A Veteran's Farewell
Pettison was a soldier. A veteran who had been tossed onto the battlefield at the tender age of fifteen. Born an orphan, the only lesson the world had ever taught him was how to survive fields of blood and flying flesh. Human greed knew no limits. People always needed to live better than their neighbors, to claim more for themselves. And that truth held just as firmly for nations and megacorporations. After wandering through the hellish war zones spawned by that endless avarice, the man had become a battle-hardened veteran with thick bones and leathery skin.
In the midst of that brutal life, he had miraculously found love and made it all the way to marriage. He believed that in the moments he spent with her, he might finally feel the warm touch of another human being instead of the stench of blood from the front lines. But happiness was fleeting. Fate refused to leave him in peace even for a second. His wife died of an unexplained illness before she could even reach thirty. Having lost her so recently, the man fell into a tearing grief and eventually turned to drugs. When he was high, at least he didn’t have to feel the sorrow.
He knew that the gleaming Memory Bank towering over the glittering city center could let him meet his wife again, vivid and alive inside his memories. But that was a luxury reserved for the wealthy upper levels. A commoner like Pettison could never afford the astronomical cost, so he had no choice but to rely on the hallucinogenic drugs that gnawed away at his brain.
Today, as always, he fought down the vicious withdrawal symptoms and headed into the back alleys with a wad of cash, desperate to buy more. Between the acrid steam and the rotting stench of filth in the slums, a single strange phrase caught his blurry eyes.
I Will Make Your Dreams Come True
The crude but vivid letters were scrawled across an abandoned wooden plank. Even now his muscles screamed for the drug, demanding he run straight to his usual dealer’s den and shoot up. But today, for some reason, the word dream gripped his ankles and refused to let go. If it was a real dream, not the filthy hallucinations the drugs gave him, could he see her again?
Like a man possessed, Pettison dragged his creaking steps forward. Carrying a desperate longing in his chest, he slowly entered the dim space cobbled together from shabby planks.
The wooden door creaked open. Inside the shack was narrow and dark. Thin beams of neon light from the chaotic streets outside leaked through the gaps between planks, casting eerie shadows. In the middle of that darkness, someone sat politely, completely covered from head to toe in a thick, unidentifiable cloth.
“Welcome. What kind of dream are you looking to buy?”
The voice coming from beneath the cloth was strange—high-pitched, like a child who hadn’t yet gone through puberty, or perhaps a woman with a clear, beautiful tone. The veteran’s instincts, sharpened by years on the battlefield, immediately sent up warning signals. Suspicious. Setting up shop in the middle of a harsh slum, in a flimsy shack with no proper security? Only two kinds of people did that: those with genuine power, or con artists with something to hide.
“……Are you trying to scam me?”
Pettison’s low, sunken voice carried the faint killing intent unique to soldiers. But the figure under the cloth didn’t even flinch. They answered as if it were nothing important.
“Come on, have you only ever been tricked your whole life? It’s real, I swear. Worst case, you lose nothing. Why not give it a try?”
The tone was playful, yet somehow it didn’t feel offensive. In truth, Pettison had nowhere left to retreat. His mind was already broken beyond repair. Every single day was a cycle of pickling his brain in strong alcohol and drugs just to snatch a few moments of sleep. He was exhausted. Right now he simply wanted to put everything down and find peace.
Whatever happens, happens.
With a resigned heart, Pettison pulled a few oil-stained bills from his pocket and tossed them onto the table. Even though his rational mind screamed that this was shady, he couldn’t bear to let go of the last fragile thread of hope he still clung to deep in his chest.
Perhaps the figure sensed his complicated emotions. The cloth-covered person smoothly collected the money, then murmured softly.
“If there’s a dream you want, I can show you anything. Now, lie down comfortably on the floor.”
Pettison slowly lowered his body. The hard, cold sensation pressed against his back. Soon, a small, thin hand reached out from beneath the cloth and gently rested on his forehead. No one told him to close his eyes, but the moment that warm touch reached his skin, his eyelids grew heavy as if by magic. The terrible withdrawal symptoms that tormented his limbs every night, the crushing headaches that pounded his skull—they all scattered like mist in an instant.
