Picking up a minor twinge of surprise from Mouse, I leaned towards him and whispered, “They’re real.”
Mouse merely gave a solemn nod in response as he removed his goggles. Like me, he had clearly not expected to find people here, and my statement was an indication to him that these people actually existed, as opposed to being illusions fabricated by Dream Machine.
This was the real benefit of having me on this mission. In essence, Dream Machine’s illusions only appeared within the visible light spectrum. In other words, they only manifested within the range of the spectrum that was visible to the human eye. Ergo, people with normal vision were susceptible to the hallucinations he created, but someone like me – with my vision currently outside the visible light spectrum – couldn’t see them at all. That meant I could tell what was real and what wasn’t. Moreover, my empathic abilities also served as a differentiator, since illusions don’t have feelings.
At the moment, I was picking up the usual emotions that one might expect from people dealing with homelessness: worry, fear, dread, and so on. At the same time, however, I picked up on feelings of comfort, hope, friendliness, and the like. Basically, on an overall basis, it wasn’t much different than the sentiments I’d pick up from any random group of people. Thus, convinced that we were in no immediate danger, I placed Mouse and myself on the ground and made us substantial again. By that time, however, our presence had been noted.
Up to that point, there had been a multitude of conversations going on, but they quickly ground to a halt as those assembled became aware of strangers in their midst. Slowly, like the tide inexorably crashing on the shore, a wave of silence seemed to wash over those around us as all eyes turned in our direction.
I didn’t pick up on any indications of malice, but the sea of staring eyes made me wary. Then, almost simultaneously (and so closely in unison that it might have been choreographed), everyone around us pointed to the far end of the chamber, where another set of double doors was located. Quite plainly, they knew who we were (or at least why we were there).
Taking our cue, Mouse and I began heading toward the doors. As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel a slight bit of guilt as I noticed those around us huddling close to the burn barrels for warmth. Although we were on the verge of spring, it was still cold outside. Assuming there was some kind of ventilation system down here – and there had to be for these people to get air (not to mention preventing the burn barrels from filling the place with smoke) – it was probably cold air that was coming in. Thus, while not as wintry as being on the streets, it was quite likely that it could get cold enough down here to get uncomfortable.
For Mouse and me, the League uniforms that we wore were not just well-insulated, but also loaded with so much technology that getting a chill was the last thing we had to worry about. Needless to say, we hadn’t done anything wrong, but I felt guilty all the same about being warm and cozy.
In addition, I noticed that the space we were in wasn’t actually designed to be the huge chamber I initially took it to be. Upon closer inspection, I saw that Mouse and I were actually on the ground floor of what had been a multi-story facility of some sort. (In retrospect, I actually remembered floating past several floors as we had come down the elevator shaft.) From all indications, some portion of the structure had collapsed, leaving several rooms on multiple floors open and visible, thereby creating the semblance of a large space. Frankly speaking, it put me in mind of a wrecking ball that had smashed into the side of a building, leaving much of the interior exposed to the outside.
We were about a quarter of the way to the double doors when everyone – again, in synchronized fashion – dropped their hands. Presumably we knew which way to go at that juncture, so the chamber’s occupants (at least those on the same floor as us) busied themselves with hurriedly stepping out of our path, as if we had a disease they might catch. They still didn’t speak, however; they merely continued to watch us in stony silence.
We had almost reached the double doors when a young girl – about eight years old or so – dropped a doll she was holding as she stepped out of our path. I had just come abreast of her at the time, so I bent down to retrieve her plaything at the same time that the girl herself did. Our simultaneous action resulted in us almost bumping heads, but our comic timing was slightly off. Thus, although we didn’t inadvertently head butt each other, her face did wind up close to my ear.
“Watch the shadows,” she hastily whispered, at the same time taking her doll (which I had reached first) from my hand.
I stood up, frowning slightly over what I’d just heard and trying to discern the meaning. I glanced at the girl, who had just been gripped firmly by the arm, pulled back, and shushed by a woman who presumably was her mother. Still pondering her words, I stepped forward to join Mouse, who was already at the doors (which appeared to be locked). My mentor looked at me expectantly. Knowing what he wanted, I phased the doors and we stepped through.
We now found ourselves in a spacious tunnel. The place was modestly lit with a few incandescent lights, which provided enough illumination that Mouse didn’t need his NVGs. A couple of darkened, recessed spaces in the tunnel walls indicated the presence
