The Dreamer
Isolette, the Master Builder, the granddaughter of Vitruvius, and most importantly, the dreamer of dreams, woke suddenly. She blinked twice as thousands of tiny lights twinkled at her in the darkness. The lights of Lord Business's Think Tank.
"What was I dreaming about?" she muttered to herself quietly, trying not to wake up the other Master Builders fast asleep around her. It was a bad dream, that was certain. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good one.
Oh yes. It was about the construction worker again. Her eyes widened as the dream came rushing back full force.
She'd watched them strap him into a machine, and as the room came into focus she'd realized with a sickening jolt she was in the melting chamber of Bad Cop's police headquarters. What did he do wrong? she wondered, feeling pity. In her last dream, the legoman had been cheerfully working away at a construction site. Her hopes had even started to rise that it would be a good dream until the end, when she realized he was a lonely nobody that none of his co-workers took any notice of.
"Are you going to melt me? And I going to die?" the same legoman cried, snapping Isolette's thoughts back into focus. Even from her distance she could see sweat pouring down the construction worker's face as he struggled vainly against his restraints. Isolette tried to move, tried to save him, but she realized this was an absent dream. She was not there now. So she would not be there then.
"You'll live. You'll be fine." A friendly voice broke through Isolette's agonized thoughts, making her shudder as its familiarity crept in. This is his doing, isn't it? She glared at the cop as he turned towards a dashboard, switched to his "bad" persona, and spoke to someone through a phone.
"President Business. We've got him right here." Pause. "Yes. We told him he'd live, but we're lying to him so he won't try to escape."
"What did he just say?" the prisoner yelped. The machine lifted him up higher and a bright red laser beam was activated, burning right into a strange object on his back. Isolette stared at him, horrified. Will no one save him?
Her vision changed to a dark yet familiar hallway in the police headquarters, down which a black figure in a hood was racing. She – Isolette was quite sure it was a she – stopped and looked around desperately. "Where is he?" she muttered, her voice taut with tension.
She'll never make it in time, Isolette thought, and her whole body felt cold.
The girl tugged at her hood in frustration and groaned aloud. "Where could they have taken him? The Special was supposed to be in one of the cells!"
The Special?
That was Isolette's last thought before her brain had jerked her awake.
Isolette's eyes reopened and she took several deep breaths to calm herself down. They will know. They will know I've had another dream. The security cameras, especially the ones trained closely on her, would have picked up her abrupt awakening. She sighed bitterly. I used to think having prophetic dreams was a gift. Not anymore. But another voice spoke from inside her, this one deeper within. Maybe you were meant to have these dreams. Maybe they will help you save lives.
But they are of the future! Isolette mentally cried. And the future is unchangeable!
Still... And then the voice was silent.