Dreamlog: Parameters of Investigation
A final fragment of a very busy dream:
An office, some kind of government investigative agency. Possibly framed as a game. A Samuel L Jackson kind of character, possibly even played by Jackson himself, is an outside consultant or private investigator brought into this project. It seems to be a search of some kind.
He tells his military/police liason forcefully, waving a sheet of paper: "The parameters of THIS investigation are very special and give me the first right to follow up informants as I see fit. I don't care what you want to do, I'm taking this one. You can talk to them when I'm done."
Dreamlog: Nuclear
It's the end of the world, and not for the first time.
I'm running some kind of 3D game or simulation of the effects of a nuclear war, customised to my local city. In this particular model bombs strike New Zealand itself and for the first dozen runs I just get a 'game over' at that point. But eventually, by trial and error, I find the ones which are survivable: small impacts downtown. which take out the city core and fry all electrics with EMP but leave crowds of dazed civilians.
This run is not the first where I've had survivors but the first where immediate radiation sickness wasn't incapacitating. Now crowds of my former neighbours are gathering in the street outside and I have to figure out where we're going to assemble and create evacuation points. The local park seems obvious, but something about those spaces worries me. Too open, too vulnerable (to what? Something unspoken.) We need a defensible point to survive the next phase. The local school is also ruled out for unknown reasons.
I settle on a more distant, but accessible, site: a sort of survivalist compound / museum / theme park up on the hills. I know the owners and hope they'll admit us. We make the long trek up the valley - fortunately everyone is still mobile right now even though I know radiation sickness will become a problem later - and get to the compound.
The owners are sympathetic, but have their own troubles. They don't want to let us all in. They're barely organised themselves and have limited supplies. I argue. Eventually we come to a compromise, a sort of probation period. "But they'll have to earn their keep." It's a small victory, but I figure next run I need to do this better, faster. Eventually I'll have a strategy that works.
Dreamlog: Bookshop
Two days ago:
I am browsing a second-hand bookstore which has moved into a large, mansion-style house in disrepair. The two owners show me around the renovations they're doing. It's going to be bigger than Borders, but with all second-hand books. Multiple reading rooms, armchairs, and of course a secret bookshelf that slides out to reveal a hidden room. "This is where we'll keep anything on Dan Brown, the Vatican and the Illuminati, of course."
