There is a cabal of young men, adolescent, calling themselves “The Brotherhood of the Dark Revolution.” Their hair is cut short, their faces are smooth; their robes are white, and tinted rose. It seems they have come together in anticipation of what they call the Dark Revolution. This is an event of apocalyptic proportions, in which the Earth is covered in darkness following a great burning. Though their role in this catastrophe is unclear to me, it seems that through some mysterious transmutation they will achieve immortality and become the dominant — if not the only — survivors of this event.Indeed, they are already possessed of telepathic powers, their voices sounding in each others’ heads behind unmoving lips and untroubled eyes. I do not know if this is a mutation conveyed upon or developed by them as a group, or if it somehow brought them together in the first place.
They have established a base in an unused building of a large industrial plant (possibly a gasoline processing plant). A sort of concrete bunker has been converted into a shrine in which they hold their meetings. I remember it clearly. Concrete steps lead up the side of a low, grassy grade, narrowing as they approach the entrance to the shelter. Buildings in the background. There is no door, only a small stone archway, revealing a colorful, softly-lit interior. The walls are panels of light, the same rosy color as the boys’ robes. Some sort of backlit scene dominates the rear wall — I can’t make it out, but it is a light blue. The building is effectively a small chapel.
The first time I see it, it is in the daytime; the chapel is empty. Later, two robed boys hurry along a dirt road within the plant. A gasoline truck barrels by on the other side of a dirt embankment. Night is falling as they ascend the stairway, which is now lined with candles or lights. A meeting of the Brotherhood is in progress. They are restless; a hubub of thought-projections bubbles from the open archway.
Closeup of the interior: a single boy — the leader? — faces the assembled, his head backlit in blue. No one speaks aloud, yet an argument is in full swing. There seems to be dissent about an action to be taken, or perhaps about the time of the great burning. It is not clear whether the Brotherhood seeks to instigate it, or merely to act when it does come. The voices grow louder. The leader struggles for control. My dream ends with him projecting, “Do we have a complete veto here, or is there any agreement at all?” He is shouted down, and the crowd moves forward between the glowing panels, wrestling him down from the podium.