The guard who’d shot the speaker turned away from the center of the stage and faced the rows of chairs closest to the dais. Once again he raised his weapon and started firing into the crowd. The noise grew tenfold. Panic spread throughout the chamber, and people were no longer merely pushing, but clawing and fighting, climbing over each other to escape.

Still Michael couldn’t move. He watched, frozen in disbelief.

The rogue guard got off three shots before one of his partners took him down. But before any calm could be restored, a female guard fired at the man standing beside her. Then other guards jumped into the action, one shooting at the woman who’d just killed her neighbor, others firing into the audience. The entire display was madness, and try as he might, Michael couldn’t figure out who was on whose side.

It seemed like some surreal, impossible nightmare. There was so much blood, and shots continued to sound. More guards went down; others were targeting the patrons they had signed on to protect. More people died.

Oddly, Michael felt a certain calmness, as if he’d grown used to the world being insane. He turned toward Bryson, who seemed as paralyzed as Michael.

“What’s happening to us, man?” Bryson stared straight ahead as he spoke. “When will it ever stop?”

“It’ll never stop!” Michael shouted. “Not until we stop letting people manipulate us. We need to use our own Coffins to get back into the Sleep and figure out how to fix this ourselves.” He was seething with anger now. “Let’s get to the Portal and Lift out of here before someone stops us.” It was a heartless thing to say, but rage filled him. Whoever it was behind this latest attack had to be stopped, and Michael wasn’t waiting for other people to get the job done.

He grabbed Bryson by the arm and pushed him toward the aisle—the rest of the people sitting by them had already cleared out into the antechambers. Helga was waiting at the entrance, yelling at Michael to hurry. He loved her, and he knew she was doing everything she could, but the sight of her right then made him mad. What a waste it had all been.

He took another look at the stage, where the chaos continued. Bodies littered the ground, and shots were still being fired in every direction.

Michael and Bryson had chanced fate enough—they needed to leave. Michael gave his friend another push and they ran for the aisle, met up with Helga. She didn’t waste time on words, ushering him toward the door, refusing to leave until Michael went before her. They were just a few feet from the exit when a voice boomed through the enormous room, from all directions at once.

“Sit down!”

It was a man’s voice, amplified by the speakers.