What's that old cliche about living by the gun? Well, Howl was never much of a marksman--and yet he's sidling right up to the edge of his life and they're coming in from every side of the law carrying the guns carrying the fate carrying the cliche of his tragic demise. Except. Tragic to whom? Lumbering single-eyebrowed knuckle-cracking almost-simian goons from the Olympus Mons. Jaded hitmen of the Indian casino bigs like old butchers who can't make a clean cut anymore but can still get the job done. Formations of black-uniformed special tactics officers unloading off of armored trucks--wait, where did the cops come from? That bitch Nikka must've snitched after that first incident at the motel! All of them, at once. Ha! What're the chances?
    That's right. This was where we last left Howl, wasn't it? The plan he hatched, the dragon that came out. The revelation trickling down his forehead from his scalp, exit wound in left shoulder flowering in gnashed up flesh, Colt 1911 held close in the right hand, back against a wall...His life doesn't even flash before his eyes. It's a myth, he says. Not even the part where he found out about Nikka's family, the fatal part where he went seeking his fortune in the form of a kidnapping, Vincent and himself in stocking caps slamming the trunk lid against Nikka's violent thrashing, the part where Vincent calls from a payphone about how much they want and where.
    Oh wait. Fuck. That hasn't happened yet--we never got that far. Damn, it's just that it's been so long since the last installment. My bad. Well...

[back] No fate. No future. No GED.
[back] No fate. No future. No evidence.
[back] No fate. No future. No acquaintance.
[back] No fate. No future. No mercy.
[back] No fate. No future. No heiress.
[back] No fate. No future. No Columbine.
[back] No fate. No future. No compensation.
[back] No fate. No future. No gossip.

Inside MARLOW WAYNERIGHT's very postmodern mansion. CRANE TENNYSON leads FREYA ROSEWATER, busing her baggage.

C. This way, Miss Rosewater.
F. Just Freya, Crane. If I'm going to be spending any time here, I want to dispense with the formalities.
C. Freya.
F. (Removing gloves.) A billionaire playboy likes to keep his women waiting, non?
C. Oh, especially women he likes. (Wink.)
F. I hope he doesn't like me too much, I'm only here as the district attorney.
C. Not for the entire duration, I hope?
F. Except when I go to bed.
C. You know, that might just work to his advantage.
F. Oh no, not me, Crane. I know his reputation.
C. So you do. (Smiles.) Shall we?
F. Oh no, I'm a guest. He should come greet me. Put those down, tell me about this room. It's very unusual. (Looks up.) Come to think of it, this whole house is unusual.
C. (Complies.) This room was once a silo. It's actually the atrium of the manor, so if you get lost, just come here to get your bearings.
F. Is this house really that big?
C. There are parts of it Mr. Wayneright himself hasn't seen yet. The floorplan is quite eccentric. Not unlike its master.
F. Yeah. Where's the Batcave?

MARLOW WAYNERIGHT enters stealthily.

M. The entrance is hidden behind a bookcase, of course.
C. Ah, Mars. Miss Freya, as you can see.
F. Mars?
M. Well if we're dispensing with formalities, I'd like you to call me Mars.
F. Eavesdropping.
M. Naturally I couldn't help but admire from afar.
F. Flattered.
M. That was only half-complimentary.
C. Mars, Freya. Your rapport is showing.
M. (Exchanges smiles with CRANE.) I know, I know, Crane. Mind taking Freya's bags to her room? We have business to discuss.
C. Very good, sir. (To FREYA.) Good luck. (Exits with FREYA's luggage.)
M. (Waits till CRANE is out of sight.) I'm glad you came after all. What changed your mind?
F. (Removing coat.) Don't take it personal, Mars. Marlow. I'm just doing what a DA has to do.
M. I like your outfit.
F. It's Hugo Boss.
M. Leaves a lot to the imagination.
F. Only yours. (Puts coat back on.)
M. ...I thought you didn't want to be sending any messages to the syndicate.
F. (Perches on the edge of the sofa.) Like I could get anything done under MPD watch. Half the force is on the syndicate's ledger lines. I'd just be playing their game. What choice do I have?
M. (Considers it.) You're right. Who could you trust?
F. (Looks down at her hands.) I can trust you, Marlow. Mars. Look, I really am grateful. (Struggles quietly.) Jesus, thank you is such a tedious ritual compared to how a person really feels.
M. Freya. S'all good. Smoke?
F. Oh yes please.

