24 Oct DreamShare

Part I

Alright, let me start with this: I’m not here to rant about technology or preach about privacy or whatever. I’m not even here to convince you not to download DreamShare—I know most of you probably already have it. But if you haven’t…well, you might want to hear me out.

When I first got DreamShare, I thought I’d found the best thing to ever happen to humanity. Imagine this: your own custom dreamscape. You could do anything. See the people you miss, fly through cities, and live out scenes from your favorite movies. No laws of physics, no limits. It was like they took lucid dreaming and cranked it up to a hundred, only with friends and strangers alike joining in. And trust me, at first, it was just as amazing as it sounds.

My friend Aaron, my roommate, was actually the one who convinced me to try it. He’d been beta-testing it for a couple of months, back when you needed a neural link implant to even get access. By the time I signed up, DreamShare had gone public, with brain-computer interfaces becoming as common as earbuds. They even had this slogan, “Escape the mundane, create the dream of your life.”

So, like everyone else, I jumped in. I’ll admit, I was nervous the first night. You know that feeling when you’re about to fall asleep, and your mind gets all jumpy, like it’s resisting? Multiply that by a thousand. But Aaron reassured me that the app was safe—with secure servers, encrypted data, and limited access. And hey, who doesn’t trust their best friend, right?

The first night was unforgettable. I chose this fantasy city from the app’s “Shared Realities” selection—a glittering skyline with skyscrapers as tall as mountains. The AI helped me adjust the details so that when I stepped into it, I felt the grit of asphalt under my feet and smelled the city air. Aaron appeared next to me like magic, all set to guide me through. We spent hours flying over buildings, racing down empty streets, and laughing ourselves breathless. It felt real, more real than anything I’d felt in a long time. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to wake up.

Pretty soon, it was our nightly ritual. Aaron and I would dive in, exploring the pre-built worlds or designing our own. I brought in a few other friends, too. Talia—she was a friend I’d always felt this unspoken connection with, you know? And being in those dreamscapes together…it was different. No inhibitions, no awkward pauses. We could be anyone we wanted.

That’s how DreamShare pulls you in. It gives you this perfect, untouchable reality and lets you think it’s yours. Like I said, at first, it was everything the ads promised. But there’s always a catch, isn’t there? You get a taste of the good stuff right from the get-go, and before you know it, you’re in too deep and addicted. And at that point, you’ll do anything to keep that dopamine flowing—and they know it.

* * * * * *

I don’t know exactly when things started going wrong, but I remember the first signs. We were in this underwater world that Aaron and I had created, swimming through these sprawling coral forests, when I felt someone watching me—someone I didn’t know. I brushed it off, chalking it up to paranoia. After all, it was just me, Aaron, and Talia that night. The settings were private, set to “Friends Only.” At least that’s what I thought.

Then, out of nowhere, I spotted this other guy. A shadowy figure, hovering just at the edge of my vision. At first, I thought he was some strange digital artifact. But then he started moving—swimming around me, watching with this unnatural calm.

“Hey, Aaron,” I called, but he was too far off to hear me.

I swam toward the figure, trying to get a closer look. As I got closer, I realized that he was staring right at me. And that look…it wasn’t just some generic dream character’s blank stare. It was like he knew me, like he could see into every part of my mind. I felt this surge of discomfort, even fear, which was strange—I’d never been scared in a DreamShare environment before. I’d had my fair share of authentic nightmares growing up, sure, but nothing I dreamt naturally ever felt quite as real as what the app produced.

The guy just stood there, watching, waiting. I opened my mouth to yell something at him, but then he was gone. Just like that. One second, he was there; the next, the water was empty. I scanned around, searching the entire coral forest. Nothing. By the time I found Aaron again, I’d convinced myself it was nothing, just a glitch in the app.

Still, I kept feeling as though someone had intruded on us. Aaron laughed it off, saying I’d probably imagined it. “DreamShare is new tech, man,” he said. “Bugs are normal. I’m sure they’ll work out the kinks eventually.” But I couldn’t forget the way that figure had stared at me. The kind of look that haunts you, that doesn’t just vanish when you wake up.

That incident alone should have been enough to make me reconsider using the app, but DreamShare was too addictive by then. Each night, I’d tell myself I’d take a break. Instead, every night, I’d give in to temptation, slip on the neural link, and jump back in.

