I am in my apartment in the Bronx, sleeping. I hear noise in the foyer. Two dolls, hanging from a doorknob, have come to life. I speak to the male doll and the female doll and feel happy. I have made two friends. Then we are outside in a country at war. The terrain is hilly and partially wooded. Helicopters appear and fire rockets, which explode in a suppressed manner. There is no full and dense explosion. Instead, on impact the force of the blast shoots out to the left and right. This happens several times. We begin running. A fighter plane appears overhead. I expect it to strafe us. Unexpectedly, it pulls up from a power dive and on the upswing drops a cloud of white powder or gas, which we run from. We are spotted or captured by police. Recollection ends here.