The nightmare always began with darkness. An all encompassing void that swallowed life. 

Then, a flickering, unsteady light that cast looming shadows across the ground. 

That was when the man was supposed to run. He knew based on the previous nightmares what they wanted from him, at least at the start. Whenever he tried to fight it, she took control, moving him here and there. 

So he ran. Better to run and maintain some sense of control than to place himself in her hands. 

He tore through the dense woods, shoving aside branches and underbrush that tore at him, creating angry red lines across his skin. 

Part of him wanted to stop running, to fight against her, to not give them what they wanted.
He quieted that part of him quickly. She was in control, and she was the only one. He had no choice. That was, at least, the lie he told himself. 

He knew what was coming next- what always came next. A root snared his foot and he teetered for a moment before losing his balance and tumbling over the edge of a cliff. 

He slammed into walls and edges, not even obtaining a brief respite during the fall. As he hurtled towards the ground, he braced himself. He knew when he was going to hit- the nightmare always brightened a little when he neared the ground, as if taunting him with the inevitable. 

The man hit the ground with a dull smack, lights flashing across his vision. He groaned with the pain, which didn’t fade. It never did. Rather, it remained with him. An everconstant, unwanted companion. 

“GIVE. IN.” The voice said, resounding around him.

“N-never,” the man wheezed. They were angry, he could tell. They wanted him to give in. 

Slowly, his sight cleared, and he forced himself to his feet. The fact that the nightmare hadn’t ended yet was indication enough that something horrible was going to happen. They also hadn’t taken control yet, so he knew it was coming to him. 

He spun in a short, awkward circle, favoring his left leg. He could hear his heart pounding as he searched the darkness for what was to come. 

As he turned his back to the forest- the one that appeared in the place of the cliff; another proof that she was in control- something leapt at him. 

He fought back wildly, squeezing his eyes shut and flailing around pointlessly. The thing, whatever it was, fell still. 

He peeked out one eye, then the other. A few scratches had appeared on him, one in particular on his forehead that dripped blood into his eye. He found a pitch-black figure laying on the ground, seemingly dead. Had he won? He couldn’t have, could he?

He moved closer to the figure, curious about who- or what- it was. Just then, an angry cry echoed from the forest. Thousands upon thousands of these black creatures charged at him, surrounding him. A few grabbed his limbs and heaved him up. 

The man tried to fight. He was a fighter, wasn’t he? He was… He was… tired. He was so tired. He just wanted the nightmares to end, but if they ended that meant she won, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. People depended on him. 

The figures held him in the middle of a flickering, candle-lit circle. 

GIVE. IN. FOOL. The voice said again. The figures surrounding the man fidgeted anxiously. He could see how anxious they were for a fight. He wanted to give in. Oh, how he wanted to rest. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

“N-n-never,” he coughed, his chest constricting with each breath. 

So the figures began to pull. There were four of them- one gripping each limb. They pulled and pulled and when pain overwhelmed him and things had begun to tear, they took another approach. 

Each figure among the watching audience was given a knife. They then, in turn, came to strike at him. 

Hit. The pain was a fog, a fuzzy haze that made it hard to think. But he could still remember why he fought. Why he still tried. 

Hit. He wanted it to end. They had barely started and already the pain threatened to overwhelm him. 

Hit. He was fighting. He was-

Hit. He was fighting. He-

Hit. He was fighting-

Hit. He was-

Hit. He-

Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. The man collapsed under the pain, wilting under it. He just. Wanted. It. To. End. 

And it did, for a moment. 

GIVE IN! The voice cried once more. 

The man wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. He quite nearly did. But as he opened his mouth to speak, his hands jerking out, he brushed a tree, and a voice sounded in his head. It wasn’t his. No, it was the voice from before, when his life hadn’t been a living nightmare. From when he knew what was coming. 

A faint memory flickered in his head. 

They had been caught. 

They knew it the moment they landed. There were enemy soldiers all around. The man, along with his friend, had scrambled up a tree, desperate for something to hide them, to stop the inevitable. 

Leaning against the tree they panted, and the man looked at his friend. 

“They’re going to find us, aren’t they?” His friend nodded, oddly quiet. 

“You okay?” The man asked when his friend didn’t respond. 

“They aren’t gonna care about me,” his friend whispered. “I don’t know anything, but you do. I’ve been told of the horrors they’ve been concocting in that lab of theirs. 

“I’ve also been told how to survive it. So when you’re there, in that living nightmare… Remember me. Remember this. It’s not real. None of it is. And you are strong enough to withstand it. I just hope for the sake of all of us that you stay that way.”

