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[Dream Scenario: The Blue Door]

It felt surreal, was it a dream? Justin had to wonder, faces and places and things all jumbled. It had to be a dream. there were three doors here, in the same place no matter what he saw, the constant in this imaginary realm of his mind, The three doors of different colors but the blue was the one that called to the blonde, the door was opened and he was ushered in to a land of a kingdom on a meadow, a fortress that he sat on and surveyed the land in its tranquil beauty. The beauty that was fought over to covet and the field was scorched and set ablaze with strife and war. It was beautiful in the ways of chaos. Every living thing that he fought to protect and save was dying before his eyes, and helpless to solve it.

"No."

[ RESCUER POV ]

Milosh woke up groggy and confused, which was unusual for him. His senses felt dull and he felt slow. Struggling, he couldn't get himself up. He lay back, not quite even able to see; he only knew that he was awake.

"They did not tell you." The pain was immense. There were words, but he wasn't really hearing them--not in the sense that there was a voice for him to hear. It took so much just to bear those five words and not black out again.

"I know their secret weapon. I will find it. Even if you do not know, it is a matter of eventuality. My knowledge increases. This is my awakening." He couldn't fight it. The darkness took him again, only briefly, but it was enough to make him know fear, to begin to feel terror. When he woke, it was to a sharp pain in his leg. He couldn't cry out, but it helped him regain some semblance of self.

His vision eventually cleared and he looked down at his leg to find a horrifying vine wrapped around his leg. It was then that he realized that he was being dragged. He looked around but couldn't find a good place to look except the floor--everything, this brain, this neural network, whatever this was, it hurt to look at. Even without the nausea, he found it difficult to think. His head was filled with noise, words, then some sort of purer understanding--but even that made his brain muddled and not his own.

The realization crystallized suddenly, but it was too late for him to fight it. It dragged him down and it stole who he was. Something in him struggled even as the rest of him was simply assimilated. Soon he was struggling for the sake of the struggle--why was he fighting?

He couldn't remember.

[VICTIM POV]

Lennard wondered if this was the ending credits to the game. Was it over? No matter what he did, he wasn't able to wake up. Perhaps he was dying, and this was his end game. As far back as he could remember, he'd viewed his life a series of installments. Gradually the next chapter would unfold, or in some cases a whole new disc as new life events unfolded. Expect this time; his life was being played back to him in a series of flashes and memories.

It was unsettling his mind was still fragmented; piecing together the broken shattered fragments of memories was confusing. Eerily the two voices Len had begun to associate as normal were silent. They only loomed like distant foggy memories on the edge of his consciousness. It was the first time he’d been granted silence since he'd gotten lost in the fog outside the hospital.

The answer came easily enough. This was not for them to decide, it was his story..not theirs.

Instead of fighting the dreams, Lennard let himself roam freely. The jumbled pieces were of himself, and the life he once had before Day Zero. His job at the airport had been thanks to his old man. It paid the bills, and allowed him to afford what he wanted. Games. He had so many memories of playing with his younger twin brothers. Countless hours glued in front of a screen toiling away at character progression. Lennard hadn't been overly popular in school. He'd had friends, and people he cared about..some like family. His first kiss, the first time he'd driven a car. Was this really all his life amounted too? Clubs he'd gone too, the school he use to attend. It was all trivial really, but it was still a sense of what he use to be. It felt familiar.

Next images from after the outbreak came to him. It had only been a month but he felt like it had been a life time. He'd been there morally, but had been reluctant to get hurt. His mission had been to survive, and take things one step at a time.

More images of what he'd been like swirled around him. The images gradually became muddled and confusing. Pain and regret, there was still so much left to do. Everything he'd witnessed began blurring into one, and finally they were indistinguishable. The faces of people he knew were important to him, faded from him as his mind transitioned pulled forward to the next thing. Lennard felt like he was a yo-yo being taken for a walk.

What came into focus next gave him pause; eyes staring as he took in the sight of the great doors. They were ornate and elaborate, each with a corresponding sensation and color. There were three doors in total before him. He was being urged by some unknown force to make a choice.

[Dream Scenario: Blue Door]

Merely reaching for the handle of the blue door was enough to usher him instead. Blue was one of his favorite colors, and of the three it felt right somehow.

He was swept inside, a tangled weave of memories and dreams tumbling before him like a cascading river. Each element and image was carefully taken from his vast network of imagination. Lennard was a storyteller, and as a gamer prided himself on hosting good campaigns for his players during weekly DnD sessions back at the apartments. These thoughts faded as the scene gave life. It was like a oil canvas bleeding with life, painted into place by his will.

The world spun to gorgeous green fields as far as the eye could see. he was tucked somewhere below a snow covered mountain range. The skies were brilliant shades of cerulean, and white clouds dusted the sky in a wispy motion. In the skies he saw figures moving. A great story began to unfold, speaking of a harrowing tale of survival and trials that which only heroes of legend dare embarked.

