Good morning, everybody.
I had probably been involved in some crime. I was probably partners in crime with another man, possibly my brother. The crime may have been something conventional, such as stealing something or harming somebody. But it may rather have been something more unconventional and just, like a crime of civil disobedience. I had been blamed for this crime only recently. I was now on the run from the people who were pursuing me to arrest me.
I was running through a gigantic tunnel underpass, like a huge tunnel that might pass under a river or a mountain. The walls of the tunnel were green and flat, like the background of an old comic book style cartoon series. I was running on a ledge or walkway that looked out over the traffic in the tunnel. There were four or five lanes of cars, all with the traffic heading in the same direction.
I saw my partner in crime driving in one of the lanes. He may have known I was attempting to flee. He may have brought his car here in order to help me flee. He hadn't been helping me before. In fact, I felt like he had done something to shift the blame for the crime off of him and onto me. But for some reason he was helping me now.
My partner's car looked like a cartoon version of the Batmobile. I somehow jumped from the ledge and toward the car, which was at least ten meters away from where I stood. I descended through a slot-like hole in the top of a bubble-like dome that went over the passenger seat of the car.
Landing in the car, I slid as far down in the seat as I could, so that it would look like there was nobody in the passenger seat. I knew there were police on the lookout for me everywhere. I imagined two or three police cars up ahead, monitoring all the cars that passed for any trace of someone who looked like me.
The tunnel was packed with traffic. But we seemed to be moving steadily. My partner, most likely my brother, began talking to me about where we were going. As he spoke, we seemed to be accelerating. We also seemed to be moving down a slope.
My brother said that we had both been called to a place where we were going to learn how to fly SR-71 Blackbirds. The place we were going to was called the Global Education Center. We had been chosen to train as some kind of special agents at this place because of our unique abilities.
My brother and I were now before an instructor at the Global Education Center. The instructor told us all the stuff we would learn in order to be SR-71 pilots. One of the things we would learn was how to handle the button that would drop a nuclear bomb from the jet. I imagined a red, missile-shaped button amid a black configuration that must have been a keyboard but that looked like the nose of an SR-71.
I told the instructor that I didn't want to know how to drop a nuclear bomb. I didn't want to have anything to do with nuclear bombs. I asked him if I could take all the rest of the training and fly the SR-71 in some capacity other than that of a potential bomb dropper. The instructor was probably disappointed in me. He may have told me no, that if I wasn't going to learn all the aspects of the SR-71, that I couldn't learn any of them.
I had the feeling that the instructor was getting ready to kick me out of the Global Education Center. The instructor may have been getting ready to do something even worse to me, such as imprison me as a person who now "knew too much" to be allowed back among civilians. He may even have been planning to erase my memory or even kill me.
But I was less concerned about all of this than I was about being thought weak by my instructor. I started justifying my thoughts, proving to myself that my desire not to drop the bomb hadn't been weak. And I started convincing myself that my instructor really did like me, and that he really did have plans to use me in some other capacity at the Global Education Center.