Linda led the way through the narrow hallways with the party in tow. The conference room was the last one down the longest corridor, away from any prying eyes. 

The only sound heard was that of their muffled footprints on the carpet, as the tension in the air was palpable. Right in front of the door, a tall, sullen man in a suit stood watch, saluting the party as soon as they approached the door.

The General saluted him back the best way his stiff suit allowed him too.

"Mr. White," the General said, "this is Lieutenant Lopez. He will stand watch during this...thing. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. We expected as much," Henry said, lying. He knew that this move of his' was risky enough without witnesses. "Linda, if you please..."

Linda nodded, unlocking the door, and ushering the people inside. 

The room was already set up for the demonstration. An IV pole stood between a chair in the middle of the room and a black, plastic briefcase with the Geber logo. Aside from a cheap-looking table and a few cushioned chairs, the conference room was devoid of any other furniture. A small speaker was on top of the table conected to a phone.

The General took a seat on one side of the table, the rest of them following suit on the opposite side, except for Linda who stayed next to the IV pole.

Henry's earlier assumptions were proven wrong as the general's friendly mannerisms disappeared the moment he took that seat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table without breaking eye contact with Henry. It was the General who threw the first punch.

"I'm gonna keep this brief. We already met with Glocal Pharma, and we reached a more than beneficial agreement. Your guys sent us your numbers, and I'm not gonna sugar coat it, they fall flat. It's a ton of money for the same job Glocal does for pennies."

And he didn't pull any punches, either. Henry's worst fears had realized — Glocal had beat them to the goal. He felt an anxiety attack creep up on him, but Jabin's mocking voice reminded him of the most important move of all.

Fifth Move: Speed ahead and don't blink. Whoever buckles down first, loses. The General threw that punch to make him blink, but he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. 

"It seems like you had your mind already set before you came here," commented Henry, "but I doubt that you took time out of your busy schedule only to say no. You came here for a reason. You came here to be convinced."

The General wanted to say something, but Henry didn't skip a beat and continued talking. "We aren't some knock-off brand making cheap pills in some Asian sweat-shop — we make the real deal. Our rate of success is way higher than any other, cheaper brand, Glocal included. We don't want to bore you with our numbers that we both know are impressive. You know we are the best. If not, why did you even agree to meet with us?"

The General leaned back in his seat, soaking in what Henry said. His defensive stance was broken. There was the opening Henry was looking for. Henry waited patiently for his response— the ball was now on the General's side of the court.

After what seemed like forever, the General spoke, more subdued than before. "Tell me about how it works. Mandrakxin, that is."

Henry shook his finger playfully. "Remember, it's DayDream now, for marketing reasons. We don't want to be confused with an inferior product. And of course, we have prepared a demonstration for you." He signaled to Linda to prepare the drug.

Linda opened the suitcase in front of everyone, revealing its contents: an IV bag with a clear liquid inside; next to it was a syringe and a small vial. Also in the briefcase were some papers and a set of pens. She placed the bag on the stand, resting the other items on a white cloth over the table. Once she was done, she signaled Henry with a nod.

"I assume you are aware that this is highly unorthodox, and possibly...what's the word I'm looking for, Murray?"

"Illegal," said Murray. 

"Let's call it 'legally perilous'," corrected Henry. "So, Linda here will give you a standard NDA to you and Lieutenant Lopez, wasn't it? To sign. Standard procedure."

General McMan stared at his form for a few minutes — not reading it, but staring at it — while clicking the pen absentmindedly. 

"Pat, we get it, the pen works," jokes Murray. "Everything okay? Want me to bring you some water?" 

"No, no, it's okay," said the General. "I just want to add something before I sign this, for the record. I'm doing this thing for personal reasons, not professional reasons. The official statement of my office is that Glocal is most likely to get the contract, not you. If anything changes, it will not be because of this demo.

Murray stood behind him and placed both hands on his shoulders, rubbing them in a friendly manner. "Sure won't, Pat. Sure won't."

And with that, he signed. Bingo.

