“You will pay dearly for your recklessness, you madman.”

“And this whole country will pay a thousand fold for yours, General!”

It hadn’t stopped raining all day, and Ivan had spent every single waking moment drinking as soon as he slammed the door behind him. He was still covered under his tent-cloak when he picked up the first can of Huxley, the canvas dripping in a large puddle on his kitchen floor as footsteps of fresh mud trailed behind him.

“Gentlemen, cease this nonsense immediately! Time is of the essence, we must cooperate in order to safeguard the future of our nation!”

That afternoon was spent rushedly downing one beer after another, the loud sound of gulping being interrupted only by that of cans being opened and half-crumpled aluminium hitting the floor. His head didn’t stop hurting for longer than two seconds straight ever since he shouted at Bill for the last time, and the pain would persist in the same measure until at least five or six beers in.

“Mister Chairman, our only hope of survival is to strike the enemy with the full brunt of our arsenal, and we must do it now.”

“Fools! Don’t you see what we’re up against? This is not an adversary that can be fought through conventional means!”

Now slumped on his mouldy chair with half a bottle of old country vodka leaning against his hip, Ivan slept not the sleep of the just, but whatever sleep was reserved for the likes of him. As the sound of the rain subsided outside, the voices in the television grew louder in the blue-lit darkness of his living room.

“And how do you suppose we contain this threat, Professor?”

“There is nothing we can hope to contain at this point, Mister Chairman. All that awaits us is the harsh reality of the only possible outcome.”

On the screen, some no-name grainy black and white B-movie was on, a relic of Western propaganda disguised as cheap entertainment that must’ve been half a century old by then. In it, an emergency cabinet meeting between the top-ranking generals of the Coalition devolved in a charade of finger-pointing and panicked decisions as the head of state, the leading researchers and the top brass scrambled for an effective way to contain an extralogical anomaly of yet unknown proportions.

Like most Western productions of that era, it portrayed the Cinerean military and its leading scientific minds as irresponsible megalomaniacs willing to go any lengths to surpass their civilized rivals in their search to exploit the powers of the unknown. These movies would more often than not flip these depictions into that of cowardly bumbling idiots as soon as the consequences of their actions would catch up to them.

“Gentlemen… As the last line of defense of this nation, this will be the greatest challenge ever faced by us.”

Ivan, however, was so enthralled by his own sleep and the imagery that inhabited it that he didn’t even realize the TV was still on.

“May the strength and perseverance of the brave people of this country not fail them at this time. Because we, in our hubris, may have failed them like never before.”

—

In the darkness of the war room, Ivan was in his full dress uniform, standing at the head of the long table. Drenched in a blinding glare, half spotlight, half interrogation lamp, he could still make out the silhouettes around him. Broad chests slated in medals, tie knots neatly tucked underneath buttoned officer tunics, hands pressed against the glossy tabletop as the shadowy figures, on their feet, leaned forward, their shadow-drenched body language inquisitive and aggressive.

Half-lit by small banker lamps resting in front of them, their faces were almost visible, the darkness of the war room dissolving in an oily mix of glaring light and dense shadow.

“You people have lost your goddamn minds”, Ivan snarled at the shadowy figures. “What you’re asking from this unit is a crime against humanity.”

At that moment, standing there at the head of the table, he could feel himself overtaken by the dreamscape-bound omniscience of knowing that which one can’t see. The embrace of the unconscious of a man betrayed. Although he couldn’t see them clearly, Ivan knew those to be the people who wronged him, who exploited his men and their loyalty. The ones responsible for the pain and suffering of his allies and enemies alike.

“Bosconovitch, you damn fool”, said a voice from the shadows. “Don’t you see what’s at stake?”

Burroughs. A traitor to the bitter end, Ivan knew deep inside. Just another lackey of the brass ready to throw his men to the wolves if that meant another notch scribbled beneath his name. In the dream, perhaps fittingly, Ivan’s perception registered him as already a colonel, decorated in the war that within dream logic was still happening.

“Do you not realize it’s your insubordination that jeopardizes the future of this country?” the colonel’s voice continued. “You’d risk us losing our best chance so far of ending this conflict, and for what? Childish morals, the likes of which have never won a single battle in history?”

“Is that what you call this?” Ivan snapped back. “Morals? It’s barely common sense anymore, at this point. This isn’t war anymore, it’s pure butchery and cowardice.”

