Anger of a Dreamer

Chapter One: The Awakening

Pain.

A dull throb at first, like a distant drumbeat in his skull. Then sharp—white-hot agony burst through every nerve like fire racing through his veins. His chest seized, lungs spasming like they'd forgotten how to breathe.

He gasped. Air rushed in, too fast, too cold. His body convulsed—heavy, foreign, wrong. His limbs didn't respond the way they should. His muscles felt like they'd been stretched, torn apart, and stitched back together with something stronger, something unnatural.

Then—awareness.

His eyes snapped open.

Glass. A curved wall in front of him, slick with condensation. Beyond it, shadows moved—warped figures pacing outside, their outlines distorted by frost. The air was thick, humming with a low mechanical drone.

Then came the voices.

Low, guttural clicks, mixed with something… wrong. His ears strained, and suddenly, the words clicked into place, as if something inside him had translated them without his permission.

"Specimen is stable. Cellular adaptation proceeding beyond projections."

His breath hitched.

Specimen?

He tried to move. His body resisted. Every limb felt like it was filled with lead, every joint stiff, and ching, like he'd been locked in place for years. He gritted his teeth, forcing his hand up. Muscles protested, burning, straining. His fingers twitched—too slow, too strong.

When his palm finally pressed against the glass, the surface groaned. Cracks splintered outward, spreading in fragile, jagged lines.

The shadows outside froze.

Then—chaos.

A siren shrieked, red light flashed in sharp, violent pulses. Steam vented from the sides of the tube with a deafening hiss. Then—

The world lurched.

The glass shattered, and he fell. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain rocketing through his body. He hit the floor hard, knees slamming into cold metal. His arms buckled, barely keeping him from collapsing. Every breath came ragged, too loud, too much.

His body felt… alive. Too alive.

His skin burned like raw energy simmered beneath it. His muscles coiled and tensed with unnatural tightness, like a predator ready to strike. Every nerve screamed, every sensation dialed up to unbearable levels.

He felt like he'd been reborn. And whatever he was now… it wasn't human.

"Contain the subject!"

Heavy footsteps. Sharp voices.

His head snapped up, instincts screaming before his brain could process why.

They surrounded him—tall, reptilian humanoids with elongated skulls and black, pitiless eyes. Psions. The name came unbidden. Metallic exosuits lined their bodies, intricate tubing running along their arms, pulsing with strange liquid.

Wait. How did he know that?

His mind lurched, twisting.

Earth. A city skyline, warm light flickering through windows. Laughter. Friends. A sense of belonging, of home. Then—darkness. A pull. Something ripping him from existence itself.

This isn't right.

A Psion raised a sleek, multi-barreled weapon and aimed it at his chest.

His body reacted before he could think.

One moment, he was kneeling. The next—he was in motion.

The floor cracked beneath him as he lunged. He crossed the space in an instant, gripping the Psion's weapon arm. His fingers clenched—

CRUNCH.

Bone and metal collapsed under his grip.

The Psion screamed.

He barely had time to register it before a second blast sizzled past his face, missing by inches.

His eyes darted, scanning—the window. Reinforced. Didn't matter.

His legs coiled. He leaped.

The glassexploded around him, and then—silence.

The void stretched out before him. Stars. Planets. A nebula is glowing cold and blue. A massive station loomed ahead, dark and bristling with warships. And below? A planet.

Not Earth.

His stomach dropped. His body should have been screaming, suffocating, freezing. But it wasn't.

He was floating.

The Psions' voices screeched through comms. He wasn't listening.

He was in another universe.

And somehow, he was still alive.

His freedom lasted seconds.

Something slammed into him, fast and brutal. He twisted, flipping end over end as an invisible force wrapped around him like a crushing fist.

No. NO.

Energy shackles snapped into place, locking his limbs. He thrashed, every muscle fighting against the restraint, but the pull was relentless.

Then—PAIN.

His body was ripped back through the ship's hull, through a secondary containment field that sent a fresh surge of agony lancing through his nerves.

The impact nearly knocked him out.

His vision swam. He was back inside. Back in a cage. The Psions towered over him, cold and unfeeling.

"Subject retrieval successful. Increase containment protocols."

Thick, metallic restraints slammed onto his arms and legs, bolting him down. The walls shimmered—thicker plating, denser material. No windows. No way out.

Caged. Again.

His breath came ragged, animalistic. His muscles coiled, burning, twitching with the need to tear them apart. His hands shook against the restraints, veins bulging, the metal groaning beneath his grip.

His mind raged.

The Psions spoke in hushed, clipped tones, already treating him like another specimen to be cataloged. Studied. Contained.

They thought this was over.

His fingers flexed. The shackles trembled.

It wasn't.