1-01: COLD IRON SHACKLES, BALL AND CHAIN

EXT: an open freight rail car.

Inside a car with an open door sits two haggard individuals. One, a Japanese woman with an eyepatch (RIN SAKURAI) and sleeve tattoos mostly obscured by a loose leather jacket. The second, a man in military fatigues (LOGAN DEREUTER) who is coincidentally also missing an eye (un-cared-for), the opposite Rin’s.

The American Midwestern gothic is visible, in the crispness of a fall morning. The train is passing through a rural grade crossing on a slope above a small town. Streetlights are on; billboards and commercial signage, off.

RIN is smoking a cigarette idly. She exhales, and taps LOGAN’s shoulder. He accepts and takes a drag. They trade like this for a moment.

RIN: ...What’re you gonna do now?

LOGAN: Don’t know.

He coughs a little, and spits onto the floor of the car.

RIN: I just realised. ...Together, we make one whole set of eyes. (She smiles wryly.)

LOGAN: Or one blind man.

RIN: Gonna get it fixed?

LOGAN: Don’t have to.

The pair is silent a moment.

LOGAN: Where you going, anyway?

RIN: Somewhere. Dunno, yet. They’d never let me back where I came from.

LOGAN: You at least have a place you could… maybe run to?

RIN: You don’t?

LOGAN: Ain’t got shit.

He flicks the roach of the cigarette off of the railcar. It swiftly disappears in the wind.

RIN: Why not? Everyone’s got a place.

LOGAN: Nope. Not me.

RIN: Yeah, so, why not? (She pulls another menthol from her breastpocket and lights it)

LOGAN: Only place I’d have is wherever my whore of a wife went.

RIN: Ay...

LOGAN: And I don’t know where she went. (he motions for the cigarette, takes a drag, hands it back)

RIN: ...But some mean motherfucker you are, surviving a seraphim. (she smiles, toothily) I like you.

LOGAN: So we go somewhere together. Maybe find a few drinks. ...Maybe kill each other.

RIN: I have better things to do.

LOGAN: You do? ...Thought that was all people had left to do, anymore; kill themselves or get sick trying.

RIN: There’s some places worth going, still.

LOGAN: Name one.

RIN: The Edifice.

LOGAN: Oh, fuck me...

RIN: What? ...Got people there. Got booze, good blues music. Alright strippers. (she shrugs) Good sex for cheap.

LOGAN: I’m not interested in that.

RIN: The sex or the booze?

LOGAN: The Edifice, dumbass. Nothing there for me.

RIN: I just listed four things there for you.

LOGAN: They’d probably think I’m some phantom and shoot me on sight.

RIN: Why?

LOGAN: ...You got eyes, woman? You see me?

(Rin observes Logan. He is veritably disgusting. He has received absolutely no medical treatment since his incident- and seemingly no cleaning, either, perhaps aside from diseased water. Dried blood and viscera, maybe his maybe not his, clings to his fatigues. He is unshaven, and God is he tired.)

RIN: Your “whore wife” picked a keeper.

LOGAN: They think I died. I can’t go back. They’d have me jailed; rape, battery, whatever made-up charges she wants to press.

RIN: How do you know she’s even there?

LOGAN: ‘Cause she’s obsessed with me, with making my life hell. Always was.

RIN: ...You know assuming makes an ass out of you and me.

LOGAN: You don’t know shit.

(Rin makes a quizzical face.)

RIN: Ay, I just thought. ...If you’re so damn miserable, why don’t you jump off this train right now, and just kill yourself?

LOGAN: ‘Cause I don’t really want to die ‘till I know what got me.

RIN: Thought you just said five seconds ago that we could kill each other.

LOGAN: I had a change of heart.

RIN: In five seconds?

LOGAN: Sure. ...Probably the nicotine.

RIN: That’s alright, too.

The pair falls into an awkwardly comfortable silence.

RIN: So we go to Colorado.

LOGAN: ...Why not.

RIN: ‘N’there’s only one rule when you travel with me.

LOGAN: What’s that?

RIN: You gotta agree with it, or I’ll dump you somewhere in Missouri.

LOGAN: Huh.

RIN: ...Cigs are mine and the road is ours.

LOGAN: Not gonna ask me to unload my guns?

RIN: Naw. You’re too much of a lecher to kill me. (She holds out her hand)

LOGAN: Aye-aye. ...I got one good eye. Always did like my women roughed-up. (he ahakes her hand)

RIN: And I got two good hands to beat the tar out of you if you try anything.

LOGAN: So two rules.

