Dreams.

First, the four of us were hanging out in the neighborhood: me, a friend, an acquaintance, and some new guy we'd supposedly drank with once before; we were cruising in the acquaintance's car. Then the acquaintance went home, and the new guy decided to stop by his place before we continued our walk. He ran ahead, and my friend and I walked leisurely toward him. He lived on some small, eerie industrial island, where merciless waves crashed against the jagged rocky shores. There was no vegetation on the island, but there were piles of infrastructure everywhere, and people walked along slippery pipes to get from one place to another. We reached his house, entered the entrance hall, passed some people, and got into the elevator. The elevator was like something from a base—a small square platform with yellow metal railings. In general, the house resembled some kind of alien colony, like in Doom, for example. We went up to his floor, he came out with his girlfriend, and we set off to explore his island. Fighter jet squadrons were bombing the island's coast, while we were planning to go to the cinema and watch some movie for two hundred and something. We wandered off across the island, but I got curious and decided to follow the guy. He and his girl were standing on some cliff chatting, and nearby, a sniper in a mechanized suit was lying in wait. I lunged at him and destroyed him, then other assassins swarmed in from all sides, and the three of us began fighting them. We were all in mechanized suits. Then the girl transformed into a motorcycle; he hopped on and rode off, and somehow I was flying alongside them. I thought—no way, he's not going to... and that's exactly what happened—to do something (I don't know, steer or adjust the speed), he pressed one breast or the other, which, after the transformation into this vehicle, ended up on top and apparently replaced the handlebars (in that position, they even became larger than usual). A desperate chase with a shootout followed, but we broke out into the center of the island, into the city limits. A canal-river crossed the center of the island; his girlfriend transformed again, this time into some strange metal platform that was submerged end-first in the water, with only one edge remaining above the water level. The guy had disappeared somewhere by then, so I shed the mechanized suit and, wearing only a t-shirt and pants, cruised along the canal on the edge of that platform. Then we shook off the pursuers, she transformed back, and the three of us stepped ashore. Meanwhile, I called my friend and told him what had happened. I said: "You won't believe it—I was cruising down the central canal on that guy's girlfriend." Then the three of us, all in ordinary clothes, entered some small house that "the trail" had led us to. It was already getting dark. The house was sort of an office or a production building; things were scattered everywhere, and there was no one around. I accessed a computer and found out that an alien ship had recently crashed in the vicinity of the island, which was where all the trouble started. But the computer screamed BEWARE OF PILOT! BEWARE OF PILOT! and we realized things were about to get rough. A fly flew into the house; it turned out that the fly was the pilot. For some reason, it started flying around and stinging people (probably with its proboscis, ha-ha), turning them into bloodthirsty killers and erasing their personalities forever. For some reason, it wanted to kill us specifically. We had ordinary towels with us, and we started waving them, trying to swat the fly. In the end, I succeeded. It was sad—killing a sentient pilot from another planet—but the computer explained that humans had used it for their experiments: they would open up a living human's skull and force the fly to lay eggs inside, while pumping the fly full of drugs. Over time, it lost its mind. It seems the fly decided that only we could stop this madness, which is why it led us here. And after our desperate battle, we compared our towels to see who was cooler. The measure was quite simple: whoever had more sweat or dirt won, as that meant they had participated in more adventures. My remnants of the pilot-fly, stuck to the towel, outweighed the others, and I won.

That's the dream I had; absolutely mind-blowing, I loved it.