Dredd avoided anything other than street patrol for reasons like this, although watching the familiar psychic work with her powers for information outside of their usual sector had been interesting. He had opted to let Anderson sleep in the single bed their dingy hotel room offered and had himself settled in a chair to rest... but she was whimpering something in her sleep that sounded distinctly like a nightmare.

"Anderson," he muttered, hand tentatively reaching for her shoulder, "Wake up."

Voices shouted endlessly, crying out for help. She whipped her head back and forth trying vainly to find the source of the pleas of help. But the pleas quickly turned to agonized cries, cries too.

Anderson ran through the endless darkness, searching, always searching.

A familiar voice.

The Voice seemed to calm her feeling of urgency but at the same time held a note of concern.

"Dredd?! Where are you? I can't find you!"

Dredd's frown only deepened when she didn't immediately wake. Interacting with people in this sort of situation was anything but his strong point, and Anderson's tiny body curled beneath the sheet had his stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots. He hesitated, fingers threading into his hair as he watched her writhe in her sleep. What was she mumbling? (He swore that was his name just there.)

"Hey," he rumbled quietly, shaking her shoulder with a little bit more force, "Anderson, it's just a dream."

The whole world seemed to shake suddenly. She stumbled on the spot in a meager attempt to remain on her feet.

What in Grudd's name?

The voices continued in a raging cacophony, but something had changed. Now the noise hurt her.

She cringed in a pain that just seemed to escalate and then suddenly stop.

There was one single voice, louder than Dredd's. What was it saying?

His uneasiness rose when she still didn't wake up; what were you supposed to do in this sort of situation? Dredd did his best to smooth himself over with control, but he could feel a strange sort of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. His fingers moved from her shoulder and brushed the hair out of her face.

"Anderson," he said a little more forcefully, and although his brain told him no his fingers remained in her hair a half moment longer than he had really intended. Was he supposed to just grab her shoulders and shake her awake? He certainly couldn't leave her wrapped in a nightmare. The sense of obligation to help his partner only reminded him that he probably wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.

There was Dredd's voice again, only quieter than last time, as though it were fading. She could feel anxiety and concern, and control.

How familiar.

But, these werent her own feelings. Fear wrapped itself around her spine and seemed to constrict her lungs. She was afraid, afraid she would lose Dredd.

She ran towards the direction of his voice but the closer she got the farther away it sounded.

The new voice was more clear now.

"…..crime….death…."

There were few things that Dredd hated more than not knowing what was going on, and the whimpering coming from his partner was tearing him apart. "Anderson!" he said, hands sliding to her shoulders again to give her another rough shake, "Come on, it's just a dream."

He didn't want to think about what sort of strange nightmare could have the psychic wrapped so tight she couldn't get out. It was unsettling that the strong woman he relied on out on the streets was reduced to something so delicate and frail.

Her whole world threatened to crumble around her, just like an earthquake could reduce a proud building to a shameful pile of rubble.

She tried to call out again but could hear nothing, except that loud, hissing voice.

"...life...sentence..."

It kept getting louder, as though a million voices were trying to yell over one another.

Falling to her knees, Anderson covered her ears in a feeble attempt to block the voice.

It was above her.

Below her.

Next to her.

All around her.

It was inside of her.

If this had been anyone else, Dredd was certain he'd have given up by now. He let out a low sigh from deep in his chest and tried to soothe himself first, ruffling his hair distractedly. When he had settled the nervous energy in his chest he hesitated briefly, and then shifted his body to scoop Anderson up into his arms. His conscience screamed at him that he was wrong, but the frightened noises and quivering were too much for him. She needed to either wake up or at the very least come out of the nightmare.

He wrapped the blanket she was curled in back around her and leaned her into his chest, quiet words whispered into her hair. Would she remember the dream when she finally woke? He certainly hoped so after the effort he had put into soothing the fear that gripped her. For any other person he'd have left them to their dreams.

Something shifted. The voice drew her away from her thoughts and continued repeating it's message.

"...is death..."

It didn't make sense. Nothing seemed to make sense.

The voice hissed again, it seemed to be angry now.

"The crime issss life, the sentence issss...death..."

She felt an overwhelming urge to escape suddenly. She needed to get away. Far away.

...Away.

But something was keeping her in place. Why couldn't she move?

A spark lit up the darkness that was enveloping her. The spark caught and began circling her.

"No!"