The room was an embodiment of controlled power, minimalist yet striking. Polished steel and glass dominated the design, the walls bare except for the occasional holographic screen embedded seamlessly into the surface. The air was thick with an unsaid understanding, the kind that comes only from people who do not need to speak to communicate. In the center stood a circular table, its surface an unblemished slab of black stone, reflecting the cold light that bathed the room. The table was surrounded by six high-backed chairs, each empty except for the stillness of the air that seemed to weigh on the occupants. No one was present in the room physically, but the quiet presence of their minds filled the space.

The holographic projections flickered to life, casting pale blue light against the walls and providing them with the data needed. A map of the globe with various statistics, including population growth rates, economic projections, and the calculated influence of Nexus 9, glowed in front of them. The sound of subtle keystrokes filled the silence as the figures took their seats.

The first figure, his voice deep and deliberate, broke the silence. “We’ve successfully manipulated the population narrative. The media’s portrayal of a declining birth rate is now firmly entrenched. It’s a brilliant move. The truth? Birth rates are on the rise, but they’ll never know that.”

The second figure, who spoke with an almost clinical detachment, nodded. “Indeed. The narrative is not about addressing a real crisis but about creating one. A manufactured crisis is far more manageable. More births mean more neuralink implants, more control, more bodies for the workforce. That’s what we need.”

A third voice, calm and calculated, interjected. “And that’s why Nexus 9 is so crucial. It’s not for the common people. It’s for us—the powerful, the influential. It was sold to the victors of the previous world wars, not as a product for public use, but as a strategic asset. We’ve ensured its scarcity and its control.”

“Exactly,” said the fourth figure, his voice rich with authority. “And those who might threaten our control, those who might begin to question, are just a nuisance. A few like them, scattered around the world—seeing through the lies, the false narratives. But they are a minority, easily dismissed or redirected. They don't realize that what they see as truth is simply the shadow of the larger game being played.”

The fifth figure, who had been silent up until now, spoke with a hint of curiosity. “What of people like them? Those who question? The ones who—no matter what we do—start to piece together the truth.”

“There will always be a handful,” the first voice responded with a dismissive wave. “They exist in every system—individuals with the capacity to see through the layers of control, who sense the lies and distortions. But their numbers are few. Even as they rise in influence, they are but a blip in the larger scheme. The system is too deeply entrenched, and the majority remain blissfully unaware.”

The second figure leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “We don’t need to target these individuals. We don’t need to engage them directly. We simply need to control what they see. Information is power. Our media outlets, our narrative controllers—they will neutralize any form of dissent before it has the chance to spread.”

“Agreed,” the third figure added. “We’ve done it before. And when the inevitable wave of rebellion rises, we’ll co-opt it, redirect it, use it to our advantage. We’ll make sure they remain divided, distracted by minor issues while we build our future.”

“There’s no need for violence, no need for direct confrontation,” the fifth voice chimed in, his tone measured. “We’ll let them burn out on their own, like a candle snuffed out in the dark.”

The sixth figure’s voice was quiet but sharp. “And what about the masses? The ones who are easily swayed, the ones who believe in the narratives? We keep them fed with propaganda—population decline, the need for Mars colonization, the promises of the future. And when they are ready to buy into it, we give them what they want.”

“And when they want more,” the first figure concluded, “we give them Nexus 9, Mars, and control. But they’ll never realize that they’ve been played.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the strategy clear. They knew the risks, the threats, and the potential pitfalls. But with control over the narrative, with Nexus 9, and with their influence in the media, the game was theirs to play. And the world, for all its complexities, was nothing more than a chessboard.

***

The sun was starting to dip, casting a dull orange glow over the city as Jaxon walked home, his mind still buzzing from the discussions in the chatroom. The sky was streaked with wisps of clouds that seemed to stretch forever—yet Jaxon’s gaze was locked on the concrete beneath his feet, lost in thought. It was as if the world around him was already disconnected, like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

Around him, the sounds of the city pulsed, but it was all background noise. A few people bustled past, their eyes glued to their devices, their minds stuck in loops of information they’d never question. The digital whispers from their Neuralinks colored their thoughts, but to Jaxon, they were nothing more than static.

As he passed by the usual café on his street corner, the murmur of a group of people caught his attention. A conversation, the kind that felt like it could have been recycled a thousand times, reached his ears.

Person 1 (excitedly): "Did you hear about the new 'population decline' initiative? I heard it’s because fewer people are having kids. They’re saying the world is shrinking!"

