Blade Runner 2049 AB

Keith Cumshoes on the streets of Syndor City, the cybetropolis which evolved from the ruins of Washington DC.

'Blade Runner 2049 AB', often shortened to 'Blade Runner' or '2049' was a grim documentary film set in the Waifurian cybertropolis of Syndor City. The documentary followed lyricist and war veteran Keith Cumshoes as he navigated life within the overcrowded dystopia while tripping on Venusian Shroomlava.

The Trip

The documentary begins with Keith Cumshoes sitting in an empty bullet train cabin alone, staring out the window at the acid-rain drenched Syndor skyline. He looks somber. The bullet train stops and a Waifurian Service Droid approaches him.

"Sir, the train has stopped. Please depart the vehicle." The droid says in a monotone, fractured voice. Keith grumbles and pulls out a joint. He lights it and lounges back in the seat. The Service Droid repeats its statement, and Keith furrows his wooden brow at it.

"No thanks." Keith says, simply, turning back towards the window. The droid repeats the statement again. Keith lunges up from his seat and grabs its frail metal skull in the palm of his hand, crushing it. He begins slowly walking towards the front of the train, wafting pot smoke behind him. He knocks gently on the conductor's cabin.

A small, portly man in overalls opens the door. He reeks of mushrooms and has a cigarette-burnt mustache.

"Yo," The conductor grumbles, looking Keith up and down, "You got a problem, or what?"

Keith is rigid.

"I don't got a problem," he says, softly, "Do you have a problem?"

The conductor cautiously shakes his head from side to side, sending ashes flittering down from his sooty face. "Don't get me started."

"You want a break?" Keith asks, motioning to the archaic stick-shift cabin module. The conductor looked from Keith, to the seat, and back again.

"I don't know, buddy. Don't get me wrong-- I could use a break. This is my third 40-hour shift this month." the conductor sighs, leaning against the doorway. "But I can't just let anyone take the reins, you know. 'Else we'd have derailments every other day."

Keith stares at the conductor. "We do have derailments every other day."

The conductor lets out a sad chuckle; the kind of laugh you only hear from someone who's overworked and underpaid and has had their hopes crushed by the vices of a system designed to squeeze the love out of life and the joy out of being alive.

"I don't know, man. Why should I trust you with my rig, woodhead? What do you do for a living, anyways?

Keith stares vacantly at the conductor's module. He whispers under his breath, "I drive."

The Washington Monument (named for the U.S. State) still stood proudly in the center of Syndor City, albeit coated in billboards and neon advertisements.

Syndor

Keith immediately piloted the train into the side of the a 1000-story office complex, sending the skyscraper crumbling down on the city pavement below. The SCP (Syndor City Police) flagged this as 'petty felony' and responded to the numerous emergency calls six days later.

Keith emerged from the wreckage of the train, still in the midst of his Venusian acid trip (100x the strength of a normal acid tab), and began wandering down the road called 'Pennsylvanium Avenoid'. The avenue, one of the higher-elevated ones in the city, was filled with upper-class snobbish elites from the furthest corners of the galaxy; this was Syndor City's business district, and it was a grand veil of deception masking the true nature of the Waifurian Empire.

Keith ran through the hordes of tourists, punching, kicking, and smashing his wooden skull tinto hem, knocking billionaires and trillionaires out cold on accident. Keith was experiencing a flashback to the Great META War, and believed he was reengaged with the long-dead General Grievous.

Once the elites began getting injured, of course, the Syndor City Police decided to show up. They cruised over to the business district in convertible Rolls-Royce hovercars and Ming Ding bikes. They wielded mock guns and tasers but harbored no real weaponry, as per Waifurian Citizenry Ordinance XXVI, decreed by Mummy several millenia prior;

"No Waifurian Citizen shall own any weapon or means of protection. Any citizen found guilty of owning personal weaponry will face military tribunal and be hung in public."

And indeed, this ordinance worked; many gun-owning Waifurians who were unable, or, unwilling, to procure their weapons for the government were made examples of and executed on the spot. The Second Amendment of the American Constitution was eaten by the Yonise in a festive military ceremony at an unspecified date and time.

