A madman's dream

A humming sound echoed through Mr. Wojciech's house. Quiet at first, but with each passing second, it grew louder, until it finally reached a critical point—Mr. Wojciech woke up. It seemed as if the windows would fall out of their frames, and the ceiling would collapse on his head. However, Mr. Wojciech didn't find this strange—earthquakes were extremely common in this area. After a moment, the humming stopped.

"One toils from dawn to dusk for the city's green spaces, and here even nature opposes my need for overtime sleep..."

Mr. Wojciech glanced resignedly at his watch and decided he could safely skip breakfast and go straight to dinner. He scrambled out of bed. He was astonished to notice that the blinds were not drawn, yet the room was dark. The street outside seemed darker than it was at night—not even the streetlights were on.

The voice of a righteous citizen echoed in the young Pole's mind. And it cried out loudly that such a phenomenon cannot be merely observed passively. Without thinking, he hurriedly dressed and ran outside, armed with a flashlight. He quickly noticed he wasn't the only one with this idea. Several of his neighbors appeared on the street—each with a flashlight in hand, each staring at the sky... no, it wasn't the sky. It was some enormous object, a dark shape obscuring the sky.

Mr. Wojciech joined his neighbors. He looked at them, asking a silent question, but they, like him, were speechless. The village madwoman's triumphant shriek pierced the silence.

"I told you! I told you they'd come! I told you!"

Mad Jadźka ran from one end of the street to the other, emitting ultrasound that, at a moment like this, sent shivers down everyone's spine.

Suddenly, Jadźka's screams stopped mid-stride. She stopped in her tracks. Everything stopped. Even Mr. Zdzisiu, from under the bridge, who had just begun to forcefully silence the screaming woman with a bottle of fruit wine, stopped dead in his tracks. The air became heavy. All the flashlights went out, and the street was completely dark. The gathered residents would probably have felt fear, if it weren't for the darkness in their minds, as impenetrable as the one on the road.

***

The darkness in Mr. Wojciech's mind was briefly illuminated by a flash of realization. He never knew where that small spark had come from in his mind. But even a small spark could start a fire. The fire in his consciousness was rekindled by a grotesque sight—a hunched, completely bald man with a fake, rusted metal eyeball. The sight wouldn't have been so terrifying, but he recognized this man as his neighbor. Mr. Gienek, once the strongest man in the area, had become a collapsed wreck.

"Gienek, what happened to you?" Mr. Wojciech's voice trembled. He felt as if he hadn't said anything in a long time.

"What happened?" The response was dispassionate and mechanical, completely devoid of emotion. As Mr. Wojciech noticed, not a single muscle on his interlocutor's face, except for his mouth, twitched. His face was an impassive stone, incapable of expressing any emotion.

"What happened?! You have a rusty, metal eye inside you, and you don't see anything strange about it?!

"But I've always had one. Besides, even you have a rusty jaw, and I'm not even bringing that up."

Mr. Wojciech only now noticed a strange taste in his mouth. He reached for his face, and before he even placed it on his jaw, he noticed that his hand didn't resemble the one he'd become accustomed to over the past 24 years. With indescribable fear, he surveyed the rest of his body. Besides the jaw, mentioned by his neighbor, he also noticed two screws protruding from his lower leg. Everything made of rusted steel—it was a nightmare! Too unreal for someone as sane as Mr. Wojciech to believe.

It was too much absurdity for his rational mind. Enough to break that inner peace maintained by the regime of steel nerves, which inevitably began to snap like the seams of a too-tight shirt. Strange thoughts began to form in Mr. Wojciech's head. Conclusions too improbable to be considered true, moreover, mutually exclusive. Finally, the chaos in his mind surfaced. In an uncontrolled frenzy, Mr. Wojciech ran in whatever direction he saw fit, which changed on average every ten seconds. He left behind several kilometers of unusual corridors that any normal person would have noticed, but Mr. Wojciech simply refused to notice. The steel and graphite walls seemed to stare at him, but he paid no attention. He simply ran forward. Occasionally, he passed a figure with at least two rusty implants, but he didn't bother with them either.

Mr. Wojciech slowly began to lose strength, but he kept running. Finally, his numb legs gave out completely, and he collapsed to the floor. The whole world was enveloped in a thickening fog. Three shapes he couldn't recognize leaned over him. He couldn't even tell if they were human, or how human they were. He noticed one of them pointing at him, and the others moving their heads. Or was it his imagination playing tricks on him? Someone seemed to say something, though it could just as easily have been the hum of a fan. It didn't matter to Mr. Wojciech. He just wanted to be as far away from here as possible. He wanted to forget.

***

What joy Mr. Wojciech felt when he woke up in his soft, warm bed. He couldn't believe it was all just a nightmare. He wanted to be sure. He went to the window and pulled up the blinds. A beautiful, sunny morning greeted him. But why was a black van parked at his gate?

As if in response, disturbing noises echoed from under the door. Someone was trying to get into his house, but they weren't bothering with the doorknob. Mr. Wojciech was certain that whoever had arrived in that van wanted nothing to do with him. In a fit of panic, he ran down to the basement and out through the back window, first making sure no one was around. Unsure of what he was doing or why he was walking away from his house toward the forest.

After a few minutes, his cell phone rang in his pants. Still running, Mr. Wojciech checked the display. An unknown number. He decided to take a chance and answered the call.

"If you value your life, get to Klonów 19," the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to an elderly woman.

"But what... is this all about?!" Mr. Wojciech gasped

. "There isn't much time to explain, but if it gets you to cooperate, we're an underground resistance movement. See you later."

Mr. Wojciech turned onto the last street before the forest to get to the indicated address. He was confused, but he hoped his mysterious interlocutor would explain at least some of what had happened. Finally, he reached the location. Before he could even ring the bell, the oak door swung open. A woman with a face marked by many wrinkles looked at him.

"Come in quickly!" the old woman whispered conspiratorially.

Mr. Wojciech entered. He was greeted by four smiling, broad-shouldered men with pistols aimed at him. Shots rang out. Writhing in pain, Mr. Wojciech fell to the ground.

"Why?" he asked his tormentors in an accusing tone

. "You knew too much. And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."