"This is the best part coming up."
"That's nice."
"You're going to love it."
"Do you think we could just watch it, first?"
"Oh, sure, sure."
Drake Callahan and Kate Stanton sit together on the couch of Drake's apartment, late at night, watching the television. On at the moment is the thrilling conclusion to season two of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Drake, despite having already seen it multiple times, is eagerly reacting to every twist and turn, while Kate watches with feigned enthusiasm. Drake seemed to like it, for whatever reason, and it was his TV, after all. She coughs and tries to stir up conversation.
"So...the pink one, she's a doppelganger, right?"
"It's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, kind of."
"So why's she want to get married to the other one?"
"To lower the force field, so her minions can get in."
"It seems awfully convoluted. Couldn't she just knock him out, or stab him, or something?"
"...I don't think you understand ponies, Kate."
Kate smiles and shrugs, leaning back to suffer silently through the rest of the episode. Drake ignores her, absorbed in the show as usual until its conclusion. The closing credits play and Kate gets up to stretch after the ordeal; she turns to Drake and finds him crying.
"Seriously?"
"It's just...so beautiful. Their love! So pure, so heartfelt. It really tugs at the old heartstrings."
"Um...yeah, sure, I suppose. You do know I'm the girl in this relationship, right?"
"There's nothing wrong with a man in touch with his feelings!"
"Sure thing, you big pansy. I'm going to have to find a man into action movies and pornography."
"Well, there is some fanfiction..."
"Wooooahh there, cowboy, I don't want to know about any of that. I'm just kidding around."
Drake weakly smiles at her, getting up with a vaguely preoccupied look on his face. He stretches and cracks his back a bit, looking at the clock. It reads 1:00 AM. Kate follows his eyes and groans.
"Ugh, how did it get so late? I have interviews tomorrow."
Drake nods, as if he heard her, without really listening.
"No more pony marathons on weeknights, alright?"
Drake looks back at her and nods slowly, his eyes not entirely focused on her. She raises an eyebrow.
"You okay?"
Drake seems to snap out of it, shaking his head rapidly and running his hands through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah, I just uh...didn't realize how late it was."
"You kind of zoned out there."
"Just thinking about everything happening tomorrow. Have to catch the flight out to Texas and all, meet up with Joe for the last minute preparations...you know how it is. I wish you'd fly out with me."
"I wish I was, but I have to get these interviews in. I'll just be a day behind you. And speaking of those interviews, I really have to get to bed. Are you sure I can't convince you to let me on the couch?"
Drake smiles a bit and shakes his head. "Nope. You need it more."
She smiles back. They move close and kiss, and she heads off to the bedroom. Drake looks back at the clock and swallows deeply, nervousness breaking through on his face. The time scared him; he knew he had to sleep, but sleep lately had been so troubling for him. His dreams were filled with...things...things he could never remember in the morning, but things that scared him, shook him, made him toss and turn all night. He woke up more often than not feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. He did his best to hide it during the day, but Joe was getting suspicious that he was staying out all night and Kate was too smart for him more often than not. He barely knew what to do with himself. He knew, deep down, that it was related to his cutback on drinking - down to one a day, now. But the benefits had been so great. After he shook off the tiredness, he felt clearer headed than he ever had before, and it was showing in his matches. He hadn't been beaten since the Lottery. His training was going so well, too - he felt faster, stronger, better than he ever did. During the days, he felt infinitely better than he ever had. If restless nights were the cost...than maybe it was worth it. But right now, at 1 AM, it didn't feel like it. At these times he often wondered if a few drinks before bed would help him out, but he knew that that was the path right back to the way he was before...and he wasn't willing to give this up just yet.
