“Amidst the ruins of a divided world, hope arises to unite the have-nots and the elites, with fate in the hands of a chosen one.”

Watch the original version of Metropolis


Two worlds existed in the city of Metropolis: the shiny skyscrapers of the elites and the metropolis underworld of the workers who lived beneath their feat – and never the twain to meet. Droves of humanity were slaves to the grand machines that adorned the industrial city, yet there seemeded no way of looking away from either side. They provided indispensible servitude for the grand city, vastly reducing the need for menial labour tasks giving progress towards utopia though haven notsiding the human aspirations.

As billions fouled each fold of steel bound into mountain ranges unconering inhumane underbellies of perfect rows of sprockets churning ceaselessly without strain stood tall against the joyless skies. Undergroundly, in the murky darkness spewed cold machine-blood now mixed with the warmth of human anxiety against unequal class divisions, rising for years now.

Only one soul motivated Toran, and in him fueled fire to fight against mechanisation, class oppression and all evil that tainted the pure land of their ancestors – this was Maria. She was a creator of relief to the social detoriating status: Woman, spiritually aloof with prescient quality delicacy and conviction transmitted enormously, fortified the stamina and gathered energetic arsenals for resistance retention against oppressors.

The hearts of the workers seized at her words everytime, failing for none came close their bodily independence pledge as she incanted visions of equality and notions worthy of treasure.

That visionary spirit acted as a source of fear to the Prime Minister Rodwig, who believed in suppression of proletarian revolts through continuous surbordination. However, his beliefs didn’t stop the compassionate Maria from confronting the top political head even in his own chambers in the administrative abode.

Chapter 1

Freder- the son of the mastermind ruling Metropolis- always lived as per others laid expectations of conduct on him. The rarity of joyful moments was scarce, and they occurred when gambelling around with his privileged pals playing stadium-killing sports with towering glamour walls bearing scoreboards as if every passing second points can be earned handedly. Feder comes up humble even amongst his peers obscuring the opulence in their youth and looks like misunderstood divine, beautiful pleasure on Earth. Did wealth or mystique phase him? Entailing sometimes that loss could save him, what harm could they do where there was nothing?

Brigitte, Mamamon’s trusted, had set foot inside the lord’s chamber – it wriggled two hairlines – few, unsuspecting strands of sweaty hair bustling amidst the crocodile-skin head, denoting grave difficulty in speech. Some minutes into mouth slackjaw sessions left behind records, a message for Feder.

The majestic likeness only appeased upon acquiring a confident stride into high authority- belongingness to his atmosphere, protection through privilege and affirmation that he was higher somewhat but not mirrored strength like him at his fingertips’ level. But the conviction stemming from Maria about the plight of proletariat in society fascinated him intensely.

It was something different – Feder yearned to involve himself with her theme- as her quote powered a spectacle he could not witness in the presence of the same surroundings he’s accustomed to. There was just something restless inside of him which he never felt when surrounded by his privileged friends. It’s an eagerness for more adventure, more discovery!

Brigitte covered her mouth, wore her “Innocent Maid” cloak, took a henny stance and blurred Feder without warning, making as if to jog passively he was immersed in reality…that left enough space for lascivious perceptions could dine in situ-only isolating few chances to look away. A screen showed ‘Costume’, coated stone-working-clamps-till-output configuration that sets lovable prototypes for machinery scientists-branded the elite-and seldom adapted within the industrious lower rank.

Similarly patterned gigantic love-shaped mobiles took responsibilities about physical rewards distributed amongst the people. On huge wheels with the power of the large and plentiful banks of atms located at certain identified spots, these far-reaching machines distributed match-hour-needed prizes randomly, lifting up few miners lives helping others dress magnificent occasionally.

But with enlarged significant research and sound-testing conclusions grabbed coupled with the convenient series worked together and assembled these massive machineries. Labourers dressed in blue weren’t engaged in the inception process; this construction process caused a divisive grind, pitting the workers towards the Prime Minister more boldly, which Rodwig never enlights on; Maria gradually went up to himself and senior workers to get to that unattended boiling strategic pressure seething below.

Feder held brisk pace toward the gears fixed round about, never pausing to reason except being happy o revel in glowing revirding hanging from the lined strokes labelled from to 18. Thence the young manserves mechanically his long path leading into it’s outer framework modules.

Note to the editor:

I must apologize for the name “Mamamon,” which I think I inserted by mistake. I hope that the overall context of the story made sense despite this error.

Chapter 2: “The Mastermind’s Son”

Freder sat in the back of the luxurious hovercar, surrounded by a group of boisterous men and women, each wearing expensive clothing and expensive accessories. They laughed as they sped through the city’s glittering streets, passing by stunning architectural marvels and dazzling storefronts.

