The legacy originates beyond our beginning of time before the Big Bang enlightened this world. In the singularity, God itself had the legitimate struggle with the avid darkness to self-seed and brought light into this mighty madness into our world.
SIERRA NEVADA the breath of a dragon spoke the words, the story ahead.
In a striking deserted landscape, the stars glimmer in a flickering clear sky. The remoteness of the mountains is breathtaking. As if observing the sierra nevada inside the static spherical surrounding, it positions itself at the peak of the hill. Utterly motionless, it turns into blue, red and green. A morbid period of silence is being observed and moves through seasonal time. In a flash, the sphere moves into multiple directions in a UFO manners fly command. It avoids the mountain range soundly transforming noiselessly. It stays inert momentarily and streaks across into the valley fluidly as a landing field. Above the sunset, the speed of sound is reached across the landscape multiple times. Now, our timeframe. An unidentified flying object that is connected to time and speed itself comes to an inert state-- shining in the sky like any other stars. The cloaked entity descends to the main strip searching for an individual exhaustively.
WCTK-TV broadcast vehicle drives by the Las Vegas Strip speedily. The casino world is at reached and the skyline of Las Vegas grims in twilight. The full moon shines and sparks over the city unfathomable. The invisible entity seeks out digitally. Inadvertently, pedestrians walk on the pavement and avoid its course.
At this very moment, it enters on the side of the broadcast vehicle in motion. The radio plays loudly. Under light below, Baxter is a live crime reporter on the night shift. His suitable anglo-saxon allure for action looks brilliant and hefty handsome. He sits on his rolling chair in the back with all the latest technology of studio equipments that brings him stories. Baxter tunes in with the scanner as if it is new technology for him. The mood is shifting inside the van and states reasonably in the mist:
“You’ve got to do everything for yourself.”
A male driver honks and taps on the steering wheel along with the music that is playing on the radio. Blake, the cameraman, changes his appearance into “Drake” upbeat. The transformed being looks back at Baxter with an evocative smile. Blake honks timely and fatherly goes along with the radio on:
“This is what you get with WCKT-TV channel news. We are a small team tonight.”
On the desktop, the cell phone vibrates beside Baxter. It rings once more. Baxter looks at it. Conceptualize it. He answers it. Conversation follows.
Blake catches on something flying off road with his mazed eyes wide opened.
His heart flows endlessly in wonder and reaches the edge of the unknown and snap out of it. The sparkling tail quickly moves through the air and disintegrates into the darkness. Blake frowns his forehead like he practices it in a daily time manner enough to see himself in the windshield front mirror.
Baxter is on the call conveying the forthcoming interview.
Blake jerks his head dubiously to the left as well as the steering wheel. The side mirror reflects his image outside of the vehicle while the aluminum side wheel rotates on its axis as the right tire ventures out on the dirt. In the dark, the speed limit sign is illuminated with the beam cast by the headlight. Blake is a little under the speed limit permitted for this roadway. He looks confident and fussing for what’s ahead-- into the night.
“We need to hit it back to the city. Blake, now.”
Blake plants his foot on the accelerator and shifts the gear:
“Do you have your GPS?”
Baxter pushes himself with his rolling chair closer to Blake and scrutinizes the road ahead:
Baxter hands it to Blake. The moonlight shines over the exterior of their mean of transport. Intrepid as ever Baxter reports details-- on the unfolding story as if he was live on TV over the voice of the informant. He finally hangs up overly confident. The traffic is almost nonexistent this evening. The next phone call is likely more revealing than the first one. The voice on the other end is distorted.
“Have you ever seen a road kill?”
At the end of the strip, a hot spot for street racing, the van drives off and makes an abrupt U-turn. The tires screech on the pavement leaving skid marks behind amongst many others. They speed off into the straight lanes.
It looks like showgirls are invading the crime scene. Some are drunk and high trying-- not to approach the scene too close for they seen too many this year-round. The van approaches slowly sounding the area. The girls are on edge breaking up into rag dolls. The sound of the sirens resound a block away and closing in.
As Baxter slows down near the bloody scene, the side door slides wide opened-- banging against the frame. Blake jumps out from the vehicle in motion and lands on the pavement towards the crime scene. He grabs his camera from the padded flooring while struggling to keep himself stands-- straight up on his sneakers ready to record.
Baxter looks straight ahead sternly busy in his thought. The sliding door stays opened enigmatically impenetrable. He gets ready for this opportunity to broadcast live. At this point, Blake records steadily and Baxter comes into the picture for a blitz report. Suddenly, a prostitute near the team breaks down in tears and chokes up at once while being broadcasted inside the production room.
The probing EMS vehicle arrives at the scene without the siren. The police officer sets up the perimeter observing them highly suspectful and becomes akin to the right field. Many other official vehicles arrive at the scene silently sparing them time and carefully establishing the perimeter.
Blake leaves quickly with his polished camera on his shoulder. The scene is left behind untouched and closes the opened door of the van with more force than necessary. The van drives off slowly blocking the view of the crime scene. Blake works on the broadcasting equipment right away while other journalists stand behind the police perimeter.
In a distance, Blake gets a good grip of another camera. The chopper stabilizes in the air playing the scene. Television programming of WCTK-TV at Special Night Edition with Night Crime Watch Vegas countdown begins.
Baxter reports live on television:
“This is the scene where the body of a young prostitute in her late twenties was discovered-- just now.”
Baxter turns his back to the camera and takes a glance at the scene. The broadcast continues reporting closer to the victim:
“This evening, her mates made the gruesome discovery witnessing it. In a blink of an eye, she was dropped at the scene. Drugged. OD and beating by some gruesome russian mafia. As we uncover the story, the body is on the side of the road-- still uncovered and we are not going to show you-- a gruesome picture.”
The prostitute was found half-naked dropped down unresponsive. No one dared to move the bloodied body although more police cars emerge from the cross street. The forensic team arrives at the scene behind Baxter carefully reporting the event:
“Come any closer, my friend. This is an act of perversion.”
The informant prostitute approaches silently fleeing the crime scene resisting her tears. Literally, she comes to their direction all dazzled from the limelight like she was giving a sign to move closer to the broadcasting team.
Baxter notices her behind his back:
“We will get back to you after a few moments. It is really happening right now. Live.”
Baxter listens to his earphone cautiously pushing it inside his earlobe with his index. The earphone comes off from his ear and lands behind his shoulder. Baxter waits. The countdown is over in his mind and murmurs:
“Come a little closer, a little closer.”
Baxter smiles at the lens and looks back at the scene. The prostitute approaches directly stiffened and blubbering. The camera keeps rolling unsettled. Baxter’s face reflects on the zooming lenses childishly. After the real countdown on live tv, Blake turns off the camera as Baxter greets the prostitute.
Blake begins with a soft know it all attitude:
“Nice call, Baxter. How did you know she was-- the prostitute?”
Blake reads him easily. The chopper flies over the area making sense of the scene. Blake captures on video the chopper in action.
“You got to look at the dress, Blake. She contacted me, she is the source.”
Blake interrupts asking him:
“Have you had any? I mean-- any with her?”
Baxter answers him:
“You don’t want to put your sex life on tv, right?”
“We are live in...”
Baxter interviews the prostitute under the helicopter beam of light projected from midair. The prostitute looks disoriented and scared covering her face against the beaming light.
The team wraps up and is pretty much done with the story. Blake starts the engine laidback. Baxter bangs the side door of the minivan with more force than necessary.
Baxter takes a long breath:
“Blake. Let’s go. We’re done with this story.”
The minivan slowly drives over the CSI plastic band like it’s breaking law genuinely.
“Thank you, guys, for covering us tonight. Over.”
The pilot under his helmet responds and turns his light off under the cockpit:
“Give us some sign, if you need any coverage later. Over.”
The pilot swerves his control stick to change course and deviates from the airspace promptly.
Blake drives out privileged.
Inside the broadcast vehicle, the rear view mirror is being adjusted in the middle of the windshield. Blake is looking through the mirror. Beat. He accelerates. Blake tilts his head and ignores him. He keeps driving into the right lane.
Calmly, Blake says as a puppy:
“That was a good report, Baxter. Let’s find our next story.”
Baxter drinks up his mini bottle of vodka quickly while baffled Blake steps off and turns his head to catch him in the act. The van goes off the road as Blake adjusts the steering wheel. Baxter doesn’t budge. Blake glows his charming look friendlier as ever and lectures him uncanny:
“Baxter. You need to stop the bottle-- or you’re going to fall right into it again-- the same butts and girlfriend shit-- off the street again.”
In the back, Baxter ignores him and scans-- the radioreceptor. He gulps:
“It helps me with my speech.”
The front mirror reflecting at the right angle, Blake watches Baxter considerably from the driver seat. Baxter cleans up his throat. He gives a sign to keep driving with his index and middle finger pointing up. At the same time with his other pointing finger, he holds his lips together to avoid some contemplating saliva to drip from it rather manly. He clears his throat. The scanner reports:
“Crime at the Casino Royale. Attempted robbery with weapon possession. Suspect is male. No other description other than the sex of the suspect. Need patrols. Again, I need a patrol to record the incident. The suspect is still on the loose. Security is looking for him last time, I heard. Over.”
Blake surveys the road ahead of him again. He speeds off.
“I am clean.”
LAS VEGAS STRIP. FACADE OF CASINO ROYALE.
Hurriedly, Baxter and his cameraman disembark from the van to get access at the disappointing entrance interior decorated and stuck in the 80’s. CCTV camera records in numerous areas.
Once further in, it was another world. The place is fun, noisy and wambles-- like you could win big cash money. The gaming tables are besieged with gamblers playing cards-- amongst gamblers betting off more bids. The roulette spins and the chiming slot machines pay off.
Under the same wavelength, the countdown is underway at five. Blake counts silently with his fingers and races againts the clock. Together, they run into the setting keenly interested. Baxter’s instinct is sharp and articulates:
“Stay low, my friend. The full moon-- disappeared tonight.”
As goofy as ever, Blake takes his eye off the viewfinder and smiles at the crime reporter.
“The camera is still running. We are now live.”
The limelight is on him, Baxter starts with a question-- expecting an audience. Easily impressed, Blake takes a good look on the side of his shoulder. His arm pointing upward, a fully armed police officer passes them by. His partner pulls up his impressive handgun by disengaging the safety lock.
The night team reports the hostage situation on WCTK-TV a Special Night Edition with Night Crime Watch in Vegas.
Black mama in her early sixties witness account responds quietly towards the scene:
“The man pushed me against my slot machine. He grabbed my money inside my bag. He told me to stay put or he will shot me. After he left, I alerted security. They hold him up, right now, by this corner.”
Black mama is pointing vehemently in one direction. The black male suspect is being cornered and armed with a colt.
The escouade team is negotiating some terms. The suspect holds a caucasian blonde in her forties as a hostage against his chest and drags her with him by force. The female human shield is almost crawling with her hair loose on her sweaty face and absolutely petrified to escape from his strong eerie grip.
A captain comes forward with security to strategize crystal ball.
The SWAT show up behind the suspect from a built-in door. The heavily armed team draw their weapons pacing along the wall-- not risking it. She lost consciousness-- suffocated and bleeds. The crowd anticipates on edge to meet a disaster. It turns out badly.
The casino comes under fire with few stray shots. The suspect exhausts his round to the ceiling and let go of it.
Baxter is drawn by the suspect with his microphone pointing at the him. He unexpectedly runs toward on the intrepid team.
The suspect comes across and swirls his mind mechanically with a devoted audience.
“I didn’t do it” he repeated and gets apprehended swiftly.
An earthquake hits the city.
Baxter turns to the camera and reports.
CCTV camera records the altercation as no ones really know the event that followed. The stumbling suspect attacks the crew. Baxter is being pushed aside by the angry suspect and falls on the carpet and aims at Blake intentionally-- and backs out from filming.
The cops are merely making a move holding it back to position.
Baxter breaks off the physical altercation with his microphone and his elbow.
Blake gets up motionless with the camera on his shoulder and bounces back from his fall still recording.
While Baxter curses him out on his face while he can-- like a shark biting human flesh. A close bite for a shark to keep itself calm in the ocean.
Baxter is apprehended heavily built-- all enraged and stares directly at the camera:
The transmission repeats.
“You got that on camera, Blake?” as he nodded he was already being handcuffed roughly and Blake finally says:
In the front facade of Casino Royale, all lights are throbbing silently. The ambulances and police cars are parked nearby. At last, Blake turns his eye towards a stern handcuffed Baxter being embarked inside the police car willingly. Blake walks out a free man with a grin on his face literally. Like a real black man, he flashes his white teeth cracking down on his giggling. Blake got away with a crime in his mindset hastily.
Inside the van, Blake has a minor scrap-- not a bruise on the side of the forehead. He takes his white cloth from under his jacket and enthusiastically washes some steam off on his face. He feels happy to be the outlaw.
Subsequently, he meddles with the pieces of equipment at warp speed. The edited recording of the altercation is broadcasted live. Blake watches it-- cleverly inside the broadcast vehicle and the night crime show has been cut off short and repeats.
The lighten up casinos keep rolling with their exuberant marquee light font shining on the van. Blake takes on the wheel and starts the engine. The vehicle gains some motion by turning around the corner. In the moonlight, Blake slowly drives away shamefully in the back street.
The whole infiltrated room is made of an uninviting plastered brick wall and is relatively busy. Baxter knows all too well. He blows into the alcohol meter-- and beholds at the russian suspect coming through the entrance-- all rough up. On the desk, Baxter stops breathing out with a mouth agape and points at the suspect. He clears his throat.
The policeman orders him:
“Keep blowing into it.”
The breathalyzer bips. Baxter avoids looking at the result. The detectives look up to the scene.
Inside the jail section of the precinct, Baxter is incarcerated in front of him. The russian mafia stays mute in time he has stopped existing at glance. Baxter couldn’t ignore the fact and the matter that something was giving away-- radiating from him. Baxter could see through the russian mafia’s clothing and the flesh became visible as skin. His vision zooms-- in light years and passes through the layer of fabric of the clothing beginning their creation and through the content of the celestial body. A veil of translucent transparency illuminates-- a humanoid shape underneath it with almond-like eye socket. On his forehead, there was a symbol. He couldn’t really distinguishably implicate himself as-- to what it represented or decided not to give it a try.
The symbol shines warmly amicably inviting. By some otherworldly mean of connecting, Baxter downloads it into his mind:
During, Baxter is sweating and gasping for air in astonishment-- stricken by a light bolt entering into his forehead while still asleep. When he wakes up-- jailbird. He pulls out from under his jacket a mini bottle of vodka. Baxter is all upset. He is sexy. Baxter sits back on the bedding and stuck in his head onto the wall waiting to be freed from confinement.
A gorgeous morning sun rises over the sierra behind the precinct. Blake arrives at the police station. The sound of the tire-- rolling on the rocky pavement breaks your feeling. He accesses the parking spot with the same broadcast vehicle beside police cars and stops the engine.
Baxter is ready for his mug shot near the front desk officer. He arranges his hair fairly and bails out-- apparently sober.
Baxter seems relieved:
“I was expecting my lawyer or the FBI. Great. Let’s go.” he snarled at the end.
The detectives leave the room altogether while Baxter and Blake leave the precinct by the big entrance. Blake pushes the door likely relieved-- after a long meaningless conservation:
“They let you go because your alcohol level in your bloodstream has gone down under the legal limit.” Blake reiterated amicably.
The broadcast vehicle drives away slowly and a police car takes a turn into the same direction. Baxter can’t stop himself from scrutinizing the rear of the vehicle from all angles-- being overly paranoid. Next, the other policemen embarks into their assigned vehicles and stares at the reflection.
Baxter reveals silently and-- all agitated:
“They let me go without a scratch. I thought maybe-- I was gonna end up dead.” he says with his heart beating up and skipping a few beats-- it seems.
Still on the run, Baxter leans on his seat a bit edgy and surveys at the reflection of his side mirror absolutely hot. The police car drives off-- to turn into the same direction followed by another patrol car. Baxter looks around in an attempt to find an escape. Next, he points out that direction and stays put-- glued to his seat:
“Blake. This way.”
“Baxter. You’re making too much news. It was on-- all night. I kept sure-- running it.”
Baxter weights in:
“Oh, wait. They’re still behind us. Turn off the scanner.”
The police car decelerates with the gyroscope on. The van takes a quick turn. Baxter opens the door of the broadcast vehicle as it stops-- looking dreadful and as confused as ever.
Baxter is swaying his way out the van:
“We’ve been bugged. You would never picture what he told me... or if it was a human being or sorta thinking being. Or just being-- a clone high on heroin. Jail talk.”
Blake is unable to think clearly:
“You must be dreaming.”
Baxter stands on the pavement bewildered. Blake winces at him tirelessly-- covering his face down with a yawn lowering his forehead on the steering wheel and looks up at him almost fresh:
“It’s been a rough night. We’re cool.”
Old Irish bar restaurant is a well-grounded establishment located at short distance away from the casino world and a few blocks from for the locals to attend. Yet, the rough street is deserted, but one man walks the pavement.
The green painted front door is situated on the left side of the alehouse. The place is dimmed. The broad daylight enters-- from the diamond shape window aperture painted in white roughly the size of a polaroid. It opens up loudly. The overdecorated wall with vintage beer sings is mostly made of wood. A pool table is set aside in length with the cue ball ready to break the eight-ball rack.
A retro jukebox owns the corner.
The front window at the far right side of the pub flashes a Budweiser signage. A cheesy green pinstripes short wide window curtain stays hanging below and above the windowpane accumulating dust. The view outside is pouring inside from a shattered window. Baxter takes a seat at the bar ready for his first fix to start the day.
The bartender has fair skin with white hair slightly balding and his sleeves rolled up half to his forearm.
His white shirt shows off his rather white hairy chest for his age under his tee shirt tucked in a black pair of pant with a mexican bull made leather belt. Otherwise, he is at the bar waiting for early bird and approaches him smelling fresh.
The bartender yields him:
“What do you want, Baxter?”
The bartender reaches for a toothpick looking at him and puts it inside his mouth.
“I need a drink, Jack. A draft-- beer from the keg. Don’t get me a light beer this time, buddy.”
Jack kneels down like-- he is going on a dive and checks the keg underneath the beer tower. Baxter is watching the television screen attached to the ceiling at the end of the bar.
Baxter turns his attention to Jack momentarily:
“Have you quiet given your wife-- what she wants?”
Jack holds the toothpick at the commissure of his lips looking friendly annoyed at him-- holding it like a smiling dog.
After being checked out Jack answers:
“First drink is on the house.”
Baxter pays attention:
“Thanks. It’s always been-- on the house.”
Baxter is looking around-- to catch some eyes on him. The place is seemingly pleasant.
Jack looks watchfully:
“How’s the job treating you?”
