. ::/' `::\ ::/ ::) ::\ ,::/ ::| ::\, :/ `::\ ::| ::/' ::\ - ::/ __ _ _____ ___ ___ _____ _______ ____ ____ ::\,::| ,::/ `::\ _ _____ __ ______ _______ ____ ::\ ::\,::| ::| ::| :/ - ::| ::/' ::/ ::| ,::/ ::| `::\ :/ ::\ ::\, ::/' ::/ ,::/ ::) ::| :/ ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Step 12 ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: (xx/xx/xx) "*sax noises*" -Jeff Rosenstock, from the Tim Kasher song Forever of the Living Dead (2022) COLD OPENING ============ A shadow arose from the plains, a shambling silhouette from the west. The rains had frightened more than the dead. The pattering on the ground sounded an alarm in some folks' hearts. St. Anthony was abuzz, and the Commodore's lakeys had their hands full. The meteorological fortune "inspired" some folks; a few more stab wounds than expected that day. Funny thing about the rain, it bedeviled the undead. Them flesh eaters were turning every which way, never quite sure how to react to the droplets hitting dust. Suppose they grew out of remembering. Surely, they'd have been rained on before -- the rotters -- but who really knows. Alice had a distinct look. The welders goggles, the kitschy bandana, that baseball cap. Undoubtedly, she would have preferred a gas mask, not just for practicable purposes, but to disappear into the institution. Anonymity can be freeing. Of course, being a wolf with a unique coat had its benefits; at least folks knew what to expect when she turned down their streets. Consequently, they hid, knowing nothing good would come from crossing her path; always looking for excuses, knowing she would use her own insecurities as the litter's runt to carve down someone's dignity, make them feel like a pile of ash being caught in a nondescript wind. By that, folks mean to say she could be a real pain in the ass. Or however they mean. Jonathan knew that feeling, joining over from Viho's flock in the Grove. He also knew how Alice felt, stalking down his old neighbors. But he never took pride in it, or so he told himself. It'd been sometime since he held a gun. Lighter than he remembered, with a cracked white handle. He pulled up to the farmhouse, the one he'd avoided for years. Whenever the ranch invaded his periphery, a call came in for a drink. Early on, he could rely on walks and writing. But those days were long past. A violent malaise fell upon the settlement soon after that woman was consumed. Focus, Jonathan. He plodded over to the door and took in one last breath of crisp air before entering. Soon after, the stench of rot clinging to the bandana returned to his nostrils. He wondered of its origins: from her liver or her corpse? His stomach sunk at the sight of the staircase. Then he was reminded of Nelson. How long had it been since he ascended, adopting the mantle from the honorable Lee Chivington, a pale imitation of a man who desired nothing more than offspring to dutifully carry forth his legacy of spite and malice. Nelson tried to make a man of Jonathan. Failure nevertheless bought some compassion from the anointed Commodore. Nelson ensured that Johnny would at least be free to roam the streets at night, free to scream drunk soliquoys to an uncaring audience drifting deeper into a warm sleep, the man sounding so much the Pagliacci. "Bah, deserve's got nothing to do with it," they quip to his prognostications outside. The longer Jonathan served the master atop these steps, the more he wavered during the climb -- mostly due to the drink, truth be told, but subjecting his fellow citizens to Lee Chivington's unquenchable sadism helped little. The old man had just reached the summit when his friend called out from the office. "Alice Alway! Come on in, girlie." The Commodore turned worried seeing the blood on the bandana, but he froze in place at the sight of the peacemaker in the Nimrod's hand. Jonathan wanted to be done with the ruse expeditiously; he pulled the paraphernalia off and let Nelson ponder for a few moments before realizing he stood staring at his old partner. "Johnny, what in the Hell--" Jonathan pulled the hammer back on Alice's revolver, but the Commodore chuckled at the theatrical action. "You old white devil, I can see it's not loaded. There's daylight through that cylinder. Heh, damn fool. What are you doing with all that thing anyway?" Jonathan took a deep breath and let his heart speak: "White Rose. I thought they emerged during the Weimar Republic, but no, in the midst of the Third Reich. A few college students -- two of which were siblings brought up entranced by Hitler's propaganda, against the wishes and views of their parents -- and I believe a professor coming together to secretly write these radical pamphlets calling out the Nazi's war crimes and lies. They were influential, especially given the empire's humiliating defeat to the Soviets at Stalingrad. The collective managed to reach all about the world through mailing, and I believe they were making inroads with other resistance groups. I mean, these things were incendiary. Unabashed takedowns of the regime and all it stood for. They called out the atrocities done to Jewish people and the utter farce behind the National Socialist movement. They went pretty audacious in, I believe, 1943. Sophie, one of the siblings, tossed a blizzard of fliers at the top of a multilevel hallway at her university in Munich. I believe it was their sixth leaflet, but I'll fact-check later. A janitor picked up the flyers. He was a Nazi sympathizer, which I suppose just makes you a Nazi. He ratted the siblings out, and then the state held a bullshit trial -- having already deemed them guilty -- and tried to get them to cough up their accomplices and some sort of apology to the regime. The siblings held their ground, though the other conspirators were later caught. They were all executed. Kids were executed at Kent State. ICE is kidnapping students for speaking in solidarity with the Palestinians and throwing them in black sites without due process. Same as it ever was. Fuck these jackals. White Rose was ostensibly a nonviolent movement, but they advocated for action to stop the gears from ceaselessly, endlessly turning. Clutch your pearls all you want, it won't make a difference in this fight. Anyway, I'm gonna shoot the Commodore now. Fuck enduring this shit." "What's that now?" Jonathan pulled the trigger and a tremendous explosion emanated from the barrel. Nelson looked down at his white cloth shirt. There was red on it. He then looked up to me; or rather, he looked up to the ceiling since he was inside a farmhouse so fine. Alas, he would die there without God gracing his oculars, as was his fate from the jump. Jonathan, meanwhile, backed out of the room to find two panicky Nimrods at the foot of the stairs. The crack of Alice's empty revolver reverberated and all that. The two hysterical bounty hunters, having the excuse to choke out a life and feel like big, stwong boys, pulled out their weapons and fired upon Jonathan without a second thought. He still stood upright after three or so bullets zipped by him. So, he aimed at the one on the right and fired. The Nimrod dropped dead. The one of the left then pulled wildly at the trigger, until Jonathan seized on the bee sting caught in his belly. The old drunk fell head over heals and tumbled down the stairs. By the time Jonathan rolled into the bounty hunter's piss-soaked