Leftie set the Cloudbox on a coffee table in the middle of the room. This one was a blocky, aluminium-looking thing. Less like a game console and more like something would go inside the engine of a car, like a carburetor.

“Seems...legit.” I said, stopping in front of the coffee table and looking down at it.

“Government issued.” Rightie said. “It integrates with the Black Dart.”

“Weird.” I said. “Why not just have that functionality baked in?”

Leftie shrugged. “An extra layer of security, perhaps.” He flipped a clunky-looking switch on the Cloudbox. There was a click, and a blue, circular light came on.

The box was connected to an orange extension cord that ran into another room, where a gas powered generator was revving noisily. I guessed this was in case the Feds tried to mess with the power line. Smart cookies.

Sater had already laid flat on one of the couches and was making sure his suit was tidy, laid out straight. He looked like he was in an open casket. There was something kind of morbid about it.

Tanya was smoking a cigarette. Spirals of smoke traveled slowly across the parlor, like bouts of fog. She held out an open pack of American Spirits. “Want one?” she said, her lit cigarette bobbing on her lip.

I half-shrugged, half shook my head. “Don’t smoke.”

“Not ever?” She said, shaking the pack so a single cigarette poked out, offering it to me.

I breathed out, trying to will some of the tension out of my body. “A’ight. Why not.”

I took the cigarette and propped it between my lips. Filter first—I knew that much.

Tanya snapped open a shiny metal lighter and lit the end for me. I breathed in. Not straight into my lungs, not right away; I also knew that.

It was warm and dark, kind of bitter. But it felt alright. It was distracting, at least.

“Thanks.” I said.

Tanya gave me a tiny headcock. It was almost imperceptible. Some unknown factor seemed to have mellowed her out, a little. Perhaps the severity of the situation, though that would be bizarre. Perhaps the act of smoking itself. Her eyes traveled over my face, like she was trying to figure me out.

I sat down on the free couch, getting ready to settle in and lay back. I leaned forward and flicked a cylindrical section of ash off of my cigarette and into the ashtray on the coffee table, feeling a little like Humphrey Bogart in one of those forties flicks.

That’s right. Circle. Don’t think about it.

I grimaced, examining the cigarette like a newly discovered mosquito bite. Truly and honestly, did I really need a new addiction?

I gave another puff for good luck, then dropped the cigarette into the ashtray. I leaned back, arms resting on the back of the chair, and blew a wispy cloud of smoke into the air above me.

Leftie started handing out Transmitters—ear-piece-looking sensors that rest on either side of the temple, hanging on by the ears. They connect wirelessly to the Cloudbox, and facilitate the Synchronization.

I don’t claim to know how it works, any more than I know how cell phones work. But I get the basic idea. I think.

You know how dreams start weird and vague? It’s more like you’re floating in a feeling, if there’s even anything tangible enough to hold onto and remember at all. But over time, as you fall into a deeper sleep, things become more rigid. They start to take on a structure, a sense of internal reality. Near the tipping point of this deep sleep—REM sleep, I believe it’s called—your brain is simulating reality so effectively that, at times, you would be hard pressed to tell the difference.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

This part of your brain is key to the way that Rithium works.

Perhaps that was part of why Rithium access was damaging to a user’s brain. Like a rubber band pulled too tight and too hard, getting used up before it’s time.

I hooked the Transmitters over my ears. They were already on. I could feel the steady, electronic hum coming off of them. It was almost like a vibration.

I was starting to feel unnaturally drowsy. This was, of course, because of the radio waves coming off of the Transmitters. My mind was being prepped for transmission, ready to step over into the other place.

“Everyone ready?” Rightie said. He was standing next to the coffee table, looking around at us.

For some reason, it wasn’t until that moment that I put together the fact Rightie wasn’t going to be joining us. Though, it made sense that one of us should stick around and keep an eye on things. Rightie had gone to get the Cloudbox, and had handed out three pairs of Transmitters.

“Wait.” I said. After a wobbly moment of hesitation, I held out my hand. “It would be a shame if I never got your name.”

Wrinkled bumps sprouted on Rightie’s forehead as his brows came together. His sarcasm-detector was at work, reading my face. Then, seeming satisfied, he clasped my hand. “Mason.” He said. “Mason Alexander.”

I nodded to him. “See you on the other side, Mason.”

“Good luck,” He said. “Keep them safe, in there, alright?”

Before I could respond to that, Tanya jumped out of her chair. Her arms slung around Mason from the back, tilting his large frame backward toward her. Her eyes were shiny, reflecting the yellow glow of the ceiling fan light above them.

“Whoah, easy,” Mason said. He spun, hugged her.

There was a sigh from Sater, as if he’d just realized he had a similar obligation. As Tanya broke off the hug, Sater went in for the ol’ Bro Hug with Mason. It was brief, with three pats on each other’s backs before breaking away and nodding to each other.

“C’mere,” Sater said, pulling Tanya in toward him. “It’s gonna be okay, alright?”

She was nodding.

Curled against Sater, Tanya’s eyes flashed, perhaps accidentally, in my direction. I decided that now was a good time to step away from the situation. I laid back on the couch, stared at the ceiling.

Tanya and Sater clearly had some kind of close relationship. I didn’t think they were an item. There was something else tying them together. Something more than just being close, longtime friends. What exactly, I couldn’t say. Not that I could also see how that bit of info was supposed to help me, though, except for the material that allowed me to keep circling.

What are you so worried about? You’ve done this a hundred times before.

That didn’t stop my heart from hammering away. The more I told myself I needed to relax, the louder it got. The sound seemed to vibrate in my skull.

It took a second to notice Mason was standing over me, leaning in close. He smelled like eggs, and garlic, and Speed Stick. The Holy Trinity of Mason.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.

“Listen,” He said. “The others didn’t want to lay this out explicitly for you. They seem to think we shook you up enough, already. They don’t want to go too far and rock the boat. But I think you should know.

“If you don’t cooperate in there, or if things go bad, and I decide it’s your fault...well, I won’t be able to let you wake up. You get it?”

“Can’t wait to see you again too, buddy.” I said, staring grimly at the ceiling.

I’d guessed as much. I knew I should be grateful he was being upfront and open about it. Mostly it was just kindling for the swelling, self-righteous anger I had for this entire situation.

He stood there for a moment longer, as if waiting for some other response.

“I’m sorry.” He said it so soft and quiet that I was almost sure I’d imagined it.

Then, louder: “Everyone ready?”

I raised a hand. “No.”

“Okay, then.” He said, putting a hand on the Cloudbox. “Three…”

The countdown almost made it worse. I took a deep breath, but it felt like my air was coming in through a straw.

C’mon, just relax. There’s nothing for it, now. You chose this. It’s two birds with one stone. You get to help these people, and you get to go back to Rithium, even if this is the last time.

“Two…”

My eyes were still open. I was laying flat, with my legs locked together, but my neck was at an angle, leaning against the armrest.

Someone was standing next to the opposite armrest, across from me. He was staring down at me, with an intense, perhaps even angry look. And it wasn’t Mason.

It was Oscar.

“One.”

WAIT!

The words were just behind my lips, a fraction of a second from bursting through. There wasn’t any one intelligible reason why. Confusion. Terror—though I wasn’t quite sure of what. It was impossible, within that tiny sliver to time, to internally articulate why, if I otherwise could.

My eyes were locked on Oscar’s face, but it, along with everything else, was quickly sucked away, like debris in a whirlpool.

Of course, that wasn’t quite right. I was what was being pulled away. I was in the current. My consciousness was yanked, without ceremony, into that unknowable place between waking and dreaming.

The place between reality and Rithium.