Suddenly, Baxter stays silent. Jack scrutinizes him greatly. He’s chewing the toothpick. His interior. His heartbeat. Obviously, Baxter drinks his draft uneasy. In stealth atonement, Baxter inspects closely at the window-- all intrigued. A puzzling situation entails outside than meets the eyes. A predicament that slips through his fingers. Baxter piercing eyes look down from his bar stool directly into his palms upon each of his knees in a cleptotic state. He finally reaches to grab his fair hair and holds his head in admission-- suffering the brightness of the blue sky becoming darker. A shade of grey combines with his pupil. Starlight comes down chemically to earth absorbing light. Thus, creating an unlighted sky. Electronic gold component shines through his forehead and his hair shines as a holy kerchief.
From the unleashed power of the universe, the fabric of time is distorted-- and absolutely rearranged. The gigantic unseeable being yells:
“Oh, my lord. You abandoned me.”
In the ionosphere, thee fallen being undergoes the physical effect of Earth’s gravity flying along with visible magnetic fields and holds high in the heaven.
In space-time, behind and behind, in the fearless escape path-- a new dimension opens up almost endlessly. The being scrambled out of it.
The fallen soldier holds high in the heaven between Earth gravity and space. A war between good and evil resounds all around him or of a spaceship-- disintegrating and/or both and realizes his faith:
Slowly floating in space, an unknown object dismantled-- cocking-- its arsenal. A lighting strikes in the vacuum of space. A counter attack is triggered. It feels like a victory. The gigantic being loses eyesight to a visible spectrum after the explosion and regains his ability to see as an earthling. The being observes Earth wobbling around in a complete state of confusion-- trying to gain control of his fatal fall. The noise of wing flipping through the unresistant air can seemingly be heard and/or of a propulsion engine device out of means of combustion-- gaining the atmosphere. Having trouble breathing, his fate unfolds:
By narrowing his eyebrows, his vision wonders suddenly and becomes an uncontrollable raging free fall of-- images of Earth within a wide tunnel vision.
Crucifixions. Piercing of Jesus onto the cross. Crusade. Knights. Churches. Tesla church burning down in New York City. Dark Ages. Marauders. Graveyards. World War II. Atomic bombs. UFO’s. World Trade Center. Sex. Genocides. Pestilence. Pollutions. Plantations of illegal drugs. Platonic prostitutes. Clubs. The images are going through the fallen being’s mind like a movie chain reaction.
Completely terrified, the being is in disarray on a molecular level. His faith unfolds in everyone’s eye account. His fall decelerates to the rumbling of rock. A perpetual inferno of the underground-- resounds itself over a fueled rocket with the metaphysical world.
The light emerging, the probing laser beam reads him from agony and falls into a bottomless pit in a shredded darkness as if he was being held by some blacken giant entity falling untimely.
The fallen one lands into a luminous part of this darkness alone. His feathers, an earth-like word, on his wings sparkle of robustness and need to be brushed up a bit in its brilliance.
Inside the irish bar, Baxter looks out at the outside world-- standing by the window:
“What did I miss?”
In disbelief, he decides to go outside to check on the situation a little closer. At ease, Baxter watches closely at the stealth spy plane flying up right over his head in low altitude-- feeling the wave of apprehension.
The sky turns darker and runs back inside the sheltering bar. Baxter is desperately looking for an answer and gains his seat to join Jack:
“What the hell is going on? Are we going into the evening? Are we going back into the middle of-- night or what?”
Jack responds to him:
“It seems that the sun might have just disappeared, Baxter. This is hard to believe, incredible.”
A thunderstorm seems to be approaching in the sky revengefully seeking destruction-- no doubts. The sunlight is ever growing dimmer. The phenomenon unleashes. The occurrence unquestionably unfolds transferring the knowledge.
In wanders, Jack looks up at the window all absorbed from behind the bar to observe the event and compares it with-- what’s on TV. Jack leans over to Baxter vehemently. The toothpick falls from his mouth.
At that moment, enlightened Jack says:
By a heartfelt gesture, Jack grabs his arm to leave a mark and whispers in conviction:
“Baxter. An eclipse. A sandstorm. We need some shelter, my bunker, Baxter, this goes out of hand.”
The last ten seconds of the falling goes under earth gravity. The ground is getting closer and closer. The crash simply implodes into the ground. On Earth, it looks like a desert storm made by god. The earth starts shaking and cracking in the deep crust almost as if it is crushed worldwide. Tectonic plates slide rearranging the lithosphere considerably. In space, Earth is covered by storm and it grows in proportion. The industrious volcanoes erupt globally to cover up the sky.
Early on-- the local television was showing images-- of what is falling from the heavenly blue sky-- of what looks like a humanoid with wings and disintegrating into midair in a meteorite like fashion.
Baxter is astonished and jumps out of his seat:
“Have you seen this?”
A number of patrons have gathered already by the window. Baxter looks totally baffled at everyone else.
Baxter in wanders:
“This is strange.”
“Indeed-- this is very strange.”
Baxter leans any closer to Jack.
“Is this a hoax? Tell me.”
Jack protests utterly reacting:
“You’re the journalist, not me.”
Baxter grabs Jack by his shirt and yells at him:
“Where are the hidden camera?”
Jack pours him another draft-- silently. His interior. The buck hits the bar. A wandering Baxter dials with his cellphone-- as no one is calling him.
In the middle of Nevada desert, a horrendous noise originates from the crash site. Otherworldly nostalgic flashes of an atomic bomb lighten up and stop. The ground shakes badly as a wave of darkness is dissipating-- into thin air pushing and stripping all vegetation with force.
The crater of two miles wide is clean.
As the ground shakes inside the irish pub-- while the rest of the occupants run for safety in the open area. By god means, the ground shakes even stronger. Baxter grabs his draft and glances from side to side behind his back-- twice and amusingly. The bar emptied out-- so quickly. Baxter and Jack are at the bar watching it-- live on TV holding on each one more than the other. Once outside, the subdued patrons behold in shock as the day turns nightly-- absolutely doom and gloom.
God-- itself has turned off the switch. Black horses race in the valley. Native Americans play drums. UFO lights dance by the horizon.
A lapse of time went by, the twirling residual of the impact inside the crater falls for gravity. The clayish dust laid down on the ground and buries him halfway resembling a marble statue. The hissing. A multitude of sprouts emerge from the earth as forked tongue all die-off but one. A fruit tree is growing beside the naked being in the middle of the steep crater formed by the crash. The trunk appears phallically to be having a reptilian bark and branches grow. The soil is covered of a fine layer of clay. The wind picks up. It blows away the coating. A snake hisses sensuously hanging by the branches of the shrub that-- it harvested. The sound of the fangs biting at the exotic fruit was bewitching and magically falls near his mouth. The snake arches itself ultra-dimensionally in time. The being is still drifting unconsciously-- breaths in dust of clay and suffocates. The scent of the fruit wholly revives all his senses. His lips greatly grin and his ear points out. On the tip of all his senses, the eye crust made of clay begins to crack. His face is entirely covered by it. With his eyes watering, he vainly opens his thick eyelids. He comes to hold himself for a second.
The fear realization stuns Lore. He looks straight ahead animalistic and in assertion-- breathing as if sobbing for hours. He coughs candidly. He blindly reaches the fruit on the ground in a terrible position. Inside the body, the chemical component provokes a chain of euphoric reaction in a molecular level transcending into a celestial cosmos inside the brain. In the twilight of the crater, he gets up in great posture with solely blisters and bruises that heal before he takes his first step onto the ground.
The being looks exactly like Baxter. It is indeed Baxter berserk angel himself. He grabs the fruit of his passion from the harvest and rubs it against his ribcage. The bite of the fruit is felt miles away. The berserk Baxter thinks of the heaven and tilts his head over heels-- challenging it.
The moon tumbles.
As he revives, he bites once more at the forbidden fruit to chin up at the nightly sky-- encouraging a pleased smile. Instantly, Black Berserk Nemesis Lore is taking in it stride wanting more for a lapse. In the twilight, the sound of war in the heaven roams perpetuating-- eternally, if not stopped.
After the earthquakes come-- the shockwaves. The milky way evolves. In that instant, the covered sky enlightened earth uniformly and travels around the globe. The voice breaks out across the face of the Earth like a radio transmission. Silent calming mixed red, blue and purple flashes travel across the sky and rains heavily for a short time.
The radio transmission reaches space as the cube materializes jointly and multiplies around the globe and fire at the crust.
Wearing his spacesuit, Lore has reached his destination standing proudly-- scrambling Earth inside the flying bridge.
Lore scans Earth in the opened sierra.
The brightest of this arena spirited:
“Stand your position.”
Jack observes Baxter completely bemused. Baxter is shockingly obliterated-- with a striking sound inside his skull. In undertone to the painstaking pressure inside his brain, he repeatedly hits both of his earlobes.
Baxter nearly chokes to death:
“What is this sound?”
Jack says still enlightened:
“What is the matter with you? Why do you want to die on me?”
The day turned nightly.
NEVADA DESERT. CRATER
Gradually, Berserk Baxter undergoes a transformation into Lore and the pigmentation of his skin turns into a desirable cooper canyon glow. The glittering sheepskin texture of the hair curls itself up. His hefty jet-black hair brushes up into a hair twist style in a talented way and tones with an unsettled brokenhearted bad boy attitude. The stars shimmer and reposition in the sky in the nick of time fluidly.
In the crater, Lore is fully dressed and goes on-- picking all the fruits of the tree. The harvest remains inside his leather bag. As he looks determined, he burns the living thing with the power of his mind. The tree disintegrates in some ungodly manner.
Lore crawls up the wall-- the two miles wide crater. His grips just crumble and repeatedly make an effort to climb the abrupt barren cliff in desperation. He resolutely looks for another climbing path. He perilously reaches the top of the hollow-- sounding like a desperate cub. He is out of breath and sobs quietly in despair-- resting on the edge of it.
At the highest point of the crater, a gust of desertic wind blows into his face-- blowing off the cracking clay dried out from his face right down into the abyss. He barely manages to gaze at his leg hanging in the precipice-- forced to look down by the antagonizing sand-- hitting his face.
He holds on over the edge of the rim breathing heavily. The dizziness gets hold of his strength and collapses-- sobbing weakly watering the dirt. He cries a river absolutely and washes off the rest of the clay on his face-- wanting to stay away from the precipice and to carry on his quest twerking his muscles with every graps on solid dry sand into its natural state.
From where he reached for safety, rocks start falling into the abyss. He falls asleep away from the rim. His sweat drips onto dirt profusely. At the peak, water emerges magnificently in a natural state. The wind comes to blow on the newly formed waterfall. A moonbow forms. He takes another bite of the fruit and walks away. Big flash of light. Photonuclear. He enters the portal and slips away. In the sky, Earthlings are being pulled into the clouds some scream overjoyed unmistakably enter space likely towards the Moon. The last are absorbed in that direction. Earth is silent. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
LAS VEGAS. IRISH BAR
The entire bar stagnates in complete darkness. Baxter breaths in his own death completely focused and terrified.
The door cranks up solid.
The clunky footsteps echo into the dark.
The power is back on-- gleaming of fluid gas which expands to become light.
The bottles survived.
The lightings are hanging and crackling from the ceiling.
In undertone-- his voice carried out:
“Hold your breath, Baxter. You’re not dead yet.” his doppelganger whispers to himself at the end.
Baxter heard his own evil voice-- emerging from the nothingness. Flashes.
Baxter is stupefied. He leans against the intensity of the bursting light and blinks under his palm:
In the darkness, Lore emerges royally from the portal and enters the bar loudly destroying the front door completely. Baxter suddenly gets struck by a strong sexual desire. In a raising panic, he appears at himself switching off and on as his own black berserk angel and scuffle in pitch-black:
“I am god flex.”
Lore revengefully challenges him:
“You fight for a diamond-- enabled angel. You fight for a diamond.”
Lore dashes against him.
The power is back on suddenly triggered by the commotion. The earthquake goes awry.
Next to Baxter, Lore grabs him and falls right into the darkness-- into the mechanical world.
The uproaring lighting strikes the heaven predicting-- the end of the event from inside the bar and burns the roof cleaned that stopped blazing fervently.
Baxter is transcending-- being pulled down and up-- he goes looping right down at the black hole.
Baxter foresees the tread of elastic timeline . As the nuclear submarine lurks under the sea around the coastline of Hawaii, a huge wave immerse the archipel entirely and a tsunami hits the coast of Los Angeles and the land turns into ore. He is constrained to decelerate.
Reaching down into the deep ocean-- the soothing feeling of the emerald green light-colored emerging into the ocean seafloor looks distinctively misty almost perfect for a being.
There, Malibu, A1 Pacino alike wears a white shirt underneath a black suit and tie clipped into the button placket, virtually completed his climbing from a somber oceanic floor. He approaches barefoot to the long-lasting walk to shore engaging-- at anyone daring to approach. Malibu’s lips are readable. A deep voice thunders under the water. His frothing mouth breaths out his own name:
Thousands of being swims under the sea-- not drowning. They ain’t breathing neither like a human being gasping for air-- in the deep water. Their limbs are reaching out-- for unwarranted safety. Aha. Malibu reaches to the shore consumed by the tectonic floor collapsing-- still at play wanting to perfect it. His army is babbling his name from the deep of the sea ocean floor-- more are resurfacing from the abyss. Tectonic plates are shattered. The magma spurts out by the collapse. Sharks swim around. Nonetheless, the beings make their way to come back to the surface and to the shore. It is understood that-- as if they were liberated from unspeakable tortures.
Inland and in the right condition from underneath the earthy ground-- microscopic living creatures are growing rapidly speeds upward by some godly means. Particles flow into the cultivation carried out by the superheated air.
An incommensurable quantity of insects spews out from the porous surface ground in an infinite number drying out the soil by large number-- giving it up to a dry spell appeal of another planet soil.
In the meadows land of a farmhouse, the pestilence shaped of twirling tornado goes through the pasture devouring all living vegetations-- moving forward into the atmosphere ravaging seeds and leaves from trees systematically from the field. Some are already scavenging the barks and more are landing on the dried out ground behind the land in a state of devastation.
The static air if filled with destruction. The lighting continously heat up the air from space with the cubes covering earth entirely.
NUCLEAR PLANT. NEW JERSEY
The cooling tower. Storage pond. White body bags are brought in.
NEW YORK. 55 CENTRAL PARK WEST
The doorman lets them in.
WHITE HOUSE. WASHINGTON. DC
Daytime. The grass is keen and fresh. Plague stays dormant.
A space station orbits Earth in the vacuum of space.
LAS VEGAS MANSION
A new day has come, Baxter finishes his toileting. He leaves a mess behind. Baxter closes the door behind him in a hurry like a college boy. Baxter reminds himself almost all along almost chanting-- hitting the note:
“Malibu. Malibu. Malibu.”
The servant hears him going to the next room and grabs the toiletry rapidly like on a black friday. Inside the empty bathroom, branded new toiletry appears magically on the vanity. Baxter has no knowledge of it and goes about his business.
In Malibu, the calm is at sea. Brilliant sky. Nice wind. Seabirds caw. Baxter adjusts himself on his beach chair. A drink crystally clinks with the waves. A slurp. A window beach house is intact. His section of the beach is clean and all for himself down to the ocean and particularly large at sea. So, the satellite can see. Baxter pulls out his Zippo lighter from his shirt and reaches from the other pocket. Behind Baxter, Malibu resembles-- a staged apocalyptic disaster zone. Baxter waits patiently. Close up. Zippo lighter made of bone blazes up luminously towards the blunt.
As a naked woman, Malibu resurfaces from the calm sparkling ocean sea surface. Malibu comes off-- as the ocean water stands in awe. Her red lips are sensuous under the sun. The tone of her skin is perfect. Her semi-dark hair is wet. She approaches-- Baxter willingly. Seabirds flying on top of their head gains velocity up in the span of wind.
An instant later, Malibu is fully dressed without-- no dress shoes on. He stands alone on the beach looking sharp:
“The sand feels hot between your toes.”
Baxter welcomes Malibu cordially. Baxter throws away the blunt. It flies directly into Malibu’s hands. In between his finger, Malibu takes another hit and exhales. It’s daytime. Baxter’s hand clutches on Malibu’s shoulder.
Baxter observes the sky obliterated and blinks from the brightness of the sun by looking down at the sandy beach. A big wave smashes into solid rock. Baxter opens up his eyes to the nightly universe.
Malibu looks up-- joyful as if it was fireworks:
“A modern sky. The star map, quick, before it disappears.”
In deference, Malibu is very interested in sounding the night sky. He tilts his head on Baxter’s side to reach the wanders on his own feet. Likely, Malibu says in wonders as if his feet floated in gold wingly. The knowledge immersing to him.
“They didn’t send me any moon at all.”
The sky is limited with a galaxy and a nebula nearby.
“I am the star map.”
Malibu responds to his affirmation:
“It’s good to be back.”
Malibu looks down at the sand that reaches some deep:
“Will you entertain?”
They laugh cordially and shape-shifting to their natural state in a disaster zone. The force field gleams transparently. It moves around debris under a moonless night with time-- that is endlessly faster.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Malibu.”
“My name here is Baxter.”
A day after the aftermath of the tsunami hitting the city, the civilian survivor witnesses of the disaster-- wildly digs into the rumbles to safe themselves from the ruins. The conflagration is out of control within the city range raging fiercely with firestorms-- amassing a mass filthy smoke into the sky. The endless inferno has spreaded unfathomably bigger than the state of california. Fire engines are sporadically parked around the block to fight against the continuous blaze. Ambulances and others means of vehicle are kept to a halt by the side street. The rescuers stop digging as they look around to discern it. They sense the gleam passing by without seeing it. They feel an aftershock instead and they inspect the rumbles to the ground. Without wasting time, all of them continue working on the rescue-- digging into the site immediately. The survivors are getting out from the rumble-- ready to help out miraculously unhurt. They were found glimmering under a collapsed wall for a time. No one is dying and there is no official coming to help out. But, the work of the rescue gets easy and becomes filled with miners extracting the rough ore.
The next morning, a path to the beach congregates survivors-- at the shore startlingly adrift.
Here she comes near-- the beach house. She puts out her beach chair and tents for herself.
Her eyelashes flutter in the wind marvelously taking delight in such condition ready to be acclimatized.
She sips on a drink with ice. Her leg tangles under the divine sun rays. She looks around with a sheer shade under the brim of her hat-- very pleased.
The windy breeze feels arousing under her blond hair shimmering luminously. Her blond sparkled flair glows in the wind and lips obviously look wonderful. The sunshine gets lively.
She hides her elegant feature-- away from the filthy survivors. Then, she gains access to the house-- scampering modestly with the sand hissing under her steps.
LAS VEGAS. STRIP CLUB. THE ARMY
At their table and accompanied by showgirls with feathers attire, Malibu is enjoying the spectacle entering the nest laughing maniacally. Inadvertently and making through layer after layer of enticing feathers-- Malibu finally peeks inside the nest:
“You weren’t invited.” says a voice softly feminine.
The showgirls with the feathers laugh sensuous-- gently by the interruption. While Malibu is there enjoying his sexual prowesses underneath the nest. Baxter ducks his head in.
Baxter is endlessly compelling:
“Holy, it feels weird inside of you, holy! Feel! Hell! Yeah!”
