The consciousness simulator hummed softly as Lin Shen placed it on his head.
The world dissolved into darkness, then reformed into something entirely different.
He was standing in a forest. Not the smog-choked streets of Norn Ruins, but a real forest—trees stretching toward a blue sky, sunlight filtering through green leaves, the sound of birdsong in the air.
It was beautiful. And it was wrong.
Because Lin Shen knew this wasn't real. It was a simulation, a training environment designed to help him master his abilities.
"Welcome to the Dream Matrix training module," a voice said—Old Zhou's, recorded for the simulation. "Your goal is simple: navigate through three layers of dreams and find your way back to waking consciousness."
Three layers. Dreams within dreams.
Lin Shen had read about this in his grandfather's notes. The Dream Matrix was structured like an onion—surface dreams at the outer layer, deeper and more abstract dreams toward the center. The deeper you went, the more dangerous it became.
He started walking. The forest seemed endless, but he knew there had to be a way through. A door, a path, something.
He found it behind a waterfall—a narrow passage leading into darkness.
He stepped through.
The second layer was completely different. He was in a city, but not Norn Ruins. This city was made of glass and light, buildings that twisted impossibly into the sky, streets that curved in ways that defied physics.
And the people...
They walked past him without seeing him, their faces blank, their movements mechanical. Like sleepwalkers, trapped in a dream they couldn't control.
Lin Shen felt a chill. This was what Atlas wanted—to turn the Dream Matrix into a tool for control, to make everyone into sleepwalkers following their commands.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on finding the next passage.
It appeared as a mirror in the middle of the street. When he looked into it, he didn't see his own reflection—instead, he saw a door.
He stepped through the mirror.
The third layer was abstract. There was no ground, no sky, no up or down. Just floating geometric shapes and flowing colors, a surrealist painting come to life.
And in the center of it all, something was waiting.
Lin Shen approached cautiously. As he got closer, he could see that it was a figure—a woman, her form flickering like a bad hologram.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The woman turned. Her face was familiar, though Lin Shen couldn't place it.
"I am what remains," she said. "A fragment of consciousness, left behind when my body died."
"You're... a ghost?"
"Not a ghost. A memory. An echo. The Dream Matrix preserves pieces of those who pass through it. I am one such piece."
Lin Shen felt a strange sadness. To exist like this—not alive, not dead, just a fragment of what once was.
"Can I help you?"
The woman smiled. "You already have. By speaking to me, you've acknowledged my existence. That's all any of us want—to be remembered."
She began to fade.
"Wait! Is there anything else? Anything I should know?"
Her voice grew distant. "Beware the Black Stone. It seeks to consume all. Only the heart can resist..."
And then she was gone.
Lin Shen stood alone in the abstract space, her words echoing in his mind.
The Black Stone. Project Black Stone. They were connected somehow.
He needed to get back. To tell Old Zhou and Li Mei what he'd learned.
He focused on his own consciousness signature—the golden light he'd learned to recognize. He imagined it growing brighter, pushing against the dream around him.
The abstract space began to dissolve. Colors bled into darkness, shapes collapsed into nothing.
And then he was back in the second layer—the glass city with its sleepwalking inhabitants.
He ran toward the mirror, the passage back to the first layer. But something was different now.
The sleepwalkers were turning toward him. Their blank faces were changing, becoming hostile.
They knew he didn't belong.
He sprinted for the mirror, dodging grasping hands. One of them caught his arm—cold, so cold—and he felt his energy draining.
He pulled free and threw himself through the mirror.
The forest. He was back in the forest.
But the trees were changing now too, their branches reaching for him like claws.
He ran. Behind him, he could hear something following—not footsteps, but a presence, a darkness that seemed to swallow the light.
The waterfall. The passage back to waking.
He dove through—
And woke up gasping, the simulator headset clattering to the floor.
His apartment was dark. Outside, the city lights flickered through the smog.
He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. But he was alive. He was awake.
And he had information they needed.
He reached for his phone and typed a message to Old Zhou.
*We need to talk. I found something in the simulation.*
Then he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The Dream Matrix was more dangerous than he'd realized. And somewhere in its depths, something was waiting.
Something called Black Stone.
And it was hungry.