Thread: 03/07/2008 - "Batman, the Punisher"

03/07/2008
Dream Two:
”Batman the Punisher”

(Awesome, action-packed dream last night. It was really long, but I’d woken up afterward and, before getting up to write it down, had fallen back asleep and forgotten a lot of it.)
I was putting Cierra to bed and I think we were in a hotel or something at first, because the room was unfamiliar. I decided to lay down with her for a while so we could watch TV, and I remember something about her begging me for a piece of candy. I was reluctant, because she was supposed to be trying to go to sleep, but I gave in and gave her a small piece of chocolate.

Now, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I think there was a hit put out on my daughter and I. That part is kind of fuzzy, but the next thing I know is that I became Batman and I was absolutely enraged that someone had given the order to kill my daughter, let alone myself. I don’t remember whether or not they’d succeeded in killing her but, either way, the intention was there, and it was all the same to me.

I was now out in the hallways, just ripping through hordes of these henchmen that had been sent to do the job. Fighting them was absolutely amazing, because I was being just so slick about the movements, anticipating their gunfire and just slipping and weaving around fluidly like Batman in the animated series, often dodging their attacks, effortlessly, with my arms down at my sides and the cape just hanging down around me. When some of the guys would charge at me, I’d simply duck and bring my shoulder up into them, flipping them over my back and tossing them off of the balcony railing. I had the memory-foam type of cloak, like in Batman Begins except that, in its hardened state, it became bullet proof, so whenever I got in a spot where I was unable to avoid the gunfire, I would grab the cloak and pull it up in front of my body, making it hard. I would still feel the bullet hit me, like a stone, but the cloak would keep it from penetrating. After moments of fighting these men in the dimly lit hallways, I’d forced one of them to tell me who ordered the hit. He told me it was Howard Saint (John Travolta’s character in the movie The Punisher, which I’d just watched again, the other day).

Next thing I know, it’s early morning and I’m sneaking in to Saint’s mansion, through one of the upper floors. He and his family were having a very seemingly normal morning and I spent some time listening. I knew (from the movie) that his sons were involved in the same sort of mafia-like activities that Saint was, but his wife and teenage daughter (he didn’t have a daughter in the movie, and his wife was completely different) didn’t seem like they’d pose much of a threat. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t hurt them. When I had my chance, I snuck up on Saint (though I don’t remember doing it) and grabbed him by the collar. We stood, eye to eye for a moment as his wife and daughter walked in and saw what was happening. I snarled at him about his evils and whatnot and told him how I’d come to take him down. He got the drop on me, though, pulling a pistol from out of his shirt. At such a close range, I was just barely able to get my arm and cloak in between my chest and his gun when he fired. The hardened cloak stopped the bullet, but the impact pushed me backward, off of him. I’d barely had a chance to gain my footing when more of his henchmen – led by his sons – stormed in, guns blazing. I had to leave saint where he was and go on the defense, again activating the cloak and charging at some of the shooters, taking them down one by one. One of his sons followed me into the kitchen and I kept slipping around from cover to cover, faster than he could aim and fire. I don’t remember how but I ended up taking him out. One guy with a shotgun stepped up and I got in close, trying to wrestle it away from him. Even more re-enforcements followed and began just blasting away at us. My only recourse was the grab the guy I was struggling with and jump out the window that was right behind me to escape the hail of gunfire.

We rolled out into the yard, and I stripped the shotgun from the henchman and took him out (don’t remember what I did to him). Just then, a car came speeding out of the garage. It was Saint, and the rest of his family, and they were about to get away. Without thinking twice, I grabbed the shotgun off of the ground and ran into the path of the car, jumping into the air and landing in a crouch on the hood, my cape wrapping around the front of the car. Absolutely blinded by rage, I pumped the shot gun – which pumped the opposite way as IRL shotguns, meaning that you pulled the pump away from the trigger-housing, instead of toward it – I fired blast after blast directly into the driver’s side of the windshield, inches away from Saint’s face. All the shots did, though, was spider-web the – obviously armored – glass. It didn’t penetrate. Saint then swerved the car to one side, rolling me off of the hood. In an instant I was back on my feet and aiming at the car again as they passed by. I noticed his wife sitting in the passenger side but the first person I saw in the back seat was his son, and I shot off two more blasts, cracking the back, passenger side window but not breaking it.

I was just about to give chase, when a black SUV came up behind me. More of Saint’s henchmen were coming in fast, leaning out the window and firing automatic weapons at me. Having to give up the chase, I cut to the side of the road and zig-zagged my way between two houses, bullets barely missing me. I knew they were still following though, even through the grass, and the last thing I can remember is my continuing to try to escape their gunfire.