[b][center]Strength - Chase Rivers[/center][/b]

Gentle summer breeze. The sensation of soft dirt and grass beneath him. Chase opened his eyes, the sight of tall grass, trees that reached for the sky, grey clouds. With ease that somewhat surprised him, somewhat jolted him awake, he stood up. Inspecting himself as he dusted the dirt off of his backside, he found himself in his usual work clothes. Instead of the clothes he had gone to sleep in on his day off. He looked around himself, eyes glancing over the others present. Everyone was very distinct, none of them people he knew. In fact, most were teenagers. This felt too vivid, too real to be a dream. He listened to the blond child, obviously the youngest one present, go on his monologue about dangers and tropes. How this was a dream and danger was imminent. He felt like dismissing these claims as the wild imagination of a child, but... something nagged at him at the back of his head. Especially about this not being a dream. It most certainly did not feel like a dream.

Feeling the familiar weight of his pack of cigarettes against his thigh, he fished out his cheap lighter and a single cigarette from the confines of his clothes and lit it. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he looked at the white rabbit. It was surprised to see adults here, meaning... he dreaded the conclusion his mind had come to. The ones who had come here before would have to have been the...

The child victims of P3 Syndrome.

And if they were here, that meant they were now comatose as well. With the sudden addition of over a dozen victims outside of the usual age range the Syndrome struck, London would fall into panic. Adults could now be affected as well. Chaos would ensue.

[i]"Old man... you better find me."[/i]