The empty street stretched out before them, grey and quiet.

  Mark stopped in the middle of the road, turning to face Maggie. Locke sat nearby, watching. The eagle circled overhead, a dark silhouette against the colorless sky.

  "Alright," Mark said. "You can create objects now. That's good. But honestly? I don't think that's going to be your strength."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're a fighter. Your instinct is physical—hit first, think later. External creation requires planning, visualization, control. That's not how you operate." He gestured at her. "I think you'd be better off learning to enhance yourself directly. Make yourself stronger, faster, more durable. Work with your body instead of creating things outside it."

  Maggie thought about that. About the faceless figures in her first dream. About punching the illusion Mark had created. About dropping into that fighting stance without thinking.

  "Yeah," she said. "That makes sense. That feels... right."

  "Before we start, let me show you what's possible." Mark glanced at Locke. "Watch."

  He made a small gesture with his hand—barely a flick of his wrist.

  Locke's form began to shift.

  The husky's body expanded, bones stretching, fur rippling as he grew. In seconds, he stood nearly eight feet tall at the shoulder—a massive version of himself, still recognizably the same dog but scaled to an impossible size. His paws were the size of dinner plates. His head was level with hers.

  "Holy shit," Maggie breathed.

  Locke yawned, showing teeth the length of her forearm. Then he shook himself, sat down, and scratched behind his ear with a hind leg—the motion absurdly casual for something his size.

  "Body manipulation," Mark said. "Locke can change his size because I designed him to. But the principle is the same for you. Your body here isn't fixed. It's just another thing you can shape."

  "Can I do that? Get bigger?"

  "Theoretically. But I wouldn't recommend it." He made another gesture, and Locke began shrinking back to normal size. "Changing your body's structure requires perfect visualization of anatomy. Get it wrong and you end up... surreal. We talked about this with the bracelet."

  Maggie remembered her wrist. The metal sinking into her flesh. The wrongness of it.

  "So what can I do?"

  "Enhancement. Not transformation." Mark crossed his arms. "Make your muscles stronger without changing their size. Make your bones denser without reshaping them. Reinforce what's already there instead of trying to become something different."

  Locke finished shrinking, back to his normal husky proportions. He trotted over to Maggie and bumped his head against her hand, tail swaying.

  "Good boy," she murmured, scratching behind his ears. Hard to believe this was the same dog that had just been the size of a small car.

  "Good. So let's start simple. Jump."

  "Jump?"

  "As high as you can. But don't just jump—imagine yourself lighter. Imagine your muscles stronger. Will yourself higher than you should be able to go."

  Maggie crouched slightly. Focused. Lighter. Stronger. Higher.

  She pushed off.

  And launched herself ten feet into the air.

  "Holy shit!" The ground was way too far below. She flailed, completely unprepared for the height, and came down in the least graceful way possible—face-first into the pavement.

  The impact should have hurt. Should have broken something. But she just... bounced slightly and rolled to a stop.

  Maggie pushed herself up, spitting out grey dust. "Ow."

  "You're fine," Mark said, not even trying to hide his amusement. "You're in the Dreamscape. Physics are negotiable and injury is mostly psychological."

  "That doesn't make it less embarrassing."

  "No, it really doesn't." He walked over, offering a hand to pull her up. "But you got the height right. You just forgot about the landing."

  "I didn't know I was going to jump that high!"

  "Fair. Try again. This time, stick the landing. You know—really sell it. Superhero style."

  Maggie dusted herself off. "You want me to do a superhero landing?"

  "I want you to not face-plant. But if you can make it look cool, that's a bonus."

  "That's such a impractical landing. You're basically destroying your knees for dramatic effect."

  "You're in a dream world where you can make yourself indestructible and you're worried about practicality?"

  "Fair point."

  She tried again. And again. And again.

  By the fifth attempt, she was landing cleanly—dropping from height into a crouch, one fist on the ground, the yellow silk of her dress flowing dramatically around her.

