Warning - very gory and disturbing. Proceed with caution.
I didn't sleep the night before last night (forgot to take my meds that make that possible), but the night before that, I had a dream involving some kind of X-Files-ey serial killer. His victims had the tops of their heads cut open and the skin stretched out a bit to form a kind of ridge two or three inches tall, then sewn back together like that, and were sort of zombie-ish. At a command (I don't remember exactly what the word was - it might have been "disgorge"), they all vomited up their blood and internal organs.
Last night, I had a dream where I was in a building much like a college dormitory. I was made of living, shape-shifting metal, and I had been asked to join the Avengers, refused, and then changed my mind. Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, and also Jack and the person whose name I forgot who thought he was the Doctor but wasn't really in one of the Christmas specials, were at the front desk. As I approached, the Avengers people left, and the Doctor Who characters stayed. Then I became convinced that the Doctor could help me, and that I absolutely had to talk to him. We went into the elevator, which didn't take us to the floor we selected, but to a random one, which was a very mechanized/industrial place. Somehow I was with the Avengers people, and masses of rust-colored chain were forming out of nothing, and would trap us if we stepped on them, except that I could absorb them and Hulk could crush them. We had to follow them to find what was creating them. Then somehow we ended up back in the elevator, and it took us to the 335th floor, and the door became glass or some other clear substance - we realized we were in some kind of monitoring device, and outside, extremely close, was a Dalek. It looked very closely at the device the elevator had become, and then its outside came off, and underneath was one of the things from my dream two nights prior.
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Yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage. For although nepenthe has calmed me, I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.
-H. P. Lovecraft, "The Outsider"