I have vivid dreams. I think I’ve mentioned this before? Well I just woke up from one, and it even had Bruce Banner in it!

Anyway, in my dream I’m attending this special research University. This place reminds me vaguely of Professor X’s school for the gifted, except I don’t have any special powers, but I’m allowed to play with awesome equipment and technologies no one else can touch. It’s any researchers wet dream, right? I’m not sure why I’m so cool, but this is dreamland. w00t!

I’ve worked all day on some kickass project, and I’m tired, but I’m supposed to go and put in some extra hours with my team after dinner. I run into Bruce, who’s looking all sad and dejected, which he does so well.

“Hey Bruce, what’s wrong?” I ask, typical concerned friend.

He runs a hand through his hair, kicks at a pebble. “I trashed my quarters, so I’ve got to move again. It’s the third time this year. I’m worried the administration is going to flip out.”

I’d give him a hug or a friendly pat on the back, but this is Banner, so I settle for a sympathetic smile. “Hey, they’d never kick you out. C’mon, I’ll help you pack.”

He quietly accepts, and we begin walking towards his quarters. And then everything stops. Everything but me. It’s a scene out of The Adjustment Bureau or The Matrix, and frankly, I’m not too impressed with my creativity in this moment.

I mean, in my dream, I think this. And in steps the GM. The Game Master. This tall, imposing figure sidles up next to me and exudes irritation. He’s also horribly attractive and I’ll leave out who he reminds me of to protect the innocent. Namely: me. 😉 Oddly, he appears to be made of stone, reminding me of a carved chess piece.

“You’re to go work on your team now,” the GM says. “That’s where you belong. This is a deviation from the plan.”

Since when do I follow anyone’s ‘plan’? “Whatever. I’m gonna help Bruce. Look at him, he’s all pouty. I mean he’s always pouty, but I’ll work on the project afterwards.” My hands are on my hips. Bruce is still a statue, and it pisses me off, seeing his Hulk might emasculated by the GM so easily.

The GM steps further into my personal space, knocking me a step backwards. My hands come forward to ward him off, but I can’t push him away. He’s a solid wall. “You will play by the rules,” he says, grabbing my wrists.

I gasp, and my anger flares while I twist and pull, fighting to free my wrists. “No, you obnoxious prig!” I scream.

Then things get cool, because I go a bit Matrix on the GM. He’s still got my wrists, but I continue to fight, kicking and screaming and punching him. He doesn’t lose his hold on me, but my attacks begin to damage him and soon bits of him are flaking and breaking away, crashing to the ground.

The entire world shimmers, his world. By breaking him I’m breaking it too, but I can’t stop. My frustration is just too much to bear. I continue my assault, tears raining down my face as he crumbles in sections.

He never begs for mercy. He simply stares back, unyielding.

I wake up at 4:30, shaking the bed, my wrists in front of my face, ready for the next round.

And this is why I can’t get back to sleep.

The End.