"So, who wants to volunteer?" Murray said to the officers. They both looked at each other before the General cleared his throat

"Very funny, Murray. Give me your best shot. I won't believe it until I see it with my own two eyes and you know it. Besides..."

Murray threw a hand in the air, as if to say "forget about it" and led the General to the chair.

"Lieutenant Lopez will be taking notes, so please don't hesitate to explain things as it goes."

Murray took a seat on a chair next to the General while Linda prepared a vein for the intravenous tube. "I'm going in now." 

The needle went in without any issue. 

Henry cleared his throat to draw the attention of the room. "Let's start with the basics. DayDream is made from a plant called Mandragora Officinarum, most popularly known as Mandrake. It's a plant commonly found in the Mediterranean, most specifically, in Italy. Historically, it was used as an anesthetic, but had a few other properties. It's a rather toxic plant, so it could be converted into a poison by any skilled artisan, but also possesses  powerful hallucinogenic properties, with a mix of alkaloids that made it particularly effective as a hypnotic and as anticholinergic."

Murray interrupted. "In other words, it makes you hypersensitive to outside stimuli — I don't wanna call it mind control, but something like that. Mind suggestions, maybe."

"What does mind control have to do with anything?" the General asked.

Linda filled the syringe with 2 ccs of yellow liquid from the vial, injecting it into the IV tube. Henry continued.

"It's a simplistic way of saying it, but yes," said Henry. "We can hijack your mind and make it see, taste, smell, and feel whatever we want it to do. We help your brain create illusions that are as real as reality itself. At least to you, that is. Your brain cannot tell the difference, even if you know it's not actually real. Look at it like you're dreaming. While you're dreaming, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Is only when you wake up that you realize things weren't what they seemed."

The general started to feel his arm go a little numb. "I see. It's like dreaming awake. Daydreaming. Clever."

Lieutenant Lopez spoke for the first time, a little too loud given the size of the room. "Isn't it supposed to be toxic? How's that safe?"

"Our formula has been perfected, tested, and FDA approved. It's no more toxic than Tylenol, something Glocal can't claim about their product," answered Henry, taking the vial from the table. "The worst thing that can happen is feeling a bit of nausea afterward. While Glocal sells theirs in oral doses in pill form, we go intravenous. You can customize the dosage depending on the weight of the patient and duration of effects, minimizing the risk of side effects. It also intensifies the effects."

"You get more bang for your buck," said Murray, grinning like a fool.

Henry took a look at his pocket watch, noting the time. "We're gonna give you a 2 cc shot diluted in a saline solution. For a person of your height and weight, it will give you a five-minute window of effect. You won't feel it for about two minutes or so. I'll ask everyone to please go to the back of the room with me as we talk about what will happen next. Murray?"

As Linda, Henry, and Lieutenant Lopez moved to the back, Murray took his cue to cut in. "In order to guide you through this experience, you need what we call a  'Conductor'. A Conductor is a guide that will input the commands for what you see, what to expect, and helps avoid your subconscious from overtaking you. We will provide you with proper Conductor training once the deal is completed. For now, I will serve as your Conductor."

"Subconscious overtaking you?" asked the General. "That sounds like a side effect to me."

"Well, we're tapping the innermost layer of your consciousness, so bad shit is bound to come up if you don't have a conductor. It isn't a side effect as much as a bad trip. The human brain, it turns out, kinda sucks at keeping shit together, like when you start spilling state secrets after a few cups of fine whiskey, or some dentist's laugh gas. Linda?"

Linda went to the small speaker and picked up the phone.

"Now," said Murray, "all this is worth jack shit if we can't stimulate your imagination and your memory in a way that makes a credible vision. And that's where the speaker comes in. By stimulating the senses, we can make certain positive memories float up by associating it with that stimuli. Like when you go past a bakery and the smell of fresh bread makes you remember the first time your momma baked you a cake, and stuff."

"But don't use smells, even thought they are the most powerful stimuli when it comes to memory," says Henry. "It can be a little...unpredictable. we found that using music is the most stable trigger to stimulate both memory and imagination. Tell us, is there a musc that you associate with the person you would like to see?"