“Be reasonable, sergeant”, said another voice. The old man, this time. “We must be prepared to use every tool at our disposal if we want to win this war, and such readiness comes at cost.”

“And what cost is that? Making a covenant with the devil? Feeding people to dragons?”

“This is a matter of science, Sergeant Bosconovitch, not of blind superstition! Your short-sightenedness and sentimentalism has no place in this matter!”

“Can you even listen to yourselves anymore? Morals? Sentimentalism? These people are our fellow countrymen, for goodness’ sake. They have been led astray by the farce of the oppressor’s propaganda, but they are still sons and daughters of Praetoria. Our lives have no more value than theirs, it is not for us to decide if they are deserving of this fate or not.”

Burroughs slammed his fist against the table.

“They’re communist scum, that’s what they are, and they deserve every last bit of what we got coming for ‘em”, Burroughs boomed. “They are traitors to their country, we are the ones trying to save it, I am in control of this operation and you, soldier, are way out of line. Either stand down immediately or I will have you stripped from your rank and arrested for mutiny like the self-fashioned adventurer that you crave to be so bad.”

“You know something, Leland? Maybe you should’ve done that from the start.”

“Don’t you ‘Leland’ him just yet, Johnny Boy”, said another voice. “You know he’s right for once.”

“You of all people would know that, wouldn’t you, J.D?”

“You have no idea”, he said. “And by the time this is over, this is where you will remain.”

Something was eating away at the back of Ivan’s mind during that specific moment of the dream. Maybe in light of the recent events, Kasowitz, who up until that moment in his life had felt almost like a non-factor on his own misfortune, for some reason was being.

Kasowitz was, simply put, off. The dream itself was off in its very essence, a vicious cave dive in the unlit, sunken depths of one’s resentment toward themselves and the world around them. Still, Kasowitz seemed like an even stranger outlier in his own way; cocky, collected, almost too together in his voluntary sidelining, as if he expected something to happen and wanted to get a good seat to watch it go down.

There were, however, much more disconcerting visitations to be undergone at that moment, as the next voice to echo from the half light would indicate:

“Are we done here, sergeant?”

Ivan squinted and could see the bespectacled silhouette of the young man staring at him from across the table. Standing right behind the old man, he was, as always, almost an extension of that bloated obsession for the unethical pursuit for science.

“Some of us have more pressing matters to attend to besides just standing here and entertaining the egotistical ”

“Like what, you fucking reptile? Exploiting people in the name of science, then trying to look like the victim by blaming those you betrayed?”

“Large doses of projection going on around here, I see”, the young man continued. “Especially since this conversation is taking place inside your head.”

“I don’t give a shit if any of you are here or not”, Ivan said, looking around. “This doesn’t change the fact that what happened to those men was your fault.”

“Are we here to discuss what happened to the men led by you, as well?” asked another familiar voice from the opposite end of the table. “Or is this just you reminding yourself how nothing is ever your fault?”

Ivan started feeling overtaken by a severe unease. The bright light that blinded him, which once had been met by him with a frown of defiance as he snarled at his perceived abusers, was now a force of nature he no longer had the courage to face. His brow wrinkled and gleamed with sweat. Within the dream, he could feel his face retort into that of the present, the weariness of features battered by decades of frustration.

“This isn’t about me, soldier”, was all he could muster.

“We trusted you, sarge”, another voice said from the direction. “We deserved better just as much as you did.”

“A hell of a thing, isn’t it?” said one of the early voices. It was Burroughs. “Leading, I mean. Blaming others for our shortcomings is never an easy task when we’re already busy with that of keeping someone else safe.”

“Leading your men to their deaths is the only road idealism will lead you, Comrade Ivan”, said a voice opposite to Burroughs.

Ivan squinted against the glaring light, and he could see a disheveled silhouette standing in front of the table.

“If your way to cope with the type of  to being faced with this type of responsibility is”, he continued. His voice was weirdly familiar, even if just through recordings. “Then perhaps the battlefield was not your place to begin with.”

“Kravchenko…?” Ivan whispered, genuinely surprised.

“Okay, who’s letting commies into the war room, now?”, Kasowitz said, unamused.

“At ease, lieutenant”, Burroughs cut in. “Everyone has a part to play in this theatre of war.”

“I won’t be long, gentlemen”, said Kravchenko, unfazed by the provocations. “Just as much as the living, I’m needed elsewhere as well.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Ilya?” Ivan asked. “We never even met.”