He shakes his head at the thought, marveling at what's happened to him since the Lethal Lottery. He remained unbeaten, whether alone or on a team. He felt better than he ever had before. He'd moved in with a beautiful woman. And he was a heartbeat away from capturing the King for a Day briefcase, which would practically make him world champion at the time and place of his choosing. It was almost overwhelming. And the more he thought about all he'd achieved, the more he became certain none of would be possible if he hadn't taken Joe's advice and began to let up on the drinking. It had been a struggle, but as soon as he had done so, things had become exponentially better. He was almost ready, he thought, to take the final leap and give it up entirely. A changed man, he thought to himself with a smile on his face. And yet he could never quite shake the feeling that it wasn't right, that he had lost part of what made him...him. It was the kind of disquieting thought he usually, ironically, drank away. But he was happy, and that was what mattered.
Kate pops her head in front around the corner, breaking Drake away from his reverie. She tosses a blanket at him.
"Thought you might at least want an extra. Night."
Drake lifts the blanket in thanks and says goodnight back. He hears her close the door behind her. He sighs deeply and looks around his living room, clearing his mind of the various thoughts that were running through his head. He was sure it would all work out eventually. He shuts off the TV and lights, then lies down on the couch. Tired, and knowing full well that he does need the sleep, for whatever good it will do him, he concentrates on clearing his mind and soon finds himself asleep.
----
"I have three matchsticks."
A bridge runs across a quiet stream in a thick forest. A man stands on the bridge, holding in an outstretched palm, despite his assertion, but one matchstick. The man is oddly dressed, with a top hat and monocle, jarringly contrasting with a clown's suit. Drake looks over his shoulder, hoping to perhaps avoid the strange man with the matchstick, but the forest behind him is barred by brambles. He presses forward and comes closer to the man.
"I have three matchsticks."
Drake nods and mutters his reply.
"That's nice. Can I get by?"
He makes to one side of the bridge but the man is suddenly in front of him, proffering his matchstick.
"I have three matchsticks."
Drake backs away and tries the other side of the bridge, but it similarly barred by the man's lightning fast reflexes.
"I have three -"
"Matchsticks, I got it."
The man nods contentedly and offers the matchstick once more. Drake stares at the man, then at his matchstick, and reaches out to grab it. The man closes his fist and rips it away, however, shaking his head vigorously. Drake sighs in confusion.
"What is it about the matchstick? If you don't want me to have it, what do you want?"
"I have - "
"Three matchsticks! Yes, you said so, but you've only got one, I can see that!"
The man beams.
"Very good."
He doffs his cap for a flourish and a white raven erupts from underneath, flying directly into his face. Drake shouts and ducks out of the way, the whole world around him going white in the process. Everything fades but blinding whiteness and a dull ringing.
----
Drake wakes up again, this time in a posh armchair, sitting in front of a chessboard. Across from him sits a man, everything but his hands obscured by darkness.
"It's your move."
Drake surveys the board, his mouth agape. He has no idea what any of the pieces mean, but he sees that there are three white ones and six black ones remaining on the board.
"I don't understand. I don't know how to play."
Drake gets the impression that the man smiles across from him, though he can't actually see him do so.
"Look again. I think you'll be surprised."
Drake looks back at the board again and is overwhelmingly confused by a rush of knowledge. He is suddenly aware of what all the pieces are, what they do, which are his, and strategies of bewildering complexity. The opposite side is white, with five pawns and a king remaining. His side, black, has a king, queen, and a bishop. The pawns surround the white kng in a defensive formation. His pieces, meanwhile, are scattered about - the king in the rear position, the bishop to the right, the queen in the center. He looks back up at his opponent, mouth wide.
"There. I thought that would help. The walls are weakening in this place, hm? Things slip through. It's your move."
Drake sees the optimal strategy immediately, of course. Simply moving the bishop to take a corner pawn, with the queen aligned in such a way that if the king were to move to take the bishop, the king would still be in check. It was decidedly simple. He moved the bishop into position laterally, so that it could take the pawn on its next move.
The man ponderously but deliberately reaches to the board and moves the opposite corner pawn forward, opening a route of escape, as Drake assumed he would. He covered the bishop's advance with the queen, ignoring the escape route for now. His opponent, in turn, moved the same pawn forward once more. Drake took the pawn, and his move was responded to predictably by the king moving into the space occupied previously by the pawn, horizontal from the bishop.