The General closed his eyes, adjusting himself on the chair while thinking. "Miles Davis. He really loved old Jazz. We used to cruise all over town while listening to him."

Linda nodded, perusing through the phone until a soft trumpet began to sound through the speakers.

Henry watched the General's face attentively. This was his favorite part of the process — the transition. The exact moment where the drug kicks in. So sudden, and without warning.

"How do I know when-" the General began to say before becoming dead-quiet.

And so, the General's eyes popped open.

Those who have taken DayDream say their first time was the worst experience of their life. Some compare it to a pure eldritch nightmare, while others compare it to being forced to live out the death of their ego over and over again. 

First, the General felt shivers overtake his entire body. He felt his brain being pulled from the back of his head by a plunger. His entire existence blended in a cacophony of smells, sensations, and tastes that did not belong to one another. He saw himself outside his own body, on a repeating loop, far beyond his being. His hands and feet felt a million leagues away from his torso. His consciousness pulled apart, stretching, and reassembling on the spot like Play-Doh.

Eyes full of rainbows merged and detached from his body in a pile of acid, one with the universe, all the while the sound of endless nails crawling on a chalkboard deafened him.

His mouth tasted of baked beans and honey. He could smell the scent of his mother's breast milk mixed with the stench of Persian markets at noon. At one moment, his skin felt like it was being deep-fried in pure duck fat.

He was no more. His existence was but a whisper in the vast and endless time, both imposing and overbearing. An infinite recurrence in a world that has failed to notice him.

And in a moment, it all flushed out of him, placing him back to the present day.

To that hotel room.

But it felt different. The world was a little grayer. An unnatural pressure surrounded him as if the whole room was submerged in water. His movements were sluggish and heavy, with accentuated delay.

But he was there — conscious, and very much alive.

"Welcome to the world of the living. Enjoyed your little trip?" joked Murray, gripping the General's forearm.

"What the fuck was that?" asked the General, groggily.

Henry pulled Lieutenant Lopez by the arm and led him to the far end of the room, as far away from the pair as possible. He leaned closer, whispering in a raspy voice. 

"The moment the drug kicks in is the most difficult one. Some people have compared it to birthing a melon through the back of an eye socket. But once you push through that, you go into the waking trance. See how Murray has a grip on his arm? It's to tell the General's subconscious that Murray is real. No matter how real a vision might look, it can't affect the real world, let alone touch you. Let's get close, but try not to make a sound."

They went back to the sitting General, carefully positioning themselves out of eyesight.

"Okay, Pat. Let's test if it worked," said Murray. "Describe to me the color of silence."

At the very mention of that, a sharp pain coursed through the General's mind, like a hammer smashing into his skull. He released a painful shriek, almost bolting out of his seat.

"Good, good. It's working," said Murray. "The drug empowers your subconscious. Surreal concepts like that go into conflict with your brain, which does the only thing it can do: hurt like a motherfucker. Feels like an ice pick lobotomy, doesn't it? You don't have to answer."

With a nod from Henry, Murray continued.

"Pat, tell me, how did your son look like the last time you saw him? How was he dressed?"

The General took some time to gather his thoughts, his head still fuzzy. "He was wearing a tank top, lightly greased. He had camo pants, with a set of standard boots. Short hair, mangy. Told him to clean up, for christ's sake. He represented the lineage of McMan military men, so he should look the part." His eyes got a little misty; it was a painful memory. "He had that irreverent, overconfident grin on him. I should have known better than-"

"Do you hear that sound, Pat?" interrupted Murray, twisting his grip.

"Hear what?" he asked.

Murray pointed at the door. "Someone is knocking on the door. Do you hear it?"

Now that Murray mentioned it, he did hear a knock on the door. Faint at first, then a loud banging. Someone was desperately trying to get in.

"Do you know who's knocking, Pat?"

The General shook his head. He did not know who, but at the same time, he did. Something inside of him knew, but couldn't believe it. Murray was the one who answered for him.

