That night he had the first nightmare. He was Lord Regal again, being hacked to death with swords while others with quicker and more merciful weapons stood by watching and chatting. It was a rather leisurely affair, nobody was in any hurry.

On Monday morning he woke up drenched in sweat. Calling in sick was out of the question as he had no paid sick time left. Why had the dream bothered him so much? Simon had never had a nightmare like this before, and no nightmare had ever left him feeling so exhausted.

He worked as a cashier for a few dollars an hour over minimum wage. Sometimes he liked his job at Bargain Basement, it was a strange type of performance art. In the wider world he was almost without social skills, but he knew the types of people who came to a human cashier and how to deal with them. Most people used the automated checkout nowadays, and there was one only one live cashier. He mostly served the aged, those who wanted to stick it to the man by making a big corporation pay a cashier, and those who somehow felt they were helping low paid workers by refusing to use automated checkout. Perhaps the latter were right.

Today he was tired. The old ladies sorting through their coupons so they could save eighty-seven cents got on his nerves. He didn’t return any conspiratorial nods from people who wanted to support low paid workers against the big corporations – it seemed like they felt they were doing him some sort of favor.

When he finally clocked out he dragged his grumpy ass home on the bus. He didn’t actually have many friends, and the few he did have were more like acquaintances, so sometimes the cramped apartment was lonely in the evenings. Now though it was just as well. He was tired, even if he was also too wound up to go to sleep early. He read a little, spent some time on his old laptop, and turned in when he felt tired enough to sleep.

The second nightmare was different from the first. It was set in the near future, but starting on a date he did not know. Many people were dressing all in blue or all in green. These were the signature colors used by the two rival Eightfold alliances on Earth. It seemed more and more people were coming to believe they were not just another brand franchise, that the stories were somehow being seeded into human brains. The only chance to have wealth or power in the new world that was to come was to ingratiate oneself with one of the four factions of each alliance.

In the dream he knew that this would lead to civil war for every nation on Earth. It seemed like months were passing as things got progressively worse. One day he came home from work to find two men fighting with knives in front of his house. They looked like brothers. They fought clumsily, as if neither one was customarily violent. And somehow he was friends with both of them.

He started shouting, but neither of them listened to him. When one of them hit an artery and blood spurted out, he began to scream in earnest.

For the second time in two days he woke up drenched in sweat and not feeling rested. He couldn’t afford to lose his job so he managed to stumble through it. He bought a bottle of over the counter sleeping pills after work. The bottle said there was a danger of addiction, so he thought they must be pretty strong. The bottle made him leery, but he took one before going to bed anyhow.

When he woke in the middle of the night it had only been a couple of hours since he went to sleep, so still being tired wasn’t a surprise. His body ached though, as if he had been struggling or running from something. He thought he had been back where the previous nightmare left off. Martial law had been declared. Policemen, soldiers, and other government employees weren’t supposed to wear any signs of their faction or alliance, but they found ways to do so anyway. The government still sort of functioned, but for anything involving someone who might be important, you had to talk to faction leaders as well as official ones. Then Simon had opened the door to a policeman with a snarl on his face. And that was all he remembered, but he thought there had been something else, something worse.

He must have managed to get back to sleep, because he had a very hard time getting out of bed when the alarm went off, and was confused for awhile.

Perhaps he looked strange the next day, because the manager tried to talk to him and see what the problem was. Simon had nothing he could tell the man without sounding like a lunatic. He wasn’t sure that was far from the truth, but clearly that was not the sort of thing to tell a manager.

Realizing his job was in danger as well as his sanity, Simon needed to do something. He had heard strange stories about the game Eightfold Invasion, but had classified them with the ancient stories of Dungeons and Dragons and real demons. Now he vaguely hoped that hearing Adam laugh at him and mock him when he tried to describe the problem might somehow snap him out of whatever this was. He didn’t have good insurance and couldn’t afford a psychiatrist or social worker.

Humiliating though such a cure might be, he wanted to get it over with. In all the months he had been playing Eightfold Invasion, he had never gotten any cell phone or home phone numbers for any of the other players, not even Craig when he had pretended to be his friend. Odder yet, he had never even noticed before today.

