[center][i]The end of the world began not with a whimper, but a slow and insidious infection. One that saw the laws of ordered reality gradually breaking down in the face of overwhelming strangeness as the surreal and nonsensical realm of dreams slowly merged with the waking world, to say nothing of the modern world, the inhabitants of which were utterly helpless before the chaos that followed as nightmares sprung forth and entire cities churned. Still, an intrepid few--be it through pure luck, skill, or sheer power--managed to survive the opening hours of the apocalypse. It is one of these, a former software developer by the name of Maxwell Moore, that finds himself among these lucky few, at least for the time being anyway. But the world is a changing. And should he fail to change along with it, or fail to master the mysterious new control over the world around him he and a few others have been gifted, then he will die, swept away by tide like so many others before him...[/i][/center]
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Sighing, Moore peeked out the window of the small shack he'd been given. It wasn't the best place in the camp, but it was warm and it was stable, the same of which could not be said for the world just beyond the commune's border. That churned and writhed, flashing iridescently in a way that reminded him of a rave, if it just so happened to be frequented by nightmarish creatures, nonsensical geometry, and people like him. Lucids they were called by some, on account of their control over the dreams that were steadily bleeding into reality, in a manner akin to lucid dreaming - hence the name. But unlike them, he had not yet gained such levels of refined control, nor the confidence and savagery required to wander headfirst into that raging maelstrom. And to tell the truth, a small part of him hoped he never did, just as it hoped the hell he and the rest of the human race had been forced to live in would come to a swift end. That way the world could go back to the way it used to be, even if such an outcome was completely unfeasible. No, their path was determined now. To destruction or, more likely, an even darker end. At least if reports from the wastes were anything to go by. Reports of Lucids staking their domains and warring against all who would dare challenge them, just like the warlords of old...

Turning away from the window, he rose from the cot upon which he'd been laying and made his way over to the door. Grabbing a coat he made his way outside, thankful that the seasons appeared to have remained unchanged in all this mess, not to mention grateful--for what was perhaps the first time in his life--that snow had decided to fall. The camp itself was a small and dingy place, like most these days, being brightened more by the unrelenting nature of its occupants than anything else. It was one of these occupants, a woman by the name of Adeira, that he had set out to find on this dreary day. The two of them had made each other's acquaintance on the road some time ago, if you could call something that felt like walking on taffy a road anyway, and after a few conversations had elected to travel together since they'd both been headed to the same destination. A few minutes of trekking later and he'd finally arrived at Adeira's place of residence. Adjusting his collar he rapped gently against the door and waited.