The cartoon world of No Girl sprawls rotten, cable-ridden among dislodged monuments, a landscape of fouled water and lonely souls. Here a mutant death machine towers over young lovers, jealous and drowning, pulled by the riptide of its broken heart into the trench of darkest despair. The hope of this world can only be found in a forsaken union and in the blessed release of fire.

"The supermen fight and die and return in a meaningless shadowplay because we make them do it."

Shakespeare is not the source of the phrase "Power corrupts and absolutely power corrupts absolutely." But don't tell that to Bill Jemas. Walk silently through the halls. Keep your head down. Don't talk back. Keep your job. Keep your job. Keep your job. The rains will come. Just wait. And don't talk back.

"...and where would we be without a laugh?"

The lies travel from big fight to big fight, hiding right before our very eyes. Is he or isn't he? Can she or can't she? Do they or do they not? Watch carefully. Ask yourself: where is the ball? Something dangerous is being made safe again. Profitable. A Dark Knight is made to truly return.

"Car? That's a relic!"

Hallway audio like a fun house welcomes us to Renaissance Station. Here they were seeking solutions to the problems of peace and war. 3D printed rape crabs. Black Lovecraftian goo. What more would mankind need to ascend? Dig, horrors, dig, and die for the Company.

"Get away from her, you bitch."

The forearm flakes black like burnt paper into the wind and into the river, seeding and plumping molecules into adventurous life. Come find us, the caves say, run through the night and dig up our tomb. Our hands crafted you but our voice cannot be heard. Nor our final judgement. But you can guess.

"Why do you hate us?"

Great beast, black carapaced and limbed, hiss and spit for us this continued acid drama. Rise from your grey silt, beetle humped, and give us your bloody tale. Let our lungs touch and entangle in the breath of this swamp. Your mother needs more time on the stage and we have little on the page. Ideas man, quick. Give us an ending oily and slick.

"That's right. Come down and have a look--"

Let thunder awaken the senses and fire burn away calm. Raise the palisades against these nightmares, for we are now soldiers turned victims. Victims of weak willed men and rapacious rogues. Victims of nature itself. Like the one who crawls along the beach, dragging their lost limb, let us call out for mother. She is our only hope.

"What do you mean *they* cut the power? How could they cut the power, man? They're animals!"

Slithering reptilian shadows turned to bone and left in the dark for fools to blunder into. Mother knew the meaning. She knew and she did not care. Through her, the Company scrapes the stars, a troubling cosmic dragnet that this time turned up something that could not be contained.

"It's almost primordial."