nicholasI was in some sort of elite platoon of soldiers whose task was to free a precious spring of clean water from the clutches of a nebulous villainous entity. It all took place in a massive post-apocalyptic, mountainous landscape. I couldn’t figure out if we were on earth or if in fact, it was taking place in some strange of-world scenario.
We periodically would make forays into “enemy territory” to attempt to wrest control of this particular fresh water source. I keenly remember the rest of my team members. They were not in any respect garbed as soldiers, in fact, most of them consisted of my fellow students from ITP dressed as they would be on any given day in New York City. Even though I use the word “platoon”, there was in no way any sort of militaristic quality about any of our endeavors. Most of our fighting was done using verbal coercion and subtle body movements. We would engage in tactical arrangements of personnel when we were engaged in a military operation but our strategies were largely non-violent.
The moment I remember first is that we were responsible for attempting to wrest control from a group of policemen who were in command of a secret spring of clean water. They weren’t policemen in the respect that they were in uniform, they looked like generic, fat, mustachioed detectives from the seventies, replete with plaid blazers, aviators, big bellies, and khaki slacks. They were unarmed, intractable, and cantankerous. We were temporarily on assignment in a wretched, post-apocalyptic part of the planet where they were ransoming natural resources as a ploy to make money. There was very little clean water, vegetation, or organic life of any kind. We had planned our approach from the mouth of a cave. I lucidly remember making aggressive, persuasive, conversation with one of the police from behind an overturned cruiser in a crater next to the hotspring. I was lying in the dirt and I could see his leather shoes from underneath the car. I was trying to convince of the futility of holding the spring hostage any longer as our “organization” was the only one with any financial clout and that we were determined not to cough up any money. I can’t quite recollect how we won but somehow they gave up and we were victorious in the end.
We reconvened back at headquarters after the skirmish. We were in some sort of technologically intensive compound. It was multi-tiered, fabricated mostly out of red and purple steel grating, and had a dense layer of flashing screens, and touch-screen monitors and there was a whole group of officious, technological lab assistants scurrying about. We were clearly in a post-mission decompression state.
That unfortunately is the limit of what I can remember.
CRYING FIGHTING HINDU DEITIES MENTORS NEW AGE SHOPPING MALLS