To the outside world, the indigenous culture of the Mexican people might seem obsessed of death. The dichotomy between life and death is central to bull fights. Día de Los Muertos is an annual celebration of the dead. Skulls and skeletons become a ubiquitous motif across the country. While to the uninformed it may appear as if the Mexican people are celebrating something most cultures find sorrowful, the truth is that the Mexican are using the time to pray for and remember their beloved ancestors. The holiday is used in some areas to be a subversive means of criticizing a corrupt and unstable government through the use of sarcastic eulogies. In essence, they have an understanding of the deceased not completely different than the rest of the world: Death is an opportunity to remember the lives of those who are no longer living. What is their legacy? How many people did they touch? How many people did they hurt? Did they die doing what they loved or doing the right thing? Or, even more important, did they live doing the same?
: : :
Doug and Cris
Los Angeles, California
Doug woke up to a sharp prick to his face. As his senses returned to him, he looked around. It was the back seat of a town car. A gag limited his ability to speak and his hands were encased in a bulbous block of cement with a thin wire running through it. He looked up and saw two of the agents in the front seat. The dark-haired man was driving and the blonde was looking back at him with a rather creepy smile and a pointed finger near his cheek.
Looking at his awakened captive via the rearview mirror, Gabriel announced to Doug, “Welcome back, Dougie boy. Before you even consider about trying to escape, let me explain to you your predicament. What you’ve got around your hands is some of that cement you melted from the basketball course. Here’s a fun fact: the city of Los Angeles mixes iron particles into its cement to increase durability. Those wires sticking out the end? They’re attached to my wife’s body here.” Elle lifted up her shirt, showing the wires taped to her sides along the ribs. Noting that his wife’s bra was peeking through, he pushed down her hands. “That’s quite high enough, Sweetie.” He turned his attention back to Doug. “Were you to melt that cement, the iron particles would align and that block of cement would quickly begin to conduct electricity. On a normal day, my wife can power a small house without breaking a sweat. But, believe me when I tell you, she’s capable of much higher voltages. Now rationally, the last thing we want to do is expose you to lethal quantities of electricity. Unfortunately for you, my wife is not rational, and in fact quite sociopathic. And you just happened to have ruined one of her favorite pairs of pants. I would think twice before using your abilities.”
“Can I do the other one now?” Without waiting for permission, she shocked Cris’s nose.
He mumbled incoherently for a moment before taking stock of the situation. Both his hands were stuffed inside of a plastic bag filled with some viscous liquid and duct-taped together.
“Hello, Cris. I got your name from your driver’s license; I hope you don’t mind. Now, I just wanted to warn you. That liquid you’re had are emerged in? That would be silica gel. By itself, mostly harmless. It’s a deoxidizer. At worse causes a minor rash. However, if you were to try to crystallize it, you find it transformed into a most uncomfortable substance: millions of itty bitty little shards of glass. Not only would it be excruciatingly painful, but I have no doubt that you wouldn’t even have hands anymore if you tried to pull them out of those bags. Do the smart thing.” He winked into the mirror.
Together, both captives struggled around, screaming through their gags.
“I’m not going to be able to take twenty more minutes of this,” Elle commented, zapping both of them in the forehead, knocking them both unconscious.
Gabriel looked at her worriedly.
Incredulously, she replied to his unspoken question. “I didn’t kill them. The finger was set to stun. I’m saving up for tonight.” She grinned brazenly.
: : :
Hiro Nakamura
Yamagato Industries
Tokyo, Japan
The first place Hiro teleported was onto the roof of Yamagato Industries. It was a calm cool night, with only a few people walking around in the courtyard below. Peering over the side, he ignored the forty-story drop and checked the balcony outside his father’s—make that his sister’s—office. It was empty and Hiro teleported there.
The inside of the CEO’s office was empty, too. It was dark. He knew Kimiko sometimes like to work very late, but apparently tonight she did not. He teleported right in front of the safe. His handprint was accepted. With a poof of captured air escaping, the door clicked open. Inside sat the formula.