RIN: Nah. Just one. (she smiles) Beatin’ the tar outta you isn’t a rule; ‘s a promise.

1-02: I LISTEN TO THE WHISTLE OF THE EVENIN’ TRAIN

INT: a convenience store. Humming green fluorescent lights. A high cashier. LOGAN thumbs at various overpriced snacks in the background.

RIN dumps a sack of Union meal vouchers onto the register counter, obscuring various vapes and cigarettes beneath the glass. She rummages in the pockets of her ripped jeans, and pulls out a United States two-dollar bill, a bottlecap, a lighter, another bottlecap, and a screw.

RIN: Ticket to Denver, please.

CASHIER: …

RIN: Two tickets, actually. (She casually rests her hands in her pockets)

CASHIER: Should report you for fraud.

RIN: Oh, you don’t have to do shit. I’m an upstanding citizen.

LOGAN: No you ain’t. (he tosses a bag of gummy worms her way, she catches and sets them on the counter)

RIN: Okay, I’m not. But I’ll try to be if you let us go to Denver. ...And let us buy these. (pokes at package)

CASHIER: What’s your business in Denver?

RIN: Family matters.

CASHIER: Family matters.

RIN: Yeap. Your mom’d know.

(The cashier does not acknowledge the “joke.”)

LOGAN: Lissen, we just wanna get out of here. No stories, no bullshit.

CASHIER: You know I can’t give you a ticket ‘less you pay.

RIN: We’ve got no stories to pay in.

(The cashier looks at the motley pair and decides Rin is lying out of her ass.)

CASHIER: Tell me how you lost your eye and I’ll let’chyou go to Denver.

RIN: ...Was an angel. (The cashier shrugs) Well, obviously it was an angel, what else would it be?

LOGAN: Bar fight. (he grabs a shitty-looking first aid kit and slides it into the pile of meal vouchers; goes back to wandering)

RIN: No, it was an angel. I was stationed in Kobe, six years ago. A 15,000 busted out of a tranny, took down half the block. Me and my guys were already in gear; we jumped it with the prods and it got real mad at me in particular.

LOGAN: ‘Course it did.

RIN: So it lashed out with a big arc, like a- a spear, or something, and it grazed me on the side of my face… (She takes off her eyepatch and brushes back her hair. An extremely gnarly injury, almost like a burn in a way, scars her face. An eye replacement is far out of the picture for her. Cashier winces and she puts the patch back) So that’s why I’ve got no depth perception.

LOGAN: Prolly not the only time a tranny’s hurt’chyou.

(The cashier purses their lips.)

RIN: Right, a 20k blew a week after.

LOGAN: Yeah?

RIN: Yeah. I saw a hundred-k once in a substation in Toyono.

LOGAN: Betchyou did.

CASHIER: ...Here. (they roll their eyes and retrieve two vouchers- two lock-out tags with the seal of the Union embossed on them.) Get out of here. Take your gummy worms.

LOGAN: Hey, can I getta pack of… (he squints at the display board to no avail) chewin’ tar?

RIN: I have dip already.

LOGAN: Well, I don’t want your damn dip, I want Barth’s.

(The cashier concedes a pack of chewing tobacco into the pile of stuff.)

RIN: What, afraid I have cooties?

LOGAN: Your dip’s probably some Jap shit.

RIN: Cracker shit’s no better.

CASHIER: We got a line, folks. (there is no line) Move’along.

RIN: Aye-aye. (she mock salutes) Thanks much. Have a good one.

(LOGAN waves lightly and collects his gummy worms, first aid kit; nabs a razor on the way out. Rin scoops up her meal vouchers, and then the train vouchers. They step out into the (remainder) of Decision, Illinois.

It is a few days’ train ride from Decision to Denver; a few “layovers” along the way in Missouri and Kansas…)

RIN: All you decided to get was fucking gummy worms?

LOGAN: Sour flavor. And they’re rainbow type.

RIN: Gay-ass… (she purses her lips) Hey; where’you from?

LOGAN: Around.

RIN: Around…?

LOGAN: Around here. (Rin makes an “okay, elaborate?” gesture) What, wanna know my social, too? Bachelor’s name?

RIN: I don’t even know your first name, let alone your last one.

LOGAN: Well, my last one was Hawthorne. But right now it’s DeReuter.

RIN: Mine’s Sakurai.

LOGAN: So, what, we’re not on a first name basis?

RIN: Don’t gotta be. ...You don’t need to know my full name, either. -And you never answered me, where’re you from?

