When it had first started happening regularly, when the nightmares first began to take hold, his parents had been worried. They couldn’t help but notice it. He’d wake up silently screaming, soaked in sweat, then pad into their room and crawl into the warmth between them. The safety. Who could protect you from the horrors of the night better than the two who brought you into this world?

Because his parents were who they were it wasn’t long before doctors were involved, then psychiatrists. He remembered some of the tests. They were fun. You could see where they were trying to go and you tried to give the right answers. Make the decisions easier for everyone.

He knew even then they couldn’t help. One of the doctors had left the door slightly open when addressing his mother. Adlai had memorised the words. He had, “a psychological predisposition to thin boundaries, arising from feelings of lack of control, common in children of his age. A tendency towards schizophrenia.” His mother had leant back on the desk, her hand to her mouth.

The nightmares didn’t go away, he just stopped fighting them. Started looking into them, investigating them. They were powerful things, expanding your imagination and sensitivity, opening up other worlds and ideas. In only a few more years he could open up those worlds for real.

No schizophrenia had ever developed, at least, none that he was aware of. His marks were good, he had no social problems, no social life at all really, so his parents saw nothing obvious to worry about and pushed it back into the attic of their minds. He was less sure, but let it ride. Considering his later work it was probably something he should have thought more about. It could be said, looking back, that instead of confronting his own problems he’d forced every other user into a world of multiple personalities. Broke down the boundaries between fantasy and reality, waking and dreaming, sexuality and aggression. It was what people wanted.

Besides, by that time the world had completely lost its marbles.

“Do it.”

Hound cut the blade directly into the wall of the building, pulled it around in a rough circle and kicked the hole clear. They crowded their heads in and stared into the darkness.

“Ok, onwards.”

Gretchen was driving them on as always. Adlai paced behind them, keeping up but always a few steps back. Let them think of it as cowardice. Pretty soon it wouldn’t matter what they thought.

They climbed through and headed for the next wall, where Strafe this time began cutting, Hound standing watch on his shoulder. There was a way to go yet before they were inside the walls, but this was the only option they had. Approaching the Grid from any of the alleys, even from the Boulevard itself, would be fruitless. The lights would just get further away as they approached. No, the only way back in was through the walls.

There had been no alarm triggered, at least no sign of one yet. Madigan still flinched with each cut, and examined the blades carefully after each successful breach, looking for some sign of damage or corruption. He seemed more surprised than anyone that they were holding up so well. They were spotless.

Gretchen was impatient, pushing them to hurry. It was more than mere nerves for her though, it was an addict’s hunger, driving her on towards what she saw as the ultimate power.

Three walls later and they were right on the edge of it. Adlai could feel them closing in, but the others showed no sign of awareness. One more wall was all it would take.

Hound cut through and dove forwards, almost in one move. The beam meant for his chest burnt harmlessly past them and melted the far wall. Adlai looked up from where he found himself on the floor and saw Strafe and Hound force their way through into the darkness, firing as they went. They disappeared then, driving the security forces back and leading them away. It was the last Adlai saw of them.

He never did find out what had happened to them. They must have been caught. Had to have been. Whatever became of them, the ploy had worked. Madigan, Gretchen and himself had been left unmolested, able to walk straight in under the walls, straight to the heart of the Grid, where everything was possible.

This drink in front of him, he could take it up again, drink it, put it down and wait for it to be refilled. Or light a cigarette and throw it against the wall. Or push himself up and leave the bar, go out into the rain and darkness and find something real to occupy his time. Something more than mere memories and regrets. These were all possibilities. Some were just more likely than others.