OKS Oneiroi Explanation

The Oneiroi were still very much human, even if they had left their bodies a long time ago. They found the minds of monsters as inhospitable as terrestrial humans did. It was difficult to form safety nets when there were no humans nearby to jump to; Oneiroi civilizations, millions of transcended immortals, perished when their host succumbed to the hazards of the world outside. They encouraged their hosts as well as they could through subconscious suggestion to gather if that thought was not already present in their minds.

One civilization, Envelope Logistics, lived in a girl trapped in a basement beneath many flights of stairs. They were an offshoot of a large, ancient and forgotten singularity that was known as the Oneiroi Collective.

[...]

Allen's body twitched and bled on the ground for a few moments before it died, and The Oneiroi of Envelope Logistics® could hardly believe their good fortune. They had made a stunning assessment of this individual's potential.

Allen's dream self sat in a stuffy red room that leaked a syrupy, sweet substance from the ceiling. He was seated at a plastic lawn table.

[...]

"Hello my name is Actual Table and I'll be your Agent today. How can I help you?" said the table.

"You can start by telling me what the heck is going on! Where are you? What's this all about? Didn't I get shot in the face? Why aren't I dead?"

Table, maintaining its professional composure, sat motionless as Allen stomped back and forth across the room. "I'm sorry for the confusion. You are in a dream. I am Actual Table. I am a table. I'm here to discuss with you your holdings with us and how you'd like to disperse them before you die."

[...]

Option four is to forfeit your funds, those which you have are sufficient, and become a living Oneiroi bond in Envelope Logistics®."

"A what? What is that?"

"Well, you would become something much like myself. A gestalt of your waking self, your real self I might say. You would be free to move throughout Envelope Logistics®."

"Okay. Die, or be a fucking table."

Actual Table was frozen in shock. "Sir, I'm not obligated to continue with any of this if the client is hostile or otherwise uncooperative. Also, it is very unlikely that you of all people would become something even resembling a table. I might imagine you would be a doormat, or a roll of toilet paper. But it is already very clear that you are something resembling an anthropomorphic roach. Here, see for yourself."

A mirror manifested in front of Allen. What he saw caused him to jump in shock, skittering up the wall and onto the ceiling. Flakes of his legs broke off as he retreated from the image. He chirped something that the Table understood, and the table looked on stoically in agreement. Allen was now Periplaneta Americana, and traveled with the rest of EL® in the mind of a girl named Gersha.

***
Old Kansas Sector ~ 10: Envelope Logistics®