Their game did have its own website, and he had posted there on the rare days he was sick or otherwise unavailable. Other than that, he had no way to communicate with them before Sunday evening.

He gave his message some thought. He wasn’t even sure who he preferred to talk to. Adam he supposed. Adam was most likely to puncture him with some sharp and derisive comment which would bring him back to reality.

After a little thought he just left a message that it was urgent, he needed to talk to someone preferably Adam, and he was sorry for the manner of his leaving last Sunday.

There was no need to grovel, right? He didn’t even know if groveling would make things better or worse.

He didn’t hear from anyone over the next couple of days, but much to his relief he did sleep one night without any nightmares that he could remember, and felt almost refreshed the next day. Worst come to worst he knew where to find Adam and the rest of them on Sunday. For the first time that week he began to hope.

Simon was arrived fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to start. As usual, people were milling around. He walked straight up to Adam and said, “Could I talk to you in private?”

“No.”

Simon blinked at the monosyllable, wondering if he might possibly have misunderstood. When he didn’t turn to leave, Adam amplified his denial.

“If you have anything to say to me, you can say it here. Keep it short though, I’m busy. Or better yet skip it altogether. You don’t have anything to say to me, even if you think you do.”

Despite the forthright rejection, Simon was too desperate to turn and leave. He clung to the hope that while Adam might be a casual jerk, underneath was a human being who would come out when he realized how serious this was. Simon said, “I’m having nightmares every night now. They seem to be related to the game. It’s like a part of me actually died when my character did.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

Simon was doubly taken aback. He had half expected the callousness, but was dismayed to have it confirmed. Even worse was the lack of surprise or mockery. For the first time he seriously considered that he wasn’t crazy, but the alternative was even worse. There was something very weird about Eightfold Invasion, and he was still a part of it.

He just didn’t understand quite what, or how it might be possible. He said, “You can’t imagine how horrible this is. I apologize for any rudeness, but what is happening to me now is much more serious than that. Please tell me anything you can.”

Adam shrugged. “There isn’t anything I can do for you.”

Then Simon heard another voice from behind them. Despite the fact that nobody was sitting right near Adam and the ambient noise, they had been overheard.

Phil of all people said, “Maybe we can do something to make it a little less painful for him without sacrificing –”

Adam interrupted. “Careful. You don’t want to activate the Delirium. That can do weird shit to your head.”

Simon knew all about the Delirium. When the Eightfold first began to implant the idea in a new species that they were not alone in the universe, some came to understand much faster than others. A few might even learn vulgar sorcery or other things with practical applications. Yet until the species as a whole was deemed ready, nobody could be allowed to openly show that it was not a game. As a last resort, the ‘Delirium’ was implanted in the minds of those who knew directly of the Eightfold. You might think you were explaining clearly, but to everyone else you would sound like a conspiracy theorist or flying saucer enthusiast.

Of course it was mostly grade school kids who tried to pretend that in real life they knew arcane secrets they couldn’t reveal because of it. It was part of the fictional mythos. Simon hated the head games that some people thought were funny.

Phil said, “I don’t feel any Delirium. I think he already knows.”

Adam said, “Nobody asked you. Shut up and let me think a minute.”

Simon blinked. Adam had shifted instantly in his seat, and Phil was standing slightly differently. He hadn’t seen either of them move. Something was strange.

Adam was saying, “We can’t help you here, but this piece of paper has the meeting information for another group. Truthfully we call them the ‘Rejects’ because they’re not welcome here anymore, but who knows?”

He handed Simon a folded piece of paper. It didn’t look too promising, but he took it politely and thanked Adam. He seemed to be much less hostile now, and he might even be helpful in the future. Besides, Simon was feeling a little strange after noticing the sudden shift, and wanted to go home and think about it.

Simon knocked on the wooden door. He waited a few moments, but there was no response. Did the group still meet here?

He twisted the doorknob back and forth. To his surprise the door was locked.

He called through the door, “Do the Williamston Gamers still meet here?”

A firm voice came through it. “We don’t use that name anymore, and we’re not taking new members. If you want to join a gaming group, search online.”

