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Description
     Tom Thomas was indifferent.
     He was not indifferent in the sense that he didn't care, he cared just as much as the next person. Tom was indifferent, that was who he was.
     Tom was known by some people. Just a small group of friends, a few co-workers, the occasional acquaintance. He lived in a small apartment in San Diego, California, the United States, Earth. He also lived in a small pocket of his own existence, widely solitary by most people's reckoning.
     Tom's existence could be defined in many ways. He was the personification of "your average American". He was eternally known as "that person you can’t really remember the name of". And, possibly most importantly, he was the next guy.
     Tom Thomas lived his entire life indifferently. His parents had given him a simple mirror of a name, just unusual enough to be considered average. He grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. He went to school with the same group of friends, never moving. When time came to move on in his life, he chose San Diego, where a few of his friends had migrated. The weather was nicer.
     His profession of choice was psychology. The human mind interested him, especially while in the state of unconsciousness known as sleep. Tom studied the human mind at San Diego State University, and developed a deep interest in dreams, and dreaming.
     Tom Thomas wanted to make his life "worth it". He wasn't aware that he was so indifferent. He lived his life in an indifferent manner.
     It wasn't that Tom Thomas was indifferent to the world. The world was indifferent to Tom.

     Tom woke up at six o' clock, every day. He rose from his bed, stumbled into the bathroom, and began his usual morning rituals.
     Once his body was showered, his teeth brushed, his hair decidedly left alone, and his clothes were on, he walked into the tiny kitchen and ate breakfast, which today consisted of a half of a grapefruit with plenty of sugar and a glass of milk. He finished his breakfast and exited his apartment at exactly 7:03, according to the clock in the microwave. That clock always seemed to be three minutes fast, to Tom.
     Tom drove his car to the university, and parked it. He went into the building and did whatever psychologists did for the day.

     Tom sat at his desk, chewing through the mountain of paperwork that he had to do. Paperwork, he had learned, was just a component of life. At this point it was as unavoidable as the sun rising each morning.
     As he brooded over these ink-spattered slices of tree, a co-worker of his walked over.
     "Hey, Tom."
     Tom replied in his strictly tenor voice, "Hi, Tim."
     Tim was a curious entity to Tom. Tim was never openly hostile to Tom. Tim never held a word against him. Yet Tom always found himself wishing he'd just go away and mind his own business.
     Tim insisted, "Got something to ask you."
     Tom didn't look up from his paperwork. "Shoot."
     "We're working on some new dream tests today. You know, EEG machines and the whole nine yards. We want to get some more data regarding some patients that have had some conditioning, and I was wondering if you wanted to come see."
     "I don't know, Tim. I've got all this paperwork and-”
     “Oh, come on, Tom. You know you want to. For once, why don’t you just let the papers sit for a bit and come look at these tests with me?”
     Tom just sat for a moment and wished something would come up and Tim would have to rush away unexpectedly. But it didn’t happen.
     “Ok. Let’s go.”

