The air in Aaron’s apartment was filled with things flying through it, all of it coming straight at him. His couch was hurtling right for his face. A paramilitary ninja was somehow leaping over the couch from behind as it flew. The gruesome dagger in the ninja’s hand was also on an unfortunate trajectory. 

Honestly, it was a lot to be dealing with.

Yet, fast as it was happening, Aaron was able to track all of it. He could even think, in a rudimentary way. Complicated thoughts were beyond him, but he could visualize possible responses and how he might accomplish them. The sensation was disconcerting, but not nearly as much as reacting purely on instinct. He needed to keep control; control of the situation and himself.

Aaron thrust his right foot forward. His push kick connected with the couch, shoving it back into the assassin. The furniture, the ninja, and their dagger went crashing back into the wall behind them.

That was more effective than it should have been, he thought. What the hell is going on with me?

The day’s weirdness had steadily escalated and Aaron was starting to wonder if he wasn’t having some kind of absurd, layered dream. He kept doing things that were impossible. First the softball game, now this. He knew some self-defense and hadn’t always been a stranger to violence, but this? This was wild.

If you have superpowers in a dream, you might as well lean into it, he decided.

Aaron moved to press his advantage, closing on the assassin. He wanted to use his improbable dream strength to start grappling. With the right hold, it would greatly improve his odds against getting knifed. The ninja had other ideas. They twisted into a crouch, the dagger flashing in a series of quick swipes.

When Aaron backed off, the assassin pushed the couch completely off themselves. They drove forwards, slashing high and low, coming at Aaron from different angles. Aaron dropped back, instincts warning him not to let that blade cut him. He was moving fast — too fast — but the ninja was fast, too, and he didn’t trust himself to attack without an opening.

Finally, the intruder made a mistake. A jab aimed for Aaron’s eyes left them overextended. Aaron stepped in close, throwing a hard elbow to the ribs. It was supposed to be a quick pop to set up for a hip toss, but the intruder took off. The assassin soared across the living room and crashed into the dinette table. 

The ninja was back on their feet in a flash, earning the title once more. Instead of coming right back at Aaron, they muttered something under their breath. Aaron couldn’t make out the words. The sound and rhythm of it reminded him of Arabic. 

A light haze, like fog, formed. It clung closely to the attacker’s entire form. There was a palpable sense of wrongness to the strange nimbus. Aaron took another step away from it. The haze thickened into something closer to smoke, taking on a reddish hue like rust. The cloud seeped through the assassin’s clothes and sank into their flesh. The intruder began to mimic a bull, each breath little more than feral grunts.

Aaron had a very clear sense that whatever advantage his dream strength had given him was gone.

Need to change tactics, he thought, grasping for ideas.

Before the assassin could finish whatever weird shit they were doing, Aaron bolted into the little closet that separated the living room, bathroom, and bedroom. He pulled all three doors closed with a slam, plunging the tiny room into darkness, and dropped down in a corner behind the door.

He waited, his weight almost entirely on the balls of his feet and his legs coiled under him. The quiet and darkness in the tiny space, waiting to ambush a killer, Aaron experienced a moment of mindfulness and clarity. 

Aaron was an anxious person by nature, but it was chronic for him, not acute. His nerves were a constant background thrum in his thoughts, yet he rarely panicked, even in high stress situations. Now, he should have been terrified and just wasn’t. His breathing was even and blessedly quiet, the rush of blood in his ears strong but not overwhelming, even his body wasn’t fatigued after fighting for his life.

This wouldn’t be true in a dream, he mused. I’d be freaking out because the dream would force me to. He considered this incongruity as he focused entirely on listening for the assassin. Unless this isn’t a nightmare. But if it’s not, then what kind of dream is it?

Shadows moved under the door to the living room, cutting off Aaron’s rumination. The intruder had approached without a sound, but what else would you expect from a ninja? The shadows didn’t reveal their exact position, but Aaron had help from the wrongness the haze had produced. It clung to the stranger and gave Aaron a vague sense that his assailant was close to the door, but not right behind it.

The door burst open without warning. It came to a sudden muffled stop against the coats hanging just above Aaron. If he’d been another inch or two forward, the door would have hit him in the face. He would make his move when the assassin moved into the hallway a bit. Just enough for the door to hit squarely.