LOGAN: I said around here. ...Around southern Illinois, arright? Pike County.

RIN: Ohhh, so you must’ve been here before.

LOGAN: A few times. With the wife and kid.

RIN: Date?

LOGAN: Court.

RIN: Ahh. ...You hungry, at all?

LOGAN: (shrugs) Put so many drugs in me I’m not sure I remember what that is.

RIN: Who, the Union?

LOGAN: Yeap. Always injected me with one thing or another.

LOGAN looks to the Midwestern sunset pensively. RIN vaguely follows his gaze to a Mexican restaurant with string lights illuminating the sidewalk. ...Even to her, a former lineworker, it was always a wonder how they got the grid to cooperate.

INT: El Paraiso Mexican Cuisine. RIN has just won a vicious battle against a large burrito the size of a small burrito. LOGAN is poking at some just-okay rice. RIN has two Modelos; LOGAN, one. The WAITRESS, a younger lady, approaches with her little order book.

WAITRESS: Anything else for you?

RIN: No… I’m gonna puke.

LOGAN: Don’t do it on me.

WAITRESS: Standard or trade today?

RIN: Standard…

LOGAN: No, trade, trade.

WAITRESS: And what’s the trade?

LOGAN: Short tale.

WAITRESS: How about a long one? (she makes a sort of “come on now” look at the table of food)

LOGAN drums his fingers on the table, and swishes his Modelo something like a fruity individual in a coffeeshop.

LOGAN: You know where (incorrectly) Happo is?

The WAITRESS pulls up a chair, and sits down, sets her book aside. She pulls out her green vape pen and takes a hit.

WAITRESS: No. Never heard.

LOGAN: Well, ‘s’in Japan. I was stationed there. ‘Bout ten years ago. An’ I’m off-duty, it’s probably eleven or twelve at night. I’m out on the deck, enjoying a cigarette. Got both my eyes at this point. And I see this real beautiful lady, tall, lean, I know she’s another op. I’d seen her around, seen her talkin’ to the other higher-ups. Pretty sure at the time she was another rank ahead’a me.

And she’s just stunning, for being a soldier. Probably ‘cause she’s Asian. (Rin makes a “??” face) So anyway, I see her, an’ I know she likes beer, seen her drinking it after sorties to the coast. I call her over and offer a drink. Now she’s real quiet. I could count the number’a words I heard her say on my one hand. She shrugs and cracks it open, sits down on the deck with me.

So I ask her name. Her name’s Ravi, Ravi Hawthorne. She’s a fighter pilot, has a Nighthawk. And it’s summer, it’s hot out, now, she’s takin’ off her uniform and whatever else. And she is beautiful. Not too tall, not too muscular… perfectly built, long black hair, got these real deep blue eyes. An’ I’m just awestruck. So I tell her my name, we actually start chattin’.

And she mentions to me in the course of our chattin’ that she’s been real lonely. Like nobody gives her the time, talks to her. I say, well I’m talking to you. She actually cracks a damn smile. So we sit a lil’ closer together, start having some deep intellectual conversation about the angels and the war and the Chasm and you know what else. We actually get along nice. So I decide to invite her back to my dorm, even though they’re not co-ed- didn’t care much, nobody did.

RIN: So you had sex with her. The end.

LOGAN: No, not the end, I’m gettin’ there. So we go back to my room and, you know, whatever else. Anyhow, we get together, ‘n‘bout two years later she’s on maternity leave. She’s been beatin’ around the bush at what the thing is, the baby.

RIN: What’s the point of the story, again?

LOGAN: I’m gettin’ there, holl’on. ...So she isn’t tellin’ me if the baby’s a boy or a girl. I ask around to this one shortstack I know she’s friends with, no answer. I ask her a few times, no answer. Finally we’re in the hospital in Happo, she’s givin’ birth, whatever.

RIN: “Whatever”?

LOGAN: So she’s givin’ birth. ‘Course I’m there, you know, supportin’ her. An’ you know what? They call me out on duty right as she’s about to pop.

WAITRESS: Okay?

LOGAN: So I get called out, routine sub, a tranny blew, whatever. I get back the next morning- probably eight or ten hours after- and they go, she’s gone. I go, she’s gone? My wife? They says to me, she left. She just isn’t there anymore. I’m thinking, what the hell happened? So I call her and call her and she won’t pick up. I find that damn shortstack again and she’s got no answers.

Turns out-- she took the next damn plane out of Happo! She gave birth, and took whatever medical flight they had out of the city to Kyoto!

