(Part Two)
INT. ENTRANCE TUNNEL - DAY - SUBJECTIVE CAMERA
Miffed Matt's P.O.V. We're in a dark tunnel with light at the end. We're pushing forwards, grunts and groans all around. We hear cacophonous noise, commotion from outside the tunnel. An enormous archway, the noise swells, and then we're through--
CUT TO:
EXT. SPOON TOWN - DAY
--And into the (comparatively) open air of Spoon Town.
It's bedlam. EXOTIC VENDORS hawk their grotty wares.
Booted feet stomp through mud and slush.
Warped and disfigured CHILDREN run cackling through the crowds.
Bands of SHIRTLESS MEN, adorned in crude tattoos, swilling hooch, belch and roam and fight.
Under a wooden sign reading "Booty Salon" a parade of OLDER WOMEN have thick paint slopped onto their faces and gaudy inks brushed over their nails.
Food stalls sell meat-like sticks of gristle and sinew, at-best from roadkill, fried in rancid grease.
The air is thick with shrill cries, piercing laughter, guttural chanting.
It's the centre of Worksop in a post-apocalyptic future, and literally nothing has changed.
MIFFED MATT'S P.O.V. - STORYTELLER
A squat and ugly STORYTELLER, who'd be here at any time, really, and totally doesn't exist for purely expositional reasons, on a grubby stage regaling his audience.
STORYTELLER
...Love him. For he delivered us from darkness. After the Great Undoing, while all around us crumbled, the temple that was the heart of this town thrived. The weary and the sick came from miles around to patronise the site, to give up what few coins they had to the gods of this temple, and they were rewarded with glorious Stellar Juice to ease their pains and to soften their aching minds. The temple became more than a temple: an arbiter of politics, a trade giant, the only employer in town. All roads led to the Spoon.
Our procession of Driver and Prisoners and Miffed Matt has paused to let a wagon pass. Miffed Matt watches the Storyteller.
STORYTELLER (CONT'D)
And the Spoon was held in the hand of one man. One beautiful, sacred man. After the needs of our town clashed with the aims of regional government, this man did not sit idly by. He watched what was good and holy in our ground be shipped to the devils overseas, and he said No more. He crowned himself Grand Humungous of the Wastes, declared the old men in corrupted Laandan, and their antiquated ways, a blight upon the land, and with his legions of loyal Tender Boys he swept away the last vestiges of a broken regime and ushered in this era of enlightenment. So remember, tonight, as you're sleeping safe, as you're enjoying the spoils of this realm of Eden, who to thank for these riches. Love him, love your saviour, the Remainer-Smasher, the Curry-Wednesday Warrior -- Boss of the Burger, Beermat Poet, founder and Man-in-the-Chair of Spoon Town, the one, the only -- Grand Humungous Timmartin!
The crowds cheer. Streamers fill the air. The wagon lurches on, and the procession continues. Miffed Matt, from under his hood, spits on the ground.
CUT TO:
INT. THE EYRIE - DAY
A rounded room perched high above Spoon Town. Dark. Shadowy. Malicious.
GRAND HUMUNGOUS TIMMARTIN'S P.O.V. - MIFFED MATT
We're looking down a dirty telescopic lens at Miffed Matt, spitting on the ground and moving off.
We hear a low growl from O.S.
BACK TO SCENE
A clawed hand grips the seeing glass and thrusts it away.
A body in the blackness. Wisps of grey hair. A shining eye. The Grand Humungous is at home.
Turns to an UNSEEN CREATURE making suckling noises below him.
GRAND HUMUNGOUS TIMMARTIN
Look
The Unseen Creature takes the seeing glass.
UNSEEN CREATURE'S P.O.V. - SCANNING CROWD
GRAND HUMUNGOUS TIMMARTIN (O.S.)
Our new guests.
The lens sweeps the crowd, pinpoints the procession, the Prisoners, and, finally, Miffed Matt.
BACK TO SCENE
GRAND HUMUNGOUS TIMMARTIN
Bring me that man.
CONTINUED...
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