Amurehna

My mother used to belong to a secret organization. There was no escaping, the only way to leave was to die, either on mission or by the hand of the organization. Leaving was called bowing out. She has been on the run for a long time, until now. They maneuvered her into a position where there was no other real choice. They threatened to kill me if she didn't give herself up.
I stood on a wooden stage, the velvet curtains drawn, the auditorium full of people. In a chair beside me is a man. Behind him is my mother. I'm reading cues off my phone, kneeling on the stage, tense, staring out into the crowd wondering how swift the organization's justice will be. I know they are out there, and my mother is in plain sight.
I pause, knowing what this will mean, but my mother has decided this is the only way.
"So." I say, "We'll take a bow."
I speak it clearly. Firmly. Bending into a bow.
My mother bows her head.
A gunshot rings out, striking her in the shoulder, but not killing her. How could their aim be so terrible? I'm aware of the killer's fumbling to reload, and only have a second to recover before the second shot hits her in the side.
Now, my subconscious is weird and has been swapping gender roles recently.
I see my mother out of the corner of my eye and I decide I can't do this. There's still time. Seamlessly she is the man in the chair, I take a hold of her and drag her off stage. In the dream she is taller than me, but when she was alive, she was my height. I go a ways into the dark building before I set her carefully on the floor and I yell for help until my voice is ragged. Hoping someone will hear me. No one comes and I pull out my phone to call 911. There's static at first and I panic, pressing my hands to the bloody wound in her shoulder. It's so red, even in the dark. I yell again, into the phone, crying. "Someone, please. I need help." Her body seems so cold, I spot a blanket nearby and I pull it over her still frame.
After a few long minutes I become aware of speaking. The operator is chatting with someone for over a minute. In desperate disbelief I interrupt. "Hello?"
"What?" The woman snaps.
"Um." I'm emotional and enraged I managed to find the words. "I'd like an ambulance please." I pause, then burst out, yelling. "Didn't you hear me yelling for help? You're just sitting there having a chat while my mother is dying?"
"...Are their aliens?" The woman asks.
"What?"
"Aliens."
"Why?" I ask, but I already understand.
"Well, I need to know who to send." And she does, if there are aliens then Unit will be involved, if there aren't, then the police will do.
"um. Well, YEAH there are aliens but they aren't HERE right now."
"Okay. Hold tight. A team will be there soon to help you. How injured is your mother?"
Now it gets weird. Like I said, my subconscious started seamlessly gender-swapping people. So my mother becomes a man, looks like a cross between actors Robert Knepper and Gideon Emery. While he lays before me he is also rising to walk away. His left arm is amputated below the elbow.
"Um, there's two gunshot wounds, shoulder and one in the ribs." I watch him walk away, two ragged holes in his body. Yet he is still in front of me? At length the paramedics appear and strap him/her to a stretcher, bearing him/her off to treat his/her wounds.
People arrive, not seeming too concerned with events. They treat it all like it was part of the play and I try unsuccessfully to make it as real for them as it was for me.