A beautiful tropical island. No sirens. No bombings. Far off, half-naked girls drift like hallucinations.
Enter a FINANCIER.
(carries a polaroid camera and the latest issue of "Amateur Photographer")
FINANCIER
Where did I put my wallet?
Enter a FELON, a TECHNO-MESSIAH, and a PROPHET.
FINANCIER
(joyfully)
Ah! Mister President! Ah! Mister Genius of Progress! And—pray—who is this radiant soul?
FELON
A prophet. Tremendous guy. Really tremendous.
(He leans in, grips the TECHNO-MESSIAH with obscene familiarity.)
Lend me a billion of your billions. Just one. I’ll make it great.
TECHNO-MESSIAH
(raises an arm in a spasmodic salute, foams something chemical, collapses smiling)
FINANCIER
(Snaps a picture)
FELON
(loses interest in TECHNO-MESSIAH, looks around)
Do you have a wall here? We need a wall.
(He runs after a girl.)
Billions! Wall! Billions!
Enter OLD-TESTAMENT DEUS EX MACHINA.
Without ceremony, He destroys the FINANCIER: an eye, a tooth, ribs, neck.
FINANCIER
(collapses, dead)
OLD-TESTAMENT DEUS
(continues beating the corpse)
(Disappears.)
The PROPHET watches, genuinely amused.
Enter NEW-TESTAMENT QUEER DEUS EX ELECTRO MACHINA.
There is a faint electrical hum.
JESUS
(looking sadly at the corpse)
What a tragic suicide.
(Makes a selfie with the corpse. Lights a joint. Draws in the sand.)
FREE PALESTINE.
(Disappears.)
PROPHET
(laughing)
What a lovely place. I shall write a note on the moral superiority of my followers.
(Opens notebook. Notices a young girl.)
Ah. Later.
(Drops notebook. Runs after her.)
CURTAIN.
CURFEW.
NUCLEAR WAR.
BLACK HOLE MATTER.
Kyiv, February, 2026