Fic: The Science of Sleep - Part One

[chimneythunder]

It’s somewhat fitting that the day Frank Iero’s life is completely and utterly turned upside down begins as your average day from Hell.

To start with, he oversleeps. He’s normally pretty punctual at getting himself up and off to work but the night before he happened to fall asleep on the sofa after getting completely absorbed in this new trashy Sci-Fi novel until about 3am. He’s woken up with a massive crick in his neck and his boss yelling at him down the phone, demanding to know where the hell he is.

Of course, today also happens to be the day that some idiot’s caused a massive pile-up that blocks up the entire road and forces Frank to have to take an alternate route via a nice detour of the backstreets of the city. By the time his car rolls up to the office car park, he’s now not only incredibly fucking late but also completely nicotine and caffeine deprived, having accidentally left his pack of cigarettes at home. He flashes his ID pass to the security guard in the booth at the barrier - thank Christ he remembered his pass - but for some reason, the guard doesn’t raise the barrier for him.

“Car park’s full,” he says bluntly.

Frank stares at him, momentarily not understanding.

“Car park’s full,” the guard repeats. “You’ll have to park on the road.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Are you sure there’s not even one space available?!”

“Car park’s full,” the guard says again, and Frank swears to God, if the guy says that one more time he won’t be held accountable for ramming the asshole and his stupid little booth.

“I can’t park on the road!!” Frank says desperately. “They’ve got clampers!!”

“Try the Mall car park then.” The guard shrugs but he’s clearly enjoying screwing with someone who’s already not having the best day. “It’s about five minutes down the road.”

Frank stares ahead past the barrier at the office car park, full of shining cars. His mind can’t seem to form any decent plan to get him in there, other than simply flooring it and charging the barrier.

“Car park’s full,” the guard repeats and Frank is definitely sure he saw the fucker smirking that time.

Without another word, Frank shifts into reverse and backs away from the barrier, burning down the road in the direction of the Mall.

‘Five minutes down the road’ turns out to be a complete and utter lie and despite Frank’s best efforts to sneak past his boss’s office unnoticed, he’s still hauled in for a ten minute chat about the importance of punctuality which ends on “don’t let it happen again, and by the way, your shirt’s on inside out.” This then turns into the “we count ourselves as an open-minded company and we’re really fine with you having visible tattoos, provided you don’t turn up with a swastika on your forehead, but could you please make some attempts at presentation” speech, which Frank is pretty sure his boss likes to practice in the mirror at home specially for Frank.

The work day doesn’t get any better from there. Frank works in tech support for a corporation that could afford to update their systems to something other than Windows Vista, but frustratingly instead chooses to spend their budget on revamping the company as something ‘hip and modern’ every three months. The computer system crashes about five times, he has to deal with a phone call from a moron who deleted the work he sent them six months ago and to top it off, the coffee machine is broken.

The only upside to this day is that his fellow tech-support office monkey Bob has a spare pack of cigarettes, which he kindly donates and which Frank burns through in about the space of half an hour.

“You’re not having the best day, are you?” Bob remarks on their break. Frank doesn’t dignify that with an answer; instead, he scowls and takes another deep drag.

By the time the day ends, Frank is unwashed, exhausted and caffeine deprived. He’s supposed to stay later to make up the time but fuck that, his boss has already left and no one else is around to see how late he stays for. Instead, he waits five minutes after everyone’s gone and then packs up his stuff.

The office car park is considerably emptier now, mocking him as he walks across it. He doesn’t even want to think about how much parking in the Mall’s car park is going to cost him. As he walks down the road and past the shops, he goes past a Starbucks; the doors are wide open and he can smell the hint of warm coffee on the air, almost as if it’s welcoming him in.

He pauses. He hasn’t had a coffee at all today and his head is starting to hurt slightly from the withdrawal. And, yes, he’s had enough of this day... but he can’t quite bring himself to go home just yet.

He goes in, purchases the largest latte he can lay his hands on and locates himself on one of the two sofas in the furthest corner of the coffee house. One sofa is already occupied by someone drawing in a sketchbook... ahh great.

A douchey Starbucks artist.

Frank thinks it might be a girl at first from the long black hair falling over their face but then she glances up at Frank as he sits down and Frank realises she’s actually a very femininely pretty guy. The guy blinks and offers a half-smile at Frank and then is immediately reabsorbed in his sketchbook, because whatever he’s drawing is clearly so fascinating and arty and deep, you know, that the rest of the world has to see him work, displaying his soul in the corner of Starbucks.