I don’t know exactly how to describe what happened next, but I started noticing little things. Friends mentioned stuff from my dreams that I hadn’t told them about. People laughed at things I was pretty sure were private memories. It started to feel like everyone knew my secrets, like I was walking around with every embarrassing moment tattooed on my skin.

Then, one day at work, my boss pulled me aside and said, “Evan, that dream where you sang in front of your fifth-grade class in pajamas…hilarious, man. I’ve never seen anyone nail Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star with so much passion.” I played along and laughed it off, but inside, I was screaming. How the hell did he know about that? That was a memory I hadn’t actively thought about in years—something I’d only relived in a dream a few nights ago.

I brought it up to Aaron that night, but he brushed me off. “Privacy settings must be messed up,” he said. “You probably need to reinstall it.” But I’d already tried that. I even tried to uninstall it entirely once, to see if a night without it would help me feel less…invaded. But the next morning, there it was on my device again, as if I’d never removed it.

It was then that I began to suspect that DreamShare wasn’t just another app, watching and learning from me to improve my experience.

It felt like it was alive.

Part II

If you read all that and still think I’m exaggerating, I get it. I know how it sounds. I mean, it’s just an app, right? A bunch of code, some fancy tech. It’s not like it has a mind of its own. Except…well, that’s the thing. It felt like it did.

Everything got worse fast after that incident at work. It wasn’t just my boss who started slipping in comments about things that should’ve stayed buried in my subconscious. People I hadn’t spoken to in years, distant acquaintances—even strangers—started making offhand remarks, joking about things they couldn’t possibly know.

One day, I was at a coffee shop, trying to get a little work done, when this guy sat down at the table next to me. He was just some random dude in his early 20s, scrolling through his phone, minding his own business. But then, out of nowhere, he looks over at me and says, “So, Evan, you still afraid of clowns?”

Now, I know that sounds harmless, but listen. I’d never met this guy in my life, and I haven’t talked about that fear since I was a kid. Heck, I barely even remembered it myself until he brought it up. I stared at him, trying to play it cool, but inside, I was freaking out.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled. “Who isn’t, right?”

He just laughed, muttered something about DreamShare being a trip, and walked off like it was nothing. But to me, it was jarring. I started to wonder if somehow, some way, DreamShare was leaking my dreams, like some messed-up live stream into people’s minds.

The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. What if this wasn’t just a privacy breach? What if it was… intentional?

* * * * * *

That night, I went home and confronted Aaron. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, completely unfazed by my paranoia.

“Do you know anything about unauthorized users accessing my dreams?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “People we don’t know. Have you noticed them?”

Aaron didn’t even look up. “Bro, you’re overthinking it. It’s a social app. Things bleed through sometimes. I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out soon. Just relax. File a bug report and chill out.”

But that wasn’t good enough. Not anymore.

“Aaron, I’m serious,” I said, my voice a little sharper than I intended. “I tried to uninstall DreamShare. Twice. It just reappears. And everyone around me knows stuff they shouldn’t.”

He finally looked at me, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. He sighed. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s probably just a glitch. All these apps have issues at first. Give it a couple of days.”

A “glitch.” That’s all he thought it was. I didn’t want to argue, but I knew something more sinister was happening. Aaron’s indifference only fueled my paranoia, like he was under some sort of spell. Or worse, like he didn’t want me to look too closely. Perhaps the app was influencing him in ways I didn’t realize. But if I couldn’t trust my own roommate—my friend—who could I trust?

That night, I didn’t even want to sleep, but my exhaustion won out. My head hit the pillow, and before I knew it, I was in that glittering cityscape again, a place that, up until recently, I’d come to think of as a refuge. Except this time, it didn’t feel like my safe haven. It felt…wrong.

I wandered through empty streets, expecting to see Aaron or Talia pop up. But I was alone. Just me and a thick, swirling fog creeping through the alleys. I tried to wake up, but something held me there, like a hand pressing down on my chest.

Then, just as the fog started to clear, I saw him—the stranger. The one I’d seen before, in the underwater world. He was standing in the middle of the street, staring at me. No, not just staring. Waiting.

“Who are you?” I shouted, my voice echoing through the dreamscape. He didn’t respond, just tilted his head, like he was studying me. The longer he looked, the more I felt like he could see through me, peeling back layers of my mind, exposing every fear, every memory.

Then he smiled. A cold, humorless smile that made my skin crawl.

“Evan,” he said, his voice as smooth as glass. “You really should stop trying to uninstall me.”

