INT. CWAL HQ - MESSHALL

               Fearless sits alone, sipping a mug of coffee. Though there
               are no windows, we can hear the loud booming thunder of war
               not too far away.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Ever wonder why they don't just
                         finish us off right now?

               He's talking to someone standing in the door frame. Someone
               we've seen before. Archangel.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         We're not as important as we used
                         to be.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Or thought we were.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Wouldn't go that far.

                                   FEARLESS
                         This isn't our war. Would have
                         happened whether we tried to stop
                         it or not. Would have been just as
                         bad.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         But we are trying to stop it. Gotta
                         mean for somethin'.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Maybe.

               Archangel crosses the room to the coffee pot. Pours himself a
               mug. Sits across from Fearless. Both of them share silence. A
               lot of that's been going around.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I know what you're trying to do. It
                         won't bring anybody back, just to
                         let you know.

                                   FEARLESS
                         You don't have a clue what I'm
                         trying to do.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Maybe not. Maybe I am just talking out
                         of my ass. Just wanted to say,
                         though. You're not alone.
                         We all feel like shit and there was
                         nothing you could have done. What
                         matters is that we're still moving.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Moving. They're talking about
                         moving.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I know.

               Fearless looks up at him. He can read him through his eyes,
               call it agent's sixth sense.

                                   FEARLESS
                         You're not up for it.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         You either.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Something about cut and run leaves
                         a bad taste in my mouth.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         You're not alone there either. A
                         couple of us have a plan. Well, I
                         know someone who knows someone who
                         has a plan.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Who?

               EXT. STREETS OF IRVINE - EVENING

               A Humvee is parked beside the Starbucks coffee house/turned
               CWAL Head Quarters. Thunder, Fearless and Archangel hop
               inside, Fearless taking front seat. Driving the car is MISS
               CHEETAH, a Humanoid woman that fits the bill with her cat
               like ears and a tail coiled around the stick shift.

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                         Is this everyone?

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         We're good. Let's go.

               The Humvee is off, making its way over the broken city roads
               and climbing through piles of debris and broken walls and
               fallen polls.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Nice ride.

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                         Compliments of BioCorp. Don't mind
                         the smell, I haven't gotten around
                         to tossing the old samples.

                                   THUNDER
                         I thought it was bacon.

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                         Why would it be bacon? 

               All eyes on Thunder.

                                   THUNDER
                         Dunno. Just thought it was bacon.

               EXT. PHASMUS & CO CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS

               The SUV pulls to a stop in front of the welcoming doors of
               the giant office complex.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Wait a minute. This is who you
                         know?

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                         Is there a problem?

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Sure as hell better not be.

               INT. PHASMUS & CO CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS - PHASMUS'S OFFICE

               Despite everything else in this godforsaken city, the insides
               of this corporation seem to be holding their own nicely, save
               for the fact that everything is layered in duct tape. The
               office is no different, even the table is a beautiful
               segmented gray. Behind the desk sits what looks to be a mummy
               made of duct tape, glowing green eyes are its only color.
               It's PHASMUS. On his right side is a skeleton-like robot,
               PATRIOT and on his left is an oversized Geico mascot with a
               shitload of guns. VEKTOR. Both he and Thunder exchange look
               overs.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Ah, CWALers. Such consistent
                         clients are hard to come by.

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                             (sweetly)
                         Point of reference. I'm not a
                         CWALer.

                                   PHASMUS
                         CWALers and affiliated
                         subcontractors, if you prefer.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         At least you've finally separated
                         yourself.

                                   PHASMUS
                         The Operation served my purposes
                         well enough, in the early years. I
                         simply found more coherent
                         priorities.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Lucky you. Cheetah, let's get the
                         hell out of here.

                                   MISS CHEETAH
                         Wait a minute.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Nothing he's ever offered has ever
                         helped our cause, ever. He'll only
                         bring us trouble.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Perhaps we could postpone the
                         bitter, unsubstantiated
                         recriminations? This transaction is
                         time sensitive.

               The wings on Archangel's back coat over with a glazed
               metallic, and he whips out a large sword. Instinctively,
               Patriot and Vektor zero their weapons on Archangel.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I've got time to cut you something
                         painful.

               Phasmus chuckles.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Let's cut to the meat. Cheetah says
                         you know something we don't. You
                         have a plan.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Certainly.

               Phasmus slides a sheet of paper across the table. Fearless
               takes it. It is a sketch of a sinister looking scimitar. The
               words "Blade of Dione."