Frank resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he takes a huge mouthful of coffee, letting the delicious, warm flavour rush over his tongue, immediately feeling his body relax. He closes his eyes. Bliss.

He’s glad that despite his mad morning rush, he had the sense to shove new Sci-Fi book into his bag. Settling down deeper into the sofa, Frank takes another mouthful of glorious coffee and opens his book.

‘.... and then, I realised was I was staring at. It must be... no... it couldn’t be!! But it was!! The leader himself! He stood majestically before me, wearing a long purple cape, his pale skin glowing in the light...’

An image, unbidden, flashes through Frank’s mind - a tall, bald man. He’s incredibly pale and the only colour on him is the red that lines his eyes; he looks ill and wearing grey from head to toe only further emphasises that.

He looks over to Frank and Frank suddenly realises he can see him. This guy can see him and there’s a strange smile on his face, one that seems both friendly and terrifying as fuck at the same time, and Frank finds himself desperately resisting every urge to run away screaming. The guy’s thin lips are moving and in a deep voice – much deeper and stronger than Frank expected –

“Iero? Did it work?”

“What?!” Frank asks.

“Apparently not. Hmm. Try again.”

Frank’s eyes snap open – wait, when did he close them? He looks around. He’s back in Starbucks.

Back in Starbucks? He mentally corrects himself. Still in Starbucks... he never left.

His coffee is still on the small table before him, his book resting face down on his lap and Douchey Art-Boy is still next to him, thoroughly engrossed in his sketchbook. Slightly disorientated and on auto-pilot, Frank reaches forwards and grabs his coffee – his delicious, hot coffee –

“BLEUGH!!”

He chokes, nearly spitting it down himself (Douchey Art-Boy looks up in alarm).

His coffee is stone cold.

He looks around, confused. Did he grab someone else’s old remains by mistake? No, there’s only one mug on the table and that’s his. Did someone change his mug? He looks at his watch –

“What?!” he asks.

“You’ve been out for about two hours,” Douchey Art-Boy says cheerfully, shooting Frank a wide smile that reveals a row of even but oddly small teeth. “Would’ve woken ya, but... you know. You seemed so peaceful.”

Frank can’t even summon a response. He needs to get home, he can’t believe he fell asleep in public like that... He shoves his book back into his bag and stumbles his way out of Starbucks without a second glance back.


~*~*~

As he drives home, Frank can’t help but ponder the weird little dream he had. Frank’s normally not one for dreaming; generally, he doesn’t remember his dreams when he wakes up, so he’s enjoying having one to analyse to entertain himself on the drive home.

Ominous, scary, bald guy... Frank’s sure if he googles it, there’ll be some psycho-analytical explanation for what it means (like he’s lonely or worried about money or something like that) but he doesn’t want to do that. That’d be too easy and it’d suck the fun right out of the whole thing.

He tries to think if he’s seen the guy before, or even anyone vaguely like him but draws a blank. He remembers reading somewhere that dreams are just your brain processing what you’ve seen during the day, but Frank’s not sure if he even knows anyone scary and possibly sick. It could have been the alien leader from his book except Frank already had an image in his head of what that dude looked like and it certainly wasn’t the guy from his dream.

He pulls up to a red light, thinking some more. He can’t shake the image from his head. He feels like he’s seen the guy before, like it’s someone significant. Does he even know the guy’s name?

“Course,” he says out loud, without meaning to.

Woah, what the fuck? Why’s he answering himself?! And does he even know this guy’s name? Of course he does. He just... doesn’t.

Frank’s incredibly confused and excited at the same time, and probably enjoying this far too much to be considered normal – it’s like his subconscious has set his conscious a riddle that he knows he can solve. He’ll just have to be incredibly creative about it.

A loud honking behind him brings him out of his thoughts. He jumps and floors it away from the lights.

He can’t help it. He knows he’s being silly and looking far too much into an admittedly pitiful dream but he doesn’t care. There’s a weird element of fun to this. After years of slaving away in tech support at a computer, he thought his creativity and imagination had completely dried up. He’s almost looking forward to going to bed because he can’t wait to see what images his brain is going to conjure up next. Maybe it’ll be more to do with the creepy pale guy.

Yeah, that makes sense, he thinks. Of course it is. Course.

Wait, what the fuck does that mean?


~*~*~


Frank can’t believe it. It’s 2:06 in the morning.... and he’s wide awake.