So I follow the damn woman to Kyoto, and our kid’s in the NICU. I ask the doctors, can I see her. They says, no, you aren’t authorized. I go, I’m her damn husband. They tell me they don’t care, I’m not authorized.

So next time I see her, she’s on the fucking news! Shot down over some lake, her plane’s blown up, and I don’t even have custody of our kid!

...And that’s my story.

RIN and the WAITRESS sit bug-eyed.

RIN: ...So you just never saw her again?

LOGAN: Few times. We moved back here to be close to my family.

RIN: And you still don’t know anything about your kid?

LOGAN: I do. Just don’t know where she is, or who she is now.

RIN: ...Dang. (turns to WAITRESS) I’d say that’s worth it.

WAITRESS: (hits her vape & exhales) That was pretty good. ...That counts. (she stands and puts her vape away) Need boxes?

RIN: Sure. (WAITRESS retreats) ...You just wasted a killer on some tacos.

LOGAN: I can tell it more than once. Spin some details.

RIN: ...Not really honorable.

LOGAN: What, you want me to tell the other side of the story? How she was a complaining bitch? Always on about this or that or my attitude or her “mental illness” or what-have-you?

RIN: You are a mean motherfucker.

LOGAN: I thought you agreed with me just on principle.

RIN: Just ‘cause I was in the yakuza doesn’t mean I’m some… woman-hating maniac.

LOGAN: I don’t hate women, I just hate that one in particular. And hey, she hated me, too.

RIN: Reflect.

LOGAN: I don’t need to reflect, I knew who I was since I was 20 and it never caused me problems ‘till her.

WAITRESS: Here you are. Have a nice night. Stay safe out there.

RIN: Thanks; you too. ...Maybe I do need to beat some sense into you.

LOGAN: Threatening me with a good time?

RIN: I’ll make you sterile.

LOGAN: Probably already am.

The two pack up their leftovers and label them accordingly. They step out into the Illinoisian night, and toward a motel they have rented with “standard” payment.

The motel room is total shit. There might be roaches. It’s one of those where the only channels are very poor pornography and maybe a news broadcast if you’re lucky.

Night falls completely over Decision. RIN steps outside while LOGAN is sound asleep sawing logs. She lights a cigarette, and stares over the great American expanse of asphalt, rotting homes, minimum streetlights, and quiet.

...Maybe Denver will have something for her. At this point, she does not know. What she does know is that she can’t spend her time looking for her next kick. Something must settle, at some point. The only question is what, and where.

1-03: YOU KNOW YOU BOUND TO WIND UP DEAD

at a layover in Missouri, someone recognises Rin and I think they get into a fight over Rin’s desertion of Ft Cheyenne (she was in the wrong and was selfish.)

INT: a passenger train car, in the morning. It is a cracker-box affair with a bunk, a sink and mirror, and luggage compartments. That is all. LOGAN is at the sink shaving with a spare razor blade he had on his person. RIN is half-awake.

LOGAN: Ay Sakurai.

RIN: (sawing logs)

LOGAN: Sakurai. (he turns from the mirror) Sakurai!

RIN: -Huh? (she blows hair from the site of her injury) What?

LOGAN: You know what time they stop breakfast?

RIN: I’unno, I didn’t read.

LOGAN: ...Right. (he goes back to shaving) Plans, today?

RIN: ...I’unno.

LOGAN: Some travel guide you are.

RIN: Never said I was a travel guide, just a traveling fool. (she curls herself back into her blankets) I was having a good dream, asshole.

LOGAN: What about? What’d’you say, good sex for cheap?

RIN: Hmm, maybe. ...There was this girl I met at Fort Cheyenne, sweet angel. (she groans with frustration into her pillow) Never see her again.

LOGAN: You hook up with her?

RIN: A couple times. She was good, too. In combat, I mean. Total sharpshooter.

LOGAN: So you’re lesbian?

RIN: Sometimes.

LOGAN: Sometimes?

RIN: I’m known to be. What, you’re a paragon of straightness?

LOGAN: Try to be.

RIN: Sure. (she sighs into her pillow) Man, she was cool. Hot as hell, sweet as could be… (reminiscing wistfully) Sharpest shot out of every bombshell there...

LOGAN: An op, like you?

RIN: Pipefitter. Don’t laugh.

LOGAN (dry): Ha, ha. ...If she was a tradie, why was she on the front?

RIN: For fun. And for maintenance.

LOGAN: Don’t know a damn soul that would think fighting those fucking things is fun.

RIN: She got some enjoyment out of it. And outta me. Then I got discharged. (she shrugs, and sits up. She’s got major bedhead.) Which is a whole other can of fish.

