In the real world, his port town was a frontier town, a "newbie" sector on the jagged edge of civilisation.
Yet, in the dream-world, his ship was apparently acting as a beacon for the old monsters—the elite who occupied the world's ancient, core territories. He began to realise that the "Fog" didn't respect physical geography.
The Voyager wasn't anchored to his location in the town; it was anchored to a specific frequency of the subconscious, one that high-rank heroes were more likely to tune into.
Slowly, the heavy talk of war and politics drifted into a lighter, more frantic discussion about the casino itself. The seven veterans were now arguing over the flying service, their competitive streaks flaring as they discussed who would be the next to record a promotional video.
"It's not an issue of will, but of means," Thomas thought, a wry smile spreading across his face.