The room was suddenly lit by red light. Hiro cautiously froze time. To his left, alit by his own power, was Ando. His Pinehearst pin gleamed in the light. Hiro then noticed that he hadn’t completely frozen time. Ando’s energy blast was inching toward him. He reached behind the safe and pulled it down. Once he unfroze time, the tilted safe took the full brunt of the energy attack. For a split second, Hiro was able to see Ando through holes in the safe’s walls. Wisely, he teleported away immediately.
Ando pulled out a handheld GPS. On it, a bright blue dot blinked. “The fool,” Ando commented to himself, “he teleports one hundred meters away.” Ando sent another energy blast into the window, shattering it instantly. He grabbed the fire ladder and slid down, his power blazing to prevent abrasions.
Ando ran into Hiro halfway across a walking bridge.
“Ando, you traitor.”
Ando answered gravely, “Hiro, please, just give me the formula and no one will get hurt.”
“You even sound like a villain.”
“Villains don’t say ‘please,’” Ando pointed out.
“I will not.” Hiro pulled out the blade of Takezo Kensei.
Ando lit up his hand and held it out defensively. “Hiro, don’t do this. We can—” The energy ball shot from his hand.
It took Ando a moment to realize what had happened. There was still a bit of Kimiko’s pheromones in his body and his vision had been intermittently cloudy while he had waited for Hiro inside of Kimiko’s office.
The cobwebs in his mind cleared, Ando ran over to Hiro, finding the man stone-still. He took the formula from his friend’s hands, but the ground started to rumble before he could do anything else.
Fueled by adrenaline, Ando raced away as the ground began to shake ever more violently. He took cover under a large tree, gripping tight, praying that no branches would crush him. The rumbling stopped and only leaves had fallen.
As the dust cleared, Ando witnessed the destruction of the courtyard. The bridge he had been on not two minutes before was a crumpled heap of metal. He climbed around the debris as best he could, but he could not find Hiro’s body. He turned and was greeted with a more terrible sight. All the buildings, including Yamagato Industries, had collapsed to the ground. He thought of beautiful Kimiko, who he had left asleep on a couch inside her private chambers inside the building.
Filled with grief and fury, he began exploding the larger pieces of concrete that he could find. He felled the tree that he had sought shelter under, watching it crash to the ground in a burning heap.
He noted the formula in his hand. He wanted to set that aflame, too, but he knew better. The formula had to be returned to Pinehearst immediately. It could not be let loose into irresponsible hands, or catastrophes like this would continue.
He knew the earthquakes would close down the airports. Luckily, he would have a private jet waiting.
: : :
Lyle Bennet
Primatech Medical Facility
New Orleans, Louisiana
2011
Lyle Bennet slept soundly in his hospital bed, the regenerator blood filling his system and repairing the damage to his body. Meanwhile, a lone figure entered his room with a gun.
Small, nimble hands disconnected Lyle’s blood IV. A syringe was inserted into the open end of the plastic tube and dark red liquid injected in.
Lyle’s vital signs immediately crashed, setting off an alarm. He burst awake and grabbed the arm of his uninvited visitor. Pulling her into the light, he found himself staring at his sister.
“Claire?”
“This is the last time I save your ass.” With this, she yanked her arm away, fired a shot at the window, and leapt out through the partially shattered window, tearing up her body. Lyle watched her race off into the darkness. At first, she limped, but her ability run quickly returned.
Monica and several orderlies burst in to the room on Lyle’s other side, chasing a code blue. But, by then, Lyle’s vitals had returned to normal.
“What happened?” Monica screamed. She glanced at Lyle before examining the window and the outside. The outside was still.
Lyle commented, acting wearier than he felt, “I don’t know. Someone snuck in. I think the alarm scared her away.”
“Her? Did you see her face?”
Lyle paused, seemingly thinking, “No, but they were small. It could have been a guy, but there’s no telling. The lights were dim.” The last part sounded particular lame to Lyle, but Monica seemed too erratic to catch it.