LOGAN: Then we’re both fugitives. Or somethin’.

RIN: I’m literally a fugitive. You’re just paranoid.

LOGAN: Better to be ready than dead.

RIN: Suppose. (she stands up, stretches; more tattoos are visible on her tummy/torso) Grub time.

LOGAN: Gotta finish making myself look presentable.

RIN: Well, I won’t wait for ya. (she slips on her leather jacket and eyepatch) Not sure shaving will help with being presentable.

INT: dining car. RIN slides into a seat and flags down someone she thinks is a WAITER, a man in a blue flame-retardant jumpsuit.

RIN: ‘Scuseme, can I see a menu?

MAN: Oh; I don’t work here.

RIN: Shit, sorry.

MAN: (squints) ...Rin?

RIN: ...Billy! (she smiles) My guy. How you been? (they share a hearty handshake)

MAN: Well. Plenty of work out there.

RIN: What’chyou do now?

MAN: Same thing. Track doesn’t lay itself.

RIN: Oh, especially in Colorado.

MAN: Well, I’m out in Idaho now, by Boise. Just coming in from New York.

RIN: What’s in New York?

MAN: Angelica, mostly. Sure you remember her.

RIN (suddenly stunned): Eeyup. Sure do. ...You together or something?

MAN: Have been for about four years now, right after the Battle of Montpelier.

RIN: Cool. Uh, I’mma let you go. Gotta… order before they close the kitchen. Ha.

MAN: Right, yeah. Well, if you wanna talk to her, we’ll be hanging out in the observation car for a while. If you don’t have anything else do to.

RIN: Well, you know me. Busy, busy, busy… (as she says this, BILLY leans close to her.)

MAN: You know, Rin… if you show up at Cheyenne they won’t even give you a blindfold.

RIN: ...I’ll have a cigarette.

MAN: Not my point. (he leans away and pats her on the shoulder) Good talking. Seeya ‘round.

RIN: Seeya…

(And who to take his place but LOGAN, who actually kind of looks like a normal human person and not a cave individual. He appears to have stolen an extra eyepatch from Rin’s clothing. His, now.)

LOGAN: Who’s that? Past lover? (flagging a waiter) ‘Scuse-- yeahp, two. Thank you. (he tosses one to Rin) Friend? Foe? Some jackass?

RIN: Someone who worked at Cheyenne with me and that girl I was talking about. ...He’s kinda boring. Nice guy, though.

LOGAN: Does this train go through Cheyenne?

RIN: Should have checked.

LOGAN: Yeah, really should have, if you’re a discharged fugitive. Or whatever you are. (he opens the menu and squints.) Denver omelette… Santa Fe skillet… steak and eggs. (he nods sagely)

RIN: Oh, sweet, they’ve got miso.

LOGAN: We gotta pay for this again?

RIN: No. I don’t think so. I think if you got on the train, they just kind of assume you already paid.

LOGAN: ...You really didn’t pay attention to jack shit, did you.

RIN: I usually don’t.

LOGAN: That’s how you got your eye poked out, isn’t it.

RIN (not paying attention): Uhhh-huh.

A WAITER approaches.

WAITER: What can I get started for you guys today?

LOGAN: Steak and eggs, everything on it.

WAITER: Just making sure; did you want the meatless option, or no?

LOGAN: I said steak, I think I meant steak. (he smiles and the waiter reciprocates nervously)

WAITER: And for you, ma’am?

RIN: Uhh… one order of awase miso soup please. Clams?

WAITER: Okay, steak and eggs with everything included and an order of clam and awase miso. Can I get you guys anything to drink?

LOGAN: What’s on tap?

WAITER: ...Water.

RIN: Two waters.

WAITER: All-right. Thank you. That’ll be out shortly.

(The WAITER retrieves the menus and retreats to the kitchen. LOGAN drums his fingers on the table and eyes the meager condiments.)

LOGAN: You love that woman?

RIN: Who, Angelica? The girl I was talking about? ...I guess. As much as we could have.

LOGAN: No, I mean… Didja love her? Really love her? Wanna spend the rest of your sorry life with her?

RIN: First of all, my life wasn’t sorry. Second of all, who’s asking?

LOGAN: Me, I’m asking. We’re travelin’ together, I’m tryna make conversation.

RIN: Hmm. I think I loved her. Although I’m not really sure what your definition of love is. I think if we met somewhere around here, or maybe when I was in Kyoto, we could have gotten along. (she wrinkles her lips) Maybe dated. I dunno.