Malibu laughs devilishly at his side-- gazing at the party. Malibu is stunned-- all worked up. He notices her throughout the feathers that transform into a Mothman like creature with the wingspan-- in a resting position with the bloody piercing observative ruby eyes closing in directly at her.
At that same moment in time, the rattling and the drumming echoed inside the crater. A disgruntled gigantic king cobra is unearthed from the crumbling deep cavernous hideout. The snake rears back and cryptically flattened down its head and opens his mouth to assume a defensive position. The snake raises its head and wiggles its neck back and forth. His designed behavior makes him fastened around itself. The snake spirally coils around its head and strikes with a loathsome stare at her. His cryptic patterns and coloring are remarkably unnerving, intoxicating and absolutely magical. It hides his head in the middle of his body frame to protect it. The scales catch on fire and it opens its mouth aggressively. The rampant being moves swirly in strength-- long enough and speeds up to ascend the climbing path seeking.
The white polished limousine decelerates on a dirt road as it parks at the front door-- of a deserted club in no man’s land. Under the starring neon light, the limousine shines of luxury. She firmly takes her first step-- onto the rough ground on her heel. The strip club facade is illuminated by a simple pink neon bulb beside the entrance along with a signage of the same name Strip Club.
The mysterious woman enters anonymously, strips around in mini skirt-- engaging to play her tape to bartending and dance. Nonetheless, inside Strip Club something clipped together as the two corresponding masked puzzle pieces together. Malibu A1 alike is giving a speech inspired by the momentum dazing at her move and sighed. He merely floats the walking floor instead. In his hand, the tablet crumbles in stone falling into a portal.
Malibu’s belligerence is envisioned in words:
“You were looking right into my universe. Your eminence-- Your army is ready-- The way, written in stone.”
The army salutes chaotically. The universe is shifting apprehensively. On top of the crumbling soil, Baxter holds his sword very high. The army yells-- all strong falling down the abyss. Baxter heard the voice. He looks around him. Malibu looks at him with a gesture pledging himself over the tablet. He indulges and leaves in the funnel. She sings and strips. She drops-- the mic. The army cheers restful.
CALIFORNIA. OFF THE COAST
The hazy sunshine of the late afternoon over the ocean brighten up the california cliffs. A warm breezy wind blows from all direction. The smearing ocean looks gorgeous. The brine of the ocean sets in motion a turn of events. Baxter deeply inhales the salty air of the pacific. A dubious sentinel approaches from the ledge towards the Humvee.
Baxter walks towards him:
“Have you found any of my kind? Private.”
Private is a 26 years old mix American hunk with the right gene with a tanned brown skin and thick dark hair-- reaches the Humvee. As Baxter gets closer to the man approaching him. His allure shines of loyalty.
Private makes the effort to reply:
“Yes, master. I am sincere and I am telling you the truth.”
Baxter avoids to react oneself in eagerness to rescue one of his kind. His vulnerability is on the edge to risk losing face.
Private undertakes to discuss the sensitive matter:
“My king. His fall laid him inside a building in downtown L.A.. From what I could see. He is pretty much in physical pain.”
Baxter is angered:
“Lead me to him. Now, at this moment.”
They embark on their mean of transport and leave the scenery together to rescue the soldier in the ravaged city. As of the late afternoon, the building is still standing by the result of the godly crash.
LOS ANGELES. CRASH SITE.
In the dusk, the unrecognizable disaster zone of Los Angeles County is stunning. Along the street, the Humvee is moving at slow speed around the smeared deprivation. A group of maiden civilian survivors walks around powerless as they peek inside the Humvee seeking of nothing. Private signals them to keep moving-- really unnerved ready to pull out the firearm. Private pokes at Baxter in his ribcage with his gun. Baxter signals-- them to move around to the mining. They deliberately bump into the Humvee. Baxter accelerates-- abruptly off the street causing a panic amongst the pedestrians to run in the opposite direction.
After driving along slowly but surely to avoid the scattered debris. The remaining of the boulevard is blocked by the beams of a destroyed building that collapsed during the tsunami. The Humvee can’t no longer move. The tire stops rolling. Baxter gets off the Humvee rock-steady and inches for a while as if he was faced with a dilemma. He stands there for a moment calculating and decides to clear up the area. Baxter appears to look taller and uses his power to lighten it up. He bends some scrap iron in the process. A deafening rumbling can be heard. It moves-- in a manner that required minimal terrestrial ability. The street full of remnants starts wambling dreadfully-- removing the ruins entirely onto the curb. The Humvee almost flipped over and falls right back to gravity. Baxter gains the command of the vehicle relieved to join Private as he looks at Baxter totally scared. A most convivial Baxter shows the way:
Baxter drives off slowly by checking all his angle and adjusts the rear mirror.
The impact made a circular atrium within the foundation-- with grown-up shrubs at the bottom. Against the lasting wall to gain the upper floor, Baxter and Private inspect the dangerous crashing site that is holding on together like a card castle. Private calmly takes the lead within a building absolutely destroyed by the crash. Baxter reads his past. He envisions Private trying to break into the icy cast with the help of a tool. A being is drowning in the cracking pod as he thought it was. Private methodically shatters it with a rock while Baxter stops reading his past.
The next area is ready to tumble down under their feet. The lather fallen soldier laid in a ready room. The super diamond sarcophagus sat there since after the fatal fall. It gleams curiously luminescent as they approach. The being is encased in some blurry pain calculated to be an eternity and caste in some glowing shades of green. The being is also made of marble and cracked from the inner part-- gives a sense of hurriedness to take his place stuck inside a none event dimension. Private prefers to stay behind-- to get some distance from the powerful gods. Mysteriously, Baxter walks up towards him. A defining moment materializes. He opens his right palm and a metallic object appears and cuts through our dimension. The exotic fruit is harvested.
Baxter joins in:
“Go ahead. Take it.”
He leans upward-- by opening his eyes inside the sarcophagus. He telepathically faltered:
“I need substance.”
Inside the sarcophagus, the rescued being bridges between consciousness. Baxter engages and enters the sparkling compound-- that illuminates the improvised chamber of death. Under the mishap of the rough diamond shows the rescued soldier inspired. The crystallized core shines roughly. Baxter is compelled to have completed his brave rescue. He sits down and lit up rapidly. The rescued being hardly opens his mouth underneath-- thee now sparkling compound made of filament-- engulfs him.
“Go ahead. Bite it.”
The rescued soldier chews on the exotic fruit. Private continues with stumbling steps confused and frowns at the sight intently--as he retreated by taken some distance away from the illuminated room. He gazes at the gods in action intensely-- trying to comprehend a god’s rescue.
Baxter exhales-- a thick sparkling smoke that spurs the being to reanimate. He undergoes a physical transformation soundly rocky. Baxter takes his distance from the mutation.
Baxter is perplexed while his soldier avails to his human form. Private flees the scene totally frightened to witness the growing realm of such rescue that intercepts him during his escape. He runs off-- the realm pushes him towards the emptiness.
In some degree, he rather jumped onto the ground from the upper floor-- forming semi circles behind his trail. His deed uplifts his rank amongst the company. A boost to his ranking.
His heart is imploding-- releasing photons in his bloodstream instead of loads of adrenaline-- witnessing a miracle has its price. Private accesses the exterior with his heart beating exceedingly the human normal rate.
In the light of the night, Private rather runs away absolutely out of breath more like an engine combustion lacking of an accelerator-- bursting into magma.
Private dissipates his confusion and walks back to the Humvee muscular. Around the corner, he stops and lingers in the dark. An evil face appears behind him and dissipates breathily. Thud. He scrutinizes the empty street and behind his back.
Inside the ready room, Baxter is perplexed and ready for a ticking surprise. He awaits his awakening and erupts with atonement:
Mercurio is an ageless hefty greek god with darker curly hair with striking blue eyes briskly awakes naked. He gets up immediately.
Mercurio enjoys himself:
“It’s good to be back. I always had a good sense-- from you. Baxter.”
Baxter is thoughtfully relieved:
“A fallen angel with a greater power.”
“I am intelligence, Baxter.”
“What do you have for me?”
Mercurio is fully dressed now and niggling in pain:
“The cube is in orbit.”
Baxter demands an answer with inquisitive eyes:
“How is that possible?”
They both leave-- the crash site at once.
Mercurio adds with a nagging discomfort:
“You already sacrifice enough. You already sacrifice enough.”
Baxter burst into laughing royally and the room brighten up:
“You had a rough landing. I will hire a new cube lander.”
“Baxter. Give me some moment.”
Baxter walks away.
“You will never find it. You will never reach it-- in space. I know you depend on it.”
Baxter turns in fury:
“You will not find the cube even if you can go halfway across the universe.”
Mercurio asks more than meets the eye:
Mercurio is utterly devastated:
“The cube is in contact with a space station in orbit. I dropped it-- in space. It was scorching... Oh, so hot. Then, I saw her. I looked back. It was slowing down of its descend-- and I dived like a meteorite.”
Baxter lets him-- walk on his own:
“Wait. Don’t hurt yourself.”
Mercurio might as well be begging:
“Did you find the cube yet?”
“You gotta try me again. You got to love me. You will not succeed. The universe is flat. You need to make up time. I got here before you did.”
Baxter looks down at the atrium in contentment. The ruin is unheard of. He leaps over the edge and lands on the ground behind Mercurio. Baxter returns to him with his piercing glowing greenish eyeballs.
Mercurio relays the information:
“I have experienced intelligence. The Cube. I grabbed it-- in my descend. It was not going to let itself land on Earth.”
Baxter now insists:
“Where is the cube?”
Mercurio breaks down tearlessly:
“I got hard-- scared. I dropped it-- in space. I rather lost grip. It was getting heavy and searing hot. I couldn’t hold it any longer-- during my fall. I think. It was going to crush me in my landing or against it and disintegrate on the way down. I throw it-- into orbit. I wanted to come back in one piece. Then, I looked back. It was slowing down of it’s descend-- and I dived like a meteorite.”
Baxter continues silently:
“Did we fall with a tail? Didn’t we? Carry on.”
Baxter laughs in admiration. Now, chanting and marching towards the Humvee descending underground with a creed.
Baxter sings along and a portal opens up from the space occupied by the Humvee:
“We are the greatest peoples on Earth. We have a new universe. Let’s wait for this nasty star to fall on us. He is a new player feeding on-- with our delightful star.”
Mercurio gives him some space-- on the other hand, landscaping his distance-- kept-- by keeping his distances from the king.
“What just happened?”
Private to Mercurio-- stand close together and vehemently asks:
“Where’s Baxter now?”
They both stay silent while the electrical sparkling sound diminishes following by crackling. Their hard reality kicks in without him this place is uninhabitable and as ancient.
The same night in Hawaii, the dome of the telescope opens up-- at the brilliant sky. The heaven is a spectacle.
The gigantic beast opens his third eyelids submerged underneath the pitch-black plague to show off a piercing yellow iris with a pupil so strikingly reptilian-- it shakes up the plague by blinking into it. His seeking yellow feline eye-- goes into dormancy and falls into a guilt-ridden era.
A mechanism within the cube triggers the propulsion-- that changes its orbit drastically. The deflection of the earthshine in space on the cube-- makes it glowing fantastically organic-- as viable in space almost alive as it takes its distance from the space station. It hits a satellite-- pulverizing it entirely.
Inside the space station, Ariannakhan engineer astronaut is staringly looking at the cube from the windowpane. The roundness of Earth is astonishing-- in its brightness in space. The cube makes-- its journey revolving around the planet forcibly. Ariannakhan tilts her head on-- one side of the universe to have a last glimpse of any changes on its deadly orbit. She rapidly follows the godly cube into the gravity zero as she pushes herself into the next compartment as if performing some of her job routines. She gravitates inside the space station gracefully. Time glitches. Ariannakhan flows sluggishly in time. Her computer screen shows the calculation of the collision. In the vacuum of space, the compartment detaches from the mainframe station. The gigantesque cube flies by so close this time around-- in such speed.
It misses the space station-- and collides with the detached compartment in that second and pulverizes it.
Ariannakhan reports on screen in urgency:
“The cube has been playing with me since after the event-- like a mouse inside a spatial laboratory-- being ordered to make modifications and to save on the biological experiments on the station and gathering intelligence that needs to reach the right hand. Report!”
No answers-- but the emptiness of space.
Ariannakhan reports again:
“Is there anyone out there that is listening to this communication. I am running out of oxygen. The O2 level is constantly lowering. All satellites have been destroyed. The cube cleaned up-- all the space junk. Report.”
The space station staggers of avid adventures. The cube orbits in a distance lurking in the exosphere and magically appears beside the space station observing it maliciously. Inside the last artificial satellite orbiting Earth, engineer astronaut Ariannakhan stares at the cube. Baxter’s voice travels into the white noise of the universe:
“I close the investigation. The cube is the evil doer. You are summoned to descend on Earth.”
The mainframe of the station is being forced to disintegrate-- dangerously as a final warning.
“We need to collect DNA sample of everyone. I mean-- we need everyone. I shall return when my work is done inside the station.”
After much talk, the space station feels deserted and ready to give up his integrity.
“Communication is over. I will proceed with the evacuation.”
The last transmission of Baxter:
“I will put some strings on the well-oiled machine.”
The frame of the station shakes up by some microwave radiation made by a deadly remnant exhaustion of the cube main reactor found according to her reading.
The propulsion needs repairs. The equipment blurs drastically. The cosmic microwave background radiation hits at full force.
In space, the space station is certainly destined to be hit-- the next time around. Its evilness proves it all; as she is inside the last artificial satellite orbiting Earth.
Ariannakhan is ionized by the radiation as the cosmic microwave background shone all around her to embellish as she transformed into a super diamond in space.
“I didn’t crash here. I landed it here.”
Backing up the darkness, Baxter transformed into a raging dragon and hurls down to earth gravitational force and engages his fall at full speed disintegrating as a meteorite and gains the atmosphere inflamed in terror.
At the control over his mean of transport, the early sign of body degradation occurs. His eyes are bulging, his nerves stop emitting signals and stay in a stupor in his descent-- remaining in command of the ship. His entire body is getting scaled overlapping drastically into a dark blue and bloody red colors underlined in black as a cold-blooded being. His vision bubbles and shimmers frostily. He remains in a mindful set and assumes a carbon copy of his human form with yet a fiendish smile.
Baxter holds at the helm of the platform of command. He recognizes and strategizes with the functions of the command console.
Suddenly, Baxter is distracted by a mercury crystal ball forming on the side of the craft. Baxter can’t decelerate the craft or to reposition of his trajectory to avoid the armoring collision. All his attempts to regain control of the ship is vain.
A stunned Baxter stares at the silver-colored crystal ball and the object position itself in front of his trajectory with an impending feeling that is actually a hit. He obliterates that train of thought out of his mind immediately. Instead, he worms his way in with his willpower retaining his mental state under control and drills the ground.
At a certain deep in the crust, Baxter is being consumed by his own ambition and has a strong hold on his state of mind. He digs deeper into the soil, the crust and the Earth in force.
His intrusion utterly destroyed him-- mingling into the madness of such an intrepid endeavor.
He sweeps the metaphysical world with his fidget spinner the size of a ninja star-- into a visor covering it and proceeds to vanish.
Baxter looks desperately insidious and mentally disturbed by some intruder inside his mind whispering words of temptation.
Blake rattles him rather joyfully inside his golden cage.
The future prevails-- appeared. He leaves no pebble stones left unturned. He pursues his audacious quest and lands on the silky ground sprinkled with diamond nuggets and ores.
In the limited darkness such as within an anti thunderstorm, a semblance of livestock complacency looking like-- hell’s living are stunned. The thick beam strikes the ground in the harvest.
The beings live without-- using their superhuman power.
Baxter sweeps through his ninja visor-- the temperature is exceeding for a human to exist but sees human colonies underneath the crust.
They couldn’t possibly be human yet as human as possible as humanly as possible.
Always death silent and stuck in their frame of mind. Tinny sound cripples him from inside Baxter’s head.
Baxter is captured. By hands, he is being put inside a deepening well to be put away from the light source.
His staggered breathing sounds evil-- losing it for a cracking sound into an abysmal growling dragon roar. The creature takes two breaths defending itself.
Baxter explodes and the lotus is growing in the pound:
“I wish-- you will smolder in hell in joy. I will show you where the hell inn is.”
In the grotto, a beam of light illuminates above Baxter in musicality. Baxter smoldered with anger in part of hell fury-- falling down with a 747 in the midst of the storm over.
As a munition, the angel soldier unwittingly and with a cry of vengeance for god-- let itself to commit the murder may be as a disguised sacrifice and eventually everything drops.
The drilling eventually stopped. A prison of genetically being unable to escape are imprisoned there.
The whole nine yards shimmers.
In Las Vegas mansion, Baxter bursts flimsy earthly from the ground and erupts into the dining room armed with a hammer absolutely ready to strike. The weather storms out-- instantaneously by the windowpane facing the enclosed garden. The rainfall is steadily coming down. The thunder rises with lightings. Peals of thunder take its course in the sky.
Baxter yells in stupor out of breath ready to strike:
“Where is he? Who is stealing from me?
Baxter slams the door and hammers into his head comfortably-- twice to see. It bleeds red blood. No one bulge but-- fear pierces them off guard. Baxter tumbles down gagging underneath the table-- out of view. Into the darkness, Baxter playfully butches him like a psychopath-- none until he’s done-- dare to decamp. The staff is trying to stay calm and in shock-- getting ready to escape of a thundering menace. Baxter feels satisfied. The storm is raging.
Baxter picks up:
“We are not going to storm out-- the pantheon. Tonight.”
The clamor of the lighting roams away in the far end-- of the land. In the climax, Baxter stands up with bloody droplets on his face-- wholly relieved orgasmically.
In the late night at Strip Club, the injured bootlicker advances escorted by two guards with bandages wrapped up around his head absolutely ridiculed-- all looks baffled standing by the wall with disdain looks once hastily removed. The fawning domestic servant is flattered.
The third eye plucks ridiculously and blinks unattainable-- spying on the kingdom and reflecting the world in the inner part. In the nest egg, Baxter is exhausted and gets carried away.
Malibu is lingering awkwardly inside the spying device observing circling vision of him inside of it:
the curtain was merely covering the sex going on the other side
It splits-- like you split up a fruit with an arrow. Baxter and Malibu are behind the curtain. The music stops. The laser keeps-- dancing on the empty dance floor into one beam-- that aims to him. The stroboscope flashes intentionally. Red light lits dimly.
Baxter cocks the gun and plants it on his forearm to strike ready. The eyelid flutters to get a good fix-- leveling with the front sight:
“Disgusting! That is-- a commotion and a bruise.”
Baxter is in the mind of Malibu takes the rifle and shoots the spy-- at everyone laugh.
Malibu is offended:
“Baxter. Not in front of our guests.”
“We know, he’s gonna run his mouth.”
He shots again. Baxter leans on Malibu in fear.
“Let’s keep him dead.”
Malibu looks somewhere else.