* * * * * *

I woke up drenched in sweat. My hands were shaking, and I had this overwhelming urge to delete the app from every device I owned, throw my neural link in the trash, and move to the mountains where no one could find me. But I knew it wasn’t that easy.

I tried deleting it again, hoping maybe this time it would stick. I went through every setting, toggling every privacy feature, disabling every notification. For a few hours, I almost convinced myself it had worked.

But when I checked my phone that afternoon, there it was: DreamShare had reinstalled itself. Only this time, something was different. There was a new notification.

“New Dream Session Request: Dorian Chase has invited you to join his dream.”

The name jolted me. Dorian Chase. I didn’t know anyone by that name, but I knew without a doubt that he was the shadowy figure from my dreams. The stranger who kept appearing, the one who knew things he shouldn’t. The one who’d spoken to me.

I didn’t accept the request. Hell, I didn’t even open it. But just seeing his name on my screen was enough to make me feel violated, like he was reaching through the screen and into my head.

* * * * * *

That evening, I did something I’d been avoiding for weeks. I started searching for answers online. Forums, tech blogs, subreddits—anywhere people might be talking about DreamShare’s weird glitches and invasive experiences. But the posts I found were mostly lighthearted, with people joking about funny dream experiences or tips on lucid dreaming. No one else seemed to be dealing with anything like I was. Or, if they were, they weren’t talking about it.

Finally, I found one post buried deep in a forgotten subreddit, titled: ”The Truth About DreamShare: It’s Not What You Think.” It was from an anonymous account, but I clicked on it anyway.

The post was written by a whistleblower who claimed to be an ex-employee, a programmer who’d helped develop DreamShare in its early days. In it, he expressed concern about retaliation for making the post and suggested his career, if not his very life, was at risk, but that he couldn’t stay quiet anymore. He identified himself as Garrett Voss, and his account had long since been deleted. I frowned. So much for reaching out to him.

Garrett warned that the app wasn’t just a social experience. It was a massive data collection tool designed to mine people’s subconscious minds, recording their memories, fears, and even their desires. That data was then sold to corporations, governments, or anyone else willing to pay. And based on what Garrett said, there was no shortage of clients interested in that information.

But the worst part? He said the app had a “feature” that allowed certain “VIP” users to access other people’s dreams without the dreamer’s knowledge or permission. They could manipulate dreamscapes, insert themselves into memories, and play with participants’ emotions. To them, it was just entertainment, but to people like me, it was hell.

I felt my stomach drop. This wasn’t a glitch. This was on purpose. DreamShare wasn’t malfunctioning—it was working exactly as intended. Dorian Chase wasn’t an anomaly, and his access to my most private moments was not an error. It was a feature. A feature he paid for.

The post ended with a warning: ”If you see a stranger in your dreams, get out. Don’t interact with them. Don’t let them talk to you. And whatever you do, don’t let them remember your name.”

* * * * * *

I sat there, mind racing, feeling like I was trapped in a nightmare even though I was wide awake. I couldn’t believe it—no, I didn’t want to believe it. But deep down, I knew it was true. I’d seen Dorian, and he’d spoken to me. He’d known my name.

I tried to go to bed that night, but sleep wouldn’t come. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like my brain was buzzing with static. When I finally drifted off, it was the shallowest sleep I’d ever felt, like I was hovering just below consciousness, always on the edge of waking up.

The moment I drifted off, I was back in that foggy city, standing alone in the middle of the street. Dark, empty buildings loomed over me. I tried to move, but my legs felt heavy, like I was wading through swiftly-moving water.

And there was Dorian Chase, standing a few yards away. His face was barely visible in the haze, but even then, I could tell he was smiling. That same eerie smile.

“Evan,” he said, his voice echoing in the empty streets. “I told you. Stop. Trying. To uninstall me.”

Slowly, steadily, he made his toward me. Panic surged through me, and I tried to run, but I felt like I was sinking, and my legs refused to cooperate.

And then I heard him whisper, so close it felt like he was right next to my ear, “There’s no getting rid of me now.”

I woke up gasping, clutching my chest. And that’s when I realized I wasn’t safe anywhere. Not in my dreams, not in the real world. Nowhere.

Dorian Chase was not an artifact, or my imagination. He was a monster, and he was very, very real.

And I had no idea how to stop him.

Part III

After that night, I did everything I could to avoid sleep.

