Setting the Stage

A SERIES OF IMAGES AND SOUNDS ARE BEING LIFTED FROM THE ABSENCE OF THE SENSES. We as a collective audience experience the birth of sensation. From darkness we begin to see the first piercing beams of luminescence and we hear a noise. Not collectively at first. No, that comes quickly but not at once. The noise starts out ever so softly like a whisper hanging on a faint breeze before it begins to crescendo. MARCH MARCH MARCH clat clat MARCH MARCH clat clat clat MARCH You hear it now, and not only do you hear it but you recognize now that it is in actuality two sounds. One sound a collective of many merged together to forge a louder more powerful audible statement and another weaker one stands alone contrast against the whole. Color begins to bleed into our field of vision to complement the acoustic stimuli already present. From a few pinpoints of light we now see colors begin to form, mix, and focus into coherent shapes. Those shapes form into the likeness of a man walking briskly against the foot traffic of so many others walking in the opposite direction, their united steps in unison. Man, "Hey!" An unrepentant shoulder drives into the man's chest causing him to spill costly Starbucks coffee over himself and his assailant whom continues on his path undeterred. This nameless man whom is the only soul traveling against a herd of business men and women on a sidewalk which could be anywhere within the United States of America or perhaps Europe catches a glimpse of the man who has so carelessly cost him some three fifty US dollars in coffee and another ten in dry cleaning. He is taken aback. Why? It's in the eyes. Or it could be better said it's not in the eyes. For Sam (lets just call him that since he's failed to introduce himself) looking into this careless man's eyes is like looking into a sea devoid of anything which could have ever been summed up under the word human. No passion, no interest, no happiness, no hate, love, nor fear exists within this "aggressor's" eyes. The man's step increases. Faster, he wants to go faster, and so he does. ...ClatClat MARCH MARCH MARCH MARCH ClatClat MARCH ClatClatClat... Sam is growing ever so much more nervous. Everyone around him is going the same way. Their dress is of the same fashion, identical, in every regard. To complement their attire each of these "individuals" wear the same blank expression on their faces, the same dull look of a simple existence without the need of independent thought in their eyes. All except for Sam that is and he keeps fighting through the crowd. Like a Persian trying to pierce a 300 Spartan strong Phalanx at Thermopylae. It's getting harder now, their offering resistance. They bump into him. They crush his coffee cup. He tries to keep his stride, fighting towards the side of the road. A taxi! Is this the way out? Sam, "TAXI!" The man inside the car hears him. How can he not? He's the only one in earshot that's talking. And it's quite easy to pick him out of the crowd since our Sam in the only one dodging marching drones as they come at him while he tries to gain the attention of the taxi cab a few feet from his unsure footing. But the cabbie will have none of this. His windows roll up snugly and for a second you think he actually locks his doors (which were already locked) again just to make sure of course, before speeding off as traffic allows. Sam doesn't have long to dwell on this as another incoming marching pedestrian careens into him and continues to force his way past Sam... ...ClatClatClatClat MARCH MARCH MARCH Clat MARCH MARCH ...and another collides into him and another... MARCH MARCH MARCHclat clatMARCH MARCH MARCH Sam stumbles as he is dragged back into the identically dressed marching masses. Surrounded he is assailed. No more impolite casual bumps. These are far harsher and he is knocked back and forth by these mindless pedestrians; minions if you will. As if they were playing a game of human pong and offering him no quarter while pulling him under their collective boots and from our sight. MARCH MARCH MARCH MARCH MARCH Marching is now the only sound screeching into the ears of the audience, Sam's footsteps no longer fall and the camera does not linger. It's sight turns 180 degrees bringing a large building into view which UWA fans have become acutely familiar; the Andorran Consulate. To many this provides the explanation to several answers. Where are we? Washington D.C. Why didn't that cabbie save Sam? Washingtonians know there are some dangers in this city worse than a mugging... MARCH MARCH MARCH Leaving the sounds of marching Minions behind and accelerating towards this place of diplomacy and depravity the camera angle transverses through a pair of wrought iron gates and then through a pair of wooden double doors entering the building as if we were flying on angel's wings. Speeding into the through the structure's interior it pauses for a moment. The camera lingers for a moment and we hear voices spilling out from a doorway left ajar. Chris, "I think it was late last year." Paige Lane, "Getting warmer... Will, can you narrow it down? When do you think it was apparent to the Doctor that UWA was terminal?" The camera enters the room allowing us to witness the proceedings taking place within. Inside we are met with the images of Paige Lane and the Placebo Youth (Will, Chris, and Rebecca). The youth whom are students of Placebo's philosophical teachings are all sitting within the confines of those chair/desk combos that you often see at private schools while Paige is standing next to a chalk board which reads "UWA: The End" written on it. Ms. Lane is waiting on Will's response... Will, "Umm... Minions vs. Rilo for the World Title?" Paige Lane, "Good... now why do you pick that moment?" Chris starts feverishly writing something onto a scrap piece of paper with his pencil as if he were taking notes on the discussion taking place. Will, "Kinda obvious... a hall of famer falling as low to face a slave who became a wrestler? This isn't Gladiator and Minion 1 isn't Russel Crowe or anything... he's a retard." Passing a note quickly to Rebecca Chris tries in vain to suppress a smile while his friend starts to giggle after reading the message. Paige is not amused at the distraction and walks over to Becca's desk. Paige Lane, "Rebecca... would you care to share that note with the rest of the class?" The teen's giggling and bubbly smile turns to ash as her eyes narrow and she sneaks an accusing glance towards Chris for getting her in trouble before she speaks. Rebecca, "It reads...'Well at least it wasn't as if the UWA Champion was feuding with the Burger King King or anything before Minion 1 came along... oh wait, never mind'..." Even though he too is in trouble with Ms. Lane Chris' smile never leaves his lips and to his astonishment Ms. Lane agrees with the actual point the teenager made underneath his obvious heavy lathering of sarcasm. At that moment the camera ceases to linger and moves past this open doorway just as quickly as it had come upon it. Our field of view moves forth into the depths of the Andorran construct. Continue...