Baxter says beside Malibu to please /plead:
“Get to the moon.”
The conversation follows:
“I have to confess. I have acquired the H-bomb.” and shots around. The crowd escapes.
Uninterrupted, the two bikini girls are entertaining at Strip Club with a mud fight surrounded by flames.
They gaze at the mud fight weening at the half-sphered combat ring made of smooth sandstone that is relentlessly raging-- around flames with a prominent statue pole of snake made of gold-- in the middle of which four cherubim faces made up of gold are piercing souls with watchful eyes.
The natural light of the pantheon comes down from a nonexistent four skylights high ceiling from Meknes.
A divine being poured water on the fierce female combatants.
The fight is over and the fighters disintegrate into the mud.
Baxter clearly talks about past battles.
Malibu looks up at Baxter agreeably with two wide eyes.
His bet shapes itself up and Baxter leans downward.
The place becomes decorated
with walls ornating-- gold in mosaic figures of their glorious battles
and Lore falls to ancient earth. He speeds up.
Lore speaks out and it echoes clearly:
“I am just getting to like this, seriously. Malibu.” and starts to dance.
The party still goes on inside the gold realm.
They’re enjoying and it shapeshifts into a spaceship. Photonuclear.
Baxter stares at Malibu with eyes only. Baxter aims right into him in two dimensions-- right into the blinking third innocent eye.
“only on the northern hemisphere.”
Lore is watching indelible and gets hit and he dies front face crippled by time.
At the table,
Baxter adds presumptuously smiling at the spying device:
“You are the devil. Why don’t you doubt yourself? The devil wants to spend time with us. I can proud this moment. They are living off me.”
Malibu is all smile. Then, as he points at the spy with his drink on his hand:
“A spy? A spy!” he helps him and the crowd now.
Baxter with his drink up:
“We got our troop. We own the land. We don’t spy. We conquer.”
Baxter clicks. The muzzle flash defies the darkness crossly. Malibu tries to stop him a little too enthusiastically-- sparkling his eyes with intended pleasure by leaning on him.
Private jumps on him and plants his head on his crotch.
Private grasps the moment:
“Kill me, Baxter. Kill me.”
H-bomb explodes. It didn’t detonate.
The detonator goes flying on the floor away from his reach.
The propulsion of the cube lits up in space.
the residual human caught in the magnetic fields tries to infiltrate the cube protecting shield to invade it.
to make cleaning and repairs on the cube propulsion device.
jump in on top and falls through the roof and falls out into a concert.
Thankfully, Mercurio steps in to stop-- Private. The music skull.
“I gave him wings, my king.”
Inside the club, Baxter changes to a brutal form. A dragon/reptilian that feeds on your worst side.
“I heard you-- from the seaside.”
Baxter turns looking around for an escape blending himself into the flame while everyone is inflamed around him laughing at him. Baxter returns to-- its natural state:
“My friends. We need more company coming.”
“oh” and returns to magma state.
“You won’t help.” yells Baxter.
The day is bright outside at a familiar appeal of the courthouse. The high ceiling courtroom is entirely painted in white with opened windows along the wall. The luster effect of the chandelier is ravishing. A nice wind blows through the white silky curtain peacefully. Baxter sits down on the bench formally made of California pine wood. The gallery is solid with a series of unoccupied benches. The walkway looks formal with an Indian couple ready to enter for a hearing at the bar and enter the well.
Baxter is all relaxed:
“That won’t be necessary. Why are you still married?”
Baxter is almost laughing with a grin and leans over.
Baxter says-- raging in a calming tone and shakes the universe:
“You guys-- don’t lie to each other? At all? Pathetic? Why are you still here all silent? All day, all day. Pathetic.”
Baxter stands up and looks through the window.
Baxter says blindly annoyed:
“I won’t make you jump in. Why are you keeping lies in your mind?”
The Indian husband replies:
“We keep them safe. We are travelers, we switch worlds.”
The Indian couple completely understanding the situation is indeed-- agreeing to it. Baxter is about to lose it.
The Indian husband shushes:
“We like-- being here. We asked to meet you in private. The last horses are for you to tame.”
Baxter runs out of the courtroom. In the hallway, Baxter reaches the door of another occupied session. He enters inside gasping for air. Baxter turns his eyes at the two girls-- heavenly making out at the table.
“You wanna smoke and lie down-- to get all inspirational.”
Girls are lasciviously altogether and caring for each other.
The two girls rejoice:
“You wanna drink-- us?”
The judge adjourns the session outraged-- and leaves the courtroom promptly. The door closes itself firmly behind him. Baxter grabs the table with his left hand and with a move of his head blows everyone’s mind with it. The two table comes together. The godly vintage typewriter flips around in the air-- with metallic letters popping out. It lands intact inside the typewriter in the right place-- once the desk stopped moving literally.
Baxter laughs strongly illuminated inside of-- himself:
“He is ultimately the best man-- I’ve ever met.”
The court reporter-- lays low inside the courtroom as the desk was pushed away and leaves immediately highly offended. Baxter grabs them both from their hips passionately.
In the yard, a bow shoots an arrow-- hits the trunk of a tree and feeding into two pieces.
In the late morning, the door opens up loudly inside the dried up cranky establishment that is obviously out of power. The intruder takes his dusty-- first step. Over the counter, a familiar face-- looks down behind the bar with misty-eyed. The flooring is made of pine tree, the ashes of Jack lays-- on that floor still untouched. A clue that his family made it. Baxter stares at the remain imaginatively leaning against the bar like a dog with a bone trying to get a lift home. Unwillingly, a tear drops from his right eye-- that falls right into the ground. A misty dust propagates in vapor from the ashes. Baxter looks around inside the place-- not realizing that it had just happened. Behind the bar, Baxter grabs an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels black.
The seal rips apart, 2012, 2003, 2001, 1968, 1942, 1939, 1912...
Baxter pours the alcoholic content and indulges himself-- with a toast to a breathtaking crowd.
Baxter reminds himself:
“Comme, j’aime bien, fini-t-il.”
The clock sounds. He gulps it. The cube plays a melody on the counter. Harp music. The melody of the wind blowing into the tree with the bird-- waiting for mating in the morning.
The sandy blurry floor stays standstill. Baxter grabs the pair of pants as well as the shirt that landed on the floor to dust it well. Baxter folds the shirt and the pair of pants methodically onto the bar-- besides the draft beer tower. The draft leaks cold from the aperture.
Baxter stays as astonished and by challenging it:
“First drink-- is on the house.”
Baxter doesn’t waste his time and pours the local draft into his buck. The condensation begins to form. Baxter takes the jewelry as well as his unique keen sense of vanity. He polishes it-- with his power. Baxter puts the belonging-- to rest on top of the clothing. Baxter grabs the ashes-- with his own hands to a marble musical box that hasn’t been played since Roswell. The musical box opens up. Baxter pours in the ashes with his bare hand. Cloudy memory.
Baxter jokingly asks:
“You are serving me-- light beer. Jack.”
Laughs. Flash. Baxter takes a Polaroid. He writes a note on it-- rather quickly. Here rest my brave bartender, Jack. May He Rest In Peace.
Baxter runs away-- trembling in a hidden state. He bursts out-- broken up a lack of emotion as he pushed himself naked through the door in order to gain the outside world. The sunlight hits on the front side of the Irish bar harshly-- the painting job cracks. Baxter is blinded by the intensity of the sunlight as soon as he reaches the far exterior of the parking lot. The white sand covers the street entirely over an enamored white concrete wall. He shoots at dunes with his firearm and climbs over one to reach the other side of the white wall. A second time, Baxter walks out-- barefoot slowly but surely and resiliently silent and to unwind. In the petrifying night, the sky thunders horrendously together. Baxter is pledged to be silent and opens up his mouth blowing or at least breathing hell down his throat.
The meteorite forms a fireball in the dripping silent sky.
The world stays silent and has stopped existing-- blacked out.
During a ringing in the ear, a swift of clarity comes down from the heaven.
The sun ravels the blue sky in the brightness.
Baxter is motionless and forces his eyes to remain opened milking away.
-- prevailing the sunlight is in motion around him.
Now, Baxter kneels down helpless-- haltingly to the opposite direction and in tears. The sun grows wildly and expands in the heaven-- dancing.
lore shoots the ground.
Back to the Irish bar, the music still plays on the counter alone.
The music sound of the wind flowing on the leaves of the tree with the bird looking for mating-- now has a bald eagle calling for preying into the melody.
While outside, Baxter looks at what is left of the others that disappeared during the event-- and looks around-- swirls around frantically naked. Ashes and clothing lay everywhere around him. The air is dry and the wind has become nonexistent. The incandescent star is-- at its zenith. Baxter digs into the pile of ashes with his barefoot fairly anguished. Seasons have passed.
A normal gust of wind.
The rain begins. It’s the night now, Baxter bares himself absolutely in control. The bright light. The prosterning strikes. He is now clothed again and barefoot. Baxter laughs deadly on his knees locked to the ground. His regards up at the sky. His arms down. It pours dearly. Baxter closes his eyes and opens his mouth to let the rain drop inside. He smiles forcibly all round till-- his cheeks lose its vigor while the rain plunks on it.
The ranch-style Las Vegas Mediterranean curb appeal of the mansion stands out during a magnifique Monday morning. Mercurio comes to disturb Baxter during his downtime as he approaches-- to the next room abruptly. An enigmatic Baxter arouses deeply in wanders by the revealing eternal oblivion vision of life after death.
Mercurio is at the door:
“The herd of horses-- is more than meets the eyes. My king.”
Baxter budges in hand-- almost elbowing it:
“We wait until night falls.”
They feast continuously down inside the mess hall.
In the Sierra and over a period of time the herd of horses ride all together in a military manner and are kept under scrutiny. In high altitude, the mercenary looks down at the scenery behind the elevated rocks set up-- as a stationary outpost to spy on the horses strategizing in the valley. They abstain from moving. The horses are horrific to watch them ready for battle under the gleaming universe.
On the ground, the horses disappear and reappear interacting with dimensions in different places very subtly interfering with it by passing each other-- like they are enticing to be tamed browsing other dimensions filled with ultimate information and knowledge of another dimension programming.
The small group of guards remains motionless hidden behind the rocks with a picturesque heaven intermittently shining in the bright vastness of the new cosmos universe. They abandon the outpost silently barbarous in their affair.
In the next morning, the sun shines peacefully over the dreamy enclosed garden of the mansion in Vegas. The breakfast is being served and the vegetation gets watered. The enchanting marble fountain is blissfully compelling. The clinking of the utensils on the plate-- diminishes. They clear the table.
In the broad daylight, the Humvee attempts to catch the horses in the valley. They speed up-- on the open range. The pursuit scatters the horses galloping around the area and taking suddenly-- a turn to escape the chase.
The horses regroup behind them. The herd races around their vehicle-- chasing them out their spot. Many vehicles-- get tumbled on one side and avoids collision with the beasts. The Humvee-- trooping in formation with the horses are seen airborne.
Airview. A map of the heaven uncovers.
On the ground, the other vehicles progress to enclose the herd inside the substantial dust devil.
The particles through the air get charged in the vortex.
The cyborg interdimensional horses appear and reappear elsewhere by playing hide-and-seek to a bigger vision-- for a bigger architect.
In the sandy valley, Baxter drives in the direction of the sun into the west pursuing a lonely horse. He wears a pair of pilot sunglasses made of gold-- looking just stern. Killing time. Mercurio tackles with his device on the passenger seat.
Baxter opens his side window and merely makes an attempt to grab the one with his own hand-- while speedily driving on a bumpy road. He looks ahead of him immediately and maneuvers. Next, Baxter opens his door. In the shadow, Baxter leans outdoor with the vehicle in motion. He examines the front tire as well as the rear one. Baxter opts for a surfer like position-- while driving, giggling and studying the herd. Baxter drives himself crazy on a smooth drive-- sticking out his tongue to the horse. For the sake of god, he turns the steering wheel 90 degrees as he reaches to grab the horse with his bare hand and it catapulted bumping into the sand. Baxter examines underneath the animal and the hoof-- as the horse flee this side avoiding a collision. There is no horseshoe underneath it. The hoof is in-- its natural state. Baxter slams the door and smiles at Mercurio-- while he turns his regard to him.
“A dictator needs help. We need help.” and smashes his head at the dashboard.
Baxter holds hard against the steering wheel with power and decelerates the motor vehicle abruptly. Baxter stops half the herd from galloping. The dust engulfed the interior of the Humvee. All chasing vehicles stop randomly in the opened land. Under the ray of the sun and taken by surprise Private stands on his lookout post-- totally ready to throw his lasso. The Huntsman henchman gets engulfed in the dirt. He loses his balance at this breaking point. The trespassing sign lingers for the shortcomings.
USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED
The other half of the herd takes a U-turn and speeds up towards their means of power after passing through the fence. They gallop on top of some vehicle to crack windshield during the stampede and some hit their solid tire with their hoof to puncture them. The side mirror gets busted by Baxter’s side and closes the window-- clenching his face against the dust and to dissipate it with the other hand. His mouth is jolted by a current and irradiates-- hieroglyph from each molar.
At ramming speed, the herd is raging. He looks up at the horses leaning down on his driver seat-- giggling, coughing and finally says at the end:
“They are female horses.”
Baxter reads the timeline-- something triggers it. He gets hit-- by a series of vision of prototypes nonetheless it appears flying around a test site.
An inquisitive horse unscrupulously approaches near the window-- preying furiously inside the vision and banging against the vehicle. The sun is raging. Baxter opens up the window and aims at the horse with Mercurio’s device. The horse backs off and disappears-- only to reappear a few feet away in gleam. Baxter turns to Mercurio in stillness.
Baxter gives it back to him and says lively:
“We need to catch them. They are so close.” and laughs.
“But how? By jumping on them? This is like a rodeo, man. Aren’t we close to the Texas border? Hiyaaa…”
They bluntly stop talking to look at the herd galloping so close to their vehicle and on top of it. The car frame is strong but all of them are nearly death destroyed.
In the late afternoon, the horses enjoy the pasture.
The other vehicle circulates amongst the herd slowly.
The horses toilet each other.
On the radio, Mercurio is policing the valley.
Mercurio glitches over the radio:
“Stay in patrol, troops. Over.”
From the driver seat, Baxter looks at Mercurio directly into his eyes:
“They are impossible to catch-- therefore wanting to be caught.”
“This is all science, Baxter.”
Mercurio gets off-- the Humvee. The daytime turns into night as he walks out. The ambient air condition changes roughly as-- its own hidden no man’s land. While Mercurio gets busy with his equipment behind the vehicle:
“It’s my planet.”
In his mid-afternoon, Baxter waits inside the Humvee impatiently. He hits the steering wheel again. The engine is still running smoothly in the shade over a dune.
Mercurio’s voice travels over the engine:
“Having a connection with the cube pays off, my king.”
In his mad land, Mercurio opens up a compartment under rough condition-- a camouflage in space and time. A badland. The passenger door stays opened in nullity between the two strange worlds.
The atmospheric condition has totally changed inside his dimension to protect his work. The device turns on with a continuous whir. Mercurio eyewear is equipped with a sophisticated scan night vision as it turns completely on. A grin fiercely takes shape on his perfectly rugged face under his device. The wind blows the darker granular-- strongly into the valley over spiky dunes. Mercurio wears his protective google to prevent the sand to hit his device to his liking. Mercurio pulls out-- a magnetic stock prod/branding iron. He charges it to-- its maximum capacity with no chance of powering it.
A gush of wind blows-- of the harsh environment of another planet.
In the mid-afternoon of Baxter’s designed world, Baxter watches Mercurio undoubtedly showing signs of impatience.
During the twilight, Mercurio charges his apparatus once more-- leaning against the wind and the heavy weapon leans on his right knee into the right direction. The target stays motionless. Mercurio shoots directly at the horse immediately. The magnetic stock prod shoots-- a capsule containing an electrified net passes through the air toward the target. The team roping has won the battle of the wild horses. The capsule opens up in the air transforming into a mini antenna-- in slow motion and in a 360 degrees-- sounds all around-- it surroundings-- and aim to the target-- at last. The horse roping extending device opens up rapidly-- second before hitting the target. Therefore, brand ironing the animal with USAF by the neck area. The horse gets caught by surprise electrified. The electric net charged with maximum capacity hits the horse body frame. The wild horse has been put on-- its knees. The gun reads the majestic animal with the probe physically connecting to the magnetic stock prod to Mercurio. The horse escapes. Mercurio removes his goggles to watch the animal galloping away. Atmospheric condition changes subsequently. Mercurio is skeptical-- he hits the gadget with his palm. It malfunctions and turns itself off.
“Not enough power.”
The net comes back into the device and operates normally. Mercurio reads-- the data from his magnetic stock prob on the edge of his door with his right foot stomping inside the Humvee.
Mercurio alluring voice professes:
“I have been on this longer than you thought, Baxter.” and didn’t have to complete his sentence as hell smolders paper thin enclosed by this dimension.
Baxter vociferates in the passenger compartment:
Mercurio embarks in the vehicle without hesitation. The horses are catching up menacingly and stop galloping by the Humvee.
Suddenly, the horses eat the pasture. One eats a rattlesnake.
“We are going to Texas.”
Skyview. Humvee makes a U-turn and another turn.
“Which way? Rio.”
“Don’t give me the runaround.”
In the capharnaum, Baxter looks very happy-- holding it together.
His Slavic nationality overwhelms him under the light of the windshield along a county road. Baxter asserts exasperatedly overwhelmed by his power:
As a self-acting prisoner of his Slavic nationality and stature:
“My name is Nuclear Photo. You can’t leave me, here.”
Baxter responds intermittently leans his head the opposite way:
“Nuclear...Nuclear Rio, that is suitable.”
“We eliminate the enemy with some fuck you hoe foes.” Nuclear Photo disrupts him.
“Nuclear. We have enclosed wild horses, we need to catch them first hand. I will show you-- breaking in a wild godly horse that is your mission. I will have power over you-- but first, some initiation will occur.”
In the night, the Humvee crosses Texas border.
Texas State Line Sign
Welcome to Texas
Drive Friendly - The Texas Way
The only one horse left just disappeared. Baxter with Mercurio returns to Las Vegas.
In the sundown, the arrival of the intruders at the newly founded oasis comes to disturb Malibu’s outbreak of joviality inside the pound designed at the lowest part of the crater-- as the girls are cranking up the heat with their sensuous laugh.
They trek down to the pound altogether-- laughing and taking their clothes off. Private acts up behind intermittently fluffing the ground. Baxter asks Mercurio on his descent of the path:
“How many horses have you counted?”
Baxter arrives at his landscaping pound-- the grass is quintessentially growing to embellish the scenery. Malibu notices them evasively by the growing foliage. The lighting is magical. Baxter is ahead of the wolf pack. Mercurio rides the mounted horse and Private is further up the track. The lilies are afloat in the pound.
Mercurio answers nonchalantly as he victoriously-- caught a horse:
“Counted? I have my own horse.”