LOGAN: Weren’t dating when you were hooking up at the base?

RIN: Nah. ...She was kind of taken.

LOGAN: A new dimension to the story!

(The WAITER sets down two waters with lemons on the rim)

RIN: Yeah. She had a guy. They were engaged, actually. I don’t think it’s the same one that I was just talking to, though. Flighty.

LOGAN: Ohh. So you were with a… what do they call it?

RIN: Uhh. Noncommittal individual?

LOGAN: I’d’ave used a stronger word, but sure. Noncommittal. ...I feel like my wife was like that, noncommittal. You remember that shortstack I was talking about? I feel like I saw her smile more around her than I did me.

RIN: Well, maybe the shortstack was funnier.

LOGAN: I made pretty good jokes.

RIN: Name one.

LOGAN: …

RIN: …?

LOGAN: ...I don’t know. Me?

RIN: That’s pretty good. It is funny, isn’t it. Getting the shit beaten out of you by a seraphim and still walking around.

LOGAN: My life’s like a plane crash, Sakurai. A plane crash into the ocean. It’s one of those situations you’d hope you just die quick, but you’re holding on to a piece of the fuselage in thirty-degree water and you really just can’t take it anymore.

RIN: So I ask again. Why not just kill yourself?

LOGAN: Well, you seem pretty miserable, too. Why don’t you kill yourself first?

RIN: ...I don’t know.

LOGAN: Then?

RIN: Then I don’t know. I guess I still have something worth kicking around for. I just don’t know what it is yet.

LOGAN: Whassername, Angelica?

RIN: No. (she shakes her head and looks to her water forlornly) I guess if I saw her again, then I could ask for one of your Makarovs.

LOGAN: Just Sig Sauers. ...Sakurai. ...Sakurai, you got company.

RIN: Huh? (she turns behind her and almost faints. ANGELICA has a hand on the back of RIN’s seat, waiting patiently for her and LOGAN to finish talking.) ...Ahhuh.

LOGAN: Be a host, introduce yourself. (he reaches across the table and shakes RIN’s arm) Don’t leave a beautiful lady hanging. (he holds out a calloused hand for ANGELICA to shake) I’m Logan. Logan DeReuter. Pleasure to meetcha. (ANGELICA awkwardly reciprocates)

ANGELICA: ...Rin.

RIN (facing ice water): What.

ANGELICA: Rin, can we talk?

RIN: ...Why?

ANGELICA: Because I want to know something before I curse you out.

RIN: What’s that?

ANGELICA: Why’d you let them bleed out like that?

RIN: …

ANGELICA: You know you could have done something. (She lets the words hang in the air) ...Coward.

RIN: Sure, then I am a coward. At least I value my own life.

ANGELICA: It’s not about valuing your life, we were fighting a war! That’s not- (becoming exasperated) Rin, you wouldn’t have even put yourself in danger if you did something. If you called! If you fired a flare! That was the last of them!

RIN: I- hey now, we’re in a public space…

ANGELICA: I know we’re in a public space, but I’d rather be somewhere I could beat the hell out of you. Because you are the reason all five of them died that day.

(RIN feels a familiar weight in her chest that she has tried to stoke with nicotine for the past eight or so years.)

RIN: ...Why look for me like this?

ANGELICA: I didn’t look for you, we’re just on the way back to Boise and Bill told me you were here. And I’m saying what I always wanted to say when I heard where you went.

RIN: So you want to know why.

ANGELICA: Of course I want to know why, even if it’s just some stupid excuse. They’d want to know why, too. Novak, Andersen, Oakley, Bernard, Hisakawa. ...You shared beers with them.

RIN: …

ANGELICA: You shared beers with them and you couldn’t bother to share your dignity.

RIN: I was scared, alright?!

ANGELICA: Scared? You were scared? What, do you think they weren’t scared? In the ten-degree weather, under a foot of snow, fighting fucking- abominations from heaven? No ammunition, no warmth, no rations? Their families a hundred miles away, not knowing if they’re dead or alive? (voice cracking) You think they weren’t scared, Rin? Seriously?

RIN: No, no, I never said that they weren’t, I just said-

ANGELICA: You really are a fucking coward. You signed up for the Union military and you deserted because you were scared. What if the Tenth Brigade said that? What if the people at Montpelier said that? What if the operators in Tokyo said that?

RIN: ...What if?

ANGELICA: We’d be fucking dead! We wouldn’t be standing here right now, because God would have slaughtered us!

(ANGELICA is visibly crying.)