"It's hopeless for you, you know. Why not just surrender? Why prolong the inevitable?"
"There is something thrilling in making your opponent deliver the killing blow, don't you think?"
Drake grunts in response. He executes on the final moves with efficiency; put the king into check with the queen; the king retreats horizontally; and repeated until eventually the king is cornered, unable to move. The man sighs contentedly, knocking over his king as is customary.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to understand this game again. It's been ever so boring."
"I don't understand."
"No? I suppose not. You will, soon. Or you won't! That's the fun of it, after all."
The man stands up from the table and steps into the light. Drake realizes, horrifying, that he was nothing more than a pair of hands. The clothes fall to the ground in a pile while smoke pours forth from them, and the hands seem to wave goodbye. A blinding whiteness and a dull ringing erupt again as Drake grabs his head. Everything seems to fade out once more.
----
Drake awakens in a landscape devoid of features or life. He realizes with a sudden startling clarity that he is dreaming. He looks at his arms with bewilderment, as if he were in a new body. Understanding that he is dreaming brings with it remembrance of what he has already dreamed - he marvels at how strange it was, and how strange it was that he did not think it was strange. He looks about himself, now. The place is a desert, without anything but sand and cracks in the ground. The sky above is a disturbing landscape of heavy rainclouds, roiling furiously with the occasional flash of lightning, and yet the place is as bright as high noon. He tries to will himself to wake up, to escape these particularly disturbing dreams, but he is unable to do so.
"Why the rush to leave? You only just got here, after all."
Drake starts and turns around to see a peculiar man in front of him. He can see everything about the man - his face, arms, hands, feet, and all of it...but he can't seem to resolve any of it. When he looks at the man's face, it seems to shift and slide in a vaguely sickening way, just so that he can never make it out. He can focus on small details - to see the green eyes, and then the nose, but when he looks back to the eyes, they're brown now. The rest of his body is similar - obviously there and obviously defined, but Drake simply cannot make it out. It is profoundly disturbing. The man seems to read his mind.
"Oh, dear, I was worried we might have this problem. I did my best to prepare you for all this. I hope it hasn't been too unpleasant for you - I assure you, it was entirely necessary. It's wonderful that you're still standing, in fact. The last time I tried this you blacked out."
Drake fumbles for words for a moment.
"This isn't real. This is a dream."
The man opposite him sighs profoundly.
"I had hoped we could avoid such trite cliches."
Drake closes his eyes and tries to will away the visage before him - if he can't wake up, at least he could dispose of this strange illusion. When he opens his eyes, though, the man is still there.
"Are we quite done?"
Drake looks into the man's eyes - blue, now - and swallows nervously.
"All I want to do is talk, you know. You're making it awfully difficult."
Drake closes his eyes one more time and shakes his head slowly. When he opens them, the man remains present.
"...Fine. Talk."
"You're so well mannered, Drake."
The man smiles wryly and waves a hand. Suddenly, two chairs have appeared. The man gestures for him to take a seat as he does so as well.
"With time, you'll begin to understand this place, I think. It's not so simple as calling something into being, it's more...well...you'll understand, eventually."
Drake nervously takes a seat.
"What is it you want? Some riddle or puzzle I have to answer, again? Like the rest of them?"
"Oh, no, no, you misunderstand. Those were just preparation. The mind is a tricky thing, you see, especially the part of it that dreams. It's like building a road. Certain things must be done in a certain order. Certain groundwork must be laid. But now the road is open, the tunnel's made, and here we are. It's good that you stopped clouding your head with all that alcohol - it was like trying to build the road in the rain."
"I think I'll take up drinking again in the morning, if this is what's waiting at night."
The man shrugs, nonchalant.
"It won't do you any good. I've been watching everything, and I know as well as you do that the drinking is what was holding you back. And it wouldn't get rid of me anyway - the road is built, after all. A little rain won't hurt it now."
