The Dream Remote — Part 2

 Have you read part one of The Dream Remote

Into the Forest

Jason hurried toward the forest as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He was glad he had drunk from the stream, because it had restored his vitality and given him the speed he needed to outpace the beast — but it was a close call. Just before he crossed the tree line, the claw of the beast grazed him across the back. It didn't draw blood, but it left a red line that would have been far worse had he delayed even a second longer.

He stopped not far from the edge of the forest, resting against a tree as he looked back at the beast. He swallowed hard. The creature had the face of a man and the body of a lion, with claws as long as his arm. He pressed his back against the bark and slid down with a groan.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked no one in particular. "Give me a gun or a knife and a target, and I will get the job done — not this supernatural madness."

Face the Fog

A message appeared in front of him. This time, as he read it, he couldn't help wondering what would happen if he died inside a remote:

FACE THE FOG, AND IF YOU SURVIVE, YOU WILL BE IN A POSITION TO SAVE THE CAPTIVE AND GET THE ANSWERS YOU NEED.

"Oh no — not again," he groaned. "How can I face a fog? What madness is this? How do you even fight the wind?"

He watched as the trees began to be swallowed by a thick white fog rolling in from all sides. He stood up, knowing the only way was forward — but what dangers lay within, and how to overcome them, he had no idea. He was a survivor, yes, but not at this level. Not on this scale.

He watched as the fog rose to knee height. Had he been smart, he would have used that moment to run. But he had no idea how things worked in the world of the Dream Remote, so he waited. And when the fog had blanketed everything around him, he saw it — his own face, staring back at him.

He took a step back. The face simply smiled — a slow, nasty grin — and raised a hand gripping a dagger. It moved with just a breath, a soft whistle cutting through the silence, and before Jason could cry out in surprise, the hand drove the dagger toward him. Only his training saved him. Pure reflex twisted his hips at the last second, and the blade scored nothing more than a furrow across his chest.

The Sixth Sense

He stumbled back, touching his chest. His hand came away wet with blood. He hissed through the pain, and before he could gather himself, he sensed a blow coming from directly behind him.

His training had sharpened him into something beyond ordinary — his sixth sense had been running on overdrive from the moment he entered this world, and right now, it was the only thing keeping him alive.

The Living Forest

He ducked and dove forward into a roll, and as he came up he saw a large ball of mist — dense and studded with sharp spikes jutting out in every direction — blow past the exact spot where he had been standing a second before. He didn't stop moving. The moment he was on his feet, he ran.

As he moved, he spotted the arrow again, flickering in a northeastern direction — red against a sea of white mist. He followed it. Then another message appeared in front of him:

AT THE NEXT TURN, CATCH THE SPEAR, AND USE IT AS YOUR DEFENSE.

He ran as hard as he could, but the forest had come alive and everything in it was against him. The undergrowth reached up to bring him down. The branches overhead swooped low to snag him. Insects swarmed and stung him relentlessly, and with time he watched his skin turning red and raw, covered in blisters from their bites.

The Chasm

Before he reached the turn, he came to an abrupt stop. Right in front of him was a chasm — about fifteen feet wide and more than a hundred feet deep. He crept to the edge and looked down. Snakes were massing at the bottom, already making their way upward. When he looked behind him, the forest was eating itself — collapsing inward — and he knew that if he didn't cross that chasm right then, he would be dead.

He took a step back, held his breath, and counted to twenty. Then he exhaled and ran.

When he reached the edge, he leapt. He was surprised by how light he felt, how easily he cleared the gap. He looked down mid-air and understood — the mist had lifted him. It wasn't his own jump that carried him across.

He heard the wind whistle and looked up. A spear was hurtling straight toward him, aimed directly at his heart. With catlike agility, he twisted in mid-air, snatched the spear by its middle, and flicked his palm to redirect it. When he landed, a black cobra — no less than twenty-five feet long — flew at him with fangs bared. Jason didn't blink. He drove the spear forward, angling the tip upward like a vaulting pole, and the point drove clean through the snake's open mouth. He held the rear end firm as his feet found solid ground.