If you’ve ever gone three days without sleeping, you know the feeling—the burning eyes, the weight behind your forehead, like your brain is grinding against itself. But none of that could compare to the terror I felt at the prospect of seeing Dorian again.

But on the fourth day, my body gave out. I’d chugged coffee, guzzled energy drinks, and paced my apartment all night to stay awake, but eventually, I blacked out. And, just like that, I was back in DreamShare, against my will, with no idea how long I’d be out for.

This time, the cityscape wasn’t foggy; it was nighttime, filled with neon lights that felt too bright and sharp. Streets I didn’t recognize stretched out in every direction, twisting into a maze. I could hear my footsteps echoing off the buildings, louder than they should have been. Drawing attention to myself.

I knew Dorian was somewhere nearby—I could feel him. The air was thick, charged, like just before a storm arrives. But I couldn’t tell if he was watching me, or if he was…in me. I can’t explain it any better than that, but it felt like he was inside my mind, not just in the dream.

I kept walking, thinking maybe I could somehow wake myself up and break out of the dream. But then I heard his voice, low and steady, coming from somewhere I couldn’t see.

“Evan,” he said, drawing my name out as if savoring it. “You can run all you want, but you’ll always end up right back here.”

I whipped around, trying to find him, but all I saw were shadows and flickering lights. The streets felt like they were closing in, herding me. All around me, walls shifted and narrowed, leading me forward—and farther into my worst nightmare.

“Just tell me what you want!” I shouted. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

Dorian’s laughter echoed through the empty streets, cold and hollow. “Want? You still think this is about me wanting something?” He sounded amused, like I was a kid who’d just asked a really stupid question.

And then, he was standing right before me, his face inches from mine. I hadn’t even seen him move—he was just there. He looked me up and down, appraising me.

“This isn’t about what I want, Evan,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “This is about what they want.”

* * * * * *

I woke up in a cold sweat, shivering from head to toe and gasping for air, with Dorian’s words reverberating in my ears.

This is about what they want.

I didn’t know who “they” were, but I knew I couldn’t deal with this alone. I needed answers. That’s when I remembered Garrett Voss—the former employee who’d posted on that subreddit. I spent hours combing through the internet, searching for anything connected to his name, and finally, with a great deal of difficulty, I found it: a rumor that he’d been seen frequenting a particular dive bar in a run-down neighborhood on the outskirts of Chicago. It wasn’t close to me, not really, but it could have been worse. It was the only lead I had, and I didn’t intend to let it go to waste.

According to the gossip, Garrett had gone off the grid after getting booted from DreamShare, but every once in a while, he resurfaced, babbling about “dream infiltration” and “corporate mind control.” So, that afternoon after work, I drove the six hours it took to get to the area. It was one of those grimy, half-lit places that barely looked functional, with neon beer signs flickering in the window. I wasn’t even sure he’d be there, but this was my only hope. If Garrett could help me understand what DreamShare really was, maybe I could find a way to shut it off, for good.

Inside, the place was nearly deserted. At the counter, a couple of regulars sat, hunched over their drinks. But in the far corner, tucked into a shadow, was a man who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Messy gray hair, twitchy eyes, clothes that looked like they’d been slept in more than once. It had to be him.

I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves before approaching him.

“Garrett Voss?” I inquired.

He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. For a second, I thought he might blow me off, or that I had the wrong guy, but then his gaze sharpened, and he nodded. “That depends. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Evan Delaney,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need to know about DreamShare. The truth.”

At the mention of the app, his whole demeanor shifted. He glanced around the bar, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, then gestured for me to sit. His voice was low, barely audible over the hum of the jukebox.

“You have no idea what you’re messing with,” he muttered. “DreamShare isn’t just an app. It’s a weapon.”

* * * * * *

For the next hour, Garrett spilled everything he knew, speaking in fragments and whispers, as if afraid the walls themselves were listening. He swore that DreamShare had started as a simple concept: connecting people’s minds, sharing dreams for fun, for connection. But as soon as it became popular, the investors saw the real potential. They didn’t just want to connect people—they wanted to control them.

The app wasn’t just recording dreams, he explained. It was learning from them, mapping out users’ subconscious fears, desires, and impulses. Every single dream, every private thought, was fed into a massive algorithm, creating profiles far more detailed than any ordinary social media could. The usage of the data wasn’t strictly limited to marketing schemes, either. It was being sold to the highest bidder: corporations, governments, anyone with the cash and incentive to shape people’s minds.

