All We Have Is Now

## Plot

(tree)

On a telephone wire, sat three black birds - perhaps crows, perhaps ravens, or perhaps the breeds are not important - all staring at the the old oak tree. An outsider might have guessed that they were jealous, but nay, the birds would never admit to it if they were wise enough to be. They sat and laughed and joked, watching the tiny songbirds fly out of the tree but innevitably hit and crash into the ground. All three of the birds told each other how they were never as clumsy or failed as much as those birds. No, these birds firmly believed that they were superior in almost all aspects. Their wingspans were longer, their feathers a much finer color, and their songs were even more threatening than those on the tree. Silly songs had no place in their ranks. They had been told by a bigger bird, a bird just as big as them, this fact, and they believed it. The big bird told him how they were just like him. You have no place in that tree, he would tell them as they looked on with eager eyes. You never have (your memories deceived you) and you never will. And that is a good thing. You can fly high without the tree, and the higher you fly, the more

And so the ravens and crows and whatever black birds they were believed that they simply must be better than the other birds, as they could fly and the tree could not. The tree was a tether, and they did not need one. They knew who they were and their place in the world, and their place in the world was never going to be dictated by the tree they would fly home to each night. No, their place in the world would be wherever they landed, whenever they landed, and that was that.

On the wire above that flocked a trio of doves, yet doves peculiarly only in name and without the color or uniform shape. Still, they named themselves doves. They looked down not only on the tree - from which they acknowledged had once been their home, their origin; yet still the tree was now beneath them, a relic of the past from which to gawk at from above and afar - but also on the black birds. They would sit and laugh as the songbirds soared out of the tree, tangling with the black birds and fought. The black birds would be tossed to the ground, lying in a broken and mishapen heap. They knew not to make enemies of the songbirds. While they were weak, yes, and undoubtedly inferior, some of the birds could fly as high as the doves could. When a songbird would, once in a while, fly up to the top wire, the doves would congratulate him and name him a dove just as they were.

Yet, while they let the songbirds fly up to them, the doves never flew down to the tree. They still believed themselves to be held high above, capable of only looking down to gawk. They never once thought that someone could be looking down on them, until the vultures would fly down and slaughter them. But by then it was too late.

Come to me, the vulture would beckon. Come to me and we'll make our own place, he said, not believing his own words as they poured out of his mouth. He could taste the bitter taste of the lies that he had foolishly feasted on before, believing them to be a marvel discovery. No, he did not believe these lies anymore. But he still spoke them, and so the smaller vultures would always follow them.

And yet came the calling of another bird. The call of a rooster.

The call of a rooster is what woke him out of bed.

(heads outside)

(sol falls out of the tree, dangling from a limb)
A boy fell out of the tree, surprising Alex. He clearly had not seen the boy despite his obvious differences from the leaves he had disguised himself in. As he looked the boy over, attempting to discern what he had been doing and how he had gotten up there, he found himself in an uncanny valley. He knew he had seen the boy somewhere before, but he could not for the life of himself place his own finger on it.

**Valaam, Republic of Karelia. 7:06 AM MSK. Date forgotten, perhaps irrelevant.**

(jules wakes up in Republic of Karelia or somewhre similar, heads to enlist, guy there tells him he'lla ssign him to paris which ahs been overrun, so jules then takes an orbit train to paris)

Your name is Jules. That's what the people of here and most other places elsewhere call you, at least. Your name isn't really one of the things you argue with, anyways.

You, Jules, have woken up after a long night's sleep in a cold sweat, in a cold cave. The cave is both physical and psychological; for days now your sleep has been tortured by endless black nightmares. That's how he's getting to you. You've been on the run from him for years, and he has been tugging on your brain stem more and more in the last few months. He's getting closer to victory, over both you and over the universe.

