Project Dark Dreams

                        Project Dark Dreams                                                           

                                                         I

Project Dark Dreams. Sounds like an evil being from a fairy tale. But actually, a sinister name dreaded all over the globe. An organisation that kidnaps and tortures people as quoted by the governments of the world. A name all over the newspapers and every form of social media.

Dark Dreams is actually the name given to the organisation by

the government. Cambio Sogni (which means 'Dream Changer' in italian) explains

its origin and what the organisation was built for.

Created by world renowned psychologist Sir Stephano Bianchi, who proposed his ‘ground breaking’ idea to the Italian government. Now what that ‘ground-breaking’ invention was in just a moment. A violent reaction from the government threw him out of his home country. In a small innocent corner of the New York Times came this article “Renowned psychologist and billionaire, Sir Stephano Bianchi striped off his Italian citizenship”.

He tried to approach several governments but all felt threatened by his proposal and banned him from their countries. It seemed as if a full stop was put when the US, the strongest power on the planet forbade him from entering the country and declared him a criminal.

Now what had disturbed theses countries so much that a single person could threaten entire governments.

His researchs on dreams and their occurance was highly awarded and praised even today. His ‘ground-breaking’ invention was a mode to control the memory of a person, including their dreams. Hence the name DARK DREAMS. Just like a computer except that it was free to open and use, without a password. Delete some files, add some, change some, move some. Whatever you want to do, get all the wealth in the world, make everything free to more ambitious plans like ruling the world or starting a nuclear war, anything.

But this is not magic that you could snap your fingers and control the world. A lot of machinery is involved including a high expense. Bu some believe the governments itself are funding this program. The organisation is now undercover and is funded by Sir Stephano’s gigantic fortune (though much is confiscated by the governments he does have quite a lot of money with him). It is said to be located somewhere in the middle of war-laden Syria camouflaged and kidnapping people with a connection that spreads all over the world.

                                                        II

A double-decker flashed through Trafalgar Square showing its flamboyant colour. It was a long way from the shopping season but a fine crowd had formed. People parted away as the bus cut through the crowd and exited honking all the way.

Among the excited crowd, there were foreigners from the USA, from China, from France, from all over the world buying clothes, souvenirs, and other stuff to boast about to their friends and families upon returning to their countries. Today the percentage of foreigners were exceptionally high.

Most of the glum faced and always on their phones were the English bored and used to the rush of the Square. In this crowd was a middle searching desperately to get out this place. Brandon was being pushed over by children! He grunted and treaded to the nearest bus stop. He had come here to buy some clothes for his nephew, Lawrence who had just arrived the day before from Australia.

A crazy country, he thought. He had never been to the country but he had heard incredible stories about its kangaroos, its koalas and other flora and fauna. He had seen a couple of kangaroos in the zoo here in London. But there they roamed freely his nephew had said. E walked on to the stop and looked in grief as a couple of buses departed. Hope it’s not the one to Waterloo, he prayed as a bus departed. He scurried on to check every bus coming. He was a fine runner about a decade ago practising in marathons of every kind. Soon the condition of his leg deteriorated and the doctor blamed his intense training.

He sighed in relief as he found a bus, the one to Waterloo. He boarded the bus to be greeted by a jovial driver. Brandon handed him couple of pounds and waled over to a seat in the perfect middle of the bus. He relaxed and stretched his hands and legs. What a crowd! The screen in front was screaming about the covid spike in Oman. It’s been a year since corona here and it still hasn’t let its grips from the world. And always on Project DARK DREAMS, he had heard about it multiple times. Something about changing memories and all those things. The name was laughable, he thought. Dark Dreams. They couldn’t find a better name.

Gradually a spot on his forehead started throbbing probably because of the rasping voice of the newsreader. He grabbed a thick grey muffler from his bag and gingerly put it over his head. It was not very effective in reducing the sound but it was better than nothing.

Another bad migraine, he thought while two young and smart-looking men were talking about world politics like all young smart men. Soon came the topic Dark Dreams. A sudden fit of rage erupted inside Brandon as his headache peaked like the covid cases in Oman. He had to release it somewhere now that it had formed.

