The Dream Factory

By Jon Vassa

A surreal novel of dream-like horrors from up-and-coming author Jon Vassa, author of Lights Over the Senturion Moon.

 

"But sir, you already know. We're the ones telling them what to dream."

 

In the new One World Empire, Junko's life beings to fall apart after her fiancé goes missing at sea under mysterious circumstances. Unable to get a straight answer from anyone about her fiancé's disappearance, Junko decides to take matters into her own hands and search for him on her own. However, she breaks an unforgivable rule: she fell asleep before taking her dream blockers, which leads her down a path of horrors she had never imagined existed. Within the nightmare that becomes her life, Junko unravels a more sinister motive behind the World's ban on dreaming –– one that connects her to her lost fiancé who also dabbled in dreams.

Filled with Vassa's typical dark and foreboding narration,

 

The Dream Factory weaves its tale with a mixture of hope and revenge that ultimately lead to an action packed finale full of terrors that will haunt the readers long after the book is finished.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Vassa
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224104598

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 Jon Vassa

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9798863549613

Table of Contents

The Factory

Typhoon

Fallen Leaves

Red Snow

Desert Blossoms

Arctic Gale

The Factory

Whirring noises drifted along tight metal corridors, mixing with the bustling from inside the factory’s floor. Throughout the ground level perched men and women on tiny black stools, staring at screens of endless numbers or changing line jacks from one plug to another.

Before making his presence known, Khonsu inspected everyone from afar.

He lingered there in the shadows for a time, just watching. Each worker seemed dulled in their mindless tasks, likely forgetting how important they were to the operation.

Khonsu clacked his silver cane on the iron floors, causing a stir among the signal crew. They perked up from their stupors, now showing the utmost attention to their duties.

Glaring at the technicians, he made it clear there was no room for any slack.

His eyes probed from table to table until they settled on a female worker, preoccupied with a radio-like device on her desk. A strand of errant red curly hair escaped from underneath her hat, bouncing at the side of her cheek while she worked with diligence.

He crept closer to her station, watching her turning dials, casting a flickering image above the radio-like device. As he neared her station, he saw the hologram taking on noticeable shapes.

A lone oil tanker swayed in a raging sea, struggling to keep above water.

Relentless waves crashed into its hull, the lady turning the dials until the image showed clearly.

Khonsu grinned, readjusting his brass spectacles.

Purple streaks of lightning illuminated the billowy clouds in the floating vision.

The female worker kept moving the dials in minor rotations, trying to flick the red curl away from her left eye at the same time. The poor ship rocked in the merciless waves as they hurled it back and forth, a sailor aboard the deck clinging on for dear life.

Khonsu placed his gloved hands atop his silver cane, leaning closer to the image.

'Is this the one?' he asked the woman.

Sweat seeped down to her knitted brow. 'Yes sir,' she replied.

Khonsu tapped his cane on her shoulders. 'Make sure to keep the frequency clean,' he said. 'And clear. We don’t want any mistakes.'

'No sir.'

She watched the image above, twisting a device key, helping to remove the last remains of static.

From the side of the hall opened a black metal door, and out marched a highly decorated female sergeant holding a manila folder. She made no attempt at covering her anticipation.

The sergeant hurried through the factory line to meet Khonsu.

As she neared, Khonsu lifted his cane into the air, pressing its end onto her chest, stopping the sergeant from coming any closer to him.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced downward, seeing his cane on her recent Eagle Badge.

'I think we picked a good one this time,' said Khonsu. 'He's quite dogged. Unlike our last project.'

Using his cane as an extension of his arm, he then slid it off the sergeant’s chest, gliding it along to her suit’s back, now drawing her closer.

'Sir?'

'Can you see his face?' said Khonsu.

'I see it.' She tugged herself back a centimetre. But he kept his cane tight at her back.

'You think he has the determination to see things through to the end?'

'Sir?'

'Well, do you?'

She paused for a second. 'That’s why we picked him, sir.'

'Hmm. . . Very well.'

Staring at the floating image a moment longer, the sergeant cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak but found her thoughts interrupted.

