Otter struggled against her invisible bonds to no avail. It affected her mind just as much as her body, and no matter how she moved, she couldn’t get herself to rise. After trying for what felt like an hour, but in actuality was probably closer to maybe ten minutes, Otter abandoned all attempts to stand and instead defaulted to what she did best.

  Being annoying.

  She started to sing. As off key as she could. She picked the most irritating songs she could think of, the kind that somehow made the charts yet no one actually enjoyed. She looked for keys in all the wrong pces.

  The Dreamer, to her credit, endured it with an amused smile, right up until Otter busted out the disco. Apparently that was a step too far.

  She found her mouth unable to work. It just kind of hung sck, and her jaw wouldn’t obey any commands her brain sent it. That was fine. She could hum with her mouth open.

  After maybe a minute of that, her vocal chords stopped working.

  Which meant she had no other recourse than to actually try to overcome whatever the Dreamer had done to her, unless she wanted to sit here drooling like an idiot both in this mental hellscape and in the real world simultaneously.

  Just trying to move her muscles wasn’t working. This wasn’t a question of overpowering something that was holding her. It was a mental block. Which meant it had a mental solution.

  She’d overcome it briefly before. It wasn’t a lot. She’d made it maybe a few inches before the Dreamer’s control reasserted itself. But a few inches was better than nothing.

  So she thought of Sami. Thought of days and nights alone, memories of being in an angry and self-pitying stupor, trying to abuse herself as much as she could because it was the only thing she could feel.

  She remembered, between the moments of despair, of wanting to return to Sami. Some days, to rekindle what they’d had. Others, more violent ideas intruded.

  But it didn’t work. These thoughts weren’t the way to go. She’d made peace with this. She’d let her anger go, for the most part. Some resentment still remained, but the old rage just wasn’t there anymore. It’d died out, a fire that had consumed all its fuel and now was just ashes.

  The Dreamer seemed to realize it. Her features changed once again, dropping from the form of Sami to a new one, one Otter wasn’t familiar with. She was a pale woman, her skin and hair as white as snow, her eyes the colour of blue crystal.

  She was taller than Sami. Maybe even taller than Otter. Curvier, too. The loose clothes that she’d been wearing were now filled out, stretched to capacity under the weight of thicker thighs and fuller breasts.

  She was attractive. More than that. Beautiful. But there was a cruelty to her. A smile that was not quite a smile, sharpened with a mocking edge.

  But just as the form was there, it began to blur and become indistinct. It was as if there was a person there, but not. Otter’s brain couldn’t process what she was seeing.

  “Sorry,” the Dreamer said. “Spoilers. You haven’t met that one yet. She wasn’t quite right for this regardless. I know what you need.”

  And the Dreamer changed once more, and in front of Otter now sat herself. Not as GrandTheftOtter, with her pink hair and eyes full of life, not even as Pandemona, the pyful persona that could be a jester one moment, and a witch queen the next.

  No. It was Mayumi. As she really was. Too thin to be considered healthy looking, hair unkempt and brittle. Bags under her eyes from too little sleep. Not many would recognize this version of her. No one from her old life certainly.

  The Dreamer held out one hand, palm down, and it shook violently.

  And then she smirked.

  Anger hit Otter like a truck. Hard enough that adrenaline pumped, hard enough that the edges of her vision turned red.

  Her body wanted to struggle, but that wasn’t the key. Her mind needed to. And she could feel it, deep inside herself, as her blood pumped. A presence inside her body. A foreign invader, something that didn’t belong. A force, a will.

  No, not a will. Will. The same energy that flowed through Otter when she activated her own skills. She tried bringing her own to bear, to muster her own Will to combat against it, but it wouldn’t come.

  Her mind was too filled with rage. It let her unleash, let her feel what was wrong with her, but it wasn’t focused. Trying to muster her power was like grabbing at water with her fists. It spilled uselessly back into herself.

  The realization didn’t help. She thrashed uselessly against the Dreamer’s Will, impotent to do anything.

  The Dreamer, wearing her stolen face, breathed in. And then out. In, and then out. Controlled breaths, measured. Just like Otter had done earlier, entering a meditative state.

  Okay. That was the game.

  Otter couldn’t let go of the anger. Not so easily. But she could hone it. Give it an edge, instead of using it like a club. So she focused, pulling her Will in, circuting it through her as if it were blood in her veins, and felt it press against the Dreamer’s.

