[b][color=00a651]Jeremy Arthur Velera
Physical state: Sweating, stiffness, dry throat.
Physiological state: Mildly anxious, feeling of sleeplessness.[/color][/b]

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[i]Shells fell all around Jeremy, the sound of exploding shells more deafening than anything else he knew. He was alone, in that hole in the middle of No Man's Land, waiting for his death. Everything felt dark, cold and frightening around him, even the air felt like it was slowly killing him. His skin itched, but he was unable to scratch it, he was frozen, staring at the corpses staring back at him. From their mouths crawled maggots and rats, both speaking in an unspeakable tongue that darkened Jeremy's thoughts. As the gas seeped into his hole, the corpses woke up from the dead, slowly walking towards him while whispering. It was if the artillery had stopped, no gunfire, no shouting, only their whispers; "It's all your fault, Jeremy. All your fault. Your fault. Fault...fault...you...dead...welcome to hell..." was all he understood before darkness consumed him and his screams. Then He, or It rose up before him.[/i]



Jeremy threw himself up from the mattress, screaming from the top of his lungs and clutching the edges of the bed. He screamed for a few seconds before he slowly realized where he was; it was a dream, it was just the same dream as usual and he was home, safe in his bed. In the corner of his eye he saw the door leading to the kitchen opened, a figure standing in the doorway which was shadowed by the lack of light in the room. As soon as the lights turned on though, he saw a friendly face. -"Good mornin' Jay."

It was Oliver MacMillan, one of the men sharing this apartment situation at the edge of Arkham. He was a Scot, a Marxist and like Jeremy himself, strongly opposed to the English; one could say he was the closest thing Jeremy had to a best friend here in America. "How long have I've been screaming, Oliver?" 

-"Longer than usual, maybe ten minutes? Didn't want to wake you, not after last time. Get some breakfast and a cup of tea, you got some time before the garage opens." Oliver said to Jeremy, patting him on his shoulder as he passed Jeremy and forcing in a smile. He then undressed and went to sleep, like always. Jeremy pushed himself out of bed and went out to the kitchen.

When Jeremy looked at his pocket watch, it was a quarter to six in the morning. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all that night, like he had been lying in the bed curled up like a child, stiff and tired. It made his cup of tea all the better, the sausage on the bread was just the same. It was a known secret that Jeremy sometimes had trouble sleeping, screaming in the middle of the night and waking up sweating and tired. However, as of lately it had gotten much worse; his screaming got louder, he got stiffer and sweatier every time the nightmare returned, and waking him up was not an option after last time. Nevertheless, Jeremy had somehow gotten used to it, after nearly ten years of suffering it. 
 
Jeremy finished his breakfast and cup of tea, got on his winter jacket, and headed outside. When he would return, it would Oliver and the rest’s turn to wake up and go to work, it was their cycle of life. Jeremy entered Armitage Street, just across from the railroad, and walked down the street. It was early winter without any snow, but as a sane Irishman, he dressed properly for the season. The weather was after all not that much different in Arkham compared to Dublin, though he still dearly missed home. He came to a newsstand with headlines such as; “Italian prime minister speaks to parliament, fascism on the rise”, “Norwegian capital name-change”, “First female governor elected”. Little of this interested him, but he bought a newspaper either way for later when he had his break. 

He looked at his watch again, twenty-seven minutes had passed, and he still had a little while before the garage opened. So he decided to walk to the riverside of the city, he enjoyed just standing there and watching the water flow through. It was when he got to more open ground that he noticed a chimney of smoke in the distance, and that people were actually pointing towards it. He did not know what it was all about, but something deep inside of him told him something was very wrong. As he leaned against the railing on the riverside, he overheard a couple of men mention a boat, and a fire. He scratched his eyes, like many times already through that early morning, having that terrible feeling. That feeling would only turn worse.