legs, his brittle neck was wobbling about like jelly. So it goes. END OF COLD OPENING ACT 1 -- Pretty Hate Machine ============================ Manco couldn't keep the girl blanketed in soot out of her mind. It's like the waif knew, could see right through Manco. A sliver of doubt remained as she spoke at the forum. Folks pegged her as an outcast from Mater on account of the burn mark on her arm. A vagabond like the rest. It wouldn't be much of a thing for Manco to toss out some farce and wipe her hands clean of the mess left in that shithole. But Manco couldn't bury the image of that girl. Someone spoke on her behalf to the gathered audience at the center of Fort Uncompahgre, sharing the story of how the little darling came to be alone. Manco was too wrapped up in her own head -- tying together the frayed strands of a lie -- to register the girl's name just then. However, those internal machinations jammed upon hearing her story. The girl, buried underneath a layer of soot, saw her daddy killed by Mater -- Father Gregory Caldwell to be exact. That demon was also responsible for her undead brother. And if not for a serendipitous meeting between mother and son while Mater became overran with Lazarus, the girl may still have someone looking after her well-being. Her mother's name was Bonnie. Bonnie. Manco kept repeating the name over and over in her head, sorry that her action -- opening that gate, letting a carriage of vengeful spirits pour out into the streets of Mater -- led to Bonnie's demise; the denouement of her story, the turning point in another. Manco felt the girl's eyes on her as she laid bare the inhuman truth of Mater -- and her hand in its destruction. She figured that folks'll likely spin tales in every conceivable direction until the end of time, so she may as well get the truth -- or some semblance of it -- on record. Unsurprisingly, she found herself in a jail cell at the conclusion of her tale. From Manco's view, the audience either sat stunned or ready for an execution. But then the man guiding the quorum -- who carried the sickly sweet smell Alice picked up on at the transit station -- quelled tensions by sending Manco into a tiny locked box, sequestered from the rest of Fort Uncompahgre. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. FORT JAIL CELL -- NIGHT -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= An older Japanese man chomping down on some bubble gum lets himself into the dungeon housing the Pueblo woman. Manco sits staring at a candle as it burns down to the end of its wick. She hears the approaching footsteps and looks up to find the peacekeeper from the forum. The two stay silent as he arrives at the cell and takes a knee to meet Manco at eye level. MR. NISHIO: I am to believe an associate of mine spoke to you earlier, before your testimony. MANCO: Sure. And I take it you're Abraham? MR. NISHIO: Mm, that's what they call me. Manco stays quiet, unsure how to proceed. MR. NISHIO (cont'd): Speak freely, friend. MANCO: I said my piece to the people. I don't need friends, bucko. Nishio chuckles to himself, as if reminded of someone from his past. MR. NISHIO: So many years ago, I found myself sitting in a Mater jail cell waiting for death. Practically begging for it, but-- MANCO: What do you want? Your lackey said conjuring up some lie would help the resistance here -- like I give a shit about all that. MR. NISHIO: Hm, a fair point. MANCO: And I couldn't after-- Manco trails off, feeling stupid to have indulged any further details to the stranger. MR. NISHIO: That girl. Nishio stares at the burn mark poking out from under Manco's sleeve. She feels his eyes and covers it. MR. NISHIO (cont'd): I know how that mother felt. Bonnie. Seeing your only son like that. It breaks your spirit, turns life into a pale imitation. A farce acted out by poor players up on a stage. Pig swill. Nishio waves away the memory and divulges faster than Emma can stopper her ears. MR. NISHIO (cont'd): The pain we feel, those of us without power, those of us colonized, we must on occasion remind our elevated brethren the tidal wave of fury we labor daily to hold back from so-called polite company. Manco is surprised by Nishio's incendiary language. MR. NISHIO (cont'd): I do not believe a lone gunman, some singular savior with a six-shooter, can solve our world. And the resistance here at the fort cannot endorse your actions. But sometimes the table must needs be set for our overseers to truly understand the inhumanity endured by us in perpetuity. Nishio sighs heavily, his breath tinted with ash and candy. MR. NISHIO (cont'd): Back before the Great Resurrection or however people mean '29, I played on a ball club. The Colorado Boulders. The boys on the team were anxious for a union, get us all a livable wage at least, but we needed to remain safe and quiet, lest folks catch wind and call on our mayor to cull us children playing at a man's game. I remember it being a Halloween night, the Irish and Italians made a party of it in the stands, hooping and hollering and celebrating life. Our shortstop, a beer-bellied Italian, led us off with a homerun, but then he arrived at the dugout and told us of a pain up his back. Management heard this and forbade the coaches from sitting him. He was simply too valuable for ticket sales. Well, Shortie -- we called him Shortie on account of him playing shortstop -- he's catching what they're pitching and arrives at our general manager's office with a bat and begins destroying everything in sight: windows, paintings, ash trays, and, eventually, the man's kneecap. Shortie was shit-canned the next day. Plenty of us players were appalled at our boy's actions. I certainly kept quiet, me being so young. But I see now the stakes were set then; this was our livelihood, the only one afforded to us in America. The contract we later signed with the team was not inevitable, but the anger and resentment felt by Mario -- well, that's only natural. Nishio stands to depart, having said his piece. MANCO: Abraham? MR. NISHIO: Yes? MANCO: I didn't hear her name. The girl covered in soot. MR. NISHIO: Emma. Her name is Emma. Manco looks up at Mr. Nishio, feeling a sudden helplessness. MANCO: Say, this is going to sound crazy, but you being an old timer, maybe you can be upfront with me and tell me if there is such a thing as time travel? Like, traveling through time...periods. Traveling through time periods. MR. NISHIO: Um, pardon? Manco looks around her cell for her notebooks, but they were, of course, confiscated upon her arrest. MANCO: Um, I found these journals. And, uh, I just thought they were from the '20s, but I think maybe-- Mr. Nishio snorts, seemingly remembering something from his past. MR. NISHIO: Ah, science fiction books. I learned English reading this fellow, Wells. It was fiction, but then it felt true. Stories of advanced space creatures colonizing the eastern seaboard yet succumbing to the common cold, a radical scientist who experiments with merging animal and man, and yes, traveling to the distant future and finding the horrors of class inequality manifest through two diverging species. It was foreign, yet so familiar to life, yes? MANCO: Well, so, it's a bunch of bullshit, is what you're saying? MR. NISHIO: Well, such is life. You see, this man, Wells, he was outspoken about his socialist and pacifist views, and while much of his