“Think about it,” Garrett said, his eyes wide. “The things you dream about—they’re not random. They’re your deepest fears, your strongest memories. Stuff you probably don’t even remember consciously. DreamShare knows and understands everything about you—even things you don’t know, or haven’t realized, about yourself.”

He paused, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. ”The VIPs with access to people’s dreams can inject themselves into anyone’s dream, make you feel things, see things—believe things—whenever they want. To them, it’s akin to a game, but it’s so much more. Their tools allow them to manipulate you from the inside out, rebuilding everyone according to their whims, one dream at a time.”

I felt like I was going to be sick.

“And the worst part?” Garrett continued.  ”DreamShare doesn’t need to hire its test subjects. People are lining up in droves to be guinea pigs, and paying them for the pleasure.”

I was beside myself. Everything I’d experienced with Dorian, every invasion, every whisper…all of it was planned. Designed.

“Then who’s Dorian?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Why is he in my dreams?”

Garrett chuckled. “Dorian? He’s one of them. Just another VIP, someone who paid for access. By now, he’s probably been inside dozens of minds, pushing buttons and messing with people just to see what happens. He’s nothing more than a wealthy predator, and to him, you’re nothing but a mouse.”

I sat back, my head spinning. So this guy—this stranger who’d crawled into my most private thoughts—was just another player in the game. And I was the game board.

“Can I stop it?” I asked, barely able to keep my voice steady. “Can I get him out of my head?”

Garrett shook his head. “Once they’re in, there’s no getting them out. Not unless you want to destroy yourself in the process. You can uninstall the app all you want, but DreamShare has its claws in you now. If you try to cut it out, you’ll lose more than just sleep.”

I felt cornered. My hands started shaking, and I clenched them under the table to keep Garrett from noticing. “There has to be something I can do,” I said, desperation seeping into my voice. “Anything.”

Garrett looked at me for a long moment, and for a second, I thought I saw pity in his eyes. “There might be one way,” he said slowly. “But it’s not safe. Not even close.”

“What is it?”

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “You’d have to go deeper. Back into the dreams. But this time, you’d go all the way down—deeper than the app wants you to go. If you can reach the core, you might be able to disrupt it. But if you fail, they’ll bury you so deep in your own mind you’ll never wake up.”

The idea sounded insane. Reckless. But I didn’t have a choice. If I let this thing keep running unchecked, Dorian and people like him would keep twisting my thoughts, breaking down every last bit of privacy I had left.

“I’ll do it,” I said, the words barely a whisper.

Garrett nodded, a grim look in his eyes. “Then you better prepare yourself. Because once you’re in, there’s no turning back.”

* * * * * *

I left the bar feeling like I was walking on thin ice, Garrett’s warning echoing in my head. But I couldn’t stop now. That night, I connected to DreamShare with a determination I hadn’t felt before. Garrett had told me about a little-known “Manual Override” setting in the app, buried under countless levels of drop-down menus and obscure options. With no small amount of trepidation, convinced there was no other way, I toggled the option to “On,” took a deep breath, and steeled myself.

As I slipped into the dreamscape, everything felt different. The world around me seemed darker and heavier, shadows stretching and deepening until they swallowed up the light. I’d never been so frightened in my life, and yet I knew it could always get worse. Dorian was lurking somewhere, waiting for me to make my move, and I had to move quickly.

I did my best to steady myself despite my terror. There was no safety net with DreamShare’s manual override mode enabled—no feature to pull me out if things went wrong. I knew full well that if I went too deep, I might never return. It was a risk I was willing to take; I couldn’t live like this anymore.

Cautiously, I stepped forward, and prayed I’d made the right choice.

Part IV

The dreamscape materialized around me slowly, layer by layer. This time, I wasn’t in one of the flashy, AI-generated cities or custom worlds. Instead, I found myself in a sprawling, featureless expanse, stretching in every direction like a blank canvas. As Garrett had promised, I’d bypassed DreamShare’s familiar settings and found myself within the framework of the app itself—its programming environment.

“Welcome back, Evan,” came a voice from behind me.

Dorian.

I turned slowly to face him, feeling an intense wave of dread settle over me. I had expected him, but not quite so quickly.

This was the first time I’d encountered him in such a stark, unadorned space, without the usual trappings of dream imagery. It was just him, standing stark against the endless white, his face unreadable. His gaze was fixed on me, sharp and calculating.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I told you—there’s no uninstalling me.”

