the chrysalis; episode 06 - observer effect
INT. THE CHRYSALIS - NIGHT
A wave of noise and color almost blows me off my feet.
I am dreaming, but this is not my dream anymore. It’s as if I’ve stumbled into someone else’s dream.
The place… the people… pure chaos. I’m bombarded by colors, sounds, and smells. And the visitors… They are all so weird.
The part of the venue I’ve wandered into looks like an elegant ballroom.
Some people wear suits, tuxedos, and fabulous dresses—but everyone is different, vibrant, like a crowd of cosplayers at a comic convention.
My chest tightens. I hate crowds. And this—this is the worst. The most intimidating crowd I’ve ever seen.
I pass a table where a group of tuxedo-wearing reptiles play poker. Stumbling forward, trying not to catch anyone’s attention.
A hand clamps over my wrist.
“And you, my young lady, must be on the lookout for an exquisite adventure, are you not?”
I turn—and freeze, transfixed by his gaze: eyes blue, cold, and absolutely mad.
With his green bowler hat, fitted tailcoat, and neatly waxed mustache curling at the ends.
He looks like a caricature of an old film villain.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
The space around me crushes in from all sides at once. Pain on my skin—as if I’ve found myself trapped in a burning womb.
Everyone is looking at me now. I am terrified. Can’t speak, can’t even move—my feet feel rooted to the ground.
“You will be just perfect. Ladies and gentlemen, this young lass ventured into our venue seeking magic. And magic she shall find!”
Words barely escape my lips. The crowd closes in.
I am surrounded. Twisted, grimacing faces.
All eyes on me. Stripping me. Devouring me.
“SHE’S NEW, THAT’S FOR SURE!”
The space around me morphs: suddenly, I’m on a small stage, and a blinding spotlight floods me from above...
“Behold, purity! Innocence!”
…and I realize I’m wearing a dress now, white and blue, like a chaste schoolgirl in an animated film.
Barely a shriek comes out of my tightened throat.
It feels like a coffin, but it gives a strange glimpse of safety—I squirm against the wooden surface behind me… feeling the weight of all their eyes.
I want to disappear. My heart skips a beat when the magician closes the lid—but it doesn’t cover my face, and I can only imagine how I…
“LOOK AT HER FACE, SHE’S DEAD SCARED!”
The magician pulls a sword—an insanely large, curved sword—out of thin air.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Time for the impossible, the unfathomable!”
“YEAH! GIVE ‘ER A GOOD ONE!”
The magician does something I can’t see from inside the box.
I cower, pressing my back and head against the back of the coffin. Warm wood. Smell of turpentine. But it gives no comfort.
This is a bad, bad dream.
Bursts of laughter and applause erupt from the crowd. I peek out from the box… to see my own legs walking away.
The bottom half of my body is at the edge of the stage.
My foot reaches the verge—almost trips—my legs jump back and stumble.
I watch my legs tremble in terror. The crowd applauds.
“I’d say that enough is enough. Set the lady’s legs straight back, will you?”
This voice… I know this voice.
The scene and the box disappear. Suddenly, I’m standing again - on my own legs, which comes as a shock.
I stumble, almost fall, but someone’s hand grabs me firmly.
It’s Luka. He looks different now—taller, broader, wearing a trench coat and a fedora, tilted to the side of his head.
In his off hand, he nonchalantly holds a smoldering cigar.
“This is the moment I offer you a drink.”
His voice sounds coarser too. He guides me away from the grinning magician, and we cut through the crowd, heading toward the bar.
“You need to dream yourself a persona. If you don’t dream yourself, sooner or later, someone will dream you.”
This portion of the venue doesn’t look like a ballroom anymore.
It’s more like a tavern from a fantasy tale, with oak tables sticky with spilled liquor, and sweet stench of pipe tobacco hanging in the air.
Electric lights give way to flickering lanterns, waves of posh suits dissolve into a kaleidoscope of colorful individuals—cutthroats, sailors, wanderers.
We reach the bar. Luka waves at the bartender, then leans against the counter and flicks the ash off his cigar.
He looks comfortable, like he’s been here a thousand times before.
“It’s all a collective dream, born from the minds of those present and connected.”
“But how can we… meet here? How come we talk, how come I can see you... and all these people?”
“Because we are on the internet. Only on a deeper stratum of it.”
He leans in, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Imagine exploring the information network, but your dream IS the interface.”
“That’s what the app does, it connects your dreaming brain to the network.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I’ve interviewed many of the people here, and that’s what they all told me.”
“I know how it sounds, but there is no better explanation.”
“There is. I’m having a really weird dream after taking something you gave me.”
“But tomorrow we will meet in real life. And I will refer back to you every word of what we talked about.”
“We’re on the internet, Runa. Just… differently. It’s called NEMspace.”
“Whatcha want, scumbags?”
A raspy voice chills me to the bone.
The bartender is a mountain of a man, and an intimidating one at that, with one of his arms made of solid carved wood.
And a grimaced face riddled with scars, an eye patch covering one side.
A dangerous spark twinkles in his single dark eye.
“Two shots of the best you’ve got.”
“Best? You sure you can handle it, lad?”
The bartender spits on the floor and hobbles away to fetch our drinks.
“Yeah, he’s the epitome of cliché. It comes with the rules of this world—it needs to be a simple idea, easy to believe in.”
“He is what people expect, and that’s what keeps this place in one piece. More or less one piece.”
Luka takes a drag from his cigar, looking around the bar, as if contemplating its colorful, constantly shifting chaos.
“Only a strong personality can hold this place together. It gets torn in all directions by the dreams of its visitors.”
“I was flying. I had an aviation class… and then I realized I was dreaming.”
“That was your personal space in the dream space.”
“Like your own corner of the universe, a personal planet which you can shape at will, where you can invite other people.”
“You have your own space too?”
“I’ll show it to you. I prepared something special.”
Suddenly, the space around me morphs again.
Neon lights replace the lanterns above the bar, flooding everything with a green and orange glow.
Right in front of me, the wooden counter turns to chrome.
“The band has arrived. They come here every Friday and play psychedelic space rock.”
Even the bartender has changed.
His wooden arm has turned into a metal robotic limb, and the eye patch has been replaced with the cold blue glow of a cybernetic eye.
“And they do this to the whole bar?”
“That’s because everyone loves them. That’s how power works here: if people believe in you, they dream along with your dream.”
A wave of cheer passes through the crowd as four guitar players enter from the far side of the bar.
I cower, searching for a place to hide. I hate concerts. The crowd, the loud music bombarding my senses…
Luckily, Luka knows me well.
“Let’s go before it gets too loud.”
EXT. OUTSIDE THE CHRYSALIS – NIGHT
The moment we step outside The Chrysalis, I gasp for fresh air.
The open space, the silence… and no people.
Luka guides me toward an old car parked in the driveway. A convertible: long, wide, and turquoise.
“You’re living the dream, huh?”
“If you can dream anything, you’d better dream classic.”
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