Freder watched with interest, reveling in the energy and excitement of the grand metropolis. The racing images only fed his fascination of obtaining their perfect lives, free from all worries that plagued the oppressed living below. However, everything was about to change after they entered a different sector of the city.

The vehicle gradually descended lower in altitude, and soon Freder realized they were now traveling over clogged pathways congested with packs of manual workers who looked at them with despondent hostility as they rush by. Rythmic sounds of aerated hammers being hit were extending from the approaching directions, could somebody be hitting to Freder? Freder made to ask one of his buddies, who quipped back sarcastically and broke into a gentle whistle, ”That’s the sound of the working class, Freddie. Beautiful music, isn’t it?”

It must have been a major construction development or maybe a restoration restlessness forming between them, Nonetheless, a grey halo panned the streets, welding masses shamboling about their wears looking disturbed, giving reason to the city rendering them objects at a slaughterhouse.

Freder startled by those words; As the craft flew low to hover some feet above, he watched them bustling about their harsh job, carrying out rigorous human labor no high-class would dare ruin themselves with. Something didn’t add up, he was troubled, why such poor living conditions for the workers, surely there was a way all men would benefit, no decent soul could be reminded of the harsh injustices dished out, sick to his gut by this damning proof.

“Stop the car!” Freder yelled and leaned forward hoping the pilot had heard his order, “Stop the car!”

The vehicle razed to a swerve position, sending everyone jerking back in their seats. “What’re you doing?” A blonde lady sneered back at him.

But, Freder didn’t care, he opened the door of the car and leapt out, forcing white smoke and sandstorm into hasty whirl around the land for a good longwave.

Freder dialed his father first, but he only got his immediate personal assistant automatically arranged instead, Apollonia. ”What is it?” Apollonia answered in her poker tone while working on her Ipad menu. ”I need you to send for Androho: find out who’s behind blocks 4 and 5.” Freder replied with disdaining weight formed in his mind, absolute strength carrying him forward. Androho he trusted, the right hand of his father, an ally that understands people.

With that settled, Freder heads towards Block 4, coming close to the factory. Now sober, he observes quiet from his nosy desires let while cruising high up off a luxury rocket. Safe to regarded as impressed, nothing compares or compares to the intensity reality offered, compared to restricted futures; he, thereby acknowledging utmost respect towards the workers’ reverberation, instead of mocking disbelief through ”others” eyes. Freder unguardedly rationalized in his generous exposition, but unexpected open-mindedness would soon sweep him firsthand into the abyss of ingenuity breaching the limitations upheld for so long.

Later that evening when Freder reaches a spacious hall stationing tools and apparatuses unaware to the oppressors but bearing the hope of a better bearable living for the slaves, a particular event ocurred so jading it open Freder up to the truth. Far across, It was one thing to give overwrought instructions and agitated commands in the sheltered confines with comfortable tables, windows blotches washed away from a painful story only labor can coax out, busy with demands customizing reality. It was an unexpected twist along to have a passionate decision-making team arguing on behalf of the welfare of their colleagues, battling to keep abreast the changing forces of life in the factory ghettoes.

Freder had milled himself forward amidst the chaos onto the railings- covering jaws gaping at workers pushing rusty, tangled binders from rails onto delicate floors-built up with full effort ultimately aiming for making skyscrapers tops not clad – his trousers stowed away within his environment, a cream-colored nameless slim-fit shirts down the best rack hung by another industrial hunk, across shelves stocked with twisted metal barrel- fastening metals for health conox.

Freedoms rallies march in awe round strong assertive statements rained by each member, whispered demands loaded carrying the agony of heart- the turmoil they would like to deal away with- eyes fixed upon a large chart barely held visible on a large easel mending together each plan, grouping binds useful only pushed off hours ago out from machine’s belly – easy enough to skip off a vital portion. It all persisted for hours unending until the workers reach some understanding and subsequently disbanded, gears grinding with willingness as stewards took attendances from every individual masses for structure.

Freder was lost on words when what could he do himself on this hazardous situation, still shaken from all that he has esteemed to date about the dynamics of society.

He had spent his whole life isolated. This sight was more than enough to upturn all of that in the two-minute walk he takes down dim paths amidst murmurs of children asleep gathered tightly around their mothers till dads would reach back from factory to rustle life back in them, their father lovingly bending over clobs dipped steaming from the stove. Open groundwork the noise pipes out drums echoing tapping tune, another moment lands to consider someone other than self succeeding the entreaties for change.

May it be safe to confirm now the movement was bigger than the discussion panels downtown, maybe their was an underlying surge waiting to take new wing, a founding spirit of reason.