He’s done everything possible. He hasn’t had a drop of coffee since he left Starbucks, he had a nice long soak in the shower (using up his entire apartment block’s hot water in the process), he put on his comfiest pyjamas, got in bed with his rubbish Sci-Fi book and...

Nothing.

He tries lying back, closing his eyes, thinking lovely calming, peaceful thoughts, like sheep and Halloween pumpkins and sheep made of Halloween pumpkins... nope. He tries playing his guitar for a bit... nope. He even jerks off and tries to knock himself out in a post-orgasmic coma...

It doesn’t work and now he needs a shower.

Except there’s probably still no hot water so it’d be a freezing cold one that’d probably make him even more alert and awake than he is now, if such a thing was possible. He hasn’t felt this hyper since he was a teenager.

The bed is too lumpy, he decides, swinging his legs over the edge of it. He wanders around his tiny apartment floor space a few times, willing himself to be sleepy.

“Sleep,” he chants in a low moan. “Sleeeep.... sleeeeeeeep.... sleeeeeeep.... Goddammit Frank, fall a-fucking-sleep!!”

It’s not working and the fact that he can’t sleep is working him up more, pushing away his chances of falling asleep in the next hour even further. He flops down onto the sofa and picks up his book off the table, but he’s too frustrated to read. He’s too frustrated with everything, with his stupid brain for never letting him dream up till now, his stupid body for not letting him sleep to enjoy these new dreams, his stupid job for making him have to be awake in five hours anyway, his stupid boring life where nothing interesting ever happens...

“Iero? Iero?! Iero!!”

Frank’s head jolts forward, his eyes snap open.

... Oh.

The bald scary guy is back, standing over him. Frank jumps, shrinks back a bit into his sofa in surprise – except he’s not on his sofa anymore. Or even in his apartment. Or his pyjamas.

“Well?” the bald guy asks expectantly, not giving him time to digest this. Frank blinks a few times, trying to make sense. Fuck, this is like one of those high school dreams where you’re asked a question in class and you don’t know any of the answers. Frank struggles to sit up but then realises he’s actually tied down to the surface he’s on.

“Well what?” Frank asks, stalling for time and squinting. This room is so bright, though that could be something to do with the large light above his head that’s shining directly into his eyes. He tries to see past the light but can only make out plain grey walls of a moderately sized room. There’s a strange kind of whirring noise behind his head, just out sight, like the sound a computer makes when it overheats.

The guy stares at Frank, completely emotionless.

“How do you feel?” he asks, as if it’s obvious.

“Oh! Right...”

‘Fucking weird’? Can he say that? Can he be honest and say he’s a little bit freaked out, considering one second he was in his tiny crappy dark apartment and the next, he’s strapped to what feels like a dentist’s chair with what looks like Richard O’Brian’s creepier cousin about three inches from his face?

“A bit odd,” Frank settles for. It’s a dream, right? So the best course of action would be to just go with it. “My head feels a bit woozy.”

The guy nods. “Expected,” he says. “That’s from the sedative.”

Sedative? What kind of fucked-up dream is this?!

As the guy moves, something on his chest catches the light. Through the glare of the lights above him, Frank can see it’s an ID tag. He squints, trying to see the name on it...

“Other than the physical sensations though, how do you feel?”

“Fine,” Frank answers, without trying to make it too obvious what he’s doing.

The guy says nothing, but raises an eyebrow.

Shit. Wrong answer?

“Yeah... you know. Not elatedly happy, not suicidally sad. Just... fine.”

There’s some large writing at the top of the guy’s badge that says ’BL/Ind’ next to a smiley face and a picture of the guy. Is this guy blind?! Does he have to wear a badge that warns people of this?

And then, Frank sees the name written underneath – Korse.

Ah. Korse. Of course. Frank winces; only his brain would come up with a pun as lame as that.

Meanwhile, Korse is frowning.

“Well... that’s disappointing.”

He doesn’t say it but the implication that Frank’s failed him in some way is blatant. Korse sighs heavily, then shrugs, reaching over and untying the thick, black plastic straps that bind Frank to the chair. All the time he’s doing this, he doesn’t say anything and the silence makes Frank feel uneasy to the point of his skin itching.

Up close, the red around Korse’s eyes is especially noticeable. His white skin seems to radiate coldness. Everything is so wrong, so weird that Frank knows he’s dreaming.... but are dreams supposed to be this coherent? Shouldn’t there be an elephant dancing in the corner or something?

