Dream Theatre 65

In last night’s dream, I was on a vacation in Russia where some dream friends and I were playing a week-long espionage-themed live role-playing game. It was our first day and we were supposed to find a woman named Flint who we would be helping. We knew she was somewhere in a 2 street area, that she was being threatened, and we had only a few minutes to intervene in the situation. If we didn’t reach her in time, we didn’t “lose” or anything, we just missed out on that first “scene” and some potential points or clues or something.

My friends and I started scouring the buildings looking for what might be her location where she was being threatened. We ran into a coffee shop, “Is Flint here?” No dice. We checked another location or two and then were out of time for that scene. There was an option to “re-load” like a video game if we didn’t want to miss out, but we decided to play it honest and just continue on as we wanted an true experience and storyline, failures and all.

We decided to try the next street over. On our way, a few friends broke off without warning to go get in line and ride some kind of merry-go-round or something, which annoyed me. We had to find and help Flint! One other friend and I continued onward and entered a sort of curved tunnel through a tall business building, and inside was what appeared to be the entrance to a strip club. Outside it there were two women tussling with a large man who eventually grabbed something from one of them and took off. I ran after him, suddenly thinking “Oh, I hope this is part of the game and not really happening!” The man was holding some kind of white card as he ran (“A key card?” I wondered), and I reached to snatch it from him but missed. He slowed down a bit but continued to run and sort of held the card out a little more, obviously trying to give me the chance to nab it. Another try or two and I did, and he came tumbling to the ground where we staged a mock fight and I pretended to punch him unconscious.

I returned to the two women, one of which was sitting on the ground and the other was crouching and comforting the first. I was pretty sure I recognized the sitting woman as Flint from a picture we had of her though she looked different. A short blonde wig, streaked makeup from crying. I walked up to her holding out her stolen card. “You’re Flint aren’t you?” She nodded, tearfully, and then I woke up.

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