Clothed in clean, rust jeans and a nice beige, checkered shirt, Zippy, the bum, counts the dollar bills in his hands. He leaves the area when the limo arrives.
Thousands of men cheer when Jesus pulls Lynda out of the limo. Lined up at Hector’s Studio, also known as the abandoned, semi-constructed building, they anxiously wait for the show to start.
Jesus pushes Lynda onto the red carpet that goes all the way to the center of the parking lot, where multiple cameras are pointing at a twin bed with black linens. They have to be in dark colors, or otherwise, the dirt will show in the first hour.
“Lynda. Lynda. Lynda,” men chant, joining the voice on the speaker, the moment Lynda steps on to the red carpet.
“I want out,” Lynda mutters. The curse lifted, the shiny image of stars and ratings have lost their magic on her. “I want out,” she says firmly. She steps forward, however, when Jesus pushes her. “I want out,” she screams, but the scream gets lost among the chants of many thousand excited men who want her in the game and on the bed. Her feet unsuccessfully try to resist Jesus’s push on her back.
Ten feet into the red carpet, she looks back. She barely can see the limo behind the crowd that now has filled the red carpet behind her. Devoured among the horny men, she hears the limo driving away, and with that her last chance to escape this obscenity. Jesus pushes on her back again.
As she approaches the bed, multiple spotlights light up the scene.
Their erect dicks pointed at Lynda, the men at the front of the line are ready for their turn with the star, 45 seconds each.
“Is there anything you could do?” Senator asks Michele. “Ryan with the gun! I cannot stop worrying about it.”
“I once created Uranus on Earth,” Rajneesh says from behind. “I can do the same again in Uranus.”
Senator turns back to him.
Lying on a recliner risen through the floor, next to Lynda’s, Rajneesh puts a game helmet on. “Wish me luck,” he says and passes out.
“What the hell is he up to, now?” Senator shouts, turning to Michele.
“Don’t look at me,” she says, shrugging. “I’ve never understood these coders. Nobody has.”
“I love you, Lynda,” a familiar voice says from the right. Lynda turns to the voice and sees Ryan dressed like a bum.
“Ryan—”
Before she can finish, Ryan points the NAA Mini-Revolver at her and shoots.
Rajneesh jumps at the last moment, facing Lynda. The bullet goes right through his head and comes out of his forehead. His brain smashed out, Rajneesh falls dead on the red carpet. Lynda falls next to him, having been hit in the neck by the same bullet.
Ryan puts the gun in his mouth, but before he gets the chance to pull the trigger, the raging men attack him. He gets lost among the many half-naked men who beat him to death.
Lynda is lying on the red carpet, blood coming out of her mouth. “I want out,” she says indistinctly before she passes out.