She pulled down on the collar of Lyle’s gown, finding his gunshot wound healed and only a small, bullet-sized bump to show for it.
“Must have been a good batch,” he commented, indicating the blood bag that was no longer connected to his IV tube.
Monica surveyed the bloody window again. She deduced, “Might have been a regenerator. Any idea who?”
“We just killed a member of the Poulet gang. Could be revenge.”
“I’ll round up some suspects.”
: : :
Nathan and Tracy Petrelli
The White House
Washington, D.C.
Tracy, sitting in a lawn chair, wearing a bikini that was as modest as bikinis could get, held her breath, looking worried as she watched the surface of the large pool before her.
Suddenly, a small head popped out. Startled, Tracy let out her breath. A two-year-old boy smiled and waved at Tracy. “Hi, Mommy!”
Tracy smiled, “Hey, Sweetie. You were under a long time.”
“Okay,” the toddler replied before sinking back down. His wake zipped across the long pool in seconds.
Nathan Petrelli, sitting in his own chair, surveyed his wife, “Twenty-four minutes and fifteen seconds. That’s a new record.”
“Well, our son’s very good at holding his breath.”
“I was talking about you.”
Tracy sneered at her husband, “Funny. It’s just my luck I’d end up married to a bird and giving birth to a fish.”
“What does that make you? A penguin?”
“Keep it up, Mister, and you’ll be staring down a polar bear.”
Nathan laughed.
Tracy studied her stomach. Her abs were still flat but now on the soft side. “…or a sea cow.”
Nathan contradicted her immediately, “Honey, you are extravagantly beautiful. Not many First Ladies make it into Maxim’s Hot 100 List.”
“That was before Andrew,” Tracy pointed out lamely.
With injected confidence, Nathan replied, “I have no doubt you could make it again. Niki had a kid and she made big money as an online stripper.”
“Niki had her son when she was 21. She had the bulk of her twenties to get back into shape.”
“If it makes you feel better, if you were to start an online stripping site, I would visit it everyday. Though, please, please, please don’t. I want to go down in the history books but not like that.”
“What? Having the highest approval ratings of any President?”
“Hardy-har-har.” He leaned over to kiss his wife.
Nathan was tapped on the shoulder by a man in a suit.
“Marty, what can I do for you?” Nathan asked, removing his sunglasses.
Marty knelt down. “Sir, my apologies for interrupting you, but there’s something extremely urgent that needs your attention. Twelve minutes ago, several earthquakes caused extensive damage in one of the major business districts of Tokyo. Their scientists are saying it couldn’t have been natural. It was a special.”
“Set up a press conference.”
“Sir, it’s not just that. Our people at USGS sent you this rather disturbing simulation.”
“What?” Nathan sat up, worriedly. Tracy followed suit.
Marty laid a DVD player in Nathan’s lap. “The scientists stated that a couple more of these artificial earthquakes would weaken the crust along the Pacific Ring of Fire. If this were to happen, the Earth’s rotation would start to accelerate the drifting of the plate away from one another. Ocean water would seep in and the problem will compound.” On screen, the Earth visibly flattened at the poles. “Scientists in California have found the same damage along the San Andreas Fault because of the Costa Verde Disaster. They say it’s almost as if the Earth is beginning to crack down the middle.” Bright orange lines marked the cracks in the Earth, eerily similar to the popular graffiti image. Then, quite suddenly, one half of the earth jerked away with the gravity of the moon. The two mangled halves started to crumble in on themselves. The moon crashed into one of the parts.
“Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven. Assemble the Cabinet. Now. Drag them out of their homes. Out of the bars. Out of their mistresses’ apartments. Get me everybody.”