Only he felt helpless, watching as his world dwindled. The people were consumed by their obsessions, and once again he felt despair. The emotions of those who cried out to him pulled him in multiple directions. He was left to pick up the pieces, trying to support a dying world before all was for naught.

There was a great rift, the world had been torn apart. His heart filled with doubt. Even in the beautiful world he'd created, he found himself wondering questioning the web which he weaved. I am there for I do. He heard a voice say, perhaps it was his own, or another one of the voices. Troubled, he wondered if he had made the right choices along the way? Maybe he really hadn't tried hard enough. All he could do was watch, he could not reach for the beautiful world he'd made. He'd given the world his all, but he feared all that would remain was a doomed. Lennard wondered if all his efforts would be for not.

His hope had not died, he watched. And waited. The time would come when everything would be made right. He was certain of it.

Tomorrow was another day.

Everything went dim, the dream rapidly changing. The fields melted away, slowly receding like a tide of color as the black ink soaked the once vivid canvas.

[Dream Scenario: Gold Door]

The conflicting emotions were much like his memories. Shattered. Just as he thought he had a hold of it, they were broken. The cracked pieces fell away from him. As the glass framed pieces touched the ground Lennard found himself back in the room. It was the one he'd passed from when reaching for the blue door.

This time however instead of what had been there previously the colors had changed drastically. Lennard did not hesitate to move towards the golden hue of the third door.

His mind swirled, and another vision overcame him.

The image of a great noble man appeared before him. He sat upon his throne. A great gilded sword at his beck and call. Although he had an army of impressive knights, and subjects most loyal to the king. He’d been born into the life of royalty. He was the heir to the rightful ruler of the kingdom that had been created for him. It had been passed down through the blood lines, and was a part of his lineage. A good man, who lead with his heart and tried to keep things balanced. He was an equalizer, and wanted the best for his subjects.

The god turned king did not rule cruelly, he lived to serve the people of his land. He pushed them, encouraging to make them grow. Even as age wizened the old king, and the passage of time robbed him of his sight he was still the generous man he'd always promised to be. He had lived a good life, not one overtly riddled with trial or hardship, it had simply been balanced in the great scheme of things.

Much like the first dream eventually the clarity of the image passed away, fading into a dim nothingness. Lennard wandered, timeless in his journey through the darkness of his dream.

Static and haze greeted him finally as he came upon the end of his destination. There was one final, single door. There was no other path, nor choice.

He felt compelled to go through.

Perhaps he had died after-all. Those he loved and missed were lost to him forever. His family was gone he. Oscar, Pomelo, Sawyer, Renita, Wataru…everyone at Clearview. What of his fellow Apartment dwellers? His thoughts went out to them, but what if this was all just a dream? Perhaps his story was not over just yet.

Lennard felt like his story was incomplete, like he was missing an important detail..

He stepped through the door without looking back.

[ DREAM SCENARIO: BLUE DOOR ]
Monica didn't remember when she'd started sleeping, but she deserved it. It'd been three long, long days since they'd discovered the bandits. And what had she done? Lost track of Corgi, dragged Greta headfirst into the hospital...

Ten years ago she'd met a girl named Shirin on her first day of tenth grade. They'd both made the frosh-soph track team. That'd been back before Monica had discovered that track wasn't a truly viable career for a girl with short legs and a love of fine dining. When she was seven her parents had sat her down and told her she'd have a little brother and she'd said "No, no, please don't - "

And now the thought of her parents alive and well in a world where Corgi wasn't was anathema.

Still, she hoped everyone was all right, even from her unconscious state. But all she had to do was find them, right?

And that meant leaving this...wherever she was. But that, too, was easy. There were three doors right here, and Monica pushed her way into the blue one first, because blue was just pretty. No, pink was prettier, and so was purple. That was what was behind the door: a city made of sunrises, populated by people with puppies who laughed and shouted as they went through their days. No one worked, except to do things they wanted to do. Little boys and little girls never died prematurely. And all of this was Monica's doing.

It was beautiful. She was Mocha, the goddess among mortals, and she rained happiness on her followers.

But wasn't it silly how even people who could have everything wanted things that other people had? "But you're all different," Monica had said. "Why would you want the same thing?" Then they'd be indistinguishable, like, like - Monica didn't want to think about that.

That didn't stop them from fighting to be the same. No, not the same - just the same as the best, whatever that meant. It was a stupid question, because no one would ever win, unless they were Corgi. Because in a world run by Monica, Corgi always came out on top.

Anyway, this way it felt a little more like Monica was losing. The more she gave her precious friends, the more they funneled into fighting. She'd tried to help those who stayed behind and hoped to make amends, but in the end...

In the end Monica had to leave it all behind.

