A. Gotham's dark; always is, even during the day. The darkness that falls in the alleyways always makes it hard to tell whether the light at the end of the tunnel is a streetlight or the sun, both a dull white glow that can't penetrate more than a meter.

Senses, here, too, are wrong somehow-- it smells like mold, looks like dark, feels clammy and cold. This place has a taste, too, a bitter one that settles on the back of the tongue and stings.

B. This dream is brighter, a haze of dark greens and bright yellows, blinking lights and red buttons. It's harder to navigate, though; instead of a dark alley, it's long, a maze, complicated and winding and doubling-back and cramped. He's right there, dressed in his uniform and leaning against the wall; waiting.