Drake puts his head in his hands, annoyed by the confusing conversation.
"I just want to wake up."
"Yes, don't we all. But there's business to attend to first."
"I don't understand."
"Then stop talking and listen, hm?"
Drake, suddenly angry, rises up out his chair and starts shouting.
"No! I won't be ordered around in my own head. I'm done here. I can at least walk away from you."
He moves past the man in the other direction, only to find him right in front of him again. He furiously tries this several more times, only to continue finding himself in front of the man. He cries out in frustration and kicks the chair over. The man sighs deeply.
"Iratus semplar plus putat posse facere quam possit. Sit down."
Drake obeys and stares sullenly at the man.
"Who are you?"
The man smiles, an even more discomfiting experience than his regular face.
"Nobody. Nobody at all."
"Everyone's somebody."
"Perhaps anyone is nobody? Or no-one is anybody? Someone is everybody, somebody's nobody, anybody's everyone...oh, I could go on for days."
"I just want a name."
The man frowns.
"I had hoped that would jog it. Have you forgotten already?"
"How could I forget your name? You never told me it."
"Oh, but I did, long ago, and in a different place. Here, tell me if you remember this."
Suddenly, Drake's mind is filled with a scene from his own life, as if he were experiencing it anew.
"Do you remember that?"
"I do now...was that...me?"
"In a sense, yes. This is the third time I've tried to break through to you. That was the second and it was...messy. I tried to force my way in and things got...muddled. I'm afraid you occasionally went a bit mad."
"What about the first?"
"Hm?"
"The first time. You said this is the third time we've met, that was the second, what's the first?"
The man resumes his sickening smile.
"That's not something you're ready to handle yet, I think. In time."
"I still want a name for you."
The man clucks disapprovingly.
"Even that didn't jog it? You should remember, it was your idea anyway. Outis. My name is Outis."
"Ou...Outis? What do you mean it was my idea? I've never heard anything like that in my life."
"You'll understand, eventually. Don't worry about it now, it won't do either of us any good."
Drake runs a hand through his hair and looks at the sky.
"What is this place supposed to be, anyway? I mean, I'm dreaming it, so I had to make it up, right?"
"You could say that. It's empty. A good place for us to work."
"Work on what?"
"Ah, and now we come to the crux of the matter! Drake, my goal here today is to help you."
"To help me? With what?"
"Help you achieve all your goals, of course."
"So..."
"So I want to help you become world champion, of course!"
"Why?"
"Well, because...because that's what friends are for."
Drake narrows his eyes at Outis.
"We're not friends. What do you want out of this?"
Outis, not smiling this time, only shrugs.
"Everyone wants something, don't they? I assure you, I'll get it one way or another. In the meantime, I can help you."
A slight ringing presents itself in Drake's head. He grunts in slight pain and looks toward the sky, which appears to be fiercer than before. Outis follows Drake's gaze and mutters something to himself. The ringing passes and the sky returns to its former state.
"This place is a bit...unstable, as it were. It would be good if you stopped questioning me."
"Anything to get out of here faster."
The sly, sickening smile returns and Outis nods. Drake could almost swear he licked his lips a little, but it was hard to tell with his shifting face.
"I have only one question to ask you then. Why do you want to be the world champion?"
Drake cocks an eyebrow at Outis, somewhat in disbelief.
"Are you serious? That's it? That's what you want to know? I want to be the world champion because that's what everyone wants. Everyone gets into this business to be the best. The world title proves it."
"So you want validation from your peers? Supremacy over them?"
"No, it's more like...personally knowing that you're the best."
"And you need a big shiny belt to prove that?"
"How else would I?"
"You could believe it without winning any titles. Many do."
"Well...no, you just don't understand."
Outis laughs a little, a smug, unpleasant laugh.
