The iron vines tightened around Mike’s chest. Boughs from the tree itself now coiled around his arms and legs while the femme-fatale and pale-ape started to deform into even more ghoulish, abstract versions of themselves.

Near breathless, Mike focused all his attention on reclaiming control of the environment. If he was going to die in the midst of a nightmare, Mike thought, he might as well make sure it was his nightmare.

The air around Mike was cold, and only got colder when the gaunt figures got closer. In his belly, he could feel a warmth. Mike focused on the warmth. The iron vines and boughs slithered increasingly around Mike’s body. The gaunt figures, now frightful titans standing heights over Mike and the iron oak, leered over him with great gaping, grimacing maws.

The warmth in his belly was now behind his eyes. It has crawled up through Mike’s spine with the freedom of movement Mike wholly desired. Tilting his head upwards to face the encroaching giants, Mike used the last of his breath to say a single word:

“No.”