ms thucker, martha (flyingcarousel) wrote,
ms thucker, martha

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Joan of Arc/Desensitized/I want to watch the bomb blow the masses high

Dr. Frederick Green Scriven
Dr. Tyler Torres
Dr. Susan Lawrence
Avery Crossley
Cerine Blackdale
Clone #1
Clone #2
Clone #3
Clone #4
Miss Sodium
News Anchor
Ad announcer

Scene #1
Setting: autopsy lab.
Sounds of (with the undertone of people talking, muttering softly, occasional chuckles. Like listening through a seashell. These tracks should be placed randomly during and in between the below sound sequences alternating between soft and loud, soft and loud)

1. the tap twisted squeaking open
2. water gushing out
3. gloves slapping on hands whilst Scriven speaks –

(layered undertone of incessant equipment sounds, phone ringing, instruments clanging on erratically on metal trays)
(talking sounds go crescendo to a point where it’s slightly softer than normal talking volume, bit vague, words softened so it sounds indistinct, the way when you eavesdrop someone talking)
(body bag unzipping)

Lawrence: Eurgh

Torres: Doctor, isn’t this just a simple case of exsanguination due to penetrating laceration of tissue neighboring the spinal cord -

Lawrence: And apparently, its severance. Jeez, her body. You say autopsy? More like picking things out of coagulated snot stirred with clotted blood. Her body. It looks like mashed potatoes with tomato meat sauce.

Torres: More like a skeleton dipped in yellow wax then in ketchup, then stuck in a barbeque.

Lawrence: Ew.

Scriven: Well isn’t this why Electromagnetronica is invented? Memory extraction. Now you don’t have to get your hands dirty.

Scriven: Torres, would you operate?

Torres: my pleasure, professor.

(sounds of shaving machine whirrs as the below Scriven starts speaking)

Scriven: Avery Crossley, female, 14, victim of car crash accident. Our subject resides in a dilapidated shack which is untenanted on 29th Feather Street, West Side, as witnesses claim, in contrary to records, which state that she lives with her foster parents, Mr Benjamin Crossley and Mrs Anessa Crossley. Further confirmation reveal that both parents have been killed in an apparent gas leak explosion, six years ago, of which our subject had not been present in the scene of accident. She has been disappearing since.

Torres: Until that.

Lawrence: The sirens. They were freaking flashing right outside my window whining their stupid sound, Jesus, the screeching high and rollercoaster-plunge-down-to-hell lows. My, how it screwed with my head. And the wall was just pulsating and pulsating blue and red, blue and red all night, I mean, it’s like the way neon colors are bright. Like sleeping with a freaking strobelight flashing right under your eyelids. You try to turn them off and they tore through the freaking blinds. Then the next day I swear my brain was the one I was holding in my hand sticking needles in and slicing.

Torres: Jeez, can you stop whining for one second? I mean, she hacked the server tower, for chrissake, the server tower. It’s like history class, the modern 9/11. Do you know what I’m saying? This we’re doing is going to go down history, right here, right now. We are going to go down in history. We, we and we. You and me.

Lawrence: Oh ha ha. Memory extraction is. Electronmagnetica is. Not you. History leaves people uncredited. It’s cruel like this, like the clones there across the window.

Torres: Such a bunch of snotty self-centered bastards and man, some day we could make some just for venting, pure, stabbing –

Scriven: And as the back of our subject’s second-hand corolla crumples and disintegrates, sending scrap car steel is sent slicing into her spinal cord, laceration wound length 25 cm, depth 5 cm. Her skeleton is crushed under the weight of the car, affixing a multitude of bone splinter induced wounds to her body, both externally and internally. By the time Miss Crossley’s, who was dead on arrival, or her corpse, was recovered by medics, autolysis has taken place with the clouding of pupils, as well as exsanguination. Manner of death: accidental. Various samples are sent to the pathology laboratories for testing. Any differential conclusions?

Lawrence: No sir.

Torres: Nay

Scriven: External examination complete. 11:11 pm, eleventh of November, 2049. Mark the time and date, Lawrence.

(Typing sounds)

Torres: Memory extraction.

Scriven: That will be the next procedure.

Lawrence: well, duh. What do you expect, pornography?

Scriven: Please start extracting her brain tissues once you’ve finished shaving her hair, doctor Torres. And, Torres, respect yourself in the means of doing so. Meanwhile, Lawrence, please set up the necessary apparatus for our operation to occur. The screen please, yes, there, careful –

Torres: Did she dye it pink or is she so old already –

Lawrence: that’s white blonde, white platinum blonde. Truly, poking out from her roots it’s white shiny blonde. Her eyebrows too. Like slivers of the moon.

