I recently finished writing an original episode of Jonny Quest. I’d come off weeks of binge watching the show—all incarnations of it, including The Real Adventures. My plan was to pitch it to agents. Ring them in with nostalgia. I knew it would be a longshot, but try telling that to the muse.

            In my episode, the characters were quite a bit older. Instead of entering another world through virtual reality, they took drugs. Hadji had just come back from a trip to India, where he got the goods. He approached Jonny at the perfect time. The clunky virtual reality contraption was having electrical issues. Jonny was pretty heated. He needed a fix of excitement or he’d lose his shit. So he didn’t hesitate when Hadji offered. He just took the drugs and sat down in the chair of the defunct VR machine and waited for something to happen.

            And you guessed it: he got his wish. This drug transported him into a thoroughly bizarre universe—less programed-feeling than VR, yet way more intense. Also he didn’t have control. Someone else did. But who?

            Later, Hadji explains that the drug transports you into the dreams of alien beings. Only through rigorous training do you learn how to gain autonomy (and an identity) in the dream state. That’s when Jonny has some news for Hadji: the alien whose dream he had invaded was a militant critter planning to invade Earth.

            What do you think? That’s beside the point, of course. Unless you’re an agent. But chances are you’re not. Or don’t you have better things to be reading?

            But imagine for a second that this scenario in my Jonny Quest episode is real, except that we are the aliens. That means the little, otherworldly beings are taking some drug, invading our dreams, and trying to gain autonomy within the confines of our sleeping brains. They’re trying to stop us from invading their physical world.

            The other night, beginning in an otherwise common dream set in a house where I grew up, I encountered not one but several foreign creatures that have caused me to dwell on this idea.

            Here’s a glimpse into my dream:

            The primary actor was a shapeshifter. At any moment, it would take on a new form. This creature, despite its constant changes, was most certainly the protagonist—the Jonny Quest figure—of the dream.

            Accompanying Jonny was a second fully autonomous character—but this one didn’t shapeshift; it didn’t need to. It was fully realized in a more perfect (though perhaps less powerful) way. This would be the Hadji character, to keep with the parallel. The third character (I believe there were only three) was not fully autonomous. It was half stuck in any backdrop in which it appeared. This character, I suppose, can be referred to as Jonny’s dog, Bandit.

            I was looking for food in a walk-in pantry. But instead of food, the pantry was full of various illicit substances—pleasant and unpleasant ones. Also plenty of straight poison. I remember seeing at least a few skull & crossbones symbols as I dug through the pantry.

            In my search, I was pretending to look for something innocent, like Cap’n Crunch or Pop Tarts. But secretly I was really after these specific erotic pictures. (The underlying motivation for my search was the most important element of the dream. That I remember clearly. It wasn’t a visual component of the dream, but nonetheless it was crucial, somehow.) I could sense exactly where the pictures were located. One of them I could actually envision, even though it was still hidden behind stacks of poison: it was an image of a girl on roller skates pulling her top off. I wanted quite strongly to reach for the picture, but I didn’t want to reveal that I knew where it was.

            While I was sorting through the poison—allegedly looking for cereal—Jonny Quest was creeping over my shoulder. Without warning, he suddenly slammed the pantry door shut. I was locked in! I began to scream. Everything was in slow motion. Then the floor gave way. I fell through darkness. But no—I didn’t really fall. I clung to the edge of a shelf. Below me was the dog, Bandit, oddly standing in an alley, but also right below me—as I dangled over what in all other respects was an endless abyss.

            It was then that I noticed Hadji sitting on the shelf right above the one I was clinging to. He was going through canisters of chemicals one by one, eating their contents and throwing the empty canisters aside. Bandit dodged the items as they fell, then studied them, not completely comprehending.

            Back in the house, Jonny had become a sort of wise man with theatrically “wise” features. Apparently frustrated that he couldn’t locate the object of my secret desires, he picked up the closet (which had by now become disembodied from the house) and shook it. I began to scream more frantically than ever.

            It’s fuzzy, what happened next. The transition wasn’t calculated in any rational way. But there I was—now on the sideline of a soccer field, standing frozen in the rain. The field was populated by my old soccer buddies from my school days. The game was evidently stymied, but there was healthy competition on the wind. In this context, Jonny Quest again made his appearance. This time it was more obvious than before that he was sleuthing for something—trying to understand the rules of my dream and also, I imagine, the secrets of my mind.

            The dog character was chasing the soccer ball. Hadji was talking with one of my old school chums. I vaguely comprehended the nature of the conversation, although presumably some part of my subconscious was giving answers. Jonny Quest, meanwhile, was staring me down. He stood in the middle of the pitch. It was raining heavily, but he of all characters didn’t seem particularly wet, as though the rules of the dream didn’t quite apply to him.

            A ref blew a whistle. It was then that I realized I had to cross the field. The dream wasn’t about the game—it was about the secret trap door on the far corner of the field. I made a run for it. Jonny had a motorcycle. He went after me at top speed. He was a tattooed punk on his bike. Then he was a pirate. Then a green-eyed, non-human figure reaching out for me. Hadji, Bandit, and all of my school buddies (suddenly turned against me!) joined in on the chase.

            Again, the slow motion. I made a dive for the edge of the field, wrenched open a square patch of turf, and dove headfirst down a long, dark tunnel.

            That was the second of a variety of dream sequences. Sometime during the course of the night, Jonny Quest got the better of me. He trapped me, also trapping the rules of the dream, and held it all in the palm of his hand. When I was all but immobilized in my own dream, I awoke. I felt violated and defeated. It was some time before I felt like myself again.

            After that dream, I stayed up for days watching old Jonny Quest episodes, hoping for something to “click” in my understanding of the stakes at issue. What a great show, by the way. Or maybe it’s just the nostalgia I’m feeling? In any case, nothing ever clicked with me. If Jonny Quest ever returns to my dreams, I’ve already decided I’m going to offer him all my secrets without a fight. All my naked girl fantasies, all the clues to the hidden escape passages in the soccer fields of my youth—everything. What do I care? According to my script, Jonny Quest is the one who needs to save his planet from me.

            For that matter, maybe that’s what he wanted—that script to be written. Now the story of his adventures can continue and his world can live on in our world. But how will he find me an agent?