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steel. The headset was smaller than
what he’d expected. Two red stripes, which looked like equal signs, were on
either side of the eye sockets; they emit just enough light underneath to
induce active sleep, to make the mind wander between awareness and deep sleep.
Two round steel plates were the ear pieces. Peter tilted the headset and peeked
inside the hallow space, amazed at the black emptiness of it.
    ‘You like what you see?’ the
man asked, his face appearing from behind Peter. He had a white vest on, a
tight fit on his slim body. The lack of sleeves revealed both arms painted in
tattoos. A green and orange dragon swirled around his right arm, its mouth open
and about to breathe fire, which it did on the man’s left arm, where fire and smoke
covered pale skin.
    Peter had the urge to ask the
man where he’d gotten the machine from. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder
and saw Ohko talking to a group of others. He returned his focus to the man in
the white vest, who was smiling at him. ‘It’s remarkable.’ He ran his hand
around the steel inside, wondering if it would hurt.
    ‘My name is Midori Kuro.’ He
extended his dragon painted arm for a handshake, and Peter saw a gun strapped
against the man’s hip. Peter believed it to be a machine gun. They shook hands,
and Midori Kuro continued talking, reaching for the headset in Peter’s hands. ‘You
look very intrigued.’
    ‘Sure,’ Peter said, still
thinking about that gun. What did he get himself into? These people were
obviously not kindergarten teachers. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a Dream
Machine.’
    Midori Kuro continued smiling,
lips more parted to the right. He was a good looking male with hair like
Ohko’s, shiny black and slicked. ‘Try it on,’ he said, his smile like a poster
for a movie.
    A voice in him screamed: do
what the man says, you’ve always wanted to try . Another voice countered: all
of this is a bit too good to be true . ‘Oh, I don’t think—’
    ‘I insist.’ Midori pushed the
headset into Peter’s stomach. Air left his lungs and whispered through his
lips. His eyes widened. And they widened even more when gunfire sprayed, a
constant thundering clap that lasted for nearly five seconds. Horror struck
Peter in the chest. He didn’t want to look behind because he knew what’d
happened. He looked anyway. He had to. And he was right. The world was a carpet
under his feet, and the carpet had been ripped away, making his kneecaps wobble
and his legs shake. His friend lay in a puddle of his own blood. Ohko’s face
had holes leaking – spouting – wine-red liquid. The men in coats were cleaning
their guns with napkins. Peter heard a voice in his head and thought it was his
own, but it was the man next to him, the man in the white vest, his voice a
peaceful ring.
    So much blood on the basketball
floor. So many bullets for one person.
    ‘Are you listening?’ Midori
Kuro asked.
    Peter felt a hot mouth chewing
on his shoulder. He swung his neck sleepily and saw the hand on his shoulder.
Midori wanted to know if he was okay. He wanted to let Peter know that he was
sorry for his loss, but it was the way of the world. You lose some, you win
some. Welcome to the real world. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Peter asked.
    ‘What happened to your friend,’
Midori looked at the pool of red, ‘was a tragic loss for us all. But you have
to understand,’ Peter felt his shoulder being squeezed ‘when you do bad
business with the Yaramati, when you lie to us, there are consequences.’
    Peter swallowed. ‘Why kill
him?’
    ‘The past—’ Midori peered at
the roof, smiled, and waved his hand in an arch ‘—is like a toxic river, my
friend. Let’s not think about it and get on with more important matters.’
    More important matters? Peter
saw the blood in his peripheral and wondered how he was supposed to move on
from this when his friend lay dead not far away. As he thought that, the door
where he and Ohko had walked through