After a strange scene where I was eating some fairly tasty food off of a carpeted floor, I found myself in a hospital bed with a young Indian-looking boy standing next to me. His head was unusually adult-like.
boy: "Oh, your people would be so much better off if they knew we were watching over you!!"
me: "Who's we? I mean, what are you?"
boy: "We are the Quid."
I didn't know the Latin etymology of Quid, but it means "the inherent nature of something"
me: "Watching over how? Can you read my dream journal? The... realityhandbook, it's a LiveJournal."
boy: "Yes. I have produced several translations of it. Yet I have to say that a lot of what you write is over my head--don't know what it means at all."
me: "What am I supposed to do?"
boy: "You should be engaging your military-industrial complex. Go for it, they should study you, what are you waiting for?!"
me: "They won't listen. If you're watching, how can I get in touch with you?"
boy: "Well, most of the children here have already taken their medicine, so they won't notice if one more goes missing. Here."
He gave me a packet with some pills in it that you had to punch through foil.
I punched a pill out of it and took it, but it was difficult--as if I were swallowing a large wad of gum.
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