Red’s mind was drowning in sensations. The static buzz became a roar in his skull, a crackling hum that grew louder with each passing second. It wasn’t just in his head anymore; he could feel it coursing through his veins, an alien pulse riding just beneath his skin. His body ached as though every cell was under attack from within. The nausea, the chills—he felt like he was coming down with the flu, but this was something far worse. Something was changing inside him, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Around him, the others stirred, confused and disoriented, struggling to make sense of their situation. They had woken up in a forest that seemed more dream than reality. The towering trees shimmered with an eerie glow, their bark radiating a soft blue light that illuminated the alien landscape in reds and violets. The air was thick and humid, laced with the scent of vegetation that Red couldn’t identify—sharp, almost metallic.

But what caught his attention were the figures stepping out from the trees. Pointy-eared, silver, blue, and forest green-haired Elves. Real, living elves, dressed not in the flowing robes or ethereal garments of fantasy but in something disturbingly familiar: military-style uniforms reminiscent of World War II officers. They moved with precision, their expressions cold, calculating. Some wore the symbols of rank, and others carried the tools of research—clipboards covered in glowing symbols changing as the elves manipulated them and strange floating drones. These weren’t fantasy creatures; they were here to study.

Red glanced at Detective Morrow and Officer Daniels, who instinctively reached for their guns. The weight of the situation pressed down on them. This wasn’t Earth. These weren’t ordinary men.

Morrow stepped forward, barking, “Who are you? What the hell is going on here?”

The elves, silent and unmoving, exchanged glances. There was a clear language barrier, but more than that, the air between the two groups was crackling with tension. The lead elf, taller than the rest, stepped forward, raising his hand, displaying an emblem that made Red’s skin crawl: three triangles converging into one—a symbol Red had never seen but somehow recognized—the Triad.

How did he know that name? Where did it come from? The symbol looked like a cheap copy of the Zelda triforce; each triangle was a different primary color.

Before Morrow could react, one of the younger men from the group, already on edge, snapped. His breath came in ragged gasps as the static in his mind reached a fever pitch. Red saw the fear in his eyes just before it happened.

“No!” the man screamed, throwing his hands out to ward off the symbol. “Stay away!”

Red saw an outline of something, and then it hit like a tidal wave, crashing into the lead elf. For a moment, Red saw the elf’s defense flare and try to resist the force. Like sandcastles before high tide, they were washed away. The body was already moving as if hit by a car. Red barely registered what had happened before the elf was thrown back, his body flung into the air like a ragdoll. The elf landed hard against one of the glowing trees, his neck twisting at an unnatural angle and his eyes wide open with shock.

The other elves froze, their faces filled with shock and horror. Red didn’t know it, but a significant taboo the elves shared with ancient humans had been committed. Messengers were sacred and protected by the gods. To them, the humans had given up any respect or protections they might have enjoyed.

“Jesus,” Ethan whispered beside Red, staring at the lifeless body of the elf. “What the hell just happened?”

Red’s head throbbed, his vision blurring as the static buzzed louder, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He wasn’t alone. He saw it in the others—their flushed skin, bloodshot eyes, and how they were gripping their heads as if trying to keep them from splitting apart. The virus—whatever it was—was working its way through them, amplifying something inside. Something that felt like it had been waiting to be unleashed.

Red wiped his nose and saw more blood smeared across his hand. “We’re sick,” he muttered, knowing it was more than that. They weren’t just sick. They were changing.

High above them, the remains of a fleet burned through the atmosphere, leaving streaks of fire in the violet sky. It was a bad omen, illuminating the alien world they had been thrust into. Red glanced at the sky, feeling an odd connection to those burning wrecks as if something from them was fueling the static inside him.

Was it some radiation? He hoped not.

The elves recovered quickly, their faces hardening. The one in charge—a man with silver hair cut short—gave a curt nod, and in unison, the elves raised rifles, pointing them directly at the humans. The air became thick with tension, but no one moved.

Officer Daniels, however, wasn’t about to let that slide. “No!” he shouted, pulling his gun in a flash and firing at the nearest elf. The crack of the gunshot echoed through the forest, but the bullet bounced off a shimmering barrier surrounding the elf, sparking as it deflected harmlessly into the air. A personal ward like magic, Red realized, his thoughts slow, muddled by the gathering pressure in his skull.

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“Don’t shoot!” Red shouted, but it was too late. The elves responded immediately, their rifles letting out short bursts that whizzed through the air. Red felt a sharp sting in his shoulder, and before he could react, the world tilted sideways.

The last thing Red saw before the darkness took him was the silver-haired elf staring down at him, his cold blue eyes filled with something that might have been pity—or something far worse.

