A
flicker of social media images, fashion and people camping, erection
drugs and meeting singles in your area, violence of war and hate. The
longer it streams the more of the latter, the violence of war and hate.
While
on streets the people size each other up, normal names becoming extreme
in people's reactions. The traffic more loud, horns blowing with rage
screaming from the windows.
A
man watching a woman pass bumps into another man and it ends badly.
The media streams flow across the screen, burying the fight in the rest
of the posts.
Voiced over the static ~
"When
the Amazons infiltrated Delphi's oracle, they took the temple as well.
Rich men telling secrets in their beds, then on their way to hear their
sister's prophesy.
My body be a temple and all are welcome, so long as they've got a good story to tell."
A clearing in the woods where a slick '67 bumps side to side, that old suspension creaking ~
News
footage of the incident amid the rest of the horrors, apparently one
killed the other and fled. Manhunt. The wars of the world in a a world
of war, people killed in the streets like a dog.
~ Car bumping.
Who
the fuck kills a dog in the streets. Some people do. Some people did
it, some people robbed a bank. Everyone dead, it all went wrong. A cop
gets interviewed at the scene.
~ Scrolling through amid the rest with the sounds of climbing orgasm inside the car, until the screams.
A
shot of gin slammed to the bar and slid across til caught and slammed.
With an annoyed glance at the television news hanging over the bar, a
nod and some cash left behind.
The phone.
Narrator's voice - "We're sending a van."
Man - "Bullshit."
Voice
- "You don't know me but I do know you. And maybe you don't give one
single fuck about the world anymore but what about facing
this alone ?"
He looks around, this madness blooming.
Voice - "Living like a scavenger amid the rest of the damned."
A police car plows through the crowds to get away.
Man - Smiles at the chaos, "So maybe I live like a king. Maybe it's what I always wanted. Maybe it's what I am."
Voice
- "Yeah ... I know you like to think that sometimes, but it never
lasts. Too late. We already sent the van. It was never very far."
Another blocking his way in threat gets his head slammed back into the bricks of his apartment building.
Man - Working the keys for the door, "I love you too mom." Down the long hall for the end, "I'm gonna go get my sword and go save the world now. Bye." Hangs up and works the door lock to the apartment.
Voice sitting there on his couch, hangs up and pockets. "They'll be here soon but we've still got a bit of time."
Man - "They sent another woman."
Voice - "You're notorious. Honeypot 101 and I even packed the skirt."
Man - "Doesn't qualify you for this."
Voice
- "I also put a president's hand in his own blender once, to get what I
wanted."
Man - "And what was that ?"
Voice - "Your location."
Man - "And now you fuck me so I think I'm getting in that van for love."
Voice - "If it's required. Is it required ?"
...
Man - "You're terrible at this."
Voice
- "Really. As you may delude
yourself about what you are, and who, you're a good man. Which
means stupid when it comes to love. So yeah. I can pretend to
love you. I can make your every bedroom and blue dream
come true. Make you love me with all your heart for as long
as it takes.
"To get you in a van. Any van will do."
A
smile she gets up from the couch and to the fridge, pulls a beer from
it as her demeanor changes to a girlfriend flopping comfortably around
his home like she lived
there, or at least spends some time.
Throws herself to the couch and picks up the
remote. Flipping through channels and drinking, ignoring him
completely. "Hey you got any smokes ? I forgot the store
before it closed."
Drinks flipping ...
"Oh ! I found a new band today ! Sheila, the insufferable bitch she may be, was actually playing decent music in her cubicle."
Flips through the channels ... "Hey come here you ... is everything okay ?"
...
The man starts to laugh ... "Okay. We can go to the van now."
Voice - "Yes ! I told them fucking you wasn't the answer but these assholes are like 67 style ... chief literally drives a Chevy Nova."
Man - "Holy shit !" Heads with her for the door, sword in hand with a go bag.
Voice - "Seriously."
Man - Stops before closing it, "You're doing it again, aren't you."
Voice
- "You'll never know. You know all those horrible things you like to
think you are because it justifies what you know you have to do ? I'm
actually those things."
Man - "How many ?"
Voice - "Many."
Man - "All of them ?"
Voice - "Didn't today."
Man - Into the hall and closing the door, "What about yesterday ?"
Voice
- Slams him to the wall and kisses him
while the passersby in the hall do everything not to watch. "Acting the
girlfriend again, "Forgot to lock the door again."
Man - "I always have the distinct feeling I may never return."
Voice
- Pulling away, "It's okay. I got it." Uses her key and heads down
the hall, raises an arm to the ceiling. "To the apocalypse !"
Man - "What do we put on the headstone ?"
Voice - Smiles back from the door, "They call me Monroe."
And out the front door, indeed a black van between two like painted SUV's some black suits on lookout. The van door slides open, inside an armored man looking like combat armor was made made how it should have been.
Armored - "A sword." He looks to Monroe, "Seriously. A fucking sword."
Voice - "Probably won't even draw it."
