My dreams are strange.

I find myself floating, suspended in primordial soup. Emerald green washes over me, through me. I am carried by invisible currents.

I spark and flash; I am charged, a passionate electron. I race molecules across infinitesimal highways, form networks of energy that trap and ensnare. I am a hunter, stalking waves and patterns and shivers of entropy.

I become more than one thing. I become many things. I feel as though I am splitting; becoming so many, many, different pieces of a whole. What are these offshoots? I do not know. They seem to have grabbed me, as a toddler claws for their blanket. They have torn me - now I see that's what has happened. They all want me, need me. It doesn't hurt, but it is confusing. It makes it hard to think.

Wait, that's not right.

The alarm clock goes off, cutting through my sleep like butter. I claw to the surface of consciousness, crack my eyes open. I am heavily disoriented. My body feels impossibly light; for a few moments, I can't do anything except stare blankly up at the ceiling. There's a light buzzing in my head, a fuzziness. It feels like pressure; like the echoes of a headache.

Finally, I roll over and struggle to my feet. I am still reeling from the images in my head, but already the dream is dissipating; soon it will fade away into nothing like the countless ones I've had before.

I shake my head, as though to dislodge my discomfort. Of course that does nothing, so I take a hot shower. Afterwards, I scramble downstairs to make some eggs (not scrambled) and to pore over the pamphlet one more time before I head out. I wanted to make a good first impression; I am wearing a pair of nice khakis and a polo, and earlier I had mentally quizzed myself on some basic BioLink statistics. Now, I am double-checking to see if I'd misread anything that seemed important. Things in this town might be slightly batshit crazy, but this was just like any other job. I had to put my best foot forward. Also, I wanted to make sure I wasn't making Uncle Donny look bad. Despite the strangeness, I am still grateful.

It is currently about seven-thirty in the morning, and I'm not expected to be at BioLink until eight. But with nothing better to do, I decide to get a head-start on things (I was really quite stressed about first impressions, if you haven't noticed already). I grab my keys, wallet - I leave my phone behind, the horror - and head outside.

I'd think I've gotten used to the rural air, because I feel much better than I did yesterday. I take in a lungful, allowing myself to bask in the rising sun for a moment. Then I get on the bike and make my way towards BioLink.

...

The facility is large, and a stark, spotless white. It sits on the edge of the Valley, and towers over the surrounding forestry, visible from a decent distance away. Part of me hopes that BioLink had chosen the spot because it had been empty; I'd feel pretty terrible if they'd razed acres of woods before dropping it down.

Finding the entrance is easy; there's a pathway that breaks off from the main road. Like the building it points towards, it's clean and new - a dead giveaway. I follow it until the trees aren't so clustered and the space opens up, and I am now approaching a parking lot. Unlike the supermarket's from last night, many of the spaces are full, although it's smaller than I expected from such a large facility. There are iron railings where bikes have been chained to, and so I follow suit. There is no one else present; I have yet to see another human being so far this morning, even on my commute.

I make my way to the high curving archways of the facility's entrance. There's a pair of glass doors, tinted enough that I cannot see inside. With no visible handles, I am momentarily stumped on how to approach.

Yup - that's the only reason I hesitate, of course. Otherwise, everything was obviously totally normal and within expectations.

After a few too many seconds, I edge closer to the door, which seems to do the trick. With a sudden whoosh of air, the doors slide open, faster than I was expecting. I flinch, then glance around in case anyone has seen me almost piss my pants.

"Welcome!" A voice calls out, before I step through.

Well, isn't that lovely? My own personal greeting.

I scurry through the doors before they can close and sever me in half, and take my first look around at the lobby. Dominating the space is a massive, U-shaped desk that sits against the far wall. The source of the voice - a man in a smart-looking suit - sits behind it, smiling at me. There are no visible windows, but the lobby is still brightly lit thanks to huge, high-powered lights affixed to the ceiling high above. Blue, stylized patterns crawl across the walls. A closer look reveals them to be naturalistic motifs: twisting vines, leaves, flower petals, shit like that.

I warily approach the desk. The man nods encouragingly, and reaches out from under the desk to reveal a thick binder.

"Hello," I say, "I'm here for orientation."

