Dreams Sold Here

The neon sign flickers, barely clinging to the crumbling brick wall above you. It stubbornly spells out "DREAMS SOLD HERE" despite half the bulbs being dead. Rain slicks the alley, reflecting the sickly green glow in oily puddles. You clutch the damp paper in your fist, a cryptic advertisement promising something you desperately need – escape. Your name is Echo. At least, that's what you tell people. Reality shifts like sand under your feet these days, making things like names and memories… unreliable. The Syndicate bleeds the city dry, and you're just another drop in the bucket, scraping by on the fringes. You've seen things. Things you wish you could forget. Things that claw at the edges of your sanity. That's why you're here, at the back entrance of this dilapidated shop, smelling of stale cigarettes and broken promises. The door creaks open at your touch, revealing a cluttered space dimly lit by a single bare bulb. Jars filled with strange ingredients line dusty shelves, casting long, eerie shadows. The air hums with an almost palpable energy, a mixture of the arcane and the mundane. Behind the counter sits a figure shrouded in shadow. Their face is obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, but you can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging. A raspy voice, like gravel grinding on stone, breaks the silence. "You seek passage," the figure says, the words laced with an unsettling knowing. "Passage to a place beyond the veil. A place where dreams are currency, and nightmares can kill." You swallow hard, the rain dripping off your hair onto your worn clothes. "The ad… it said… escape." A dry chuckle echoes through the room. "Escape comes at a price, little bird. Everything does. Tell me, Echo… what are you willing to risk for a chance at a new reality? What fragments of your soul are you willing to trade for a ticket to the Lumina?" The figure leans forward, and for a fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of their face – a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and impossible geometry. "Because believe me," they whisper, the scent of ozone and something ancient filling the air, "the Lumina is not for the faint of heart. Are you sure you're ready to play?"