You decide to go and see if your hunch is correct, and to see if there is anything out in the world left after last night. It's become a bit of a morning ritual for you. Of course, if the world had ended while you slept, you wouldn't be alive here and now, but there's always the chance that he's kept you alive just to torture you even longer. You really wouldn't put it past him.

You waste no time in rushing up and out of your rocky outcropping of a bedroom, pausing briefly to look at the monastery nearby. For the longest time, long enough that it was now virtually inconsequential, this particular island had been inhabited by monks. Of course, following the invasions through the sky and subsequent battles on the land, they had all fled the island. They must have though the rapture was here, you reason. But even so, those monks had nothing to fear. Neither god nor the devil would have paid attention to this small island in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. That's why you came here, after all.

Your eyes do not deserve to glance at such a holy building, others would tell you, and you have come to believe it. If you would still live in more enlightened times, the heads of the monastery would look down at both you and the bay, and would mock and judge the both of you. They always did. You didn't care, and still don't, and you convince yourself that. But you know that you and the bay will have the last laugh over this white building, perched upon its high horse of a hill. Over time, the building will deteriorate and crumble, and the bay will live long enough to laugh the last laugh over the institutions of man which foolishly claimed rule over nature. At least, you hope the bay will live to outlive the men. There's always the threat that they will die together, and as the weeks have gone on, that threat has been looming closer and closer to home.

You gaze toward the sky for a second. For a faint second, you think you can't see the pulsating lights and sparks dancing in the sky above you. You see a faint white ring radiate off in the wild blue yonder, a halo slowly gliding towards the horizon, that reminds you that the battle taking place in your planet's atmosphere is still going. Part of you is disenfranchised, wanting the war to end so that whatever remnants of human civilization down here can rest, recuperate, and try to revitalize your species. The other half of you knows that when the sky is quiet, the war has been lost. You know you can't ever possibly win, and that the only choice besides instant defeat is a prolonged one. It's much better to see signs of struggle than signs of submission.

Tearing your eyes away from the sky, you continue your long walk along the dull sands towards the pier. If you could call it a pier, that is. You never really brushed up on your naval terminology prior to the war. You thought boats were a thing of the past, and you were partially right. You just didn't expect the future to destroy progress and retreat back through time like it had.

(jules goes to sign up for the army)

The Heavy - What Makes a Good Man

(jules falls asleep on the flight, dreaming of how christian fell from grace and how he got the watch)

### mini outline

(dreams of the time layer, just above the layer of black smoke lava that consumes and destroys lost dreams and ambitions)

The objects, the prizes, would fall from the sky at speeds unmatched, pausing now and then to smash or bounce themselves off of the grand cogs and wheels that kept time flowing. The mechanisms which kept the world going had no time or want to indulge in the decadence of these rich and royal possessions, instead choosing to smash them down into whatever would be lying below like the ungrateful hands of an arrogant god.

These objects would continue smashing, bouncing, and - when none of those were possible - free-falling until they fell into the churning red and black mass below. They would kiss the ground they landed on, before the steaming mass would reach its slow claws above the objects' heads and smother them in its greedy embrace.

(christian wants to go along, telling them he'll guard the portal)

(jules knows the sentries won't go near him, so he doesn't bother it)

(they go off, jules said the dream stays foggy or something)

(jules and nameless return, nameless sees christian talking to a mysterious figure in the deep black oil and charges him)

(excalibur and nameless slice off the figure's arm, falling deep down into the "dream well")

The sword fell between the two great men, slicing the black horizon of magma to create a rift of deadly black teeth. The sword fell into the ocean's shadowy jaws. The ever-hungry black hole licked the sword's blade, gaining a taste for the steel and passion embedded in the sword. It recoiled for a second, before opening its mouth wider and swallowing the mighty blade whole.