He shifted some of his weight forward, onto his hands. He’d pull himself into the charge with his arms while he pushed into it with his legs. He could practically hear the coaches from his two years playing football in high school screaming in his head: Explode off the line, Abrams. Fire out of there! He waited.

Seconds crept by, Aaron and the assassin each holding their position. The intruder likely sensed some kind of trap in the making. There were two more closed doors and no sign of their target in the tiny room. It was likely they couldn’t sense Aaron or they’d have already rammed the knife through the plywood door.

Finally, the stranger stepped into the closet. Aaron could just see their body past the edge of the door. He couldn’t see the knife. Unless the assassin had changed hands, it should be in their far hand.

The stranger’s head turned, scanning the coats, jackets, and sweaters hanging at the back of the closet. Aaron held his breath; those coats were also hanging right over him. He was as deep in the shadows as he could be, but would he be seen? After a moment, the intruder adjusted themselves to face the bathroom door, setting their feet to kick it open. Aaron waited for the kick; there wouldn’t be a better time to make his move.

With an inhuman snarl, the ninja kicked the bathroom door. It came clear off its hinges, knocked the towel rack off the wall, and clattered to a landing against the rim of the tub. 

Aaron launched himself forward, keeping himself as low to the ground as he could. He drove the closet door into the assassin’s back, forcing them into the now-empty door frame of the bathroom. There was a loud crack from the impact and the assassin’s ribs. Aaron barely registered it — all his concentration was dedicated to watching for the dagger.

The two struggled to overpower each other. The assassin tried pushing Aaron back and Aaron wanted to keep them pinned. He needed to get eyes on the knife and neutralize it. After a few seconds of back and forth, the ninja forced their way clear of the door, scraping against the wall until they ended up in the bathroom.

Before the intruder could turn back to Aaron, he had charged in for a full-on tackle. He tried to get his hands on the arm with the knife, but he had been right — the ninja’s body was between him and the weapon. He blasted the stranger off their feet and into the side of the bathtub. The fallen bathroom door buckled with a loud crack under the impact. The thick wall of the tub also broke apart from the force of their landing.

The ninja shrieked like an animal and threw Aaron clear of the bathroom with one arm. He backpedaled to keep his footing, his back brushing the hanging clothes when he finally came to a stop. There wasn’t a moment to get his bearings; the assassin was already coming at him.

Aaron moved forward to meet the attack. Up close, the knife could only come from so many angles. Sure enough, the assassin snarled and led with a thrust. Aaron turned his body to avoid it, grabbing the wrist and stepping forward, hard. He heard a sickening crunch as the killer’s arm snapped against the frame of the door.

He took a knee to the side and almost lost his grip on the ninja’s wrist. His free hand shot out, wrapping around the back of the intruder’s neck, and pulled them, face-first, into the door frame. Aaron felt the blood from the assassin’s nose breaking spatter against his arm.

The two men spun in wild circles, grappling for an advantage. They banged into the walls and doors of the little closet. The assassin uttered sounds that grew angrier as they became less human, trying to free their knife hand even with a broken arm. Aaron held on as hard as he could, throwing elbows and punches every chance he got.

They broke apart in the living room, the assassin finally managing to dislodge Aaron. Two quick swipes of the blade came at Aaron and he only barely avoided them. They were followed by a jab aimed at his face. Aaron managed to get a block up and the intruder stumbled back, hissing in pain.

Forgot about your broken arm with whatever weird ‘roid rage you’ve got going on, Aaron thought. It was an advantage, but not much of one. I need to end this; I won’t keep getting lucky. 

The ninja reversed their grip on the dagger and rushed in with a wheezing growl. Aaron locked up for a moment; he couldn’t think. Thankfully, his brain was well-practiced in doing shit without his input. He wasn’t out of control, exactly, but it was a close thing.

His forearm met the assassin’s, more of a clumsy chop than a controlled block.  That probably made the breaks in that arm worse, but Aaron’s autopilot gave exactly zero shits. His other hand shot out, fingers curled into a leopard fist, and hit the intruder in the throat. There was a nasty pop and the assassin began to choke and splutter.

The assassin swiped the dagger wildly, snarling all the while. It forced Aaron back, but didn’t keep him away long. After a particularly reckless swing of the blade, he stepped in close and elbowed the stranger in the solar plexus. Aaron ducked under a swing of the knife and hit the intruder with a backfist as hard as he could.

