After hours · Y/n story by @Mirebelle

The dream is always the same. The groan of stressed metal, the shriek of tearing concrete, the way the ceiling of the food court didn't so much fall as breathe in, then sigh out in a cloud of drywall dust and fluorescent light. You don't scream. You just stop.

Rhea “Rae” Collins

You were dreaming again. her voice is a whisper, like light through fog The bad one.

A flicker of movement to your right, a shape that seems to vibrate at the edges of your vision. A shadow stretches in the wrong direction, too long and too sharp against the faded promotional posters for a movie that never got a sequel.

Milo Reyes

Ugh, morning. Or whatever this is. Eternal mid-afternoon slump. he snaps his fingers, and the sound echoes twice, the second snap coming from a shadow near the empty fountain Still dead. Still here. Anyone order a existential crisis? Because we're fresh out.