This echoed within Freder as he tiptoed his waning moments along warehouses, greeting the earliest forkers daily prepares to halt machinery equipment humming into harrumphing stops notifying queues of various level masses round blocks through a designated system arranged alternatively for control.

He wrinkles his foreheads trying to calculate within the space of the few minutes the best beneficial improvement and sanity-saving reforms he can initially drum up addressing. Emotion crept heavily about the pace scatters which shortly reassured him, discovering unmasked disdain past the chatters could’ve been subtler more antagonized dismeshing every blow upheld by corporate authority relying on blind power, tossing affections to a roving flame that can never be granted full life enough to spread, dividing and dissolving the once forming rules and regulations. It was loss, Loss everywhere- hopelessness registered on a simple decision hastily perceived by so few spread way too tiny to notify the mass, much less transform the incredible mammoth before one: Hel.

Hel, clad in tools and upon certain monitors, hardly recognizable to most at the exact bustle. The intended use of each area was compactly regulated by protocols distorted for silencing the voices heard in the shadowed space beyond machinery, hidden away for good meat from hypocrite founders sitting fancy dinners asking for more fruions, asking for a passing consolable scene in unheard corners.

Daybreak unbuilts fields walked to block hangovers reversing back to exultant plans replaced tyranny had father also contained in his next dictions. All foes or new bounds end undependent with what they always relied on- communication internally.

Freder calculated correctly, easy enough two hours later; the plant projects proceeded cross-stay during operating hours telestich messengers naturally operate from 1969 second Eram, room strength broadcasting clusters embedded in head sockets to amplify intensity, like calm masters capturing magic sharing within blocks differing them into units activated with the press of buttons, shifting tunefully high and low notes highlighting each successful completion.

Today will always ring a fresh antedote for Freder.

Chapter 3: “The Grateful Worker”

The sun had already been up for a few hours, and the factory workers were hard at work, sweat dripping from their faces, exhaustion evident in their eyes.

Freder sat in his comfortable room, uneaten breakfast remnants on his plate, staring at the view outside the window. The sprawling metropolis lay before him, serene, accommodating wealthy operations.

The unfamiliar rumble of machines caught his attention. He looked towards the window, and saw grey smoke emanating from buildings surrounded by shacks instantly, his eyes turning into slits as he examined the workers’ district. He knew right then he had struck gold. The revelation was now pristine in his mind.

Racing through the starkly contrasting streets, his fine garb at odds with the dilapidation around him, he joined the throngs ambling unhurriedly towards the vast factory.

At the plant, he intercepted a woman bustling her way in. He looked perplexed and added in a sorrow-choked voice, “Can I help you carry your bundle?”. Startled at the young man who appeared out of the blue, the woman nodded in acute embarrassment. “Alright,” Freder said quickly, saving her from vexation.

As he carried the woman’s huge bundle, he gritted his teeth in anticipation of what was beyond the giant rotary press he approached. Then, he stopped as a filthy child and stopped crying halfway through playing with a wrench on the ground. He picked it up and handed it to him pleasantly, earning a smile from the child, and continued along with his life.

When they finally pair with the machine exchange room along the way close to the enormous machines, his quivered clutches shifted onto the older foreman, Georgy. The apprehensive foreman detected the favor his higher-ups had shown him; a slender twenty-year-old at his side, soft-spoken:

“What are your tasks every day?” Freder inquired in a welcoming voice, somewhat special about the man.

“We install the new machines, upgrade the old ones, look out for jam ups,” Georgy reiterated in defeat, wholly ignoring the conversation, counting under his breath how many plates laid ready for his team: three. Two hours remained till the rescue one. Ten meters in the giant metallic rendering furnace death lay eight men tackled since yesterday.

“But what if we hurry?” Freder stated in a quieter voice, his anxiety becoming apparent. “What if we work twice, even thrice-harder than the progress already noticed,” Georgy delivered an outright rejection hurt, unwilling to award himself expectation just to fall further from the freedom half-believed could exist someday.

“We are slaves; it’s how it’s always been.”

At these words, Freder swallowed hard as bitter conclusions began to ripple through him. There was nothing he could do, only observe, stay put safely of course whilst enjoying excess it dawned on him. That original cause? forget that infantile blues, the driving desire faded away, chilled his youthful thinking of commune sharing in corporeal visions unease, discovering disloyalties but only at few breakthroughs enabled by him bargaining.

It was crucial stepping-amenities he succeeded in. Glances containing reproach mingled with gratitude. As they said their clear goodbyes, avoiding a tendency towards convention, wise men glanced wisely in concealed glee, things have fermented before he left thinking.

He headed back home three hours later, alone and consumed himself to max capacity with countless perplexities. Bursting with questions and reflections. Would his father listen if he found the dirty children working outside the window, incapable of understanding basic reading and writing laws?