championed work dealt with the darker side of existence and society, he also posited utopia could be possible through storytelling. In my elder years, I realize the dark and light are all part of the same story. MANCO: Uh, uh huh. MR. NISHIO: I mean, this dude was tight with Margaret Sanger -- in more ways than one, if you know what I am saying. But so, he expressed his views in his popular science fiction books; though, later in his career, he would focus more on nonfiction, given his profession as a journalist. So, and yeah, that's all according to Wikipedia, so that might be all bullshit. But uh, I'm like, the political leader of this here town -- I mean to say, I'm the resistance lead, uh, Abraham, right? And like, I got shit to do. You know, shit here is pretty fucked like in St. Anthony, but we have something moving here, you know? Like -- and I'm making sure I'm not just "the guy," you know, 'cause it's a collective and whatnot. Everyone plays their parts, Manco. I wasn't expecting your part. But like, fuck am I gonna do? Pretend like Mater didn't completely fucking suck ass for most people out here. THEY WERE CANNIBALS! But, you know, you also killed a lot of people, so that's pretty insane. So, maybe sit tight here, and I'll see what levers I can pull and maybe you don't get executed, 'cause obviously these chucklefucks do that shit here, too. MANCO: Um, what? What's, uh...What? Mr. Nishio gives an understanding nod for an uncomfortably long time. MR. NISHIO: I'm gonna go now. Mr. Nishio exits. MANCO: ...What? END OF ACT 1 ACT 2 -- The Downward Spiral ============================ =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. CITY APARTMENT -- NIGHT (DREAM) -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Emma stands in her bedroom, guitar strapped across her back. Wearing earbuds, she rips through a song. A beat-up black Telecaster. A loud tube amp. And pure violence. Punch after punch, she speeds through with a blind-drunk fury. Empty bottles and cans litter the floor. Powering through the finale, spit flies from her mouth, a string pops off, and her whole body convulses in rhythm. She strikes the last note and immediately reaches over for a half-empty bottle of beer resting on the ground. She tears the headphones off and drinks some more. MUSIC CUE: "Right Where It Belongs" by Nine Inch Nails Suddenly, she hears a loud knocking against her wall. Emma laughs loud and obnoxious so her NEIGHBORS hear. EMMA (yelling): Get real! I listen to you two fuck and fight all night. Suck my ass! She unstraps and throws her guitar to the ground. She staggers over to the fridge, chugging the rest of the drink. EMMA (singing): See the animal in his cage that you built! Are you sure what side you're on? As she opens the fridge for a new bottle, something catches her eye. She lifts her hand up. Her cuticles bleed. NINE INCH NAILS, or NIN (singing): Better not look him too closely in the eye Emma looks over to her guitar: the white pickguard is sprayed with the woman's red, toxic blood. She cackles. NIN (singing): Are you sure what side of the glass you are on? Then she sees the hematoma -- a massive lump protruding starkly from her skinny wrist. NIN (singing): See the safety of the life you have built At first she's shocked. NIN (singing): Everything where it belongs Then, she laughs. EMMA: Holy shit. That's crazy. NIN (singing): Feel the hollowness inside of your heart She pulls out her smartphone and snaps a picture of the disturbing injury. She then chooses to send by text. ON SMARTPHONE To Emma Rodriguez ON EMMA NIN (singing): And it's all right where it belongs She then falls backwards and crushes her skull into the drywall. CUT TO BLACK. SUPER: Monday, October 17, 2005, 8:57 a.m. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. EMMA'S ROOM -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Emma sleeps blissfully into the late morning. Her DAD suddenly barges into the room without warning. Emma jumps. EMMA: Oh my God, dude! DAD: Ain't you supposed to be in school? Emma buries her head into her pillow. She can hear the TV. NEWS ANCHOR (O.S.): President Bush is expected to nominate Samuel Alito to the U.S. Supreme Court, replacing retiring Justice Sandra Day O'Connor. EMMA: No, it's a two-hour delay. DAD: A what? EMMA: A two-hour delay. DAD: A two-hour delay!? For what!? EMMA: In-service. Whatever that is. DAD: 'ight. Well, don't be sleeping too late, ya hear? Set ya damn alarm. Her Dad walks away, leaving her door open. NEWS ANCHOR (O.S.): O'Connor was the first female justice on the country's highest court. EMMA: Can you close my door? NEWS ANCHOR (O.S.): A polarizing figure, she co-authored the lead opinion in Planned Parenthood v. Casey, upholding Roe v. Wade and the right to an abortion. Her Dad, truly with no malice, slams the fuck out the door. CUT TO BLACK. SUPER: Monday, October 17, 2005, 10:00 a.m. Emma's cell, located across her room, bellows like a siren. Still in a daze, she falls out of her bed and crawls across the floor to turn it off. She then retreats back to her bed. CUT TO BLACK. SUPER: Monday, October 17, 2005, 10:57 a.m. Emma wakes up without an alarm. Panic sets in. EMMA: Aw fuck. Aw, dude, come on! She jumps out of bed, grabs her cell, and checks the time. EMMA (cont'd): Ah, horseshit! Adam Sandler!! She picks up some clothes from her floor. After a quick smell check, she throws them on and exits her bedroom. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. EMMA'S HOUSE -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Em runs to the bathroom, throws back some Listerine, then darts past the kitchen over to the front door. She stops to look down to the laundry room. She can hear the spin cycle working some dirty clothes into shape. She sprints downstairs. CUT TO BLACK. SUPER: Monday, October 17, 2005, 11:05 a.m. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. WOODSVILLE STREETS -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= While sprinting across town, she spits out the mouthwash. As she continues, however, she's struck by how alone she is and slows her pace. NIN (singing): What if all the world's inside of your head? Just creations of your own? *************************************** **SMALL COMMERCIAL AREA -- CONTINUOUS** *************************************** There are no cars on the town's main road of commerce. NIN (singing): Your devils and your gods, all the living and the dead No one tending gas or clerking at the convenience stores. NIN (singing): And you're really all alone? ****************************************** **RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBORHOOD -- CONTINUOUS** ****************************************** As she enters a neighborhood canopied by trees, she looks around for signs of life. But nothing. The town is gone. NIN (singing): You can live in this illusion Emma looks more closely at the autumnal beauty around her, rays of dancing sunlight cast against the branches. NIN (singing): You can choose to believe She's terrified of the natural world now, afraid of what could happen at any moment while humanity has vanished. NIN (singing): You keep looking but you can't find the woods The rustling of trees is enough to make her heart skip a beat. NIN (singing): While you're hiding in the trees She hurries up her walking, not liking the look of a bush. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- EXT. WOODSVILLE HIGH SCHOOL -- DAY -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A shock to Emma: lining the red-carpeted entrance of the school are GUESTS dressed in black-and-white. NIN (singing): What if everything around you isn't quite as it seems? As she approaches, the Guests spot her and begin clapping and cheering on the supposed guest of honor. NIN (singing): What if all the world you used to know is an elaborate dream? She moves through the crowd toward the school. On closer inspection, these are CLASSMATES -- in their 30s. NIN (singing): And if you look at your reflection Kellen. Ceci. Parvati. Amir. Dressed for a funeral. Cameras begin flashing. And Emma's anxiety begins ramping up. NIN (singing): Is it all you want it to be? She scurries to the entrance, but as the doors open, she sees herself reflected back in the lens of a studio camera. NIN (singing): What if you could look right through the cracks? Emma sees the reflection of her classmates, dapper for a concert performance. They await the final movement. NIN (singing): Would you find yourself... She pushes past the massive camera and enters the darkness before her. NIN (singing): ...find yourself afraid to see? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=- INT. WOODSVILLE HIGH SCHOOL -- CONTINUOUS -=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The halls are normal. Empty. Emma looks behind. Nothing. She looks back down the hall, toward an open door. Emma sees close by a black cat, the sun gleaming off its fur. The creature blinks its yellow eyes for the girl at the other end of the hallway and saunters through the open door. Emma, having an affinity for furry, four-legged creatures, jogs down the hallway and follows the feline inside. CUT TO BLACK. END OF ACT 2 ACT 3 -- The Fragile ==================== Manco awoke to her cell door creaking open. For a moment, she thought her life was over. Then they reached out their hand. "Care to follow me?" Still dazed from sleep, Manco offered her hand and was promptly whisked away out of the cell. The two moved through the cavernous hallways of the fort, the sounds of a rain storm sweeping over the evening. Fortune favored the people of the plains once more, the suffocating drought perhaps finally ceding to change. "The Commodore is dead," they said, darting between halls while leading Manco all the while. "How did it happen?" Dark laughter greeted Manco's question. They wore a pale green uniform, emblazoned with the numbers "55." "The town drunk popped him. Folks already been in an uproar, what with the rains and, well, Mater. And now this. Abraham figured now's as good a time as any to spring you. Things are moving more rapidly than ever before." The two arrived at an exit into a late, storm-bruised afternoon. Leaning against the stone jamb was a bicycle. "He told me to give you this," they said, handing over an envelope, "and to get you started on this here bike." "Uh, look, what's your name?" "Sam." "Look, Sam? I appreciate it, but I can ride a fucking bicycle," Manco said. "Have you ridden a bicycle without a fucking arm?" Manco conceded that she hadn't. Bit by curiosity, she looked down at the envelope. In black ink: "From Nishio." Nishio!? Could it be Mrs. Nishio's husband? The girl's imagination went aflutter as she tore open the letter and pulled out a slim stack of paper. They began: (////////////////----------------8/8/21) ItR NOTES [x] Final line by Eve, think about whether it works. [x] Manco-> Should mirror Eve a bit in saying the laws are made by men and they're no perfect beings. (If God was so perfect, then what the fuck is this?!) [ ] The whole Hoover mention-> Maybe add somewhere that he insisted on the farming technique that dusted the whole plains. [ ] Get somewhere early that (maybe the walk and talk) sees Manco get a little flustered. Like Alice laughs at Manco's passion. -> Already there basically [x] [x] Does Alice justify becoming a Nimrod? I mean, she's drunk, got disowned for breaking the rules. Does it need to make total sense? [x] Stakes: Maybe at the chapel, she considers jumping off. Like takes a step, reconsiders, goes back, beats the fuck out of the wall, cries, hears a voice. Something like that. Adds tension. Maybe the next day, she feels more nervous at the top, backs away shakily from the edge. [x] Ending: Maybe during the duel, or when she crawls and dies, or as Manco reaches the fort, it starts to rain finally. [x] Relatedly, need a, "If we wait that long, the rains will return" line. There is a drought, essentially. [ ] Big one-> Keep the NA poverty camp? If so, should they know about the trading shit? Could simplify-> The mention of Mater's past can be done by Benjamin later, he knows going to the fort, and the chindis mention by Paco. -> Plus, could say he was took on a bullshit rule; technicality. -> Maybe, but not for now. Just have the scene included. [x] -> It honestly doesn't make a whole lotta sense, though. [x] Maybe more scenes/dialogue on food, poverty, stuff like that. Maybe Franklin's son stole food, got caught. (xx/xx/xx) Manco threw the letter into the mud, struck by a cosmic fear that she was being watched -- or worse yet, paraded around like a puppet by an unthinking fool. Listen: I ain't saying she's wrong, but all I really wanted her to do was to turn the fucking pages over and see that Mr. Nishio wrote a whole goddamn letter to her about the shame he felt over losing his child and then abandoning the only other person that could comfort him through the grief in his wife, but that in time, he learned he could live with the purpose of honoring those lost through his daily deeds -- even if simply lending a hand to fly a kite for others to see. He asks her to go west towards the endless salt we call the sea and write; to him, to her mother, to Alice, to herself, to the unsparing fate betwixt all peoples. If only for memories. But also, I had Nishio leave instructions on how to swim without both arms. And Manco just tossed the letter aside with her one. In retrospect, it makes sense. It's not like I've been completely kind to her. But I at least tried here. No worries, though. I still think I can make it work. Go on, dear reader, go to the next pa-- END OF ACT 3 ACT 4 -- With Teeth =================== Manco sat watching all the insects march along, seeming to know just right where they belong. Off in the distance, she could see the ruins of a border wall. War or nature left the barrier to the sea riddled with gaping, sloping cracks, rendering it useless. At least it was eye-catching: bold red letters crawled up from the bottom towards its threshold meters into heaven. Manco had heard of painting the town red, but the amount of supplies required for the boondoggle boggled the mind. Stretched across the limp concrete facade into Port Hueneme read the word: "HYPERPOWER!" Manco focused on the bugs as they scurried across smooth rock faces kissed by a weak but consistent stream. A wild river carving through green mountain wilderness. She could just about smell the salt water in the air. After a seemingly endless trek across the west, she could feel in her marrow the end of her journey. California. A land of wind-carved caves and deep gorges. Rocky falls and endless pools filled with trout. A scraggy yet vibrant ecology across maroon sandstone, with rivers carved