                                   FEARLESS
                         Cute drawing. Did it yourself?

               One of Phasmus' strands of tape extends out like a tendril and
               slaps onto a book in his library. He brings it back down on
               the table and with another tendril, he opens the book to the
               middle pages where there are several ancient sketches of the
               same weapon, and more to read on the topic than Fearless
               cares to.

                                   FEARLESS
                         I'm seeing a lot of mythology on
                         there, Phasmus.

                                   PHASMUS
                         As well you should. Is it too much
                         to hope your educational pursuits
                         have left you with some awareness
                         of the notorious poet, Homer?

                                   THUNDER
                         Like The Iliad?

               Everyone's stunned.

                                   THUNDER
                         Dione is mother of Aphrodite.
                         Aphrodite was wounded protecting
                         her Trojan son who would later
                         found the city of Rome.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Astute.

                                   THUNDER
                         It's my favorite book. But they
                         only mention Dione a few times, and
                         never with a weapon. I'd know.

                                   PHASMUS
                         They wouldn't. Aphrodite was in
                         possession of it. My sources
                         indicate that this deific blade is
                         hidden somewhere between the ruins 
                         of Troy and Pergamos where she and 
                         Apollo took Aeneas.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I can't believe I'm listening to
                         this.

                                   FEARLESS
                         That's too much gibberish for me to
                         care about. You're suggesting this
                         thing is somewhere across the
                         planet.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Superstitious bullshit.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Is it?

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         Our home is under siege by two
                         corporate titans and their armies
                         of doom and you want to send us on
                         a scavenger hunt.

                                   PHASMUS
                         To find the one weapon that would
                         stand against any titan. You think
                         it is simply ill fortune that you
                         have lost thus far? Everyone is
                         pulling weight in this battle but
                         you. I am merely giving you a
                         chance to hold your own.

                                   FEARLESS
                         We're talking about an artifact we
                         don't know exists.

                                   PHASMUS
                         True. But if the likes of Blizzard
                         are also out to get their hands on
                         it, one might guess there is a
                         certain legitimacy to the
                         undertaking.

                                   FEARLESS
                         So Blizzard's after this too.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Correct. Now, if you saw fit, you
                         could all go on your merry way. If
                         I am wrong then nothing has hanged.
                         You will fight and you will die and
                         one of them will walk out the
                         victor. But suppose that I am
                         right. Then you still die, only
                         sooner. And Blizzard will, without
                         question, reign supreme.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Accept.

                                   PHASMUS
                         Excellent. Patriot and Vektor will
                         accompany you, to provide some
                         oversight and help ensure that
                         everything goes according to plan.
                         Don't think I doubt your abilities,
                         but it is in my interest, too, that
                         we obtain the artifact before
                         Blizzard.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I'm not liking this even more.

                                   PHASMUS
                             (grinning fiendishly for a
                              split second)
                         It's all standard corporate
                         procedure, Archangel. And,
                         conveniently enough, you have no
                         choice.

                                   FEARLESS
                         Let's not waste time, then.

                                   PHASMUS
                         I've arranged for your
                         transportation at Pier 14. I trust
                         you can find your way.

               The CWALers turn to leave. Archangel stops at the door.
               Turns.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         This thing can kill anything,
                         right?

                                   PHASMUS
                         It is a god's weapon.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         So it could kill you.

                                   PHASMUS
                         If it could, would I tell the one
                         man who would sooner use it on me
                         than an otherworldly horror
                         immediately intent on divesting him
                         of his vitality?

                                   ARCHANGEL
                         I'm banking that you would.

                                   PHASMMUS
                         Perhaps I would, at that.

               INT. SUBMARINE - LATER

               Our members are assembled. Fearless, Thunder, Archangel, Miss
               Cheetah, Vektor and Patriot. They're lounging around the
               bridge, watching the goings on of what would be uncomfortable
               to see if for some reason we didn't get the feeling that the
               characters knew why they were comfortable. The one with the
               captain's hat is a walking beaver, a chainsaw strapped to his
               back. The crew are pretty much answering to him. He is KAZZ.

                                   KAZZ
                         Helm to Greece!

                                   CREW MATE
                         Helm to Greece.

                                   FEARLESS
                         I don't think he knows how
                         Submarines work.

                                   VEKTOR
                         He'll get us there.

                                   ARCHANGEL
                             (to Miss Cheetah)
                         Some plan.

               EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT

               The great, big nuclear submarine with a rather unusual
               landing strip plastered atop it cuts through the ocean at
               breakneck speeds. Its destination set. For Greece.

