by Jack Worr
A hellish noise pierced the canvas-covered truck, and all the troops looked at each other as if to ask, “Uh?”
“Hole-y shit,” the driver said, pulling to a stop in front of a liquor store, and looking up through the windshield. Peters saw a news van stop behind them before getting up and going to the front to see what was going on.
Many had heard the screech, the whole city probably had, but the only squad lucky enough to get a good look, was the one Private Ryan Peters found himself in. And so Peters watched the man clasped to the dragon’s back, pummeling it with what looked to be his bare fists as they plunged toward the earth, directly toward—
“Shit. Brace for—”
And then the building they had stopped in front of was obliterated, and the vehicle rocked on its suspension, the windows all blowing out as debris slammed into them.
64
For a brief moment on that fateful day, all were still. The National Guard stood, disembarked from their vehicle, bleeding from various holes and orifices, but without serious injury, staring at the wreckage. News crews, having trailed the catastrophe like flies to— were silent, the cameramen undecided on what was more interesting to film, and so just letting the lens’s gaze fall where it may. The two agents had stopped their chase, their target somewhere in the rubble. Never before had anyone died in a dream, not of their own accord, but now Ehd wondered if there really was a first time for everything, and whether this would be it.
The National Guardsmen all had automatic weapons, grenades, rocket launchers. But none were held at the ready. In the sudden silence, and the complete and total destruction of the building in front of them, the dust cloud so thick that it would’ve hid the stars had it been night and had they ever been visible from within the city in the first place, none expected anything to have survived.
All were wrong.
65
“I told you to wait! Executive decision? I’m the president here, I’m the only one who gets to make that!”
Pause.
“I don’t care if they’re in position now due to your foresight! I—”
Everyone in the room was very quiet, pretending as best as possible to not be listening to her. She knew they were. She didn’t care. They thought she was too soft in these matters; let them see this side of her. In fact… “Listen to me you shitbrain, when I give an order, you obey! Do you understand me!?”
A pause.
“Good. Now get me feeds from everyone. Do not fire unless directly attacked. And if you screw up again, I’m pulling you.”
Pause. Then she hung up. She slammed the phone a bit harder than she meant to.
She looked around, hoping to catch someone looking at her. No one was. She sighed and slumped into her chair. She hadn’t realized she’d stood.
66
What came next would become iconic—the most viewed video ever, the therefrom derived three second gif displayed on the front page of every news site in the world for days to come. It was the first time in recorded history that this feat had ever actually happened. It was also the last.
From the rubble, something stirred. Weapons were trained, missiles were readied, cameras were unified in the direction in which they pointed.
And still, no one was prepared.
The rubble shifted and began sliding toward the onlookers. The onlookers all moved back in unison, even the two men in black suits who had been mostly forgotten for the moment.
Then the rubble exploded in a great cloud of dust and pebbles, and cameras and weapons followed the object that had burst out.
There, hovering in the air like an ancient god, captured in perpetuity by the masterful strokes of some forgotten painter, was a man, looking down upon them all, looking confused.
67
Ehd and Fredriks looked at each other, each with a similar expression of disbelief. This was more than most dreamers would be able to sustain. Most would have had their dream world collapse by this point, under such unimaginable assault.
But somehow not him. Not—
“Mr Grey!” Ehd shouted.
Mason’s gaze found them. He tilted his head. “You.”
“Give up this charade. It will not stop us.”
Mason floated down to them. Eleven fully automatic guns and nearly half as many cameras of all varieties followed him as he did. “I’m getting sick of your enigmas. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Come now,” Fredriks said, “do not make this hard on yourself.”
Ehd looked smug. “Just come with us, and this will all be over.”
Mason shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ehd looked at his gun, then his partner. “Shall we convince him?”
Fredriks nodded. “That would be amusing.”
“And of course, the safest way to go about this.”
“Of course.”
Before Mr Grey had a chance to react, they acted, charging him.
The impact sent him back into the rubble.
A screech from the pile let everyone know the dragon wasn’t out of the game yet.
The two agents halted, watching Mason slip as he tried to stand on the wreckage of what was once a highly overpriced, highly inconvenient, convenience store.
There was screaming from the soldiers around them, telling everyone to stop, to calm down, but they ignored them and continued toward Mason when the dragon didn’t stir again.
Mason got up, slowly. “Ow,” he burst out. “Dammit, again?”
“Don’t make us hurt you.”
Mason shook his head. “I just wasn’t ready. You took me by surprise, it won’t happen—”
“Get down!” one of the soldiers shouted as he approached. Other soldiers shouted variations of this with more vulgar constructions.
Mason looked at the soldiers, really taking note of them for the first time. He had a hard time understanding what they were saying, as though they were speaking through thick accents. He didn’t need to understand their words, however, to grasp their intent. He put up his hands. “Whoa there.”