A Walk Down Dissident Lane

As Keith approached Washington Square in Syndor City (at the center of which was the Washington Monument), he noticed large, glowing lights hanging from wires above the walkway. He shambled through oncoming traffic, fixated on the glowing obelisk around which the world went round. The closer he got to these lights, the more he was fascinated by them. They were long and cylindrical in nature; they were tall masses wrapped in layers upon layers of neon lighting. He noticed strange protrusions from some of the dozens of lightclusters; the occassional outward bending branch or... limb.

Keith collapsed to the ground when he realized what he was looking at. All around him, suspended from the wires of Syndor City, were dead people. Dissidents, in fact. Some had dared to threaten the government, and some had eaten the wrong kind of ice cream at the wrong time. Their lifeless corpses hung rotting, covered in neon lights, as the populace of Syndor City bustled beneath them without a care in the world. Keith wasn't tripping; this was real. Syndor City's Washington Square was an airborne graveyard for the brave and the stupid.

There's Something Inside You

"You look lonely. I can fix that." -- Cyberwarden Dianne Feinstein of the Glop Bulb Memorial Parkway.

Keith's fit of terror was rudely interrupted by the local police authorities, who had caught up to him in their hovercars. They began shouting at him, waving handcuffs around in the air and jeering at him, calling him names. Keith, panicking (it looked to him like the Combine had returned) scrambled off into the crowd of passerby, ducking and lunging between egregiously extravagant men, women, and vortigaunts. He turned a corner into an alley and found himself standing in a dense haze. In front of him was a rickety metal bridge over a deep canyon. This was the Glop Bulb Memorial Parkway, and beneath it was what had once been the Chesepeake Bay. Keith, hearing the sirens approaching from behind him, stepped cautiously onto the bridge. It was eerily silent, almost too silent. Pink xenonic fog wafted up around him, curling in alien tendrils over the bridge's railings. He relaxed and took a deep breath, as the SCP sirens faded out into the distance. Suddenly, he heard a voice whispering to him.

"Hey, you." A quiet, grandmotherly voice.

Keith looked around frantically. Was this part of the trip? He looked from side to side on the bridge; he was the only one on it. He stared straight ahead and felt his wooden jaw drop to the ground. Bending over, he picked it up and reattached it, staring in awe at the massive hologram which loomed above him.

"You look lonely." The holographic visage of former U.S. Senator Dianne Feinstein whispered, staring down at the now-miniscule Keith. Keith shook his head frantically, backing away towards the railing.

"I can fix that." Dianne added, her cataract-filled gaze glued to Keith through thick-monacled glasses.

Suddenly, out from the canyon walls, unfurled grandmechanical tentacles; nanotech, from the looks of it. The tentacles began flailing towards Keith, their suction cups quivering and secreting a strange liquid. Dianne reached out a gnarled, holographic hand, pointing down at Keith with a grandmotherly smile.

"No one's ever really gone, Keith." Dianne said, knowingly, before slowly vaporizing into thin air. The tentacles encroached on Keith, smacking at the railing and floor of the bridge. The bridge began shaking and twisting; it creaked with utter dismay.

"Will you guys stop it, please?" The bridge exclaimed, "you're hurting me!"

The tentacles continued their attacks, until finally, with one fell swoop, the inky black extremity knocked the south end of the bridge clean off of the wall, sending Keith tumbling down into the mist below.

It's Hard To Explain

Keith awoke in a gloomy, misty fog. For as far as he could see, there was nothing but hazy pink mist; the ground beneath him was an ancient, decaying pavement. He stretched his wooden limbs and stood up. There were no traces of the bridge, or the tentacles, or the police. In fact, it was still eerily silent; eerily silent, that is, except for someone's shallow breathing. Keith couldn't see anyone around him; but he closed his eyes and tried to follow the breathing. It was slow and succinct; familiar, indeed.