ANGELICA: ...I don’t want to hear whether or not you’re sorry, I know you’re not. But I’m disappointed. Because I thought you were better than that.

RIN: ...Sorry.

(ANGELICA has no words left. She wipes her face with her sleeve, and walks quickly from the dining car, back where she came from; sobbing. RIN buries her face in her hands, and begins to cry quietly.)

LOGAN: ...One mean bombshell.

RIN: Shut the hell up.

LOGAN: Alright, good morning to you, too.

RIN: Shut the hell up, don’t fucking talk to me.

(The WAITER delivers the pair’s food, very very awkwardly, as if they will shatter the table into a million pieces if they set down a plate incorrectly. They do not bother to ask if the pair needs anything else before they, too, retreat from the scene.

RIN curls into a ball. LOGAN eyes a clam on top of her soup and helps himself.)

1-04: IF YOU DON’T HEAD BACK TO TENNESSEE, JED

(EXT: the crisp early morning in the still-metropolitan city of Denver, Colorado.

RIN and LOGAN wait under a bus pavillion, bare of possessions. A pigeon lands nearby and pokes at a discarded hot dog. An advertisement on the side of the pavillion displays a phone number for a business long-since shut down.

RIN pays for both of them in meal vouchers, having no desire to tell a tale. The two sit next to each other on the crowded bus, awaiting the final stop: the Edifice.

The ride is concussion-inducing, but RIN lays her head on the glass forlornly, anyway. LOGAN has been mostly silent since their encounter with ANGELICA a couple days ago. Nothing he can say would console her.

They have, however, shared dip.

The bus winds through the streets, out of town onto the former motorway, into the long, long stretch of land between Denver and the site of the chasm. Its scar is visible far before it is: the permanently unfinished Edifice stretches high above the chasm itself, scaffolding and I-beams forever visible, tarp forever rattling in the wind.

A pattering of rain begins to fall, very lightly, as the bus pulls into the stop outside of the Edfifice. Motor vehicles, aside military ones, are still prohibited inside the actual walls of the structure, so it’s a two-step between the stop and the “city” proper.

LOGAN and RIN depart, and begin to walk.

The road, always intended to be temporary, are home to stepped-on flowers. Walking inward, it is as if the Edifice is “built” around them; scaffolding becomes actual erected steel, metal framing is covered in wrapping tarp, and steel siding begins to line the walls. Asphalt becomes paved and painted. Signage becomes accurate and rust-free. People mill about inside the interior walls, some at food carts, some inside the “storage container” type blocs that would have once stored rations or combustibles. Some still do. A controlled garbage-can fire sports a group of on-duty soldiers sharing a blunt.

LOGAN recognises them.

The actual chasm is protected by scaffolding, fences, and armed personnel. Deep into the Edifice, signs in English, Spanish, French, and Japanese warn of the risk; only authorised persons and soldiers are intended to go further than the observation deck.

The deck, an open pavillion with rudimentary seating- as if the place is an attraction- is open to visitors, but is staffed: as to prevent suicides.

LOGAN and RIN approach the barrier, both looking for something they cannot define. For RIN, it is as if seeing the Earth from space; she has only ever seen the chasm in photos or in firsthand accounts. It is beautiful.

For LOGAN, it is staring at the face of God.

The chasm is a blank void of blue sky and rolling clouds. It is a kilometer in diameter, and it is bottomless. Around it is the collapsed Earth from which the chasm sprang upward; somehow, defying logic, the chasm seems to extend beyond the edges of the hole and almost looks to be a layer of the Earth’s crust.

LOGAN is helplessly entranced. Peering over the edge of the barrier only gives him vertigo; to think he had once fought on this front sickens him deeply. To think he had nearly died here sickens him even more.

A plane crash into cold water.)

CORPORAL: Excuse me, sir.

(LOGAN peers behind him. RIN, leaned casually on the railing, turns her head.)

CORPORAL: Are you Sergeant Hawthorne?

LOGAN: Was. (spits onto ground on account of dip) ‘Pends who’s asking.

CORPORAL: Only I. (he holds out his hand to shake) Private Bessier. ...Corporal, now. (LOGAN reciprocates the handshake) ...Are you well?

LOGAN: Do I look well?

CORPORAL: ...No. (he cracks a smile) No, you don’t. -What are you doing here?

LOGAN: Not sure. Lady found me covered in blood outside of Philly and picked me up. Seraphim must’ve dropped me there.

CORPORAL: Oh. It wasn’t a seraphim, sir.

LOGAN: Drop the sir. And what was it?

