[Everything is so bizarrely blue. Lenka had ignored most of his desk and waited somewhat patiently for the computer to boot up, but eventually gotten distracted by the bustle in the rest of the room enough that he got up to explore -- since the kitchen was sad and useless, here he is.

He's unwound his tie from around his neck and is just holding it in one hand while he deliberates his question, having managed to beeline his way up to the front. It took a few moments with the crowd, though, so in the meantime he's been listening in on the questions asked.]

This is a dream. [it's more a musing than a question; the real question comes soon enough:] How do we stop this? What's happening in this city. The monsters.

[He doesn't talk about the world yet, because it's better to start small.]