Torres: Well

Scriven: That is a rare genotype.

Torres: They totally exterminated a species, the government, they just did. I just know it.

Lawrence: Well, we’ve got clones

Scriven: But that’s different.

Torres: You can’t tell.

Scriven: Careful with that brain.

Torres: Pretty brain.
(slime induced slapping sounds, created by the action of which the is brain being thrown between alternating hands)

Scriven: This is not a toy. You heard me?
(slapping sounds ensue)

Torres: Okay, okay! (softly, barely audible, rasp-whisper) We just want to get in your pretty little head, my sweet blondie dead baby doll. Hell is going to be so much fun, we promise. Don’t come back to visit, kay? But it’s going to be so much fun you won’t remember us anyway.

Scriven: Torres.

Torres: Have fun. Spread our love on your way down.

Lawrence: You are creeping the products of egestion out of me.

Torres: Rituals, you know. I’m superstitious and it’s not like you can do anything about it. Don’t give me this look, doc, for chrissakes. I’m just trying to ensure us a snug spot right beside the hellfire fireplace.

Scriven: Enough of this nonsense, now, secure the silver nano electrodes into miss Crossley’s fissures.

Lawrence: id est, stick the prickly little pins into her brains. Hard and fast, baby. So nothing squishy comes out.

Scriven: Her memory, doctor Lawrence, needs to be preserved for criminal evidence.

Lawrence: But you mean that.

Scriven: I –

Lawrence: that was a statement, doc, not a question.

(the click of the play button of tape recorder thingies. something starts beeping)
(long pause)

Scene #2
Memory Extraction; Transcripts

#car crash 02

(Sounds: there’s the background sounds with the way the car moves on the highway the wind tearing against the steel and the wheels moving underneath. Sirens.)

[long pause]

(Radio: traffic channel interspersed with static. Grainy sound quality, like the talking parts in Sleep in Black Parade except clearer)

WEDRV Radio: Police car chase on the ninth avenue, riverside area, heading eastbound. There’s a hack in the server tower, I repeat, before the government hands out D-notices and emails filled with virtual toxic black paint. So sit back and stretch your neck and maybe get a nice spot for the scenery. There are fifty police cars chasing down the block sirens screeching neon bright red-and-blue for the occasion. For once in your life get nostalgic because history hasn’t seen such turmoil for ten years. Rejoice for chaos. Pristine police cars flashing down the avenue like comets, as white as new. Make a wish, if you will. If you are epileptic, click down the blinds because this is going to be a hell of a seizure. For the rest of the population of computer vegetables and digital zombies, get away from your screen because you are going to be infected this way or another.

[long pause: swerves and increase/decrease in siren sounds, cars buzzing away beside]

[switches radio channel, song on the radio: Such Great Heights, The Postal Service]
[silence cuts song sharply, sounds from the next memory follows]

#Mission Clone Liberation
Corridor, ragged breathing, then less irregular. There’s buzzing static around the corner from the guard’s radio, sounding intermittently. Pit patter of feet, as static distances. Breathing gets more ragged, then stops, holds breath, as radio nears, lingers

Radio (walkie-talkie distorted): Hey

Guard: What?

Radio: should I feed them or not?

Guard: Well, why not.

Radio: Seriously. They really go rabid dog crazy.


Radio: Like angry vampires.

Guard: (chuckles amusedly) well, it’s not like it’s my problem anyway

Radio: Fuck you.

Guard: So what do you want me to do, tell you to burn the food and starve them?

Radio: that’s not a solution

Guard: There is no solution
(radio convo starts to distance from Avery and Cerine)

Guard. Least of you can do, fix the AC before they tear you to pieces

Radio: Fuck you, fuck fuck you, you inbred sonuvabitch.

Guard: -chuckle-

Avery: (high pitched giggly, hardly suppressed whisper) For chrissakes, damn we should’ve recorded it -

Cerine: (giggly, too) Shut up, shut up

#Mission Clone Liberation

Avery: Which way?

Cerine: To the right. Obviously. The heat.

Avery: Shit. I can feel myself boiling like a motherfucking lobster already.

Cerine: Well, that’s good, this way they’ll be angry, really angry. Shittily pissed off rabid mad. Blood vessels threading in the whites of their eyes. Voila, purpose achieved.

Avery: Fuck, you were supposed to turn on the AC not turn on the furnace, dumbass.

Cerine: It was intended.

Avery: Not so, dumbass.

Cerine: You will thank me in the end.