CORPORAL: Your east branch identified it as an archangel.

LOGAN: Which?

CORPORAL: Michael, the final.

LOGAN: Huh. Lot less noble than I hoped.

CORPORAL: ...Bleeding out alone isn’t exactly noble, in either way.

LOGAN: Right. Did they kill it?

CORPORAL: Well and fully.

LOGAN: ...Where’s the remains? (The SOLDIER nods his head to the chasm.) Right, take their dead. (he wets his lips and thinks a moment) ...Are you well?

CORPORAL: Well as can be. (he shrugs) My wife’s due in December.

LOGAN: Scared of another attack?

CORPORAL: Losing sleep.

LOGAN: Mm. You’re a fine man. You’ll be alright.

CORPORAL: And yourself. ...What are you up to?

LOGAN: Up to? As in, what’m’I doing after this?

CORPORAL: Yeah.

LOGAN: ...I don’t know. Haven’t gotten that far. I thought I died in Philly… thought I would be arrested on sight if I came back here.

CORPORAL: You’re not well-spoken-of.

LOGAN: So why’re you speakin’ to me?

CORPORAL: …Nostalgia.

LOGAN: Good a reason as any. (pauses, looks over edge of barrier) ...Can you do a dead man a favour?

(There are indeed “walkable” swaths of land within what is considered the chasm. These areas are reserved for military personnel- not two random visitors, especially not one who is unarmed. But through sweet-talking and personal clearance, the CORPORAL gets them in, past the barrier, past the people who are meant to be there, and to the true edge of the chasm, so much so that LOGAN sits down and hangs his legs off of the side. RIN, afraid of falling, sits on a charcoal-coloured boulder further up the way. The CORPORAL bums a cigarette with her; and after a few minutes of staring at him, RIN feels bad for not sharing. With utmost caution, she half-walks half-slides down the blackened path to the plateau LOGAN sits at.

She holds out the cigarette. He does not take it.

They are in silence for a long while.

Birds peck at crumbs on the edge of the chasm. The sun of the true world begins to set over the false one. Lights flicker on at the observation deck. Nobody comes to reprimand the trio for their trespassing.

Here, now, there is no longer light pollution. Great swaths of stars begin to blanket the dusky sky.

Seemingly apropos of nothing, RIN notices a micromovement from LOGAN and holds out her arm in front of him.)

RIN: Moron.

LOGAN: You kept asking.

RIN: Seriously. At least finish the fucking cigarette.

LOGAN: (takes it from her, and takes a drag) What makes me the idiot here?

RIN: ...Lots.

LOGAN: Lots.

RIN: I’d be putting the five of them to shame if I killed myself. Just… adding another body to the pile.

LOGAN: Who gives a shit.

RIN: Someone does. I know God doesn’t. But someone does. ...Angelica does.

LOGAN: Angelica wanted to beat the hell out of you, I thought.

RIN: ...She wanted to talk. She thought I was a good person.

LOGAN: My wife thought I was a pretty good guy, too.

RIN: So why can’t you be one?

LOGAN: No point. ...I’m almost sixty. I have nothing left. I don’t know my daughter and my wife’s off fucking a woman. I was almost killed by an archangel and I probably have a few months left in me. (he shrugs) Just no point in it.

RIN: Well, I don’t know myself and Angelica’s off fucking a man. I was almost killed by a throne and I probably have lung cancer. (she shrugs) Hard knocks.

LOGAN: What can you do.

RIN: What can you do. ...Not much.

LOGAN: Not much.

RIN: Not much at all. (she wrinkles her lips and flicks the cigarette roach off of the chasm; it spirals into nothingness) Not much at all.

(The two look over the chasm as night begins to fall over the Edifice. RIN stands up, brushes herself off, and offers a hand.)

RIN: Not much at all, huh.

LOGAN: No, ma’am.

RIN: ...Could grab a beer. Listen to some Grateful Dead. ...Fuck a stripper.

LOGAN: I could do that.

RIN: Could hang out with me until we both kick it.

LOGAN: I could do that, too.

RIN: Will you?

LOGAN: If you let me.

RIN: (half-laughs) Hmph. Not much else to do, is there?

LOGAN: Nope. ...Not at all.

RIN: Not much at all.

LOGAN: ...Cigs are yours and the road is ours.

RIN: Then, let’s.

(She holds out her hand; LOGAN groans as he stands up. The two stand at the edge of the chasm looking for something they cannot define. Meaning, their next kick, a good beer and blues music. Something like that. Something God and his army can’t take away from them.

Something stupidly human.)