MARS gives FREYA a cigarette, then lights it for her.

M. You can thank me by having se--dinner with me tonight.
F. (Looks up at him.) I just got here, you think it's a good idea to go out?
M. I was thinking more Crane's cooking. He's a virtuoso in the kitchen.
F. (Standing up.) Well, just show me to my room and I'll be ready by dinner time.
M. Stay close. Even I get lost in this house sometimes.

They exeunt. The lights fade out and the murky darkness of the past pours in. A silence leads eventually to the sounds of scuffling feet, ???'s body impacting the floor, followed shortly by his breathless but hysterical laughter. Sounds of a violent struggle ensue, the concussive noise of fists on flesh and a chair being broken over a body. ??? lets out a muffled cackle. Suddenly, a shovel makes a ringing thump against a solid mass, which hits the floor. ???'s laughter explodes erratically between panting breaths.

???. Good one! (Hysterical laughter.) The-the shovel! (Hysterical laughter. Recovers.) Now kill me! Do it! Kill me! (Cackles.)

Fade in, later that evening. FREYA enters the dining room looking impeccable in a chic cocktail dress.

F. (Spooked.) Christ, I should've asked for a map and compass. This place is fucking ridiculous.

MARS enters in an apron, a kitchen towel draped over one shoulder.

M. Look at you.
F. Sorry, but this place is like a labyrinth. It's kinda creepy.
M. I should've sent Crane to get you.
F. I thought he was cooking dinner.
M. He is. I was just giving him a hand. (Smirks.) You're um...going to wear that to dinner?
F. What's wrong with this?
M. Oh nothing, it--It's dazzling on you. Hugo Boss?
F. Thierry Mugler.
M. (Restraining laughter.) We're having pizza and hotwings.
F. What?
M. The fights are on tonight. (Takes a small, thin remote from his pocket and points it at the wall. A nearly seamless panel opens revealing a monstrously large flat-panel TV with the fight on mute.)

CRANE enters, also in an apron, carrying a basketful of hotwings on a silver platter with a glass full of celery and several saucers of ranch.

C. The pizza's in the oven still, but--oh. (To MARS.) You didn't tell her we're having pizza and hotwings?
M. Just did.

FREYA falls limply into a chair.

F. (Sighs.) Where's the beer?
C. (Smiling.) I'll go get it. (Exits.)
M. Sorry. I just thought I'd help you take your mind off of things. (Takes a seat and leans on the table.)
F. I don't want to take my mind off of things.
M. You're underground right now. You can afford to. Stop punishing yourself.
F. It's Karma. This life is punishment for a previous one.
M. (Thinks cautiously.) Maybe. But you're the fucking DA of Mono City. You can use your bad karma to turn this place around.
F. I can and will. But it's going to breed more bad karma. You just know it is. What we need is a costumed vigilante. (Laughs softly.) I'd be ready to let a guy like that slide if he cracked a few syndicate skulls and made them watch their backs a little. (Droops her head to one side.) Get them to stop watching mine for a while.

CRANE enters with glasses and a pitcher of beer.

M. There's the good stuff. (Stands and takes a glass in each hand. CRANE fills them.)
C. Back to the pizza. See you two in a bit. (Turns to exit, but MARS stops him.)
M. Leave the beer, Crane.
C. Oh. Forgot. (Smirks.)

CRANE sets the pitcher on the table and exits. MARS gives FREYA her beer, then resumes his seat.