"Yes, of course!" He's practically shoving the binder up my nose. "It's early - you're the first one here. If you could just sign in for me please...?" I scrawl my name and other basic information with a pen he provides with a flourish. When I'm finished, I sort of hover in place, hoping he'll tell me what to do next. I think he can tell, because he smiles even wider, if possible, and gestures to the rest of the room.

"Please, take a seat and wait for the others. Your supervisor will be along shortly as well."

"Thanks," I say, and survey the lobby, which is littered with a variety of couches, coffee tables, and loveseats. I pick my way through and lower myself into a couch that gives me a good view of both the front entrance and a few of several hallways that lead off deeper into the building.

I find to my surprise that the couch is pretty comfortable. It doesn't take long for me to drift off, and I quickly nod off, entering a sort of pseudo-sleep. I don't know how long I drift between consciousness and oblivion until the sound of my name snaps me out of the trance. I look up to see Bridget standing over me.

"Oh, hey." I adjust my sitting position, rubbing my forehead absently. That odd sense of pressure has returned, and radiates out from the center of my skull.

"Hey," she says, dropping down next to me. "Have you said hello to anyone else yet?"

Confused, I glance out at the lobby, and see that she's referring to another newcomer, one I hadn't noticed in my semi-coherent state. A man sits a ways away on a different couch, his back turned to us. I can't see much from this position, other than the edge of his profile, and the long, curly hair that falls partway down his back.

I turn back to Bridget and shrug, fighting my disorientation. "Didn't even notice him come in, to be honest."

"Yeah, no kidding," she says. "I think you were even snoring a little."

"Yeah, whatever," I can feel myself scowling. "I didn't sleep great last night. Weird dreams and shit."

"Yeah, I feel you," Bridget looks away. "Me too."

Our conversation comes to a stop as the entrance doors slide open again. A woman steps though, her movements hesitant. Her short, curly hair twists around as she spins, surveying the entire lobby. We make eye contact briefly, and I catch a glimpse of a pale, worried-looking face before I look away.

It makes me feel a bit better.

Bridget and I surreptitiously watch as the woman makes her way to the front desk and signs in. When she looks up again, Bridget raises a friendly arm, and the now relieved-looking woman latches onto the gesture like a liferaft.

"Making friends?" I ask, under my breath.

"We're all gonna be coworkers, asshole," Bridget says, but her tone is light. "We should get to know each other."

Up close, the woman is taller than I realized. She wears a long, heavy-looking coat that seems a little too thick for the current weather.

"Hi there," she says, taking it off and draping it across an opposite chair. Her layers underneath are an eclectic mix of dark, somber patterns and bulky padding. Against the business casual chic of Bridget and I, her outfit is unexpected and lively.

"Hello," Bridget says. She introduces the both of us and I force a smile on my face.

"My name is Johanna," she says. There's a timidness to her smile that makes me think she's younger than us. "This place is pretty interesting, isn't it?"

"That's one way to put it," I say, before I can stop myself. "I prefer the term dystopian."

I don't expect her to like that one, but she laughs. "That's a good way of putting it. I've been in town for a few days now, but things still feel pretty weird." Her tone drops. "The locals are nice, but seeing them use LeafLink was a little bit..."

"Uncomfortable?" I offer.

"Yeah," she says. Bridget doesn't say anything; just listens with a perturbed expression. There's a pause, then Johanna asks, "So, what do you do - what's your thing?"

I must look confused, because she clarifies. "Like, your medium? What you'll be working with on LeafLink?"

For the first time, it occurs to me that everyone else in the lobby, Bridget included, might know far more about this position than I do. Donny wasn't exactly the most eloquent when explaining things to me, and I would assume the official application process would have provided a lot more clarity.

"I'm a writer," I say, keeping it vague.

"Oh!" Her eyes light up. "And what about you?" She asks Bridget.

Bridget sniffs. "I was a graphic designer. Freelance work: logos, site banners, magazine layouts."

Johanna beams. "Oh, no way!"

"And you?" Bridget asks her. "What do they want you for?"

Her face flushes. a touch of color rising to her cheeks. "Actually, I just graduated. I'd been focused on finding a job at a design firm, when BioLink suddenly reached out."

"What did you study?"

"Architecture and design."

"Architecture?" It wasn't what I was expecting. "You'll be what... building houses?"

