Steve sat at the writing desk in his apartment, staring at the computer screen in front of him and fighting the urge to yawn. He was exhausted - he hadn't slept properly in a couple of days, but the last thing he wanted to do right know was go to bed and relive that same twisted dream he'd been having for the past week. The screen in front of him went dark from lack of input and he reached for the mouse, then thought better of it and stood up, stretching his arms wide as he walked towards the small kitchenette, steering around the low coffee table piled with books and loose papers.

The dream was always the same - the abandoned warehouse, the guy, the two women; one dressed in white, the other radiating malevolence and ill intent. The woman in white and the guy converse, something about taking care of "them" - whoever "they are" - then the gun, the whispered goodbye, and he wakes up with a bang. He's thought about writing it down, committing it to paper; it certainly seems like the start of a killer story, but he doesn't want to risk burning it any deeper into his subconscious than it already is. He's already been having flashes - unfamiliar people out of the corner of his eye that aren't there a moment later, strange sensations that don't mesh with what he's doing.

The kitchen is slightly less cluttered than the rest of his apartment, with half a sink full of dishes he should really get around to doing at some point. He looked in the fridge, hoping for something quick to eat, but no luck, he can add grocery shopping to his to-do list tomorrow. Steven thought for a moment, then shrugged, heading for the door. It was late, but there were still a couple of places open where he could grab a bite to eat at this hour. He grabbed his wallet, phone and keys on the way out and locked the door behind him. There was a small 24hr kebab shop a 10 minute walk away, and the walk would do him good.

It was only April but it had rained earlier in the day and a chill wind blew through the streets as Steve made his way back from the kebab, munching absently on his late night feast, regretting his decision not to grab a jumper on the way out. It wasn't cold by the standards of some places he'd visited, but it was chilly enough to make him wish he'd worn something else besides a thin t-shirt and jeans. The streetlights cast long shadows and shined off the puddles of water pooling on the street as he walked along.

Suddenly he wasn't in Sydney. He squinted his eyes against the bright light, shielding them with his arm as he tried to look around. He was on a plain somewhere, next to the sea. It was also mid-afternoon, which explained the different light levels. 

"Hey, aren't you cold?"

Steven twisted around looking for the source of the noise. A brown hair man in a thick winter coat stood a little distance away, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. "Never mind that!, where the heck am I?" he said, staring over the wide plain.