'Ha,' shouted Khonsu. 'He almost fell in. Did you see that? What a klutz.'

'Sir, we’ve made contact with the ship’s—'

'Oh, tell me about it later,' he said. 'I’m busy right now.'

She pursed her lips, a throbbing creeping along the vein on the side of her neck.

'Isn’t it beautiful what these fools will dream?'

'Yes, but sir—'

'Look, stop being a killjoy. Relax. Take some pleasure in this sailor’s tribulations for a moment.' He spread his arms. 'Or have a gander at the rest of these sheep, sucking on our dream teats.'

'I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve made contact with our informant on the Iwami,' she said. 'We might be able to nab this sailor sooner than expected—'

'Can you shut up for a second?' The feed turned to blurry static, Khonsu hammering his cane onto the floor. Everyone in the factory went silent, even the sergeant quietening down.

Khonsu’s upper lip quivered as he glared at the fading images.

The sergeant gulped, holding the manilla folder tight at her chest.

'Damn it,' he said. 'God damn it. Do you see what you’ve done?'

'Sorry, sir, but we need your immediate attention on this matter.'

Rolling his head backwards, he opened his mouth and scoffed, 'Great. This is great. Now, I’ll never know how it ends. Are you happy?' 

'But sir, you already know,' she said. 'We’re the ones telling them what to dream.'

Typhoon

The gangplank ropes slipped out from the young sailor's hands, shouts ringing out as the plank fell, crashing onto the cement dock. Fei cringed at the sudden bang, then gritted his teeth. In his sixteen years aboard ocean-going vessels, never had the tall, dark-haired sailor seen such gross incompetence.

He peered out of the ship’s exit at the junior sailor.

Laughter soon erupted at the fumble, then a collective groan, the crew no doubt realising their exit would be further delayed by such a careless mishap.

Fei felt his heart stilled as the clumsy sailor fell to his knees, wheezing into his hands.

'What's the matter with you?' shouted a voice at the ill sailor from the around the deck. 'You'd prefer to spend your shore leave cleaning the heads?'

As the young sailor seemed to be getting sicker by the moment, Fei grew even more concerned, wondering if this could somehow be traced back to himself.

Greaves, the ship’s first mate, jogged to the young sailor, shouting all the time for him to stand at attention. 'I ought to drag you by the ears and teach you some manners, you little shit!'

Fei pushed himself to the side of the ship’s exit, gazing outward, carefully watching the first mate and the squirming young man.

Other crew members crammed themselves by the door, also sneaking a peek at the scene.

First Mate Greaves grabbed the sailor by the collar, lifting him to his feet in one smooth motion.

Without warning, the young man thrashed out from Greaves’ grasp, falling to the ground, convulsing; white foam bubbled from his blue lips, his green eyes kicking into the back of his head.

'Shit,' whispered a lady behind Fei.

'That's what you get from mixing pills,' said another.

'Third one this month.'

Without missing a beat, First Mate Greaves shoved a metal disc into the young sailor’s mouth, keeping him from chewing off his tongue, shouting over his shoulder for the medic.

Pushing past the queue waiting to disembark, the medic ran to the deck and dropped to her knees, jabbing the young sailor with a syringe.

'Jesus Christ,' mumbled a lady inside the ship, behind Fei. 'Must be his first trip.'

Fei ignored the comments and just fixed his bag onto his shoulder.

With the effort, sweat was draining from every pore in his body.

It doesn't mean anything, Fei told himself. Newbies often died under the strain.

A green light ignited below the ship at the docks, breaking the stifled atmosphere and allowing the crew to descend, more medics arriving at the deck.

Everyone started to march down the deck, passing glances along the way.

They all wished for the answer to one question: had the young man died? 

Trying to focus ahead of himself, Fei tried his best not to make eye contact with First Mate Greaves or any of the medics. It meant nothing, he told himself, not a damn thing.

Even if he had been playing cards with the sailor just last night.

Fei watched the armed guards below waiting for the crew to disembark.

