"You're finally coming out as gay?" Marshall quipped, smirking at Atticus and rubbing the mark Atticus left on his arm.
"No, do you remember what we told you about the dream world we were in? With those figures?"
"That shit I refused to do? Yeah. What about it?"
Atticus paused, unsure if he should continue.
"Don't tell anyone else yet, but since then I've been having visions. First it began as violent outbursts towards other people, but slowly morphed into, like, prophetic visions of how people would die and such. I had one about Steven too, right before we left the armory."
"What the fuck, man?! Are you doing malura?!" Marshall yelled.
"No, damn it. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. Anyways, my point is that I've been having these visions. I didn't get one about Fontaine, even though I was around him just as much.
A few months back, I had this vision too. He was shown to be the leader of those dreams figures and he was asking me if I wanted to join him. I tossed it off as nothing, but..."
"But what?!" Marshall asked.
Before Atticus could finish his sentence, he noticed a figure in the distance. Walking through the snow was a short-haired young man with a black jacket and pants, his hands in his pockets.
"Who is that? What are they doing near here?"
"Probably just a lost tourist. Come on, the others are waiting. You can tell me about your acid trip dream tomorrow," Marshall said, attempting to pull Atticus back to the others.
The figure in the distance seemed to look at something on his wrist, before dropping a backpack on the ground and sitting down alongside it. He looked up at the estate, expressionlessly reviewing it.
"They're here, that's for sure. Which one is Atticus and which one's Marshall?"
No response. He sighed, waiting on the ground and tracing a path to the mansion with his eyes.