The ninja stumbled across the living room, tripping and falling over the overturned couch. When they didn’t spring back to their feet right away, Aaron took a few cautious steps forward to get a better view. The stranger was laying in a heap between the couch and the wall, breathing heavily.

 Careful, Aaron, he told himself. This could very easily be a trap. 

With slow, measured steps, Aaron moved around the couch. The intruder stayed on the floor. They were gasping and wheezing with the occasional snarl or grunt mixed in. It took nearly a minute for Aaron to cover the ten or so feet between them. The whole time he kept his eyes on the stranger’s shoulders, looking for any sign of rolling towards him. 

Aaron knelt down on the assassin’s shoulder from behind, his weight divided between his knee and the ball of his feet so he could jump back if he had to. He also kept his hands low, near his waist. The ninja groaned piteously at the pressure but made no other move.

Rolling the stranger over, Aaron was met with a gruesome sight. The stranger’s neck was at a dreadful angle and the dagger had plunged into their stomach down to the hilt. The entire front of the ninja, from their oddly-smooth mask down to their dark pants, was soaked and glistening with blood.

It was a good thing for Aaron the ninja was so grievously injured; he was frozen in place, torn between the instinct to offer help and the urge to pull away in fear and revulsion. Nor was that the only internal struggle he was experiencing as he looked down at the dying assassin.

It’s just a dream, he told himself. You don’t need answers. But what if it’s not? Why would this guy want to kill me so badly? And what about all the other weird shit going on?

Curiosity got the better of him. He knelt down beside the assassin, hands ready if that knife somehow came at him.

“Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?” he asked.

A note of hysteria crept into the second question. It might have been embarrassing if Aaron weren’t so wracked with other strong emotions he barely noticed any of them. He wanted to run and hide, to vomit, to weep, even to spend this stranger’s last minutes alive inflicting pain on them for the sake of petty vengeance. He did none of that. 

When no answers came, he yanked off the sleek hood. The face beneath belonged to a stranger, but a familiar one.

“I saw you earlier,” Aaron breathed. “When I went to check the mail. You were on your phone.” 

He bristled over the fact he’d shared an up-nod with this person not even an hour earlier. They’d had a brief social connection and now this guy was in his home, trying to stick a glowing knife in him? And busting up the place? And he’d almost forced Aaron to knock over his beer, too. Many more questions began to clamor for Aaron’s attention, but he latched onto the one that stood out from the others.

“Did that old man send you?” he demanded.

The unmasked assassin took several shuddering breaths, each accompanied by a wet gurgle, and tried to speak. Aaron imagined the man’s lungs were filling with blood, but he wanted to hear what the man had to say. He wasn’t an idiot, though, so he was wary. As gently as he could — and without jostling the assassin’s injured neck — he pinned the man’s arms down as he leaned in to listen to his dying words.

The stranger uttered several brief phrases, each punctuated by a rasping breath. “I struck at the serpent…before it could strike at me…but its fangs have left me dead.”

It was a sentence — technically —  but it didn’t make any sense to Aaron. What was all that about snakes and fangs? The man might have been delirious, but it seemed more likely the whole thing was some kind of screwed up dream.

With another awful breath, the assassin continued. “For another chance, I… give what’s left of my life. Leave no trace…and make you forget.”

The last sentence sounded different. It felt different. Each word echoed and reverberated, filling the space in the apartment. The words crashed into Aaron, pressing against him. His ears rang and he nearly fell over, but he held his place.

He wanted answers. He needed answers. This stranger bleeding out on his carpet was the only one who—

Aaron checked the lock on the front door. It was locked, of course. He always locked his front door. But he’d totally spaced on why he’d come over to this part of the living room and it was the first thing he thought of. He also looked out the peephole. Nobody there. He walked back to the credenze and picked up his beer. 

Why did I set this down? he wondered. Just to check the front door? Weird. 

Since he was still up, he might as well look around for his ashtray and lighter. Thankfully, they were in the little cubby shelves between the living room and dinette. If they hadn’t been there, the only other place he would have likely put them was the small drawer next to the desk. 

After setting everything on the desk, he spun back to the front door, heart rate quickening.

Why are you so jumpy, Aaron? he asked himself. It’s probably the delivery guy with dinner.

Sure enough, his usual place had pulled through again, getting his food to him almost a quarter hour earlier than they’d said was likely. The night was starting to look up!