passed his belly button. “Why don’t we see what’s past that Sealed Door and worry about next year later?”

  At his interruption of their lovers’ quarrel, Jen and Arch both had turned and blinked. But now they looked abashed.

  “Agreed,” said Arch, as Jen nodded. “Save tomorrow for tomorrow.” The mist dwindled back down toward their ankles.

  They walked into the building through a revolving door that was missing its glass and rusted in place.

  It took some time to find the Sealed Door—which, unfortunately, was not on the first floor, nor the second or third. Their only light came from windows and holes in the wall, which made it difficult to explore the building’s inner portions.

  It felt like they’d been wandering for a half hour when they finally discovered the Sealed Door. But when they did, it was glaringly obvious what it was.

  Like the Skeleton Key, the door was sleek white and metallic. It somehow was untouched by the years that had degraded everything else here. Beside it was an instrument panel with a multitude of buttons. This was grimy and rusted, but a couple small lights were glowing upon it—one green, one red—so it seemed functional. Beneath the buttons was a rectangular indentation with rounded edges. It looked like a laptop touchpad.

  Above the door to its left and right were two silver objects pointed down at them. Their shapes were convoluted, but vaguely reminiscent of both security cameras and security guns.

  Jen dug into her pouch again and retrieved the Skeleton Key. Its skull glimmered with the green and red light coming from the panel.

  She turned to Proto and Astrid and smiled affably. “Here. You can do the honors. Just tap it to the rectangle on that panel.”

  Arch tilted his head at her. Then, he turned to face the two visitors.

  Proto exchanged a look with Astrid. He glanced up again at those security cameras. Or security guns? “I’m good,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  “No, I insist.” Jen’s eyes were even wider than usual. “How often do you get to use a Skeleton Key? You have to try it.”

  Proto frowned and stared at her. “I mean, I can just watch and see, right?” The mists had started rising again and were now at their knees.

  Jen stared at him a moment. Her hand fell to that handle at her waist.

  “You can’t do it because I’m going to do it.” Astrid seized the Skeleton Key from Jen, who blinked but didn’t try to stop her. “These things are so cool. The programming that went into them . . . ! Even I admire it.” She tapped the key to the panel, and some glowing text appeared: Access granted.

  Astrid turned to Jen, who had just exhaled and loosed her grip upon the handle at her waist. “Now,” said Astrid, her eyes narrowed upon the woman, “why don’t you tell us why you didn’t want to do that? Worried about what those things would do?” She pointed up at the security cameras. Or maybe security guns.

  “No!” Jen held up a hand apologetically. “I had to. It was the only way to know for sure.”

  “Meaning . . . ?” said Proto.

  “It’s because Prototypes won’t open Sealed Doors,” explained Jen. “It’s a quirk of how they’re hard-coded. The Sealed Doors were made to take advantage of that quirk, back when the Prototypes had just started destroying things. That’s why the Doors exist. So people could shelter in place during any Prototype outbreaks. Shelters.” She smiled bitterly. “And then civilization was destroyed. So much for that idea!”

  “You thought we were Prototypes? Even after all that?” said Proto, waving behind them.

  “Maybe, maybe not. That’s how it goes,” sighed Jen. “They act as human as can be. They win your trust. Then, the moment you’re vulnerable—the moment they can do the most damage—their programming kicks in. Their killer instinct triggers. If you wait for that to happen, you’re dead. Because eventually, everyone is vulnerable. And they’re very good at recognizing when you’re vulnerable.”

  Proto struggled to piece together an understanding of the dream from these bits of information. “So strange, isn’t it? One moment, normal; the next, killers.”

  Jen nodded. “The weirdest part is, they say the Prototypes don’t even realize they’re Prototypes. They’re programmed not to. No matter how much evidence piles up, they’ll never accept that they’re Prototypes. Not till the moment they go haywire and kill everyone.”

  “Makes you wonder if they’re thinking, feeling beings like us,” said Astrid. “Or just well-programmed machines, going through the motions of life.”

