Somewhere in a room in a house in a suburb a man walked in to find his wife pinned under another man, the two of them so busy in their coupling that at first they didn't notice their audience. When they looked up, they both laughed at him raucously, not bothering to stop their carnal movements as they mocked him. And then his wife's face became that of his mother. The door slammed shut on the lovers and the man sobbed. Meanwhile, below the bedroom where this particular psychological torture was playing out, a woman in a threadbare canvas cloak was in the house's pantry. Hurriedly she scooped whatever non-perishables she could find into a dusty bag of similar make to her cloak. She knew that there wasn't much time, there rarely was during this type of dream, although it took longer than the dreamer themselves realized. Even so, she pulled the tab on a can of mixed fruit and drank the syrupy treat greedily. After so long without anything to fill her belly even the mushy fruit was like manna from heaven. The fridge yielded precious bottles of water, a commodity that led her to sacrifice precious food in order to give her more room. Sharp brown eyes scanned the kitchen for anything else that might be of use. She took twine and a handful of candy from a bowl by the phone. A prescription bottle caught her eye and she added it to her now bulging bag. A few moments later the granite counter tops and gleaming stainless steel appliances began to dissolve away into incoherency and brightness; her heart began to race. A flutter of eyelashes and the drab grey light that was ever present in her reality now flooded her sight while the crumbling and drab landscape came into focus. It was disorienting to leave a dream even if you were expecting it. Adjusting the blessedly heavy bag on her shoulder, the woman took but a few moments to orient herself before moving, constantly scanning the terrain for any threats. It would be an especially bad time to be attacked, she knew, having to risk fighting and possibly dying with all the weight of the rations she carried or abandoning them to run and die of dehydration or starvation later. Her boots crunched with each step across the gritty ground. Those crunching foot falls came to a halt after a short while, her scans of the ruined streets and the crumbling homes she gave wide berth to finally spotting something out of place. But not the right kind of thing out of place. Although standing out dark against the dusty vacant lot, this was certainly no shadow, definitely not the consuming thing that was seeking her to finally finish what it had began here in this plane, on her world. The figure in the distance was bipedal, familiar. Human. Warily she approached, one hand on the precious bag while the other gripped the hilt of her knife beneath the concealing folds of her cloak.