Then again, Frank doesn’t exactly have much to go on regarding what a “normal” dream is supposed to be like. For all he knows, Bob could have the exact same dream about being tied to a chair by a bald white guy too (although Frank hopes not because that’s just disturbing on all kinds of levels).

When the last restraint is free, Frank sits up—

Hang on, why the fuck was he strapped down to begin with?!

He freezes, mid-rise, as this disturbing thought occurs to him. Has he just joined in on the aftermath of a sex dream?!

“Iero.”

Korse says his name, but it’s not a question or a concern. There’s authority in Korse’s voice and in everything he says to Frank, like ‘If there’s something you’re not telling me, you’d better tell me now, asshole, or I’m going to do horrible things to you.’

Although, thinking about it, Frank doubts Korse would use the word ‘asshole.’ He doesn’t seem the type.

Frank gives his head a small shake and pretends to be interested in brushing down his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles from where they were crushed. He briefly wonders why he’s wearing a grey suit – and are those leather gloves he’s got on?! 20 years of being vegetarian scream out in protest - but then his attention is immediately seized by the realisation that he’s got an ID badge clipped to the front of his shirt too. It’s identical to the one Korse has one, right down to how it has BL/Ind stamped across the top (except it’s got Frank’s name and picture on it, obviously).

Huh. So... him and this Korse guy are... work buddies?

Probably not. Frank would never be “buddies” with anyone this creepy, dream or not. Korse doesn’t seem to be the social butterfly type either.

He looks at his ID again. So BL/Ind is apparently the company name. That makes sense... or it probably would if Frank could figure out what the hell it stood for. He looks up from his ID tag but Korse isn’t even looking at him anymore; he’s staring off into space, completely distracted.

Frank clears his throat nervously. Very slowly, and very controlled, Korse turns his head to look at him. The moment is unnaturally smooth and perfect, almost robotic.

“So... uh... what should I do?” Frank stammers.

He wants to run. He wants to be as far away from this creepy-ass fucker, this creepy-ass room and... well, maybe even this creepy-ass dream.

“Oh... You might as well go back. Take lunch.”

Korse clearly doesn’t care but he’s gesturing to the door, and that’s all the prompting Frank needs. He slides off the chair and he’s even halfway out the glass door that slides open as he approaches it when he makes the mistake of looking back. Korse is still staring blankly at the space Frank’s just left, lost in his own thoughts. The shadows throw the contours of his face into sharp relief, highlighting just how... emaciated he looks, there’s no other word for it.

Frank’s not really bothered about the shadows or how sick Korse looks – he couldn’t give a flying fuck about what could possibly be wrong with the man – as he’s a tiny bit more distracted by the fuck-off-scary giant machine he didn’t see before, located behind the chair he was strapped to. Computers line the walls that surround it, screens flashing with lines of text, and what looks like maps and buttons and scroll wheels on every surface that isn’t a screen. As for the machine, like the walls, it’s white; a more brilliant white, the kind of white that just screams how high-tech this piece of equipment is. It looks like a giant MRI machine, with a round tunnel in the middle of it, large enough for one person to fit in –

Fucking hell, was Frank supposed to go in that?!

Aside from the computers, there’s only one more thing on the walls in this room – a logo and a motto, painted ominously above the MRI-thing machine.


KEEP SMILING.
BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES – THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY.


Forget dreams. Frank’s officially in a nightmare.


~*~*~


The door out the weird MRI-room leads to... a long corridor. Slightly anti-climatic there, but Frank’s willing to take anything over being back in there. The door behind him smoothly slides shut, revealing the big bold letters on it that proudly display “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ Unit –Testing Room 6.” Naturally, this makes absolutely no sense to Frank and he’s seriously starting to wonder what dark, hidden parts of his brain he’s conjuring all this from.

He looks down the deserted corridor both ways but there are no clues or helpful signs saying ‘Exit, this way!’ or ‘Go HERE, Frankie!’

Delicately, he reaches out and brushes his fingers across the surface of the opposite wall - solid, a bit rough and lumpy, not freezing cold, not warm either. It feels exactly like a wall should, which is a bit...

Surprising? Shouldn’t the walls be at least slightly moving in a dream? Or talking?

Disappointing? Frank was hoping the talking walls would have told him where he was supposed to go next.

