Chapter 23: The First Nightmare

  Scene 1 – Dreaming is Forbidden

  The barracks were silent. Not the silence of sleep, not the gentle rhythm of breathing bodies at rest, but the silence of absence. Of uniformity. Of control.

  Rows of identical sleeping pods lined the chamber, their exteriors smooth, seamless, sterile. Each one housed a soldier, indistinguishable from the next. No personal belongings, no markers of identity. There was no need for such things. There was no self here.

  A chime rang through the space, precise and unwavering.

  "Rest cycle initiated. Deactivation sequence engaged."

  One moved without hesitation, stepping into his designated pod. The interior was neither warm nor cold. It was simply there, a containment unit built for efficiency. The lid sealed shut with a soft hiss, shutting out the dim light of the barracks.

  Darkness.

  There was no sound, no movement.

  His breathing slowed. His body stilled.

  He should not dream.

  —

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  Something was wrong.

  One’s eyes snapped open. But he was not in his pod.

  He stood in a hallway, stretching endlessly in both directions, the walls lined with doors. They flickered, their numbers unstable, shifting, rewriting themselves before he could grasp them. The air vibrated with something distant—an off-key lullaby, sung in whispers too soft to understand.

  He was not supposed to be here.

  The Master’s voice did not guide him. There were no directives, no objectives.

  This was not real.

  And yet…

  One took a step forward. The floor beneath him did not shift, did not react. It simply was.

  A presence.

  At the far end of the hallway, a figure waited.

  Cloaked in shadow, its form wavered like something seen through warped glass. Tall, motionless, watching. No face, no eyes—yet One could feel its gaze.

  His chest tightened, an unfamiliar weight pressing against his ribs. It took him a moment to name it.

  Fear.

  The figure tilted its head, slow, deliberate. Then, it spoke.

  "Hush, little baby… don’t say a word."

  The voice slid into his mind like oil, thick and unnatural. It did not belong here.

  "You’re not the first. And you won’t be the last."

  A shadow flickered at his feet. A second. A third.

  He was not alone.

  A surge of static erupted in his mind. A blinding, crackling noise.

  Then—

  Nothing.

  —

  One gasped, his body jerking upright.

  Metal walls. Darkness. The soft hum of the barracks.

  His fingers dug into the edge of the pod, his breath ragged. His uniform clung to his skin, damp with sweat—an impossibility.

  He turned his head, his movements slow, calculated.

  The other pods remained undisturbed. The other soldiers lay motionless, deep in rest cycles.

  No alarms. No alerts. The Master’s voice did not call out.

  No one had seen. No one had known.

  His heartbeat thudded against his ribs, erratic, untrained.

  Soldiers of The Order did not dream.

  He swallowed, exhaling carefully, forcing his fingers to unclench.

  One hesitated.

  Then, slowly, deliberately—

  He did not report the anomaly.