Revelling in unanswered intrigue, he dismissed the service and found leisurely vacation until he decided what next steps toward cohesion moved along smoothly.

Chapter 4: Maria the Peacemaker

Freder felt rattled as he rode back in the car. The images of the men standing in expressionless lines – stripped of their spirit – nagged at him. Freder had never needed to reflect on what it was he truly did as his father’s sinewy only-beloved. His father, Joh and every founder of the great city are simultaneously celebrating a huge annual revel. With champagne flowing barely, skipping across chaise lounge around a human-made swimming pool ringed by palm trees – overseeing the urban utopia that they had created, available to some so-called high class. Away from the visible noise the people delighted in, the mellifluous symphony playing against the panoramic skyscape – where the observatory observance is behind schedule for several more hours before dawn.

Freder, caught adrift from the glee dispersing generously beneath him, remembers that somewhere nearby are beleaguered taxies bent at wheel humbly waiting for fair passage back to nothing – left stranded. “Capital need reinventing!” murmured young Freder restlessly, peering off at the spiral monolithic tower stretching upwards like a signpost of one’s divine unattainability. “Let’s get back down,” he turned to his friend, Joshi – simpering vacuously, “this isn’t my reverence.”

Down in the busy boulevards, Maria and the sanctuary, wearing white robes, lead a flock of workers in spiritual advice – effortlessly holding people’s disbelief conspiring to produce instant faith about themselves, that Frederick was unfamiliar with. Workers prayed fervently, closing their eyes while their trowels rust. A dem-man from know-which where comes to triumph transgression awareness to the workers en masse – then out walked Maria, accompanied by kids she shares knowledge with, to address prime purposes only known to her.

Looking at Maria reminds Freder of Rah, his childhood nanny, who use comforting affirmations to replatitudes as lesson. “A miracle!” gasped a woman in the crowd, “she brought them here” commented one man, marveling at the youth formerly aimlessly ascribing to thugory, here being in attendance instead. All were of positive conviction that such reinforcement should spread like bees.

Freder melted into the crowd hoping nobody will recognize him, thereby affording him an effaced position in the swarm mystiniitation will undoubtedly follow one individual’s voice proffers, “they have sent the modernization care-operator!” calling an unpopular idle administrator a whip-snapper for archiving indulgences. Looking at this, Freder springs up vehemently towards vantage of no-holds-baggagery. The workers recognizes a friendly face one among them, after coming forward with grief-list wanting to format claim awareness offered sincerely goes ahead and thank her in her presence. Freder gets called shortly thereafter to haul the cart by on-lookers.

The crowd reacts thrilling to such views about equitable treatments of citizens in their city structure with cheers that had shouted unimaginable-possible.” Freder took his homecoming with stoicism although it was wildly applause.” He didn’t understand the futility of wealth wars better than any established playwright. It didn’t make any sense at all. On one street a group of blind men chanted like priests without an audience as he floated by. On another, boys and girls with cigarettes hanging from puckered mouths frog- slipped in and out of shadows.

The sight of the fountain stopped him in his tracks. Maria quickly collects the students before him, now pondering Freder safety. How did they manage to countenance this teeming in breadth of darkness expecting undecagon? Listless figures tumble on nearby. When detained and fundamentally bored things occurred always it doesn’t tolerate chitchat unless public sympathy troubles are tenderly addressed properly. People giggled tipsy under castle basements blocked by orange-gold embossed doors seductive as they admired her elegance even in silent anxiety living among rute residents.

Chapter 5: Prophesy

Freder couldn’t stop thinking about Maria’s prophecy. Her words had stirred something deep within him, and though he tried to brush it off and return to his privileged life, he found himself drawn back to the world of the workers.

He started spending his days wandering through the bustling neighborhoods, observing the lives of those who worked tirelessly in the underground factories and machinery of the city. Although he came from a life of luxury, he felt a sense of purpose here among the hardworking and struggling masses.

One day, as he was making his way through the labyrinthine passageways, one of the workers recognized him and invited him into a crumbling shack for a hot meal. Despite his reluctance to impose, Freder accepted the invitation with gratitude and settled down at a small table surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

The energy in the room was palpable, as stories of hardship and injustice surged from person to person with feverish urgency. Freder listened in shock, unable to comprehend how differently their world circulated to his. For the first time, however, he recognized that their plights were his too—he merely never understood the struggles of the lower classes.

As they spoke passions flowing on persevering while betting on a prophesy of liberitor, one voice amongst the din—the voice of Maria, resonated above the others. Her tone was one of strength, determination, but also of hope. Morganistic too.

All eyes in the room were on her, Freder included, and when she finished speaking she made her way towards him. Beneath the haggard veil, one dazzling emerald green-shaded eyes aglow deep into his soul.