  “Exactly! But whatever’s going on inside them, it’s not like us, I think,” responded Jen. “Like, they all have the same life history. They wake up somewhere. They don’t know how they got there. They have all these memories of a past life, full of other people. But somehow, they all find reasons not to search for those people. Which is convenient, since those people never existed! Instead, they just loiter around where they woke up.”

  “You’d think they’d realize, ‘Huh. My bio looks awfully like the standard Prototype bio!’” Jen went on. “And yet they never do. It never occurs to them. Bizarre, huh?”

  “ . . . Bizarre,” nodded Proto, his stare drifting from Jen to the door beyond her. Something about all this felt strangely disquieting for him. He shook his head and glanced at Astrid. She did not return his look.

  “Anyway, now that the Door’s unlocked,” said Jen, receiving the Skeleton Key from Astrid, “just let me get it open here.” She approached the panel. “Here, hold this for me.” She tossed the key to Arch.

  Astrid pointed at the panel. “Probably that button, then that dial, right?”

  Jen’s eyes widened, as the mist rose slightly. “You know your stuff. Took me a whole afternoon to figure that out.”

  Proto pointed at Astrid. “Mad hacking skills.”

  She neither responded nor even looked at him. But she did fold her arms coolly beneath her breasts.

  Jen worked the controls. “And . . . go ahead.”

  Arch tapped the Skeleton Key to the panel again. Now, an electronic hum swelled, and the door began sliding open. It was thick—about a foot of solid metal.

  “You have any idea what we’ll find inside?” asked Astrid.

  “Well, these places were like fallout shelters, but for killer robots instead of radioactive fallout,” explained Jen. “So they have all sorts of survival supplies. Tools, water purifiers, weapons. But the big one is food. Always tons of food. And it’s so chock full of preservatives, it’ll last longer than the pyramids did. But you already know that.”

  “Nothing like some good hearty preservatives for dinner. Also”—Proto pointed inside the doorway—“that’s cool.”

  Unlike the corridor they were standing in—indeed, unlike all of the ruined buildings and boulevards outside—the hallway beyond the Sealed Door was a luminous and metallic white. Leafy plants and vines were creeping all along the walls and in and out of apertures, somehow still alive after all these years. A soft glow of bluish-white diffused evenly across everything. It felt like a pocket of utopian sci-fi in a post-apocalyptic dystopia.

  “This,” nodded Jen, basking in that prospect, “is why I haven’t left the City. Nature has its perks. But it has nothing like this. Wandering through grey decay, day after day—then, this. Sleek white perfection, flush with green life. Perfectly adapted to us: Food, water, supplies, furniture. Even books!”

  As she spoke, she led them inside, gesturing with admiration at a well-stocked bookcase built into the wall. “And the best part is, it’s safe in here. As safe as can be. Just seal up the Door”—she held up the Skeleton Key—“and no one will trouble you. You could hole out here for a year. Catch up on your novel reading. Live in someone else’s world, and forget how ours has ended.”

  “Nature has its perks,” she repeated. “But not that. You’re never fully safe out there. You can never forget the world, because it’s always all around you. The good and the bad. Here, we at least can have some perfect moments together.” By the time she finished, she was looking up at Arch.

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  “Until our ancestors’ food runs out,” observed Arch quietly, “and we can’t anymore.”

  Jen waved dismissively. “There’s more than enough to last our lifetime. You know how many millions of people lived here? How many Sealed Doors there are? And how few of these there are?” She waved the Skeleton Key.

  “Our lifetime? Maybe so,” he replied. “But is that all we’re worried about?”

  Her lips pressed tight as she stared up at him. She was scowling, but Proto also saw a shimmer in her eyes. The mists were swirling upward from knee level toward waist level.

  “So,” said Proto with deliberate nonchalance, trying to steer the narrative back on course, “any guesses where we’ll find that food?”

  “Shouldn’t take long. These City places are never too big.” Arch walked ahead and turned the corner into a side room.

  Jen didn’t follow him. Instead, she led them into the main room ahead.