along the hillside. It was as if God ran his finger across a sandy beach and seeded it with Douglas firs. Then she felt it: a languorous, pleasant wind. She felt melancholy at the back of her throat. "All the temporal things, the tangible things, the living things," she muttered to herself. Then she let out a chuckle. "Alice. You damn fool." Manco took in a deep breath, determined to rise and move forward over the wall and into the coastal enclave. The insects caught her attention once more. The gentle river managed to swallow up one ant. Another ant noticed and inadvertently rushed into its own personal watery death. Manco moved her index finger over to scoop the two up. Just then, the earth shook and Manco fell forward into the creek, bashing her kneecap against the boulders. She huffed angrily as the tectonic plates settled into place. She had read about earthquakes. Still, a sense of doom returned to her stomach as the pain settled in her joint. What could go wrong in Port Hueneme? Nothing. Probably. ... Manco's knee felt no better as she climbed a drain pipe to the top of the border wall. On her way, she passed more garish graffiti. "No Mercy," it read in toxic green, a mischievous face filling in the "o." Reaching the top, she threw her legs over a short barrier and settled herself up in the sky. The border wall, doubling as a post for guards, no doubt, hid the ends of the planet. Oxnard, they called it. And Mar del Sur. Manco wanted to get it over with and start the laborious climb back down the otherside, but something tugging in the stomach kept her motionless as she looked out upon the landscape. A dead landscape, taken back by nature. The earth has weapons to defend itself, after all. Manco knew about the dust storms, with folks slinging around fancy phrases like soil erosion and overcultivation and speculation. "Say it how it is," Mrs. Nishio used to say. Capital owners -- i.e. rich white people -- decided it'd be best to rip up all the deep-rooted grasslands that had sustained the life of man and animal for generations and start farming wheat, which sits on the upper layer of the earth's crust. So, they overcultivate trying to profit off the Great Depression -- caused by overspeculation done by rich white men; your Patrick Bateman types -- which not only floods the market with the product, but also erodes the soil. So, shit gets bad for the folks living out in the west. Also, turns out it's windy in places meant to appear verdent as fuck due the endless plains of grass, but someone decided to replace that with wheat stalks that stand on the top of dirt. Hence, dust storms. Hence dudes like Woody Guthrie naming their albums, Dust Bowl Ballads. Manco takes a moment to wonder why she would know names like Patrick Bateman and phrases like the Great Depression when it's factually called the Great Resurrection of 1929. She thinks these things, but then snickers. "Woody Guthrie, heh. That's good, Manco. You should write a book after." She then looked up at the ruins of a city and the little port off to the side. And a sea, quaking with white anger. A stillness cascading over a death trap. Nothing living or dead stirred on the sun-soaked city. Fear gripped Manco. Either she was all alone at the end, or something more powerful than man took hold of the land long ago. Manco spoke. "We think we climb so high, all up the backs we've condemned. We think we've come so far, on all our lies we depend. We face our consequence. This is the beginning of the end." With that, Manco began descending to the other side. ... "She remembered the hypnotic sound of sirens echoing through the street, the cackling of the rifles, and the marching feet." Manco read from a newspaper stained ragged by the elements and the passage of time. She stood on a hill looking down on Oxnard, the ruined city. While the settlement surely lasted quite a while, something -- be it undead or politics -- tore the place apart. She'd read about hurricanes ravaging shore towns along the east coast. Down the second column of the story, headlined with big bold letters "Riots Rock The Riviera," Manco found this quote from a demonstrating poet: "You see your world on fire, don't try to act surprised. We did what you told us, lost our faith along the way, and found ourselves believing your lies." She tossed the paper aside and stepped alongside the mountain side. Blood hardened in the sand, and cold metal in her hand. She understood how things would be here. She could see right through Oxnard's facade: a snake pit. Manco felt as if she was becoming something else. Cautious. Wiser. She didn't think she could last here. "Oh my God, I don't think I can last here." She could win this war by knowing not to fight. (If she could take it all back someway, somehow, if she knew back then what she knows now...) ... Manco wanted to reach the sand and salt folks spoke so much about, but she felt forced to circumvent Oxnard toward the southwest, eventually arriving in neighboring Port Hueneme. Pillars of bushy trees populated the sandy landscape. Salt-beaten shacks littered the passage towards the sea, of which Manco could now hear; the waves washing against the earth, heavy winds awaking once more off the sea bed, and the chattering of -- no, wait, she doesn't hear any birds. Could someone be awaiting her up ahead? Manco held her piece and moved to the beach. The shacks lay dormant, empty and out-of-use. Whatever spooked folks away from Oxnard likely kept them away from the little shore town as well. She kept steady, stalking forward between ancient electric poles and rotten tree trunks, until finally arriving at the end. A sudden downcast sky allowed Manco to see the ocean's true color. A deep emerald green charging its way to dry land, with ribbons of ivory marching at the vanguard off the water's edge. "Living waters," she said to herself. "Hey, ain't you supposed to be in school?" The booming voice knocked the wind out of Manco, who all but fell out of her boots at the sound of the older man. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, scoobster," he said in a hurried, hushed tone. Then a woman's voice: "You scared her half to death, Frank! Hey honey, you okay?" Manco looked up finding an apologetic couple in their sixties. They were greying but still facing the day proudly. "Sorry about that, we were headed home and saw you out here all alone," said the man, who held a fishing rod. "We think there's a storm coming," the woman said, who held a book. "And with that quake earlier -- did you feel that quake earlier, right? -- we figured folks should clear out. Don't want to be caught out here when it's dark!" "I says, boy she's gonna get swept up in the drink. And I was like, let me go over here and check on her, see if everything's alright. Welp, glad I did. Don't think anyone else came out today. And, you know, it's dangerous!" Manco felt at ease by the vibrant duo, if not left slightly confused. "I'm from the east, I'm new, uh--" Manco took a minute to collect her thoughts after the pair motioned for her to speak slowly and clearly -- "I'm Manco." "Nice to meet ya, Manco," the man said. "I'm Lynn and this is Florencio -- well, people call him Frank." Manco nodded, feeling contentment in having met living, breathing humans without murderous intent. The young woman began: "So, do you live here or...?" "Roundabouts a few