**Rally’s Nightmare**

Prompt: Gunsmith cats fanfiction rally has the same nightmare for the third night in a row in the dream she’s walking through Kabul when she was a marine in Afghanistan when she sees a young boy

Rally Vincent awoke in a cold sweat, the remnants of the dream still clinging to her like a damp fog. It had been the same for three nights now—vivid, haunting, and entirely too real. Each time she drifted off to sleep, it began the same way: the cacophony of gunfire, the distant echoes of chaos, and the burning sun overhead, casting a heavy haze over Kabul. Her time as a Marine had molded her into a hardened fighter, but the memories of that desert landscape were not just echoes of valor; they carried with them shadows laden with loss. Rally blinked the remnants of dreams from her eyes and swung her legs over the side of her bed, feeling the gravity of the world pressing down on her shoulders. Though she had traded military fatigues for the life of a gunsmith in Chicago, the ghosts of her past visited her at the least opportune moments. The sun had barely risen beyond the skyline when she decided to take a solitary walk. Fresh air was often a tonic for her swirling thoughts. Rally stepped out into the day, the brisk wind wrapping around her, pulling her reluctantly from the dreams that still lingered. As she walked through the city, she found herself thinking about the boy. A child, no older than ten, with eyes that mirrored innocence and desperation. He had appeared in each of her nightmares, a thread woven into the fabric of her past, yet she could never remember his name. In the dream, she always saw him standing alone in the scuffed streets of Kabul, patched clothes fluttering in the wind like a flag of surrender. The chaos would swirl around them—soldiers shouting, the rumble of armored vehicles, the smell of smoke. It felt so surreal to Rally, as if time had frozen around them. She would reach out, but something—an unseen barrier—always held her back. With determination now ignited, Rally set off to visit her favorite café. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, mixing with the clinks and clatters of mugs and plates. But as she nursed her drink, the boy's image haunted her. Who was he? Why did her heart ache with a sense of connection? She felt a compelling need to know his story. Later that evening, she met up with her partner, Becky. They often discussed the intricacies of gunsmithing and plotted their next endeavors. Today, however, Rally was distracted. The tension was palpable between them. “Hey, you sure you’re okay?” Becky asked, peering over the rim of her glasses. Rally gave a distracted nod but could feel her attention drifting as she glanced absentmindedly at the workshop’s tools, thinking of the boy again. “Just a dream, that’s all,” she admitted, trying to brush it off. Becky raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been saying that for days. It’s more than a ‘dream’ if it keeps coming back.” The words hit Rally hard, as if they were a punch to the gut. Perhaps it was true; perhaps this was something she couldn’t brush aside. “I just… I keep seeing this boy in my dreams. I don't know why. He feels so real, so… familiar.” Without giving it much thought, Rally pulled out a small sketchbook she kept in her bag. She had been doodling during quiet moments, capturing fleeting images from her dreams. It was a way to handle the emotions that wouldn’t let her be. With her pencil, she began sketching the boy, letting her hand move almost autonomously. Becky leaned over, curiosity piqued. “He does look familiar… but not just from your dreams, right?” Rally hesitated. There was something in the boy’s eyes—an understanding of pain, perhaps something she recognized from another life. “Yeah, I just can’t place it. Feels like he’s someone I should know.” That night, as Rally settled into bed, the familiar wave of dread washed over her. She closed her eyes, reluctant to fall back into that dreamscape. And yet, as always, sleep took her. This time, she found herself in the alley again, the same sights and sounds intermingling in a chaotic symphony. She moved toward the boy, who stood with his back to her, his thin frame silhouetted by the burning sun. “Hey!” she called out, her voice echoing through the streets. But he didn’t turn. In front of her, the noise escalated—a scuffle brewing, soldiers facing off with an unseen threat, gunfire erupting. And still, the boy remained frozen, staring down the alley as if he could see something she couldn’t. “Please, just turn around!” Rally shouted, her heart pounding against her chest. At last, he looked back, and the weight of his gaze anchored her. “Why did you leave?” he asked, a simple question that cut through the chaos. “What do you mean?” She stepped closer, wanting to reach him but held back by an invisible force. “I didn’t leave you. I would never leave you!” “You did,” he replied softly. “You promised.” It was in that moment she understood—she had promised to protect him. The realization struck her like a bullet. The boy wasn’t just a figment of her mind; he was a memory, a consequence of choices made during the chaos of war. She had witnessed the horrors of life and death, and perhaps in the vortex of so many nightmares, she had failed him somehow. “Wake up!” Rally screamed at herself, disoriented, clutching the dream as if that would pull her back to reality. With sheer force of will, she opened her eyes, gasping as she sat upright in her bed. The room was illuminated by the dawn of a new day, but the truth lay heavy in her heart. She knew she couldn’t run away from the boy or the memories tied to him any longer. That was the moment of clarity she desperately needed. Rally had battles to face—both past and present—and to honor the memory of the boy, she had to confront her own demons head-on.