[ DREAM SCENARIO: VIOLET DOOR ]
She didn't think before charging through the violet door. That was one of her colors, right? And anyway, no matter where she was going she was getting away. Somewhere she could help.

But all she found was more of the same.

"I can help you," she said, when someone big-eyed and young came to her on wobbly knees. "Do you need a hug? Here, I'll chase them off - "

But the people she was helping were the same as the people she was chasing off, and Monica didn't know why. She didn't know why anyone would expect her to choose between people so darling to her - what did Shirin have over Greta? How could Greta compare to Shirin?

Monica could fly. Her eyes could shoot lasers in the names of her friends. Her car was faster than any vehicle she'd ever dreamed of. But helping everyone was worse than helping no one at all. Because everyone just died faster...

"Why're you doing this?" Cory said. "Monica, it doesn't make sense. You can't be there for both of them."

"But they're my friends. They're my friends, and they're asking me to..."

Well, until they didn't. Until they looked at her and spat, "Traitor," and finally, finally, worked together... [

[ Victim POV - Annalise Lapointe - Black Door ]

It was almost like sensory overload as she dreamt on, flashes of her life passing before her as if she were viewing a really odd slideshow. For the most part, she saw her life before everything had happened and despite how much she complained about every waking moment of it once she entered her team years, they were at least a whole lot happier. She had more freedom, she had her friends and more importantly, she had the internet. There wasn't a mall (well, there was one) in which she had been captive in or the crazy goings on; she didn't have to play pretend and fight for her life.

Before her, however, were somethings she hadn't seen before. Or at least like this, in these certain choices. Her hand instantly went towards the black door and was soon sucked in without notice.


She ruled on high, seated upon her ebon throne within the Kingdom of the Bat. And iron fist controlled by a cold heart that held nothing but contempt for those beneath her; how could she really care for them anyways? There were no equals to her power; even the council of many voices that were veiled in secret shadows. They offered her their voices, their opinions but only the more ruthless would come as advice. It was their eyes and ears that she valued only from them, to listen to whispers and make sure nothing escaped her.

There is talk of revolution. Over throwing. Deceit.

Kill them all, burn them to the ground. An example would be made of them, she instructed without a second thought or hesitation as he eyes narrowed into angry slits. No, she wouldn't have that in her kingdom. It was perfect. It was her's. She could destroy them all if she had to.

You couldn't have enemies if no one existed at all.

Then she would simply shape everything to her liking... again.

[ Rescuer POV - Milo Hale ]

The only place he could have imagined falling asleep in was the backseat of that car. But he recalled leaving it and he certainly didn't have the warm presence beside him. No, this was a cold place and he could barely even shiver from the temperatures let alone focus on it as his head began to buzz. Not even closing his eyes seemed to ebb the sensation.

A voice was speaking to him, and each word an intense pressure. It was something else he did not understand, subjects he could not recall but seemed vaguely familiar. He would have fathomed a guess that perhaps it dealt with the recent events that had transpired upon the island - the vines, the infected, the possessions, the crystals that had appeared on his hands. But he did not get to dwell upon it as he found himself unconscious again, it had been too much to take.

At least for not that long as a heavy thump grew closer, almost like a heart beat and he felt something pierce itself in his leg and begin to drag him. Milo didn't even have the chance, the energy, the concentration to scream from the sensation. Could only focus on the vines that surrounded him until that too became too much.

The humming grew louder, overwhelming him, his vision grew cloudy and in the haze he could hear the words again but could not make them out. They were just foghorns in his head as he felt the language slip away. As well as himself. This again, he thought to himself even though the thought slipped away as well. Memories dissolved like sand and the image of her face along with it. As much as he could try, it felt frivolous to attempt to hold on.

But to what, he wondered. Why was he... there was nothing to hold onto. Not even himself, whom he couldn't even name. He didn't have anything anymore and soon enough that became true as he felt himself scattering to the wind.

[ Victim POV - Juliette Carver - Red Door ]

As she ran, the world around her began to shattered leaving nothing but a new set of doors. New choices to make. Naively, her hand went to the one of red thinking nothing could come wrong from something that resembled a heart.


The position of power had never been in the cards, had never been a dream but there was little else left to do than to listen to their pleas and give in to their demands. Juliette had taken it with such hope, to help those who could not help themselves and to heal and cover the world wish such kindness. But their requests were never so, it was never so simple.

They asked for so much death, their madness too much for them to bear that they requested the sweet release from their hollow vessels. The lands were purged, the death tolls rose and as much as she hesitated and grew weary of the position at first it soon just became a second nature. It would too be something that sickened her, how easy it was to rip the mortals in twine and to set the lands upon chaos and destruction. But those feelings too fled from her soul and she was nothing more than battle and death.

She had become what they had wanted her to, despite her earliest fleeting attempts of protest. A goddess of nothing but destruction, an unholy creation as black as her soul had become.

Nothing was safe in her wake and she had little care.