I landed smack in the middle of the warehouses, where a crowd of people gathered to meet me. They parted as I came in, and gave me a wide berth. I rolled onto the ground and stood on my feet, dropping my pack and took my rifle, placing it firmly in my grasp.

With a quick twist of my arms, I slung my rifle across myself with one hand on the grip, the other on my radio. There was an objective to be followed, and whatever this dream or vision was, I knew nothing would come from going against it. It was an odd feeling, having the agency to go against what my mind lays out for me to see.

Regardless, there was a job to do, and I seemed to be in charge.

"Jumpers, this is Naird -- I'm at the point. Make your way over here, we'll get moving once we've regrouped," I spoke into the radio with a rather firm voice. Better to get the boys (whoever they were) in line while I've got the chance.

A reply came shortly as the others went about a headcount, all members accounted for. Each of them mentioned their approximate distance to the objective, and each would take at least a ten-minute hike to get here -- the packs were heavy. They continued in affirmations and some variant of "I'm on my way."

I looked around as this was happening and saw more than fifty men and women -- more than we could safely egress from what I assumed was behind enemy lines -- dressed in dusty aprons and heavy work shoes. Their shirts and trousers were grimy, and each one of them reeked of sweat and steel. I was about to call it in when one of the men approached me, speaking a language I couldn't make out. He was asking a question -- which I assumed it was, owing to the raised tone at the end.

Giving him a confused glance, I ignored him and spoke once more into the radio. "Naird here, we can't get all of them out. I count more than fifty of the fuckers." If they had any ideas on how we'd manage the fucking Exodus through hostile territory, now was the time. No one gave me anything more than what felt like a "K."

A man in the back who I couldn't see through the crowd began yelling something I couldn't understand -- a mix of accusation and fear. I could see everyone's eyes begin to widen as they shifted from the relief of being rescued to scowls of confusion. Their heads all turned to me.

The crowd converged upon me slowly, completely enveloping me in a ring as they approached with animated eyes. Some were of caution, others in confusion, in frustration, and rising anger. The mood went from relief and a desire to know how they'd be getting the fuck out to a cesspool of strained yelling, shouting, and screaming -- they felt betrayed.

I really should have mentioned the Exodus and Ideas questionnaire, complete with a single vague problem-solving item just loud enough so the crowd could hear it too. Can't blame me, I didn't exactly catch the mission brief. Maybe they were just really offended by the f-word.

The crowd tightened up around me, and I found myself trapped. I drew my handgun and kept it close to my chest as my actions became gradually more automated. There was no willful effort in the way I moved. My face turned up into a frown as sweat began dripping down my face. My heart began to beat faster and faster, and I was left confused as I tried to figure out what made this dream version of me so jumpy.

I could hear a voice in my head -- my voice, but a tad more animated, less of the gruff and apathy you'd hear nowadays. This one clashed with my own, cutting me off as I tri--

Fuck, this is bad. Really fucking bad. Where the fuck is everyone?

I reached for my radio and asked where everyone was. I think I mentioned I was surrounded. I said they were yelling at me, and had me trapped in an encirclement. There was more of them than we were told, too. I kept spewing whatever came to mind into the radio, most of it painting my unarmed aggressors in a negative light.

I might have left a few parts out, but I was getting to that. At least I think I was, that's what my head (as a separate, autonomous me) told me. I could tell that I was shitting myself here, and it felt like a fucking dam on the verge of collapse, cracks making audible snaps as more of them kept appearing.

The crowd was now just a few feet away from me and inched closer, flailing their arms about in frustrated gestures. It felt like I was getting smaller, and the rest of them bigger. At least it seemed like that -- until they actually were getting bigger. They stretched up over me, almost directly above my head as my vision extended. It was sort of like raising the FOV on a ga--

Fuck, fuck fuck! I can't shoot, they're the fucking package. We need them, we fucking need them. Shit, what the fuck do I do? Where the fuck is everyone else?

Now I was kinda scared (the grumpier me, not the one pissing himself). I always hated the feeling of losing control over the situation, and I couldn't accept the parameters I was dealt with. I'm calm, I always am, but your hormones won't just sit next to you as you glue your ass to the seat. I could feel my heart beat faster, and it wasn't nice.

I didn't budge and kept my ass firmly attached to my figurative seat. I let my emotions run free, never choosing to act on them. The crowd stretched further and further, towering over me as I tried, and failed, to order them to stay back.

