[ The scene changes. The bunker shifts from half-imagined puzzle room to a facility in hard, clinical greys. The ceiling is a grille over pipes and fluorescents. Their sealed vault is a great steel blast door, blazed all over with caution striping. God steps forward among the sudden forest of metal benches and spray heads. (The latter are a little funny, because there is no more fallout in Lazarus's hair.)
His crown is back. But this time it's a laurel wreath of iridescent leaves, twined with delicate, bleached-clean baby's bones.
God says: ]
I'm up one-oh on apocalypses, actually. But we all have bad dreams.
2/2
His crown is back. But this time it's a laurel wreath of iridescent leaves, twined with delicate, bleached-clean baby's bones.
God says: ]
I'm up one-oh on apocalypses, actually. But we all have bad dreams.