...ack.
Okay, crazy dream.
I dreamed, and at first it was a third-person dream. I don't remember the exact setup, but there was this guy who...vaguely reminds me of House in terms of appearance, actually. He had a reputation as some sort of anti-hero/hitman? Whatever, he was sort of infamous in the mob scene, and was considered one of their best hired killers, but still one with a conscience or something.
The part I remember - the end of it all - took place in a mansion that belonged to a major mob boss, at some sort of party. There were strippers, and dancers of all sorts, and mob people, and it was just this big party. And the hitman was walking through, and then suddenly everything just went slow motion in my dream as he lifted up guns and started shooting, started killing.
Nobody expected it. The dancers died on the stage while still in mid-move. People died while sipping at champagne or other drinks without ever realizing it. My dream showed me all of this in lovely slow motion, showing me the bullets going through people and blood and gore flying everywhere. Then, once people realized what was going on, there were screams and running, and some people ran towards him while trying to shoot back and got killed, and others ran away and got killed.
My dream followed a group of mobsters who ran toward the back of the room and into a stairwell. One guy would have made it, my dream told me, but a stray bullet penetrated the wall at a weak point and took out his spine. Another was hit in a less fatal spot, but it chipped a piece of bone that lodged somewhere that killed him. Another was gut-shot, and would die soon, so the last guy took mercy on him and put a bullet between his eye. And then the last guy (or two?) was running, up the stairs, spiraling up until he came into the mob boss' private penthouse suite on the top floor. The boss was dread, everyone else was dead or dying, and he knew that there was no way he could escape. So he went to a window and screamed "BANZAI!" and jumped, knowing that he would kill himself. He'd rather kill himself than die by that man.
Suddenly I was me, I was in the dream as opposed to a passive observer, and I knew that I was the last one left aside in the mansion aside from the insane hitman. I wasn't a mobster, I was just a person who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't want to die.
Looking around, I found a big window out onto the roof, and a little, half-hidden set of rickety stairs down. I took them, and then jumped from platform to platform down in a way that sort of made me think of a video game, until I made it to the ground outside the mansion. I'd made it! I'd be safe! The hitman would still be searching the house, maybe emerging on the top floor to kill me now, since he wouldn't have seen the bodies of myself or the guy who jumped.
Only he wasn't. He was leaving the house, very near me. I tried to dive under a set of porch stairs - you know, the planked sort, where you can easily see through them - and stared at him in terror from the shadows, and I knew that I hadn't gotten under there fast enough, that at least one leg was still sticking out in visible sight. But he'd turned to face me, and I didn't dare move.
I stared at him and tried to remember how to breathe. He studied the stairs and threw a hefty stone, lofting it between two of the planks to thud into the dirt right in front of me. I can still smell that dirt. I flinched reflexively and closed my eyes from the scattering dirt, and made myself freeze, don't move, please don't move. There was a weird feeling of deja vu, like I'd been in the situation before and that time he'd just turned away and let me live. Maybe that one hadn't happened after a massacre got his blood up, because, though I tried not to look directly at him and give away that I was alive/looking at him, he then started walking toward me.
He pulled a revolver from his pocket and loaded a bullet into it as he stepped onto the stairs above me. I bowed my head and exposed the back of my neck, hoping that he would at least be merciful and give me a quick death, because that was all I could hope for.
I think I heard the hammer cocking back once.
And then the gun fell with a thud to the ground as the police officer - maybe even a SWAT officer - took his hands and pulled them behind his back. He went without a fight, allowing himself to be put on the ground, and I could see sense starting to filter back into his cold, emotionless expression. He'd been insane, I knew then - normally he would never just start slaughtering. He didn't have a reason. But some part of him had broken, had said that he was in a den of monsters and that they all deserved to die, all of them, and now he was realizing just how many innocents or semi-innocents he'd killed.
While I started trembling, another police officer stepped around to the side of the stairs and held a hand out reassuringly. I saw the hitman glance over at him, and at first he almost thought it was for him, and I could see grief and relief in his expression and I wanted to hit him. But he realized a second after that no, it was for me, to help me up out of the dirt where I'd nearly died. I couldn't stop shaking, but I let him help me, standing while the night came alive with lights and sirens and more police going inside to see the depths that this hitman's insanity had lead to.
He was usually a good guy - he had morals, which put him one up on a lot of hitmen and mobsters. He didn't kill innocents, he'd actively refused jobs if they were too "evil," but now his "good" side had just...gone crazy without warning. I wanted to feel sympathetic for him when he realized what he had done. All I could remember was the terror I'd felt, and the desperate attempts to feel acceptance toward my impending death as I'd bowed my head beneath his gun.
And then my alarm went off, so I'll likely never know how it all ended.
