"Yes, let me throw myself in front of a bullet,' Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes. He knew every twist and turn, not worrying that he couldn't stay ahead of the people themselves. The bullets was another story. He could almost predict the pattern of the projections but the bullets could careen in a dozen ways, any number of which could mean his death in the dream.
"What the hell are you doing," he asked, skittering to a stop. And then realizing he couldn't move at all.
Panic shot through Arthur, a feeling in his chest like a heart attack.
"What the hell are you doing," he demanded, not sure if he spoke the words or thought them. "This is exactly what I was talking about!"