Normally, I don't dream much. If I do, I rarely remember it at all, and it certainly doesn't leave me shaking in a cold sweat. Today though... good lord, I have no idea what is up with my head.Sleep, ~4:00am:Walking through a residential area. The buildings are long two-story dormitories, multi-home hulks of cinderblock and brick, with concrete sidewalks in front and a narrow strip of lawn between each. If you've seen military base housing, you know the type.Passing by the end of one building, I note a group of people clustered around one home. There's some lawn chairs, a cooler, general party atmosphere. On the roof of the tiny porch is a signboard, somewhat in the style of old movie theaters, that advertises a live broadcast of some kind. I recognize the name and weave my way through the crowd, hoping to get a closer look. Not about to stand in front of them however, so I pass by and think to circle around to the back. The last people, on the far side, are two policemen chatting idly. Didn't think much of it, I excused myself politely and attempted to step around them - big mistake. The area beyond is a nondescript alley, with a T-intersection in the back. Brick walls all around, with a minor amount of litter in the corners.I only catch a glimpse of it before the nearer officer grabs me roughly - by pinching the clothing & skin of my chest. "Trying to sneak by a federal officer?" he says. His voice is cordial but carries an undertone of menace that makes my throat clench."I wasn't sneaking, just trying to walk," I manage to stammer out hoarsely."That area is restricted, son.""I didn't know, I've never been here before. I'll leave."He doesn't let go, but instead tries to say something else. He speaks very quietly and the background noise of the crowd and music drowns him out. I ask him to repeat himself, making it clear I can't hear a word of whatever it was he said to me, and he holds up the mic for his radio, speaking into it. Somehow, it only makes the music louder and clearer, but his voice hovers just on the edge of inaudible. I explain a half-dozen more times, I cannot hear him, he has to speak up, please.A cold fear sinks in, that this isn't a police officer at all. Whatever he's pretending to say, it's for show, but he has no intention I hear the actual words lest I try to bolt. My fear is confirmed when I try to speak up even louder, and he clamps a hand over my mouth.Moments later, a tall black man holding a large news-style video camera walks up to his side, saying nothing. He points the camera at me, and I mouth the words "what did I do?" as I look directly at the lens. As I turn back to the fake officer, I see he is also now holding a small camcorder - the display on it is turned back towards me. My image is surrounded by what look like news-tickers, and though I haven't said anything in the presence of the cameras yet, a subtitle in white scrolls underneath my chin. Then I note the news tickers are all in Arabic. A quick glance behind - everyone on the lawn has left. Horror settles over me - this begins to look much like an ISIS execution video....Consciousness returns slowly, leaving fragments of the last situation frozen in my mind. With my newfound lucidity, I try to imagine a way out of that scenario and let my mind rest easy, but no amount of quick reflexes, daring grabs for the fake-officer's gun, or armored robots crashing through the walls can shake that icy feeling that, if the dream had continued, I'd have been killed.Waking up, 9:30am:I get up out of bed. The cats are being rambunctious and I need to use the bathroom anyway. If I were smart, I'd have stayed up and gotten breakfast, started the day - but I took vacation time, and I don't work today. I can be lazy. So I go back to bed, browse EMC and the KSP forum a little, put Pandora back on, and try to catch up on some of my sleep.Sleep ~11:00am:The first part of the dream is nice. I'm with my first real crush, a cute blonde named Amber I knew in 4th grade. We're walking along a sidewalk, chatting, laughing, sharing stories and generally catching up on twenty years of life. At one corner, she waves her hand over a square of sidewalk, and causes a sign-pole to appear - a narrow post of black pipe with a white square on top depicting the two of us. Odd, but charming and sweet. We find a bench nearby, and sit to chat. She snuggles into me, and says she loves me. I remember I have a girlfriend, and her admission makes me suddenly feel very awkward.After a while, she leaves, and the "magic" sign is gone too. I decide to see if I can manage the same trick, and indeed more signs appear. They aren't the same ones however, with black sign panels on top and odd red marks. Some have tops that look like flower buds, instead. My final attempt doesn't bring about a sign at all, but rather flourescent neon vines that grow frighteningly fast. They're like brightly colored snakes shooting over the sidewalk, trying to grow into every crack and crevasse. Something tells me I shouldn't let them spread, so I began tearing them up and throwing them in a waste bin. It's a futile effort, they cannot be contained. Even the torn-up parts continue to writhe and grow in my hands as I throw them away.At my feet, a newspaper blows by, and I notice a story about a particularly vicious man escaping custody. The article claims he performed horrible and painful experiments on his foster children - electrical and chemical tortures, as well as physical abuse - by all accounts, a violent clinically psychotic monster. About then, an officious-looking woman appears and enthusiastically asks me to accompany her somewhere.She talks in an excited manner, telling me how they've found this man's hideaway and are stripping it for evidence in the criminal proceedings. (My mind skipped over the "escaped custody" part, for now)We enter a tall square flat, empty inside but for support columns and various industrial bits on the wall. The floor is painted and polished concrete, drab green-blue in color. Bits of yellow or red tape mark off squares of it here and there, and a small crew in blue FBI-style jackets is combing the place gathering up whatever loose equipment remains. There isn't much - the building is completely stripped.But the woman leads me up to one wall, above a circuit breaker, and points out a loose wire half-covered by tape. She trips something with it, then rushes over to a different wall and presses a hidden panel. A heavy steel door swings open, vault-like in its thickness, and reveals an equally barren hallway beyond. Bulkhead doors set into the walls remind me more of an aircraft carrier than a city structure, and while she fiddles with more hidden wires and disguised panels, another door at the far end opens up, back outside.We enter to explore the hidden sanctum, and I ask her about shutting the doors. She gives a noncommittal answer, and I leave them be as I follow. The first room to the left is an unnerving medley of "evil mad scientist's lair" and children's room, a long box with white-painted walls and all manner of frightening-looking equipment down the middle. A pair of chairs that vaguely resemble a dentist's, with restraints and oddly shaped stainless steel tools laid out beside them, accompanied by small rolling work-tables with syringes and vials of unidentified substances. Some of them glow.But the worst is the carpeted section just inside to the left, a two-foot wide strip that runs the length of the room. A long white clothes rack is bolted at waist-height to the wall, filled with children's clothes - white button-down shirts and ties for boys, pink frilly dresses for girls. I accidentally bump into it, and knock a couple off their hangars to the floor.It was almost like this was a trigger for the nightmare to kick into high gear. The woman exits the room and sees the door at the end of the hall still open (to the outside), and snaps at me "Were you born in a barn? Get that closed!" As I head down to that end towards it, one of the FBI team pops his head around the other vault door and informs us in a panic that He's here. I suddenly remember the "escaped custody" part. In a rush, I trigger the outside doors to close and run back to the room with the clothes. I already know how this will play out. We'll be locked in here, hiding from the psycho, and he'll spot the ones I knocked down. He'll know someone's here, and it'll be game over. I have to get them hung back up.Even as I do, I hear Him arrive. He laughs, shouting a challenge to the FBI, and something like "all I needed was a drum of [unintelligible chemical]." The screaming starts first, then shooting. But the screaming doesn't stop. The woman is in the room with me, cowering near the first chair. It won't hide her. I look around, but there isn't anywhere to hide in this room. Why did we seal ourselves in here? The screaming finally stops. I hear the heavy motors of the vault door cycling.Wake, 2:00pm I have no idea what's going on in my head right now and I can't say I'm a fan. Dreams tend not to stick with me long enough to write about, but damn this stuff was vivid.