I had a number of VR-based adventure game dreams, which were not terribly interesting except the part where people were coming out of the game and all their virtual clothes/identity were being stripped away and they were going back to their main form. I was reading over a page which was listing the charges for the session, and the bill was sort of like a cafe bill for food and things like that.
me: "Wait, hold on. What is this game? How did I get here?"
Wandering out in the parking lot of the cafe, I was attacked by a bunch of people in red motorcycle helmets. I became very angry and ripped off one of their helmets and started breaking up their formations by pummeling them with it. When they were defeated, I walked into a nearby building and a woman approached me.
her: "Want to meet your writer?"
me: "What do you mean by 'writer'?"
her: "Come on, I'll show you."
She took me down a narrow hallway, with rooms that seemed to have emaciated corpses in each small place.
me: "So...as evidenced by the fact I'm here talking to you now somehow, this writer-dead-body isn't 'me'...it's a separate thing."
her: "Yes, completely separate. You didn't even have a writer initially, usually they are paired up with boys when they are much younger than you."
me: "Okay, but... I mean, how do we relate? What do we do together?"
her: (laugh) "You could bring him some soup."
I take it that was a joke, because the bodies looked very dead, and the lighting was terrible. Looked something like this:
She tried to get me to go into a room to see her surgical work on one of these "writers", which was bloody and gross.
me: "No thank you. Though I am glad you're one of the people who can casually deal with blood and gore, I cannot. I do have more questions though...what is this place? Is it somehow 'reality', like the place I'd end up in if I were to kill myself?"
A man standing up on a ledge looking down on us interjected.
man: "You would only be here for the first 24 hours. Then there would be a trial. And your founders and parents would have input on what's next. Yours are in Arizona, right?"
I corrected him on where my parents live. He then said oh right, and correctly rattled off their names. There were some other questions I tried to ask him, but he seemed to say something like "you're an idiot" and walked off.
Taking the stairs up to where he had been, I approached an ordinary-looking couple who were sitting at a desk. They seemed to be doing a very basic writing exercise, like what kids might do in handwriting class. I stopped them and informed them about the fact that I was asleep, and dreaming, and yet quite aware of the environment and thus had a lot of questions.
them: (sincerely) "Oh, hey, that's good for you!"
Then I woke up.
This "meet your writer" and surgical procedures in the afterlife theme has appeared once before.
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