miles north, just me and Lynn and our son, Frankie." "There are others around the region, and we see them enough to call them neighbors," the older woman said. "We scavenge the same areas, so we bump into each other pretty regularly." "Yep, we're scavengers," said Frank or Florencio or whatever, I don't know. "You know, scavengers get a bad rap. It's not fair when you think about it." Manco nodded, half distracted by everything. The man felt awkward awaiting a response from Manco, until he finally said, "So, what brings you out here?" "Oh, I don't know," Manco said. "I needed a reason to leave Colorado, and--" "Oh, I heard Colorado's really beautiful," Lynn said quickly, so as to not interrupt the pace. "Yeah, if you ignore the bodies," Manco said, causing Florencio and Lynn to politely guffaw. Manco continued: "But my mother mentioned the sea when I was a little girl, and yeah." "I mean, it's breathtaking, isn't it? I feel lucky being able to live around here," Lynn said. "Yeah, we gotta keep on our toes 'cause of the weather and all, but we make do with our lifestyle," Florencio said. Manco pointed to the fishing instrument held in the man's left hand and asked, "Do you fish?" Frank looked at the instrument. "Ah, nah, just a hobby. We know this dude that trades us fish. He's all over the place. No, I toss 'em back. It's to relax, ya know? I help folks around with homes, bicycles, uh, whatchamacallit..." Frank snapped his fingers and furled his brow trying to come up with a third example. Lynn felt awkward after a bit. She proffered: "Stuff like pipes and tools and just, work equipment, I guess." The man nodded, "Yeah, stuff like that." "I help folks with lessons -- reading and writing and whatnot," Lynn said. "Cool," Manco said, having never heard the word "cool" before. "Uh, are there-- "Oh, speaking of, did you need somewhere to stay to avoid zombies tonight?" What the fuck is a zombie?, Manco wondered before shaking her head in polite decline. "I'm okay," the girl said, to the incredulity of the two parents. "Are you sure?" Frank asked. "Yeah, like the waves are gonna start to come in, ya know?" Lynn said. "And with that quake earlier, there'll definitely be more of those monsters walking around -- I mean, that's why the town is abandoned, ya know?" "That and the damn people running it deciding it'd be better to beat their citizens than pay workers to fix anything." "Yeah, Oxnard used to be a nice place to raise your family during the Resurrection, but it became totally fascist." "Well, fucking -- ah, pardon me -- it's not like it was all sunshine and rainbows before the zombies." "Well, it was getting better until -- "-- that asshole --" "Well, but then, our son Frankie would say it's always been bad and they should have just started over." "Yeah, well..." "People just said, 'Oh I ain't gonna worry about no future generations.' And, uh, 'I'm sure somebody will figure it out.' Unbelievable." "These men thought they signed their name with a capital G, if ya know what I mean." "There's a musician we like. His name is Deuce Slingsteen. He had this line in his song, like: 'Our blood, our grace, will never leave this place.' And I think about that looking at Oxnard." "Yeah. And, you know, uh, what did I want to say to you. I mean, just felt like time was ticking away, right? Right." Manco stood watching the exchange in befuddlement. "Cool, uh, what were we talking about again?" The two pondered the question for a moment before simultaneously responding: "Oh! The storm!" Manco nodded, "Oh, well, I wanted to maybe find a spot of my own and write. I didn't want to rush my arrival here." "Well, you could always come back in the morning," Lynn said. "Yeah, but--" Florencio interjected, "This storm'll kill ya. You sure you want to be out here all alone in the elements?" "I'm okay, I swear," Manco said. "I appreciate it! I appreciate it. But I just want to be here now." The parents shrugged and said some variation of, "Suit yourself." It felt wrong to end this conversation there, but the two almost walked out of memory before Lynn was struck with a question for Manco. "Oh, you're a writer?" Manco knew not how to respond other than to smile. (Knew not how?, she thought to herself for some reason.) "Oh, I figured I'd might as well start writing down my thoughts," Manco said. "Never really done it before, though." "Our boy, Frankie, he's got a whole technique," Florencio said. "He's up in his room all day and night writing." "Before I tell you," Lynn said, "Just know that I would never tell you anything that wasn't absolutely true that hadn't come right from his mouth and he wants me to tell you." Manco nodded, beginning to fear these people were insane. The two simultaneously said the following: "He uses leisure time -- such as fishing -- to relax, to let the mind wander. And then he writes ideas down in a notebook, whether it's a cute phrase like 'barebacked baby in a blizzard,' or a question about a plot detail, or a relevant quote from a book -- or just vibes to achieve while setting the scene, honestly. One could, oh I don't know, write textual messages to themselves. Then there's writing you need to do for reals: letters, work correspondence, one-off messages to friends. And then there are those moments where you want to feel the paper under your palm. You want to expel feelings in black ink; to deliberately free write, journal, just say whatever, no matter the topic or direction. And then at some point, you feel like a lazy fuck and you kick your own ass with that bitch called self-discipline and write out your notes, try to organize them, and then start writing connecting tissue between these free-floating ideas. Basically, just stitch a quilt together, my guy. So, if you want to smoke a joint at 4 a.m., vibe to music, and watch a Final Fantasy speedrun, and jot ideas down one-by-one in a notebook, by all means, go ahead. We say it's cool. If our son did that, we would totally not be disappointed in him. Ultimately, use this as an escape. In the office at 3 a.m.? Just write whatever comes as you kill precious time." Manco began wondering when this storm would hit. Florencio and Lynn thought the same thing. "Well, we better be off," Frank said. Lynn asked, "Are you sure you're okay?" Manco nodded and waved to the couple as they turned to the north. "Lynn, you picked up that root bark for the tea, right?" "Yeah, why?" "Man, my stomach is starting to bubble." And with that, they disappeared. Come on down, Manco, it's time to meet your master. ... Fog settled over the horizon, as if the ocean were hiding under her drooping eye lids. He wants violence, And He's oh so delighted. A cry to the divines harkened from against the darkening sky like a sickening sigh. He wouldn't mind the silence, Yet he'll not find it. She leapt at the sound of the drowned, to be remembered with a crown or as a clown, She knew she would depart, What better place, she barked. Tsunami, tsunami, quaking craters and the dead stand above me, Cackling cattle, all along the sea, With evermore down below her feet. Two step against the dead depths, she reached out to the surface, though useless. God reached down with his index, He said, "Barret Wallace you witness." END OF ACT 4 Part 3: ACT V -- Year Zero ========================== Loading... []{//////////////// }[] Fun Fact: The Oxnard strike of 1903 was a labor rights dispute in the southern California coastal city of Oxnard between local landowners and the majority Japanese and Mexican labor force. Loading... []{/////////////////////////// }[] (xx/xx/01) Jailbreak 2400 hours -- Zykelimet 56 miles off the coast of Melinj The night was silent. Not even a drip of blood from the prisoners. The guards were silent and fatigued. The silence at Zykelimet Jail Island was present. Not even the sound of footsteps could be heard. But the footsteps could be seen. On the shore of Zykelimet, the golden sand was graced by footsteps of leather and cheap fabrics. The golden sand was pushed down in the inner ground making silence. (xx/xx/25) NOTES: breathe us in, slowly, slowly *reading museum signs -- this is a tourist attraction now -- describing the island! both it's real wikipedia history -- just copy straight over -- and the bogus shit you write about the boats and whatnot Anacapa is the only one of the Channel Islands to have a non-Spanish-derived name. Anacapa comes from the Chumash word 'Anyapax, meaning "illusion".