This was the strangest gaming group Simon had ever visited, but it was a very strange situation. He called out, “I just want to talk to you guys.”

A different voice answered, a female voice. “This room is reserved by a private party until 9:30 P.M. If you thought it was yours, talk to the reference librarian.”

Automatically Simon glanced towards the reference desk. Nobody was there, and the library was almost empty. Presumably it was a preplanned response, since he had already made it clear why he was there.

He called through the door, “I know that. I want to talk to you people because I need your help. I used to be part of Adam Westin’s group, but after my character died he said –”

Yet a third voice came through the door. “By definition that makes him one of Adam’s Rejects. I think we should let him in.”

The way the unseen speaker pronounced ‘Adam’s Rejects’ sounded capitalized, like a name for a group. It was a strange one, but the part about letting Simon in sounded promising.

“We agreed, nobody else.”

The latest voice was headed in the wrong direction so Simon said, “Maybe you could open the door so we could discuss it. I love talking through doors myself, but I’m thinking of the four of you crowded around the other side.”

Simon wasn’t usually a smartass, but getting into a new gaming group was usually easier, more like getting someone to sell you a timeshare than like getting a bank loan with no collateral.

Somehow though, he had done the trick. He heard a snicking sound as the door unlocked, and then it opened.

The first person he saw when the door opened was an overweight red headed guy a few years older than him. As soon as he spoke again he was revealed as the fourth voice. “We already agreed no new members. I can’t even talk about the reasons right now.”

Simon didn’t like being talked about as if he weren’t there. He walked straight up to where Fourth was sitting. “I’m Simon.”

“I’m Todd,” the other replied, but made no further attempt to address him.

Annoyed at all the Delirium mindgames Simon said, “You shouldn’t have said that. It’s not specific enough to be trying to mess with my head. Don’t let the Delirium get you.”

Unless Todd was a great actor, Simon saw discomfort in his face, maybe even a bit of fear. He seemed to be trying to speak but unable. Oddly enough, this made Simon more uncomfortable than any words could have. Could the Delirium be real? And if so, what other impossibilities along with it?

A taller man a few chairs away with blond hair and piercing blue eyes said, “Don’t mess with him.”

Simon was a little surprised to see he was in his late fifties. Older than most Eightfold players.

Simon answered, “How could I be messing with him? It must be him messing with me. You’re acting like all this crap is real, and not in a way that seems like you’re playing head games. Can you do that?”

The other man froze for a brief second and then said, “Bullshit. You haven’t heard anything you didn’t know already.”

Simon nodded. “That’s true. I … need your help.”

Belatedly it occurred to him that he might have antagonized the last potential allies he had. He said, “I don’t usually act like an asshole. Maybe a little short on people skills. I just haven’t slept very much this past week because of the nightmares.”

Blue eyes asked, “Nightmares?”

Simon nodded again. “After my character sort of died in Adam’s campaign, I had the first nightmare. I was my character and my companions were brutally hacking me to death. The others were worse. They were in our world, which was turning into a civil war between the blue and green alliances. Only people from every country were on both sides and fighting among themselves.”

The other man replied thoughtfully, not to Simon directly but to the group at large. “I think we might be able to help him. He might even be able to help us.”

Todd said, “Adam might have sent him to spy on us.”

Simon asked, “Why? What do you know that Adam would want to know?”

His question was ignored. Blue eyes asked, “How did your character die?”

He replied, “I left when the other seven players drew weapons and surrounded me. I was trapped and I couldn’t use sorcery on them all.”

“So you left before your character actually died? That could help us. I’m Doc by the way. No jokes.”

Todd said again, “What if Adam sent him to spy on us?”

Doc replied, “Then I’ll decide what I want him to know.”

Simon grinned. A fitting answer to an unanswerable question, since it was impossible to prove a negative.

The sole female in the room had a different type of question. “Are you sure we can actually help him?”

“Not absolutely,” Doc admitted. “But notice you’re the one asking that and not him. He’s willing to take a chance.”

That was true enough. What did he have to lose? Then he wondered if he should ask that question aloud, but the idea somehow slipped away from him.