My dream last night started very comfortable. I was in a bed with a heavy, soft, and cozy down comforter. I felt very relaxed, like going to sleep in a comfortable bed. The room was pretty bare. There was a living room in front of the room. I saw my mother leaving. In a flashback to being a kid again, I did not want her to leave. She came into my room and calmed me down. Next I played with a remote control. The remote controlled the curtains to the room. It was funny to observe how part of the curtains went to the side and others up. It was kind like in a presidential palace. I became aware of the surroundings of the building. The entrance to the building had narrow hallways and burly guys with short machine guns for safety. It was kind of like in the Middle East. My room was on the second floor and had a little balcony. We were in a neighborhood of a large city. Our neighborhood was Middle Eastern with all the dirt in the street. When the curtains opened fully, a group of gunmen about three buildings away perked up. They started running towards me. They had been observing the building all this time. They suspected me to be inside there, yet weren’t sure until I had shown myself in the window. I was the son to a ruler. They came running now to take over the building. Ahead of the group was a skinny, blonde journalist. She tried to ask me questions. However, after the first question, she realized that she was the tip of a weapon’s confrontation. The journalist and I ran away. My building had been quickly overrun with all the guards shot. Yet, we had slipped out a moment before. The armed men were half minute or a minute behind us. We were running out of the neighborhood to a street, where the journalist had parked her car. Halfway, we path location of a car rental. The journalist says that we should rent a car. I say that we have no time to stand in line. She says that there are some quick rental stalls. They have a little machine. All we have to do is swipe a card and take the car. That sounds like a good idea. However, as we check each stall, it appears that all the cars are taken. Valuable time is lost. I see the sea and harbor that is next to the neighborhood. We are on the street that goes around the boundary of the neighborhood. The journalist can’t remember if we have to go left or right to get to her car. We stalled. And, the next thing, I am in a tall metal office tower in the South West corner of the city. I am inside a gray parking lot floor near a dumpster. I am completely naked with no food, no money, and no identification. Another young man living near the dumpster talks to me. Somehow we decide to band together. As we walk into an office floor of the building, I am closed. We walk past a few cubicles with workers. It is an advertising agency. People are relaxed and happy. They work mostly individually in their cubicles. The guy with me meets a friend of his. They say something in Hebrew. I say something in Hebrew. Now, I am in with them. It turns out that they are Israelis. They try to say that they found a safe place on the other side of the city and want to get me there. I sense that they are Israeli secret service and want to capture me for their own agenda. As I know that they can overpower me, I stall by asking office workers for information like, what time it is, or which city we are in. I suspect that we are in London. However, I can’t clearly confirm it. It is fun to approach the office workers. I need the right kind of smile and relaxed attitude and they respond happily. It is time to leave the building with them to their secret location. I have to go to the bathroom. As I walk into the bathroom, I am trying to find a urinal. It turns out that some of the urinals are only for show and others are exposed to the outside, where there is a small air strip. The urinals that are shielded from passersby have signs on top of them. However, as I look closer at the urinals, they are not normal ceramic urinals. They are buckets, cut open plastic jars, and all kinds of things. The advertising agency promotes personal responsibility. So, they don’t pay for a cleaning service. The employees get to keep the bathrooms as clean as they want them for comfort or as dirty as they want to be lazy. Everyone gets to bring in their own bathroom toilet. Thus, there are all the colorful makeshift containers. One of them even has a long, black pair of high heels inside. I guess someone thought it funny to shit on high heels. Next, I am back in a hallway. A cell phone pops into my hand. I recognize it as my own. The displays shows an update. I accept it eagerly. The update turns on the location service on my cell phone. I hope that my ruling clan with located me with the locater in the cell phone. At the same time, I am concerned that the opposition might use it to find me as well. A few moments later, armed man with large automatic weapons storm the basement of the building. The two Israeli guys and I try to run out. As we reach the elevator, it opens packed with armed men and guns. We run down the stairs. Just as we make it one level down, the elevator door opens with the same gang. So, I figure to avoid being predictable, I run a floor back up. However, it doesn’t work, because there are gangs of armed men on the floors above and below. They are both converging down on my location. We are surrounded. As a last ditch effort, I realized that the stair case has a few hand holds. I leave the ground and hold onto the hand hold like a monkey. I find another hand hold. The staircase turns into a large and round palace type of stair case. I hope that I can find a spot on the ceiling to hide. Yet, I am either hidden from the top or from the bottom, not both directions. And, they are coming from both directions. They have me caught. The Israeli guys are caught half a level below. However, our captors don’t know, which one of us three is me. So, they are confused. Somehow, I manage to get away. I am on a train driving towards a location that I hope is a stronghold of my faction. As I struggle with things like getting a ticket and watching the train go underground into tubes, there are suddenly men in suits on the other side. They look strong. They are a mix of FBI and other law enforcement units. They are in plain clothes to tail me and protect me. I relax. The conductor comes to check tickets. I pay for a ticket. The men in suits discretely show like one inch by one inch gold signs to identify themselves as law enforcement. I wonder, if that is a bad idea, as other people can spot them. Just as the conductor is almost exiting the train compartment, heavily armed gun men appear. The law enforcement people are dead in a second, shot multiple times. I am back on the run.