i'm still feeling some kind of phantom guilt because last night in my dream i kind of got this guy killed trying to save my own skin. we were working in some kind of criminal or spy organization, i'm not sure if i was a double agent but something definitely went awry and to buy myself time i ratted out this other guy. who they then executed via live burial by continually slowly pouring sand into the pit they'd dumped him in. this seemed like a climactic hero moment where i/my character was supposed to rise to the occasion and intervene buuuuuut instead i took the opportunity to make my cowardly escape, except i also bumbled into a dungeon of mutilated dead and dying bodies on the way out. then i was on the run, but the dream changed tone so it felt more like a surreal leisurely vacation through a strangely desolate pseudo-america. at one point, i stopped in a gallery where the only attraction was watching a mansion through a full-wall window, a mansion that was built on a tiny offshore islet and was being gradually destroyed via monster waves that rose over the entire roof yet somehow didn't immediately topple it. very cinematic.

so the moral of the story is... uh. don't be a spy, be a nihilistic architect!