Don't mind if I do:
>The song that plays is low and mournful.
>Some of us...are not the same.
>Flashcuts: a woman, sitting on a bed in a room lit by the light from the hall loads a pistol. A Goth girl, crazy hair and piercings, checks a grocery bag. A man sits hunched over a desk, his lamp and laptop the only walls against the dark. Another man lights his cigarette, and flicks the match through a window. The house lights up in flames.
>Some of us have learned that the dark is not a safe place.
>More cuts: Two bodies, struggling in sheets, a woman's cry. A man falls to his knees before a burning building. A door opens onto a child's room, the bed is empty, a voice calls "Caroline?". A door opens on a woman with a gun pointed at a man, the gun goes off.
>Some of us
>The music is no longer mournful, but begins building, to an eventual fever pitch.
>A hobo mutters to the Man from the Laptop, "There are always more doors, if you're looking."
>A door, seemly built at a 80 degree angle to the floor, opens up.
>And for the Awake, there's only one place left.
>A city that defies physics, logic, and ethics in a single panorama.
>But no one said the city was safe.
>Greyhound-like dogs with pin faces charge down a street, bounding over stalls and cars. The gun woman pulls her pistol, and fires...down? But the bullet, miraculously, hits the ground, splits, and ricochets into the guts of the two leading dogs.
>The goth girl screams, and where the waves of her cry pass, people and hounds just fall down.
>The man from the laptop looks at the hound leaping at him, and closes his eyes. Mere inches from his skin, the hound starts to vanish, as if leaping out of reality.
>The man opens his eyes again, and we're in a throne room, and the thing that rises from the throne is pale, waxen, and wears an iron crown.
>Don't Rest Your Head.