"I understand perfectly, Drake, it's you that misunderstands. There's no need for the world title to enter into your personal gratification. You can have that by yourself. Does winning one match, on one night, to hold the belt for just one second, truly make you the best? And what if you were to lose it? How can you be the best one moment, and not the next? What changed about you? Nothing - the only thing that changed was external, nothing internal."
Drake opens his mouth to retort, but finds the logic hard to pierce. It was difficult to argue when he barely understood what he was saying.
"There's more to it than that. Winning the title gets you a lifestyle that no one else has...money, fame...it's what everyone dreams of in this business."
Outis snorts derisively.
"Material gain? You could have so much more of that in a dozen more lucrative careers that would require far less effort than this. And who says that the champion is the highest paid, most sought after wrestler anyway? Is Ty Burna any less sought after without the belt? Do you suppose that winning the title will instantly thrust you into that level? Don't be a fool. And so ignoble, too - do you mean to tell me that the only reason you do this is for money and glory?"
Drake rubs his temples. The argument is giving him a headache.
"No, it's just...I don't know. These are the things everything wants."
"So you're content to follow in the footsteps of everyone else, march in step? Do what they say because they say so? Would it even be your world title, then, if you won it? Or is it just theirs?"
"No..."
Drake feels as though he is weakening, as though his hold on reality is slipping. He glances at Outis and finds that he has somehow moved closer...and that his visage, though still unresolved, is decidedly more sinister than it was before. Thoughts rush through Drake's head as he tries to find some reason to desire the world title that doesn't ring false. Something flits across his mind and he grasps it desperately.
"Kate."
Everything suddenly stops hurting; his head clears, and Outis returns to his previous position, his "face" passive once more, if somewhat bemused.
"How unexpected. Go on."
Eagerly now, Drake continues.
"I see it now. Kate - Kate's the pure reason to want this. I don't need it to be the best, I don't need it for the money, and I don't need it because everyone says so - I need it because I need to prove to her that I'm good enough for her. Because that's what she deserves, and if I can't give her what she deserves, than I don't deserve her."
Contended, Drake leans back. Outis, meanwhile, only sighs.
"Disappointing. Very disappointing. You mean to tell me your best answer is to impress a woman?"
Drake shakes his head vigorously.
"No, this is more than that. I'm not impressing some cheap girl in a bar. I'm proving my worth, holding up my end of the bargain, showing that I really deserve a girl like her. That's what the title represents to me. That's what I need it for."
"And is Kate so shallow that she would leave you if you never had the world title?"
Uncertainty creeps into Drake's head. Above, the clouds begin to move a bit more fiercely; strangely, the place seems to become brighter around him. Outis, however, seems unaware - his eyes have taken on a feverish glint.
"No...no, she wouldn't. But I want to prove to her I'm worth it...even if she doesn't need it. Just because she deserves it."
"So it's right back to personal gratification again. Why must you base your self-worth on a piece of gold?"
"It's...no, why do you keep phrasing things like this? That isn't how it is."
The sky becomes even more intense, now moving at a hurricane's pace, though without a single drop of rain. Drake begins to feel the wind from it, and the light from nowhere grows even fiercer. He looks at the ground; the once featureless, brown dust is now being stirred about, and seems to have grown redder.
"That's exactly how it is, and you know it. I'll answer the question now, Drake - you're going backwards. You're basing everything on the title, reflecting on yourself in terms of your possession of it. But that path will lead only to fumbling attempts at capturing it, and you will surely never succeed. The way to obtain the title, Drake...is to not need it - indeed, to not even want it. Attach nothing of importance to it, and it will come to you. In short, desire nothing, and you will have everything."
"That doesn't make any sense. What am I supposed to do, stop wrestling? Stop doing anything, and just expect things to fall into my hands? That isn't how it works."
Outis leans forward, his face seems to hold equal parts frustration and fervor, though how he knows that Drake could never say. The world around them is growing wilder and wilder, as the winds rise, the terrible storm clouds move faster than the eye can see, and the sand below them deepens in redness.
"No! When I say desire nothing, I mean desire nothing. Do you understand?"