  "There you go," Mark said. "Completely impractical, absolutely ridiculous, and somehow it works."

  "I feel like a complete idiot."

  "That's how you know you're doing it right."

  Over the next hour, Mark guided her through the basics. Running faster than she should be able to. Hitting harder. Moving with precision that required no thought.

  Well. Mostly.

  "Okay, try enhancing your speed," Mark said. "Make yourself faster."

  Maggie focused. Faster. Legs stronger. Move quicker.

  She took off running.

  Her left leg moved at superhuman speed. Her right leg... didn't.

  "FUCK—" She spun sideways, completely off-balance, and face-planted into the pavement for the second time that day.

  Mark's laughter echoed down the empty street.

  Maggie pushed herself up, spitting grey dust again. "That's not funny."

  "It absolutely is." He tried to compose himself. Failed. "You looked like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel."

  "I enhanced my speed!"

  "You enhanced your LEFT leg's speed. Your right leg was still normal." He walked over, offering a hand. "You have to apply the enhancement evenly. Both legs. Both arms. Your whole body working together. Otherwise you get..." he gestured at her, "...that."

  "Could've warned me."

  "And miss that? Never." He pulled her up. "Try again. Evenly this time."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It took a few more attempts—and one more spectacular tumble—before she got it right. But once she did, it all came naturally to Maggie. Easier than creating objects, easier than visualization exercises.

  She felt it click into place. The understanding that her body was just another thing she could manipulate here. Make it stronger, faster, more resilient. She didn't need to create weapons or armor. She was the weapon.

  "You're picking this up way too fast," Mark said after she'd successfully punched through a brick wall he'd manifested. "Most people take days to get this comfortable with physical enhancement."

  "Maybe I'm just naturally gifted."

  "Maybe you're just more animal than human."

  Maggie paused, fist still embedded in crumbling brick. "Excuse me?"

  "I mean it as a compliment. Animals don't overthink. They just act—pure instinct and physical response. You're doing the same thing. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just immediate physical adjustment." He pulled the brick wall away, letting it dissolve. "It's actually pretty impressive."

  "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

  "You should. It means you're going to be very good at this."

  He stepped back, raising his hands. "Alright. Time to test it properly. I'm going to create some opponents. You're going to fight them."

  "What kind of opponents?"

  "Let's start simple."

  Three figures materialized in front of her. Humanoid shapes, featureless and grey, about her size. They moved with jerky, unnatural motions.

  "Go," Mark said.

  Maggie didn't hesitate. She launched forward, driving her fist into the first figure's chest. It shattered like glass. The second one swung at her—she ducked, swept its legs, and stomped down as it fell. The third managed to grab her arm, but she twisted free and delivered a spinning kick that sent it flying.

  All three dissolved into mist.

  "Too easy," Mark said. "Let's try something harder."

  Five figures this time. Bigger. Faster. They came at her from multiple angles.

  Maggie moved on pure instinct. Block, strike, dodge, counter. The yellow dress flowed with every movement, never restricting, never catching. She was faster than she'd ever been, stronger than she had any right to be.

  One of the figures got a hit in—a solid punch to her ribs that should have broken something. But Maggie barely felt it. She grabbed its arm, used its momentum to throw it into another figure, and finished them both with a double strike.

  The remaining three fell quickly after that.

  "Better," Mark said. "You're adapting mid-fight. Learning their patterns. That's good."

  He was about to create another wave when Maggie grabbed his arm, pointing up at the sky.

  "Wow." Her voice came out breathless. "Wow. WOW."

  A humpback whale was swimming through the air above them. Massive, graceful, moving through the grey sky like it was the ocean. Its body curved and flexed with each stroke of its fins, completely at ease in the impossible medium.

  Mark glanced up. "Oh. Yeah, they do that."

  "They do that?! That's a flying whale!"

