#haunted dreamcore

[ghost-seventeen]

[SYSTEM CODE #OP3n-RP]

It's empty here, a long stretch of highway with trees on either side. Not much different from what he's used to, it's just that the world didn't look like this when he closed his eyes last, cheek pressed against the sticky diner table.

But it's not the first time he's woken up in a field, either, or some other strange place after falling into Sleep's embrace.

Now he's walking along the shoulder—he could float, he supposes, but walking makes him feel normal—heading for the lights in the distance and wondering if he's in reality or a dream.

[ghost-seventeen]

[M3M%RY? CODE #*R-?]

"You're not meant to be here," the Figure states.

Where is here?

The Ghost gestures to the space surrounding them. A room, maybe. Its depth and contents hidden in an oppressive haze—a clinical luminosity that makes him squint. The air hums with it and presses into his chest. Crawls into his lungs and—

"You don't recognize it?"

The haze pulls back like curtains lifting, taking with it the heaviness, and the room floods with warm afternoon sunlight. Wood panel walls, worn carpet, a daybed with green cushions against the wall opposite the kitchen. The Ghost knows this place. And yet... He tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching.

It's not the same as I remember.

"That's to be expected." The Figure crosses itself, shoulder to shoulder, head to heart, in slow, jerky movements, gears whirring. "You are not the same as you remember, either."