"No."
The world is at a fever pitch now. Outis and Drake are buffeted by a hurricane gale, the sand whips furiously, the sky now invisible behind a wall of flying dust. The light is brighter than the brightest day, now, and everything is in shades of red.
"You must aspire to nothingness! Nothingness is the state of ultimate freedom - once you understand what it truly means to desire nothing, once you do indeed desire to possess nothing, then it will be the simplest thing to take whatever presents itself to you. Do you understand? In a state of total nothingness, all things become possible. When you have abandoned concerns for want, you can have it all. That is the only path to your dreams!"
Only now does Outis look around at the chaotic surroundings. He screams in dismay.
"Our time is up here! The walls are collapsing. Think on what I've said, Drake!"
Outis stands; just as suddenly as he is on his feet, he is gone. The entire world is engulfed in light as Drake shouts into nothing after Outis, but he is gone. And soon, once again, the light overwhelms him and everything is blank.
----
"Drake? Drake, wake up!"
Drake starts and sits bolt upright. He immediately reaches to his forehead, as he has a splitting headache. He opens his eyes just enough to see Kate standing beside him, a concerned look on her face.
"Are you alright? I heard you thrashing in here."
Drake closes his eyes for a moment longer and then forces them open, his headache making it difficult to see. The room is only his living room, just as it was before he'd slept. The clock read 3:00 AM, now, but other than that, all was as he left it. He felt as confident as possible that this was the real world. He felt himself to make sure and found he was soaking wet with sweat. He groans deeply and lays back on the couch.
"Drake? Talk to me! Were you dreaming?"
Drake looks at Kate and sees her looking worried sick, still. He shakes his head weakly. His thoughts are still dominated by the strange man without a face from his dreams, and his stranger words. He decides not to concern Kate with it - it's all nonsense, anyway.
"Maybe. I don't remember any of it. I'm sorry I woke you."
Kate looks relieved, but still worried, and she sits down next to him on the couch.
"Don't be. I'm glad I got you out of there. I had no idea it was really this bad. Have you seen anyone about this?"
"Just...don't worry about it. I'll be fine, okay? We both have to be up early."
He smiles weakly at her and waves her toward the bedroom. She stares at him with concern and suspicion for a moment longer, before leaning in for a quick kiss and heading off.
"You're welcome, by the way."
"Thanks. Hey, Kate, actually, one thing."
She stops at the hallway entrance and looks back. A strange thought has crossed Drake's mind - a question he suddenly desperately needs the answer to.
"What...what do you want?
She steps back over to him and looks at him quizzically.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you want? From...life, I guess?"
"Can this wait 'till morning?"
"Please, Kate."
She mulls it over a minute, a tired and unhappy look on her face. Eventually, she shrugs.
"I want to be happy. Isn't that what everyone wants?"
I want to be happy. That's what he should have told Outis. It would make him happy, wouldn't it? And that was what mattered - the why was irrelevant.
"Thanks, Kate. Sorry, you can go back to bed. Thanks."
She smiles at him with a raised eyebrow and a somewhat exasperated look, but returns to bed quietly. Drake tries to close his eyes and sleep again, but can't escape visions of Outis. Instead he walks into the kitchen. He goes to fill up a glass of water, but catches, out of the corner of his eye, the sight of a still full liquor bottle. He'd intended to keep it around for parties. He turns around to look at it squarely.
You must desire nothing, a voice seems to say.
I want to be happy, another says.
"I want to be drunk," he concludes, sadly.
But he doesn't reach for the bottle. He'd made his decision now. Whatever his dreams wanted to say, he was sure it was just nerves. Desire nothing? It was silly. He just wanted to be happy - and he was. He was happy already, and he knew that the next step - capturing the King for a Day briefcase - would only make him happier. And one day he would have the world title, and he would be the happiest man alive.
As soon as I shake these damn headaches, he thought. And dreams too. Headaches and dreams. That's all that's left to stop me.