  There were no windows, but upon one wall was a glorious vista of stars reflecting off the coastal waters. The painting almost looked real.

  To their right was a spacious kitchen dining area with a pantry wing. It held a stunning variety of foods and foodstuffs. The logos still looked as vividly colorful as a grocery aisle.

  To their left was a small and cozy living area. The far wall consisted of a television screen. Near it was a quaint rocking chair, and facing it was a couple’s love seat.

  Upon the love seat were two skeletons, a man and a woman. They were holding hands and staring into the black void on the screen.

  The three of them blinked and stared in silence for a long moment.

  “That’s . . . romantic. Isn’t it?” Jen managed a smile. But her young brown eyes were wide, and her voice failed a little.

  She approached the couple slowly, walking between them and the empty screen. She looked dazed, like she’d just woken from a long dream and was wrapping her mind around the real world again. She leaned down as though to touch those clasping fingerbones.

  Proto, who’d been absorbed in watching this, felt a nudge from Astrid. She waved him toward the food in the pantry.

  He was heading that way, with Astrid behind him, when they heard the thud and cry. What . . . ?

  By the time Proto had turned around, Astrid already had whirled into a sprint toward the hallway from which they’d entered. She rounded the corner, disappearing from his view.

  A second later, he heard a gasp, not quite vocalized as a shriek, followed by rapid light footsteps. He rushed toward the sound, turning to face the side corridor where Astrid had gone.

  At the same time, someone barely three feet tall shoved past him. He was sent stumbling. The sheer force was startling for one so small, if not preternatural. In light of all that, it took a second for what he’d just seen to parse in his eyes.

  The first thing he realized was that this was the little girl they’d passed on the street. She must have followed them here. Judging by that fact—and her inhuman strength—she was almost certainly one of those “Prototypes” Jen had been talking about.

  The second thing he realized was that she was holding a bloody machete in one hand and the Skeleton Key in the other. Even now, whirling toward her, he caught a glimmer of its white skull as she ran down the hall and beyond the doorway where the Sealed Door had been.

  Strangely, though, she paused at that point and turned toward the instrument panel. Biting her machete between her teeth, she reached for the panel.

  “What’s going—?” Jen began, having just made her way to where Proto was standing.

  “She’s got the key!” Proto interrupted. He started toward the girl—then, remembering that gasp and half-shriek he’d heard, peered the other way toward where Astrid had run.

  In the far shadows, he saw her curled on the floor, arms bundled around her legs. Blood was seeping across the carpet beneath her.

  He felt a yawning pit open within him. He suddenly was falling into a sprint toward her.

  “The key?” said Jen, blinking at the girl, who was still visible and fiddling with the instrument panel. “The Skeleton—?”

  A siren went off, and the soft white glow became red. “Lockdown sequence initiated,” spoke a woman’s smooth recorded voice. “Door will be sealed in twenty seconds. Warning. No exit or entry without an authorized key.” As the voice spoke, and the rest of them listened in bafflement, the girl turned and ran off. “Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen,” began the countdown.

  “Oh, Hell no—!” began Jen, starting into a sprint toward the disappearing thief. Then, she froze in place. “Arch?” she called. There was no response. “Arch!” she shrieked.

  It occurred to Proto, at this point, that he was in a dream. It occurred to him that he could Do Something. He could make that braided little thief trip. He could cause Arch to call back, “I’m fine! Go get her!” He could run to the instrument panel and disable this lockdown. He could punch a bloody hole in the Sealed Door with his bare fist. Hell, he could draw that sci-fi blaster he’d half-forgotten about and blast that fleeing Prototype to smithereens.

  And yet, something told him to hold back. This was Jen’s dream, not his. And something told him that she had dreamt herself into exactly the dilemma she needed to be in. It was not for him to save her from this choice.

  “Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen,” the recorded voice counted.

  Instead, Proto grabbed Astrid gently but firmly beneath her arms. “I’m sorry for this.” He began dragging her toward the doorway, as she cried out and held her leg. It’d been slashed badly and was spilling blood.