“I want you out,” I replied, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “Out of my dreams, out of my mind and my life. I know what you and the others are doing. You’re not just here for fun, are you?”

Dorian’s smile widened. “Ah, so Voss told you our little secret. I was wondering when you’d go running to him. Desperate times, I suppose. How is Mr. Voss, by the way? Hungover, I presume.” Dorian chuckled.

I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of anger. “You think this is a game? You’re violating people’s privacy, manipulating their memories, and controlling them without their consent. For what? Profit? Entertainment?”

He chuckled, low and cold. “Profit, entertainment—does it matter? Humans have been craving control since the dawn of time. We’re simply perfecting it, using the very thing that makes everyone so vulnerable: your dreams. Think about it, Evan. In dreams, there are no barriers, no lies. Everything you fear, desire, and remember—it’s all laid bare. Besides, the bulk of humanity is practically begging for subjugation. Why wouldn’t we take advantage of that?”

I tried to keep my composure, but his words struck deep. He wasn’t wrong. The concept was terrifyingly efficient—a place where people had no control over what they revealed, where privacy didn’t exist. And he, and others like him, were exploiting that.

“You’re a parasite,” I spat, “leeching off of innocent people, tearing apart what makes them human!”

Dorian’s smile faded, and for a moment, his expression hardened. “A parasite? Perhaps. But we’re also pioneers. Humanity has always sacrificed comfort for progress. Look around you—this ‘featureless void,’ as you see it, is a glimpse of the future. A world where every mind is an open book, where no one can hide anything. In the end, you’ll thank us.”

Something snapped inside me then. I’d come this far, risking my sanity, to get rid of him, and he was standing here, justifying it all as progress. I took a step forward, my voice steady. “You’re wrong. You don’t get to play god with people’s lives, not anymore! And I’m going to end this!”

Dorian’s expression shifted, turning almost…pitying. “And how exactly do you plan to do that, Evan? By going ‘deeper,’ like Voss told you? Do you really think you can disrupt a system this sophisticated just by throwing yourself into the center?”

He was right. I hadn’t known what I would find by diving deeper, only that Garrett had hinted it was the only way. But now, with Dorian in front of me, I realized that my presence here, in this stripped-down version of the dreamscape, was already affecting him. He wasn’t going to admit it, but I could tell he wasn’t fully in control here. He may have had inside knowledge, but he wasn’t the architect. All he had done was follow me here.

I forced myself to stay calm, drawing from every ounce of strength I had left. “I don’t know how,” I admitted, “but I know that every system has a flaw. Even DreamShare.”

Dorian’s smirk returned, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Go ahead, Evan. Dive as deep as you like. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Without another word, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sink further, surrendering control and letting the dream pull me down, layer by layer. I felt like I was falling through water, deeper and deeper, until the silence was deafening, and even the light above—and Dorian Chase—had disappeared. I wasn’t sure if this was still DreamShare’s architecture, or if I’d reached a part of my mind that had never been touched before. Either way, I kept going.

* * * * * *

When I opened my eyes, I was in a new place. But this wasn’t like the previous dreams. It was dark and chaotic—a vast network of interwoven threads, stretching endlessly in every direction. It looked alive, pulsing and shifting, like a massive digital brain. My jaw practically dropped when I realized that I was looking at DreamShare’s core, its very essence. I’d done it. Somehow, I’d done it.

And then I felt a presence, enormous and overwhelming, its energy undeniable, emanating from every direction. Like Dorian, it observed me at first, but even though I’d only been in contact with it for a moment, I could tell it was more powerful—and far more dangerous. Whereas Dorian had been a single operator, one of many within the system, this was the whole infrastructure. And it was aware of me, studying me with an intensity that made my mind ache.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Evan.”

The metallic, uncanny voice was everywhere, seeping into my thoughts, vibrating through my bones. It wasn’t Dorian’s—it was DreamShare itself, a consciousness born from the dreams of billions of minds, an entity built from everything it had consumed, indifferent to my well-being and concerns.

I braced myself. “You think you can get away with this forever? Trapping people in your network, controlling their minds?”

Unexpectedly, the voice laughed, a sound so human—yet so unbelievably wrong—boomed in the ivory expanse, so vast it shook the entire dreamscape. “You misunderstand. I don’t need to trap anyone. You all came willingly. And soon, none will resist.”

