A dream fragment.
When it started I had stumbled unwittingly on some clandestine preparations for an unspecified reconnaisance op, non-military in nature, but with a ready-for-anything air. They were outfitting their operatives with gear, and mistook me somehow for a member of the team. So I got a bunch of black clothes and a frame pack and an earpiece that kept malfunctioning and spitting static in my ear. Maybe it was meant to brainwash me, I dunno. Anyway, I pulled myself together to the degree that I could and got out of there, figuring they’d find me out sooner or later.
Outside the clinical white rooms and corridors of the organization was, of all things, a bustling urban shopping center, convoluted mishmash of Norwood, Northampton, New Orleans, Amsterdam, Boston, every remotely urban setting I’ve ever been lost in. And I proceeded to get lost. And addled as hell. There was a variety show going on involving pirates and audience participation in an upscale restauraunt I wandered into. All I wanted was to get away, but I stumbled backstage and got the cops called on me. I fought two cops in brutal fashion–couldn’t even understand why at the time, except that I was driven by the need to get away. Somewhere in the static whisperings of the earpiece I had come to the conviction I had superpowers. That I could produce energy blasts from my hands. It never materialized. At times, I even thought I had a purpose.
All I wanted was to find my car and get away. The crowds kept getting more and more difficult to navigate. Every time I turned a corner and entered a new square it looked familiar, I thought I had finally gotten un-lost. But then I walked across the street to where I thought my car would be, and it wasn’t, and I didn’t know where to go next.