The door slams shut and they roll.
The
swordsman stares at the armored judging back, hilt of the down turned
sheath in his hand like a scepter as he sits on the throne of a bench.
The armored man assesses him cold. "So what's your specialty ?"
Hail starts pounding the van roof while in the
streets everyone scatters, the thunder sounds. The swordsman looks to Monroe,
"Who ranks here ?"
Monroe
- "None of us. We each have our specialties. Chief decides
when it's time to activate and chooses who's who for the situation."
Swordsman - "The chief ... 'he lives'. So who's planning the op ?"
Monroe and the armored look at each other, the armored looks down.
Swordsman - "Ah. Looking for a replacement. I'm sorry for your loss."
Armored - "Hm. We're actually looking for some magical bitch who thinks he can save the world with a fucking sword."
Monroe - "Never even uses it. We're coming up on the docks." The hail stops.
Swordsman - To the armored, "What's your designation son ?"
Armored - "Did you just ... okay first off, fuck off with that, 'old son'. And secondly, my name, is Emilio Stephan."
Monroe - "Literally has no code name."
Emilio - Thumps his chest with a grin to the swordsman, "Nothing to hide."
...
Swordsman - "Did you actually have to fuck this guy ?"
Monroe - "No. But the next one may still be a bit bitter."
________
Pilot - On a dock by an old sea plane, "No. Absolutely. No."
Monroe - "You know we really did have a good thing going and you knew a hell of a lot longer than were willing to admit."
Pilot - "Til your next mission."
Monroe - "And here you are my mission again."
Pilot - "No."
Swordsman - Gesturing to Emilio ignoring them while cleaning his gun, "Well what about that guy, he'll fuck you."
Pilot - Looks over and examines him while instinct raises his head to see back ... "No."
Swordsman - "Money ?"
Pilot - Looks in the air in consideration, across the docks, the gulls ... "Yeah okay."
Swordsman - "Got a name ?"
Pilot - "Money. Who the fuck are you ?"
Swordsman - "No idea but I've heard some neat theories."
Pilot - "Swell. Load up, another storm front's on the way. We got lucky for the gap and you have until the auto-pilot to think of a name, or I'm calling you Joe-Bim-Billy, Dim-Dally-Bitch-a-doodle-Pops forever."
Swordsman - "Joe will do."
Pilot - "Good enough." Looks at Monroe before boarding, a sigh. "I honestly fucking hate you."
Monroe - "So would I."
Pilot - "If you had a soul."
Monroe - "Sure man. If I had a soul. Let's go."
The seaplane takes off in the dusk of early fall, the wave of storm passing behind them. It flies the western coastline headed south, beach side freeways showing their own collapse with the rest of the world.
Jammed traffic and rage on the road, protest stops a bridge, police line charges and further on south they go veering further from land. Rounds the peninsula, then a low and solid thirty miles out.
Inside it's clear the pilot lives here, Monroe the only one comfortable sitting on the thin bed atop the cupboards. A wall near the hatch of cutlery hung over a preparing station for meat, poles leaning the other side of it.
Among other things a sushi chef who likes to prepare the meat fresh from the water. Signatures fetish hanging from around the world but if anyone were to notice, only those places with notable fish.
These are the reasons this pilot like to tell himself why, the knives hang by the door.
Joe - "Okay. So what do we know here."
Monroe - "We know if we're all here and if I've only worked with one of you, there will be more. We're mismatched as a team."
Joe - "Maybe."
Emilio - "Definitely."
Joe - Looks him over, "I don't know ... I think your action figure would look great with a sword."
Emilio - "Pfff ... true. But you a broad op strategist, Chief was always mission to mission. You don't belong on a team."
Joe - To Monroe, "And you usually work political ... they say you've open fired on a draw, but it's not what you do. So I'd have to agree with that."
Money - Enters from the cockpit, "And there's no way in Hell I'm working with her, so that all sounds about right. We are not alone. What else we got ?"
Monroe - "You tell me."
...
Money - "I want you to know, that I absolutely have your back. I know we're here to get something done, and that no matter what I may feel, nothing will stop that from happening. But I still fucking hate you."
Monroe - "No you don't. That's the problem. I really liked myself when I was everything you wanted, that's what I want you to know but it was never really me. You need to let her go, she was never there."
...
Emilio - "The enemy will be political and militarized, because of our individual talents. We were picked up together only because of out our proximity on the map. So there will be many of us. So we know many people, are going to die."
The plane descends for low flight over land.
~ Praetorians ~
An APC door slams open, another team entirely exits one by one, a helicopter unloads three more, pilot last then slapping palms with our own. Team after team, each their own way and of all kinds from around the world.
Two from across the way give a hard look, one drawing a line under his throat to threaten. A private airstrip carved out of a field just outside the city with manor attached, the seaplane lands on its set wheels, they unload the last.
One look and some might say the property was a local CIA post and they would be correct. A few of the type seen remaining gives credibility to the notion the vans were theirs.