You have absolutely no memory of how you got here at all, and after putting in half an hour of effort to at least clean off the floors a bit, you start investigating to see if this is in fact, your hive and not a copy, or worse, a half remembered copy of a copy... Though the more you look, the more you're convinced this may actually be it. Your actual hive, somewhere you haven't been in sweeps.

Every digital clock reads 00:00, some are blinking. The pantry, fridge, freezers and such are, thankfully, empty rather than being a biowarfare suite- though it makes you wonder why, as things were at least partially stocked the last time you were here. Looking outside you see total overgrowth in autumn colors, hiding a collection of faintly pulsing deep blue glyphs- assorted void 8ullshit you'd set up to make people unable to perceive your property, and thus, be a perfect security system. You shouldn't be able to see the glow from here, but you consider that to stem from some sort of pattern decay...

Your bedroom. Everything is also, exactly as it was left. You approach the window with some trepidation and look out, expecting to see something horrible- some sort of evidence that this isn't actually your hive... You don't see anything. That is to say, there's almost nothing out of the ordinary outside the window, just a dark grey earthlike day with some new construction you don't recognize out on the horizon, beneath almost stereotypical 'october clouds', your human acquaintances told you about on at least one occasion.

The feeling of walking on very cold tile, before taking a running jump at a wall and somehow sticking to it- you're climbing. Like a goth-lite gecko. Only some of what 'you' see stucks in your own memory. Electric blue irises, thick black eyeliner, reflections of a mottled pink sky on warped glass. "You" look down and back, over "your" shoulder. Waving shapes, undulating masses. Hand reaches a divot, glossy black nails clicking surprisingly loudly.

You are face to face with another white-haired individual- a man- narrow, androgynous and no older than 26, eyes hidden behind a semicircular black visor. You feel "your" throat vibrate- something's being spoken. Despite it coming from your perspective, it's so far away it can't be resolved. The man nods, faintly bird shaped (how much product does he even use?) hair bobbing almost as a solid mass. "You" say something he finds unusual and the corner of his mouth pulls nervously. In "your" hand, is a 'bottle'. It is the color of the Void. You recognize it immediately, holding it in almost the same way as you remember. "You" extend your hand before looking over your shoulder again. You have three arms, but only briefly. The sky ripples. The visored man draws an archway on the wall and steps through it. "You" scurry further up the wall.

Beneath you is twisting and gnashing. Five limbs become six. You don't know where those two arms are anchoring into, but they're making you marginally faster in a dream-logic way. "You" reach the top of the wall and drag yourself onto a roof. A sound between whalesong, a cement mixer and 'howling of the damned' behind you. You spin, grabbing one of your wrists. A shape crests the rim of the roof.

Snout, snapping and growling. You're holding your third arm with your normal hands by the wrist, like a horrible flail. You throw it *hard*, and follow up with your fourth arm. Left arm blooms before the wrist into a rotating mass of deep blue meat. You pull out a stick with your right hand, long and black. Not a stick. Not a wand either. It bends like a handgun, and you grip it as such, aimed at the snout and whatever it is it belongs to.

The dream is vague for another moment as you feel a strong wind against "your" feet- as well as the rest of "you". "You", are airborn. Something hit you from the side. Swatted off the roof like a crumpled ball of paper. "You", for no reason, assume an unnecessary 'action pose', framing a hard to focus on area of your field of view with black-clad legs, wand|gun trained on the area again.

Three cracks. A rattling rush behind you. Jarring force.

You're definitely shorter, and you'd later be able to realize your proportions are different. 'You' walk, traversing what appears to be the half remembered 'mall' you'd just left in waking. Looking down you see slightly wider hips, exceptionally pale skin and toned, powerful but compact muscles; platinum white hair briefly obscures 'your' vision, long bangs swept to 'your' left. Turning to the right, moving past yet more 'storefronts' with smeared, scorchmark-looking text you cannot read. 'You' feel a heartrate increase as something behind the counter starts rattling, thumping and gurgling suddenly. Silent sprint until it subsides, lungs surprisingly unbothered. 'You' get a look at 'yourself' as you pass a mirrorlike 'glass' panel covering another store and spend a moment fiddling with your hair- inverted bob, nearly white with a black almost chitinous looking hairband keeping things in place. Dark tubetop, black leggings- both looking a bit worse for wear. 'You' step closer, investigating your face and black lips smirk, getting a vague sense that some feature is present that isn't typically- the vision isn't high bandwidth enough to inform what. What almost jars you from the dream-vision is the eyes- deep, void blue, almost like your own in waking.

Slight recognition blooms- alongside a strange sound back and to 'your' left, and suddenly 'you' are in the air, having jumped onto the wall, then the ceiling. Inexplicably, 'you' stick to both, like an amphibian- which is helpful, as a horrific tar colored entity trundles by beneath, producing a number of unique, terrible sounds at unpleasant volume. 'You' are unnoticed.

The vision becomes less distinct until you wake proper, but you can remember vignettes of crawling, almost slithering through a variety of vague but tight spaces- and the absurd feeling of knowing 'your' tongue has just extended more than double 'your' height in front of 'you' prior to contacting something.