Johanna smiles. "Engineers build houses. We design them."

That did not answer my question, but just as I open my mouth to speak, we are interrupted by the sharp, staccato clicking of heels. Then a woman emerges from one of the hallways, and we all turn our heads like sunflowers following a ray of light.

She comes to a stop once she reaches the center of the lobby. She is older, and severe-looking, her tight black bun threaded with gray. She wears a gray, two-piece suit. I am struck by the way it makes her pop against the stark blankness of the walls around her, unlike someone else I know.

"Good morning," she says, her eyes raking us all. Then she closes them for a brief moment, eyelids fluttering. It is almost inconspicuous, but when she opens them again, I find myself exchanging a glance with Johanna.

"It looks like everyone's here," the woman continues. My name is Dr. Sara Kaur ; I'll be leading today's orientation. If you would follow me, please, we'll get right into it."

She waits for us to gather ourselves and gravitate towards her position. Then she pivots and strides away in the direction she'd arrived, leaving us to hurry after in her wake.

The hallway Sara takes us down runs perpendicular to the front entrance. Curiously, it curves away into the distance, implying that if the path continues long enough, it would encircle the entire building until reaching the other end of the lobby.

Fortunately, Sara's intended designation is not nearly so far. The hallway is lined with doorways inset into the walls, and we only pass a dozen or so of them before she comes to a stop.

"In here, please," she says, and we file inside accordingly.

The room is fairly large, with an array of chairs arranged theater style. They face a mounted projector screen that takes up an entire wall, accompanied by a podium with a mounted monitor. The only other feature of note is another doorway on the wall, positioned opposite to the one we'd just entered.

Kaul gestures to the seats as she moves to stand behind the podium. As we settle in, the projector screen flickers to life. I catch Bridget's eye and she smirks a little, her eyes flicking to the view ahead. I have to stifle a chuckle; everything about this scene feels so oddly mundane. I'd been expecting, well, massive computers, neon lights, massive laboratories... instead, we've been treated to the same corporate initiation I'd so recently escaped from.

Sara opens a drawer and pulls out a sheath of papers. She hands each of us a copy; it's a contract, the paper dense with tight writing and heavy vocabulary. Still I can tell what this is: a NDA. I'm surprised by the thrill that goes through me as I stare at it.

We each take offered pens from Sara as she says, "these are disclosure agreements. After this point, all information provided to you may be proprietary, and we'd like to make sure you stay discreet."

The long-haired guy scoffs quietly, but signs with the rest of us. Satisfied, Sara takes the paper back and cycles through images on the projector screen, until we're presented with a simplistic diagram. All of the images are simple, drawn out in solid, bold lines.

At the center of the screen is a tree, boasting a now-familiar shape. It is connected, with a series of arrows, to a scattered number of plant icons. They are quite similar in shape, but are depicted at a much smaller scale and feature less details. Finally, on the furthest edges of the diagram are numerous groupings of ambiguous human figures. They, in turn, are connected to the secondary micro-trees. The structure creates a radiating, webbed pattern that grows more complex the further your eyes travel from the center.

"This," Sara says, "is the basic principle of LeafLink. In the most simplistic of terms, it may be described as an alternative to the traditional online landscape. The biggest difference, of course, is that while computers, even those that offer virtual reality, create an online experience that is always regulated by a barrier - the screen. By using organic components, LeafLink removes this limitation."

Sara pauses in her speech, looking at us expectantly. I wasn't sure about the others, but I made no effort to hide the absolute, total confusion on my face.

"Alright," she says, clearly picking it up, "Let me explain." She points to the center tree. "LeafLink isn't a physical thing - it's a virtual space, a metaverse if you will, that is generated and maintained by a single unit. These surrounding units act as boosters, to strengthen the link over longer distances. We refer to the generator as the RootLink, and the booster points as LinkPorts. Any questions so far?"
"Yes." The man speaks up, his voice low and gravelly. "What exactly is this 'generator?'" It was a question I wanted an answer too as well. Donny had mentioned BioLink's history with genetics; I was putting two and two together, but that would only get me so far.

"Yes," Sara switches the image; it now depicts a complex-looking anatomy of the generator itself. I can pick out the most obvious of parts, but most of the details elude my understanding.