Finally, Keith could make out a shadow in the distance; the breathing grew louder, and he felt himself instantly becoming at ease. As he approaching the figure, his expression softened a bit. A small, blue gourd-like figure was hunched on a rock, facing away from him.

"Gerald?" Keith asked, cautiously, fixated on the figure. Gerald H. turned around, a smile plastered on his face.

"K, old buddy!" Gerald exclaimed, hopping towards him. Keith ran up to his grade school friend and wrapped him in a warm embrace.

"How are you?" Keith asked, in shock. He couldn't believe his childhood best friend was standing before him again.

Gerald smiled, even wider. "Better, now that you're here. Come on, K! You're mom's making dinner. Best not be late!"

"Mom!" Keith exclaimed, jumping for joy. The heavy wooden doors of West Valley Central School appeared in front of the duo, and Gerald approached them, holding the doors open for Keith to enter. Keith bowed and ran into the building.

The school was just as Keith had remembered it; with it's purple chipped paint and strange, soup-like odor. Keith danced through the halls, skipping up and down past his old classrooms.

"Come on, Keith! This way!" Gerald shouted, hopping down the handicapped ramp to the cafeteria. Keith followed him. Something was nagging at him in the back of his head; but he put it to rest. Enjoy this, Keith, a voice told him inside of his head.

When the boys entered the cafeteria, Keith felt his stomach lurch. The walls were high... impossibly high. The ceiling was that strange pink mist. "Don't look up, Keith!" Gerald growled, cheerfully, before hopping further into the cafeteria. Around the dining hall were strange sconces of various sizes and qualities; they were lit with an ominous blue flame. But this, Keith hardly noticed, because in front of him, now, stood his beloved mother, 6, with a full dinner prepared for them. She waved warmly to the boys, and beckoned them over to her table.

She had set the table for four; covered it with a green tablecloth and set out ornate silverware and plates. This was the only occupied table in the entire vast cafeteria.

"How was school today, boys?" 6 asked, removing lids from the food and beverages and pouring the boys each a glass of orange juice.

"Real good, Mrs. 6. Thanks for asking." Gerald answered, downing his glass of orange juice.

"And how about you, Keith? How was your day?" 6 inquired. Keith opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a loud knocking outside the cafeteria.

"Sorry, honey, one second." 6 said, jumping up from her seat, "Let me go get this quick. Your father's home."

They're Talking About You, Boy

Time?

The cafeteria began rumbling around them. The fog on the ceiling crept down the tall walls, growing ever closer to the floor.

"No... no... I don't want to see him! I don't want to see Dad!" Keith shrieked, crawling under the table. "No! No! No! Tell him to go away!"

6 shook her head, laughing. "Oh, Keith. You're so silly! Come on, get back in your seat!" She opened the door revealing a blinding white rectangle of light; out of which a silhouette of a man with a briefcase emerged. The overhead lights flickered in the cafeteria and a low rumbling filled the air.

"Hello, my dear." A stilted, unnatural voice filled the cafeteria; surrounding Keith, trapping him in its vortex.

"Hi, love. How was work today?" 6 asked the figure, wrapping him in her cold embrace. Keith's father stood rigid, staring straight ahead, before cocking his neck and fixating on the table-fixating directly on Keith. The G-Man straightened his tie and hugged his wife back.

"Much a-do without nothing, my dear. Or however that saying goes." G-Man stated coldly, before stepping towards Keith and Gerald at the table. Keith backed further and further back against the table legs, cowering with each of G-Man's steps.

6 followed behind G-Man, expressionlessly.

"What's the matter, Keith?" Gerald asked, looking from G-Man to Keith.

"Yes, Keith," G-Man added, his skin reflecting the cafeteria lighting erroneously, "whatever seems to be the... matter?"

"There's chicken in the pot, beans in the bowl, and salad in the cup." 6 said, soullessly. Keith watched in terror as his mother's flesh began rotting off of her bones, and she slowly crumpled to the cafeteria floor, rotting until all that was left was a skeleton.

"I am impartial to a nicely roasted chicken, dear..." G-Man muttered, disregarding his wife's death, "However, there are some things in life I prefer to be..."

he glared at Gerald with malice, "unnudged, hmm?"