Strange? Are dreams supposed to be this real? The walls are painted white and the carpet is grey, but the colour’s muted, like you’d find in any normal boring office building. It’s not the brilliant, blinding colours like in a science-fiction movie... if anything, it’s more like the corridors at his office in reality.

Confusing? Yes. Confusing. Frank likes confusing. Although there might be some irritation mixed in there too, because seriously, what kind of useless dream is this if it doesn’t even give him some pointer as to where he’s supposed to –

“Ray?!”

The name slips out from Frank’s mouth before he can stop himself and the guy who’s just happened to be passing across one end of the corridor stops dead in his tracks.

“Ray Toro??” Frank asks in disbelief, walking towards the guy. The guy turns to look at him and OK, now Frank knows he’s dreaming.

Frank went to High School with Ray Toro back in Jersey. Their families already knew each other and him and Ray would often bump into each other at community gatherings and barbeques. He hasn’t seen Ray for years though, let along thought about him (or had him pop up in some weird-ass dream before)... and yet, here he is.

He looks pretty much exactly the same, although Frank’s subconscious has clearly decided to carry on with the whole ‘freakishly real realism’ thing and aged the guy up accordingly, adding faint lines around his face and shedding the teenage puppy fat. His hair, which Frank remembers as always being an out-of-control afro of curls is tied back in a short pony tail, but the loose frizz escaping shows it’s still the same. Like Frank, Ray’s wearing a dull-grey suit with an ID badge on his chest catching the light.

“Ray, man, what the fuck are you doing here??” Frank asks cheerfully as he approaches. He’s so happy to see a familiar face, fuck, even just another person that he doesn’t notice the look of utter panic on Ray’s face until he’s standing about a foot away from him.

“Frank?” Ray asks quietly. He licks his lips and his eyes are darting up and down the corridor, going from Frank to the only other door in the corridor.

“The one and only,” Frank says with a grin. “Are you ok? You seem a bit spooked!”

Frank wonders if this is going to be one of those dreams where everyone is acting strange around you, and then you look down and realise you’re actually naked and have a monster instead of a penis.

“There was a rumour – I mean, I’d heard that you were – that Scarecrow were possibly testing some new weapon today,” Ray mumbles. “I wanted to see if... if I could be of any use.”

Frank wants to clap his hands together in glee; Ray’s even still got all the same mannerisms down!! This is exactly how he’d act whenever they got caught by a teacher at school for doing something they shouldn’t have, like smoking behind the science lab or skipping class by hiding underneath the bleachers! This is so awesome!

And man, he suddenly misses Ray Toro. Ray was a good friend at school, he was a bit quiet but he was funny and the guy seriously knew how to play guitar. They used to jam together after school in their bedrooms, talking about forming a band and changing the world but then college happened and their lives went off in different directions, although Frank’s pretty sure his mom still keeps in touch with Ray’s mom via the occasional phone calls and coffee mornings.

Maybe he should get back in touch when he wakes up... Hey, maybe that’s what this dream is about?

“Frank?” Ray asks, looking at him nervously. “Are you going to report me?”

Ah right, yes. Answer when people talk to you.

“Nah,” Frank snorts, waving his hand. “Hey, you were just trying to help!”

Ray blinks. There’s a very weird, awkward vibe in the air that Frank can’t quite put his finger on.

“Oh. Right. OK, well, I’ll just be off then.”

Ray’s already about halfway down the corridor before he’s finished speaking.

“Hey wait!” Frank calls.

Ray freezes.

Frank’s not an idiot. He knows when someone’s trying to avoid him, but maybe Ray can help him here? Maybe Ray’s meant to be the tech support of this dream?

“Are you doing anything? Like, now?” Frank asks. “I’m on lunch – you wanna go grab a bite?”

He says this as friendly as possible but Ray now just looks terrified.

Fuck.

“It’s cool if not!!” Frank says hastily. “I can just-”

“No, it’s ok,” Ray interrupts. “I just... I...”

He trails off, looking down the corridor behind Frank. There’s no missing how his eyes focus on Testing Room 6.

“Never mind,” Ray says, finally meeting Frank’s eyes. “Let’s go.”


~*~*~


As he doesn’t have a clue where he’s going, Frank lets Ray lead the way. He’s hoping Ray’s going to lead him somewhere cool but as they step out of the elevator, Frank feels his heart sink at the sheer normality of what is very obviously the office canteen. There are several people dotted around various tables and a low hum of conversation in the air as Ray silently walks towards an empty seat. Frank slides in the seat opposite him and watches for a few tense moments as Ray roots around his band and produces a sandwich.