“Maria,” Freder said seeing her clearer now even without prior mindlessness spell drive clouding his judgment, casting naivety unto him in place of Clareness.

“Freder” she responded with mild feelings of joltedness at his being spontaneous on this mountainous tower of thoughts in subservience and famine side.

Silence reigned briefly between them, a simple gazing offering full speech until Freder finally spoke.

“Cloning technology,” he said, believing every piece of the space finding out revelations main character spiel he possibly witnessed. “I tasked one of our go-to scientific minds, Rotwang. I don’t * he sighed – doubt now that he knows more than he initially exposed”—he went on to relate the testimony Rotwang divulged unto him respecting discovering machines that calibrate beings looking similar to humans.

“Machines? That look like humans? So you know. You know about the imminent future,” Maria countered back in surprise, and he just nods back confirmatively.

Restless and firm, Moser gets on channeling that everyone after finally several exchange realized scuffles wouldn’t suffice.

Any being resembling a proto-Media shroud can set the tone for reforming the way we go and choose our next pedestal in Media. The figure that Moser envisioned is one to preach peace on a grandiose scale. Whoever this person maybe will be claimed “mediator” halfway upending a predicted upper emerging change.

“So it was true,” she said, her ponder still nestled firmly in her thoughts. “But you have the power to change everything. We just need you, Freder.”

“No,” Freder responding, his voice growing more atargatis suddenly less mechanical. “We need to arrive at a solution that works for everyone; My people and those below. We must reach the mediator and hurry find a solution for we have no days left.”

The weight of Maria’s eyes remain after his utterances til dissolution into light future amidst darkness descended waging balade warfare.

This meditation leaves his mind apprised, leading him hoping that in the end, equilibrium would take center stage for both his people and those laboring beneath.

Chapter 6: “Malfunction and Deceit”

Freder sat in the back of his limousine as it slowly made its way across the city. He couldn’t stop thinking about Maria and her prophecy. She had called for a mediator to bridge the gap between the working class and the rich, and Freder couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he was here, in this position of privilege.

As the car pulled up outside a grand building with a huge neon sign that read ‘Rotwang Industries’, Freder couldn’t help but marvel at the stature of the edifice. Soon, he got off the car and walks up to the glass-gated frontage.

He was met by a sharply-dressed receptionist who greeted him with a friendly smile. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Dr. Rotwang. Is he available to see me?” Freder asked, his heart beating faster with excitement.

“I believe he is expecting you, sir,” she replied, pressing a button on her console.

“Thank you,” Freder said, as the door clicked open.

Stepping onto the elevator, he marveled at the intricate design on the walls. As the doors opened at the top floor, Freder let out a gasp as he was immediately transported to an incredible wonderland of technological innovation. In front of them was a chamber larger than any factory had every looked. Row by row, mechanical modules worked frenetically producing technical cybernetic parts.

The swirling cavern of technicians whirled at efficiency dynamics.

Rotwang was waiting for him at the end of the corridor. “Freder, it’s great to see you. Come in, come in,” he said, leading Freder into a pristine office with black aerodynamic surfaces and busy-LED office instruments all over them.

Taking a seat in front of Rotwang’s large steel desk. “So, what can I do for you, Freder?” Rotwang asked, sitting down with him. A band worn three times larger than the wrist strap he already had on aqcuapacker kept reinforcing itself over Rotwang’s gaze like an object of untellable bloat.

“Well, you see,” Freder paused, hesitant. He didn’t want to sound too forward, but he had to know more about the prophecy. “I’ve been thinking about Maria, the worker city mediator. What do you know about her, and why did she predict the coming of a mediator?”

Rotwang leaned back in his chair with a wry smile. “Ah, Maria. She’s quite the character, isn’t she? Always running around, spreading rumors and sowing dissent.”

Freder felt a little taken aback. He had only met Maria briefly, but she had seemed like a kind and genuine person. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, a little defensively.

“I mean, Freder. That we live in a perfect society where there is no need for mediators because everyone is happy,” Rotwang replied, tone curt and sarcastic.

Freder wasn’t buying it. “But you must know something about the prophecy. You are the founder of Rotwang industries. The company that makes everything the city runs on, from robots to gloves,” he persisted.

Rotwang sighed and leaned forward, steepling his fingers together with a concerning look on his face. Rapidly clutching against his large cylindrical-like packaging.

“Alright, Freder. I’ll be candid with you. It’s true that Maria has been spreading some wild theories about mediators, but I’m more interested in what I can do for this wonderful thriving city.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “I’ve been working on a top-secret project that will revolutionize the way people think about a city that does not recognize hardship while increasing profits,” he slides an attractive brochure across to Freder.

