A bright and incomprehensible light, the eerie screech like a sizzle on a grill and the illusion of being dragged forward as if you were in a set of rails can be felt. The spotlight around you slowly comes to life, avid displays of charcoal burning and smoke billowing along with the chattering of humans are beginning to enter the mind. As the trail of motion begins to end, the landscape clears up and loses it's foggy blur as a small footstep can be heard, as if the ground below was made of steel. Within moments the taste of relatively "new" fruit and salted meats begin to touch your lips and slightly below, almost like a sting before a pleasant feeling. The air around you is thinner, and for an elongated blink it feels as if you are floating above the air, once snapped out of the dream by the clambering of bulky fellows and brass-work devices thud across the lifted road. By now the sights of a marketplace can be heard, but not just of any. This one in particular is moving, but with very little sound except to your right-hand side, conveniently next to a railing that poises almost 4 feet tall.
Waking up sequence has been completed, as you are now in the eyes of a regular person, all body parts retained and even sporting one of those fancy silver-colored pocket watches that are being used nowadays. You can tell that the gaseous shaded white puffs above you are not clouds, but streams of smoke wreathing from an array of pipes from ahead. It would appear that people are more so going there at this time, with the sun beating on you from your right cheek and the glare of the sun appearing within a monocle you have dashed on your right eye. As you take your first step, the rod-like structure of your legs would wobble a bit, your feet shaking around onto the floor with as much ecstatic energy as your joints allow, scraping against the floor. All of this would be mixed in with a leather-like pair of leggings on you. A few people could be heard conversing near you, possibly about your recent awakening as you lumber over to the railing. By now the ever-present taste of bread you could smell, but you drift further as you finally lean on the supports of this platform, below is a complex arrangement of other similar platforms with different function and apparel. Each breath feels like an awakening, even though you sport the body of a full grown female trapped within a corset and sleeveless worker shirt. For in this you remember you are not America Lyndon of the vessel-reminiscent city you are currently on, but rather a host parasite – a mere sensory sensor that relays what you have felt to better your colony's survival. You turn to your shoulder, walking to your side as the only virtue of your race comes to mind: spread and survive.