Never Give Up Until You're Dead

He pushed forward without stopping. A flock of birds came at him next — sharp beaks that looked to be carved from obsidian catching the dim light as they swarmed. He raised the spear and spun it like a fan, and every bird it touched fell dead.

He was getting tired. His body was burning and his legs were beginning to fail him, but his motto had always been the same: never give up until you're dead. As he ran, he found himself wondering whether any of this was truly about loyalty to his country, or whether he was simply solving one man's personal problem. He made a silent vow — if he ever made it back, he was retiring. But first, survival was all that mattered.

The House of Bones

The end of the forest came into view, and he pushed toward it with everything he had left.

When he broke through the tree line, he found a structure waiting for him — a house, or perhaps a hut, he couldn't quite tell. It was built entirely from the bones of animals of every kind. He looked back, and the forest was gone. In its place stretched a desert, with rain falling from heavy clouds above — but the rain never reached the ground. The heat rising from the soil evaporated every drop before it could land.

"This is one hell of a world," he thought, as he approached the structure cautiously. "What kind of madman could build something like this?"

He walked on. When he reached the door, it swung open on its own. He closed his eyes, said a quiet mental prayer, and stepped inside.

You Shouldn't Have Come

There, in the middle of the room, seated at a glass table with her hands and feet bound, was the president's daughter. He hurried toward her, and the first words out of her mouth chilled him.

"You shouldn't have come. You lost part of yourself just by being here."

"Don't worry — you're safe now. Let me take you back," he said.

"I have always been safe," she replied, her eyes steady and calm. "The question is — are you safe?"

He tried to smile, but her words hit him harder than anything the forest had thrown at him. He looked around the room but saw nothing threatening, so he said, "Sure. I'm safe too."

"But I disagree," said a voice from the darkness.

The Voice in the Dark

"Who are you? Show yourself now," Jason growled.

"Now that is interesting — getting commands in my own house," the voice said, laughing.

"You will pay for what you put me through. You will pay for the kidnapping of the president's daughter," Jason said, clenching his fists so tight they turned white.

The voice just laughed. "Tututututu. Still arrogant and stupid. How will you make me pay when I make the rules here? How will you make me pay when your only way home is through me? How dare you say I will pay!"

With that, Jason received a backhand that sent him flying across the room and crashing into the wall. He saw stars and wondered if it was really made of bone, because the impact was that painful. He staggered to his feet with the spear at the ready — but he saw no one. He looked at the president's daughter, who simply sighed and shook her head, then mouthed two words that made his blood boil.

Stupid.

The Shrinking Distance

"Are you calling me stupid?" he groaned, planting his feet and moving toward her. But the closer he walked, the further away she seemed to get. No matter how fast he moved or how hard he ran, the distance between them refused to close. She remained just ahead of him, impossibly out of reach.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growled, looking around in all directions.

"You really are stupid," she said calmly.

The voice came again — this time from directly behind him. He froze for just a fraction of a second, then with a swift, fluid motion, he drove the spear hard into the space where the voice had come from. He felt a solid thud of impact and turned with a nasty grin, only to find the spear buried in the wall.

"This is not a physical fight," she said, watching him without expression. "It is a supernatural one."

The Cry of the Dead

"Then why am I here?" he asked the darkness.

"Because you have caused so much pain," the voice answered. "The cry of the dead demands justice."

"Justice?" Jason said. "I am the one who delivers justice."

"And what gives you the right to decide what justice looks like?" the voice asked.

"The law," he growled. "No one is above the law."

"So you killed whoever they told you to kill?"

"Without question," he said.

"And what if they were innocent?"

"No one who is sanctioned is innocent."

"That," the voice said quietly, "is exactly why you are a fool."

"Show yourself and say that to my face."

Face to Face With Himself

"Here I am," said the voice.

Jason turned.

Standing before him, arms folded and eyes blazing red, was himself.

Quick question below:

Jason is now standing face to face with himself — red eyes, arms folded, and no mercy. What do you think his reflection is going to demand from him? Comment below and be the first to read Part 3."

Comment with your answer, and be the first to read part 3