Mercurio stops riding behind the foliage. The horse rears up at once against the vegetation that stops growing in proportion.
Baxter cheerfully jumps in and face off. Malibu is stark naked underwater with by his side two bikini girls-- changing side.
Malibu jabbers spontaneously amused:
“Are you abashed? Don’t look at me. How would I know? I am trying to get the cool down here. You arrive too soon.”
The charismatic girls’ catchy laugh is surprisingly charming. On the ground, Baxter gestures to him adequately once again.
“Welcome back to my new paradise. Malibu.”
The two girls ethereally combust into bluish flames with a cool snap from Malibu. He subtly reaches the ground underneath to pound a pebble and cast the spheroid stone into the water at Baxter as he enjoys himself:
“Build an arena.”
Malibu sips on his wine. Baxter is indefinitely coming down the path-- catches it-- flying up from his knees intently and continues his sexy trekking almost dropping the object on the catch on:
“What’s the point of catching them all?” he looks up the hill.
On his horse, Mercurio peeps at Baxter walking ahead of him staring down at the object. It emits a glisten radiance. Mercurio mingles inside the overgrown foliage and gawks at Malibu-- welcoming him to take place in the pound. Exuberantly, he splashes his glass of wine in a swift as he sips on the rest of it:
“Don’t be shy.” he says buoyantly.
Mercurio as he responded:
“Whoever rides them-- gains some power. My king.”
Baxter concentrates on the object glistening from the clay intensely. It shines majestically. His hands penetrate a dimension through the watery clay and his eyes watered.
“Catch them all!”
Mercurio says carefully:
“We don’t exactly know-- how many of them are in our spec of realms.”
Baxter turns his head to Mercurio:
“Seal the area. Build an arena. Build a fence around those magnificent being to neutralize them.”
“These are my stallions.” he growled.
In Baxter’s hand, the object made of crystalline matter turns into-- a carefully planned scale model of the arena. The blueprint of the foundation is imprinted inside lively. Baxter throws the scale model at Mercurio that maintains an upright position-- standing beside his horse ready to jump into the water.
“Branding iron. You don’t own them.”
Mercurio speaks to Baxter confidently by addressing them:
“Frankly, this could be done, I will see to it. I will build a net made of titanium. Try to shoot them with a stronger neutralizer gun as an electric cattle prod.” and scowled at Malibu intentionally bashing down his palm with a fist fight to glow discharge plasma.
Nonetheless, Malibu looks overly vexed splashing water in a whirl around him. Baxter opens up a realm with his bare hands. He stretches out his hand to grab part of a new armchair in style-- shining like a mini throne. Baxter pulls out the seat from nothing-- another part appears to be unfolding magically from pure nothing. Baxter puts it together. They are stunning. They are dumbfounded speechless. Comprehending. An image transfixing.
Baxter and Mercurio take a bath in the pound. The feast is being served wonderfully by a new type of charismatic woman. Private sits down on the chair smoothly on a lookout. In the steamy water, Malibu looks at the agenda and flips through pages.
“Now, I am collecting data. Cartography. Do we have a moon or what? Our oceans increase and decrease. We have tides along our shores. Where is our moon? We don’t have much time.”
In the pound, they laugh at each other inside the reversed south hemisphere of Earth and the throne as a full Moon.
As the day goes by, the troop under the command of Mercurio marches toward ground zero-- near the herd.
In the radiating heat, the crawling putative Lore gains the summit with an exuberant haze and sits down on the bedrock. He scratches his head forcibly with his apparatus on his lap. He eyes on the desert storm raging far away.
Mercurio throws the blueprint of the arena that lands in the midst of their bearings and fashions a hole into the ground that casually caves in around luminously-- as of a result making a sinkhole embodied like a crater.
Suddenly, the electrified arena fence keeps rising from the ground one after the other-- capturing the horses running along the fence panels to escape the enclosement and they’re surrounded quiet strangely with so much energy kept inside to harness it-- that should remain a mystery and to put it at rest.
The desert storm reaches the site at the same time as the arena foundation is molten and fabricated under the soil. The arena is constructed as a pyramid and changes form as a colosseum.
At night in the cool, the ceremony just ended. The firework ignites into the sky and another game begins. In the mountain range, Lore watches his device in conviction. The screen shines on his face-- while viewing the spying device seeking for any signs of deployment.
The submarine floats off the ocean.
Baxter is seeking for more.
A probe is launched by an astronaut completely protected by a spacesuit. The spying device propels into space departing from the wide opened cargo bay. It follows the cube hovering mechanisms in pursuit. The payload bay remains opened in the vacuum of space as the cube goes adrift followed closely by the automated probe-- intermittently sending a reading of the cube.
Bip! bip! bip!
Inside the payload bay, with her feet firmly put on the deck ground engineer astronaut Ariannakhan pulls up the sun visor to observe the pursuit. Earth flips on the other side-- hidden. The danger of the cube presence vanishes from sight as the cargo bay closes off with her inside. The cube is ahead of a distance being followed by the monitoring device-- that’s being pulled by its gravitational force. Last view. Ariannakhan removes her helmet in the vacuum of space. Her hair floats in space around her inner padding protective suit that covers it entirely. The cargo bay finally seals completely.
“Like we need air to breathe. Computer. Decompression. We’re good.”
Into space, the cube mischievously accelerates from its propulsion device. The probe is ingrained into its force field and gets hauled like a magnet. Baxter reads the intelligence-- inside the morbid cube itself. Ariannakhan brushes her long black hair.
“My spies, I sent my spies” she repeated to herself in her mind incessantly.
At the space station, Ariannakhan records in her log:
“During the event, I was fixing the satellite. All I saw coming was this huge vessel where deep space meets the Earth. The cube almost hit me-- in its attempt to descend on Earth. I saw the other hanging on the cube. His look.”
Baxter reads the timeline as his personnel file.
The cube appears inside the station-- glistening. Giving it appeal, Ariannakhan incredulously gazes at the cube breathless to DNA--ize it.
In the span of her comprehension, the cube is drawn into her witless. She walks towards it-- inclined to get hold of it. She could grab it for her own use and it swings from right and to the left like a pendulum.
Baxter is unnerved and bustles with the command.
In a nerve-wracking situation, Ariannakhan stays in control of the space station. She reenacts in time enclosed against a cloudy vision with Baxter still inside the morbid cube.
Ariannakhan says entitled to:
“We are under attack! Anyone receiving in Houston? We are caught in a war-- out of our world. Space War! S.W.1., over.”
In space, venturing stray light from Earth-- beams out past the space station into the sea of tranquility ocean floor of the lunar soil. A peer astronaut floating in space undertakes to reach the precarious safety of the space station. The flow of energy is slowly diluting into the moon behind him. The male astronaut inside the space suit gazes at Ariannakhan maneuvers-- impeccably entering the space station opened hatch. He veers in the same direction as Ariannakhan throws in his direction the lifeline attached to the rescue pulley and pulls him steadily into safety. The astronaut is being dragged by the current of energy flowing in space into the opposite direction. The pulley cord gets tighten. She cranks the mechanism as the rescued astronaut approaches-- the light becomes so dense inside the spacesuit. Ariannakhan contemplates in disbelief at his peer astronaut being pulled into the moon. Flashes. As a precaution, she pulls down the protective layer made of gold ever since the light got so dense to look at. Near the aperture, Ariannakhan sees his face literally lighting up under the helmet with a lingering eye contact and a calming goodbye smile at the end. The other astronaut comes into view by the windowpane and turns into dust beside the workstation right after the entry dock has closed firmly tight and pressurized. The air flow is contaminated by the dust inside the station. The residue amalgamates together and combines to form a structure in gravity zero adapting the form of the galaxy into a DNA shapes. Her bet is shaping.
Inside the dock station, the cube is still glistening as standing Ariannakhan infuses at the emerging. It swirl reflects light readily and warbles. The golden ornamented cube rotates in a stationary state materialistically. The cosmic time is ever endlessly fast forwarding around the cube seemingly traveling.
Ariannakhan reports unquestionably:
“I could see-- beings absorbed within the lunar soil.”
The cube is swirling faster and shines into cosmic time indefinitely connecting. The station shakes evilly. The cosmic radiation microwaves alter its system. Baxter grabs the cube to stop of its function far down in his agenda and deeply think for a moment. Then, he releases it.
“I contacted all space agencies. Only you replied to my call. The moon releases a huge amount of cosmic radiation. I promise, we will find them but they are confined inside the lunar soil.”
Baxter is watching intensely-- all connected.
“Thank you, Baxter to contact me again. We need to get them back-- all the peoples beamed out in space.”
She deeply breaths and exhales in rage. Baxter skips the timeline and downloads it. The cube takes the command smoothly.
“Baxter. The energy level of the moon has considerably increased. The moon is cloaked by an unseen cloaking device that I tried to locate ever since.”
“The cube is involved. His power is tremendous.”
In the night, after making some adventurous moves like a UFO sighting by glowing in red, green, blue and white. The cube finally gives up and moves toward the same distance from space in some degree to Baxter position on Earth.
The troop of soldiers gains the side entrance of the complex looking up and marching as a somber Baxter paces his way in the newly constructed coliseum.
In the sky, the zeppelin probe approaches closely towards the stadium with the crowds ultimately into the game.
Ariannakhan surveys at the crowd in the stadium from the sky with an invisible zeppelin probe.
The edge of the stadium is embedded by banners flowing in the air incessantly. The interior of the stadium from the sky looks majestuous and very gated. The stands are besieged by demanding spectators under the floodlighting.
As a simple light, the cube falls from the heaven in a timely fashion.
The probe zeppelin transmits the giant cloud on top of the stage broadcasting informative, contemplative and compromising picture of the cube itself. More images of the cube in different settings appear and of the cube at play in space combat nothing no intelligence is spared.
Eventually, Ariannakhan gives up the precursor sign of her descent and dances along the stars making constellations-- she flips bending the cosmic universe fluidly as she pleases seeking attention from Earth.
In the vast distance of space, the victories resplendent impressively with the entire troop and the crowd looking up with admiration at the light in space amicably modeling the way the sky glimmers. The victories showing in the cloud swirls down toward Earth. The cube comes down into their direction and stopping in altitude-- in different directions and positions.
The sky dims nightly, a discrete stationary bulb of light shines of another world in the sky-- making moves on top of Baxter position on Earth strangely. Baxter returns all intrigued connecting and interfacing followed by the moving object glowing light in the sky like-- he can be in two places at the same time.
Baxter says in a hollow voice:
“Are they following us or are we following them?”
The cube falls faster than expected ingrained in the law of gravity. Baxter speeds up on the dirt directly into the same direction as the road disappeared from the headlight. He is looking up at the sky agaped and searches for more ground:
“How long have you wait to tell me such thing? On top of my head.” he turns his head to one side and roars accelerating in the night.
Ariannakhan descends to Earth in a smooth fashion:
“You will never find the secret of the universe, Baxter, because god itself changes and bends the logic of love, because God is contemplating from the boundary that’s holding over the surface of this universe and loves us like-- we are fish in a bowl trying to breathe air instead of oxygen in the water.”
Arriving at the Nevada test site, Baxter enters the underground bunker painted in shades of light green. In that second, the expected landing of the cube-- ended up rather roughly in a flash that illuminates the ceiling of the interior of the bunker. The lighting enters in flashes from the lonely long opening set widow on the concrete windowpane-- just above the green.
The glowing of the blast is rather unnerving inside the bunker.
Baxter looks through the night vision binoculars inside the fortification adjusting in to discover her settings. All observe carefully thinking-- they are protected underground. The landing. Under the binocular, Ariannakhan appears unarmed. She walks off from the site unhurt. She landed well. The cube landed in the past and has opted to stop the timeline around it-- with a hazy shield giving out screen information and coordination. The military records it. They wear sixties uniform.
Baxter breaks their silence and walks out:
“She could be one of their spies.”
Mercurio answers promptly:
“How the hell would I know? I knew-- it was coming down.”
Once outside the bunker, Baxter holds her faith:
“She safely landed it rather-- in one piece without pay.”
On a stage on the field of the stadium, she approaches swaying her way in. Baxter stands in front of his army. His sword is up. Wearing her inner space suit, Ariannakhan has the cube in her possession floating from her right palm enjoying the coronation. She hands it herself and indulges to bow. The crowd cheers.
“Brave girl, brava.”
Ariannakhan shines of beauty under the crowd excitement:
“You know. I don’t like to spend too much time with you. Baxter.”
Baxter is rather looking at her more at ease and satisfied.
“Do you want me to transform? It’s more than meet the cube.”
Ariannakhan poses as a sex doll and shows off her moves in a spectacle. The troop cheers in an instant and stops while the public picks up. They leave the scene altogether.
Inside the VIP section while the game is raging. Ariannakhan enjoys her girly drink around the camaraderie.
“I gave my report on my way down. It’s inside the cube. It deliberately compressed the station in space.”
Baxter enjoys the comradeship:
“Yes, my new commander. A friendly fire.”
Baxter is the king in command of his troop.
“Are you ready for my commands? I am the only one that knows your eager heart.”
The soldiers agree.
“Let’s take back-- what belongs to us simply.”
The sun glazes intensely with a blaze of fury to the base of the deserted gate of the correctional facilities. The day is strikingly picturesque with shaping clouds-- continuously changing shape in the form of superposed minced almond. Raising from the ground by an ever-changing world. Baxter stands by the blazoned main gate anticipating the arrival of the soldiers to cross the finish line with Texas behind him. The grass field had grown and dried out within the enclosed field by high barbwire fence with the guard towers standing deterrent on both sides of the gatehouse. The grassland had grown in the Meadowlands surrounding the institution. An electrical current passes through the rail fence vrooming. The Humvee is parked behind a walking Baxter and ignites by itself with exhaust.
Mercurio is posted within sight of the meeting point while Baxter drives in circles around the end of the track creating a dust devil. The charged particles amass and echo.
Mercurio is standing near the guard tower-- examining the gate and gains access to the enclosed staircase-- to the upper level of the watch station-- solely equipped with a radio transmitter.
Mercurio dispatches on the radio from inside the watchtower. The dust devil grows stronger against the windows dumping dirt:
“All prisons across the county is accountable for. On your mark, get set, go.”
The racers appear from all side with their fabricated mean of transport-- others are eliminated meaning destroyed. The motorized vehicles emerge in a dust cloud at the main gate of the institution. The sparkle feebles in the gloomy murkiness.
The death row complex wall uplifts from the ground and becomes alive as a standing fortified castle stands. The light from the outside world comes through Nuclear Photo barred window. His eyeballs kindly gaze utterly distraught and the eyebrows frown of unraveled intention. Baxter stops next to the gatehouse before entering a cleared ground of the penitentiary institution. The launched dart flies by near Baxter as he gives his order to the rest of the death row squad team:
“Don’t enter the interior. Guard the door.”
The prison block is deadly silent-- some are totally ravaged by untold stories. Baxter engages inside alone-- after confirming his intention. Private keeps his position behind the barred door with the detachment on standby-- gesturing squat commands given by Baxter and clutches the door. Private and the team follows the command given.
Baxter advances alone into the one cell isolation section of the death row. In their gear, the death squat keeps-- searching the incarceration center. The prisoner makes an attempt to gesture and waves in the shadow:
“I am prisoner 45363. Please, don’t kill me.”
“We are not here to kill you.”
The death row squad abandons the inmate like venturesome cadets. The excited squat team passes by inmates that run overly agitated-- follows orders by inspecting all cells and to guard it. Private cuts one rope.
Nuclear Photo yells comforting words for the death of a father and:
“What’s making that noise? I am a prisoner sentenced to death. Where is my sentence? I wanna sleep.”
The door opens inside the death row. The inmate is ready for inspection with minimal lighting.
Baxter calls bravely:
“It’s dark outside. It’s nightfall.”
Inside the prison cell, Nuclear Photo sits down on his bed looking down-- awaiting the outcome of the situation. The circumstances did not kill him. Eventually, they will kill him and he senses that.
In deep voice Nuclear Photo mumbles:
“I am not forgotten.”
After a lapse of time staring nothingness, Nuclear Photo demands:
“Who doesn’t die of hunger, eat, drink and piss-- fuck it, defecate. I want answers.”
“And time itself. Join me.”
“How did you find me?”
Baxter contemplates the answer and leans his head up to look at the cube in space by wearing his ninja star visor.
“You are inside of what we’d considered being a stealthy sentence-- to death row. Murder is what brought us here. We crossed that out from the list.”
Nuclear Photo is baffled all boxed in:
“Do you know what-- it’s like not to hear a soul in months. Are you insane?” he arched his back showing off himself muscling it with wrist to wrist gesture and joining his fingers by finishing his sentence.
Baxter shows him-- the prison keys in the shadow.
Nuclear Photo eagerly accepts it. Flashes.
Baxter informs him:
“Other death row inmate didn’t make it--died of hunger or thirst.”
Nuclear Photo is utterly defending himself.
“I did nothing wrong.”
“Put the mask on-- and don’t move.”
He puts the mask engaged in enraged bitterness.
Death row inmate bodies lay there cumulating.
Baxter looks inside at the emulated cell. One cell looks to be emptied just as the ashes lay on the floor. An inmate hangs himself up. He opens his eyes. Baxter backs up-- frightened.
Nuclear Photo yells out:
“That freak like to hang himself up for days with new bows and try to untie himself with his extending tongue if he can. He thinks-- he’ll make a new world record.” he finished proudly making a statement and laughs to be heard.
Baxter goes back to Nuclear and asks:
“What are the charges?”
Nuclear Photo doesn’t hesitate to answer:
“First-degree murder on an old couple.” he says convincingly.
Baxter takes him for a wild race with his bolide car:
“I asked myself not to read your mind. I was certain-- it was a double murder on a young twin sister. Spare me-- all details. I am not here to judge you. Double murders? How long have you been incarcerated? You know, no one dies.”
“The death row is all I know, sir.”
Nuclear Photo answers it-- inside his cell:
“Thirteen months after the event took place.”
Baxter speeds down and switches the gear to decelerate.
“How many moons do you think we have?”
The engine bumps into a dune and stops.
Nuclear Photo mumbles under the radar:
“We have two moons, Baxter-- you made that one up, right? I don’t know how-- how, I ended up here. My ass is tired. Five, I don’t know maybe-- five up there.” and points his finger up.
In less than a minute, Baxter unlocks the cell and throws him an apple.
“I don’t want to give in-- a caving institution.”
Under the mask, the inmate eagerly takes a bite of the apple and starts changing somewhat of shape. Nuclear Photo is amazed as his mass built-up.
“What did you give me?”
“We built it for you. You are now going to enjoy my ride. Do you like horses? My gladiator.”
Nuclear Photo answers:
“I guess. Now, I do.”
Baxter hands it to him:
“Come with me. We’ve got work for you. Wear the handcuff.”
Baxter forcibly pushes him to avoid the wrong eyes watching and awaits for some reaction from the other prisoners. Private clutches at the unlatched door. Nuclear Photo holds on to-- his bitten apple on his back. He drops the apple from his handcuffed hand. His kneel hits back the apple up. He catches it. He laughs mischievously. He is a free man. Baxter confidently leaves the inmates behind his madness-- royalty style. Yells and revolts echoes.
