I was being badgered by a fellow I didn't trust the look of while walking home. He was asking a lot -- my name, where I lived, other things you wouldn't tell a stranger -- but I answered everything truthfully, as you would in a dream. I didn't let him know of my home when we got to it (we walked along while talking, like the strangest of friends) and I carried on with him, planning to peel off later and circle back around.

A friend of his joined us. Light-haired and a little skittish. He seemed nice. He stopped and gestured as we passed an alley, appparently recognising the three dark-clothed lads there. It got violent, but my first acquaintance was unusually strong. He threw one of them on top of the nearby bins with a single punch to the jaw. The other two met a similar fate, and we checked their wallets. Within one were several photos of me, some from my childhood, all unsettling. I somehow knew these three were hired to deal with me, but didn't know why. I took the photos and hid the wallet under the guy taking a nap on the bins. Time to go home.

My apartment was three floors up in a five-storey building with no elevator. Panicked, I took the stairs two at a time, not counting the floors, and ended up with nothing more to climb. What? I should have recognised my door by now. I went back down. Pinned to my door was an eviction notice, but dated several months old. How long had I been out? More worryingly, it was messily covered in white-out and marker. Reason for eviction redacted. Issuing office redacted. Even the signature. Time to leave.

My escape was reversed when I heard a pair of smart shoes walking up the stairs, and the light-haired friend convincing them that going straight to the fifth floor was a better idea than checking any of the doors on the third floor. Thanks, but no thanks, because my apartment was locked, this guy coming after me already knew that, and the landing didn't exactly leave anywhere to hide. As quietly as possible, I strode back up the stairs, but the sound of footsteps only intensified.
I caught glimpses of the smartly-dressed official through the banister. He had a gun. I had a plan, sort of. I waited halfway up the final staircase as he ignored the third floor. If I could somehow get behind him, I could be on my way out before he knew what was going on! He was halfway to the fourth floor, so I readied my plan by, uh, climbing over the handrail. Landing on stairs from a one-and-a-half floor drop shouldn't be too hard, right? Fourth floor. Now or never. I took a breath, let go of the handrail, and woke up.