I was at a very modern Icelandic hotel built with enormous blocks of white concrete and long, narrow horizontal layers of reflective glass on the edge of an icy ocean. The entire edifice was stark against a cold, slate-blue sky and looked like a stronghold. The icy sea behind the building seemed to blend in with the ashen asphalt of the parking lot.
It was quite pleasant, however inside, filled with the buzz and bustle of activity as a meeting place of this magnitude might attract on any given day. The staff and guests alike were busing themselves with their tasks but I felt something was wrong. Very, very wrong. So with my unease, and looking over my shoulder, I made my way out the front lobby, and into the parking lot where a beautiful old-skool BMW Z1 was sitting adjacent my car. A strawberry blonde was getting out of it and being greeted by two well-dressed thugs. The same two thugs who were forcibly escorting me back into the building.
I ditched the thugs by darting through a stairwell door and just kept running down and down and down the flights of stairs, descending into the sub-basement of the hotel. Finally at the bottommost level, I came across a heavy steel door with no handle, shut tight. Or...was it? I noticed just a bit of door protruding, and hearing the quick fall of steps behind me, I slowly and deliberately pried the door open with my fingertips. Slipping through, and dismayed to discover no handle on the other side in which to close the door, I picked up a crowbar laying near the threshold which I assumed was for this purpose, and pried the door close.
Turning around I found myself in an office environment. Cubicles, hallways, high-walled offices, open collaborative spaces, desks and lots and lots of computers, filing cabinets and office workers dressed in business casual. As I walked from one end to the other, purposely looking like I was lost and figuring I could tell someone I took a wrong turn (although I was doubtful I'd be able to pull it off given everything I went through to get down here) someone eventually approached me and asked me to come with them. It was the strawberry blond from the parking lot.
I followed her to a desk near the corner office passing a lab where white-gloved employees analyzed drinking glasses and used facial tissue. When I asked about what they were doing, she explained creating a database of fingerprints and DNA. We then sat at her desk where I filled out a very lengthy questionnaire, and finally put it all together. THE MENNONITES WERE FORCIBLY RECRUITING MEMBERS!
Nearly blind with panic I fled the office, crashing through doors until I found myself face-to-face with six or seven men-in-black types complete with Matrix agent style sunglasses. And then we tussled. At one point I was thrown into the freezing sea, and knew it would kill me in a matter of seconds if I didn't do something fast - so I levitated. I rose up out of the water, completely dry, and single-handedly tossed six guys into their icy grave. With no time to reflect on the horror of what I'd done, I ran around the building to the parking lot out in front where the strawberry blonde met me to aid in my escape. But where my car had been, was an empty spot - and her car as well was gone - they were onto us!
We approached the Volksvagen/Honda S2000 Hybrid and she pushed the disarm button on her key fob. The dials on the dash canted back and elongated. A shifter rose from the transmission hump and the transverse mounted engine rotated and grew two cylinders, filling out the hood and cramping the cabin. Both the "VW" symbol on the back and Honda's "H" on the steering wheel transformed into the BMW emblem. Amazed, I hopped in the passenger seat of the now-boxy car, and off we took!
Soon, we were in wheat country, where a Mennonite Revival was getting ready to start. Many freshly-scrubbed, eager, newly-brainwashed young people were excited to spread the Word of God to unbelievers. I saw my mother at the edge of the iron tracks - the boundary for this revival, and she was unable to pass. I walked purposely noticeably unhurried toward her, though I was freaking out on the inside. She had a message she wanted me to give my great-grandfather Blaydes, who was, as we were speaking, making his way through the wheat fields like the old woman in The Stand. He had his suspenders on, and his hat, and I'm pretty sure the message I was to give him when he arrived was confirmation, for he was going to exorcise the evil which had rooted in the Mennonites.