“Maybe not”, the grizzled ghost agreed. “But you have met with the suffering you inflicted upon my men. I will answer for it just as soon as I’ll answer for myself.”

Something about Kravchenko’s presence, just as much as his words, felt real in a way Ivan wasn’t fully able to grasp at that moment. The lingering notion that the two of them were similar men on opposite sides of the same war wasn’t new to him, but seeing him as leader of innocent men wronged by those Ivan believed to be on his side was more than enough to touch a nerve.

“Like I said”, Burroughs added again. “Hell of a thing.”

Feeling somewhat defensive toward the course this whole exchange was taking, Ivan could feel himself drift back into the cynicism from before. With a tired smile, he let out a dry chuckle and said:

“I’ve had enough of carrying this burden on my own, colonel. I agree it’s mine as much as it is yours, but that doesn’t mean I’ll carry it for you. For all of you.”

“You keep calling this a burden”, said the young man, his posture stiff and detached. “You keep acting like all of this wasn’t your choice.”

“I was given no choice in this matter, traitor, and you know it”, Ivan replied. “If I had a say in any of this, we would all be in jail for our crimes, and that includes myself.”

“Turn yourself in, if that’s the case”, said the young scientist. “See what good that does.”

Ivan chuckled in contempt, once again.

“After you, Partridge”, he added.

“At least the kid’s trying to do something for the good of this country besides moping around at home blaming others for everything”, Kasowitz could be heard saying, his voice getting nearer. “You should try that, sometime.”

He could see the obfuscated silhouette of the lieutenant walking along his side of the long table with his hands on his pockets. Possibly grounded within the same dream logic as in Burroughs’ case, Kasowitz was already a lieutenant in the dream, although at time of their service both him and Ivan were still sergeants.

This once again made him self-conscious to the fact he was, in the dream, himself in his forties, and not in his twenties as when he first arrived. That strange notion made him notice the back of his hands; wrinkled, time-battered. Not the hands of a young soldier, but those of whatever they’re unlucky enough to devolve into.

“Don’t go all judgemental on your old pals just yet, B”, Kasowitz continued as he stood just a few feet away, his face still obfuscated by the light. “Undesirables like us got to stick to each other.”

“Traitors stepping up for other traitors”, Ivan scoffed, a bitter smile on his face. “It’s what this country was built on, after all, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about loyalty any more than it is about who you choose to be loyal to”, Kasowitz said as he walked out of Ivan’s sight and into the darkness of the war room. “On that note, I’ll be taking my leave.”

Ivan couldn’t help but notice Lucas was nowhere to be seen.

“Easy there, buckaroo”, said Ira Hinckley, who for some reason was sitting at that meeting as well. “Don’t wanna get your knickers in a twist over something this minor, do you?”

“Hold on, what the fuck are you doing here?”, Ivan asked, outraged.

“What can I say, this is Bucky Roswell’s story just as much as it’s yours!”

“You’re some movie cowboy, you don’t even exist”

“Well, guess what, maybe you’re a movie cowboy too, have you ever thought about that?”

“You have no idea what you’re even doing in this dream you stupid redneck.”

“And you have no idea what an archetype even is, boy, you tell me who’s winning.”

“Silence. Both of you.” boomed the colonel. “Ivan, you’re an embarrassment to this company. You’ve been handpicked to lead what could be the most important operation in this campaign, and you’re making a point of tarnishing what little honor you have left by making this about you.”

“This isn’t about me, Leland, it’s about those poor men. I don’t care if they are our enemies, no one deserves what you put them through.”

“If I may, colonel?”, the young man continued. “Sergeant Bosconovitch wasn’t handpicked to lead this operation at all.”

“You shut your goddamn mouth—”

“He volunteered to take the place of the man on who this honor was bestowed, and we all know how that went for both him and this country.”

“You shut your goddamn mouth right now.”

The discussion was interrupted by the sight of a man standing besides the door. He was in full combat gear, still wearing his mask and his rifle.

“Preacher?” Ivan said.

“He wants to talk to you.”

Ivan realized it was him he was talking to.

“What does he want?” he finally asked.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The war room was suddenly silent. All those present fixed their eyes on Ivan, expecting him to take the lead. Nervously, he stepped away from the head of the table and walked toward the door.

As he walked by Lucas, he could feel his cold, piercing gaze meeting his across the mask.

He stepped outside of the war room and saw himself in a pitch black hallway.