               INT. BLIZZARD HEADQUARTERS - BOARD ROOM

               A meeting room with a long, circular table. Occupying several
               of the chairs are various members of the corporation. Most
               notably someone we've already seen: the Head Programmer.
               Across from him is a man we'll call PATT N. And beside him is
               another man, SCOTT M. There are others, but they are
               peripheral. At the head of the table is a shadowed figure, a
               menacing man in a suit, the infamous CEO. And across from
               him, plastered on the white wall is a projection of their
               business statistics.

                                   CEO
                         Flenser production is optimal. Our
                         conquest of the Wholesale district
                         is conclusive. We win. They lose.
                         Westwood has lost all strategic
                         points in the Valley. And sales are
                         down? Someone please explain this.

               An unfortunately stupid board member takes the bait.

                                   BOARD MEMBER
                         We simply aren't reaching he
                         consumer base. And overhead is
                         eating up our profit margin.

                                   CEO
                         Overhead. Right.

               The floor underneath our hapless board member opens,
               swallowing he and his chair. He screams but it is swallowed
               too, into an abyss we neither see nor probably wish to. The
               other members look to the CEO, a mix of fear and apathy from
               those who've seen this all too many times. The CEO stands and
               circles the room.

                                   CEO
                         Gentlemen. Ladies. Morons! Idiots!
                         Why do we fight the war abroad if
                         we lose it here? I am sensing a
                         severe lack of marketing skills in
                         this room and with poor old Bill
                         now, retired, who am I to look to?
                         Who do I care to look to? I feel as
                         if the same incompetence has spread
                         like a virus. All of the weapons,
                         the technological advancements, the
                         ancient magics, everything we have
                         built. The fucking Alexander's army
                         of deathbots and we can't crush a
                         coffee house!

                                   PATT N
                         With all due respect, sir. Westwood
                         has made a dramatic push through
                         the center outposts and are gaining
                         ground. CWAL has been the least of
                         our worries for the past several days.

                                   CEO
                         CWAL will never be the least of our
                         worries.

                                   HEAD PROGRAMMER
                         Then we ignore Westwood. We crush
                         the commandos and their Starbucks.
                         And all the while, Westwood rapes
                         us in the ass. I hate them too,
                         sir, but everyone agrees that this
                         is war and they frankly don't
                         matter.

                                   CEO
                         I matter! Me!

               BLAM! The CEO crumbles against the window pan, bits of brain
               and skull splashed across the glass. Everyone is shocked and
               they look toward the Head Programmer who is equally stunned.
               After all, he didn't pull the trigger. He looks to the
               entrance of the room where a dark haired woman stands, pale
               skinned, black dress. Her name is MALICE, and she wields the
               gun that did in the King of Blizzard.

                                   MALICE
                         The reason your profit margin is
                         down is simple. Twenty-nine cents.
                         The same impact any one of those
                         million dollar tin-cans could ever
                         accomplish, and a hell of a lot
                         simpler. Fuck I've been wanting to
                         do that for a long time.

                                   HEAD PROGRAMMER
                         You and me both.

                                   MALICE
                         You shut your mouth. Here's how
                         this works. Patt, Scott, throw him
                         out the window.

               She motions to the dead CEO and then aims her gun at the pan.
               She fires three shots and the glass shatters. Patt and Scott
               nervously step over to their dead former boss and push him
               out of the building. They watch him fall.

                                   MALICE
                         And overhead. Overhead really is a
                         bitch on the budget. 
                         
               Two more shots.

               Scott and Patt fall out the window as well. They don't
               scream. Their cybernetic skull fragments have joined their
               employer's. Malice tosses the Head Programmer a submachine
               gun.

                                   MALICE
                         Head Programmer, I really only need
                         you. The honors?

               The Head Programmer looks down at his weapon and back up to
               Malice, and then across the table to all of the dread-filled
               board members.

                                   HEAD PROGRAMMER
                         Why not.

               And then he riddles everyone with bullets. When the noise
               dies down, Malice is somewhat surprised he had no hesitation.

                                   HEAD PROGRAMMER
                         Thanks for the hit on the asshole.
                         What do I owe you?

                                   MALICE
                         Your undying devotion and service
                         to my new empire.

                                   HEAD PROGRAMMER
                         That's it? As long as you let me
                         handle my shit my way, I won't
                         disappoint you.

                                   MALICE
                         I think we're on to the beginning
                         of a wonderful relationship.