Avery: Not so, dumbass –

Cerine: With the testosterone pimped lunch boxes -

#Mission Clone Liberation
(in the AC vents, wearing microwave absorbent suits)
Ragged breathing (loud), machinery engines whirring, elbows making hollow sounds on the metal vent walls

#Commercial 01
[cheery poppy trumpet music. radio/tv of which the ad emits from adjusts in position then becomes fixed. As if the ad is just unintendedly recorded, like stuff on tapes hasn’t been erase properly]
Ad announcer: /(should sound like the way Take Me Away started (In Love And Death, The Used) ired of your scars? Pigmented dots and sprays of freckles? Your recurring cancer coughs and moles, radioactive gastrointestinal products? Gannets Mute Technology provides you with your ideal clone with desired alterations to hair color and body shape, all for the mere price of $200. Still in doubt? First timers get one free on first trial.

#Mission Clone Liberation
Start of Desensitized (Green Day, Shenanigans, sounds of being punched and punching)

Avery: sorry, dude

Cerine: Your contribution to the future of our planet will be remembered.

Avery: Remain in our hearts, forever and ever

Cerine: Carved and etched

Avery: Ew.

Cerine: the grisly part or the words?

Avery: The autopsy part. Of being discovered to actually owning a heart.

Cerine: They do partials now, because they have this memory scan thing.

Avery: Oh really?

Avery: Like this conversation right here right now we are having is being overheard?

Cerine: Technically

Avery: I am appalled. Aren’t there supposed to be laws against this?

Avery: Shit, we should like, shut up.

Avery: fuck you, law makers. Fuck you, pathologists. I’ll make sure that you burn in hell.

Cerine: For chrissakes, start putting on your suit already. The loop only works for a minute before the pattern
is found.

Avery: oh right, oh right.

#Commercial 02
Ad announcer: Behold the fresh Flesh Third Pounder from Mcdonalds. Japanese baby flesh [babies crying] every morning straight from the Clonery delivery rooms to our kitchens, mashed up into thick juicy patties and cooked in refined gasoline, served up fresh and hot. Piled high with everything you crave. Sure, you may have room for fries and a drink, but the ketchups? Well that’s just plain crazy. The new Flesh Third Pounders: Mushroom and terrier, Baby and cheese, and the international baby flesh remix deluxe.
Feast your eyes on the ad [CUT HERE](vert)

#Mission Clone Liberation
(sounds of talking, not too loud, background machines whirring)

Radio Announcement (crackly static): Lunch coming through (beeping sounds of car parking)
(a sudden, hollow silence. Pause. lunch comes through in a vent. Monotonous regular slow mechanic sounds)

(radio crackles)

Radio: Guys, eat and win vacation lottery!
Avery: You can stop lying to us. (not so loud, but loud in contrast nevertheless in the silence)

Radio: Excuse me?

Avery: What have you people been putting in our food? It’s making us feel not so good.

Cerine: Like sick, like swelling.

Avery: Are you lying to us? I thought you were offering us salavation and refuge.

Radio: Listen up, clone, the facility regulations number #13342 under title IIV clearly state that questions are not tolerated. You have been warned.

Clone #1: But why?

Clone #2: Why can’t we ask questions?

Avery: Where are you taking our friends?

Cerine: Is there really a mountain resort place?

Avery: Why are they still gone?

Radio: Be quiet –

Clone #3: We don’t trust you.

Clone #4: You are making us feel not so good when we sleep.

Clone #3: It’s like there’s something…something, creeping crawling under our bed.

Avery: What are you trying to do to us?
(clones start protesting, echoes, volume escalating)

(sudden silence)
(sounds of clone screaming, muffled, in a distant room)
(screaming ceases, replaced by a dull thump, of the corpse being discharged onto the center of the hall.)
(Clones start going frantic, start screaming. Chaos.)


Cerine: LIARS

Clones: liars! (screaming, scrabbling, scratching. Tumult)

Avery: Now when they don’t want us anymore they turn on the furnace and let us burn and suffocate in here!


Radio: Look, have the truth. I don’t give a shit. We don’t care whether your burn in hell or not. We cart you to slaughterhouses instead of vacation resorts so we can cut you up for your body parts. Breasts and livers and kidneys.

Avery: Excuse me, what did you say?

Radio: You people, shut up before I stun you with hush gas. Why don’t you try breaking out, huh? Why don’t you try?


Radio: Block D lockdown, I repeat, Block D lockdown.

Avery: I say revolution! (clones: revolution!) I say riot! (clones: riot!) Cerine, let them out through the vents.