He wanted to act natural, but couldn’t shake the feeling that their eyes were tracking the exact pace of his descent. Slowing, Fei looked over his shoulder once more at the young sailor being dragged into the ship, and at First Mate Greaves shaking his head.

A shipmate bumped into his back, causing more grumbles throughout the traffic.

'You’re holding up the line, jackass,' she said. 'What's wrong with you people tonight?'

'Sorry,' he whispered, continuing to inch down the wobbly plank.

It’s all in your head, he thought. This is the normal routine.

Years of military training had drilled the notion inside his skull that he must never lose his wits. Emotions were secondary—fickle—and he should never allow them to usurp his cold logical mind.

An anxious sailor made a clumsy shipmate.

But he told himself no matter how many heads tracked his descent, the only real enemy was fear.

As soon as his foot touched the dock, a line of guards in perfect formation halted him from going any further. The rest of the crew also stopped behind him.

'Soldier IA-One-One-Five?'

'Yes.'

'Please proceed through gate seven and wait for inspection.'

'Inspection?’

'Proceed through gate seven.'

He nodded without taking his eyes off them.

Breaking from the formation, a masked guard circled behind Fei, prodding his rifle into the small of Fei's back. Fellow crewmen remained silent as they watched.

'Proceed,' said the guard.

Fei walked ahead, passing the usual exit barrier and through a fence numbered seven, walking until he reached a metal gate where an inspection officer stood at attention behind a tall steel table.

Tapping his metal rod on the tabletop, he grabbed Fei’s attention.

'Bag.'

He gazed into the officer’s seamless mask, seeing the warped image of his own boxy face staring back at himself.

Another whack hit the table.

'Bag.'

Unwinding the bag from his shoulder, Fei tossed it onto the table and put his hands flat at his side. The officer dug his metal rod into the bag, meticulously checking its contents.

After a long minute, the officer stilled himself.

Slowly, he set the rod down on the table, the officer reaching into the sack.

Fei moved his hands out of reflex, then glued them to his sides when he recalled the rifle’s barrel was aiming at the back of his head.

Holding the medicine bottle near his face mask, the officer examined the container, shaking it twice until a number showed on the label.

Fei dabbed his sweaty palms at the side of his trousers.

'You missed two dosages during the voyage?' said the officer.

'That’s right,' he said.

'Why?'

'We ran into a violent storm navigating here. I wasn’t allowed a break.'

The officer tilted his head. Before Fei could speak, he slapped the bottle onto the table.

'Did you sleep in that time?'

'You kidding me?'

'Did you sleep in that time?'

'Of course not.'

Sweat rolled down into the corner of his eye, a long mute pause stretching between them. Then without any warning, the officer backed away a step and waved the rod over his shoulder.

Fei picked up his sack, then swept the dissected contents from the table back into his bag, hiking it over his shoulder as he walked smoothly towards the exit.

A thick iron gate clad in dense spikes and barbed wire barred him from exiting.

He squinted at it, growing anxious at the delay it was causing, then gripping tighter at his sack; for a split second, he considered that maybe he was too cocksure, that they were wise to him, and this would only be the beginning of his personal voyage into hell.

When he began to pivot, the iron gate rumbled, peeling back to glistening city streets waiting for him on the other side.

'Go on,' he whispered. 'Greaves is right. One last mission and all this will be yours.'

***

Six years ago, before Junko had signed to her current job, she was lured in by the prospect of lateral movement and the picturesque depictions on a leaflet they’d shoved into her hands—Air-con.

Her eyes had widened at the sight of the cooling machine displayed in the brochure. Having such a device was a prized commodity, a symbol of upward mobility.

At the time, the agent informed her that if she took the job, it would be her best chance at nabbing a space in Blueberry Hills, not to mention daily bliss in a chilled office environment.

Six years had passed since then, and yet her rusted metal fan merely circulated the hot winds.

With a sigh, Junko dabbed at her brow, then picked out a hand fan from her desk.

She fluttered it in the air.

The sun’s rays crept through the glass windows as the pane’s shadow inched along the floors like a sundial, giving her a sense of time and of when her shift would end.