  “Thirteen. Twelve.”

  Jen let loose an inarticulate wail. She turned away from the Skeleton Key’s thief and ran past Proto, leaping over Astrid, toward the side room where Arch had gone. “Arch? Arch!” came her voice from within.

  Proto was too busy pulling Astrid to focus on that. Her eyes and teeth were scrunched tight, and she was breathing heavily. She left a trail of blood behind her. But, fortunately, he managed to get her out the door and safely in the hallway several seconds later. “Eight. Seven. Six.”

  Where’s . . . ? He leaned and looked inside the door. “Five. Four.”

  Arch’s head and shoulders appeared—gashed and dripping blood, slumped with a slack jaw—followed by Jen. She was carrying him over a shoulder, strain on her red face. She rounded the corner and ran toward the door. At least, it was as close to a run as she could manage, hefting an unconscious man a foot taller than her.

  “Three. Two,” the recorded woman calmly said.

  Proto grabbed Jen and Arch as soon as they were within reach and yanked with all his strength—and, to be honest, probably a bit more than that. This was a dream.

  The pair flew across the threshold and toppled into a heap. An instant later, the Sealed Door slid shut.

  They all sat there a moment, breathing deeply and saying nothing. By now, there was no trace of the girl. She and the Skeleton Key were long gone.

  Jen didn’t seem too concerned about that. Instead, she was leaning over Arch’s unconscious brow and crying, one of her hands brushing through the hair on his temple. Her teardrops pattered his forehead, mingling with the blood there.

  This was the first thing Proto noticed.

  The next was that Astrid was still lying on the ground. Her small breaths caught in her throat as she inhaled, wheezing quietly. The gash along her leg was seeping blood upon the floor even now.

  Fear tingled through him. He instantly crouched down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder “Hey. You all right?”

  Astrid’s eyes, locked in a furrowed wince, flicked over to Jen. She was leaning close over Arch, her brown eyes shimmering wide, concern on her face, childlike in its innocence.

  Astrid’s violet gaze returned to Proto. Her cringing face went straight. The lines of pain beside her eyes and lips vanished. Absently, she waved a palm over the bloody gouge along her leg. It mended in a swirl of mists. So did her grey jumpsuit a moment later. She reached for Proto’s hand on her shoulder, gave it a little pat, then removed it.

  She sat up and leaned toward him, till her lips were merely an inch from his cheek. “Nice acting. But I think we’re good now,” she whispered, gesturing at the now-embracing couple a few yards away. She withdrew and brushed her hands off.

  He frowned. He wasn’t sure what he felt more—relieved or disappointed.

  “That’s a nice sight to wake up to,” Arch spoke weakly, lying on his back and squinting upward. “But what are you so sad about?”

  Jen gave a gasp of relieved delight at his first words and, after a moment of beaming down, embraced him.

  “Wait.” Arch’s brow furrowed. “The key. Jen, that girl took the Skeleton Key. Whacked my head. That was the last I saw.”

  “Yes, she did,” replied Jen. “Luckily for us, she didn’t take what mattered.”

  “Well.” Arch’s wan face went a little pink. “That’s romantic.” He gave her a groggy smile. “But what will we do now?”

  “We’ll keep living.” Jen gave him another hug, so her cheek pressed against his. “And not like this. Not here. We’re going to find ourselves a future.”

  Arch looked up at her, his pale eyes widening. She met that stare with a steady smile.

  “True love,” murmured Astrid.

  Proto blinked at her. “What?”

  “I said, time to go,” she muttered, rising quietly to her feet. She pointed Proto down the dilapidated corridor.

  Looking there, then scanning all around him, he realized that the world was contracting to a sphere around Jen. Mists were encroaching from all sides.

  Astrid grabbed him by a couple fingers, like something gross you have to pick up but don’t want to, and tugged him along toward the impending mists. “She’s where she should be now. Nothing good can come of us hanging around.”