M. (Drinking.) It won't work.
F. ...Non-sequitur?
M. As the DA I'm sure you can testify. One person's ripples just get lost in the waves. The superhero thing. It won't work.
F. (Smirking.) I used to read my brother's comic books when I was a girl. The Dark Knight Returns. Watchmen. I know. I mean the DA's got the whole system behind her and it's still not enough.
M. And it's not just a matter of logistics either.
F. Then what is it?

CRANE returns with a pizza on a large wooden pizza peel.

C. Voila.
F. (Inhales.) God that smells so good. I love you, Crane.
C. (Looking at the TV.) Who's winning?
M. Get planted, Crane. We were actually just waxing philosophical. (To FREYA.)Aside from being a culinary artisan, Crane's also a bit of a sage. (To CRANE.) Maybe you'll have some light to shed on the matter.
C. (To FREYA.) Some people mistake old blowhards like myself for wisemen. But anyway, I don't mind spectating a bit if you don't mind me. (To MARS.) Go on.

MARS takes a slice of pizza, surveying his two spectators with a sly smile. They partake as well.

M. ...You know why Mono City is the way it is? It's because people are douchebags. (Deadpan from FREYA and CRANE.) They--they lack character. So the DA--or a superhero--they're just effigies. Stand-ins. But they're not enough to uphold peace, no matter how strong their character is. (Looks to CRANE for a response, who is distracted by the fight.)
C. Oh. Well. (To FREYA.) All I can add is you know how prone Americans are to setting their effigies on fire at the slightest provocation. (To MARS.) Or no provocation.
F. (Brooding.) Was it a bad idea for me to come here? People will think I've folded.
C. Well, you know, I've always admired the samurai of feudal Japan. Their code of ethics, the way of the warrior. Die a hero and preserve honor. After all, it's that honor you're hoping to instill in people--

FREYA gets up forcefully, grinding knuckles into the tabletop, tears welling.

F. (At MARS.) I should've taken my chances!
C. But...
M. (Forceful.) It's the kindling. They'll burn you with your honor. You did the right thing, Freya. I mean what choice do you have? We have to make do with cold, hard results.
C. (Getting up.) Yes. I don't want to sound cynical, but never underestimate the laziness, cowardice, and general apathy of your common man. As soon as you ask for even a little commitment, they'll set you on fire as well. (Embraces FREYA.) You did the right thing, darling.

A sober silence sprinkles down on the scene like fresh snow.

M. (Exhaling.) ...Come on. Let's just watch the fight and enjoy Crane's cooking.

MARS lowers himself into his seat and the lights slowly fade. With a gesticulation of the remote, he puts the sound back on. Complete darkness and the bell signaling the beginning of the round converge. The sound of fists impacting a body follow, and then ???'s disturbing cackle again. This time two male voices also speak.

#1. We won't kill you now.
#2. Your day will come soon, after we take care of your friends.
???. Friends? (Cackle.) I don't have friends. Those people--are just like the rest of you. They...perfume themselves with notions--flowery things, these, you know, artful rationalizations--artful is the keyword. That's...the nature of art. You're supposed to feel it, experience it--in your soul.
#1 You're warped--
???. I--I am trying--to...experience life, reality...unadorned...with these artful distractions. You see. (Cackle.)

There's a story that I can't tell. A story of ancient origins, descended from mythical strands of folklore surrounding the supernatural inception of the infamous Minotaur itself. It is a story that breaches the unnerving Zeitgeist of mankind's brief appearance in the larger schematics of existence by extending its prescient narrative beyond the fringes of current scientific possibility, transmuting the tumultuous societal issues of our time into pure thought and emotion transcending personal and ideological classification, and embedding its rhetoric in the very act itself of invoking its language orally or upon the page. It is a story whose very phonemes are composed of the infinitesimal flapping of angels' wings, its phrasology of the knowledge-imparting laughter of demons.

It is a story about a gay man who falls in love with a straight man--so strong is his love for this one who could never love him back that he commissions his queer mad scientist friend to construct a ravishingly gorgeous female homunculus into whose body his consciousness can be transferred in order to be with his unrequited love.

It is a story I cannot tell...because someone else came up with it before I did.