Two women seated next to her desk scribbled their pens on holographic screens, filling in various numbers and the occasional x-mark.

A low beeping sound coming from Junko’s screen alerted her to return to work.

She took her pen into her hand and carried on plugging in given numbers that scrolled on a continuous band of tape near her rusted fan.

In time, the sunlight etched to a sharp angle on the floor and moved away from her eyes.

She paused once more to dab her brow as a stray bead crawled down the side of her temple, onward towards her jaw.

Temptation slithered inside her chest for a faint moment.

She wanted to stand from her work, call a three-minute bathroom break and sneak a glance at her wristband, just to know if Fei had received her messages or if his ship had reached dry land.

But she couldn't lie.

They'd see right through her and then she'd feel even worse for trying to deceive anyone.

A low beep sounded at her screen.

Junko lowered the handkerchief and kept filling in the numbers dictated by her scrolling tape machine.

17. . . 44. . . 68. . . 66. . . 12. . . 15. . . 83. . .

How would Fei react to the news?

She glanced at the shadows nearing a desk, five rows ahead of herself for she knew when the shadow touched that desk, the bell would ding in the far corner of the office. Then, the windows would shut, and each employee would be ushered out single file to nightly freedom.

29. . . 19. . . 37. . . 04. . . 11. . . 78. . . 06. . .

They could always try again when Fei returned. Her eggs still dropped every month, but that wasn’t the issue. The aftermath seemed to be the problem. She never knew the child and from what common education told her, it was nothing more than a cluster of cells in her womb.

So why did it depress her so much, seeing the blood in the toilet, knowing another one had failed to stick?

The corner bell dinged and in unison, the workers closed down their holographic screens and nestled their pens into special holders.

Her rusted metal fan cut off, its blades spinning slower and slower. Humidity curled about her neck in the fan’s absence. Junko sat erect, faking a smile to the woman sitting beside her.

Scoffing at Junko, the lady raised a hand fan from her side, swishing it about.

Junko pursed her lips, waving her own fan under her chin, watching her colleagues stand one at a time to be cleared for the day.

We can always try again, she thought, tears welling behind her eyes. And then we’ll make our way to Blueberry Hills. Yeah?

Junko grimaced at the heat and fluttered her fan harder, trying to keep the tears hidden inside.

***

Steam wafted in the old seaport canteen, pouring from the kitchen stalls and lingering overhead the drenched sailors, too hungry to complain.

Huddling over his Spam-fried noodles, Fei scraped his chopsticks along the sides of his bowl, picking out the final strands and shovelling them into his mouth.

He finished the meal with a heaved sigh, setting down his bowl atop the plastic table, then glancing out of the canteen’s entrance.

The ocean lapped the shore as the burning sun glared upon the water’s surface.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, as were most of the other sailors’ in the canteen. It was the one place they were allowed such privileges, but he wasn’t certain it cooled him any more or less. Dabbing at his breast pocket, he pried out his pack of cigarettes, and clamped one in his lips.

The sailor sitting across from him stood from his seat, then carried his tray to the washing station at the back. Fei kept an eye on him, watching the man leave the canteen.

Fei unbuttoned another fastener at his neck and then clicked his lighter underneath his cigarette.

As he released long tendrils of smoke through his nostrils, First Mate Greaves sat in the vacant spot in front of him with a bowl of black-bean noodles and a pair of chopsticks.

Fei’s hand trembled.

Greaves said a quick and meaningless prayer to himself, then began tucking into his meal.

The cigarette quivered near Fei’s chin, his sights staying fixed on the first mate across the table. Greaves had the coldest eyes Fei had ever seen in another human being. He assumed they were blue at one point, but over time, perhaps as the man’s soul eroded their colour faded as well.

Greaves paid Fei no attention as he consumed his meal, never once glancing up from his bowl.

Fei dropped his half-smoked cigarette, stomped it out as he stood, and marched for the canteen’s exit. There, he refastened his sleeve and buttoned his collar again.

Waves gurgled on the sandy beach, the sun sweltering in the water’s refection.