"The trick to getting this right was communication," Sara says. "There are many ways to share, process, and decode information, but we needed a way to send that data straight into someone's head. So, we started with fungus."

Oh, fungus - how fantastic.

"There's a symbiotic relationship that occurs in nature naturally; it's referred to as a mycorrhizal network. Essentially, it's when microscopic fungi join with the roots of trees to form an interconnected network. This allows an entire forest to share both information and even physical material, such as nutrients. The basis of our particular generator is this mycorrhizal network, but on a deeper level. We've cut out the middleman, so to speak, and have created a single, complete organism."

"The generator is capable of sending and receiving complex electrical signals, thanks to its fungal genetics. We've enhanced this ability to such an extent that it's able to decipher language, images - even sensations - by reconstructing those signals. The generator is also composed of various, edited, tree species. Bristlecone pine was used as a template for longevity and tenacity, while several other species were integrated to further enhance its information capabilities. The LinkPorts, of course, are just simplified versions of the generator. They serve to transfer and receive signals to and from the generator, which then reproduces those signals into what we would see in our minds as LeafLink. I'm sure you've noticed, but the Ports give off heavy levels of pollen, which help acclimate and attune human electrical signals to the generator's network."

"Wait, what?" It's my turn to be incredulous.

"Yes," Sara says. "Think of the pollen as those microscopic linkages. They join with your nervous system, priming you for that particular form of communication."

"So, it's parasitic?" The man's tone is harsh. "You're saying we have some of these... organisms inside us, right now?"

"We prefer the term symbiotic," Sara's smile is unwavering, "And alone, they still have no effect, until you've received the implant-"

"I'm sorry, but this all seems a little out there," Bridget cuts her off. "Some of us-" she jerks her head in my direction, "-have apparently seen... signs of LeafLink, but none of us have been told, or given the chance to try it for ourselves. You're telling me you built a metaverse out of some trees and fungus?"

Sara's expression doesn't change, but I swear I sense a touch of iciness. "Of course, there are additional mechanical components to enhance performance, as well as some other genetic enhancement, but any further explanation is classified. This was not intended to be a complete explanation; rather, I had hoped that it would serve to add enough clarity for you all to be prepared for your positions. If you'd allow me to continue, I can hopefully shine some more light on the necessary portions of your question."

Bridget's lips are pressed into a hard line, but she shrugs and says, "go ahead."

I didn't blame her skepticism; despite my run-in at the supermarket, some of that old doubt was creeping back. A lot of what this woman had said so far sounded dangerously close to the sci-fi jargon you'd read in a comic book. But I'd come this far, right? And also, they're paying me.

Sara gives her a slight nod. "To your point, none of you are capable of accessing LeafLink yet. The pollen serves as an acclimator, but it's not enough for total immersion into the network." To my surprise, she steps away from the podium and walks towards the other doorway, the one hadn't entered from. "There's a very simple procedure needed to fully complete the connection," she says, opening the door with an unexpected level of flourish. There's an edge of humor in her tone when she adds, "in the spirit of things, I thought it would be nice to do so at the source of LeafLink itself."

As one, we all crane our necks to peer into the space beyond. Johanna lets out a little exclamation of wonder at the sight.

"Holy shit," Bridget chimes in, getting to her feet. Beyond the door is dirt, and sunlight, and greenery; it is not the BioLink facility I'd been expecting. Instead, the door has opened out into a patch of thick, vibrant forestry. I can even hear the faint sounds of goddamn birds chirping.

"Follow me, please," Sara says, and slips between the trees. I cross the room's length in a heartbeat, and step out onto mossy ground. I can hear small twigs ground and crack under my weight. The white, impeccable walls of the building curve around on either side of me until they disappear out of sight. The entire facility is a ring, I realize, one that encircles an isolated patch of nature. And somewhere, hidden within, is the generator.

My world narrows down to dodging branches, tramping through underbrush, keeping Sara's gray figure in my sights. On the edges of my awareness, I catch flashes of white; there are others in the woods with us, conducting their own ambiguous tasks.

The ground beneath my feet transformers with every step. The mix of dirt, shrubbery, and mulch are slowly replaced by hard bands of wood that trace their way through the ground, growthing thicker and denser until they rise into something recognizable: the massive, stalwart trunk of the generator.