A foggy blur of darkness fuels the void. Fire burns and yet no light emits from it. Wesley can only stare at the two dark beings in his line of sight, unsure about their identities. One thing is certain, one of them is James. Was he the one beating the other with the bat, or was he the one cowering, the life spilling from him with every blood splatter after impact? Faceless, the attacker turned to Wesley, and slowly approached.

But then he burst into consciousness, breathing heavy from what was just experienced. Dreams like that have been ever so frequent ever since this whole mess started. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Wesley removed his cap and attempted to fan himself with the bill, only to stop and notice the strange dampness of it and his clothes. He grasped at his button-up, noticing tears and holes scattered around the fabric. Damn, this was one of his favorite shirts. Although that should be the least of his worries, due to the moving paintings that lined the walls. It was a mixture of confusion and worry that overtook the boy, rubbing his chin as eyed these strange animations. Something about it didn’t feel right, and the nervousness that it instilled in Wesley wasn’t wanted. 

Intending to escape this building as soon as possible, Wesley found great relief at the sight of Karen’s backpack. He’d grab the bag and give it a quick lookover; yep, everything was just as he left it, and it still smelled like Karen. Tossing it on his back, Wesley looked around for his other belongings. His bike would be rather useless in this environment, but you never know when a metal bat could come in handy. Although, that axe that leaned against the wall seemed like a sizable upgrade, sentimental value aside. Picking up the dirty weapons with both hands, a muffled whisper shook Wesley, the unknown language making him all the more wary. He’d near the door with caution, and crack it, peering through to see who or what lied inside.