Thursday, June 22nd, 8:15 PM – Frodo Smackin’s Apartment Complex

Footsteps…

Slow…

Heavy breaths…

Walking towards… An apartment complex…

Distant voices… Barely audible…

“…ook, baby, don’t be nervous. He’s really excited for this date, too.”

“I’m less nervous or excited and more concerned, Daddy. I really appreciate that you want me to get over Tommy. Even if it’s less for the usual reasons and more for… sorry, I still don’t think I understand, Tommy is some kind of vampire?”

“Time Lord and Shapeshifter, baby. You didn’t see the picture. You don’t want to mess with people that can shift reality. Flynn was very clear about that.”

Heavy feet… Dragging… Arms limp… Beaten and bruised…

And hand… bloody… reaches for the rail beside the steps…

“But, do you really know this guy? This homeless morphine addict guy that apparently jumped out of our 4th story window after cleaning every dish in the house.”

“Katie, baby, you are so off base. You sound ridiculous right now. First off, he is a RECOVERING morphine addict.”

“All right, fine…”

“AND SECOND OFF…”

“…”

“…”

“…Yeah, what?”

“…You didn’t get anything else wrong in your story for me to correct...”

“Daddy…”

Second Floor…

His head bobbing up and down…

His fo-!

!!!!

...

…His hand catches tight on the rail… He almost slips, but pulls himself back to his feet…

His every muscle twitches in pain and exhaustion…

“Sweetie, I know every once in a while, I get you in situations that end with everything going tits up.”

“Once literally, daddy. Literally, that one time. Tits up.”

“But, Flynn seems like a good guy. He really cares about you and maybe it’d be good for you to be with a guy that’ll treat you right.”

“…Okay, just checking. How fucked up were you when you were hanging out with him?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Daddy, how fucked u-“

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Daddy, how fu-“

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Da-“

“If you want me to do fucking chores around this house, you don’t fucking get to judge me for the shit I need to smoke or inject into my taint or stick my dick inside of to get through it.”

Third floor…

His face suddenly surges toward the floor…

His knees fail…

He tries for the 73rd time since yesterday to dry heave up the contents in his stomach…

If his intestines weren’t empty, he’d be unleashing more than sweat and saliva unto Smackins’ downstairs neighbor.

“Okay, you’re right, Dad. No judgement. I ju-“

“Also, you know what? I am a fucking great judge of character while I’m fucking tripping.”

“Dad, all you’ve been doing is getting fucked up the last couple weeks and the two people you’ve spent the most time with are Scorpio and that special needs guy, Peter Gilmour.”

“HEY. I HAVE NOT BEEN HANGING OUT WITH PETER GILMOUR, OKAY?”

“…”

“I have just been recording myself yelling at how stupid he sounds in his videos where he’s yelling about how stupid what I recorded oh wow this sounds really weird when I say it out loud.”

“Yeah…”

Fourth floor…

A burgundy door…

A rectangular door bell…

His hands…

Reach up for his head…

Trying desperately to coordinate and organize the mound of hair…

Using the blood that had streamed out of his flesh… As a makeshift mousse…

“Look… Drugs aside… I think you two would be good together, I think you need a guy that isn’t a weird perverted time lord. And it has nothing to do with four million dollars.”

“Okay, maybe y-…Four what?”

“I’m not splitting it with you. I failed to raise you, I earned that money, it is MINE.”

“Daddy…?”

A finger reaches out.

"All right, Fifty-Fif-"

The bell rings…
***

Level 1: Picking Up a Few Things At the Grocery Store

Thursday, June 12th, 7:42 AM – 1000 E 41st Street, Austin, TX

HEB (Grocery Store)

“He’s still out there…”

Kyle, the newly hired cashier was standing in front of the automatic doors, which had been deactivated since the Whole Foods wouldn’t open for another 18 minutes. The red smock hanging around his neck was unstained, but only because he had it washed the night before.

His mouth agape, his beard scraggly, his eyes lost and tired in having woken up showered and biked to work in the eighteen minutes before now…

The assistant manager, David, his clean-shaven best friend in a matching red smock and eggshell white nametag, had been carefully stacking jars of Hibiscus Mint jam into a twenty foot tall pyramid, jams ascending to the heavens, almost reaching the ceiling. David gingerly set jar after jar, neatly balancing each on corner after corner, masterfully creating a staircase from bottom to top with the jars of semi-edible spread. He had started with a massive 20 by 18 jar rectangle on the floor and had an ended up at the top of the HEB’s rolling ladder, placing a 3 by 3 jar square as the second highest platform…

It was an act of calculus, geometry and physics all culminating in a masterpiece.