Stay the fuck back! Back up or I shoot!

"Stay the fuck back! Back up or I shoot!

I yelled that thought -- voice cracking at shoot -- as the crowd was just a foot away, and I raised my sidearm. My pissing-himself-self was, as the name suggests, pissing himself in a stream of even further pissing oneself, but I let him have at it. Whatever the fuck this guy was, it wasn't me as I am now.

I wouldn't panic if I lost control of something, I seldom have it, to begin with. I'd do what I could to get myself out, and if I couldn't -- I die. No loss, I just die. What would I have done, then? I would have shot at the ground when words failed, preferably when they were still six feet away.

As the thought rolled off my head, I did just that.

A shot rang out through the silent woods, and it reverberated even more than I thought a gun could. The shot was met by a sudden silence, and the crowd was back to being crowd-sized. Once more, they gave me a semi-wide berth. Everyone was stunned by the sudden turn of events, and I could tell they didn't consider the chance their saviours would shoot -- not necessarily at them -- if they were being dicks.

I didn't pay attention to where my gun was pointed, but the man dropping in front of me suggested it was toward him. Unfortunate, but it gets the point across. He grabbed at my feet and I shook him off, flailing my legs about in front of me like a horse kicking at someone behind it.

Get the fuck off of me!

"Get the fuck off of me!"

The crowd began screaming at the sight of their fallen comrade, accompanied by more of my yelling. Before they could run off to suggest panic, muffled shots rang out as the treelines burst with muzzle flashes. Though silenced, they would still be heard from at least fifty meters out.

I hit the deck and turned flat on my back, pistol held to my chest. My eyes scanned about as bullets whizzed above me, as bodies dropped in sync with the whizzing. Blood was everywhere, more than it would have even if this had happened. Maybe it did happen, who knows. It only steeled my resolve, knowing this wasn't real.

The screams weren't real, nor the blood. Even if they were, I wouldn't care. It just isn't me.

I could feel my mind's disappointment as it figuratively sighed in even more disappointment. Try as it might, its chemicals and voodoo flashbackery wouldn't fuck me over. I don't give one flying shit about this steaming pile of fermented shit my mind was showing me. My mind relented and thrust everything into my chest, like an old TV powering down.

Again, the void from earlier was all I could see. Again, I flicked my eyes somewhere else, to be greeted by my body floating in front of me. This time, I would be ready for what this me would throw at me.

You sure about that?

Yes, and fuck you.

Everything stretched out from my chest once more, and I found myself in a very cozy office. Fireplace roaring, varnished wood along the walls, mahogany tables and laminated wooden floors. In was seated in a comfortable leather chair, the spinny kind.

You're sure you don't regret what you did?

Yes, I'm sure. It is what it is. Also, fuck you.

I was in my chair, slumped on the desk in front of me. A very soothing song played as vinyl spun on a record player beside me. In sync with the beat, the door opened and two guards entered the room, led by Laurelle. These lads weren't here for a nice chat with Jordan Naird, I was sure.

"Jesus, man. You didn't need to." I was speaking in a very tired, very gravelly voice as the hulking guards flanked Laurelle on both sides. Still a mess on the table, I gazed at the trio and went back to being a pathetic pile of Jordan Naird slumped over a pile of drooled-on papers, which I'd just now noticed.

"I apologize, sir," he muttered as he waved his hands at the guards beside him, who promptly dragged me up off of my seat. I shook them off in a struggle -- their grips were pretty damn tight. Slouching, I began to walk towards Laurelle and tilted my head towards the door, signalling my compliance.

He opened the door and stepped out, myself following with the two guards behind me. My gaze was fixed to the floor, raised just enough so I could see where Laurelle's feet were stepping. As I reached the door, I looked up.

I squinted at the flowing frills of stone in front of me. They were massive, and I followed them up to see a massive statue of a woman encased in floating rings of gold. The rings had many crevices, from each a ray of golden light shot out into a deep void. Its head turned to look upon me and spoke.

You will falter.

The voice spoke in such confidence, almost as if she knew for a fact it would happen. The voice was of a mother's genteel tone and a booming rumble, causing me to shake in my boots. I looked around for Laurelle and my escorts, finding the former walking towards the massive statue some distance ahead of me.

He stopped and turned his head to the side. I looked back, to find one of the guards inches away from me.

He pushed me forward and I tripped, careening into the void below me.