When the three of them finally opened their eyes, the weightless silence of the void was gone, replaced by the gritty, humid reality of an urban alleyway. The air smelled of ozone, recycled oxygen, and old garbage—the unmistakable scent of a futuristic city struggling under its own weight.
They sat up slowly, shaking off the disorientation of their rebirth. Kai was the first to look around, his eyes landing on Hal. He let out a low, appreciative whistle that sounded different—higher, smoother.
"Look at that," Kai said, his voice carrying a new, melodic edge. "We have a fuckin' supermodel straight from Hollywood. Those golden locks are going to kill someone, Hal. And Quinn... well, you still look like you just rolled out of a library. No change there."
Quinn rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar weight of his own skin. "No shit, Sherlock. I like my face just fine."
Hal stood up, his movements fluid and precise. He didn't stumble. He didn't wheeze. He looked down at his hands—tan, strong, and unscarred—and then at his friends. "Do you feel it? Inside? That... presence?"
Quinn closed his eyes for a second, focusing inward. "Yeah. I can feel it. There's something coiled at the base of my soul, but it's faint. It's like a locked door with no key."
"The 'Half Creator' said we have to advance the sequences ourselves," Kai noted, standing up and brushing the dust off his new, leaner frame. "But this is the Shadow Slave universe. My guess? We're dormant. We won't be able to touch those Beyonder powers until we pass the First Nightmare and the Spell actually recognizes us as 'Awakened'—or whatever version of it we become."
"First Nightmare it is, then," Hal said, his blue eyes scanning the mouth of the alley.
They stepped out onto the main street. The city was a sprawling labyrinth of steel and neon, typical of the fortified civilian zones. People moved past them in a steady stream—drones hummed overhead, and the flickering holographic advertisements cast long shadows. Hal stopped a few passersby, using his new, charismatic presence to ask for the date. Most people looked at him with a mix of confusion and envy before answering and scurrying off.
Hal turned back to Quinn and Kai. "Based on what I gathered, it's June. We have about five months until winter. If my memory of the lore serves, that's when the 'main' story usually kicks off for new sleepers. We have a small window to get ahead."
"So, what's the move?" Kai asked, leaning against a cold metal wall.
"We go straight for the First Nightmare," Quinn said firmly.
Kai blinked, a look of mock horror on his face. "Woah, woah. Wait there, my friend. Go straight for death when we just got reborn? Such a classic Abraham heir you are—always looking for the most dangerous door to walk through."
"I've read Shadow Slave too, Kai," Hal interrupted, his voice calm and analytical. "In this world, being a mundane human is a death sentence. Without power, we are just statistics. If we wait for the Spell to pick us randomly, we lose the initiative."
Kai sighed, looking up at the smog-filled sky. "Okay, my dear pastor. What do you want next? To go find some young boys to convert or lecture some minorities? You're starting to sound very 'Spectator-y' already."
Hal narrowed one of his brilliant blue eyes at him. "Are you trying to ragebait me, dude?"
"Who knows?" Kai whistled, looking away with a mischievous grin.
After a few minutes of planning, they decided not to wait for the infection to come to them. They began walking toward the nearest government precinct. As they stood before the imposing, armored doors of the police station, Kai shook his head.
"I still can't believe you talked me into a suicide run ten minutes after I got my Hollywood makeover," Kai muttered.
"Either way, we're going to have to face it eventually," Hal replied, adjusting his collar. "Better to do it with style and on our own terms, right?"
"Rich people and their philosophy," Kai spat, though there was no real heat in it. "Tch. Whatever."
"Well then," Hal said, looking at the door. "Shall we?"
The trio stepped into the precinct. The air inside was sterile and hummed with the sound of servers. A desk sergeant, a tired-looking man with a cybernetic ocular implant, looked up as they approached. "Can I help you three? This is a restricted area."
Hal started to open his mouth, but Kai stepped forward, cutting him off with a bored, half-lidded gaze.
"We're just sleepy as fuck, man," Kai said casually. "Nothing too serious. Just thought we'd let you know before we took a nap."
The sergeant froze. His eyes went wide as he processed the slang. In this world, "sleepy" was the code word for the infected. He lunged for his console, his fingers flying across the keys as he grabbed his radio.
"CODE 94! We have a Code 94 at the front desk! Three subjects! Repeat, three Code 94s in the lobby!"
The precinct erupted into a controlled chaos. Alarms began to blare—a low, rhythmic pulse—and armored officers swarmed the hallway. Hal and Quinn looked at Kai with deadpan expressions of utter disbelief.
"What?" Kai shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I just sped up the procedure and the paperwork for you guys. You should be thanking me."
Within minutes, they were surrounded by medical personnel and containment officers. They weren't treated like criminals, but like ticking time bombs. A high-ranking officer approached them, his face grim. "Follow the staff. We're moving you to the preparation chambers immediately."
"So this is it, guys," Quinn said as they were led toward separate rooms. He looked at his two friends, the weight of their shared history and their new, uncertain future hanging in the air. "May the Fool bless you."
"Praise the Fool it is," Hal replied with a calm nod, his golden hair shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Kai looked at Quinn and smirked. "Try not to die in there, moron. If you do, I'm going to have to find a way back into the dream just to drag you out and punch you."
They were ushered into individual rooms. Quinn was guided to a reclined chair that felt cold against his skin. A technician attached sensors to his temples, speaking in low, hurried tones about "stabilization" and "survival rates."
Quinn ignored them. He took a long, deep breath, centered his thoughts on the silver threads of fate, and closed his eyes.
The sounds of the precinct faded. The world turned to black.
And then, the whisper of the Nightmare Spell began to hiss in the darkness of his mind.