[3][31] [32] Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo passed by the island in 1542, but it was George Vancouver who labeled it Enecapa on his 1790 chart, while the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey labeled it Anacapa in 1854.[33] His Sheep Camp operation was located on Middle Anacapa, which included five shacks and about 500 sheep. Ira Eaton acquired the lease in 1917 and held it until 1927, and used the island for his bootleg alcohol operation during Prohibition in the United States. The next resident of the island was Raymond "Frenchy" LeDreau, who occupied four shacks on West Anacapa at Frenchy's Cove, living as a recluse for the next 30 years, departing the island in his eighties after the island had become a national monument. manco imagines mclovin strangling the kid after waking on the beach wakes up on the shore. kid's there, too, but not breathing. there seems to be some sort of facility on this island way out there. and, uh, it's a prison. and it's foggy, so you can't see the shoreline. not great, bob. manco: it's happening again maybe the "say your name" to get the kid talking. says strummerdood? or nothing? (!!!! that's your cold opening) episode title: another version of the truth walking the island beez is killing the rats -- black rats were a problem for a while, but before 1939. i think the most definitive thing is sheep grazing. woke up on inspiration point -- I THINK WHOLE THING CAN BE SCRIPT FROM HERE TO END -- and follows beez flora and fauna coreopsis at the front, the invasive ice plants near the lighthouse lighthouse into prison for slavers, into an inconspicuous opening in the wall that leads to the group chapter 12 ending songs: against me, phoebe bridgers, magdalena bay doing bowie, maybe choose-your-own adventure where I'm like, i've imagined the following sequence with these songs. pick which one you want. (and then maybe three different versions of the end? and it's just, like, the differences in the mass effect 3 ending lol.) matt explains that he has a lot of songs in mind for the ending. if it was your story, emma, we're going teenage anarchist. (older emma-> black me out! or jeff r? or streetlight? we will fall together.) but martie, ashes to ashes cover by mag. bay. come on. manco. ghost of tom joad, but it has to be that first performance with morello. that's some once in a lifetime kind of blue shit. another: maybe you can get away using 15 seconds! (steal it!! and upload to a YOUTUBE LINK!!! and then it's a bunch of blanked out names for the drums and writing credits. 'cept yours is "i am strummerdood" or just "matt perez") youtube link to the tom morello and bruce version of ghost? always have the option of 15 Seconds, but meh. could be removed. the dialogue could be, and then i was like: https://soundcloud.com/####-######/retrotones-15-seconds "At some point, I have to work in 'Zero Sum.' I was thinking little dood could say 'Sum Zero.' and I call him a dumb fuck, but it is a more mellow track. I want some bombast, you know?" ending just made up of notes? maybe when manco meets matt. mr. p i still like the idea that the boy begins to drown suddenly and matt's big moment is to hug him and get his name. THEY CONVERSE! Sum Zero. It's Zero Sum you dumbfuck. Well, then how bout this-> 15 seconds and i felt ashamed (about yelling at little strummerdood, way out of line. manco looks sick.) in this twilight after freak out on strummer and it's real intense and involved. "dust to dust, ashes in your hair remind me..." matt (me/god): and i guess i just wanted to tell you, as the light starts to fade, that you are the reason i'm not afraid. and i guess i just wanted to mention, as the heavens will fall, we will be together soon, if we will be anything at all." FILM SET at end, and it's a script. (PERFECT. this is genius! he's so mad that strummer said -- strummer? matt? -- Sum Zero. (maybe too early, or after drowning). and it's like a film set. they're like, we can take two, man, relax. last line, but not really: go birds (the cast says "go birds," while Manco asks, "who the fuck hates birds?") Matt laments that THIS is the end for these characters and then Sum Zero for the 15 Seconds. (6/17/25 4:18 a.m.) END OF PART 3: ACT V AND NOVEL ******************************************************************************* (5/3/25 7:47 a.m.) EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is a transcript of a video edited by Martie "Murds" Mood. Title: Why You're Not a Scumbag in The Beginner's Guide -- strummerdood Description: Free Palestine -- Who Killed Shireen? (2025), a documentary about the murder of Palestinian-American journalist Shireen Abu Akleh -- while wearing a blue press vest and covering a raid on the Jenin refugee camp in Israeli-occupied West Bank -- by Alon Scagio, a member of Israeli military's "elite" Duvdevan Unit, as well as the subsequent cover-up by the Israeli government. Since Shireen's death in 2022, at least six Americans and more than 200 journalists have been killed by the Israeli military or Israeli settlers, according to the documentary. Visibility: Public Restrictions: - Date: Mar 31, 2016 Views: 4,972 Comments: 29 Like (vs. dislike): 221 (92.9%) BOARD: Spoilers abound for The Beginner's Guide Hey, I'm strummerdood or Matt or whatever, I don't know. So, this author David Foster Wallace, I read like 20 pages of his book, and in it, he said introspection with television is a little bit tough since it's a one-way screen mirroring our daily lives that doesn't turn around and judge us. But maybe video games are a little bit different with their interactivity, especially with Davey Wreden's follow-up to The Stanley Parable, The Beginner's Guide. In The Beginner's Guide, Davey invites us to explore a collection of games developed by a person named Coda. DAVEY: It's because: I find his games powerful and interesting and I'd like this collection to reach him. The player naturally joins their tour guide in picking apart the brainspace of Coda: Why does the player slow down as they ascend a staircase to an open door? What do all the prisons represent? Why is he obsessed with lampposts? Is his signature three dots an homage to Splinter Cell? All puzzle pieces you and Davey try to fit together. DAVEY: I have no idea what he was thinking, but what's clear