She can't see anything around her. Things appear out of the fog in front of her as if they were teleporting there, buildings and trees and now a brick wall. It would be comedic if she weren't so tired.

Even her sense of hearing is dampened by how slowly sound travels through the wet air. She wraps the chain around her waist and frowns, wondering if she's imagining or actually vigilant.

She extends the box cutter, ready to slice.