Fluorescent lights hum slowly above, painting the ceiling in a pale, endless white.
A slow beeping sound echoed throughout the room, steady and mechanical.
Beside the monitors, laying upon a hospital bed, a boy with long, messy black hair, and no older than a teenager slept peacefully. Blood gashes bleached upon his face, neck and arms, no doubt leaving future scars.
The rest of his skin was pale, almost ghostly under the sterile light.
His fingers twitched first. Just a faint, almost invisible movement beneath the sheets. Then, a soft groan escaped his lips as his brow furrowed, the calm mask of sleep beginning to crack. The heart monitor beside him skipped a beat before settling again into its steady rhythm.
His eyelids fluttered open, revealing dull gray eyes that blinked against the brightness above.
For a few moments, he didn't move. He just stared at the white ceiling, releasing deep and uncontrolled breaths.
His body ached and burned. It didn't take him long to flinch, his whole body tensing instinctively as he tried to push himself upright. A sharp, searing pain tore through his side, stealing the air from his lungs. He froze, every muscle trembling, eyes wide as the ache deepened into a pulsing throb that spread through his ribs and arms. His hand shot to his chest, gripping the blanket as if it could steady the storm of pain inside him.
"Fuck." He muttered
"Oh my god!" The girl sitting in the seat next to his bed screamed. "Ryven! Your awake!"
She reached out, pulling Ryven in like a child seeing her favorite giant teddy bear.
"Aghh." Ryven grunted.
"Let me go!" He screamed, using all the strength that he could muster to get out of her grasp, falling back onto the pillow below him.
"Dad, Ryven's awake!" She screamed.
A shuffle of footsteps could be heard as a woman in blue scrubs bursts through the door.
Behind her, Ryven's father peeked through the doorway, his face pale and drawn from restlessness. His coat was still half on, covered in patches of blood, his hair unkept, black eye bags running deep beneath his eyes, tears falling like rain.
Behind him, a man puts a hand on his shoulder, ushering him back.
Confused, Ryven looked toward Sylven, who met his gaze with solemn eyes.
"What's going on?" Ryven asked.
Sylven opened her mouth, yet before she could get a word out, a man in an expensive black suit, seemingly in his 30's, walks in carrying a suitcase.
"Is he able to talk?" He asks the nurse.
She nods, adjusting the tubing attached to my chest and body.
"Perfect." He responds, turning towards Sylven.
"I need everyone else to leave."
"But he just woke up. I haven't even spoken to him yet, and he needs some rest!" She pleaded, looking up at the intimidating man. "Listen to the man honey." Ryven's father commanded from the doorway, staring at Ryven lying in bed.
Sylven looks back at Ryven, then the man, then father before releasing a small sigh. Her eyes land upon Ryven for another few moments before exiting the room, the nurse following her out, and the man closing the door behind them.
He turns towards Ryven, planting his suitcase at the foot of the bed. "Good morning." He stated calmly. "I'm sorry to take you away from your family, especially in a time when you should be grieving, but this is all just a precaution."
'Grieving?' Ryven wondered. 'Why would they be grieving, shouldn't they be celebrating? I literally survived.'
"Who are you?" Ryven asked.
"My name is Michael," the main said, his tone even and practiced. "Im an agent for the DMA, the dreamer management agency."
He reaches inside his suit, pulling out a polished golden badge embossed with a bear, the mascot of the city. The metal glinted under the harsh hospital light as he held it up briefly before tucking it away again.
As Michael spoke, Ryven couldn't help but think back to just a little while ago to when he was unconscious.
The gears in Ryven's head started to turn as he realized what this all meant. The only reason that Michael would have to meet with him, was if the agency had suspected that he became a dreamer.
But did he?
The question rang throughout his head as Michael continued.
"So… as I'm sure you know, last night was New Year's Eve, meaning that the blood moon has made its reappearance." He sighs. "As you no doubt know, some people who fall asleep during this time are dragged into the 'Lunar Plane,' forced to fight against a bloodthirsty creature or monster in some sort of trial like environment."
He stops for a moment, just staring at him.
"Your condition however, seemed to be just a little different. For you did not just fall asleep. No, instead, you were knocked out." He adjusts his tie.
"Now you can probably guess as to why I am here. It is my job in this hospital to determine whether or not you have actually become a dreamer."
*Click*
Michael opens his briefcase, grabbing a pile of files, and what looks like an audio recorder.
"In this next part of our conversation, I will ask you questions, and you will respond appropriately. All of your answers shall be recorded, and anything you say can and probably will be used to determine your future."
Ryven stares at him for a bit, trying to take it all in.
The man moves from the footbed, to the chair at the bedside. He presses a button upon the audio recorder before taking a seat.
*Click*
Michael takes out a pen, licking his finger before flipping a page from his files.
"Full Name, age, date of birth, and address."
"Ryven Kross, 16 years old, July 28 2038, twenty two twenty two, Applehill Avenu."
"Good." Michael responded.
"Now let us begin."