“You not eating?” Ray asks, unwrapping his food.

Shit. Frank looks over where there’s a line of people buying food at vending machines, but he doesn’t have his wallet.

“Not hungry,” he says with a pained smile. It’s half-true anyway.

“Huh,” Ray says simply and takes a mouthful of his sandwich.

Frank notices Ray’s eyes dart to his arm. When Frank follows his gaze and looks down, he sees that he’s got a strange patch sewn just below his shoulder; a white square with a black X in the middle. It stands out boldly against the grey material. His stomach inexplicably clenches; he’s reminded of army officers, displaying their ranks on their arms. He looks over at Ray but Ray doesn’t have a patch.

Right. So maybe here, Frank’s like middle-management and Ray’s just clerical work or something. That might explain why Ray’s being so edgy.

Awkward silence falls between them as Ray chews slowly on his sandwich. Frank can feel his hands starting to sweat horribly under the grey gloves he’s wearing. He wants to take them off but there’s some strange tiny instinctual voice inside of him screaming that he mustn’t take his gloves off, whatever the cost.

Tattoos, Frank suddenly realises. Of course. He’s hiding his tattoos... but fucker, he’s pretty sure these gloves are leather. Perhaps this is his brain trying to get back at him for all those years of vegetarianism?

Frank officially hates his subconscious.

“Those look well-used,” Ray remarks coolly, nodding at Frank’s gloves. “Hey, is that a burn?!”

Frank looks down. Sure enough, there are dark marks along his index fingers and knuckles where the leather is singed. How the hell did he do that?!

“You’ll be needing some new ones soon. Why you wearing them anyway?”

“Gloves are cool,” Frank says, waggling his fingers. “Don’t you remember the ones I wore throughout high school?”

“The ones with the bones on? You lived in those things!”

“Yeah, I’d wear them here but I don’t quite think they’d go with the dress code and all,” Frank says with a grimace, looking around. Seriously, everybody is wearing varying shades of grey.

Ray snorts. “You’d end up being mistaken for a Zone Rat or something!”

Frank laughs. “Probably!”

... What the fuck is a Zone Rat?!

Ray takes another bite of his sandwich and the conversation lulls but the silence seems a bit more relaxed this time.

“So...” Ray swallows his mouthful then asks hesitantly, “how have you been?”

Frank shrugs. “Alright. Can’t complain, I guess. What about you? What have you been doing with yourself?”

Ray shrugs, a half-smile forming on his face. “Oh you know, the routine. Get up, take pills, come to work, go home, sleep, repeat.”

“Repeat till death or insanity kicks in,” Frank adds, making Ray chuckle.

There's a pause and then -

“It’s... it’s good to see you, Frank,” Ray says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing OK.”

There’s something in Ray’s tone that catches Frank’s attention. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, something like true sincerity but also a hint of sadness.

“Yeah man, you too,” Frank says. Ray smiles and perhaps it’s Frank’s imagination (actually, there’s no “perhaps” about it seeing as this is a dream and all) but Ray seems to have gotten a bit warmer towards Frank.

“So,” Ray says carefully after a pause. “There’s a rumour going round... I mean... uh... never mind.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s just... actually, no forget it.”

“Dude, you did this all the time at school! Just spit it out!” Frank’s curious now.

“Well, it’s just something someone was saying down in tech support and you know how things are...”

“Yeah,” Frank says slowly. “Seriously, this place seems to run on gossip.”

Much like his office back home, he thinks. Not a day goes by without Frank overhearing about who’s cheating on who and who’s laundering money out the office. He generally tries to keep his head down and not get into things. Office politics are never worth getting mixed up in.

“Well...” Ray looks around to make sure no one’s listening then leans in. “People are saying that you had a run in with fungal last night.”

Frank blinks. Now he’s screwed.

“Surely it’s not polite to discuss whether someone’s got an infection or not,” he says, trying to keep the tone light. However, that was clearly the wrong thing to say because Ray now just looks genuinely confused.

“What?” Ray shakes his head. “No no, not fungal! Fun Ghoul! Fun. Ghoul!”

Frank can’t keep with up this dream. Why does everything here have to be a stupid play on words?!

He still looks completely lost because Ray then adds “You know, one of the Killjoys working with Party Poison?” which doesn’t help at all because Frank’s not even sure if half of that was English.