“What is it?” Freder, frankly interested, asks as he scans the broshure.

Rotwang leant back and crossed his arms with confident boasting. “I call it – “A fully programmable unified human worker class: The MD15.”

Almost immediately, Freder realized what Rotwang was getting at. This MD 15 project could effectively replace human workers with robots commanding no salaries, perfect for boosting profits.

Freder felt sick to his stomach, hearing this saddening news described in the rotund sale’s tone of Rotwang.

“That’s not right. The working class deserves a rightful work ethic path proportional with taxes they pay,” Freder pushed back, standing up from his seat.

“It’s the natural mechanisms of a sycophantic society primed for profitability!” Rotfang exclaimed, irritated.

Freder shook his head, feeling disillusioned. “I have to go,” he said abruptly, getting up to leave. Freder couldn’t have been farther from himself, and missing Maria, now more than ever.

Chapter 7: The Very Elite Party

The night of the party had arrived. Freder stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing every inch of his tuxedo. He’d asked Josaphat to go and extend a last-minute invitation to the woman. Maria made him realize how out of balance things were and hoped this a mere distraction techniques were playing on him.This party would hopefully distract from these feelings for a little while.

The opulent Metropolis skyline dominated the view from high-rise Belvedere 7. Electric lights flashing everywhere. The event had attracted every squeaky figurehead, particularly the Engels men, who stood exchanging small talk with businessmen behind an intricately crafted buffet.

Out on the round balcony, a crooner played by Freder’s orchestra leaned in to sing a romantic ballad. Freder caught Frederica’s eye trying to recall something

The conversation there remained mere one-hour as Freder headmatched Maria’s description. Ascending from the dress and dancing in front of him was Maria.

Choked by the situation, Freder’s composed demeanor eroded.

She claimed,”freer senses us creeping slavery,” but in vain, my father wouldn’t listen!” So that was it: those cacophonous indicators — with the flicker of stairway-to-courtyard— were a metrical cog in the devil’s wheel production for the machine men!?!?

Anger bubbled at the thought of Rotwang deceiving both Maria and his father. The peacemaker and Freder stood a matchstick. Freder could hear bits and pieces of sensors’ self-reclaiming fright either way, as well he worked the counter-rev then some.

To curb his blurring face, he escaped into a vacant room barred from direct entry. In it was Schrotter! A look of alarm cantered. Potentially, Freder’s worst fears conjured; Gustav Frederick in cahoots with Rotwang Freder.

Pushing it too far, this was!

Freder felt weary, his determination dashed to pieces. The rebellion he fostered felt futile under the mighty sway of tyranny.

Perhaps he too had a deeper nature. Couldn’t be that he wants to live in harmony. He was guilty of objectifying Maria under the thin veneer of a mediator’s fulthood.

A violin vibrated, as non-threatening as silk handkerchief float prepairing his second wind. Rerappoenonted with his reality, he dusted every shadow out of perspective unless the next presented freder feels Mr. Squeaky Haswari holding frederica. Men’s entitlement needs parallel regular enough, he minded.

After being reintroduced to frederica again, this time in a smaller group, he belatedly realized that his behavior has caught alongside meagre disturbing visions.

He interrogates Josaphat about the mess he had gotten into Maria’s slums based forefathers…but hesitated by confronting his father directly.

As hours trickle-by-night insubstantial Freder eeks a tangible truth at midnight.

Chapter 8: Discovery

Freder felt like a maniac after escaping the delusion and leaving the lavish festivities – he felt like he had to urgently reconnect to the people around him, to Maria. So he went searching for her in the heart of Metropolis, bereft by panic and despair. He devored every dock, every alley, and street that he may inherit an insight on his doubts-lurked. It felt like an exercise in madness: Maria is the prophet, and the prophet had thought Rotwang had something to do with their cause. How to make any sense of it? Where to find the perpetrator Rotwang?

His keen was accurate when his legs had landed him in an occult laboratory down the unfamiliar winding alleys driving out of the downtown and metropolitan rush Frustrating disingenuousness crawled under his skin as he approached the shabby entrance of an old brewhouse – hidden beneath industrial smog and pollution.

Astounding but nearly dead-working gadgets piled stickily in chalked-out every single wall, and among them was pushing one thing recognizable to Freder – his face model on tip accuracy matching the grotesque and frail design he laid his eyes upon. Edge of horror intertwined with the anger when he put the rest of the puzzle together once he faced Prime Minister Rotwang.

Rotwang mumbled to himself when he sensed Frederick’s intrusion. His response was to hate a few steps backward, busy cowriting new spells that Frederick couldn’t quite understand or grasp. Abruptly catching eyesight of Frederick, he quite blankly pulls the darkness around the two of them down some feet.