  Calmly, she led him into the swirling mirk. As its opacity swept around them, he abruptly was hurtling through grey indistinction.

  Then, he was back in Somnus’ realm and stumbling into the dim blue hallway. Astrid already was ahead of him and striding away, serene as could be.

  “Hey,” he called, prompting a backward glance and inclined brow from Astrid. “Nice acting.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that, but it seemed to have an effect on her.

  She slowed to a stop. Her gaze drifted from the path before them but did not meet his. “I said ‘acting,’ but it probably wasn’t the best word,” she replied slowly. “You can feel yourself being pulled in a certain direction by the dreamer. Almost always, it’s best to let yourself be pulled along. That’s what I did back there.”

  “It’s like a river—the current of the dream,” mused Astrid. “Deep down, the dreamer knows best where the dream should go. She gives us roles so we can help her—help her steer around obstacles, avoid crashing, and so forth. That’s why I let things play out that way. I felt what role I was called to play, and I did it.”

  “You and me both.” Proto’s lips quirked up.

  Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed, like she weren’t sure if he was making fun of her.

  “Anyway,” he went on before she could reply, “why’d you decide to start participating in the dream today? Instead of just standing there in the background and letting me take care of everything?”

  “‘Start participating’?” She smirked, one hand on the hip of her grey jumpsuit. “How can I answer that? Even your questions are wrong. You think you know little and know even less.”

  “And . . . she’s back!” he sighed wistfully.

  Now it was her lips quirking up, though briefly. “The answer is, this would’ve been an awkward dream for only one visitor. Doing it solo would’ve required a lot of skill and care,” she explained. “Which is why I felt it absolutely necessary to join you.”

  “And the burns keep coming! She’s like a flamethrower!” lamented Proto.

  “Of course, whether you’ll become a visitor has yet to be confirmed. So far, your track record is iffy, and your tracksuit is iffier,” she went on, waving a hand, as he just nodded grimly and let her do what she did best. “You shouldn’t wear the same thing every day, Hobo.”

  “What! The pot calls the kettle black!” Proto gestured at her jumpsuit. “Or grey, I suppose. And nicely form-fitting.”

  She blinked, then scowled and walked onward.

  “By the way,” he called to her. “I’m glad I heard her bio first. The solution was exactly what you’d expect. ‘Should she keep burning out in pursuit of unsatisfying money? Or should she pursue her dream life with her love while she still has youth and time?’ I mean, come on! I feel like that’s the plot of at least a quarter of all movies.”

  “Yes, this was an easy dream,” shrugged Astrid. “I gave you exactly what you were ready for.”

  “Also,” he continued, ignoring her, “speaking of biographies, I think I’m going to write one. It’ll be about all this. But don’t worry, I’ll change the details so no one’s recognizable.”

  Now, it was her turn to ignore him.

  “The lovable sidekick will be 4’6”, 250 pounds, and desperately infatuated with a certain new visitor, but determined not to show it,” he mused. “The key to authenticity is not changing too much.”

  She swung backhanded at his face.

  She was awfully quick, but he’d anticipated this. He ducked just soon enough that her hand swished through his hair, mussing it into a weird shape.

  Astrid turned and regarded him for a moment. Then, she beamed. She reached for his hair and messed it up some more, then nodded approvingly.

  Turning around, she walked on.

  “You know, this is the second time today that you’ve messed up my hair,” he said, not fixing it. “You like the do?”

  Astrid kept walking away. “Let’s go, Fro-Bro.”

  “Oh, that’s sharp.”

  She still didn’t turn around. But he could hear the giggle from ahead.

  “You’ve been planning that all day, haven’t you!”

  He didn’t need to see her face. Like music, the sound of her laughter was enough.

  Of course, her swaying strides in that sleek grey jumpsuit helped too. He jogged to catch up.

  “By the way, that sidekick,” he said. “I think her name will be ‘Astird.’ What do you think?”

  She launched another backhand at his face, fully anticipated and narrowly dodged.

  And now it was his turn to laugh—at the moment, and the day, and everything.