200 Flaming Popstare

Our scene opens in a green, wooded valley at night. The valley is quite steep, with a meandering river at its nadir. The vegetation is lush, and in places well manicured. There are large, wonderfully nice houses dotted along the valley. To our left, the two sides of the valley come close together, and the river forms a small, reasonably gentle waterfall. To our right, the valley opens up into a beautiful vista. On our side of the valley, there is a road which winds along the side of the hill. Along this road, at regular intervals, are brand new villas. The lights are on in every single villa – every light in the building, from the porch lights to bathrooms to kitchens. Our side of the valley is lit up like a Christmas tree. On the opposite side of the valley the houses are larger, and older, and more spread out. It’s almost as though they are ‘old money’ houses, and we are on a brand new development.
An American accented voice floats over the scene: “Here we see a row of newly developed houses. Of course, the neighbours across the valley are not pleased to have their peace disturbed by these new houses, but as the river below forms a border between these 2 countries, there is little they can do about it. The lights here blaze day and night, advertising the properties to potential buyers.” Imagine a tacky ‘lifestyles of the rich and famous’ voice-over.

The camera swings round to focus on the new houses. A pair of figures is coming down the road on foot, passing in and out of the pools of light surrounding each house. There is a tall, determined looking young woman, and a man. They are both dressed in dark clothing, and are carrying bulky bags. They look somewhat like spies.

There is a small flash of light across the valley from one of the houses. The woman looks up at the house, flashes a torch beam twice in response. They are indeed agents, hired by a disgruntled neighbour to send a message to the property developer. The property developers house is the last along the valley road.

These international spies have flown into the country on their mission, despite their employer being in shouting distance of the developer. They are professionals, and they are armed. The woman breaks into the developers house while the man waits outside. Inside, the woman takes a deep breath, then disables the alarm system and cameras. She crosses to the kitchen table, and leaves a note. The note says that the developer has powerful enemies, and he needs to turn off the lights on his ‘for-sale’ houses, or dire consequences will follow. The spy-girl cautiously heads upstairs, where she leaves a note on the developer’s bedside table. The note reads, “We’re serious.”

As she exits the building, she bumps into another woman. The woman is taller, with dark hair and small horns protruding from her forehead. The dark haired woman is dressed in business attire, and is holding a small leather attache case.

“Yeah, they got me. But it’s not so bad,” she says. It is obvious that she was once a colleague of spy-girl.

Meanwhile, down the road, the male spy is looking worriedly back along the road. There is a distant figure moving in the darkness.

A random tall man in a coat appears beside the spy, who is now me.

“They’ve found us. He’s out there, and there are more coming…”

I squint into the darkness, only to see a bazooka shell flying toward me. I dodge to one side, and there is a massive explosion from behind me. One of the beautiful villas begins to burn, half the front of the building in ruins.

I raise a huge machinegun, start firing into the darkness. There is a tiny figure, a darker shadow against the black skyline. More bazooka shells fly towards me. I lift my own bazooka, and take a shot. Two bazooka shells fly toward each other in the darkness, collide, and explode.

I turn to spy-girl to check if she’s OK, and she has become a demon. She is also Britney Spears, flaming. She now has horns. The other demon woman stands beside her, holding a contract of some kind. She smiles and disappears in a puff of smoke.

Demon Britney Spears is unhurt, but is on fire. She looks over my shoulder at the assassin out in the darkness, and the hundreds of U.S. soldiers who have started to pour into the valley on foot. Most carry machine guns with huge night-sights, one is carrying a piece of artillery, with the wheels still attached. Random guy and I start shooting wildly, knowing that there is no way we can win. We are vastly outnumbered.

Abruptly the tide turns, as Demon Britney Spears runs off into the night, attacking the U.S. soldiers. She is supernaturally fast, flaming, and vicious. She is also able to split into about 200 mirror images of herself. Random guy and I continue with suppressing fire, as demon Britneys flit across the hillside cutting down U.S. troops, trails of fire flashing bright in the night. The camera pulls back and up, the flaming figures like tiny burning ants in the night, the lights of the houses popping and twinkling out as bullets rip into the villas. The dream fades into darkness, and is done.