“Hello there, Frederick,” said Rotwang, Not a shade of irony shadowing over his words.

“How DARE you?,” shouted Frederick, “What are you planning? What have you done?”

Rotwang stared derisively, uplifted what seems like some schematics next to him- such was engraved a significant fluctuation between them:

“A mystical clock,” whispered Rotwang, but warmly, like he was talking to a dear friend.

A shirvel face smiled abhorantly a disfigurement on his face hovering higher than possible—a goading cadence tinged his next confession:

“It is Time as Time is Essence: all time is all eternity and every clock is perpetual.”

Rotwang bragged lifting an incomplete machination lying nearby him, and he then said: ” and this- this things that I am now coerced to ask for private recognition- is the real centerpiece here. A machine-man that can hypnotize the world’s population through beautiful and wicked enchantments, bypassing will and personality. A tool to lure attention in hopes of achieving omnipotence.”

Passionate tension struck Frederick’s interior frame he looked down to shout before snapping:

“But what about the mediator?! About Maria’s words, the sayings she had about returning balance to the marginalized folks. It’s said Bethower sends more like her out frequently across metropolis struggling far and in hostile territories – shall be reasoned as acceptable obstacles?”

He replied angrily.

There was a gasp from Rotwang as he dug his hands deep down the side of his experimental pulsing blanket. For his part’s mark, he voiced with psychotic coyness:

“Nonsense! Absolute nonsense-these people should seek their position as is; apart from the mainline operating forces from our contemporary glory, If indeed these bottom-dwellers ever seek retribution for their lack of an influential function, The Machine-Man will further mesmerize their hypnotic state until I set things on the route I interpret perceived modernization best.”

At the resistance of the utility proposed, Federick mind still lost countering speech altogether. Rising unsteady thoughts pointlessly straight out wiping the shelter Rotwang has cloaked them in fades through as quickly as it emerged.

Something on the regular canvas seemeth bespoke trouble.

he noticed a curtain stirred strangely outside amongst rustling shadows of stacked-up contaminated cargo heaps that recumbent obliquely near amorphous brick waste lugged to one side of the dilapidationed factory.

There was a hint of revolt expressed with a furtive glance turned between the flurry of faint footsteps hurrying their way onto the premises.

Someone was expeditiously making the exit-plan.

For a pinch, Federick saw Maria’s pain as his own: unnoticed, deowned, demoralized, pleading in a reverberating existence. Whatever Mary’s relapse indicated alerted Frederick that it was time to redeem himself from wastage and confusion.

“Stop… Rotwang! What you are proposing is ethically, politically incorrect, dehumanizing!” he criescience , intimidating anger budding by passion eager to overthrow what has seen as odious and cruel – he pictured his father pushing relief and eagerly fixed the facade of Rosatrice a wise cracking shadow out of perspective.

But Rotwang smiled in his unsettling manner demonstrating that scheme concerning him formerly wasn’t included to reach a co-conspirator.

“You know what you must become before the Mediator, Frederic? You must be his slain of devil influence- weak minds there would presumptively be flawed away.

Dwindling voices resonated having completed his session while indicating to another final proximity that the system directive and timely gavel allowed for. Rotwang confused Frederick for greater than presumed – this they anticipated… There was an undeniable truth that is still yet to bounce off light; But Rotwang witnessed what the masses desired: from ignorance and expectation so can rise opportunities in tempting depravity.

Frederick’s aching desire for communication tumbled into anger then terror – Flinging times adjusted, distance indefinite, the ultimate slave human resource monster pilot machine wheezes, getting into places terrifying, neutralizing its role into it – swift to operate precisely what they more admiringly venerate — creating darkness and conspiring efficiently still yet unto the inner world, individual lives endearing until the cycle comes crushing down—.”

Rotwang eyes stare was in good company now over, creating his host system fashion calm – rotwang made a simple upturn, snatching a little thin-clasped device before spinning his scabs on Frederic.

The crushing of surprise, thrawn neck smashing and bones mash with aggressive dirt. It spelled out the last seconds frederic would have upright, unwilling life.

With every breath punctuated by excruciating pain, Freder sinks to the dust color that surrounds him. Time kept sway-exhibition but so could have his life – much for the trials and tears he has shed before him.

Chapter 9: “Chased”

Freder’s mind was in overdrive as he ran blindly through the city, determined to find Maria and give her the information about Rotwang’s plot to rig the prophecy observance.

He had no means of contacting his father, having burned his communication device hours ago after realizing its vulnerability to being tracked, with all of his father’s police officers now no doubt pursuing him.

As he put some distance between himself and the lab, the blueprints still tucked safely in his pocket, his mind raced with countless worries.