Cerine: Through here, my dearies! Deliverance there through the vents!
(riot sounds, shattering glass, screaming, snarls, bellows, roaring, chaos)
(alarm sounds: warning, warning, warning, warning, warning)

(clicktwist of the control knob. Static sounds as tv flickers to life.)
(Static changes and switches to staticly sounds of riot. radio announcer screaming)

Avery: -chucklechuckle-

Radio: four down! We need backup!

#Making dynamite

DYNAMITE, the name given to several explosive preparations containing nitroglycerin which are almost exclusively used for blasting purposes. The first practical application of nitroglycerin in this way was made by A. Nobel in 1863. He soaked gunpowder with the liquid and fired the gunpowder by an ordinary fuse. Later he found that nitroglycerin could be detonated by the explosion of several materials such as fulminate of mercury, the use of which as a detonator he patented in 1867. [fastforward the italicized text for sound effects, with occasional stops in between until the actual script part is reached. Rewind if you’ve past the start part and retain sound of rewinding]

Radio recording thing: To make dynamite, you have to make nitroglycerin. To make nitroglycerin, get yourself some 98% concentrated fuming red nitric acid and cool it below room temperature in an ice bath, then add to it three times the amount of 99% concentrated fuming sulfuric ac/[cut by the sound of spacebar, pause, then pour water onto hot wok to imitate acid sizzle sounds, coughing, a pause, then spacebar] id. Let the acid solution cool to about ten or fifteen degrees [pause, clinking sounds, space bar], then add glycerin, drop by drop, with a dropper, until the entire surface of the acid is covered with/[pause, slow dripping sounds, pause, spacebar] it. By this, nitration will take place and nitration will produce heat, so make sure you keep the solution below 30 degrees. [spacebar, brief pause, spacebar] But if it doesn’t stay below 30, you should pour it directly into the ice bath so you don’t blow your fingers off. Well if it’s the case that you still have your fingers here, gently stir the mixture. As you st/[spacebar, pause, spacebar] ir, nitroglycerin will form as a layer on top of the acid solution, while sulfuric acid will absorb the excess water. Then transfer your mixture into a pail of water, the nitro w/[space bar, pause sounds of water sloshing, pause, spacebar] ill settle in the bottom so you should be able to drain away the excess acid. After this, remove the nitro with a dropper and place it in bicarbonate to have it neutralized. When you are done, remove the nitro/ again and mix the nitro with sawdust. And you have a nice plastic explosive.

[Sounds of droplet sizzling, Sounds of breathing, then of holding breath when pop sounds start. Erratic popping, exploding sounds, time interval may vary]

#Random quotes (grenades)
Avery: ‘What. Don’t give me this look. Well aren’t us humans are just piles and piles of useless motherfucking sonuvashits killing animals destroying every single living thing every nano inch of our fucking way? It’s motherfucking ludicrous. I mean, even those that don’t - ’

#Planting explosives

Beep: start
Avery[ragged breathing]: (the ‘o’ smothered by beep) ‘ver. This is codename Fahrenheit. I’m at Comeau 14, eastbound. There are buildings all around me and sonic cars and –

Base: Over, this is base, team Rescue. Just stand right there and look behind you. Is there a space needle Seattle architecture building behind you?

Avery: positive, over, positive. Building with the 1456 ivory tint reflective glass?

Base: [breathy&staticly]: Over, Positive. When you reach the building, head north 36.54 degrees west to target landmark. Clear?

Avery: Crystal clear, over, crystal clear.

[Alternating between traffic to alleyways (sound of feet)]

Avery: Over, this is codename Fahrenheit calling for base. Target landmark locked. Request for confirmation.

Base: Over. Request confirmed. Permission to proceed.

Avery: Over, command executed

Irregular breathing, then shifting to air-conditioning crowd-talking-sounds, then silence (footsteps echo), then out into the open to construction site, then silence,

Avery [ragged breathing, whispery kind of]: Over, this is codename Fahrenheit. Targeted area has been infiltrated. Please abort radio communications, I repeat, abort radio communications.

Base: Over, request granted.

Avery: Over, goodbye.
[static] [silence, a pause]

Base: Over, Best of Luck, Codename Fahrenheit. The future is resting on your shoulders.

[Sound of plastic thing being fumbled with, sound of plastic thing being strapped on with metal buckle, beeps]
[Past construction site, back to where radio communications started, ragged breathing]

Avery: Over, operation Fusewire accomplished. I repeat, mission accomplished. This is codename Fahrenheit, over, I am on my way back to base.

