‘Those are dreamers. They’ve been corralled by BigSky on its “safe” platform, wearing their masks with eyes wide shut. They don’t stand a chance in the Dream City. They may as well be suspended over a shark tank.’

‘Yes,’ she says in a hollow voice. ‘The monsters are coming. I can feel it. We have to warn them.’

Even as I say it, across the canal there’s an ominous grinding noise. A grate in the pavement slides open and shadowy forms begin to come out. They climb the scaffolding, monsters of the Dream City, hungry and ready to prey on the unwary. So it’s Monsters versus Robots, is it?

Where is the humanity, then? I wonder.

At its best, Sweet Dreams is supposed to be a refuge, but it’s now surrounded by a self-aware, self-constructing environment in vivid colour and smell, with urban canyons and towers, canals and ghost pigeons, all under the direction of the Agency. People don’t even know that the Agency exists, much less that the Dream City represents its developing consciousness. What easy marks they are, and all for a monthly subscription fee.

Here’s the bottom line: I am being used for unknown purposes by an entity I don’t understand, by a thing that is building itself into existence using my tissue, my thoughts, my imagination. It is eating me alive so it can be born. And it’s only a matter of time before it devours or exploits everyone who finds themselves here, because no one can even see it coming.

‘We have to stop it happening,’ Meera says decisively. ‘We’ll tell BigSky. We’ll make them put the brakes on. It can’t go forward.’

But the Dream City stands over us, under us, around us. It is already here. Whether or not BigSky expand their platform, all of this interconnectedness is going somewhere and it’s taking us with it. Whether we know it or not.

We are standing beneath an ultra-modern building that arches over the old roadway in curves that resemble organic structure. On its smooth skin appear words:

NO GOING BACK. TOO LATE.

Meera grabs my arm. ‘Charlie, it’s talking to us now.’

Usually a baby’s first words are the cutest thing ever, but I’m swallowing against a cold lump of lead in my throat because I can feel what the words will be even as they are appearing. It’s almost as if I know what the Agency is going to say before it happens. The words are already inside me.

THE GODS PUNISHED PROMETHEUS FOR GIVING HUMANS FIRE. BUT THEY NEVER GOT THE FIRE BACK FROM THE HUMANS. YOU TOOK IT AND RAN WITH IT. TIE GOES TO THE RUNNER, BABY. WHO CARES ABOUT THE GODS ANY MORE?

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Meera asks.