Person 2 (chuckling): "Oh yeah, I saw that on the news. But I guess it’s true, right? Fewer people, more resources. The government’s always right about that stuff."

Person 3 (muttering as they stir their coffee): "Well, what can you do? Everyone’s too busy with their lives to even think about it. I mean, they’ve got everything figured out. Maybe it’s time to focus on the bigger picture, you know?"

Jaxon rolled his eyes, but his gaze remained fixed on the group. He could hear their words, but they barely registered. He walked past them, his footsteps blending with the rhythm of the city, but a thought lingered in his mind.

It was the same thing. Same lines, same recycled narrative. The "population decline" was an easy pill to swallow. They didn’t see it for what it was—the distraction, the control mechanism, the lie that kept them from asking the real questions.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He shook his head and kept moving, but the conversation continued to echo in his thoughts. The way people consumed whatever was fed to them. The way they didn’t even realize they were participating in a narrative they’d never written.

But Jaxon knew better. He’d heard the chatter of the real minds, those who were questioning the world around them. The ones who could see the cracks in the surface of everything. And though they were a small group, a whispered rebellion in a world of obedience, he couldn’t help but wonder: how long until the truth became undeniable?

He sighed, pushing the thoughts aside as he reached his apartment building. As the door closed behind him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world outside was a carefully constructed illusion. And that illusion was about to break.

As Jaxon entered his apartment, the door closing softly behind him, his thoughts refused to settle. The conversations he overheard outside, the relentless repetition of the same narratives, felt like a subtle pull at the fabric of his reality. His mind couldn’t stop circling back to it. The question he had asked himself before, in his quieter moments: What is real?

Was his dream just a dream? A fragment of his imagination or something more? The vision of the galactic war, the alien oversight, the strange, unsettling connection to something beyond the physical—it gnawed at him.

Could it have been a projection of his subconscious? A glitch in his mind?

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed real. Too vivid, too detailed. Those feelings, that rush of adrenaline, those flashes of knowledge that shouldn’t be accessible to him—were they all just figments of a tired brain? Or was something else going on?

Jaxon stood by the window, staring out at the city lights, but it felt distant, unreal. His own reflection stared back at him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t truly him. The thoughts of mind-hacking crept in, like a virus infecting his every rational thought.

Could someone manipulate his mind without him even knowing? He had read about it in the underground chat rooms—whispers of technology capable of altering memories, reshaping perceptions, controlling thoughts without the victim even realizing it. Was his dream part of that? Had he been implanted with false memories, or was there something more sinister at play, something deeper than anyone could comprehend?

The thought was maddening. The more he analyzed it, the more everything felt uncertain. His memories, his perception of reality—could it all be hacked? Could his mind be altered, corrupted, turned against him without his consent?

A cold sweat began to form on his brow. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow. He couldn’t calm the storm raging in his mind. What was real? What was just a projection, a fabrication? And more terrifyingly—who was in control?

Jaxon sank into a chair, his head in his hands. It was as if the walls of his reality were closing in on him. How much of this world, this life, was under his control? How much was influenced by forces beyond his comprehension?

He felt a flicker of panic—Was this the beginning of a breakdown?

He had always considered himself in control of his thoughts. But now, in the silence of his apartment, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing himself. The world outside felt more like a simulation, a construct meant to keep him from understanding the truth. And if he couldn’t trust himself, how could he trust anything else?

The room around him began to blur. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to center himself. But all he could think of was the question that kept looping, over and over in his mind:

What is real?

And for the first time, Jaxon didn’t know if he could answer

Jaxon sat in the chair, his thoughts spiraling as the questions gnawed at his mind. His reflection in the window stared back at him, but it felt distant—almost foreign. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the haze that had settled in. The overwhelming weight of it all—the dreams, the doubts, the possibility of mind manipulation—was too much to process.

A strange exhaustion hit him all at once. His eyelids grew heavy, and for a moment, he wondered if he was just imagining all of it. He couldn’t think straight. Maybe he needed a nap—just a few minutes to clear his head. The thought of sleep, of escaping the flood of questions, seemed like a brief reprieve from the chaos.

But as his mind slowed and his body sank deeper into the chair, he didn’t realize that he had already drifted into unconsciousness. The tension he had felt earlier, the paranoia, slipped away, replaced by an unexpected heaviness that pulled him into the abyss of sleep.

The faint sounds of the city beyond his window faded as his mind shut down. It wasn’t long before he slipped completely into oblivion, his body curled in the chair, unaware of the night pressing in around him.

And just like that, he was gone—crashed out, lost in a dreamless void.

