You don't dream in the tank.

You aren't sleeping, after all. You're being born.

You aren't conscious, of course. It's something else. Some other state that isn't sleep and isn't wakefulness. It's a place of not-being, a state of lack. Zen-like in its unattainable emptiness. It's a state of mind that only Julia can make for you.

You aren't aware of time passing, but when the tank's work is done, you're aware that time has passed. The world has shifted its position around you. It's never easy to gauge how much time has passed. How long you've been here. How long you've been anywhere.

This time, you believe it's been longer than normal. A good, extensive rest. Something anxious skitters at the bottom of your stomach. That long without Julia? The unease prickles the back of your neck. You reach out for the release button, opening the tank. You step out into your life. The air feels humid and warm. The left side of the tank is still sealed. Your clone hasn't risen yet, it seems. You turn to start making your way into the playroom.

Julia is there. Right there. Waiting for you, hands folded behind her back, smiling so happily. "Hello, baby," she greets you, and the affection in her voice is warm as the rising sun. Your eyes fill with tears, blessed by her, undeserving. "I'm so happy to see you." 

It's hard to talk right after getting out of the tank. Your tongue feels wooden. You try and let your expression communicate for you, telling her that you're happy to see her, too. 'Happy' is woefully inadequate, of course, but she knows that. Julia knows everything in your heart.

"Aw," Julia says, laughing lightly. "I know, sweetheart." She can feel the joy as it radiates out of you, and that's such a relief. She steps closer, and your eyes are so locked onto hers that you can't even see her hands move from behind her back. You don't see the gun enter your periphery. You just feel the barrel as it coldly kisses your temple.

You're frightened, which shames you, but it passes. Julia sees all of it - the fear in your reaction, and the way it wafts off of you like steam. Her eyes shine. "Oh," she says, and for a moment that's all she says. Her smile is so big, so joyous. She caresses your face with the weapon, letting it drag over your eyebrow, down your cheek. It's heavy and hard, digging into your skin. "You used to be so scared of this moment," she says, nearly a whisper. "Begging. Telling me that you were the 'real' one, that I had it all wrong. Do you remember?" You hesitate. You're truly not sure. Memory is tricky. Your nod is reticent, and stunted by the presence of the gun pressing against the corner of your mouth. She pushes it harder, working it down to your chin. "It's OK if you don't. I know you've lost so much. We've played this game so long now."

She begins moving the barrel up the other side. You're scarcely breathing. She looks enraptured, transported, and you don't want to do anything at all to ruin the moment. Julia's delight is emanating in waves, and you want to savor every moment of them. "You'd think I'd be bored of it by now," she says, looking with fascination at the places she's pressed the gun to, "and sometimes, between our sessions, I am. I think I've had enough. But when we're here, doing this... every time, it's all brand new." She gives a devilish smile. "Every time, you're brand new."

She takes a deep breath, and you instinctively do the same. She parts her lips, inhaling deep, like she wants to take in all of you. Every last bit. 

She's still inhaling when she pulls the trigger.

THE END.