: : :
Harry Fletcher
Franklin & Wilkins Pharmaceuticals
Odessa, Texas
1982
Harry Fletcher scowled through the microscope. Once again, his enhanced Treponema pallidumbacteria broke down their defenses. Masquerading as cancer research, Fletcher had begun manipulating common bacteria. He was able to give the bacteria a number of advances, including spiny quills, a tough outer cell membrane, or the ability to “birth” a copy of itself upon dying. But his tests over the years hadn’t come to a permanent solution. Over time, the bacteria would simply shed it quills, or the robust exterior would wear away, or the internal copy would be destroyed for materials.
One of his lab techs entered the room, knocking. “Dr. Fletcher. You have a package.”
Fletcher took the brown paper-covered parcel and smiled as he read the return address. He picked up his phone immediately and began opening the package with a red-hot beam of light emitted from his finger.
“Vicky, it’s Harry. I just got a package from you. Is this what I think it is?”
On the other end of the line, Victoria Pratt responded, “Yes, it took quite a bit of fiddling, but I was able to make it so it would integrate itself in the junk DNA. You’ll have to let me know how it works.”
“So, you’ve already notified our subjects?”
“They’re on their way.”
Thirty thousand feet over New Mexico, 11-year-old Jessica Sanders giddily looked out the window. “That’s where the aliens landed!” she told her 7-year-old sister.
Niki craned her neck. “I can’t see!” she exclaimed.
Their father gruffly ordered, “Niki, be quiet. You’re disturbing the other passengers.” In actuality, the other passengers were quite amused by the sudden outburst. It was the first time the young girl had made a peep the entire flight and as long as she didn’t suddenly make a habit of it, they were quite content.
Jessica unlatched her sister’s seat belt. Niki scrambled from her seat into her sister’s lap and looked out the window. “Aliens? Really?”
“No,” Hal answered, “Girl, get in your seat.” Niki knew that voice. That was the voice that came before her dad unbuckled his belt and she would black out and wake up with a sore rear end. So, she slipped back into her seat and pulled out a coloring book and started coloring Sleeping Beauty’s dress lime green.
“There really were aliens,” Jessica whispered, “The government just didn’t want anyone to know.” Niki giggled but didn’t reply. Their father didn’t seem to have heard her.
“You know,” Jessica noted, “you’re really lucky that you have Muscular Dystrophy. You get to go to Texas every year with all the cowboys. This is the first time I’ve ever been. I’m glad Mrs. Sears got pneumonia.”
Niki actually was never impressed with the cowboys. They wore cowboy hats and boots like they did in the movies, and some of them carried guns, but they were boring-looking guns like policemen and casino guards carried, not fun spinning six-shooters. And the cowboys never seemed to shoot the bad guys, even though Niki counted at least three men with black hats and mustaches last time she’d come. These cowboys also never lassoed any cows. In fact, she’d never seen any cows to lasso. Except for their hats and guns, these cowboys just lived normal people lives in normal people cities (normal except for lack of pretty casinos with neon lights and waterfalls).
Meanwhile, Arthur Petrelli and his 14-year-old son Nathan flew in a private jet. Arthur watched his son with a great sense of pride. Nathan had his eyes glued to the window.
“Everything good, son?” Arthur tried. Nathan was a good kid—make that a great kid—but his head was often in the clouds. He gets that from his mother.
“Yeah, Dad, just enjoying the view.”
“Maybe you ought to reconsider going into the Navy. I’d be just as proud if you went into the Air Force. You might talk to the copilot. I think he did a few years in the service.”
“Maybe,” the teen replied mechanically. Nathan had wanted to be in the Navy since his Peter Pan phase, wanting to “fight pirates.” Arthur remembered joking to his wife they named the wrong kid “Peter.” It was meant to be ironic; Arthur was insistent on the name Nathan for his first heir. Like the Nathan of the Bible, Arthur wanted a son who would stand in the presence of kings and challenge them.
“Hey, Dad, I think there’s a fire down there.”
Arthur got up to sit by his son. They were a mere half hour from Odessa-Schlemeyer Airport, and were lower to the ground. Arthur could definitely make out the small smoking dot on the landscape. He gave a semi-interested hmm.
