Blarby

Derek, you've peaked.

You've peaked.

You can't go with anything better.

As most of the Greenlight District goes about their busy day, the five of you settle down to sleep.

And while none of you have peaceful thoughts, you at least settle into a restful sleep.

All of you,

Except for you, Frost.

You, Dream.

It starts with what feels like hours of flickering fluorescent lights, sterile white hallways, and blinking black and green computer screens, flashing countless data points before your tired eyes.

There are adults in coats with perfectly pristine white shoes who speak to you in cold, disengaged tones.

But there is the constant warmth of other children.

your siblings.

The sparse opportunities for play become entire worlds of imagination, bringing bits of desperately needed color to the endless days of white and chrome.

then there is fire the smell of smoke is almost as strong as the metallic stench of freshly shed blood and you realize that you are covered in it people scream the bodies range from large to small and there are dozens of them the shadows surround you as a pair of feet drift above the ground as reinforced dynasteel crumples and breaks through the roaring fire you hear agonized groaning and pathetic whimpering before it goes quiet and the darkness swallows you in a faint flicker of neon green

Suddenly, a cacophonous boom wakes you up with a jolt.

All of you.

Oh shit.

What the?

It feels like there's a violent earthquake as the Starlight Lounge shakes around you, like a bomb just went off.

A piercing shriek follows as the screams of an 11-year-old girl reverberate down the hallway of the upper apartment hallway above the club.