Mercifully, he’s spared from answering by a shadow falling across his table. Ray shrinks back and immediately tries to look interested in his sandwich.

“I was wondering where you’d got to,” Korse says, looking down at Frank, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Your lunch ended five minutes ago.”

“Shit, sorry, forgot the time,” Frank babbles, hastily getting to his feet. Korse is clearly his boss or superior, or something like that. Great. “I’ll see you around Ray.”

Ray gives him a quick nod, looking very much like a terrified bunny in the headlights of a steamroller. Frank’s relieved slightly; at least this means it’s not just him who’s freaked out by Korse.


~*~*~


“I’m impressed, Iero,” Korse says in a monotone as they walk down yet another boring corridor. “Already integrating yourself and gaining trust, that’s showing initiative.”

Frank has no idea if this is a good thing or not, let alone what Korse is on about.

“So, I take it you read the PP Files then?”

Frank shrugs as they pass a short woman who stares at the ground as they go by. “I skimmed them.”

Korse nods. “Read them properly, you’re going to need all the information you can get. He’s getting bolder these past few weeks and after last night, he’s probably going to try something dramatic in the next few days.”

Wait... last night? Didn’t Ray say Frank was supposed to have had a run in with the Fun Ghoul last night?

Is Fun Ghoul a person?!

“While we're on the subject, I read your report on the incident with Fun Ghoul yesterday,” Korse adds as they go by a young man who tries to flatten himself into the wall to let them past. “Riveting reading. You’ll do well from this, Iero.”

Frank makes a mental note of his new reading list; The PP Files (whatever the fuck they are) and his own report on whatever the incident with Fun Ghoul was.

“I spoke to the engineers while you were at lunch, they said your bike should be fixed within the next month. What are you doing for a vehicle until then?”

A bike? He has a bike here? He hasn’t ridden a motorbike since his early 20’s, let alone known that he has one that doesn’t work.

“I’m... working on it.”

Korse shakes his head. “I’ve arranged for you to have a company car chauffer you to and from work. For now, I’m putting you on desk work until your bike’s fixed. You’re no good to anyone without it and I’m not giving those Zone Rats any more opportunities to steal more Better Living equipment.”

There’s that phrase again; Zone Rat. Frank adds ‘look up what a Zone Rat is’ to his to-do list. Korse stops in front of a door and punches in a door code, and fuck, Frank really hopes he doesn’t have to go through any doors by himself because he really doesn’t have a clue what the codes are. They go into a large room filled with electrical equipment and Korse stops next to an empty chair in front of one of the monitors. He doesn’t say anything but Frank immediately knows he’s supposed to sit in it.

“You’re on classified reports until you’re back on duty,” Korse says with a gesture to a large pile of yellow folders on the desk next to Frank. “Get these logged before you finish tonight and shred them when they’re done.”

Frank looks up with wide eyes at the large pile of folders that towers above his head. He turns to ask Korse what he’s supposed to do – but the door to the room is already sliding shut and Frank realises he’s quite alone.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

For a few seconds, Frank sits there in silence, the unmistakable feeling of panic welling up inside his chest. So this is one of those “fear of failure” dreams, like being forced to sit an exam at school that you know nothing about?

He looks at the monitors and keyboards in front of him. It all seems incredibly complicated – for God’s sake, there are three screens! Who the fuck needs three screens? Underneath the screens, there’s a keyboard which has a complicated amount of keys, although on closer inspection Frank realises that middle keys are normal letters, but he still has no idea what the weird symbols on the billion that surround them are for though. There’s a roller ball embedded into the table to his right and when he gently nudges it, the screens blink and flicker to life.

“ENTER AUTHORISATION” is now stamped across the middle screen in giant black print.

Frank thinks about it, then hesitantly types his name in.

“ENTER PASSWORD” comes up next.

Well, shit.

Unless... would his password be the same here? Even though it’s a massive security risk, he uses the same one for everything; work, banking, websites, email, even iTunes. He can’t be bothered to create different ones because he’ll inevitably forget them if they get too complicated.

He types in his usual password (PUMPKINWORM123) and crosses his fingers.

Much to his surprise, it works.

An oddly familiar screen is now before him; it bears a vague resemblance to the one he uses in his day to day life at work for data input logging. Frank steals a glance at the massive pile of folders to his left and then back to the door. This might all still just be a dream but he doesn’t want to find out how terrifying his subconscious could make Korse be if he doesn’t complete the work.