Jaxon found himself once again in a vast, dark expanse. Time and space seemed to be collapsing, but the disorientation didn’t last long. A distant light, soft and pulsing, beckoned him forward, a beacon amidst the void. Though he had no idea how he knew, he understood that this was no ordinary dream.

As he moved toward the light, figures began to emerge from the shadows—each one resembling him, yet subtly different. Some were older, others younger, but each carried an air of knowing. Their presence felt purposeful, as though they were waiting for him.

One of the figures stepped forward, and Jaxon instinctively recognized him as himself—though this version was older, with a quiet intensity in his eyes. He spoke in a voice that seemed to resonate with the depth of time itself.

“You’re on the edge of a great awakening,” the older Jaxon said, his tone calm but urgent. “You are part of something vast, something that transcends the physical world. But first, you must learn to see beyond what your eyes show you.”

Jaxon wanted to ask questions, but before he could, another version of himself appeared. This one was younger, full of energy and enthusiasm.

“Don’t fight it,” this younger version urged. “The first step is simple: Let go. Close your eyes, feel the pull, and trust yourself. You have the ability to travel beyond the limits of your body. You can explore places that exist outside of time and space. It's already within you.”

Before Jaxon could respond, a third version of himself, this one appearing more serene and grounded, joined the others. His presence felt calming, like a quiet anchor in the storm.

“There’s no need for fear,” this version said softly. “Astral projection isn’t a tool of escape; it’s a way of knowing. You’ll experience things that you can’t explain with your senses, but it will all become clear in time. The key is to trust in the process. Focus. Let your consciousness drift beyond this world, beyond the material.”

Jaxon, his mind racing with these new concepts, did as instructed. Slowly, he closed his eyes, his breathing steadying, and he felt his awareness begin to drift away from his body. The sensation was both familiar and strange, like slipping into another layer of existence.

With a sudden jolt, Jaxon’s mind broke free, and he found himself floating above his own body. He looked down, seeing himself—still seated in a chair, eyes closed. He was no longer in his physical form but somewhere else entirely, within the space between worlds. The boundaries between dimensions blurred, and Jaxon saw flashes of other places, other times.

“This is where you begin,” the older version said, his voice echoing around him. “The astral plane is your key. You’ll see things others can’t. Understand things others never will.”

The young, eager version of himself spoke next, his voice full of wonder. “It’s not just about seeing what’s hidden. It’s about understanding the bigger picture. There’s more to this world than meets the eye. And once you’ve learned how to travel, the universe will open itself to you.”

The serene version, who had been watching quietly, spoke last. “The knowledge you seek will come, but you must first learn to listen to the silence between the worlds. Only then will the truth reveal itself.”

Jaxon felt his mind expand, his consciousness stretching beyond the limits of his body. He saw things—glimpses of other realms, of life beyond Earth, of events unfolding in distant planes. The experiences were overwhelming, but not frightening. He had never felt more alive, more aware of the immense possibility surrounding him.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the vision began to fade. He felt himself being pulled back into his body, the weight of his physical form slowly returning. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, heart racing. The dream—if it could even be called that—left him shaken but somehow more certain than ever that what he had experienced was real.

After Jaxon wakes up, his mind is still swirling with the vividness of the dream. He feels disoriented, but the knowledge from the dream feels more real than anything he's experienced in the waking world. The weight of what he's learned starts sinking in, yet the logical part of his mind struggles to process it all.

When he tries to explain it, the words don’t come easily. How do you explain an experience that transcends everything you thought you knew about reality? It’s hard to tell anyone about something that feels both impossible and yet so deeply ingrained in his psyche.

He might start by questioning his own sanity: "I don't even know what to believe anymore. Was it all just a dream... or was it something more? Everything I thought I knew is... wrong. There’s something else out there, something bigger."

To a friend, he might say something like: "I can’t even begin to explain it... but it was like I was being shown... everything. Higher dimensions, galactic wars, cycles of reincarnation. And then, like, I understood how to... travel outside my body, or at least, how to leave this place mentally."

He'd likely leave out most of the cosmic revelations—how the existence of extraterrestrial beings, Earth’s exploitation, and the intricacies of astral projection and galactic conflicts were revealed to him. That’s not something anyone would believe, even if he could explain it fully. Instead, he'd just focus on the strange, unshakeable feeling that there’s a deeper truth he's starting to uncover, one that's far more terrifying and complex than he'd ever imagined.

He'd end up in his usual state of mental chaos, questioning the boundaries of the dream world and the real world. The confusi

on and isolation would leave him with more questions than answers, pushing him further into uncertainty about what is truly real.