Fei dropped his face into his arm-fold, rubbing away more sweat as heavy set boots walked up behind him. Fei glanced back at Greaves, then dug out his black sunglasses, putting them on.

'Do you have a light?' said Greaves.

Reaching to pass his lighter over his shoulder, Fei offered it to him, thinking this whole situation could go sour, that he’d been foolish to conspire alongside his superior.

Greaves clicked the lighter twice before a flame erupted, then he swiftly handed it back to Fei.

'Any brand is my brand of smoke.'

Fei remained quiet, gazing at the fleet of ships moored in the bay.

'Do you have the time, friend?' Without glancing at his wristband, Fei swallowed his breath and answered. 'Quarter to three,' he said.

Greaves marched a step alongside Fei. Neither spoke in the oppressive heat.

A flock of chattering seagulls glided outside the canteen’s entrance, then Greaves flicked his cigarette butt and refastened his sleeves.

'Ever eaten gull meat?'

'As a child.'

'It’s gamey.'

Fei nodded.

'Stupid birds. Don’t even taste good.'

Fei nodded again. Then took a step ahead.

'When does the Iwami depart tonight?' asked Greaves.

Drawing his sleeve up with his finger allowed Fei to glance at his wristband.

'Did you hear me, sailor?'

'Midnight,' said Fei. 'Midnight, sir.'

'Did you need to reference your watch to tell me that?'

'No, sir.'

'Can I see your medical canister?' he said.

Fei dragged his container out and handed it to his superior.

The man tapped the lid twice, causing a number to appear on the label. A slick grin formed as he tossed it back to Fei.

'You’re on track again,' he said. 'We all take a night or two without rest during these seasons.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Midnight, you said?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sailing?'

'East, sir.'

Greaves raised a round device from his breast pocket and studied it for a time.

'You’ll experience no more storms, sailor. Don’t let that worry you.'

'I won’t.'

'You up for another game of craps this afternoon in the dorms?'

Fei's face brightened. 'What's the number?'

'Why don't you meet me in the billiard room at fifteen-hundred hours? That way, we can go together.'

'Good.'

'By the way,' said Greaves. 'They've sent another command.'

'And?'

'Change of plans.'

'What does that mean?'

'We’ll find out at the time.'

Fei grumbled at the words.

'Don't get greedy,' said Greaves. 'I'll see you at fifteen hundred hours, Billiards room. Good chance to test our luck.'

Fei snorted at him.

Then tilting his chin upwards, Greaves marched away, cutting a path through the bouncing seagulls, and onto a route leading to the docks.

***

Tucked in a small food cubicle, Junko dined alone on a dish of black-bean noodles with pork. Normally, this meal she would share this meal with Fei, but when the ship left the port, he wouldn’t return for months—once in a half-year.

So in context, eating alone for a period should be considered normal for her. Such intellectualisations never eased her inner pleadings though. She was human after all.

Putting her hands together, she sent a mental prayer to him and the metal ship, carrying him across a giant body of unsettled water.

Junko picked her wooden chopsticks from the tablecloth and settled them in between her thumb and first two fingers.

Nearly touching the noodles, she paused when a police officer rapped his index finger on her table. Swallowing her breath, she relaxed the chopsticks, laying them back onto the cloth.

'Authorisation form.'

His leathery hand wagged towards himself. She lifted her eyes to the masked officer, then bowed to him as she tapped her wristband. A holographic certificate rose into sight, and she waited in silence as he checked its notary seal.

'You’ve twelve minutes remaining,' he said. 'Be sure you’re out of the restaurant before your form expires.'

'I understand.'

Side-stepping, the officer moved to the next cubicle beside hers. As he left the space, a screen of daily news and advertisements appeared.

She retook her chopsticks and ate her first bite.

The advertisement read:

'Blueberry Hills will be opened to all Earth Citizens this October in the twenty-seventh annual Grand World’s Lottery drawing. The first-place winner will be given a shorefront apartment, complete with two bedrooms and one bathroom, overlooking the crystal blue waters that surround the island.'

Junko gazed at the apartment, the images glistening in her eyes. One day, they’d be there, free as birds and lavish as peacocks. She knew in her heart that the time was close.

