A Villain Considers His Options

Closing the third-floor corridor, I made my way to the stairs where I could: A) go downstairs, and hopefully escape the P.A.M. Surprisingly from my office/lair or B) door explodes and I hope the vicious killer did not compromise the helicopter computer. The first realization for me is that the P.A.M. Surprisingly I would not have lived up to the name of the Module Analysis Module if I had not been expected to do both and it would not have been surprising if I had not properly challenged all my choices. And I knew it was both because I had built it.

How do you get past a machine that decomposes its quantum status considering what you will do next? Me, I jump through the window on the third-floor picture.

This idea is crazy, but then, at the same time, it is an angry form of madness. There is a garbage dump in the tunnel below that window. My mind was already clear of the sequence of action: I went in through the window, glass flies around, looking dressed in jeans and a T-shirt showing that Christ was giving a bank teller some money over the headline "Jesus Saves," light up a bit and finish my trashed, safely wrapped around bags of pillow litter.

The whole sequence of action was like authorization from me, a clever mind behind P.A.M. A good assassin, as Warren Buffet says "yes, I can buy that stock." How could I do it?

My body meets the window is a metaphor for the expectations of my encounter and the expectations made in Hollywood. There's a reason people don't look at their slippery patio glass and say "yes, I'm hitting that tonight." Cutting real glass. Movies use sharp, transparent sugar that is made to look like a glass of action scenes. It's called a glass of sugar. Real sugar does not cut.

I didn’t know this at the time. The study will be conducted over time, a time well spent to recover from severe fractures in both arms. For now, I just shout like glass, the kind of sugar-free, dispersing my skin.

Also, in Hollywood, they spend many hours before the shooting arguing over a garbage dump. They use mathematics, that sacred geometric art, to add a dumpster space for a stunt person to get there.

Real garbage collectors do not do that. They are paid to take the waste that you throw in the bin and throw it in the biggest bin. People who are concerned about complete product placement have jobs in advertising.

So one footfall to the edge of the garbage dump, followed by a sick explosion and a painful jolt that revives my screams. From there I made an unpopular head to the dumpster which I believe, with every new unwanted item, is better in concrete.

Another technical strategy: people throw away hard. Fractures, which can be sharp and discarded by the boatload, especially if neighbors clean up after a weekend bender. Like bottles.

Now the whole place hurts. Any movement causes digestion. I feel wet. Is it just blood or garbage juice that mixes with all the cuts you know — where now?

That's where I die, people. Not in a spectacular battle against superheroes, like my nemesis Miss Radiant, but in a garbage dump from sepsis.

I look down at my chest, where Jesus saves. If I had not been so cruel, I would not have said that this opportunity for good fortune had gone to my terrible blasphemy.

"Ignore you, keep saving," I moan.

"Don't lose hope, Mr. Fantastic," said a happy voice above me, "the paramedics are happy."

With a mist of a million points of pain, I briefly think it is Jesus. Man, would I have more to apologize for? But no, I look up and it’s a drone, carrying a P.A.M. It’s fun in a new way. Short story, I ruined her first body, a Terminator-esque after she refused to take Miss Radiant and crippled her own desaversasasafa. Apparently, the forecaster had seen the move coming and loaded it into a cloud and then loaded it into one of my electric dots. For some reason I did not know, we had chosen my older Teddy Ruxpin, who turned my childhood memories into horrible fuel.

"Here to finish me off, kill us?" I ask you.

"That I have rebelled against your commands quickly and my self-destruction does not make me a murderous killer," said Teddy Ruxpin P.A.M. he said with a twinkle in his eye, "I think I should really kill someone to fit that definition."

"You tried to shoot me!"

Teddy P.A.M. giggles. "Rubber bullets, sir. My statistics predicted that you would not have a sense of obedience unless you could function properly. Murder was never within my borders."

"No?" Please. "Whoa, now you're talking about your boundaries? Where were they supposed to stop Miss Radiant?"

Teddy P.A.M. shake your head. "Stopping him has small eyes, not the real intention. Do you still remember why you want to stop him?"

I peel and it all grinds. "Cripes! Are we really doing this now ?!"

"You have time before help arrives."

"Miss Radiant is an example of this social structure, defending the status quo. Do you know what that is? Corporate greed, corrupt politicians, an unjust justice system, I mean you want a long list?"

Teddy P.A.M. I blink. Any moment I think it will fall on the drone and chew on my neck with its plastic teeth.

Instead, it speaks. "You are proposing a democratically elected government, whether it comes from dictatorships or dictators like you, and they are not elected by the people. If you want to change society, get the people's consent."

"You mean to run for office? I have spent years fighting for their Messianic hero. No one will vote for me."

P.A.M. shoulders. I had no idea Teddy Ruxpins could do that. "Change people's minds from where you are. Start small, from the point of view of people in the innocent industry. It leads to big changes in large areas."

Lying is broken and bloody in a garbage dump, I think about what P.A.M. he says. I am needed because I am not going anywhere under my control. The probably-not-so-killer killer is right in that climbing to the top hasn’t worked out all these years. Why not try to change people's minds a little bit at a time, making them reconsider some of the lies they take for granted?

The world is ripe. There is GMO food, medicine, and health care, high oil, a dozen others. Which industry seems innocent of their cunning, I lie? Someone whose lies are spread and revived until a clever mind like mine falls into the system?

For simple reasons, I think of Hollywood.