David, treating this bit of architecture like his magnum opus in life, didn’t bother turning his head to the front. A large radio hangs from his neck, a series of small tabs on the sides with a big button at its center... dangling as its master admires his own craftsmanship.

“It’s a homeless guy, Kyle. He’ll go away after we open up and people start coming in.”

Kyle continues to stand there looking out into the barren parking lot.

“I swear to God, I know him from somewhere. And he isn’t going away.”

Kyle passed a shirtless man on his bike, slowly shuffling his way toward his shop… Kyle ran in the side door, closed it behind him, and then immediately went to the locked automatic door to stare back out into the lot…

David finally places the top jar on the pyramid…

And smiles.

His eye scans the jar he just set down....

And the smile fades....

He mutters to himself quietly...

As his hand carefully rotates the jar...

Cautiously...

Slowly...

A full 7.9 degrees to the right.

And now all the jar labels are facing exactly the same direction.

Instantly his smile returns.

His brain, as if clicking back on after a session of uninterrupted unmitigated focus.

Leaps down the ladder. The communication device bounces up and down as he dashes to the front.

Crosses the cashier station where Nadine is turning on the automated cash registers.

David speaks down into his radio, clicking his hand on the radio's top side tab.

"How we doing, Nadine?"

Nadine doesn't look up from her Star magazine, her ruby red hair gorgeous, her green smock disheveled, her physical body... over 300 pounds. Nor does she bother using the radio since the distance between these two parties is less than five feet.

"Machines are up and running."

David clicks down his button again, "Solid work!"

"Whatever."

Turns left, past the deli where Anton sets up his carving station.

"How's the deli, Anton?"

"What?"

David has to break stride and looks over at Anton, still speaking into the radio.

"The deli, Anton?"

Anton, making eye contact, squints his eyes before responding.

"What?"

David quickly scans the deli, seeing that the meats are laid out, the carving station is clean, Anton is wearing a hairnut on his bald head and his hands are gloved.

"Good work, Anton."

"What?"

And joins his friend and newest employee, Kyle by the automatic door.

He grabs Kyle’s shoulder. “Man, if Griff catches you not doing anything and having a staring contest with this homeless guy, he is gonna be PISSED.”

Kyle doesn’t turn towards David.

“He’s freaking me out, man.”

David stares out into the distance at the stranger.

A shirtless man in... not pants? Shorts...

Hands at his sides...

Immobile.

David rubs his head.

"Huh... Has that guy been around here before?"

"No. He's fucking weird man."

David sighs…

“I’ll turn on the siren we use to get rid of the birds… That should get him to split…”

Kyle pauses. Then nods.

David crosses to the front register.

And flips a switch...
***




The streets are quiet, dinghy and grey. Rectangular cars that haven't moved since Double Dragon was in arcades. Shops with doors that no one can push open line one side of the sidewalk.

A woman, wearing a tight pink shirt, coifed hair and heels, stands at the street corner. Realizing her life hasn't quite gone the way she wants it. Deciding its time to stop letting the world kick her around and take control of the direction she's headed.

Maybe try getting that education. Give dentistry school another shot. Maybe stop letting guys snort cocaine out of her anus.

Just as she has that thought, three thugs walk up. One punches her in the gut and lifts her over his shoulder.


They exit the right side of the screen.

Spoiler Alert (Highlight to Reveal Spoiler): She never goes to dentistry school.

On the opposite side of the sidewalk is an endless white abyss... A window to another world... A world of impossibly endless, yet impossibly limited opportunity.

We won't bring it up again.

Flynn enters from the left side of the street. Red headband of courage and determination waving in the wind. Flawless white Karate gi. Bare feet.

His brow quivers with fury, his throat tight, his fists clenched. He will not tolerate this injustice.

...

Just to clarify, he's talking about personal injustice.

He has no intention of saving that woman from before.

She also won't be brought up again.

He reels back his neck... And howls his Raspy Battle Cry.

"I AM BACK..."

"..."

"ON MORPHINE!!!!!"
***
"What he say?”

“Something about endorphins…”

“He’s not leaving, man. If anything, the bird siren is pissing him off…”

David squints his eyes... Trying to solve a puzzle in his own head... Fighting off deja vu...

"I swear to God... I've seen that guy before..."

David...

...

Shakes his head…

“Forget it, man. Just get back to work.”

David shuffles away, high energy, back to admire his subtly leaning tower…

Kyle continues to stand there…

“…”

“What do you want…?”

A couple birds, ignoring the loud cawing coming from the store’s audio system… Land around front of the stranger… One knocking over a glass bottle…
***
KERASH!

Three Dark Shadows emerge, one from the alley, one from the other side of the street and the last through a shop window respectively. Shattered glass covers the street, as Dark Shadow shakes the shards and fragments from his hair...