     The lab in which sleepers were tested was a simple one. It was  a simple room within a room, the outer room being a utilitarian one full of machines and computers that eagerly recorded every single fluctuation in the subject’s brainwaves.
     The second inner room was a place for the subject to sleep. It had a nice bed and a pillow.
     Subjects would be asked to lie down and drift off to sleep, wearing a cap of wires and electrodes. Their brainwaves were then monitored on the screens.
     Tom and Tim walked into the outer room quietly, not wanting to disturb their patient. The inner room was soundproofed, so it didn’t really matter, but they wanted to be careful.
     Tim whispered, “Ok, this is where things start getting unusual.” He pointed at a particular screen, an EEG.
     Tom took one look at it and said, “Tim, your EEG’s broken.”
     Tim grinned. “What do you mean?”
     “Look. These spikes are almost off the charts. Whoever’s in there is experiencing brain activity that’s four times that of an extremely smart awake person. Your EEG’s broken.”
     Tim’s grin expanded. “Nope.”
     “What do you mean ‘nope’? It’s malfunctioning! There’s no way a human or any other living being on this planet can have that kind of mental activity.” He pointed to the EEG. “You might want to call their tech support.”
     Tim’s smile evaporated. “Tom, this isn’t faulty equipment. We checked this machine at least seven times. On top of that, this is the fourth EEG we’ve brought in. I know it’s irregular, but there’s an explanation behind it.”
     Tom looked skeptical. “Really? What’s that?”
     Tim’s grin returned. “Lucid dreaming. At its most advanced state.”
     Tom was at first taken aback, but the more dominant, logical, and donkey-like side of him asserted, “Tim, lucid dreaming does increase brain activity while sleeping, but this is ridiculous. Who’s in there?”
     Tim looked at his watch. “Oh, naptime’s over. You can meet him.” He walked over to the door of the smaller room and opened it. Tim walked in, words were exchanged with the person inside, and he re-emerged, with the subject in tow.
     The man with the dazzling brainpower was less than five feet tall. He was on the elderly side, but not old enough to be crumpled. He walked and talked just fine. His hair was wispy and white, similar to the rest of him. He was wearing a green sweater and blue jeans, both seemed too big for him. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep, but not overly baritone.
     “Oh! Hello.” The wispy man reached out and shook Tom’s hand, his grip was strong. “My name is Harry Briggs.”
     Tom said, shaking his hand, “Tom Thomas. Tim’s colleague.”
     Tim said, “Mr. Briggs, go ahead and tell Tom what you told me. The whole explanation as to why you have enough electricity in your head to power a Hybrid.”
     Harry laughed. “Call me Harry, didn’t I say?” He directed his attention to Tom. “Yes. That. Hmm.” He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “Well. The easiest way to put it is that I’ve been perfecting the art of dreaming my entire life.”
     Tom waited for a moment to see if he would clarify. He didn’t, so he said, “What do you mean?”
     Tim interjected. “Ok. Before we get into that whole rigmarole, why don’t we go down to that great steakhouse down the road and talk over lunch. My treat!”
     Harry smiled. “Ha! I like that idea. What do you say, Tom?”
     Tom looked at Tim. Tim smiled his smile. Tom said, “Alright, why not? I don’t have any other plans for lunch. Let’s go.”
     Tim walked out of the door immediately. Harry went for the door, but turned around.
     The man’s eyes were changed. They were different from the soft grey that they had been, they were now a cold, steely color. He glared at Tom with enough force to knock the breath out of him.
     No one’s lips moved, but a voice whispered into Tom’s ear, You should not pursue this, Tom Thomas. The Art is not for you. Turn back, before everyone burns.

Description
     Tom Thomas was indifferent.
     He was not indifferent in the sense that he didn't care, he cared just as much as the next person. Tom was indifferent, that was who he was.
     Tom was known by some people. Just a small group of friends, a few co-workers, the occasional acquaintance. He lived in a small apartment in San Diego, California, the United States, Earth. He also lived in a small pocket of his own existence, widely solitary by most people's reckoning.
     Tom's existence could be defined in many ways. He was the personification of "your average American". He was eternally known as "that person you can’t really remember the name of". And, possibly most importantly, he was the next guy.
     Tom Thomas lived his entire life indifferently. His parents had given him a simple mirror of a name, just unusual enough to be considered average. He grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. He went to school with the same group of friends, never moving. When time came to move on in his life, he chose San Diego, where a few of his friends had migrated. The weather was nicer.
     His profession of choice was psychology. The human mind interested him, especially while in the state of unconsciousness known as sleep. Tom studied the human mind at San Diego State University, and developed a deep interest in dreams, and dreaming.
     Tom Thomas wanted to make his life "worth it". He wasn't aware that he was so indifferent. He lived his life in an indifferent manner.
     It wasn't that Tom Thomas was indifferent to the world. The world was indifferent to Tom.

     Tom woke up at six o' clock, every day. He rose from his bed, stumbled into the bathroom, and began his usual morning rituals.
     Once his body was showered, his teeth brushed, his hair decidedly left alone, and his clothes were on, he walked into the tiny kitchen and ate breakfast, which today consisted of a half of a grapefruit with plenty of sugar and a glass of milk. He finished his breakfast and exited his apartment at exactly 7:03, according to the clock in the microwave. That clock always seemed to be three minutes fast, to Tom.
     Tom drove his car to the university, and parked it. He went into the building and did whatever psychologists did for the day.