He takes the top folder from the pile and opens it, cautiously looking inside. Familiar looking documents are inside, and sure, it says “BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES” instead of his company name in the usual place and there’s a few sections on the page that he has no idea what they mean – what the fuck is ‘propaganda colours’?! - but surely it’s better to try than not?

He takes a deep breath, gulps nervously, and starts typing.


~*~*~


Frank’s not sure how long passes. Once he settles into a routine of logging the paperwork, he starts to breeze through it quickly. He’s completely on edge the whole time though, terrified he’s doing it wrong or that at any second, Korse is going to come screaming through the door, and perhaps even with Frank’s mother and several of his ex boyfriends for good measure.

When Korse inevitably does return though, it’s in a very calm way. The door slides open just as Frank is shredding the last folder and Korse nods, satisfied.

“The door codes for this floor have changed again,” he says without preamble. “2160. After your incident yesterday, we’re not running any risks.”

“2160,” Frank repeats. “Got it.” Pause. “What risks would those be exactly?”

Korse stares at him, one eyebrow arched. “You, Iero, for one. After what happened with Fun Ghoul, you’re probably quite high on several hit lists.”

Frank feels his eyes widen. He doesn’t try to hide it.

“Oh,” he manages in a small voice. “That’s... nice.” He pulls uncertainly at the high-necked collar which suddenly feels like it’s choking him. “OK, well, I’m just gonna be off-”

“Yes, the company car is waiting for you in the car park. I’ve arranged for them to pick you up in the morning at 6:30.”

There’s no question if Frank’s cool with how Korse is completely directing his life. Frank has a feeling he’s not allowed any say in the matter.

Korse gives Frank another nod, his dark eyes fixed on Frank. Frank’s already on his feet and heading for the door. He has no idea how to close down the computer or log it off but he doesn’t really care.

“Iero...”

Frank freezes.

“Yes?”

“I noticed you’ve still got some tattoos on your neck. You know they’re not part of Better Living Industry policy.”

Not sure how to respond to that, Frank turns around and tries not to sweat too much.

“I’ve been meaning to get them removed,” he lies. “Just haven’t had the time... plus, you know... already had a fair amount to get rid of already.”

Korse nods, apparently believing this. “Be sure you do. And soon. It gives the wrong idea otherwise.”

Great, Frank thinks. Even in a dream world, he’s still seen as a fucking freak show for his tattoos. He makes a mental note to buy as many high-necked shirts as he can... or maybe even magic them up, seeing as this is a dream and all. Whatever works, really. If he’s not getting rid of his tattoos in the real world, he sure as shit ain’t getting rid of them in a world he’s made up inside his own head.


~*~*~


Frank’s not sure what he was hoping his apartment to be like in this dream... maybe something amazingly high-tech or luxurious. After a very uneventful ride home in which the driver said a grand total of zero words, Frank finds himself in a building and, miraculously, the keys he needs are suddenly in his pocket, like they’ve been there all day and he hasn’t realised until now.

Even more conveniently, there’s an apartment number on the keys – 31. This makes locating his apartment incredibly easy and as he tries his keys in door of number 31 and it swings open to reveal...

An apartment exactly the same as Frank’s real one.

“Oh.”

The sound of disappointment is far too evident, even to Frank.

Oh well, he reasons. At least he knows where everything is.

He flicks on the light switch and shuts the door behind him, looking around. So maybe it’s not exactly the same; everything seems a bit blander with the furniture, there’s none of Frank’s pictures or posters on the walls, the book case is gone and the monochromatic colour scheme from work seems to be a heavy influence here too. Other than that though, it’s the exact same layout.

Sighing heavily, Frank collapses onto the sofa. He’s exhausted; this dream feels far too much a normal day at work.

Where’s the fun stuff? Where’s the weird stuff?

... And where the fuck is the colour?

He pulls off one of his leather gloves, the cool air against his skin feeling instantly refreshing. His familiar tattoos are still there, which is a relief.

With another sigh, he leans his head back and closes his eyes, trying to process things. If things could just be a bit more odd, a bit less normal, it might be easier to understand...

A loud buzzing fills his ears and he opens his eyes.

The colour is the first thing he notices. The white walls are now a warm cream. Faded movie posters are tacked on the walls, peeling at the corners. The sunlight streams through the window, dust mites swirling in the air. The bookshelf is back, multicoloured paperbacks crammed onto the shelves.

He’s still on the sofa.

He’s awake.

He’s home.



Part Two