Flynn: "THAT WINDOW WAS EXPENSIVE!"

Dark Shadow #1: "NOT AS EXPENSIVE AS YOUR GRAVE!"

Clearly that month Flynn tried to train old D.S. has paid off. The typical razor sharp wit of Dark Shadow.

Dark Shadow #3: "NOT AS RAZOR SHARP AS YOUR GRAVE!"

ROUND 1...

FIGHT!

The Dark Shadows take on the age old tactic...

Of from where they started...

Diagonally heading towards Flynn.

With their chins presented and their arms at their sides.

Falling perfectly into a straight line...

Flynn's eyes dart back and forth...

Panic sets in...

The fear of failure...

Cold sweat running down his face...

Another failure... To add to the recent list...

Dark Shadows lumbering forward...

20 feet...

18 feet...

16 feet...

Coming right for Flynn...

… Admittedly Somewhat slowly...

Oh God...

What could he do?

WHAT COULD HE DO?!?

Flynn in a frenzy, starting to hyper ventilate...

Heaving breath... His mouth opening, trying to take in oxygen...

His throat tightening... As if his body killing itself was a more honorable means of death than losing to 4 Dark Shadows...

10 feet...

8 feet...

8 feet...

8 feet.

The Dark Shadows all got caught behind the same slightly elevated patch of concrete on the road.

Trying to get around it by carefully edging around the bump...

Flynn scans the shops, the skies, the ground!

He desperately turns around... Looking for escape!

...

And that's when he sees it.


An oil drum.

A beautiful, orange, curvaceous metallic barrel.
***
“HE'S...HE’S RUNNING THIS WAY!” Kyle doubles back to the front register, panicked, eyes scanning the buttons…

David scrambles back to the register and again grabs his friend by the shoulder.

“Kyle, the doors are locked. Chill out.”

“WE HAVE TO CALL THE COPS!”

David, trying to keep his friend calm, keeps a straight face.

“Kyle, why would we open the front doors?”

“HE’S GOT A PIPE! HE’S GOING TO BREAK IN!”
***

Flynn's muscle memory kicks in. He sprints right, diving for the barrel...

Just as the gaggle of Dark Shadows finally made it around the corner.

***
60 feet…

David freezes up as the man… now being closer, it can be seen that he’s wearing… wrestling tights?

Kyle grabs David by both shoulders and shakes him into this moment.

“DAVID, CALL THE COPS!”

David’s eyes shoot left and right, trying to react….

40 feet…

The stranger has the pipe… Not held like a battering weapon…

Not held like a sword…

But over his shoulder…

Like a spear…

Like a projectile...
***
6 feet...

4 feet...

Flynn heaves the barrel over his head.

"HEY"

2 feet…
***
20 feet…

"Oh Jesus! Get away from the door!"

Mark Flynn charges the automatic door...

Lead pipe in hand...

David’s hands shoot to the front register…

“He’s gonna break the door…Can't... can't”

And rapidly ram on buttons…

“Gotta unlock the door…”
***
"FUCK YOU!"

Flynn heaves the barrel ahead of him...

***
The lead pipe sails out of his hand like a javelin...

Kyle dives on top of David… tackling him to the ground…

Just as Flynn's foot touches the automatic door touch-pad.

The door squeaks open slowly...

And the lead pipe passes through harmlessly into the store.

David sighs with relief...

"Oh thank God, that would have been expens-"

The lead pipe ricochets off an automated register...

"OH FUCK!"

And hits the first row between aisles 8 and 9.

"NOT THE JAMS!"

The lead pipe crushes a jar of hibiscus mint jam. The sudden loss of volume in that jar cause the jar stacked above it to descend...

The pyramid of jams collapses, a rumbling shattering sound, an explosion of reddish brown jam soaring through the air, seeping onto the cold tile…

David… crumbles to the floor… His opus destroyed… He had…

…

It just dawns on him…

He had forgotten to take a picture of it with his iPhone…

"FUCK YOU!"

Flynn dashes in through the automatic door, not breaking stride.

He leaps from the front of the store onto the top of the automated cash register on aisle 9.

Kyle turns to David.

"Dave, we’ve got to get out of here. That guy is crazy.”

David owns a Tesla Volt with a Coexist bumper sticker on the back. He exclusively eats organic fruits and operates a blog about the dangers of GMOs. It is with this in mind one must be when considering that he jams his thumb on the radio's big red button.

Suddenly, every radio in the system.

Over the intercom.

All speakers in the grocery store.

Blare his message:

"Someone MURDER THAT MOTHERFUCKER!!!"

To be continued...