Keith, at this, jumped up from beneath the table and shielded Gerald from his father.

"Leave him alone, Dad! Leave him alone!" Keith screamed, falling to his hands as knees and begging his father for mercy. G-Man stared down at him, neutrally, and then looked to Gerald.

"What do you think, Gerald. Would you like to be vaporized?"

"No! No! No!" Keith screamed, banging his fists on the tile floor.

"Yes, please, Mr. G-Man, sir!" Gerald responded happily, before exploding into a cloud of dust.

The fog on the ceiling now crept across the floor, towards Keith and The G-Man, and it seeped in through the windows, and the doors. The walls began crumbling in like plaster.

"Now, come and give your...' G-Man paused, unsure of the right word to use, "...Daddy, hmm?" he faintly smiled to himself, "a hug." Keith shook his head and clambered out from beneath the table. Every muscle in his body was telling him to run, to hide, to get out of that place. But there was something inside of him... something hard to explain. Something that stopped him from running. This time, he would face his father. This time, justice would be served.

But You're Still The Same

G-Man and his son, Keith, when Keith was just a young boy.

The West Valley Central School cafeteria crumbled away into nothingness as Keith launched himself at G-Man. He tackled him, catching him in a dive, and as the floor gave out from beneath them, the two engaged in a fierce fistfight midair. They fell through the fog aimlessly, with no sense of direction.

The G-Man's skin, as they fell, contorted and pressed against his bones, melting away to reveal a metallic shell within. Keith kept throwing punches; but felt himself weakening with each blow.

Keith closed his eyes as G-Man's attacks came faster, and faster. He began bludgeoning Keith with his suitcase, attacking his son's face over, and over, and over, until Keith was bleeding sap all over the both of them. Keith felt himself falling out of consciousness, and felt his limbs go limp. Then, suddenly, his feet were... upright. Keith rubbed his eyes and made out the interior of the Albuquerque Glue Factory. He was standing, and sinking, in a giant vat of Glue. The G-Man stood above him, on an operating platform, his new metallic skin reflecting explosions beneath them. Keith heard furious voices; the screaming of two aeonic beings below them, dueling to the death. The Glue Factory echoed with the screams of Joe Biden and Donald J. Trump, who were locked in a tense duel.

"Time is up, my little birthling." The G-Man snickered, pushing a lever forward. Keith felt the glue creeping up his body; it passed his shoulders, now, and he gasped for air over the noxious fumes of the glue brew. Suddenly, a massive silhouette towered over both of them; The Mummy, covered in blue flames, with his skin melting off of the bone, loomed over them, his head touching the factory ceiling.

"Nothing wrong with a little brawl, now and then, right, jack?" The fire-covered Mummy boomed, staring down as Keith sunk into the Glue vat.

"Help... me..." Keith gasped, reaching a glue-covered hand up to Joe Biden.

"No can do, Jack. Your fate is sealed." The Mummy said, somberly, reaching out a finger and pushing Keith further into the glue.

Nightcall

Keith's life flashed before his eyes; his childhood, the war, things he hadn't known yet, and things that had already come to pass. Visions of the people he loved; 6, Gerald H, Rick Hernia, Jezebel... and then, an empty room, An empty room, with him in the middle of it, and a cloaked figure looming over him-- and then, total darkness.

Keith awoke to a familar, yet uncomfortable voice... the Mummy... he opened his eyes. He was in a medical ward, covered in bruises and scrapes.

"... this dude, he's a Waifurian hero, jack! Come on, man. I'll pay for his treatment-- look, just give him the care he needs, okay?" The Mummy said to a medic, winking at Keith. The nurse nodded, and Mummy handed her a hunk of illustrious, strange metal. "I think this should cover it." He whispered, before patting her on the shoulder. Keith stared up at the ceiling, numbly. He looked out at the window, at the Syndor City skyline, and sighed.

Keith reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a joint, lighting it. The nurse didn't like it, but he didn't care. He was a 'Waifurian Hero'. Whatever that means.