     Tom sat at his desk, chewing through the mountain of paperwork that he had to do. Paperwork, he had learned, was just a component of life. At this point it was as unavoidable as the sun rising each morning.
     As he brooded over these ink-spattered slices of tree, a co-worker of his walked over.
     "Hey, Tom."
     Tom replied in his strictly tenor voice, "Hi, Tim."
     Tim was a curious entity to Tom. Tim was never openly hostile to Tom. Tim never held a word against him. Yet Tom always found himself wishing he'd just go away and mind his own business.
     Tim insisted, "Got something to ask you."
     Tom didn't look up from his paperwork. "Shoot."
     "We're working on some new dream tests today. You know, EEG machines and the whole nine yards. We want to get some more data regarding some patients that have had some conditioning, and I was wondering if you wanted to come see."
     "I don't know, Tim. I've got all this paperwork and-”
     “Oh, come on, Tom. You know you want to. For once, why don’t you just let the papers sit for a bit and come look at these tests with me?”
     Tom just sat for a moment and wished something would come up and Tim would have to rush away unexpectedly. But it didn’t happen.
     “Ok. Let’s go.”

     The lab in which sleepers were tested was a simple one. It was  a simple room within a room, the outer room being a utilitarian one full of machines and computers that eagerly recorded every single fluctuation in the subject’s brainwaves.
     The second inner room was a place for the subject to sleep. It had a nice bed and a pillow.
     Subjects would be asked to lie down and drift off to sleep, wearing a cap of wires and electrodes. Their brainwaves were then monitored on the screens.
     Tom and Tim walked into the outer room quietly, not wanting to disturb their patient. The inner room was soundproofed, so it didn’t really matter, but they wanted to be careful.
     Tim whispered, “Ok, this is where things start getting unusual.” He pointed at a particular screen, an EEG.
     Tom took one look at it and said, “Tim, your EEG’s broken.”
     Tim grinned. “What do you mean?”
     “Look. These spikes are almost off the charts. Whoever’s in there is experiencing brain activity that’s four times that of an extremely smart awake person. Your EEG’s broken.”
     Tim’s grin expanded. “Nope.”
     “What do you mean ‘nope’? It’s malfunctioning! There’s no way a human or any other living being on this planet can have that kind of mental activity.” He pointed to the EEG. “You might want to call their tech support.”
     Tim’s smile evaporated. “Tom, this isn’t faulty equipment. We checked this machine at least seven times. On top of that, this is the fourth EEG we’ve brought in. I know it’s irregular, but there’s an explanation behind it.”
     Tom looked skeptical. “Really? What’s that?”
     Tim’s grin returned. “Lucid dreaming. At its most advanced state.”
     Tom was at first taken aback, but the more dominant, logical, and donkey-like side of him asserted, “Tim, lucid dreaming does increase brain activity while sleeping, but this is ridiculous. Who’s in there?”
     Tim looked at his watch. “Oh, naptime’s over. You can meet him.” He walked over to the door of the smaller room and opened it. Tim walked in, words were exchanged with the person inside, and he re-emerged, with the subject in tow.
     The man with the dazzling brainpower was less than five feet tall. He was on the elderly side, but not old enough to be crumpled. He walked and talked just fine. His hair was wispy and white, similar to the rest of him. He was wearing a green sweater and blue jeans, both seemed too big for him. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep, but not overly baritone.
     “Oh! Hello.” The wispy man reached out and shook Tom’s hand, his grip was strong. “My name is Harry Briggs.”
     Tom said, shaking his hand, “Tom Thomas. Tim’s colleague.”
     Tim said, “Mr. Briggs, go ahead and tell Tom what you told me. The whole explanation as to why you have enough electricity in your head to power a Hybrid.”
     Harry laughed. “Call me Harry, didn’t I say?” He directed his attention to Tom. “Yes. That. Hmm.” He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “Well. The easiest way to put it is that I’ve been perfecting the art of dreaming my entire life.”
     Tom waited for a moment to see if he would clarify. He didn’t, so he said, “What do you mean?”
     Tim interjected. “Ok. Before we get into that whole rigmarole, why don’t we go down to that great steakhouse down the road and talk over lunch. My treat!”
     Harry smiled. “Ha! I like that idea. What do you say, Tom?”
     Tom looked at Tim. Tim smiled his smile. Tom said, “Alright, why not? I don’t have any other plans for lunch. Let’s go.”
     Tim walked out of the door immediately. Harry went for the door, but turned around.
     The man’s eyes were changed. They were different from the soft grey that they had been, they were now a cold, steely color. He glared at Tom with enough force to knock the breath out of him.
     No one’s lips moved, but a voice whispered into Tom’s ear, You should not pursue this, Tom Thomas. The Art is not for you. Turn back, before everyone burns.