Rush makes another quietly disgusted sound - a dream, fucking naturally, if he had only stopped to examine the discrepancies in his incoherent personal timeline he may well have sorted that out on his own - but the relief of knowing with a certain degree of surety that this experience is not by any means permanent is minimal. This dream has been appropriately aggravating, and choosing to ensnare him in a dense web of cabling was likely a cruel deliberate choice on its part, but it has not thus far proved to be as potent as any of his standard array of nightmares.

"'Strange' apart from the overly processed American suburbia setting?" he answers dryly. "I doubt that this would even be possible in reality, given that technology is something of a specialty of mine." Miraculously, he manages to free his left arm and immediately holds it aloft, far from the rest of the disordered jumble swarmed over and around him. "If it wanted a 'challenge' it could have picked something far less fucking grating."