“We only have one moon for now.”
In an infatuating speed on the Texas road, Baxter drives out of the prison county with Nuclear Photo on the passenger seat. Under the light, Nuclear Photo shows his true nature and attribute.
Baxter continues in the speediness:
“We have to catch the herd. They are stealth horses. It’s part of the plan that you been assigned for.”
The road keeps illuminated all bumped.
Nuclear Photo asks in a fury:
“How I am supposed to capture them?”
Baxter thinks evasively:
“Don’t hurt yourself. Think of something up. Use your worst instinct of killer. They are dangerous and fierce.”
Inside the bolide, Nuclear Photo lets his mischievous laugh do the rest.
Baxter articulates pensively:
“We should make it-- by the next game.”
Silently, Baxter speeds off even faster for a short distance. Nuclear Photo jolts and holds on. They’re going in.
The flatland is a dreamy hectic place with an unreal panorama connecting to a hidden edge of malevolence. Intrepid as ever, Nuclear Photo begins his initiation-- gambling into a dimensional triage camp to register for the next game around.
As he walks in-- leading the way ahead of his path and being engulfed inside this far-fetched metaphysical world-- filtered his binary demons.
The beam convulses his eyes to shift evasively into the location and ever after in the abyss-- that are intently fixed during the transfer.
Nuclear Photo appears transfixed at the world at stake compelling in oblivion with a far-reaching effect on a number of things.
Isolated, he encounters depraved peoples dodging as weak, sick and morally depraved at the triage site-- trying to pass through his soul before getting into the gate with a rasping great evil sense of joviality.
Nuclear Photo asks absolutely undeniably dead bemused:
“What the hell is going here? Make it stop.”
Baxter recklessly immune rejoices in joining forces into the madness:
“Hell is what happened here and to refine it-- I’d say, it’s the spiritualism world.”
Together, they are drawn nearer the area; where the structure made of softening rounded rock-- with an irresistible flashy elliptical rotating light two-third of its height on top of it-- spinning and flashing predominantly of white, pink, green-- irradiating with a strong desire to malfeasance.
The fabrics of the color wheel interweave interlacing fluidly upward adapting to some obscure reason. The rocky structure is tinted with a dark dirty brown propagating into the soil and to the immediate surrounding-- of the weakened spheroid world.
At the far end of the flatlands, the mountains point at the darken silent sky eyeing into-- the reaping of his soul at stake rasping for greatness-- uncannily striking their approach to the gate of gold.
They both mellowingly transform into humanoid negative dark energy passing scatterbrained worshipping human being with dirty long hair-- clapping and whirling around barefoot and wearing fur.
Baxter and Nuclear Photo ghostly enter the softened ground before reaching them as dark shadow and together climb the cladding to the top of the structure unidimensionally blacken.
In that instance, the group of caveman alike rejoices exuberantly on the occasion to worship all together in a circle and put their shaky hands up to the oracle that rotates faster and bursts vertically with both of them inside within the realm of the light and jumps angelically into the enliven abyss plucking some of their armored feather alike unknowingly.
The gate of hell opens up with a heartfelt like manners to make bad omen and disperses them all onto the edges of the unseen world.
It’s the mess hall and they are back to the military prison. The gate slams obliterating the godly light.
The zeppelin probe controlled solely by Ariannakhan broadcasts the two charred-face demons as they walk into this dimension slowly approaching the volatile screen in the arena. The flesh and blood humanoid thick skinned apelike being howl-- laughing at the crowd absolutely losing their mindset.
They both cheer at the screen undeniably-- understating the challenges to come. Fierce as ever looking through the screen, they brutally make attempts to insult at anyone hastily. Yet, they are incapable to put the words out as they haven’t been giving the gift of speech.
They vocalize a conceited gibberish elocution. They’re specialized demons possessing a male and a female. At the end, they cackle all fangs out at someone barely making the word lie while laughing.
In the midst of the thumping cadence, it was then the contestants enter this realm from a portal row after row. Nuclear Photo advances toward the arena confidently relieved to have passed the test with the new troop of soldier contestants. Eventually, he bites at the apple amongst the gamers.
The crowd cheers instantaneously inside the imposing stadium carved from many huge blocks of the crust from beneath the earth-- as it stands proudly.
With all the contenders engaging underneath the passageway to the playground, artificial light shines all around inside the troop of soldiers and enter the arena field-- ready for combat. They all look up blinded for love.
Nuclear Photo laughs with a smile from ear to ear in agreement. His sword shines majestically ready to pierce.
Baxter erratically gazes toward-- and weighed down at the spectators on the pedestal remodeled for this particular game bearing his throne categorically.
Archerson fires an arrow to the field.
The sand doesn’t fly in the air. It cracks the soil.
Ariannakhan stands majestic beside the cube floating on top of a pillar and greets at the crowd appropriately with a spearhead pointing up at the sky. The game plays out. The bustle over the crowd is intoxicating and drawing power over all.
The Stargate shuts down.
On the ground like preys rousing from the deep den, Private and Nuclear Photo join the spectacle along with other competitors.
Private looks confident to capture a horse on his own-- with his galvanizing lasso. Mercurio nods at Private from the pedestal merely nodding his head in kindness.
The grandstanded crowd acclaims fiercely at the teamed up gladiators. Next, the experienced spectators determine the faith of the others that hold their sword up and in the hope to win the big prize.
The herd erupts with an attack and emerges as the horses materialize to stampede-- over the first line of competitors.
Under the path of their rampage, a contestant limps around broken-- to move away with no chances to survive the perilous game. The unattended players sag over their body weight to avoid being crushed by tank assaults.
Some victims are crawling and others are absolutely dilapidated. A big alarm resounds inside the arena staggering the rowdy crowd. The evacuation of the injured or terminated begins in the bedlam inside white body bag-- death or alive. They zipping the corpse and board them-- damned on a manhandled towed trailer.
The sun of the mid-afternoon blazes in the sky fiercely.
The second round of the game sets up a gaze as they look up at the crowd bigger than life. Nuclear Photo strategizes with Private joining the troop of contestants. The crowd is unhappy, drinks and feasts. On the platform, bystanders fuse with miners betting with gems in mass.
After many attempts to capture a horse defensively, Nuclear Photo is getting ready to take part of the action confidently.
The crowd is demanding result-- the majority of the spectator gambled on him.
This time around-- he takes no bite at the firm apple and throws it on the ground. A competitor runs to grab it and decays in front of his eyes ashamed.
Private throws his modified lasso and entangled the horse ultimately. Nuclear Photo takes the opportunity to jump on the saddle.
Nuclear Photo gets ready for a risky horseback into a war zone of mercenaries and breaks the first protective fence from the ground level and both gain in mass.
The gigantic horse attempts to escape into the crowd causing many casualties by stomping against the protective panel-- crushing the first row deadly. Beyond that, the rest screams to their death underneath it.
The crowd of miners jump off a cliff in the upper level-- demeaning at the clash. Blake is having a blast closer to the action-- all devoted and pledging himself to one of the horse while Mercurio and his horse close in on him.
As the horse keeps crushing down the fence to the ground under its imposing weight, Nuclear Photo places the mask on the horse to tame the wild animal because the future raveled stunning.
However, the horse ever wants to reach the top of the edge of the stadium almost flying onto the crowd Hellenistic. The vision of the horse under the mask is fury and fearless.
The horse stumbles on top of people’s head and draws closer to Blake dangerously.
The horse breathing is so strong and ionizing.
Nuclear Photo removes the leather mask that blinded the horse-- hopping erratically.
The horse jumps beside unmistakably crushing the lumped spectator next to Blake eradicating.
In the panicked crowd, Blake reaches for safety underneath the beast as the horse stumbles-- crushing unremarkably on his path of death. The universe appears on the belly of the beast. Blake surely knows where to look at-- to make note of it as a spy would do presumptuously.
The crowd calms down drastically calculating their chances of getting out from this imperious game alive.
Private enlaces a horse with his lasso by vaulting on the saddle in a stride. The mounted riding horse jars out of sync and rears up to find Private flying out of-- its back imposing its strength as soon as it turns bodily to face him again and charges to aim at him vulnerable.
Nuclear Photo on his horse attempt to find for a number of ways to escape.
“Don’t be buoyant. Don’t get caught.” and Blake grabs the mask.
The last ray of the sun hits the edge of the surrounded arena. A carnage sets in. They are encaged.
The crowd cheers for victory and fist fight with their hand.
The knight stands his ground. He pulls out his sword as the sun goes down in the shadow. The plasma flags are flipping in the air magnetic to the north.
The stampede in the crowd is slowly moving and amassing.
Nuclear Photo attacks on his own term and with discipline. The trotting is fabulous.
Nuclear Photo uses his sword to pierce a gypsy on his knees contemplating for a deliberating death to a superior being by leaning with both hands clenched behind his feet and looks up at the conquistador with high regards shining from his wound. The battle of the strongest continues.
The last ray of the sun shines on the very edge of his sword pointing up.
The temperature cools down radically.
The horse exhales dreadfully with his breath condensing into the air and ready for battle.
Nuclear Photo handles the horse with greatness.
Like a true knight in a war ground battle. He turned the table around to play Russian roulette. A practice. An opportunity to break in the horse.
In Slavic term, Nuclear Photo planned to catch prey-- to make them know of his presence.
After slaying a few spectators standing around waiting for their faith. He goes back in the field to kill a few more adversaries.
Nuclear Photo handles the ferocity of the horse kindly now.
The sundown shines bright-- kills your oblivion vision.
The horse breaks into the crowd fiercely uncovering the enemies.
They engage the beast more like a bull-- all tossed out.
Some are literally trying to fight the beast and stabbing it.
The enemies get decapitated, dismembered and bleed off to death instantly.
Nuclear Photo targets-- the wicked ones methodically.
His depraved vision suffered-- from some blinks, not his.
The king of glam, Baxter is ever so excited-- staring at the escape. He gets up from his throne-- rattled.
Baxter extends his left palms to the crowd and holds everyone breath looking desperately astonished and neurotic by pointing at the scene with his other hand. The world is appalling and motionless.
The electrical defense system triggers-- but failed to stop the new knight on his horse as Nuclear Photo cuts off the fence made of titanium. They break out to freedom.
Mercurio won’t believe it.
Nuclear Photo jumps over the edge of the arena into a freefall. The crowd cheer doubles. The electrical fence tries to reconnect itself and to repair the damage done.
The mangled fence is way too big for automated repair function to even trigger.
as a new playground Lore comes back during dusk and walks alone in the deserted night to check on the foundation as he looks up at the soundless infrastructure by carefully examining the blueprint from his tab.
As the arena stands very grand to find a way in at any price while it stands proudly was not an easy task. He looks up at the unattainable illumination of the edge of the stadium like multiple gates of heaven been closed down on him by many attempts to get in the game.
Suddenly, Nuclear Photo lands on all four sitting in front of Lore genuinely stupefied:
As if the gate of hell closed off on him stretching over indefinitely edgeless.
Nuclear photo regains control of the horse rearing up trying to change course to join an enthusiastic Lore.
Nuclear Photo could have killed him in that instant. Lore doesn’t budge and can’t put words out for his encounter.
“I can’t get in.” Lore admitted rather looking sad and contemplative and continues:
“I am going to deputize you and destroy the opposition.”
Nuclear Photo budges his head over a frowning smile and indulges:
“My Lore.” and chuckles.
The horse takes command and proceeds to disappear into the darkness over the dune.
In the entire field, the herd observes the breach to strategize. The horses gallop erratically-- and to regroup preparing an attack.
Baxter is hysterical and falls right into the game:
“They are a dangerous species. They are made by god himself.”
On the ground, a hoof hits the forehead of a contestant. The victim’s vision went suddenly pitch-black. The crowd’s cheer shifts instantly-- with applause to calm down a notch and dazzles at the scene. The experienced crowd is deadly and goes a pitch down-- realizing their staggering faith and booing. The breach. The right inclination of the seating.
The pandemonium is unbearable.
Baxter looks behind his shoulder to his congressman, counselors, and commanders in admiration.
Our last look at each other:
“How many death row inmates have been found?”
That question was left unanswered.
“How do you gain any supernatural power?”
On top of his throne, Baxter decides to stop the spectacle absolutely-- humiliated by gesturing.
“The rules stipulate whoever breaks to freedom to be bounced back with the horse or be ready to be killed.”
Baxter roughly leans against him:
“Are we the absolute power yet?”
Archerson likeliness of him is on the edge and cheers:
“What-- a humiliation? A victory!”
Archerson shoots a bow directly onto the field multiple time forming a quarter of a circle.
The horses stay away from the fast-spreading flames onto the ground.
The horses stay alert. They jump over at first opportunity.
Evacuation plan. All electrical fences are automatically turned down altogether securing the place.
The fluttered light gets turned down. Emergency light turns on. The alarm resounds and staggers the crowd. The stationary light lits up on a slimy archaic scene where sex, drugs and rock n’ roll reigns.
The temperature keeps decreasing-- condensing the breathing of the escaping herd. The blaze comes to an end. The horses escape in groups-- causing more death in the stampede. A group escapes inside the infrastructure of the arena. Another one to set course to the breach. One horse attacks a spectator for practice and the rest of the herd-- waits on the ground.
They gallop. Nobody gets spare in the escape-- as they are reaching their way out to freedom. Some horses are captured with spectators own gear.
Baxter and his counselors took refuge inside the lobby of the las vegas mansion. They walk in rapidly-- one against another fighting elbow.
No one really dares to venture inside the palace-- holding on clandestine affairs. Murmurs spread out in the room straight away. Drinks are served finally.
Everyone takes their distance in different parts of the space reconsidering, conspiration, making new whispered alliances and to think things over.
The herd besieges the property and its luxurious surrounding. The herd gallops toward his mansion all at once to destroy it.
An experienced council for a certain death-- almost infatuating the moment sometimes-- as stern as fearing a terrifying situation.
Windows shatter in the upper floor and more destruction hits the mansion.
The unseen destruction and the unfathomable banging tears apart-- every inch of the foundation.
The herd constantly attacks and roams over the house destroying-- the roof at ease.
Of the ramshackle cottage, the attack stops in the early hour with only one room to spare.
The broken tree is totally destroyed besides the mansion.
NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. MORNING
The early sign of sunlight comes through the giant pine tree that holds the fog in the early morning foliage.
The lichens growing on the branches of the pine tree retains the humidity. A drop of water grows. Early birds are singing and one drinks it.
The sky stays cloudy and low. The horizon is clear for now. The troop hunts down the burglars down the hill undercover.
Baxter peeks at the monitoring device that links to the ironed horses inside the enemy camp. Baxter gives a sign to go ahead deadly silent.
Mercurio passes by with his gears rattling:
“Satisfy, my king.”
Baxter gives it back to him. Mercurio leads in solidarity with the troop following behind. Archerson comes along walking like the others. Multiple arrow sound trails along with him.
The discovery of the enemy camp in the forest leads the troop to get in position to attack.
“We need to eliminate them. They are renegades. They will cause trouble.”
“Whenever you ready, my king.”
The cube settles in the shadow of the tree line. It stays in the air stationary blowing the fog around its rotating mechanism-- nonetheless, early action prevails.
Baxter says hunting them down:
“Go for the bow for now, quickly.”
An arrow flies in the sky bursting into melting gold-- progressing its course into the target-- into the enemy camp-- to brighten it up. Archerson surveils at it with his mouth agape of splendor.
On his captured horse, Nuclear Photo descends down with a creed to attack the enemy camp. Down the hill, the atmospheric condition changes subsequently. The horse breaks it. Nuclear Photo slaughters them in absolute domination almost on a pedestal. The enemy converges and raids him in waves as an army ant colony. They don’t die. They are mutilated. The absolute power on the battlefield is Nuclear Photo. The troop, then, ambushes the enemy camp on both sides onto a descending hill.
Under an overcast condition, Nuclear Photo strikes again to the battlefield slaughtering the enemies. Nuclear Photo cuts off the hand of the petrified cloned angel that holds his sword against the sky.
All enemies are neutralized and slaughtered.
The wicked one is still resisting in on such a pity human position. His body is asking for the glory of the flesh to an unexisting god itself. A disoriented and alienated angel. The stale angel couldn’t breath out his last word of lies dramatically stern of nothingness like the batteries had just been drained.
Accepting the fact and the matter, Nuclear Photo finally decapitates the enemy, the face of evil appears. Thud. His decapitated head roughly and finally gives up with gravity and falls on the ground-- not giving up blood. Under his boot, Nuclear Photo steps on the motherfucker. The face smudges in the mud forming a subtle grin. No blood. No respect. Mercurio steps in with Baxter.
“Take them to the ammunition plant.”
Soldiers come to pick them up immediately. One looks happy at others giggling in the mud. Scraping. The soldiers work on the remains to transport the prodding white bags to the nuclear plant.
CATALINA SHORE - NIGHT
In the dark night, the surface of the ocean is seemingly quiet with a fainted natural light shining at the peak of the waves. The natural water looks as darker than the sky above with waves pointing at the nightly sky. The ocean is about to show another side of its power. The wind picks up. A ballistic submarine painted in black immerses from the abyss. Baxter jumps on the submarine heroically-- submerging it completely.
The head of the nuclear submarine points out at the sky and drops by gravitation into the icy water. Baxter looks confident walking through-- tumbling waves against the submarine. He holds on the crew access.
While the submarine stabilizes under rough water, Baxter opens up the hatch-- as the salty water keeps pouring from every side of it souping into the submarine.
The gust of wind didn’t help for that matter either. The unmistakable waves of a depraved ocean water hit the submarine resulting in a series of cracking sound dissipating into the ocean waves.
A huge wave breaks into the front of the submarine. The wind is strong and always been increasing in force. The ocean water gushes inside the unlatched aperture-- pouring inside fastidiously.
The ocean is waking up-- revengeful. Baxter looks down at the ladder-- all intrigued and shouts in the wave splash-- not bothered by it as if the strength of it was diminished like Aquaman by a system:
“Allah Zeus? Confirm?”
Allah Zeus climbs and hands over the codes-- standing beside the ladder.
Allah Zeus answers:
“Confirm. My king.”
Allah Zeus bows his head and kinda welcome him to the marines and disappears inside.
A marine steps down:“My name is Nine, Sir?”
Curiously gesturing, Baxter looks directly at Nine while another forcibly try to-- climbs up.
“where is teen?”
“A mutiny? Wait marines. I want to get the words out. I cut it-- to the cheese.” says Baxter teasingly probing with his eyes bothered by the constant flow/flush of ocean salted water on his face.
Baxter ignores Nine breathily scratching his forehead and stares at the shore.
“You are doing, the right thing.”
Suddenly, it illuminates the nightly sky with some rocket sound spacing, steaming, streaming, drilling into the air gushy airflow with some indistinguishable lighting or of indistinguishable light flow.
“They are coming from down the shore. How many of you are inside?”
