Nate Streeter was stirring in his sleep.  The day before had been long, arduous, and tiring.  He had helped dozens of campers move into their new living accommodations, which would last them the next 2 weeks, 4 weeks for some.

Either way, it had been an exhausting day.  And he should have been sleeping well, with the excitement and promise of a new session at camp, but he couldn’t.  He tossed and turned, his legs seemed to seize up painfully in his sleeping bag.  His dream turned into a nightmare, where his legs were on fire, and he had a splitting headache, as if something was boring its way out his head.

Giving a small whimper, he turned over again.  He couldn’t wake up, no matter how much he tried to will himself out of this nightmare.

Then it was over.

His eyes flashed open.  His forehead was slick with sweat, his thick, dark, curly hair was damp and tangled.  He was panting, taking in breaths in heaving gasps.  There was no other sound except for that of the thundering rain outside.

His eyes widened in fear.  Slowly he felt a hand up to his face, to wipe it clean, but something stopped him.  Something wasn’t right.

He was shaking, and his legs were trembling.  When they brushed against each other, he was certain.  His nightmare wasn’t over.

“Oh god,” he whispered, terror in his voice.  “Oh god, something is not right…”

A similar thing was happening to a young girl in her bed.  Her hands gripped her sheets tightly, her knuckles white.  Her breathing was rushed and choppy, before finally she was able to wrench herself awake, panting.

Tears welled up in her eyes, as a shaky hand combed through her tangled, matted brown hair.  When she reached one of her ears, she gave out a shaky whimper.  In the pitch black of the dorm, no one stirred at her quiet sound of distress.

But the girls’ dorm wasn’t pitch black.  There was the clock, and the hall light, and…

Madison Garland shrunk lower under her covers, now truly afraid.  What had happened?  Where were the others?  Where was she?

The rain outside intensified, and there was a huge roar of thunder.

She scrunched her eyes shut.  There were no windows to let in any flashes of lightning, so there was no warning of oncoming thunder.  The lack of windows also assured her that she was NOT in the dorms at camp.  She was alone, in a strange place, with a huge storm thundering outside.

And something had happened to her ears that was causing her agony.

She hid under her covers, shaking, eyes closed.  Falling back asleep was nearly impossible, and she spent the rest of the night drifting between terrifying reality, and the horror of her nightmares…

Similar things happened in flashes and bursts to nearly everyone that night, though hardly any as intense as Nate’s, or even Madi’s.

Finally, as the sun began to rise, some of them began to stir.

On the second floor, on a room at the far end, a boy with notoriously bad sleeping habits had awoken just as the sun had started to break the horizon.  He sat up on the edge of his bed, tapping his fingers together nervously.  He was on edge, more so than usual.  His fingers moved quicker as he examined the room he was in.

It was small.  Not cramped, but small.  He had a bed in one corner with a medium sized trunk at the foot, and along the wall was a mirror, and a small window.  The other walls had windows as well, except for the one with a door presumably leading outside.  The wall across from the one with the mirror held a closet, and the one across from the door simply held a much larger window, with a small bench across the base of it.  There was nothing else distinguishable about the room.  At least, not that he could see.

He began nervously tugging on a strand of hair.  While he was curious about what lay outside his room, he couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed.  Because with curiosity also came apprehension.  Because what one was curious about was the unknown.  And it was nearly impossible to tell what dangers the unknown might hold.

Jonah stayed in his bed.

And now came one who was dauntless enough to venture forth from his room.

From the instant John Cordero realized he was not in his bunk in his dorm, he realized there was something wrong that needed fixing.

His room was unremarkable, furnished only with a medium sized trunk, a bed, a side table, a closet, a window, and a mirror.

Quickly he thrust open the closet, ready to face anything inside.  What was inside were more trunks, on top of which lay a large sword, sheathed.

Grabbing it, he brought the sword to the window, and slowly unsheathed it.  Even in the dim light, he could see it was masterfully made, and his eyes glinted as the blade caught some of the sun’s feeble rays.  A smile had appeared on his face, only to be replaced by a grim, determined look.

Whatever this was doing in his room (whatever room that was), it meant there was something dangerous here.

Although the notion held implications that there were enemies to be defeated, his primary focus was the others.

Sure, he could hold his own against a couple of whatever it was that was threatening them, but how many of the others could?

Of course, the first person his mind flashed to was really no worry.  He shook his head to clear himself of worrying about that anyway.  She could take down enough to keep herself safe.  But some of the others could easily not.  And it was clear that a couple of them would be finished within seconds if confronted.

With this thought in mind, John set back to the closet to change into more serviceable clothes.  The clothes in the chest were not his (neither were the ones he was wearing, at that point, but John didn’t want to think about the implications of that right now…) but they were close enough to what he was looking for.  If anything, most of them looked like higher quality, more durable variations of his character’s costume.

He shrugged the thought off.  He had been doing a lot of that this morning, putting thoughts aside, but if he and his friends were gonna get out of this whole situation alive, they needed to make sure everyone was alive and safe and free from enemies before losing their heads over being brought to a strange place…

John strapped on a belt, sheathed his sword, and silently left his room.