[ WP ] Please keep your hopes and dreams inside the vehicle at all times

`` No really, please keep your hopes and dreams inside the vehicle at all times,'' said the wildlife guide, bringing the caged hovercraft to a slow halt with a motion of his wrist. `` Laugh all you want at that twist of the phrase, but we're on a safari here. Like any other safari, the fauna can be deadly. Last week we had two souls sucked out; it was n't pretty at all.'' 
 
 The guide shrugged off the thought. He had seen said soul-sucking too many times to still be unnerved by it. Sure, the sight of blood-red eyes dissolving in a person's skull was definitely a pants-shitter to the uninitiated, and the elated voice of the victim even after were years of therapy in itself, but the guide had seen both more times than he could remember. 
 
 `` Ladies, gentlemen, and squids: the dream-caterpillars of Certarix Alpha are what you've all been waiting to see. And you do n't need to bet that they've been waiting to see you. Your innermost desires look like a tasty meal right now; look at them come!'' he announced with barely-realized enthusiasm. 
 
 Up from the bog crawled the red and prickly caterpillars, climbing onto the wings of the hovercraft all the way to the electrified viewing-cage. The bugs made a soft humming noise not suggestive of their demonic appearances. It marked the beginning of the hunt. 
 
 `` They're looking through your thoughts as we speak, picking out the most succulent hopes, dreams, and ambitions. Once they find a decent audio-visual representation of your greatest desire, they will turn it into a spectre right before your eyes. Enjoy it as much as you like, but do n't let it move. You used the mental simulator earlier: you know how to handle this. If that spectre makes it out of the cage, your consciousness is toast and Mr. Caterpillar's lunch.'' 
 
 The safari guide sighed as he carefully watched the twenty passengers begin wandering around the circular cage, mostly oblivious to each other and the bugs outside. Instead, they partook in their own little fantasies with their spectres. Some cried, hugging the invisible air that was their long-dead father or mother. Some started stripping off their clothes in order for a little romance with that unreachable celebrity. Some gave empowering speeches to their hallucinated empires. All of them were euphoric, and would never be able to describe the experience properly with mere words once the tour was over. 
 
 It looked ridiculous, but this business brought millions of customers to the planet every year, and the craze showed no sign of slowing down, despite the well-publicized risks. The caterpillars thrived on the tourism; the long-lived parasitic creatures had hunted all other sentient life to extinction long ago. The meagre survival instincts of the other wildlife had only been a trickling drop in the bucket compared to a fully-self-aware mind. 
 
 The guide had never seen a spectre, nor was he likely to. This job required constant exposure to the caterpillars, and the only sure protection from their hungry temptations was a completely unambitious soul. The wages never changed, and the contract was practically signing oneself into slavery. On top of that, all safari guides were dosed with certain inhibiting drugs that kept their minds from wandering too far. The spectres required a conscious desire, and could easily prompt one with their melodic humming if not for the drugs. 
 
 An elderly lady, holding hands with the unseen spectre beside her, walked towards the edge of the cage. The guide did nothing; he knew already this where this was going. There was nothing contractually that forced him to intervene. The customers had all signed waivers thicker than an old bible, and some, especially the aged, came on the safari for this very purpose. Whatever drugs the guide's superiors had given him lent him more than enough apathy to let things be. 
 
 The lady keeled over with empty eyes, murmuring to whatever face had been conjured for her. The guide felt a little sick inside for the first time in a while. Perhaps the drugs were a little weaker today? He hoped not. The last time this had happened guilt had nearly crippled him. It was easier to watch a 150 year-old with shaking, frail legs give in to the void than it was a 20-something with scars on their wrists. Many, far too many came here to die. Sometimes an entire group departed the quicker way, leaving a lonely drive back to base. 
 
 The guide watched another—a middle-aged businessman—drop hollow near the bars. A greater knot tied in the guide's throat. Something was very wrong. It usually took at least a couple minutes for even the decided ones to start giving in. Now nearly everyone was moving outward too fast. This would be another empty ride home. 
 
 Then the guide's eyes darted to a stranger anomaly: a man pulling a canister from the inside of his jacket. This man was not interacting with a spectre; he had other plans. 
 
 `` Freeze!'' said the guide, drawing and training his sidearm on the mysterious customer. `` How did you get that on here?'' 
 
 The man raised his arms with the canister still held. `` Look, buddy, this is n't a weapon. Not against us, anyway.'' 
 
 `` What do you mean?'' 
 
 `` It's a bio-virus. It'll kill these demons that prey on our souls.'' 
 
 `` Drop it. I ca n't let you do that.'' 
 
 `` Ca n't you? I do n't imagine that you're happy with all this. Not the real you. The one underneath all those mental-inhibitors they're pumping into you. Do n't you want this all to end?'' The man stared into the guides eyes with determination and zeal. `` I can end it.'' 
 
 The guide shuddered. The words were truth. He hated this job. He forgot, day after day, what it felt like to care about the lives that ended under his watch. He hated that fortunes were made off this and that he had been complicit for a decent price. He hated those damn bugs for even existing. 
 
 The gun lowered. `` Do it,'' said the guide, with a strange giddiness. For the first time in his life, he felt like his life would accomplish something. Something would matter. 
 
 The man, without hesitation, walked to the edge, stuck his bio-virus through the bars, and... 
 
... vanished. But the guide already knew that he would. Everything else disappeared from view, too, slowly melting away into darkness. 
 
 `` Thank you, mysterious terrorist,'' said the guide, grinning from ear to ear with ecstasy, as the sound of vibrant humming drowned out all other sensation.