“Shut your damned mouths”, he shouted as the whole bus stared at him with an air of ridiculousness. The two looked abashed but fortunately for Brandon no one replied or argued to his rage. He himself was quite surprised with his sudden anger. He soon stopped thinking where this anger had come from and dozed off.

Waterloo station arrived after a couple of minutes but it seemed like an hour. The men were whispering quietly and occasionally glanced at him to check if he was awake. A cheer followed from the men as Brandon exited and walked to his house nearby. He tried to forget the unexpected and sudden temper. The swift London breeze accompanied him to his house as the clouds darkened with cracks far away. It was not a long walk from the station. He looked for a moment t his modern hose. He hated being late that included new trends. He sniffed vigorously when he smelled a tint of something frying. He rushed to the gates and threw them open and opened the door which to his surprise were not locked. Inside was a young man in his early thirties was cheering at a loud television. A cricket match was taking place in Australia> In his hand he had a plate with an irregularly fried fish with a large blob of sauce smeared on it. It was his nephew, Lawrence. Seeing Brandon, he stood up with a jovial deportment.

“Hello uncle! Oh, what are those”, he said excitedly pointing towards the bags Brandon was carrying.

“Hello! Some souvenirs and clothes for you. Check if this are your size”, smiled Brandon handing him a expensive green T-shirt.

“I made fried fish! You know, the English way.”

“I have really bad headache now. But I will be sure to try it asad. What do you guys call it?”

“Hahaha, asap”

Brandon walked to his room and smiled as he saw Lawrence decreasing the volume of the television. He opened the room and turned on the lights. His room was a mess as the maid had stopped coming for the past three months. The fan was dusted long ago and was covered in a thick coat of dust. The windows were rarely opened though they concealed a beautiful view into the neighbourhood park. The time was 6:00 pm and most children had left by this time. He jumped on his bed like one of those bachelors he saw in the movies and almost hurt his toe. He looked regretfully at his computer and remembered he had to do some work. But he insisted on taking a nap and tugged his blanket to sleep. He soon slept and it was not until the cuckoo clock in his house struck 8.

He woke up and stretched his limbs making his way into the kitchen. Lawrence was inside the kitchen mimicking a Led Zeppelin song. Brandon couldn’t sense his headache for a few seconds but then it became worse than before. Lawrence sensed his uncle coming in.

“I swear a cockroach was right there”, Lawrence said pointing to the sink.

“A cockroach! Not in my house.” Brandon searched near the sink but to no avail.

“England has become crazier than before. Do you feel any change?”

“Well except corona only slight changes.”

“No, you know the kidnapping of people by the dream thing.”

“What?”

“You know. The, Dark Dreams thing.”

Another fit of rage erupted inside Brandon but this time for aggressive. So aggressive that he couldn’t control himself and his actions. Suddenly, his hand moved as if it was possessed by something. He swung back his hand as terror sweept over Lawrence’s face. With full force he punched aimed for Lawrence’s face. But a centimetre from his face, Lawrence disappeared like dust and a void opened below Brandon.

                                                          III

“Hey, this one is acting weird. Come here quick!” a voice poured as if from his head but soon he realised it was from his head. He felt completely different. The only thing which was still present was his exasperating headache. He opened his eyes to a blinding light. But soon everything came into focus. He was in a room just like a hospital. Few men were surrounding excitedly around him with white cloaks and masks (he assumed they were doctors). Around him he heard gasps and utterances of surprise and exclamation. He realised he was not alone. A few others were on their beds, pegs attached to them and carefully monitored by a scanner which rotated around them. Nothing was circling him was t because he had woken up.

The room was covered with posters beaming ‘Whose got the darker dreams: Us or the Governments” and a large extended photo of Stephano Bianchi which he recognized from countless articles in newspapers. A bolt of fear and grief jolted through his spine. HE WAS KIDNAPPED BY PROJECT DARK DREAMS!!