  The Dreamer was like a smothering gale, and Otter’s Will was an ember. She could barely keep the fme burning, but still it glowed. Everything the Dreamer was doing was denying her existence. All she had to do was say ‘no’ in the face of that. Deny an otherworldly monster, unfathomably old and powerful, that could crush Otter before she was even born should she become a threat.

  But none of that mattered. All she had to do was not give up, even if every part of her wanted to. It hurt. Her own Will burned her, scalding her veins. But the pressure lessened.

  “Good,” the Dreamer said.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she snapped, and then realized she could talk again. She blinked. Had it really been that easy?

  “No,” the Dreamer said, as if she’d read her thoughts. “You understand the basic principle. Your mind isn’t quite ready to challenge mine. Not even fully ready to challenge another Willcaster’s, really. But you understand how.”

  “So… what? I’m going to need to know this?” Otter said between ragged breaths. That short csh of minds had left her winded, her head pounding. Or was she just feeling the actual physical condition of her body?

  “Oh, most definitely.”

  “And why teach it to me?”

  “Perhaps to be a cunt to someone other than yourself.”

  “Why anger, though? Why does that work so well?”

  The Dreamer shrugged. “All great things are built upon anger.”

  “Really?”

  “Any desire for change is anger at the world that exists as it is. Without anger, you do not have passion. Without passion, the world is just apathy. And apathy neither builds nor destroys, it simply rots.”

  Otter grunted. She wasn’t sure how much she believed that, but it made a kind of sense. “So, what are we going to do with the remaining time?”

  “What remaining time? It’s been two Midnights. It’s time for you to leave.”

  That couldn’t be right. It felt like it’d been minutes, no more than twenty. Maybe half an hour.

  She stood, muscles stretching as if they’d been locked in pce for hours, and everything around her blurred. The Dreamer’s smiling face and yellow eyes were the st thing to fade before Otter was back in the swamp again.

  Ugh, her head hurt. She jabbed a finger in her ear, gave it a quick wipe, and checked. Sure enough. Blood on her finger. So, guess the Dreamer wasn't lying about that. But then, why would she need to lie about anything?

  Otter gave a quick check on her link. There was a small stinging sensation, but not nearly as bad as it'd been the st couple of days. Whatever her bond with Sunny was doing, it wasn't hurting as much anymore. Sunny was probably nearly done 'cooking.' Was she going to be an adult? Otter really hoped that she got to skip the awkward teen years.

  But both Rua and Sunny seemed to be alive, according to the bond. That was good. Otter could even get a general sense of direction as to where they were. She turned, trying to focus on where Rua was and ended up staring directly at a bck armoured man.

  The design wasn’t quite right. He didn’t have the Sci Fi samurai look that he rocked in the source material. But the light-up panel was there on his chest. The cape was appropriately swishy and dramatic. And, of course, he had the fucking lightsaber.

  “Oh, hey, Lord Raider. Was just thinking about you.”

  His mask was more of a helmet with a visor. Probably whatever the Dreamer, or maybe Sunny or Rua had envisioned.

  Laboured breathing through a respirator was his only response. She’d never really realized how intimidating that sound could be. It’d always just been an iconic thing about him. Kind of cool, but also a sign of weakness. But for some reason, with the proverbial Dark Lord standing right in front of her, it was terrifying.

  “So, you’re probably wondering why I called this meeting.”

  He rasped again, but made no movement. He looked almost... fake. His stance was too stiff. Aside from his cape, he didn't move. Even the little lighting on him didn't reflect quite right. It was like he wasn't quite real, which was kind of accurate. He'd been brought into this world through a story.

  But what was he doing? The real deal would’ve telekinetically choked her out by now if he’d suspected she was an enemy. So, did that mean he wasn’t sure about her? Then why none of the intimidatingly voiced dialogue? Why no demands for her to join him?

  Wait. Had she gotten to that part of the story yet?

  No. This ‘Lord Raider’ was a half-baked version of the original. He was still missing the important bits of him. He wasn’t done cooking.

  “Lord Raider,” Otter said, bowing her head in respect. “The Emperor himself has sent me here to give you intelligence on a known rebel sympathizer.”

  DorenWinslowe