Ehd looked at his partner, an unspoken question. Mr Grey was fighting all his demons, and none seemed to be on his side.
The agents stood motionless, waiting to see how it would play out.
Perhaps Mr Grey would give himself away.
Nearly a dozen firearms were now trained on them. A group went to move in on the agents, but then as they neared the rubble, the dragon screeched again, and they fell back.
News anchors and cameramen became suddenly aware of the real possibility of getting shot in a crossfire. Or eaten by a dragon. They slowly edged away from the scene, zooming in as they edged back so as to keep an aesthetic composition.
Mason put his hands down, shook his head once.
The guardsmen shouted at him to raise them again, but he didn’t listen. He began walking toward the agents. “I’m getting sick of you two. I’m going to give you one final chance, get out of here or—”
Mason slipped as a piece of rubble shifted underfoot, and then the whole pile exploded as the dragon burst forth and into the sky, sweeping Mason up in its mouth. His faint scream could be heard before the debris began falling to the ground again, at which point the military and civilians scattered.
The agents stood there as heavy rocks rained down on them.
“I’m becoming annoyed with Mr Grey.”
Ehd nodded. “He’s using it to his advantage now.”
“We’ll put an end to it then.”
They looked at the apparitions around them.
“Leave them?” Ehd asked.
“Unless they interfere. The clock is tocking.”
They then took off, both Ehd and Fredriks moving faster than they ever could in their real bodies, looking skyward as they ran in pursuit of Mr Grey, and his nightmare dragon.
68
The lieutenant, still waiting to hear back from the general, again called in to report this latest development. They’d see it o
n the news soon enough, but procedure was procedure.
“Uh, General?”
“Lieutenant? Sorry, I forgot to get back to you.”
“Uh, sir, I’ve got a… another bogey.”
“Lieutenant?” The general looked at the POTUS as he awaited a response from his pilot. In the command center, something was happening, reports were coming in from the street. He heard another general shout something about comic books.
“Uh,” the lieutenant continued, “the same one, I guess. I’m not certain, I don’t see how that’s possible. But he appears to be… flying.”
“Falling?”
“No, just flying. Normally I’d…”
“Repeat that?”
“Sorry sir. A man appears to be flying under his own power. Unaided.”
The general shook his head.
“Sir? Orders?”
The general looked to his commander.
The president looked thoughtful, then said, “What is this… man, doing?”
The general asked.
“He appears to be going after the target. Again.”
“Which one son?”
“Uh, the dragon. The dragon-like weapon. He had a brief skirmish with the, I think I heard them being called Men in Black? In any case, the men in black, uh, suits, but the… dragon, uh, it grabbed him, sir, and they flew off.”
“So the dragon is the one flying?”
“Yes, as of now. But the man was flying on his own a few seconds ago before the dragon grabbed him. Hovering, anyway.”
“Grabbed him?”
“Yes sir.”
“How?”
“In its mouth.”
“And he’s alive?”
“Unknown sir. But, given what I’ve seen him survive so far, I’d say so.”
“And you said the man hasn’t attacked anyone else?”
“That’s correct sir.”
The president shook her head, waved her hand. “Leave him for now. Let this play out. We have dragons, so maybe we have superheroes helping us too. But keep him targeted.”
An aide approached, holding a phone for the president.
The general nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
69
The first sign that it wasn’t just dragons the people of New York needed to worry about came moments after the dragon lifted Mason Grey into the sky. The two large men in suits, who had previously run so fast, now did so again, and plowed through the three men who tried to stop them, breaking the hand of one, and injuring another severely enough to temporarily paralyze him. The third was unscathed, and was shouting for permission to shoot. But by the time the response came, in the negative, they were out of his sight anyway.
Two of the remaining uninjured stayed behind with them while the rest of the squad were given to follow the Men in Black without attacking while it was determined which agency they belonged to, for surely they must, given their attire. Not to mention their uncivilian-like speed.
70
In the sky, Mason by some miracle managed to extract himself from the dragon’s mouth, then shock himself when he didn’t immediately fall to his death, or at least into another void.
I’m flying, he thought. Then he realized he was also on fire.
After some fast maneuvers to extinguish the fire, which were immensely fun despite being on fire, he flew after the dragon.
He got ahold of its tail, hoped it wasn’t like a lizard, and did a Mario, throwing the thing.
Unfortunately, he realized too late that throwing a yacht-sized object into a building, was not the safest course of action.
71
Two boys—possibly young men—sat in the dirt outside a fenced in area, light from the setting sun casting their shadows long ahead of them, merging with the fence.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sawyer whispered.
Ethan looked at him. “After what they did to my dad…”
Sawyer nodded. “Fine. Let’s just… hurry.”
Ethan nodded. “Go, I’ll cover you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because I have better vision.”
“That doesn’t make sense. And I’m wearing my contacts. So it makes even less sense.”
“You’re taller.”