The light flows inside the immovable submarine sentencing them to reach for safety.
Inside, the marine takes turns to have a glance at the nightly sky.
“What do you have for me? shhh... shhh... shhh... How many of you, marines?”
The marines try to figure out-- of the overall situation.
Nine takes the ladder to climb it. He genuinely covers his eyes.
Baxter looks down. He can see his shadow casting down.
Nine looks up to a supernaturally image at the sky and climbs up.
Nine answers around flair :
“Almost everyone and-- the brothers.”
“What happened in the past stays in the past. Where are the keys? Are they any females?”
Nine hands over his key of commands.
“They’re gone and the captain too. Sir.”
Nine reaches freedom without his gun.
“Too bad, I invite you for dinner. Don’t worry about your guns, I confiscated them all.”
The guns keep flying out from the hatch-- rotating harmfully into the nightly sky.
Cold out. Windy. High wind. Allah Zeus comes next.
Allah Zeus says:
“Baxter? Here’s the key. I need my horse.”
Nine stays off-- the way.
The light suddenly evaporates into the crossroad of darkness.
It thunders above the sky. A cascade of absolutely cold rainwaters fall from the heaven.
After looking up for a while, Allah Zeus retains his regards to Baxter.
Allah Zeus says:
Allah Zeus jumps out in the air-- at the landing course of the horse.
Baxter ignores him. Hard rain. He looks busy-- counting the marines inside the submarine.
“We have adultery or adulterate. gesturing like
gestured right to the left like a drunk man
It could be a misspelling-- and you... hmmm... he moves his finger in adoration and reaches further back .
adulation. Hollywood. Renaissance.” as he acquiesced through the lecture.
The dark horse lands onto the submarine fearfully. More waves gush into the submarine.
Allah Zeus says:
“We have the H-bomb.”
“Ride the horse.”
WHEN WE FALL FROM GRAVITY
Baxter takes an apple.
With his right hand, it throws it in the air behind his back while still looking down at the aperture inside of the submarine. Allah Zeus shots it with his hand to pulverize it.
“How many of you are inside the submarine now?”
A crunch and the goalers were put in the hulk.
Allah Zeus takes off in the sky. It thunders inside the vortex.
Inside the strip club,
Inside the exclusive section, Baxter is drunk.
Nine sits down with Baxter and Archerson.
“where is Teen, The gold.”
The music plays out-- louder.
“Alcohol, tobacco, the constitution, N.O.R.A.D..”
“We have all we want, Baxter.”
Nine enjoys the party. Allah Zeus sits next to them inside a private table accompanied by strippers.
The party goes on the dance floor.
ENEMY CAMP. SUNRISE
a new brand men come to help with capacities to fly in the sky like the ninjas
Baxter and Allah Zeus lead the army to encounter the enemy’s camp.
They follow them disparately.
Baxter and his research team localize the camp of the enemy.
Two other horses are enclosed near by.
The army ambushes them without mercy.
Baxter deploys the cube. It lifts up and travels in a UFO manners to the renegade camp.
Sunlight hits down on the cube and deploys-- the arsenal.
Infrared sound waves emanates slowly cooking their brains out.s It sounds the area and it shoots-- it’s laser and sound wave more than once cutting them into manageable body parts for transportation.
Baxter reads the final reports on paper. the savannah world turns deadly
is gladly laughing and starts singing for victory as he walks down to the battle.
Once again, the arsenal sounds like music, melodies and music. They are annihilated. Confirmed dead.
The army marches toward-- the slaughtery.
Baxter presents himself to scrutinize at the remains.
Baxter orders are:
“Bring them down to the nuclear plant factory like the others.”
They pile all the white bag to be transported.
Away from the civilization, a desertic bumpy road lays ahead toward the vandalized arena. Suddenly, the dirty road undergoes a split up-- looking more of a game trail. The broadcasting vehicle scouts the area as it wanders onto the horse track-- surrounding the abandoned stadium. Blake drives by over the edge of the lavishly decorated exterior walls. He wanders-- looking up under the windshield and recognizes the gap on the fence on the nosebleeds level of the stadium. A turf grows around the speedway. Blake examines the height of the front facade. A black horse races beside him and leads with some great soles covered in hair. The animal gallops faster before vanishing-- as it crosses the finish line. Blake notices the localized stable driving smoothly on the road surrounding-- the appealing curb of the stade and propels in that direction by adjusting the rear mirror. After a closer look at the building itself, the arena undergoes a change of structural infrastructure. Blake accelerates in the broad daylight.
The whole enclosed perimeter is barbed-wire and the remaining of the horses gallop around within it. Baxter leans against the fence and enjoys the company of the animals. The horses get agitated while the engine’s noise of the broadcasting vehicle travels in the wind any closer. One horse takes a lead and the others proceed to disappear in coordination.
Baxter walks toward the van cordially surprised as the vehicle approaches in the opened area. Inside the broadcast vehicle, a barefaced Blake-- cuts off the engine to rest his senses.
“Did you get some power?”
Blake locks the door of the vehicle. He throws him the mask. Baxter caught it.
Blake answers at last:
“I never ran out of gas. I am never hungry. I never eat. No need for water for me.”
The gas tank is empty and has a rusty rough hole underneath.
Baxter laughs amicably:
“It’s been a year. Why do you need the key, then?”
Baxter confiscates the key from Blake.
Blake says not stopping:
“I got gas. Baxter. Don’t be a pain.”
Baxter approaches in his direction and stops him for walking:
“You have got to eat, man. You don’t want to end up skinny death. Don’t you?”
Blake acts up weird:
“I saw one on my way here. Near the arena. It disappeared in front of me-- at the finish line. My bet.”
Baxter throws him an apple. In midair and at equal distance, it stops flying behind Baxter half the arch. It downloads in him cubic’s information.
Baxter in wanders says:
“Do you wanna ride of one the horses? Take a bite of the apple.”
Blake approaches the item and grabs it from above ground
.in the vision.
He rubs it against his ribcage. In between bite, Blake babbles:
“I heard a lot about the horses. I can…”
Blake doesn’t hesitate and jumps off over the high fence in some defying gesture and lands on the soil roughly.
He walks directly toward the horse to tame transforming into a superbeing.
Inside the enclosure, the black horse that crossed the finish line approaches with such a fury ready to attack him.
The captive horse dances furiously around him.
with the hair dancing eith the air.
Blake stands so close to the horse that’s jumping around him-- within its eyesight. Eye to eye. The crystalline cracks.
The impact of the horseshoes to the ground brings up a huge amount of rough soil into the air-- some of which blows in the direction of the strong wind.
Blake could see his own reflection from the eye of the majestic animal.
Blake whispers to the horse when the front hoofs reach the ground beside him.
The loosely dirt cumulates surrounding them and floats-- carried by the desertic wind horizontally.
Blake stands there waiting for a moment. A brush appears in his hand and gently brushes the long thick natural black hair of the horse and catches on fire at the ends like matches.
It sparkles and burst into rocket flames.
Baxter laughs dearly and applauses for a majesty.
The black horse is ready for commands sternly looking stealthy.
STABLE HORSE. DAY
Blake is suddenly ordained -- from mexique. the crash. the deaths. the prisoners. with some intelligence.
“Baxter, my king, I need to proceed to some modifications that are required now.”
Baxter leans with a far-reaching effect:
“Why modify it?”
“Modification is required-- to have our space fighter equipped with the best arsenal. We are going to win this war with the best arsenal. Sire. How do you put in a horseshoe? Easy.”+++
Blake leans on the horseshoe.
like is changing a flat tire.
He continues his work in secrecy.
pesky hits xo
Baxter walks back and forth-- not watching him.
his eyes squinted
Blake taps at the horseshoe:
“A laser gun that would gun down anyone in its pursuit from below; in the front, the rear like a regular horse would do to protect itself.”
“With the modified horseshoe. It will kick some ass.”
Blake inspects the horseshoe.
Baxter pensively reflecting:
“A laser gun shooting from her horseshoe to her control.”
The answers comes to his mind and poses his hand on Blake:
“That is impossible. A.I.? In animals? Blake? that is so sad”
Blake leans downward almost looking back.
“They ain’t animal. Sire. I am now proceeding to the completion of the modifications required in the heaven.”
Baxter reluctantly stays mute and gains some courage to speak up inexplicably consumed of great interest.
Baxter reaches Blake’s shoulder and kneels down.
Baxter reaches out:
“What have you done, Blake? All modification falls under Mercurio intelligence. We never had to make any modifications in the broad daylight. There are sentient being, aren’t they?”
the wind goes stronger and gets caught from it
Besides, Blake is looking out at Baxter-- checking the work done.
Blake keeps working on the next horseshoe.
“I got upgraded with security. The modifications will be completed on the herd. It will buy us time. Baxter.”
“From whom? The cube itself?”
Blake goes back to his business.
“Go back to the cave. pluto. This upgrade is going to be shared with all our horses at the same capacity to destroy our enemies.”
Blake feels a weakness and looks down at the horseshoe and modifies it. It feels like-- boom quietly to get back into the zone. A field. A battlefield. Peace.
BARN. CIVIL TWILIGHT
Baxter watches. It’s a big world. It shines.
Blake races on the horse deep into the valley-- til much later with the laser shooting definitely deadly.
A storm builds itself at his direction. A lighting appears strongly and indefinitely luminous in the horrendous clouds.
Blake enters the storm eagerly.
Baxter shots him with a red laser before he enters inside the storm.
Baxter likes in the now.
Blake looks relieved and openly sexy. A kisser.
Atmospheric condition changes literally.
The sunlight grows dimmer. Stronger winds in the sky.
High in the sky, the cirrusses becomes darker and grows in proportion like waves crashing down from the heaven.
Blake looks absolutely petrified. Fire rips through the molten crackling rocky ground.
It thunders at Baxter’s command surrounded by volcanic eruptions under an ocean containing no water.
Baxter’s traits couldn’t be distinguishable but featherly reptilian.
Flaming. Baxter cuts him into two pieces illuminating inside his trip by naked souls smoldering his hell having sex-- all mute. Another ocean waves hit the sky.
Baxter has the key of the vehicle and unlocks the door for him.
Blake glances at his forearm. A new layer. Baxter starts the engine.
“Come with me.”
“It looks like you burn under the sun. You look american light skin now.”
Baxter drives off with Blake.
PRECINCT - DAY
Baxter and Blake investigate-- the murder of the prostitute.
Baxter briefs him on their way to the precinct.
At the door, Baxter ever stopped briefing to Blake.
“I have the right to defend my interest. We make the determination that you cannot gain the legionary-- it’s not everyone war.”
The door opens up.
“You absolutely-- not making sense. Baxter. What happened to your speech pattern?
They intrude the area absolutely silent.
The ashes of the prostitute lay on the table.
“You got your answer here.”
“what? She wasn’t dead?”
“She got murdered here. Who knows? I was here-- it was under my nose between the ambulance, the cop and the casino. Something happened?”
Blake is almost certain of his abilities.
“Let’s go back.”
Baxter stays behind. Blake looks at the ashes with his light.
“She got lucky. She got redeemed.”
They are watching security video taken of that night and leaves it as a criminal investigation as the camera kept rolling after what happened and showed really exactly how it look like on tape ...? i know-- how it happened.
“At the last second, the tape goes static indefinitely.
“i am taking the fall you haven’t landed, why?”
“for watching’ over you.”
everything is fast forwarding
The recording stops.
Baxter looks by the door waiting for someone to come in.
“Now, do it with your own hand.”
Baxter takes the light from his hand.
Powerfully, the palm of Blake originates-- a beam of light and becomes brighter.
PRECINCT - evening
The Russian Mafia is still imprisoned.
Baxter and Blake looks at each other a bit stunned-- trying to read each other. the geiger counter peaks immediatly
They are equipped with a radiation meter.
“Remember-- what I told you before. I keep him under the radar.”
“Who is he?”
Baxter says in controlled anger:
“He’s irradiating. let damn dna fuck. An undercover agent from out of this world and he keeps his mouth shut. it hurts.”
Baxter throws him water. The water evaporates instantanously.
“Blake, it doesn’t leave any burn or mark at all.”
They look absolutely in denial.
“Is he radioactive?”
Baxter reads him. The geiger radiation meter peaks again.
he hurls at him.
MILITARY RESERVATION - ASTRONOMICAL TWILIGHT
In the nightly sky and airborne, the upgraded herd diligently attacks the compound to destroy it completely-- as it being recorded by the military.
The laser beams shines in red and in white and in musicality to destroy them.
Their eye shines technologically.
The horses shoot with laser and light from their horseshoes in incredulity.
Military Personnel stays astonished-- all they could do is run away and seek protection over their head.
One falls on his feet in desperate attempts to play death. Another one gets pulverized. He is next.
Helicopters take off. It explodes few feet high. One barely made it after an evasive take off. A disaster unfolds.
In Las Vegas,
Baxter is busy with other affairs. He loses his physical temper.
PARIS. FRANCE. CHAMPS ELYSEE
The sky is covered at the Eiffel Tower.
On a cloudy day, Fallen Angel, Orion, short for “Rio” famously rides his horse near the Eiffel Tower into space.
Above the sky, the horse wouldn’t go any further.
It feels like you are inside the eye of some godly storm coming your way.
A battlefield in waiting.
Orion comes back to Paris at the Champ Elysee.
“Hold your horses, soldiers. We will cross the ocean.”
“Rio! Rio! Rio!”
Pinup dresses in-- all pink feathers. Flamenco. Flamingo. No one pays attention to her.
The speakers goes awry.
She drops the mic. She quits.
LOS ANGELES. CATASTROPHIC ZONE. MORNING
Pinup lasering into the appearance of a fierce blonde, flair looks at clothes inside a mall and Rodeo Drive.
The place is immaculate.
Pinup takes it off the rack. It marvels. She shops.
Pinup fells urge to move along.
“Vegas is appealing.”
Pinup drives off with a fleet of luxurious limousine with luxury goods in speedway .
Every corner of the street is clean-- that shines your own property. She calls on her cellular in the form of a heel.
LAS VEGAS. OFFICE
Baxter comes to life from a canvass as a warrior of his time with his eye on his sword aiming at Pinup.
“The witch-- ain’t a witch. She chooses me over Rio. The question is?”
Both hand grab the sword. Baxter leans in her direction with a hard on pushing against the the cross. The sword solidly penetrates-- the marble floor.
Baxter looks around satisfied:
“What is her purpose? Her agenda? Anyone has some foresight into her. As spouse? A warrior?”
“flying over earth.”
And pauses staring at her and continues:
Pinup takes her defense:
“I am a Pinup. How are you holding off?
didn’t want her to finish to bang on the table . it’s enough.
My king. I take the moral of the troupe under my wings. Baxter.” she continues
Mercurio imposes himself:
“Don’t talk over him. She’s a witch, my king.”
“My king, Baxter. Are you gonna storm out, baby?”
Obviously, Baxter deliberates in a fury.
Pinup joins in:
“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby? So, you can sleep tight, tonight.”
“They believe-- she is a witch. She even dresses like one.”
Baxter grabs the floating cube on his granite desk and throws it at her gently. A physical gamble.
“Don’t hit on me-- with some space junk information. I need real intelligence, Pinup.”
The cube is probing with some godly sophistication. Pinup is having fun and bounces around.
“I landed it here. I didn’t crash like you, guys. Do you want me to go?”
Pinup dances lasciviously.
Baxter gazes surprisingly, his third eye closes from sight:
“I have the casinos.”
Pinup is sensuously laughing.
Baxter makes some modification on the cube. He throws the cube in the air again-- satisfied.
The cube is strobing her-- brilliantly.
The cube wipes out the space Pinup occupies.
Instead light overshines time and gravity.
Meanwhile, the cube laser back that dimension inside the cube dissolving into the beach of Malibu. The property is astonishing.
Baxter looks at the cube intensely. He looks satisfied in the pound.
LAS VEGAS. HOTEL ROOM
Pinup calls from the landline.
She hangs up normally.
She takes time.
It takes time.
Breakfast is served.
A MAJESTIC PINBALL GAME stands alone-- luminescent ready for excitement. The end game. The prize. Eight balls of crystal.
Flashes. Portal. The majestic pinball game mechanically multiplies inside the arcade downgrading-- its model.
Undoubtedly, Pinup approaches-- death or alive.
She picks one. The pinball upgrades itself.
Baxter and the others are painted on the SEMI MAJESTIC BACKGLASS. On the board game, their smiley adventurous farces are drawn onto the board game attached to the bumpers. A cube shoots laser beam in the heaven-- sticks out comically yummy.
Pinscore is set to zero like-- it never been played before.
Virtually, the pinball is ready to take you for a joyride. Pinup picks the next one. The lucky girl is overjoy.
The MAJESTIC PINBALL GAME brighten up imposingly ready for-- pinball action.
The eight crystal balls rolls down to the aperture.
Pinup sorts out-- the eight crystal balls.
Pinup luscious laugh ends/turns up to be words:
Pinup scrutinizes one in particular.
--As she inserts the crystal ball that strives for action
--the ball enters on the play field seeking the gobble hole representing the Nevada test site.
--A new prototype is invented.
--The BACKGLASS reveals it. The pinball game looks alive almost organic.
--Pinup looks up.
The cube swirling engages it-- to reveal instruction on how to use the cube propulsion proficiently and in many level. The portal shuts off.
Pinup tracks back the crystal ball on the playfield.
Pinball automated voice:
“Use your imagination. Use your imagination. Use your imagination.”
Pinup gets bored and hits the pinball. She stops playing. She senses-- a dilemma. The playfield turns over.
Pinup plays back.
Pinup whispers giving it up:
She inserts-- the next crystal ball in a bet.
She needs to finish and-- wins back the crystal ball.
The winning situation.
Pinup sexily announces:
“I am your commander in space. Baxter.”
The backglass flashes-- dark matter.
The crystal ball-- now tarnished by the dark matter becomes-- the enemy and plays against Pinup.
She plays one more crystal ball and another ball.
The game is over when the affected balls crashes to Earth.
The pinball plays the future-- with two cubes.
She puts both legs onto the glass protecting the playfield.
The story unfolds in front of her.
A croupier brings-- her soft drink-- and placed it on a table that appeared in a short time beside her. She sips on the content. She gives him a look and she keeps playing the pinball machine.
The casino looks clean and empty. Some cleans the pool game area near the back door wide opened. The natural light calms the place.
Under a dimmer light in the room. The game. The PINBALL goes bing! bong!
No one question who runs the casino. They are prepared. Peoples gather by the wall and starts to play billiard. Pinup plays alone savagely silent and absorbed. Pinup keeps playing and peeks at the score. She scores big. The balls come out. She wins the future. She puts both her legs on each of the rear leg again. The crystal ball comes out. Starry-eyed, she scores once more.
A fountain pours out-- champagne on all side.
The gods play like dogs play poker
on a blackjack table-- and many others are bidding on other tables.
The casino is throbbing with luck.
Baxter just coming out:
“Mercurio! We have to have some fun.”
Malibu transformed into Elvis:
“Why was I not invited? Give me my wealth, Pinup.”