Why else would they have awarded Fei his current sailing route if not to hint at it?

She returned to her dinner, imagining how easy her life would be in the Hills.

She thought of how long she could dine for without needing a permit, and how she would have all the money she required to spend on anything she wanted.

This was one of the biggest perks in having a military spouse.

Well, almost spouse—once they found the time to visit City Hall.

She noted her chopsticks dangling over her noodles again as if her mind had leaked out of a hole in her head, detaching from her body for a short moment.

Taking another mouthful, she watched the next ad on the screen.

'Summer Floral—the newest fashion trend available to Greater World Citizens. Now available in two variations: Natsu no Shima or Kawakaze.'

Checking her dress, she compared it to the fashion presented, giving a frown of disappointment.

'Be safe by keeping up to date with your jabs! New Bi-Mutated Avian Flu vaccine now readily available to all Earth citizens. Make sure to get your hit before the 15th! And remember, no jab, no credits.'

Her wristband's hologram was indeed showing a red notification, alerting her to urgently schedule her jab. Sighing, Junko placed her chopsticks down neatly and left the diner.

Stuffy winds blew outside. She loosened her neckerchief and refined her hat on her head.

The train station stood a kilometre away but the distance made no difference.

Within less than a minute of standing outside, she could already feel beads of sweat trickling down into the small of her back in constant rivulets, dampening her shirt.

Walking towards the station, she pondered two alternatives.

The conclusion never untangled into a full picture. And when she reached the train, she seemed more confused than when her quandary had first arisen.

The station guard cleared her to enter, then pointed his baton at the queue in which she was to wait. Five minutes of further mental tangling saw the train reaching the platform, allowing her to board. She stepped in and took hold of a handrail near the window.

The train glided across the tracks, curving around a dark glassy bay, speckled in naval lights and green and red flashing buoys.

After three more stations, the train slowed as an announcement sounded.

'Attention Citizens. You are to return to your homes immediately. I repeat, you are to return to your homes immediately.'

She glanced at the other faces aboard.

'The National Meteorological Bureau has issued a report that Typhoon Nori has abruptly diverted its current path and is expected to make landfall by ten p.m. local time tonight.

'We advise each and every citizen to reach shelter immediately and will take the necessary actions against any persons found outside after nine-thirty p.m., local time.'

Junko searched the faces once more.

'I repeat, any persons found outside after nine-thirty p.m. local time will be apprehended.'

The train picked up speed, the handle swaying on its leash, and Junko's thoughts vanished before an even more pressing matter. As the doors slid open, she scurried out from the station and plunged into a lone phone booth, isolating herself from the world for a second.

Calmness disrupted her hurried thoughts, causing a momentary lapse of recall as to why she had even entered the tiny booth. Air sirens rang loudly outside.

Taking up the phone, she cradled it between her shoulder and ear.

'Can I help you?' said a soft voice.

Closing her eyes to the hurried people sweeping by, she hesitated, unable to gather the words.

'I’m sorry, but this line will terminate in ten seconds.'

'I—I need to check on my fiancé’s ship,' she said.

The line cut, and she mashed the plunger down.

A sense of knowing wrapped about her skin, tingling the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Junko released the plunger, still clasping the phone tight.

'Excuse me, this service has been temporarily disabled,' said a voice. 'If in an emergency or requiring help, please dial: nine-nine-nine. Otherwise, all citizens should return to their homes at once. Thank you.'

Junko returned the phone, bowing a little, then pushed herself outside the booth. She ambled along, slower than the rest of the crowd on the pavement.

***

Rushing winds howled through the port, whipping flags and crashing waves onto the dock. Fei held his cap, the angry air threatening to pluck it right off his head.

Several meters ahead stood a force of armed guards all waiting for him at the thick gate barrier, and further beyond that lay the Iwami, now ready to sail.

Fei eyed the entrance, wondering if he could pull a fast one, or if he would be the one duped in the end? Pivoting to the side, he nearly crashed into Greaves who was absorbed studying the winds.

'Sir?'

Greaves paid no attention to Fei as he looked at a