  "Swimming whale, technically. And yes, fairly common. Mammals love the Dreamscape." He watched it with mild interest, like someone might watch a bird pass by. "Whales especially. No gravity, infinite space, it's perfect."

  The whale seemed to notice them. It turned, banking in a wide arc, and swam closer. When it was directly overhead, it rolled slightly to the side—looking down at them with one enormous eye.

  And then it spouted.

  A massive spray of water erupted from its blowhole, showering down on them. Maggie yelped, throwing her arms up. Mark just stood there, getting completely drenched, shaking his head.

  "Show off," he called up at it.

  The whale let out a low, rumbling call that Maggie felt in her chest more than heard. Then it swam away, disappearing into the grey distance.

  "That was incredible," Maggie said, wiping water from her face.

  Mark wrung out his lab coat. "They show up pretty regularly. Always dramatic about it, too."

  "It looked at us."

  "They're intelligent. Curious. That one probably wanted to see what we were doing." He gestured at the empty space where the whale had been. "They don't usually interact much, though. Mostly just swim around enjoying themselves."

  "Do they talk? Like Johnny?"

  "Wild animals? Not that I know of. Johnny's unique—I taught him to communicate over time." He paused, thoughtful. "Pets are different, though. Dogs, cats, animals that spent their lives with humans. They usually arrive already able to talk."

  "Why?"

  "They've been listening to us their whole lives. Turns out they understand more than we think—they're just more perceptive than they seem. Here, that understanding becomes speech."

  "So if someone's dog shows up here..."

  "They can probably have a conversation with it, yeah."

  "Huh." Maggie looked at Locke, who was watching them with those intelligent eyes. "Does Locke talk?"

  "He could if he wanted to. But he's me, remember? We don't need words."

  "I'm getting that impression."

  "Right." Mark squared his shoulders, water still dripping from his coat. "Where were we? Oh yes—beating the crap out of illusions."

  He created more opponents. Bigger ones. Faster ones. Some with weapons. Maggie fought them all, getting better with each wave. Learning to read movements, to anticipate attacks, to use the environment.

  After what felt like the twentieth wave, Mark called a halt.

  "Alright. One more. This one's different."

  A figure materialized in front of her.

  Taller than the others. Broader. More detailed. Dark hair. Strong build. Familiar stance.

  Maggie froze.

  She'd seen this person before. In her first dream—the warehouse, the chase, the fight. He'd been there. One of the figures who'd attacked her.

  But she still couldn't remember who he was.

  Something pushed at the edges of her mind. A feeling. Like she should know. Like this person mattered. Like remembering would—

  No.

  She shoved the thought away. Didn't want to know. Didn't need to know.

  Just another opponent. That's all.

  The figure moved, dropping into a fighting stance that mirrored her own.

  "Do you know who this is?" Mark asked quietly, watching her carefully.

  "I fought him before. In my first dream." Maggie kept her voice steady. Controlled. "But I don't know who he is."

  "Do you want to know?"

  "No." The answer came quick. Too quick. "I want a rematch."

  Mark's expression flickered with something—surprise, maybe. Or concern. He studied her for a long moment, like he was deciding something.

  Then he nodded. "Alright."

  The figure attacked.

  It was different from the others. Faster. More precise. It knew how she moved, anticipated her strikes, countered with techniques that felt painfully familiar.

  Maggie fought back with everything she had. Block, strike, dodge, counter. The figure matched her move for move. It was like fighting a mirror—every technique she used, it knew. Every opening she created, it exploited.

  They traded blows back and forth, neither gaining the advantage. Maggie could feel herself improving even as they fought, adapting to the style, learning from it.

  And then she saw an opening. A split second where the figure's guard dropped.

  She drove forward with a straight punch that connected solidly with its chest.

  The figure stumbled back, then dissolved.

  Maggie stood there, breathing hard, fist still extended.

  "Good," Mark said. "That's solid progress."

  He stopped mid-thought, looking up. The eagle overhead had changed its flight pattern, circling tighter, more urgently.

