I'm in a strange foreign place that seems like the deck of a ship. Scattered around me are black people, women dressed in bright saris, and children, seeming like refugees. We are all captives of these large black guards with guns.

They seem to make a game out of firing at us with a large automatic rifle mounted on a tripod. They strafe the crowd, hitting some, and I hear wails and cries. I dive behind a metal object and hide, but it is not a solid object; between some slats I can see the gun. The rifle doesn't make any noise, and sometimes I can't tell if it's firing or not, but I watch the barrel closely. I see that bullets are coming out, and it is rotating toward me, so I dive behind a more solid metal object that seems to offer more protection, but from my position laying on the deck behind it, I can't see the gun.

I know that I could still be shot at any time. It occurs to me that if I get shot in the head, I'd never know it, my existence would simply disappear. If I got shot in the leg or elsewhere, it would hurt. Apparently I'm filming some sort of travel documentary with Joe, who is around somewhere, but doesn't seem to be in danger. I don't want the documentary to end abruptly with my death.

I make my way to a cafeteria, where I am seated with some people at a long table. I'm on the end, in the corner, and Matt Damon comes in, dressed as one of the guards, and carrying a huge shotgun and something else that looks like a large cake. We're all wary of him. He goes straight to me and pulls a cover off the cake thing to expose a nearly-empty bottle of vodka. He wants me to take a drink of it, but I refuse, thinking that he will probably kill me for this vice. So next he produces a live goldfish in a bag, which I am supposed to drink or something, but again I refuse to cooperate.

Matt is actually pretty nice, and he doesn't understand why we are so wary. "What's the matter?" he asks, and I explain that the guards are just indiscriminately killing, and it is cruel. He says that they are just doing their job.

"No", I say, "they don't have to do this. They don't."