Base: We look forward to having you back.
#Bombing hospitals/whale food & hunting 01
[one big, epic bombing sound, then people start screaming, then alarms too, then things topple over and glass shatter and medical paraphnelia, babies cry, more bombing, like in the movie Insanitorium]

[news tune]
News anchor [13-3-2043]: Rise and shine, people! Pack your iPacks and here we go…whale hunting! Krypton city food supply department, is conducting its monthly whale hunt for hospital meals and citizen food supply. This month, they are at iApple dock at Riverside, so make sure you go zapping away in your airpods early
[breathing becomes ragged and more obvious as Avery enters corridor, distant bombing, muffled screaming, scraping sounds, trolleys and shatter glass being kicked/shoved aside and siren pounding/screeching]
News anchor: / and get yourself some meat before it runs out, or maybe if you’re a lucky resident of our various city hospitals, clasps your hands and say your prayers early,
[trolleys and shatter glass being kicked/shoved aside and siren pounding/screeching, jiggling of keyhole]
News anchor:…before your sanity is robbed by the smell of oven-baked whale patties. Meanwhile, please welcome Ms Sodium, our Krypton queen of Gastroblog!
[jiggles door knob, door crashes open, someone screams, out of the room, there’s a patient inside and machines are all beeping, heartrate accelerate. Beeping sounds get louder, more rapid, as avery approaches the bed, breathing ragged. Another source of breathing is detected; it’s shivery, kind of whimpering.]
[crowd cheering, music, applause]
Ms Sodium: Welcome to ms sodium’s kitchen for culinary wizardry! Now, today we’re going to make whale patties. (cheering) boy do I miss Mcdonald’s but this should be as good. But really, you can visit by website for imitation pork and beef recipes, if you hate the smell of whale.
{‘am…am I going to die?’
‘This is called karma. You killed the whales.’}
Miss Sodium: To make whale patties for four, you need one lb of ground whale, half a teaspoon imitation dried onion and the same quantity of imitation garlic.
{‘I…whales? I didn’t kill any whales’
‘Jesus Christ, save your breath. Really, you fucking call yourself civilized?’}
Miss Sodium: Pepper add as per taste.
{‘I…I didn’t…I mean…’}
[First step, knead onion, garlic and pepper into meat to mix thoroughly.]
{‘A life for a life. This is karma. This is what you get.’}
Miss Sodium: Then, divide into portions,
Miss Sodium: and shape them into patties
[sounds of whimpering, sounds of her being strapped on her bed, struggling sounds,]
Miss Sodium: After you’ve done perfecting your mixture into perfect meat circles, grill on hot grill.
[screaming of ‘help! help!’ which weakens to muffled screaming, behind a pillow or something]
Miss Sodium: Now you have sizzling hot just fresh whale patties. Nice and easily done.
[screaming gets distant. Footsteps, ragged breathing, inhale exhale sounds.]
Miss Sodium: Délicieux. Are you noting this down?
[bombs explode]
Miss Sodium: a piece of advice, now, use your rations wisely, my dear friends!

#car crash 02

[car background sounds soften because she stops the car, indistinct swearing, then squeaky sounds of marker scratching windshield. Then loudening of siren until crash, then abrupt stop]

Torres: What does it say on the windshield?

Scriven: For the love of god!

Lawrence: It says, the world is going to explode. You’ve triggered the detonator in my brain.

#Revelation (Bomb)
Avery [like she’s on LSD, giggly]: When you find this the world is going to explode. Your wife, children gone. This isn’t about natural selection. This has long strayed from natural selection. when you scanned my brain you have triggered the detonator, with the magnetic electrodes you triggered the ionic controllers I injected in my brain, which will send signals to the dynamite I placed at various buildings for its deliberate countdown, and self-detonation. You guys, you think you are so fucking smart, eh? You are killing nature and this is payback. But really, think of it as suffering cut short. I think you should start running now, but it’s not like you can avoid it, anyway. So maybe, you might want to sit back, and enjoy the fireworks before you become oxidated yourself-
Lawrence: Do you hear something?
[ticking stops]

#Random quotes (grenades)

Kid: ‘Miss Avery?’

Avery: ‘Yes, sweet?’

Kid: ‘what’s an animal?’

Avery: Haha. Haha. Say your Hail Marys. You can all burn in hell.

Lawrence: OHMYGOD. (scream, shattering of glass

clones outside, muffled, screaming out of their building)

Torres: Shit (with Lawrence)

(Explosion. the sound ends with a sharp cut elimination of sound, because that’s when they die and their hearing dies with them, like their corpses are being brain-scanned again.)

Avery: While I live forever.

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