…

Red’s body may have been unconscious, but his mind was awake, and he lived in the static as his will merged with the roaring force. He was aware of the static more than before, swirling in the back of his mind like a living thing, a force that demanded control. As he drifted deeper into the void of his subconscious, he shaped the static into something familiar.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but the laws of the dream seemed to tell him what was and wasn’t possible.

As he strained, he put together a tiny room granting laws like gravity, continuity, and time. It was hard to go from the physical world to a world so valuable.

Another mind joined him, a stranger at first until they started working together, transforming the space with only a few laws into something more livable.

When they finished, he was in a familiar place: a bar. It was a mix of a hunting lodge with a moose mounted on a wall overlooking the top-shelf drinks. It was a dream, and if he focused too much on the detail, the matter began to fall apart into the static it was made from. It was like he was in a dream with PS1-level graphics focused solely on a single room. The air was still buzzed with energy, the walls of the dream trembling as if barely containing the force surging through two different minds working together.

When they stopped, Zack took a spot behind the counter. “I like the moose, though I remember seeing something like that in the outback steakhouse, not any bar. My name is Zack, in case you didn’t get it while we were busy.” Zack said.

“How long before the others find their way here, or do you think they will?” Red asked.

“I screwed up, man. It's my fault we’re in this situation,” Zack said while knocking back shots of whisky.

Red rolled his eyes at the man. “What did you see that made you freak out?”

Zack didn’t speak for a few minutes and only rolled the whisky in his shot. “It called itself the one, or that’s what I think it is. The one wants our bodies. It can’t be whole without a body that can sustain it. But it promised if one of us volunteered, it would tell its followers to let the rest of us go.” Zack said.

After building a bar with the man, Red better understands him. “We have to kill it,” Red said.

His new friend coughed, choking on his liquor. Red shrugged.

A form took place, revealing a massive creature of screaming darkness and terror. It reached out from a cloak with gnarled tree roots instead of hands. Black tendrils rose out of it, searching for any entry. Its face was elvish by its angular nature. On its wrist, a flaming sword emerged roaring with the wrath of a thousand screaming souls, and on its left was a gun cold as the grave.

“Do you think you can kill this? Don’t think for a second that this is as bad as the real thing. It's much worse in person,” Zack said.

Red tossed a shot over his shoulder instead of drinking it. He didn’t drink. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t invited to parties. Zack certainly had a vested interest in drinking.

He thrust his hand out, and the image of the one shattered into motes of light. “That attack of yours was interesting. Mind if I steal it.”

“Be my guest,” Zack shook his head. “We should invite the others here.”

Red nodded his accent and called to Jake, Ethan, and Ryan. They back away from his mind at first, like they were strangers. Each of them felt rather weak. Maybe the virus worked through their system differently. Red could still feel his body and how full of the static his mind was, pushing a little of that static out into his body. The energy rolled through him, and his cells seemed stronger. They seemed more saturated and full of energy. His mind continued pulling in the lion’s share of the static.

Zack was there, leaning against the bar, his expression focused. Around them, the bar was filled with faces—some familiar, others not—all human, all trapped, just like him. The static rippled through them all, like a thread connecting their minds in the dreamscape.

“I saw it,” Red said, more to himself than anyone else. “I felt the power. It’s real.”

Zack looked up, his face grim but determined. “We’re changing, man. Whatever this is, it’s inside all of us. We’re not going back to the way things were.”

Red clenched his fists, feeling the static thrum through his veins, and focused. His cells responded, vibrating with the psionic energy growing within him since their arrival. He could feel it now—the potential to turn his body into something more than it was—a vessel for this power, a receptor.

“We have to learn to control it,” Red said, his voice hard. “Do you think this was planned? Did they mean to capture us, or were they expecting something else? What were those ships overhead?.”

Zack nodded, his gaze distant as he considered Red’s words. “We’ll find answers. But first, we need to figure out what they’re planning. We can’t just sit here waiting to die. We’re aliens, and what does the government do to aliens in the movies.”

“I doubt they’ll do it to all of us, but one of us will be vivisected by them. They will want to know how we work, what poisons us, and what they need to keep us healthy.

“Agreed,” Red muttered, his mind sharpening. He looked around at the other humans in the bar, each immersed in their struggles. They were all on the brink of something, but whether it would be their salvation or destruction was still unclear.

Zack’s eyes flickered toward the dreamscape’s door, and he smirked. “Is it me, or is the door further away than it was a second ago?”

Red glanced at the door, feeling the pull of the dreamscape shifting around them. “It's getting bigger,” Red said.

Zack’s smirk grew wider. “Well, maybe we won’t be limited to a cramped bar forever. Did you have to make the moose head so large?”

“I thought it gave the bar some character,” Red said.

They were left in the dark bar to drink and experiment with the powers trapped in their bodies.