Sawyer paused. That did kind of make sense. It would theoretically be easier for him to climb the fence. And not castrate myself, he thought, looking at the razor wire. “I don’t know.”
“Come on man, just go. We don’t have much time. They’re gonna come back out. We won’t get another chance like this.”
“This wasn’t the plan.”
“The best laid plains.”
“What?”
“It’s a movie. About plans.”
“Plains?”
“Yeah, like crops.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Whatever. Cover me.” He was such an idiot. He sprinted forward and in one smooth and unbelievable motion scaled the fence. His left foot hit the fence near the bottom, which propelled him upward, whereupon his right foot landed two feet from where the razor wire began and sent him further upward and also slightly over, his head came inches from the evil-looking topping while his had slide between it and pushed himself forward. Then his feet were coming down and the world was coming right sight up again.
When he landed on the other side, uninjured, he looked around, stunned. “Holy shit.”
72
Private Peters held on for dear life as the M35—a vehicle now much worse for wear after having its windows blown out, but the engine worked; it was just very loud now, inside and out—navigated New York City streets at nearly forty miles an hour. This might not seem very fast, but it was. They were following men running on foot, men who could simply jump over large obstacles like, oh, say cars or trees, and plow through smaller ones like pedestrians or motorcycles. Which they’d done on three separate occasions now—enough to indicate perhaps they weren’t the law-abiding Men in Black they appeared to be.
The M35, on the other hand, had to avoid each of these, and given the fact that the streets were still lousy with civilians, it was a lot to avoid.
And so the vehicle swerved, and so Private Peters was slammed back and forth.
When they came to a screeching halt, everyone had already been holding on so tight, that not a one of them fell.
“The fuck?” Sergeant Grant asked, looking around.
Ehd turned to Fredriks to ask him if he was feeling any degradation, when suddenly Fredriks stopped running and dug his feet in to stop. Ehd turned forward again just in time to see the vehicle he was about to crash into, which had suddenly appeared in his path.
Collision achieved, it flipped once, and Ehd went skidding down the street, occasional sparks flying when his gun made contact with the road.
Fredriks jogged over to him. Men were shouting, but in the confusion of the vehicle suddenly flipping, no one was shouting at them. “Degradation?”
Ehd shook his head. Then he got up and brushed himself off.
“There are many of them now,” Fredriks said, looking around. They were blocked in on both sides. Behind them were mostly apparitions with photo devices, but the ones in front had guns. There were alleys they could take, but who knew what nightmare destinations they led to.
Ehd nodded, looking back. Hundreds, at least. They had more physical effect than any dream creation he’d ever experienced before.
But then, this was the most robust dream world he’d ever seen. Most dreamers they went after had simple dreams, half-filled worlds that were mere sketches of reality. And always the points of power were centered on the dreamer’s avatar.
Not here, not in Mr Grey’s world.
“We should go.”
Guns were trained on them now, the men in the overturned vehicle taking cover behind it and the others circling them.
Ahead of them was clear, however, and there, in the sky, was Mr Grey, fighting his dragon.
It was proof more than anything else that those
who dreamed were insane. Fighting with your own mind—while you slept, no less. It was not something the sane did.
Maybe all that Building Mason had done in his life had gotten to him somehow. Ehd did not know, he was no Builder. He was a consul, and his job was to find illicit dreamers and bring them to justice. He always did his job.
The two men took off again, the shouts of “Halt!” and “Stop!” having no effect.
Private Peters had a headache. Some part of his face was bleeding, but he wasn’t sure which.
He’d been thrown right through that shitty canvas that they called a roof when the vehicle had suddenly and violently been knocked on its ass, so to speak.
Some fucking roof. He could build a better roof with his ass.
Whatever had happened, happened fast, and all anyone knew now was that they were getting orders from air support to stop the Men in Black, who were apparently responsible for knocking their vehicle over.
Peters didn’t see how this was possible, since they were on foot, but nonetheless, he now had his gun trained on the two Terminator-like men who were again running away faster than any human ever could. And now, standing in a line with a few other soldiers, staring through the scope of his gun, lacking orders to shoot and thus being impotent to do anything, he thought maybe he was going to get his apocalypse after all. But instead of zombies, it would be robots.
He didn’t know if they were evil, but they sure didn’t give a shit what they destroyed if they weren’t.
He kept his sights on them, waiting for an order to fire.
Then he heard a shot.
He looked to his side at Grant. “What are you doing?”
“Taking command.” Grant fired again. “Dammit.”
Peters turned back, looked through his scope. The men were still running away. Too far now to hit with the terrain in the way. But he was surprised Grant had missed. He was a sniper, and he had an M24 rifle with a really good scope. Peters didn’t know much about scopes, in fact the technical details of everything but how to communicate in an emergency refused to take up permanent residence in his memory, but he did know that it was a good scope. And so he was surprised. He was about to say something about this, but then someone lost their fucking mind, and fired a rocket.