Unsurprisingly, it wasn't going to be easy to find bandages in a dump like this city. It was impossible to even find a building that wasn't at least half destroyed, so Neale didn't fancy his chances that there'd be a perfectly preserved first aid kit somewhere in walking distance. However, it couldn't hurt to try, could it? It's not as if Neale had anything better to do, anyway.
There were a few promising looking tower blocks nearby, that could have something in it. Even if bandages weren't an option, some clean clothes or towels could be helpful. Getting something better to wear would be great, and the cloth could be used instead for his head wound rather than blindly hoping for first aid.
Looking down at his current attire, Neale knew that putting any of those worn fabrics next to an open wound would lead to his slow, eventual death from infection. Regardless of whether this was a fantasy, Neale at least didn't want to suffer when he went. Death might be his fate, but a painful one was optional. Hopefully.
Honestly, Neale wasn't even sure if they counted as clothes anymore. While they were mostly intact, aside from the massive holes in his .. jeans? where the rubble pushed down on his legs, whatever colour they had been originally has been obliterated by an immense accumulation of dust and grime, leaving them a light greyish-brown colour.
They probably were more dust than clothes at this point, though it was concerning that they got to this state. I mean, that'd take decades until something like this could happen, right? How long was I under that building-
Wait. This is a dream, or a fantasy I guess. What I'm wearing is just a figment of my imagination, just like everything else. Man, I have to hand it to me, my imagination is great, the attention to detail is perfect. This is kind of fun now...
Walking up the nearest block ahead of him, a large squat building with the remains of a balcony fixed over its front face, Neale took the time to admire the work put into the bleak surroundings.
The wind seemed never ending yet completely unpredictable, ebbing and waxing with hardly any tell. Sometimes it was hardly noticeable, bar the slightest movement of dust in rocky corners, and other times it snaked around Neale in a gusty flow of air, causing small debris to shift and dust to rise in tiny whirls, amazing Neale with his attention to detail.
In fact, now that Neale was observing the encompassing wreckage much closer, he began to realise how complex the piled up landfill was. Occasionally he would see small plastic and foil packaging tumble past him, bearing some long faded logo. Smoothed and polished wood, reminiscent of timbers and logs, stuck out of the stone dunes around him, to the point that Neale realised that he must be walking along some long-forgotten boulevard, the petrified trees lying under the weight of homes that used to border them. Thin, brown weeds grew almost everywhere, camouflaged against the concrete debris. How they grew at all, Neale had no idea, but they were pleasing to find anyway.
Soon though, the novelty began to wear thin. Everything was either brown or grey, or a mix of the two. The wind was never extreme, and never disappeared. It was just, there. The mystery of what the foil packets were advertising was still unsolved, but wasn't very appealing to Neale. To make matters worse, Neale's first target was a dud. After stalking around the building for a few minutes, Neale concluded that anything that could have been in there was either smashed to pieces, or completely inaccessible without heavy machinery or explosives.
This seemed terribly unfair to Neale. He was clearly stuck within his own fantasies and delusions, yet he gave himself absolutely nothing to do! He woke up buried under a building, for Pete's sake!...
Who was Pete again?
You know what, doesn't matter! And even when I got out of that, what? I get a bunch of rocks and some wind. Some weeds which don't even look cool! This has to be the dullest dream I've ever had. EVEN THE SKY IS GREY! This has to be the biggest waste of my imagination, ever. What's the point of making it super-realistic, if what you're making is a load of super-realistic rocks! I want a refund, brain!
Even so, Neale had to deal with it now. He was stuck here. The only way of this wasteland was assumedly to kill himself to wake up. Though, Neale was starting to doubt this by now. It hadn't seemed to be related to time either, unless Neale seriously wanted to sit on a rock for a month to test that hypothesis. The only thing that Neale could think of that might work would be that he needed to do something special to get out. Like, save someone from a bear? Falling rocks sounds more plausible, really. Or maybe find and repair a robotic superweapon and go fight people! That... feels above what Neale could do, but it sounded really fun!
It's much better than trying to kill myself, and it 'kills' time for me too, in case that's what I actually need to do.
It's settled! Adventure awaits, giant robots here I come!
Still, even if he was going to find his destined megacool space robot soon, Neale really wanted those dang bandages. He didn't want to keep clutching the back of this head all the time, and it'd feel good to get stuff done. Neale felt like his inability to get out so far was a personal challenge, and he didn't like losing, especially to himself.
Thankfully, there were plenty of buildings that could hold the desired bandages, and it was quite easy to spot the ones still standing, since everything else was completely levelled. He could just walk towards them in a straight line too, since there was nothing blocking his way, aside from maneuvering around the assorted pieces of broken stonework and concrete.
He should really get some new clothes to wear as well, Neale thought. He was a little afraid that they'd spontaneously disintegrate or something. They were seriously old.