She appears as, Ariannakhan to hand him over his wealth over his shoulder. Mercurio goes next. She dries him-- a tear and sparkles.
“Where is my wealth? Pinup.”
Pinup serves him the wealth.
“Play it safe, Rio.”
Pinup walks off:
“I think now-- I’ve given you enough for now.”
as a milestone
“Where is my wealth? Pinup.” he demands. raven croarch
Pinup serves him the wealth.
“Play it safe, Rio.”
Pinup walks off.
NEVADA DESERT. DAY
The cavalry rides the horse to travel space and time through the country.
The history of the far west onward unfolds.
The soldiers are being implanted with a biometric device inside the forehead with a big syringe in a industrial manners.
Practice of satellite control. Baxter controls everyone from his cube.
Nuclear plant. cube arsenal - night
Inside and outside. Nuclear plants are transformed-- into ammunition factory for the cube arsenal.
NEVADA DESERT - DAY
The immense cube floats at the test site.
A dark moon pursuits-- it’s course towards Earth.
NEW YORK. CENTRAL PARK - DAY
The horse gallops individually-- on the ground.
“Not a good day for horse riding.”
ATLANTIC OCEAN. ATMOSPHERE
In the day,
Northeast shore of the United States. The French cavalry travels across the ocean in high altitude. The horizon takes a curvy appearance.
NEW YORK. BREEZY POINT - sunset
The French cavalry stops abruptly near the shore from high speed.
The wind is moderate.
Clouds cover the sky disparately into the west.
Orion comes closer to the shore. He gives the sign.
The army separates in troop.
“On the ground. Cover the ground.”
Some landed at the bottom of the sea and others on the beach. They approach altogether.
They reach the properties.
They are marching on the street.
Orion looks around proudly:
“Aren’t they-- any survivors?”
In a blink of an eye, the entire army is uplifted to travel in space and time.
Needless to say, New York is at the time of the event.
The horizon shifts around rapidly. All of them, finally come to a stop individually decelerating.
NEW YORK. CENTRAL PARK - DAY
The sky is cover and grey. The French cavalry awaits floating by the East River for a lapse of time.
The cavalry continues directly to the east side of Central Park.
55 CENTRAL PARK WEST - day
Mercurio comes to interrupt Baxter-- inside his lower level-- private walk-in shower.
Mercurio comes in:
“Baxter-- you are glowing. You’re transparent.”
“The water washes off-- all wrong doing.”
Baxter stops the faucet methodically for the water to stop running. Mercurio hands over a towel. Baxter grabs the towel to dry out his hair.
Mercurio finally says:
“You need to see this.”
...above central park. long shot...
With majestic vagueness, the french cavalry awaits airborne.
Baxter comes out wearing a godly toga.
look at a rasping baxter going
baxter rasping grabs the microphoner
Mercurio yells on the way:
“They are here. They have a cavalry like us-- at least one hundred of them.”
Baxter contemplates at the invasion by his private window.
The modification strikes his mind.
Totally alarmed after-- the lost of the military reservation.
He reaches for the alarm.
look at a rasping baxter going
baxter rasping grabs the microphone
Baxter yells absolutely-- mad losing control:
Blake scrutinizes at the french cavalry by the windows.
“Their horses aren’t modify. Baxter. We’re safe.”
On the ground, the horses-- get mounted by the soldiers.
At standstill, Mercurio remains in altitude like a knight. He flashes a transmitter to Orion. His cavalry is holding up behind him. It winds fairly.
“I am in charge of-- first contact. I have a message for you. An hologram of Baxter, my king, will speak from my device. I invented it myself.” they look away.
Mercurio looks back at the agitated--Orion.
Mercurio holds up-- the holographic device and stabilizes itself in the air.
Orion is overly inquisitive:
“Are you the one that they call, the king?”
“I introduce myself as I am the king of this land. Baxter.”
The wind flips through their wearing.
Orion’s army has his back and turns back his head.
“Orion. Rio for short. Show the marquis. Who-- the real king is?”
“Rio! Rio! Rio!”
Central park airborne.
Long plan. The sky clears out.
Baxter in the wind:
“My guess is that you think that you are the king of overseas. The universe have been shifted. Remember?”
Orion remarkably takes this observation to his ego:
“I have mostly German and Norwegian riding my cavalry. My king.”
The right course of action indulges Baxter to invite.
“Come and feast on us.”
The army comes down. Orion halts his army. The sky’s brighten up.
CENTRAL PARK. GROUND
From the hologram-- and coming down to the ground
Baxter mumbles-- on the lower side of his right cheek.
“Do we have pilots? Check the census result. We need a pilot immediately.”
Mercurio grabs the device.
“They have-- a cavalry like ours.”
“You know, I can’t ride the horses.”
“They are country.”
Mercurio turns off-- the hologram.
Orion and his army comes to a landing.
Baxter smuggles words:
“He took-- your cool name. Rio.”
Baxter is on stand by and salutes on the green.
Orion lands first cordially following by his army.
Orion whistles in him:
“Everyone seems feisty.”
WHITE HOUSE. WASHINGTON. DC - night
The ballroom. The reception. The pictures. The music. The valse.
Baxter stands up:
“I proclaim adulation.”
Loud cocky laughing follows in the audience.
In the nightly sky, the french horses wheeled around-- the congress as a carrousel.
“In time, the gravity of the situation will bend your knees down. You will discover, you will bow to your true king. You will kneel down as a sign of submission. What is the speed of gravity? Anyone has that answer yet? Or your king will break your legs apart and use your remains as ammunition against our enemies. You are dependable, expandable and reusable.”
The crowd is outgoing and gives a standing ovation.
Baxter wanders in the premises. In the party.
Baxter hears shocking sex gossip around-- leading to an office used-- as a sex room.
A female voice tenderly reveals:
“Malibu is inside the office having fun with some girl.”
They clear out-- the area.
Baxter leans onto the door. He hears-- moaning. Baxter opens the door silently.
A cigar in his hand, Malibu, burst into laughing.
Baxter deliberately-- takes a peek by the opening door.
Pinup and her his amorous interest sits beside loosely with a drink on her side.
She plays with her hair arranging it and smooth her lips--
with her pointing finger all complex.
Baxter closes-- the door immediately and calls security. Orion stands by him.
“Let me escort you, Orion. This is not a place for you.”
Orion leaves the intrigue behind-- on the capable hand of Baxter.
Orion invites while he is apprehended:
“You will get to see my menagerie.”
SKY. Private JET
The Private jet flies over the ocean to Paris, France with Baxter and his consultants on board.
Private JET. COCKPIT - day
Baxter is dressed as the pilot-- enjoys-- laughing as he could be enjoying cocaine.
The co-pilot is Pablo Escobar.
Baxter makes an announcement.
“Enjoy your flight to Paris, France. Mrs and gentleman. I am your pilot, today.”
Private JET. front window
Baxter looks up by the co-pilot windowpane.
The last six cocky horses rides along the private jet and half of his army.
The aircraft loses cruising altitude flying toward the horizon.
The calvary breaks formation.
Inside the private jet,
Pinup appears inside-- the gold encastered material world.
She looks at the others in the luxury.
Private jet-- travels through the air pursuing the french matinee.
The jet streams seem to look so-- artificial.
Baxter speaks to his subordinates-- inside the briefing room. The cube plays some melody.
“Listen, this one is new.”
Orion puts on-- a bet:
“We have a challenge for you. Baxter.”
Inside the private jet,
Baxter looks straight into his eyes:
“You know. I don’t like surprises.”
“Do you recall when I announced you, I have a chariot for your disposal? They are coming, he is coming. Whoever is after it-- is coming.”
Baxter bravely takes commands:
“You need to chose your side. Orion. Are-- we in alliance?
Orion changes the subject:
“We go with a serie of contestants. It always wins the crowd. The chariot can’t be moved after all. Baxter. We built a stadium around it. We Rome it.”
The game - night
Gladiator’s game. The crowd is loud.
Allah Zeus jumps by the chariot made of gold that shakes subtly.
Allah Zeus speaks:
Allah Zeus wins the challenge. The crowds keeps cheering.
The horse fails to move it.
Allah Zeus drags the chariot out of the stade to America.
Allah Zeus and the other scrutinizes the new chariot.
“We’re going home. Allah Zeus. You have a mission ahead of you.”
In the deep ocean floor, Allah Zeus marches with/ or pushes the chariot and draws a line. The ocean water boils around him.
Allah Zeus yells underwater:
Allah Zeus curses something that hasn’t been unheard of.
A crevasse appears in his path.
An golden arrow appears from nowhere and melts in the darkness.
It falls under gravity.
Allah Zeus attaches himself to the chariot and pulls in with force.
Allah Zeus falls into the darkness following the golden blaze.
The chariot magnetized all submarines with nuclear nuke.
CENTRAL PARK - DAY
As a death sentence, Baxter is tied on a pole. Baxter is agitated.
“I can hear my army inside me! Fighting a war. The finest at it’s best-- Calling me to come forward. Get on it, Allah Zeus.”
Baxter gets shot with rifles by his own soldiers, more shots and more light piercing light comes out from the holes. Baxter disappears enlightened.
It rains hard in central park. Baxter can’t ride the horses. He’s repulsed. He is upset. He is tiredly infatuated and tiresomely upset. He realizes.
Baxter says in vengeance:
“Why can’t-- I ride one of the horses.”
It’s pouring rain even harder. Baxter looks at the last six horses. He awaits longer.
Baxter drops the cube floating in the rain-- wanting sex.
The cube shines and creates a bubble around its mechanism that gently evaporates the rain around it.
Allah Zeus gallops appearing from a spherical hole with scrambled coordination and screen data informations.
Allah Zeus grabs the cube adventurously-- with the chariot attached to his horse.
Allah Zeus makes some modifications in everyone witness account.
The last six horses align.
Baxter-- pulls the string.
The cube stay afloat behind his chariot.
On the ground, the cube links with the chariot and the horses.
It builds a transport device-- looking like a char assault than a chariot with a substantial arsenal.
The modified chariot becomes completely invisible in everyone’s sight.
The army baffles at the scene-- and holds it in high regard.
The cube is empty. The interface reports.
Computer voice in musicality:
“Ammunition! Ammunition! Ammunition! Ammunition!”
In the rain, the entire cavalry jumps into-- their horses and wants the modified chariot to combat with Baxter in command.
The cloaked modified chariot uplift to transform into a fairly big size cube.
It reveals itself hovering on top of the cavalry-- as an ogre.
In front of it, hazed screen displays flying coordination.
The cube leaves the aerial space with communication to stock up on ammunitions.
It moves upward to direct itself to the nuclear plant transformed into an ammunition factory.
The cube hovers beside the cooling tower, then right on top of the nuclear plant.
The cube comes back to central park.
Inside the cube, Baxter takes the command of the cube faster-- as humanly possible.
Big cocking sound-- resounds primarily inside.
The laser shots.
CENTRAL PARK. SKY
Under the clouds, the cube dismantled into multiple cubes and starts shooting laser into the heaven with a tremendous sounds that shakes building to the ground new york style.
The cube clears out the sky and stops the rain from falling.
the earth is terraformed.
At that point as the cube gains higher altitude-- the whirling clouds of the storm takes place into the opening.
Soon, the whole era is replaced by the thick rainy clouds.
NORAD CONTROL BUREAU
Nine looks at the screen and the position of the cavalry.
“They are ready-- battalion.”
The cube shots in a musical manners. Detonation.
A trumpet sounds.
The sound dissipates as the cube floats into space above the luminous sky.
Inside the cube,
Computer voice says:
“Adulation! Adulation! Adulation! Adulation!”
Baxter presses the cube “adulation” with his five fingers together to cease fire.
The enemy appears to be shooting first at the cube.
The cube changes formation.
It shots at different positions in space attacking outpost.
The war goes on silently in space.
Something explodes. Victory.
In Las Vegas inside the demolished mansion, Orion comes back alone to Baxter. He kneels down.
“Baxter, my king. Where is the cube?”
The moon is back.
The cube floats on his desk. Orion grabs it and tries to deploy some mechanisms.
“It has a biometric safety lock. Don’t try it. It’s evil.”
Orion is desperate and says:
“Make it work.”
Baxter is manipulating all the commands he can-- changing multiple timeline at the same time.
“Autostart! Autostart! Autostart! Autostart!”
The computer shuts down.
Baxter sits on a floating bench and looks up at multiple cubes rotating around him showing images in space and time.
Clearly transforming into a honeycomb shape.
Baxter looks at our time frame.
Baxter uses the pyramids for a point of reference-- in space and time. a milestone and flies out.
Baxter briefly glimpses at the battle that is fought on Earth and at the one that goes on airborne in Manhattan.
...above central park
The cube sounds with music. Redness all over. Evil sounding.
The nemesis is discovered struck by shame.
The cavalry claims its power and surrounded by some hazy white-- laser light gets beam out in many directions.
The opponents gets pulverized thunderously.
The cube formation changes in the midst of what seems like a battalion in eternity.
The battlefield enclosed an infinite amount of battalion battling against the enemies.
Inside the cube,
Baxter fights many wars in many fronts. His mind controls it.
Outside the cube,
The cube resounds deafeningly. Suddenly by reaching space, the raid becomes deathly silent.
The cube shoots.
The cube loses over gravity.
More trumpet sounds.
The cube appears under the cloud really showing his evilness.
Mercurio looks up at the sky.
“Hope, it doesn’t fall on you.”
Baxter’s body frame is depicted with images of war. The star map appears.
“I am the star map.”
The cube shoots with less ferocity as it definitely raises up-- rather like-- its being pulled up by an outside force.
Black matter comes to disturb the timeline.
Lore shoots at the dark matter that pursuits him.
In the cube,
MADONNA is in command.
“I need more pilots.”
The space and time obligatorily replaces by Michael Jackson.
Michael Jackson says:
“Thank you, N.A.S.A.. Since, I once looked over Earth. Houston. I looked at Earth once and established to contact the peoples of the United States as I targeted the crater as a landing position.”
Michael Jackson is in command of his patrol panel:
“I calculated how many space fighter-- jet got beam down from the event. They came down to hit on Earth. I entered from the coast of California across United State entering in Europe in France into the land.
Michael Jackson says:
“Why Earth? I am under attack.”
Interferences. Elvis Presley.
In the cube,
The screen inside the cube scrambles.
Elvis Presley says:
“Dark matter is shaken up with gravity. It is being crushed.”
Outside the cube,
Elvis Presley says:
“You got some dark matter detected. Baxter?”
“We needed him-- imprisoned. Right now. Don’t trust from whom he trust. Who do you trust, my king. No one is to be trusted. Doubt, i don’t hold against you.”
Baxter always know-- he is the first to lean down.
Baxter’s eye goes obliterate blue.
Baxter locates Archerson and sounds. He has to bow an arrow.
The cube sounds in red and flashes on top fighting what’s coming from space.
The arrow enters inside and flashes brighten the opening.
Three very bright light falls from under the cube as it changes formation. It’s stationary.
Light become brighter and brighter-- as the cube lost the battle with gravity.
Before something materializes. The cube laser it back inside the arsenal gravitationally.
The cube shots silently as it enters space again. Light of explosion only can be seen. The storm gains the sky.
The computer voice:
“Browsing. Browsing. Browsing.”
The screen shows-- how rapidly they go from a dimension to this dimension. All the fabric of time remains solid.
The cube travelling through time and space erratically for what have been computerized.
Enemy’s counter-attack. The war still goes on.
The army follows the cube.
The horses fly straight into the limitless sky.
The cube advances and shots another form of-- its arsenal. Lighting.
Something explodes in space. The horses transform into fighter spacejet entering space. They shoot their arsenal. They move around in the speed of their thought.
In the cube,
Baxter backs up in dimension. He is staring at the screen observing the progress made by the cube and himself.
Baxter continuously staring at the cube making progress. It goes down.
“I can land the cube. Blake. Mercurio landed it. I have new intelligence. Did you ever think to lose it again? I am taking the reigns.”
“Ok. Tap out.”
“I am the lander. Any positions? I need to destroy on my way down. I am ready for instructions. Mexico. Blake. Where no one is left.”
“The cube is a gun. A godly tool. The cube controls the everything. The cube is an arsenal. The cube is a weapon. The cube is a weaponry. A nuclear arsenal. An ammunition factory. A deadly weapon. A warp drive. A terraforming device.”
Airborne in central park,
Orion and the entire army flies out transforming into space fighter jet-- backing up the cube and to attack the enemy. Epic battles.
Lore manipulates the command from his cube. Baxter’s nemesis.
Lore is upset.
“Fuck trying to kill, Baxter.”
Baxter eliminates the maverick.
Baxter goes to the closest of the source and detonates the H-BOMB.
The screen implodes inside a black hole.
out of space. gravity
Baxter climbs upward inside an never ending muzzleloader of guns armory cocking them all by climbing to the top. Dimming light.
An aluminous laser beam reaches in the aperture travelling in light years inside the muzzleloader with a drift against Baxter. uncocking all guns on the wall. Wombling noise.
Baxter is hurt. He falls on the side. The cocking guns make him climb again. The metaphysical arms try to grab him.
(Baxter gets slaps in the face by a backen hand, he laughs)
Baxter grabs a confiscated gun. He cocks it-- echoing. He shoots. He climbs again.
The luminous laser beam hits him directly to hurt him again. The arm are numerous reaching out.
Confusion, yells and great audience.
Arms are coming out from the darkness as well as multitude of confiscated gun armory cocking to the top rapidly.
Baxter climbs, climbs, climbs... to reach out the aperture exhilarated. I am not walking out without him.
the shoal of space fighting jet commanded by one mind only
foraging at high altitude in loosely-knit shoals.
they flight out closer together to space combat
It ends-- in a darken slaughtery. Baxter yields the sphere/bullet in his hands and wins-- around millions and millions of bloody living corpses underneath him and forming a giant cube/pyramid/a cone. An organic force that holds all confiscated guns and savagery.
“Sometime you got to keep evil in your hand. His sweet vengeance-- he tasted it with puerility. Evil puerile. The cube is remnant of an electronic monitoring device by god that farms life across the universe. The humans have been crossed out millions years ago.”
The mass comes from the surrounding of the sphere and essentially transfert all matters in an instant.
The sphere becomes infinitesimally small in space.
Anda drop the universe blows up exponentially like a disease in the universe.
The computer voice:
“Gravity force. Speed of light. Black hole. Gravity force. Space. Time. Distance. Dark matter.”
Spacedust makes DNA patterns.
After the win, Baxter goes to the asteroid belt to make a new moon to be imprisoned inside of it.
Baxter is inside the new moon that directs itself to Earth orbit.
The cube is transformed into a second moon.
and baxter becomes the core of the second moon. enclosed as a source of energy
enclosed as a core
vitruvian man energy provider
used in the nose cap and wing leading edges.
Now, Earth has two moons.
Earth is an outpost. Peoples in the moon are the soldiers sent to another outpost.
RECONSTRUCTING SURGERY on Lore.
I still like you thugs.
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