The hero, as valiant and noble as he was, was hopeless before the all-encompassing murky magma of loss below him. His body was claimed by its black tide, groping at his flesh and tattooing his body with the searing wounds of limitless jealousy. It pulled him down below its surface in what seemed like no time at all. The core intended to keep him as another companion, keeping him close to its burning soul and burrying his face forever beneath the molten stone. Yet, as his body faded from view, his soul and valor were never forgotten. They remained on the surface, a burning ember popping out of the top of the endless ocean of despair. It shown like a torch before the eyes of time, urging them not to forget.

(jules looks towards christian as christian's eyes turn on to a falling macguffin, the omnitrix alerts him)

(jules slams down on the omnitrix as christian makes a dash, staining with black as he runs)

(the world stains black, jules vision stays black, but his dreams are disturbed when he wakes up)

Jules' world slowly turned to darkness, as if a blanket of sweet nothing had been cast over his memories. He did not fight with the shadows, but embraced their mass like a mother he had long since lost, letting the vast emptiness and obscurity rock him to sleep. It cradled him with the coldness Jules sometimes preferred, a coolness that chilled his fiery ideals and reminded him that everything would be alright in the end.

Another sensation began to rock him. This sensation, this great quaking of reality, reminded him that there was still a life on the other side of the night's veil that was worth living. A life that required a burning ambition.

As Jules' eyes open and cast away the blankets of red and black doubts, you remember once again who you are.

(jules is awoken as the train car is attacked by one of the demons swearing allegiance to apocalypse now)

"You know, I think this might be my stop," the old lady on the other seat smiles at you. She probably doesn't have the slightest clue if you're awake, as both of you have taken the fashionable route and worn sunglasses indoors. Still, it probably doesn't matter. She could have been talking to you the entire time and neither of you would have noticed nor had a care in the world for it: the marvels of modern conversation.

The old woman slowly gets to her feet, grabbing her purse. Her little pet poodle jumps to its feet in a similarly posh manner, jumping off of the seat and quickly following his or her master. She hobbles to the door, and looks out the window.

The woman opens the door,

You see terror in the beast's eyes before you can pull the trigger. Is it terror for you? Has it realized who you are, and if so, is it really afraid of you, or is afraid of its master? Are you afraid of its master, too? Are you seeing the terror in its eyes, or your own reflected?

You aim for the terror and blast it out of the beast.

You walk for several more days, marching through the rest of Europe. For days, your dreams are conspicuously absent. Perhaps you just didn't sleep, perhaps you did and did so remarkably well. It didn't matter much, you didn't take much note of it. You just kept walking like the lone soldier you are, hoisting a flag over your shoulder as you prepared to make your last stand.

You finally arrive at the site of your next battle.

It's not the battle you were expecting, and it's not against the enemy you were expecting either. It's not even much of a challenge.

But it's a change in monotony for you, and that's what's putting a smile on your face. You're finally home, even if you're miles away from that little town you grew up. It's probably been blown to smithereens by now, but it doesn't matter to you. It was never really your home. Your home was never a physical place, it was always a spiritual one. It was the yearning for adventure, the call to action. It's this.

You raise your rifle and charge into the streets of Paris. Your destination? Your goal? The motherfucking Eiffel Tower, bitch.

(ending scene is jules seeing the skyline of paris light up and smiling, as he draws a rifle and prepares to fight his way to the eiffel tower)

ending song: Wolf Like Me?

## Trivia

* Albums listened to while writing this episode (if you were wondering):
	+ Stars As Lights - As If Time Had Stopped
	+ Hat Films - Neon Musk
	+ Wot Gorilla? - Kebnekaise
	+ 大象體操 - 工作
	+ 大象體操 - 平衡
* The introductory dream sequence was partially inspired by the title of a Swedish film, known as 'A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence'.
	+ Contrary to what you may believe, the scene does hold significant symbolism and foreshadowing towards Sol 10's plot as a whole. Well, okay, not so much the plot. Think of this as a really shitty political thriller.
* The old lady does not serve as a tool for narrative or whatever the fuck you want to call it, I just got bored on