70. [DREAM/DREAM/DREAM/DREAM]
[So while the rest of Johto alternately panics, cries, or rushes around trying to capture as many of the soulstealing insects as possible, there are dozens of souls floating around in that dream limbo, drifting in and out of each other's slumbering thoughts and visions. Whether it's nightmarish flashbacks or just those dreams where you're at school
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[He took a deep breath, sighed, and walked through the door.]
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[It's cold and bare-- and dark. Although it looks somewhat lived-in-- there's little note-cards next to the various darkened doors that lead off of it, and even mats in font of a few of them, it's empty. Somehow hollow. A chilly draft is coming from somewhere, whispering down the hall and ruffling the hem of the poor lost scientist's coat.]
[It's an office building-- after-hours, clearly... but the cold breeze and stale scent of disuse in the air suggests that it's not simply a business shut down for the night... there's something very wrong here.]
[Even stranger, that low pulse of machinery and grinding gears that he'd heard before entering the door is gone. Vanished. Maybe it had just been a trick of the ear? Either way... instead, there is quiet... punctuated by the moan of wind outside and strange, faint sounds...]
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[Hesitantly, he started walking again; he just needed to get through this and he could wake up, right? Right?]
Is...is anyone here?
[By now he'd seen a few different worlds, and each of them had someone wandering around. He couldn't have been alone, could he?]
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[Either way, the only way he can go is forward...]
[As he moves down the hallway, he'll find any doors he may try to open to be locked-- and the further he gets, the greater the unkeep becomes. In fact, as he reaches the corner, he'll find yellow tape and blue tarps-- tools and buckets of paint. There's an old box of Nilla wafers lying by a few of them, with smears of paint on it. Construction workers must have been here-- but everyone's gone home.]
[... Either that, or it's REALLY been a long time since they've been here, because by the NEXT corner, the scraps left around seem more characteristic of hobos than workers ( ... )
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Without hesitation, she opened the door.]
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[On the other side of the door, there's...]
[... Huh. It... looks like a house. Big, old, and wooden. It's dark, lit only faintly by the windows to the outside... it's one of those grey early-morning hours, before the sun's risen.]
[Ur will find herself standing in a dusty entrance hall. There's very little decoration about-- the occasional framed photo of unknown people, and a few bookshelves... there's not even a carpet, save for a dusty old one covering the stairs leading up to the second-floor landing... from which Ur will be able to hear voices. ... Faint voices. They're arguing.]
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Oh, those are voices arguing. She will stay in silence to see what's going on.]
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[The first is an adult-- it's simpering, ever so slightly... but there's a commanding edge to it, too. It sounds frustrated.]
Come! Come along!
[The second sounds very young, and on the verge of tears.]
No! I don't want to!
[Both are female.]
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He had already spent the majority of his time in this dream world hopping from nightmare to nightmare to... strange stuffed animal infested playground searching for a way out. So far, his searches had proved fruitless, but he somehow knew that if he kept looking he'd find an exit in a dream world somewhere. So when he somehow stumbled up this creepy door that obviously lead to some place unsavory, he knew he had to push his way forward, no matter how many reservations he had.
With a deep breath to steel himself, he reached out to nudge the door open even more, wide enough for him to enter... well. Whatever this place was supposed to be]
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[But in the long run... things had to get darker before they could get lighter, right?]
[The door comes open slowly. It's heavy, and for good reason-- caught under its edge is a small, straggly mess of wwaterlogged junk-- weeds, old garbage, netting... and sewage. It drags across the floor along with the door with a disgusting squelch, leaving a slimy smear behind it. It stinks. ... And so does the world beyond the door.]
[A soft, blue-green light licks up the curving walls of the tunnel that stretches out before Kaito-- reflections from the gurgling water that's flowing through it. Is he-- ... yes. Kaito is in a sewer.]
[... And it smells like one, too. :(]
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But then... what if the exit was in this one? He'd miss it, all because he was a little squeamish. Like hell he was going to let that happen. With another breath he enters the room, glancing around at his surroundings and quirking both eyebrows when he realizes what they mean.
A sewer, huh... ew.
This is gross :( Still, he presses forward, but not before lifting a hand to his nose]
Who the heck would dream about a sewer... Yeesh.
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[Get used to the smell, though... all the cologne and perfume in the world wouldn't be able to dispel reek down here. The most anyone could hope for would be that sort of nasty combo flowery-toilet smell that public restrooms get when a staff member is sent in to spray air freshener all over the place after the lunchtime rush.]
[Fortunately, there are small walking-intended ledges on either side of the canal-- unless he feels like taking a swim (for... some reason), he won't have to do any wading. At least not here.]
[Unfortunately, although the tunnel he's in meets a 'T' junction about twenty meters forward or so, neither path seems to lead uphill or towards light... this place looks very easy to get lost in... and he's liable to be wandering for awhile before there's any sign of life apart from the constant drip-drip-dripping of the water.]
[When that sign does appear, it's at a junction of tunnels ... and it's hard to tell exactly where it's coming from. There's an echoing ( ... )
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Over and over and over again.
So sure. He'll try the door. He doesn't feel like he has a choice, either way.]
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[The door is heavy, but it swings open with a low groan, and suddenly what had previously been a dark gap became a small, plain hallway bathed in yellow light-- it's almost homey! Looks like a hotel... or maybe a little apartment complex. It must be late, because the lights are on, the doors are locked if tried, and there's nobody around... but... one door is ajar. Just slightly.]
[On the wall next to that door is something... a flyer? ... No. A dripping painting. It looks like it was made with a stencil... in bright red paint.]
( ... )
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Ah. Another open door. And... Is that blood? Whatever it is, he can't read it; it's not in any language he recognises.
No matter. He continues through the door, the sharp pain in his face seeming to dull for now.]
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[However, the scene directly in the middle of the room is NOT like every other apartment... or on the other hand, to Shelly, maybe it IS.]
[There is a man standing directly in the center of the room. He's wearing a hood-- his clothing is stark and old-fashioned, almost comically out-of-place in the modest little apartment. He's standing in silence, facing Shelly but not looking at him. Instead, he is looking at the occupant of the armchair in front of him... who is obscured from view.]
[But from the red stain seeping outwards from the foot of the chair... an esteemed gentleman like Shelly de Killer should have no trouble figuring out what happened in this room.]
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