Timothy Paradox

I was with someone else, standing on some train tracks in an industrial area. I worked there, as did the other person. On the platform next to the tracks stood two men. I thought they were guys coming from load/unload product (which is what I used to do years ago, load/unload train wagons and ships with liquid product). But for some reason, I knew they were bad news. I tried to slip away, and fled down the tracks. My friend stayed where he was. They weren't after him, perhaps. The two guys noticed me and chased me down. They were unnaturally fast. One of them simply ran past me, and blocked my escape. The other stayed behind me. I realized escape wasn't possible, so I ended up fighting. The fight went a lot easier than expected. They were quite weak, and I beat them relatively easily. I think I killed them by slashing them with a knife. By the way, I think they were Nazi's.

The dream continued in an indoor area. A large room, perhaps a warehouse. I think I witnessed (as a camera, not a character) two of my former high school friends (we are not on speaking terms anymore) being butchered by someone (Nazi's?). One was cut up with a knife, the other killed in an adjacent room (he was in a chair, I think). From that point onward, I set out to fix this. I was suddenly back in a control room (like the ones I used to work in during that last job). A coworker whom I really f*cking hated in real life (mostly because he hated me, too) passed me a job, and/or made a remark. Surprisingly, I managed to laugh off the remark and keep civil, something I never managed before. I felt I was "undercover", and this was somehow vital to saving my ex-friends. In the end I found my 'friends' again, albeit dead. I had to "piece together" one friend bit by bit. His hand, still in a black leather glove, had been cut off. I put him back together, then injected him with a syringe containing a strange liquid. It healed and resurrected him. I thought about doing the other one as well, but he was suddenly alive again without my intervention. I met them later on, and they were very grateful. One called me a hero. I hate that term, it feels pretentious. Then again, I'm an egomaniac with delusions of modesty.