"That's your boy, Pat. It's James."

He couldn't believe it. James was gone — the IED took him out. He saw his coffin being lowered six feet under. He had cried him, mourned him, missed him.

And yet, he could hear him outside the door. Knocking.

"Hey, lemme in! I wanna talk to pops!" said a youthful voice, one the general knew by heart. One he imprinted in his mind from nights of watching old videos of him. It was the voice of his son.

"Are you going to let him in, Pat? Tell him to come in."

"C..." he tried to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. His tongue was dry and coarse, but he had to let him in. He dry-swallowed, finding courage from deep within his heart. "Come on in, it's open."

Slowly, the door opened, and sure enough, it was James who entered. Just as the day he last saw him — greasy and smug. Nobody seemed to pay attention to him, but there he was, breathing and kicking. He stood in front of the General, making a sharp salute. "Sergeant James McMan reporting for duty, sir!"

He was there, he was there, he was there, he was there. That was the only thing crossing through the General's mind. The conflict of the impossibility of life and death dissipated into the ether. He had to be sure it wasn't fake. "Is that you, James?"

James laughed. How he had missed that laugh. "Of course, pops. Here I am. The prodigal son and all that hoopla. Man, I'm hungry." 

It was him alright. Blasphemous and hungry. He wanted to hug him, to hold him close, but Murray kept him on the chair.

"Do you want to say anything to him?"

He did, he wanted to say so many things. He wanted to say he was sorry for asking him to serve under him. He wanted to say sorry for sending him to an active battlefield. He wanted to say sorry for all the times he wasn't around when he needed him. He wanted to say so much. But no words came out of his mouth. His heart was caught in his throat. Lucky for him, it was Murray who broke his spell of silence.

Murray's grip in the General tightened. "He is not mad at you, Pat. Don't be afraid. Don't take pity on yourself."

"Yeah pops, listen to the butterball. I know ya feel guilty over my death and stuff. I just want ya to know, it ain't your fault. I was the one who chose to prove myself. I was the one who accepted the job. It ain't nobody's fault but mine. But hey, that doesn't matter no more. I'm happy. I saw the funeral and shit. Didn't know you were so proud of me." James knelt in front of him, locking eyes. He had the same eyes as the General, but with the warmth of his mother's own. "I love ya pops. I want ya to be free. I want ya to move on."

It was like a weight lifted off the General's shoulders. All his guilt faded away. It opened up the floodgates of his heart. Tears and snot ran down his face like they never had before. "I love you son. I love you..."

And with that, the world returned to normal. Bright and light, and painfully normal. But he was a changed man. He still had some sadness, but now the weight of guilt had been thrown away. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He was at peace.

The lobby was deserted, only the drums from the jazz-band in the ballroom echoed in the empty halls.

"Mr. White," the General said, with an ear-to-ear grin, but with sad eyes "it was a pleasure. I can see why your product is so popular. You will probably hear from me in mid-January, but I'm confident that we will be seeing each other a lot more. Murray, miss, I wish you a Happy New Year."

And with that, both the General and Lieutenant Lopez were gone.

Murray practically howled, patting Henry on the back. Or slapping him, more like it. "I need a drink, or ten. Hell, just pump it straight through my veins!" He ran into the ballroom, screaming for a waiter.

As for Henry, he was high on power. He saved the company. The night was a success. He felt like he could do anything. He was the master of his fate. The savior of the company. 

He was invincible, and when Henry White felt invincible, he did stupid things. 

Henry's hand moved on its own, grabbing Linda roughly by the wrist.

"Did you get a third room like I told you?"

She gave him a complicit smile, producing a small key card from her breast pocket. "Why, are you ready for your reward?" 

He grabbed Linda by the chin, raising it to meet his own. 

"That's not how you address me, isn't it?" 

"Of course not," she said with a nervous smile. "Are you ready for your reward, sir?"

Henry was about to do the most stupid thing he ever did in his life. 

1 HOUR BEFORE THE DISASTER.