A war I fought in but never loaded or fired a real bullet. A war where hundreds of millions died but none felt the slice of metal into skin, the shattering of bone from the contact of copper and steel. I dreamt of sound waves that crashed and killed. Of bullets that exploded internally, obliterating organs and leaving the body whole, unmarked, yet lifeless. This was the unnatural reality of sonic weapons. The unadulterated power of musical tone altered, harnessed and let loose to decimate. I dreamt of the sonicbullet my grandfather, six generations removed, invented. The heritage I was named for. I dreamt of Armise’s eyes on me. They were always there. Even when he wasn’t. Blue eyes that were nearly silver. A judgement upon who I was, who I’d become. I clawed at the stronger emotions settling inside me, sliding through my unconsciousness. He was my opponent. Of that I could be sure as much as I wanted to fight it. His gaze, unseen in my dreams but there nonetheless, haunted me. My dreams were violent and bloodless.
