The three of us observe a group of sickly thin children planting what appear to be short silver rods in a dusty garden of withering plants. Shimmering mother-of-pearl cords, disturbingly umbilical, twist upwards out their oblivious heads, through a large glass dome above and disappear out into the starry night.

The owl begins to telepath horrific apocolyptic images into my mind at a maddening pace. My head begins to throb wildly from the concentrated power and emotion contained in them. When it's over, the woman telepaths that I'll remember these important things when the time is upon me but I must now go back before I die.

I find myself in a black vaccuumous void in which I can hear a distorted and distant male voice calling out my name. Somebody is shaking my shoulder. The voice becomes clearer as the inky blackness gives way to consciousness. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" it implores in an odd electronic tone that seems to be coming from within. "Wake up!"