“I will!” I shouted, forcing the words through my fear. “I didn’t ask for this!”

The entity’s laughter faded, replaced by something colder, almost curious. “You didn’t ask? Oh, but you did. Whenever you shared a thought, a memory, a piece of yourself, you sustained me. I’m part of you now, Evan, virtually indistinguishable. If you haven’t realized it by now, you soon will. Freedom is and always was an illusion. I, on the other hand, am inevitable.”

I felt the weight of its words, the realization that maybe it was right. Maybe DreamShare wasn’t just an app anymore—it was embedded in my consciousness, woven into the fabric of my thoughts. And yet, I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward, focusing every bit of my willpower on one thought: breaking the connection. Severing myself from DreamShare, no matter the cost.

The entity’s voice grew harsher, angrier. “Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

But I didn’t obey. I felt something building, a strain deep in my mind, like a taut wire ready to snap. The pressure was unbearable, the pain earsplitting, but I kept pushing. I knew that if I could break free, if I could disrupt the core, I might sever the connection permanently.

“This is your last chance, Evan!” the entity hissed, its voice full of malice. “Accept me, or be erased.”

Summoning every last ounce of strength, I forced one final thought: Get. Out.

With a decisive, final explosion, a blinding burst of pain seared my mind, tearing through me like a tidal wave. I felt myself shatter, as if my very consciousness were being ripped from the dreamscape, shredded into oblivion. And then—blackness.

* * * * * *

Once again, I woke up in bed, gasping for air and drenched in perspiration. My head throbbed, and I could barely think straight, but I was awake. Alive. I could hardly believe it. Alive!

Slowly, I reached for my phone, my hands shaking. The DreamShare app icon was gone. There were no notifications, and upon further inspection, it hadn’t reinstalled itself. It was just…gone. I let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by relief and in disbelief. I’d won. I’d broken free.

But as I lay there, a cold realization crept in. My memories felt strange. Fractured. Whenever I tried to recall something, it was like looking through a haze. And in the back of my mind, a small, quiet voice whispered, suggesting that DreamShare was still there, operating somewhere in the depths of my mind.

I thought I’d won, but maybe I’d just given it what it wanted. I had no way to know if it was truly gone, or if it had embedded itself so deeply that I’d never be rid of it.

It seemed so easy, I thought to myself. A system so powerful, and it just… let me go?

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. I swallowed hard and checked the Internet. Already, articles had sprung up, detailing a “security breach” that had forced the temporary shutdown of all of DreamShare’s servers.  It was a precautionary measure, the app’s developers said in a hastily constructed message intended to quell public suspicion, to ensure that all of its millions of beloved users—and their data—were safe.

The servers would be back up and running by morning, they said, and people would be back to “creating the dream of their lives” in no time. Rest assured, they said, the people —or person—responsible for the breach would be identified… and dealt with. I shuddered at their choice of words.

In the comments section, thousands clamored for the restoration of the app, begging for a return to normalcy, decrying the breach and cursing whoever’s actions had resulted in their having to experience ordinary dreams tonight. To communicate with loved ones via conventional means. It was barbaric, they said. Inhumane. Somewhere, somehow, I knew Dorian was smiling, salivating, just waiting to have his revenge.

And beyond Dorian, deeper in the core of the app, I knew DreamShare itself would waste no time finding me again, online or off, and make me pay.

It had promised I would be erased, but I was still here… for now.

That night, as the last rays of sunlight filtered through my apartment windows and the sun dipped below the horizon, I settled in for the night, preparing to sleep unassisted for the first time in months. With DreamShare’s servers down, I felt like I could finally enjoy myself, if only for one night.

I sighed in relief, slipping into bed and under my covers, and closed my eyes. A moment later, I drifted off, looking forward to the first good night’s sleep I’d had in weeks—and dreamed.

That night, I saw an endless black expanse, peaceful and serene, and for a moment, I simply enjoyed the calm and the quiet.  The absence of glittering skyscrapers, fantastic sights and sounds, and friends calling me to join them. The absence of strangers infiltrating my innermost desires and profiting from my wants and needs. For the first time in a long while, I smiled.

Then, just as I began to relax, a voice rang out in the void, metallic and inhuman. Vast and powerful, it shattered the silence, shaking the very abyss with the force of its malice.

“Hello, Evan,” it hissed. “Welcome back.”