is that after making this, something lodges itself in his brain. Much of this revolves around a clever door puzzle continuously deployed by Coda. Davey identifies the puzzle as a metaphor, a book-end to a period in Coda's life. In walking into a dark alcove and looking back to flip a switch for the door ahead, we're entering a quiet space and taking time to reflect on what came before as we prepare to move forward. The name "Coda" itself fits this metaphor. In music annotation, this particular symbol is initially passed over. It's only after we repeat a previous section that we follow the coda symbol to a concluding section of the piece. As the story progresses, the dark space takes on a more sinister connotation. The puzzle involves an inherit leap of faith as we're closing a door behind us, and in the end, we're betrayed when the door has no switch and no solution. We find ourselves where we found Coda during so many of their prison games: stuck in it for an indeterminable amount of time with no feasible way out. During the first of these prison games, we come upon a set of talking heads. They ask for the solution to the door puzzle, but our limited dialogue choices constrain us from giving the correct solution. But when we offer the answer to a second set of mannequins, they say it doesn't very much matter since they find the dark space far more interesting. And given their propensity for prison games, so too does Coda find the interstices fascinating, both as a positive place of reflection and an unending prison sentence. For Davey, the most patent illustration of the dark space between doors is the house-cleaning chapter. DAVEY: To me, this environment is meant to represent Coda's puzzle, with the two doors on either side and a dark transitional space between. It's a comforting, warm space where we basically get our mind and consciousness into order. As the talking head says, a house is a lot like one's soul: you take care of it, and it takes care of you. Coda originally intended for the gameplay to infinitely loop, but in searching for a solution to Coda's problems, Davey cuts the episode short and hurries us along to the next few games, which display a more distressing dark space. Labored with writer's block, Coda beats his head against the wall during the Island chapter. After the tried-and-true door puzzles prove fruitless in kick-starting his creative engine, he begins spitting out half-hearted truisms. Walls seem to be breaking down but only to reveal a sobbing woman in a prison cell. Coda wants answers, but in forcing them, they simply retreat further into themselves. During the final chapter, Coda and Davey begin to converge, as we learn that Davey not only showed Coda's work off to other people, but has tampered with the original games. The individual titles were the brainchild of the unfettered Coda, but the collection and repurposing of them more so illustrate Davey's plight within himself. The entirety of The Beginner's Guide is a section of Davey's dark space. It's someone lost looking back at work that inspired him so as to find a magic switch hidden beneath the surface. But he finds he can't simply populate the levels with lampposts -- arbitrary endpoints to sections of his life -- and expect to find some profound revelatory key to life. Though it's not necessary for this theory to work, I do believe Coda represents Davey before the release of The Stanley Parable. He made art for himself -- maybe unconsciously slipping in little bits and pieces to hook a larger audience -- until boom, The Stanley Parable blows up and people like me shower him with praise. And this, in a way, changes him or rather how he sees the world for himself. With a simple vignette of walking backward into an uncertain fate, we get the idea of looking back in time to reveal something about the future -- to find a key or underlying thread to everything. What he finds instead is Coda, a completely different person he no longer understands. Before the release of The Beginner's Guide, Davey gave a talk to a university where he explained the distress that followed the release of The Stanley Parable. He craved external validation -- as he mentions in The Beginner's Guide. Davey characterizes his craven need for validation as a contract -- the thing that drives him. DAVEY: I wanted to be made complete through the validation of someone else. Around the time the Stanley Parable was receiving Game of the Year nominations left and right, Davey posted about the experience, and even authored a short comic to illustrate how he felt. He said he wanted something he could hold out in front of him and say, "This is what I'm experiencing." I think The Beginner's Guide serves this purpose as well. But it does so by making us feel invasive of Coda's personal life. Unlike a television show, it feels like we're meddling with something we're not supposed to. The late-game twist places us in Davey's mindset of looking inward instead of outward; it puts up a mirror to the player, but it's not accusatory. It's not deriding the player for trying to understand Coda, it's more so showing Coda's and Davey Wreden's dark spaces and asking us to realize our own flaws. As the narrator, Davey may seem like the visage of perfection throughout the game, but he actually possesses the same insecurities as everyone else. Here's the thing though: we won't find a solution to these problems in The Beginner's Guide, just as Davey didn't find a magical switch in Coda's work; he remains in the dark space at the conclusion of the game, looking out towards a seemingly unending labyrinth. In discussing such a solution, Davey said he can only give his own story as the key is entirely personal. But he does say the solution requires patience: a matter of housecleaning to get your head straight -- a before and after. DAVEY: I realize that I have no way of proving this to you, so you're gonna kind of just have to take my word for it, but it's the oldest trick in the book. It's encoded into our collective mythology in broad silly truisms like, "Free your mind and the rest will follow," which, of course, we all ignore because who has any idea to just free your mind, as though it were that simple? But I will suggest to you today that freedom of mind is a result of nothing other than just asking this question, over and over and over: What is the deeper purpose? David Foster Wallace deemed it different forms of worship -- our default settings -- and pined that true freedom derives from awareness of the real and essential in order to be good to those around us, as well as ourselves. The best realization in The Beginner's Guide takes place during the chapter where Coda continuously reiterates on a modern prison with a subterranean connection to the bottom of a well. Coda can't quite create a satisfying game out of these pieces. He tries to build in an open-sesame solution but doesn't provide the necessary assets. He creates an unending furniture maze and platformer segment. But he just can't think his way out of the conundrum, just like we can't escape the prison. But then Coda hits on something: the player starts outside the prison, sometime after escaping -- and we have no idea why. When we get on a phone to our past selves, all we can offer is the knowledge that with some patience and self-discovery, we will one day escape our own dark space.