The man jolted, brought out of his reminiscing.  This isn’t real. He whispered those words over and over to himself. . This isn’t real. This blood spilling from me isn’t real. This pain, as real as it seems, isn’t real. And I am strong enough to withstand this pain.  He quivered, steeling himself. 

“Y-you’ve g-g-g-g… g-g-got t-t-t-t-to d-d-do b-b-b-b-e-e-e-tter th-th-than that-t-t-t.” Speaking was hard. He coughed out blood with each wheezing breath, refusing to give in. 

So the people kept stabbing. And he had to ask himself. If all I know anymore is the nightmare, at what point does it become my reality? At what point does it become real? 

“W-w-when I l-let it-t-t,” the man gasped, needing to hear it out loud. The figures didn’t like it, and the stabs turned harsher, if that was possible. But the man was fine, now. He could withstand the pain… right? 

The figures, growing frustrated with his inaction, stopped stabbing him. Instead, they tied his feet together, as well as his hands, and tied a heavy rock to the rope holding his hands together. Then, heaving him over their shoulders, they began to carry him into the forest. The trees seemed to tower over him, enhancing the panic he felt as he strained to see where they were going. 

Before long, the rhythmic sway of their walk made the man drowsy, and he started to close his eyes. He was so tired…

The figures heaved him up over their heads, and the man thrashed. They had reached their destination, it seemed. The man peered out, stretching his neck out as far as it would go. From what he could see, they were at a morbidly still pond that seemed to stretch on for miles. 

Oh, no. No, no, nononononono. He could see what they were planning, and he wanted to fight it, but each movement sent a flood of pain through him, stopping him from doing much. 

With a mighty heave, the pitch-black figures tossed him into the pond. 

The man fought like he had never fought before in the nightmares, each movement sending a wave of nausea through him. His head broke the surface for a moment and he gasped for air, but it wasn’t long before the rock began dragging him down. 

His hands clawed through the water desperately, creating tiny streams of bubbles that followed the ones coming from his nose, drifting languidly towards the surface, their casual pace seeming to mock him. 

Down, down, down he fell, his lungs already beginning to burn. The light from the surface flickered and faded all too quickly- another lovely addition from her. 

When finally he couldn’t hold his breath anymore, he inhaled- or tried to, as much as he could in the water- and waited as pain exploded in him. As his eyes rimmed with red, her face appeared in the water, forcing her to the center of his misery. And he understood. Each portion was a terror, a nightmare, so he could finally. 

Be.

Broken. 

 

With that realization, and with the pain threatening to force him to unconsciousness, the man jolted awake. 

He was laying in the middle of a plain white room. His head throbbed painfully, though it was nothing compared to the pain of the nightmare, so he considered it a welcome release. 

He closed his eyes and tried to reach his hand up to massage his temples, but his hand stopped short. 

What? He glanced downward and found that his arms and legs were bound down to the bed.  Ah, that’s right. They bound him to the bed during the nightmares, claiming it was to stop him from thrashing around and hurting himself. He saw through that lie. It was so he couldn’t run- not that he would be able to run should he have the chance. His ‘exercise’ these days consisted of walking to the restroom and back, if even that. Closing his eyes again, he braced for the discussion that would soon come. 

“Checklist.”
“Patient 0-0-0-1. Did not give in to the treatment.”

“He has been here for ten months.”

“Is advised for more treatment.”

“Very well.” That voice was the one the man wanted to hear. Hers. He cracked his eyes open and peered at her. She smiled, then patted him gently on the shoulder, the kindly, almost filial action hiding the malevolence of her intentions. “Are you ready to give in yet, POW 0-0-0-1? You’ve been here quite a long time.”

“N-n-ne-ver,” the man hissed, the word coming easily to his lips. 

The woman hummed softly, grinning. “You know you’re losing, right? The war? Your tech just can’t compete with ours.”

The man chose not to reply, instead straining to meet her eyes. 

“Very well,” the woman sighed, though her eyes gleamed gleefully. “Prepare the serum.”

“No break?” The man asked, trying- and failing- once again to adjust his position. 

“No.”

The man ached, but he couldn’t fight back. If only they knew what he had been through… 

“I never used to have nightmares,” he whispered, meeting her eyes. “Now they’re all about you.”

The woman smiled, her blonde hair, which typically fell in soft curls past her shoulders, hiding her eyes. She accepted a glass bottle filled with a thick blue liquid from an assistant, as well as a large syringe. Slowly filling the syringe with the liquid, she leaned in, meeting his eyes. 

As she inserted the syringe into his arm and pressed the plunger, she whispered a curt reply. 

“I know.”

 

And the nightmare began again.