That fiend, REM, trespassed on my slumber once again. Of course, coherency was out of the question.
I was an accomplice in a quadruple-homicide. My associates: the “M13” gang. The butchered bodies were double-bagged at tossed into the trunk of an old vehicle (an Oldsmobile comes to mind.) My final task was to carry the four bags into a hotel room without being spotted by the police or rival gang members; but, suspected members of said rival gang arrived before I could make the move. A swarm of M13 members and I ran into the hotel for cover. As I ransacked the corridor, I realized I didn’t know where I was going. I scanned the doors and the room, 707, made sense to me. The door was unlocked. I stumbled in and found myself in a labyrinth.
Now, the gang reference is easily explained by a story I heard that night involving a gang with a similar name; the rest exists as cryptic scrap metal for my amusement.