A hundred and fifty miles behind them, a large 747 roared towards Midland International Airport. In first class, 7-year-old Tracy Strauss sat quietly with her stepmother. The latter was reading Newsweek; the former Highlights. Mrs. Strauss wore a khaki pant suit, heavily shouldered and with a matching burnt umber scarf. Young Tracy wore a periwinkle, ankle-length skirt over a frilly white blouse.
“Your father is in Newsweek again. He got another medical research bill through Congress.”
Tracy looked over. “It’s a good picture,” she commented, “he looks very handsome.”
“He does,” the woman agreed, “Are you excited about your last injection?”
“No. Shots aren’t very much fun. Plus, it’s hot in D.C. now. I have a bunch of pretty blouses with short sleeves that I wanted to wear without an ugly Band-Aid on my arm. Malignicant hyperthermia is a pain.”
A day later, in Resada, California, Dr. Zimmerman returned home well past ten o’clock. He found his 7-year-old daughter, Barbara, sitting in an easy chair in the entrance hallway, her eyes barely open. Upon seeing him, she leapt up and ran to hug him around the legs.
“Barbara,” he commented paternally, “you should ‘ave been in bed hours ago. You ‘ave school tomorrow.”
“I wanted to welcome you home.”
Zimmerman ruffled his daughter’s head. “All right, I’m welcomed. Time for bed.”
As they walked up the stairs hand-in-hand, Barbara turned to her father and asked, “What were you doing in Texas?”
“I was giving some little girls and boys the special shot.”
“Like the one you gave me before you went away?”
“Ja. The same one.”
Barbara proudly displayed her Care Bear Band-Aid. “It’s gonna make me big and strong and fast and smart.”
Zimmerman chuckled jollily, “Ja.”
As he tucked her into bed, she said, “Ich liebe dich, Vati.” I love you, Daddy.
“Ich liebe dich auch, mein spezielles Mädchen.” I love you, too, my special girl. He kissed her on the head and turned out the light, smiling.
: : :
Episode 12: What We Have Become
Director's Commentary: The cast keeps coming up to me to tell me they want a show called Lil Heroes, which is about their characters as little tykes. I told them that was violating several rules of TV: Never work with kids; Never do a shifting period drama; Never work with animals (I refuse to do it without Puppy Muggles). Granted, I violated all these rule in this very episode.
This was Masi's last episode with me. It's very tragic.
Probably the biggest stir I caused was inviting Scott Bakula (Enterprise Capt. Archer) to play Harry Fletcher. I had the honor of casting the last four Founders and Mr. Bakula was my final one. I also want to give props to Ellery Sprayberry. Not only did she play all three parts (Niki, Tracy, and Barbara), but she did most of it with very few takes, even the scene where we had her speaking German.
The next episode marks another break in my series. I was hired for another six episodes, bringing the total to 18, and have requested a few weeks off to plan. Stick around!
Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey
Zachary Quinto … Gabriel Gray
Kristen Bell … Elle Gray
Adrian Pasdar … Nathan Petrelli
Ali Larter … Tracy Petrelli
Dana Davis … Monica Dawson/St. Joan
Randall Bentley … Lyle Bennet
Robert Forster … Arthur Petrelli
Masi Oka … Hiro Nakamura
James Kyson Lee … Ando Masahashi
Jonathan Chase … Doug
Jesse Boyd … Cris
Ronald Guttman … Dr. Zimmerman
Graham Beckel … Hal Sanders
Scott Bakula … Harry Fletcher
Joanne Nelly … Zimmerman’s Lab Tech
Geno Menteiro … Presidential Aide Marty
Lorenzo James Henrie … 14-Year-Old Nathan
Ellery Sprayberry … 7-Year-Old Niki Sanders/Tracy Strauss/Barbara Zimmerman
Laurie Holden … Tracy’s Stepmother
Chloe Moretz … 11-Year-Old Jessica Sanders
Henry Benjamin Robinson … Andrew Petrelli
No comments:
Post a Comment