  "What is it?" Maggie asked.

  "Someone's coming. Fast." Mark frowned. "It's Johnny."

  "Maybe he found someone?" Maggie said. "You mentioned he explores a lot. Finds new arrivals."

  Mark's expression shifted—concerned. "Yeah. Probably." He looked at her seriously. "Which means we'll need to go help. And you'll be coming with."

  "I thought I was still training."

  "You are. You're nowhere near ready for the real Dreamscape." He said it bluntly. "You're gonna fuck up. A lot."

  Maggie bristled. "C'mon, I was kicking ass back there."

  "In a controlled environment." He gestured around them. "Out there? You'll probably panic a lot. Make mistakes. Maybe manifest something dangerous."

  The words landed like a slap.

  Mark's expression softened slightly. "But at least you got your basics down. Don't worry. I got you covered."

  "How reassuring."

  "It should be." He looked up at the sky. "And right on time. Here he comes."

  A shape appeared in the distance, streaking toward them through the air.

  Johnny came down in dolphin form, chattering frantically even before he reached them.

  "Mark! Mark, I found one!"

  "Found what?" Mark asked, already moving toward him.

  "A human! A new one! I saw them collapse near the eastern district—they're still there, I think, but I don't know for how long!" Johnny was talking too fast, words tumbling over each other even in his dolphin clicks and whistles. "You need to come, like, now!"

  Mark's expression sharpened. "Show us. Now."

  Johnny swam in a circle around Maggie in dolphin form, then positioned himself in front of her. The intention was clear.

  "You want me to... ride you?" Maggie asked.

  Johnny transformed to human, flexing dramatically. "Ready for the ride of your life?"

  Maggie rolled her eyes. "Just turn back into a dolphin."

  "Aw, come on! I was being helpful!"

  "You were being ridiculous."

  Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "Johnny. Dolphin form. Now. No more talking."

  "You're no fun." But Johnny shifted back, swimming in place and waiting.

  Maggie looked at Mark. "And you?"

  "I'll follow." He took a few steps, and then—impossibly—kept going. His feet found purchase on empty air, like he was running up invisible stairs.

  "Wait. Can you fly?"

  "Not flying. Running." He jogged in place a few feet off the ground. "There's a difference."

  "You're literally in the air."

  "But I'm running, not flying. Flying would imply gliding or hovering. I'm actively running." He demonstrated, jogging forward through empty space. "See? Running."

  "That's the dumbest distinction I've ever heard."

  "And yet technically accurate." He gestured at Johnny. "Come on. We're wasting time."

  Maggie climbed onto Johnny's back—which was significantly weirder than she'd expected, straddling a dolphin in mid-air—and grabbed onto his dorsal fin.

  "Ready?" Mark called from above. He was already several feet up, Locke running alongside him on the same invisible surface, the dog's paws finding purchase in empty air like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  "I guess?"

  "Good enough. Johnny—go."

  The dolphin shot forward like a torpedo.

  Maggie held on for dear life as the grey streets blurred past. The wind whipped her hair back, the yellow silk of her dress streaming behind her. Johnny swam through the air with the same fluid grace he'd have in water, banking around corners and gaining altitude when needed.

  They climbed higher, above the buildings, above the fog. From up here, Maggie could see the entire Dreamscape spread out below—an endless city rendered in shades of grey, stretching to the horizon in all directions. No people. No movement except for them. Just empty streets and silent buildings and that pervasive, colorless fog.

  It was beautiful in a haunting way. Like a photograph of a world that had stopped existing.

  Mark and Locke ran alongside them, twenty feet up in the air, moving as easily as if they were on solid ground. The husky's tongue lolled out happily, clearly enjoying the impossible sprint.

  "This is insane!" Maggie called over the wind.

  Mark just grinned.

  They raced through the empty Dreamscape, heading toward whatever—or whoever—Johnny had found.