I dreamed, and at first it was a third-person dream. I don't remember the exact setup, but there was this guy who...vaguely reminds me of House in terms of appearance, actually. He had a reputation as some sort of anti-hero/hitman? Whatever, he was sort of infamous in the mob scene, and was considered one of their best hired killers, but still one with a conscience or something.
The part I remember - the end of it all - took place in a mansion that belonged to a major mob boss, at some sort of party. There were strippers, and dancers of all sorts, and mob people, and it was just this big party. And the hitman was walking through, and then suddenly everything just went slow motion in my dream as he lifted up guns and started shooting, started killing.
Nobody expected it. The dancers died on the stage while still in mid-move. People died while sipping at champagne or other drinks without ever realizing it. My dream showed me all of this in lovely slow motion, showing me the bullets going through people and blood and gore flying everywhere. Then, once people realized what was going on, there were screams and running, and some people ran towards him while trying to shoot back and got killed, and others ran away and got killed.
My dream followed a group of mobsters who ran toward the back of the room and into a stairwell. One guy would have made it, my dream told me, but a stray bullet penetrated the wall at a weak point and took out his spine. Another was hit in a less fatal spot, but it chipped a piece of bone that lodged somewhere that killed him. Another was gut-shot, and would die soon, so the last guy took mercy on him and put a bullet between his eye. And then the last guy (or two?) was running, up the stairs, spiraling up until he came into the mob boss' private penthouse suite on the top floor. The boss was dread, everyone else was dead or dying, and he knew that there was no way he could escape. So he went to a window and screamed "BANZAI!" and jumped, knowing that he would kill himself. He'd rather kill himself than die by that man.
Suddenly I was me, I was in the dream as opposed to a passive observer, and I knew that I was the last one left aside in the mansion aside from the insane hitman. I wasn't a mobster, I was just a person who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't want to die.
Looking around, I found a big window out onto the roof, and a little, half-hidden set of rickety stairs down. I took them, and then jumped from platform to platform down in a way that sort of made me think of a video game, until I made it to the ground outside the mansion. I'd made it! I'd be safe! The hitman would still be searching the house, maybe emerging on the top floor to kill me now, since he wouldn't have seen the bodies of myself or the guy who jumped.
Only he wasn't. He was leaving the house, very near me. I tried to dive under a set of porch stairs - you know, the planked sort, where you can easily see through them - and stared at him in terror from the shadows, and I knew that I hadn't gotten under there fast enough, that at least one leg was still sticking out in visible sight. But he'd turned to face me, and I didn't dare move.
I stared at him and tried to remember how to breathe. He studied the stairs and threw a hefty stone, lofting it between two of the planks to thud into the dirt right in front of me. I can still smell that dirt. I flinched reflexively and closed my eyes from the scattering dirt, and made myself freeze, don't move, please don't move. There was a weird feeling of deja vu, like I'd been in the situation before and that time he'd just turned away and let me live. Maybe that one hadn't happened after a massacre got his blood up, because, though I tried not to look directly at him and give away that I was alive/looking at him, he then started walking toward me.
He pulled a revolver from his pocket and loaded a bullet into it as he stepped onto the stairs above me. I bowed my head and exposed the back of my neck, hoping that he would at least be merciful and give me a quick death, because that was all I could hope for.
I think I heard the hammer cocking back once.
And then the gun fell with a thud to the ground as the police officer - maybe even a SWAT officer - took his hands and pulled them behind his back. He went without a fight, allowing himself to be put on the ground, and I could see sense starting to filter back into his cold, emotionless expression. He'd been insane, I knew then - normally he would never just start slaughtering. He didn't have a reason. But some part of him had broken, had said that he was in a den of monsters and that they all deserved to die, all of them, and now he was realizing just how many innocents or semi-innocents he'd killed.
While I started trembling, another police officer stepped around to the side of the stairs and held a hand out reassuringly. I saw the hitman glance over at him, and at first he almost thought it was for him, and I could see grief and relief in his expression and I wanted to hit him. But he realized a second after that no, it was for me, to help me up out of the dirt where I'd nearly died. I couldn't stop shaking, but I let him help me, standing while the night came alive with lights and sirens and more police going inside to see the depths that this hitman's insanity had lead to.
He was usually a good guy - he had morals, which put him one up on a lot of hitmen and mobsters. He didn't kill innocents, he'd actively refused jobs if they were too "evil," but now his "good" side had just...gone crazy without warning. I wanted to feel sympathetic for him when he realized what he had done. All I could remember was the terror I'd felt, and the desperate attempts to feel acceptance toward my impending death as I'd bowed my head beneath his gun.
And then my alarm went off, so I'll likely never know how it all ended.