Jack shifts, disturbed a little by Sinclair's movement, but doesn't wake up. He needed this, yo. He caught up a little at Sinclair's place, but sleeping through the night might not be something he's cut out for any more.

The shifting around kicks him into another dream. He runs through an endless field of wheat, on warm earth, beneath a glass and metal canopy that holds back the weight of the deep blue sky. The roof is still; the golden field moves beneath him, loops. There are wires in his arms, but they don't hurt.

Outside the dream, in the dark room in Rapture, his legs twitch as he runs.