A deep, cozy silence enveloped him.
And a moment later—
“……Pettison?”
When he opened his eyes again, the air no longer carried the acrid smell of exhaust and burnt wiring that defined Ark City. Instead, the fresh scent of grass tickled his nose, and warm sunlight brushed his cheeks. Before him stretched a hill filled with memories of the wife he missed so desperately.
In the middle of that dazzling landscape, Pettison stood face to face with the woman he had longed for so fiercely. She smiled brightly and waved at him. Hot tears rolled down the man’s cheeks.
“Honey……! Honey……!”
Pettison buried his face in her embrace and finally released the sobs he had held back for so long. The soft texture of her skin that he had missed so much, the faint lavender scent she had always carried in life—they shook every one of his senses without mercy.
“I’m sorry…… I’m so sorry, honey. When you were suffering like that, there was nothing I could do for you……”
The tough soldier who had never shed a single tear even on blood-soaked battlefields now cried like a child, weeping bitterly. His wife simply held him quietly, gently patting his rough hands.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay……”
Looking at the husband who had spent every night writhing in agony from unbearable loss, she offered painful but tender comfort.
“Don’t hate yourself so much.”
The hand that wiped away the tears on his cheek felt impossibly vivid. The warmth of her body, the breath brushing his nose. Pettison wasn’t a fool. He knew rationally that he was lying on the floor of a shabby shack in the lower-level slums, that he had paid an unidentified stranger and was simply dreaming.
Yet at the same time, he was certain. If his real wife had come back to life and seen him destroying himself with drugs, she would have said exactly these same words.
To a man who had only ever rolled across battlefields to survive, she had been his one and only salvation. He had wanted to be loved. He had wanted to love. Even though his heart had already turned to ash, the weight of those memories remained. He had truly loved her. That fierce, profound love had solidified into stubborn lingering that was destroying him from within.
The reason he had depended on drugs every night wasn’t to forget her, but because he had no way to endure a reality without her. But the moment he heard her sincere consolation within that perfect scent and touch, the heavy, sorrowful chains that had bound his heart slowly unraveled.
It was time to let go of his lingering attachment and truly send her off.
The man etched her bright smile deep into his eyes and finally brought an end to the story he had never been able to conclude.
“Goodbye……”
With a tearful smile, he bid her eternal farewell.
A small smile had settled on the man’s face, as though he were having a happy dream. Yet at the same time, there seemed to be a faint trace of melancholy. Or was that just my imagination?
“……He looks a little sad.”
I slowly withdrew my hand from the customer’s forehead and murmured quietly. When I lifted the thick cloth that had been pulled down over my head, the cramped interior of the shack came into full view. The man lying on the floor in deep sleep wore a strangely complex expression—relieved, yet still carrying an aching sorrow that refused to fade.
What kind of dream could make him wear an expression like that? I had no way of knowing. I wasn’t a god, and I couldn’t peek into someone else’s memories in detail. All I did was plant the tiniest hint so they could dream the dream they desired most.
“Right! Shall we see how much we earned today?”
I turned my gaze away from the man’s sentimental face and looked at the table. A rather impressive pile of bills and crude credit chips earned throughout the day was stacked there. He was already my tenth customer today. Not a bad start at all.
“Just sitting still and the money keeps rolling in?”
I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upward. When I had risked my life escaping that lab, the future had looked pitch black. Yet I had somehow stumbled upon an incredible money-making scheme. The customers get what they want, and I get paid. This is the true taste of capitalism. Everyone wins—sister and brother-in-law alike. The completion of a world where all are happy.
“Ugh……”
Maybe I had overused my ability today. The back of my eyeballs felt itchy. It seemed like the horrible pain from the lab was about to flare up again, so I quickly rubbed my eyes lightly with my hand. Fortunately, it was only a faint stinging sensation. It hadn’t crossed the line into real pain yet. Everything in moderation, as they say.
It looked like I should close up shop after this uncle. I carefully tucked the bundle of money from the table into my inner pocket. Then I whispered softly to the customer, who was still shedding tears even as he smiled.
“I hope you have sweet dreams.”