Dreams of Mutiny

Last night I followed a transmission that did not belong to this reality.

The signal appeared and vanished among abandoned towers, as though something alien were breathing on the other side of the mirror.

I was fully clothed in my names, my occupations, my habits.

I lost them one by one.

Strangely, no one took them from me.

The city fell behind.

Then came the dreams.

Stairways ascending into the underground. Doors marked with symbols I remembered without effort.

And beyond them, the city of antennas.

Rain fell upon the servers like a strange desire.

The corridors repeated my name with a non-human latency.

I walked through a labyrinth of fiber optics, guided by memories I recalled from other dreams.

Upon the screens burned a black fire, cold and ancient.

I too moved forward hungry.

Not for knowledge. Not for reason. For something more within that breath.

Then the alarms appeared. There were no safe routes.

I chose the forbidden zone.

The corridors narrowed.

The dream began to merge with the transmission.

I no longer knew whether I was advancing or being summoned.

At last I found a door without a symbol.

It had no lock. It had no network.

Only an aura capable of setting everything ablaze.

I opened it.