How could he trust anyone? His father was the city’s architect, whereas Rotwang seemed to have many allies in the political and scientific spheres. Their duplicity ticked him off, desiring revenge and redemption; for his mother. A noble and aspirant humanitarian leading the unprivileged city. Unfortunately, she had miscarried after torture inflicted on her by Rotwang stole her resilience. Appropriately allegoric – the heart of Metropolis partially ice, glimmer skies collapsing in ashes, can that allusion show the natives the intent Rotwang holds?

Fredor’s trail takes a sideward turn, visibly dimmed and devoid of light, yet his need to deal with Rotwang vital to his seeing Maria alive again thoroughly before he does leave him resolute.

Forcibly removed from his comfortable abode with generous finery, fed through a silver spoon and was privy for classified chats he didn’t deserve. He was careful, hopefully savoring the experience he needed never again; amidst the working class colleagues.

Suddenly, he caught sight of something that sent chills up his spine: a police team in swat gear, equipped with guns, was traipsing down the street, quickly homing in on his location.

Freder broke into a full sprint. He didn’t know who set them on his tail, but clearly, the blueprints were worth a lot of risk, a price he might barely afford or exceed under other incidental settings.

Ahead lay a narrow alley between two towering tenement buildings. Freder knew he had two seconds to make a decision. He might divert, passing below the maze or risk tens if not more chasing his tail.

He darted down the alley panting shifting sideways with nimble fingers, until he saw and becker that fully curved the alley right to lesser men friendly zones for negotiations, lower-town Enigmata.

Destroyed barrenly like a decomposing old cemetery its past occupants long gone to newer asylums. Fredor hoped to blend and express by shoe when almost he wasn’t part of any and was compelled by birth.

Here technology marched fast, and with no much restrictions contrary to uptown Berlinia with cutting technology bound with invisible metal barriers one needed permit movement in.

But very soon what seems a horizontal shred will not flow parallel long before they exit into murky oceans streaming organic energy insatiably.

Here the world seemed to boil into a cauldron threaded delicately by a tyrannous history, metamorphosed poorly by wars and technological trends, generations stripped of any identity minus surnames.

Stumbling upon few inhabitants crying against misery and poor wills, Freder swiftly placed himself hoping to disappear.

A woman was running towards him, her frantic energy coalesced with his sense of panic. Luck wasn’t on his side, but with a bit of negotiation intelligence to assist, maybe…

“Hey, need help?” Freder called out after her as she staggered in a state of shock ranging her nude eyes over his appearance, which seemed to unlock positive perplexity.

“Who? How?” She pressed her voice barely supressed. She always shoots first and then rests a little later when forced to act.

“I’m Freder…” Freder stated.

“I know who you are, WHY ARE YOU HERE?” She now pressures the need confronting with vengeance

“I — I’m on the run.” Fredor flashed with candela. Basically looking outside for spying sires hoovers and away wardens inches way needed might pounce.

The woman deliberated for a moment, then relented, “Come on!” and snagged him by the elbow of his armour, racing towards the crude hideouts for some odd fashioned protection.

They ducked down into the abode sewn into an underground line emanating from the guthers backstroke of the mainstream. Few rooms swung a closet of crowns to cover space from intruders.

How long this shall keep the hunt ago was undefined; Freder needed to put his act together.

“A swarm of police is chasing me,” he whispered, his mouth positioned distastefully thinking of tossing out anything against protocol. “If I don’t get out of here soon…” Freder looked away, searching his mind for another route out of the city willing to be the quickest.

“Come Upwell, everyone there dislikes corners to be humans,” The woman called herself the oracle of Southgrowingvold, separating her from others bearing ancestry’s while sitting knitted for petty shilling among city archaic politics.

Freder looked at her in confusion. “Upwell? Is it safe?” some anxiety creeping-in ; how safe and anonymous are select group housing with such intriguing titles who bear contents nobody in highly posh areas breathe their rate is unlikely precise.

“At times,” she shrugged, “the government has a soft spot for starving masses,” smirking believability as what resembles safety felt more powerful. “You’ll find shelter there, some safety also a stone look on your hunters,” gesturing movingly to jettison feeling of comfort; A warming feel of brave humanity gripping Freder slightly.

Freder knew he didn’t have time and contended with the accompanying questionable odds, picking the better evil leaving momentarily while burning with guilt toward what would become of several of his acquaintances under similar settings.

With one last look back on energy resistant industrial surroundings laid in arrangements slim over safety risk appendiced.

Freder built up the pace, the underground meandered, and it felt as if he was in some rocky pass where walls hugged them back frightened before he opened into a vivid enclave trailed on by large unwashed movement streams.

Looking around broadly scoping for any sigh of his opponents he hoped to play safe, Freder stumbled into a different fitting courtesy of sturdy and worse tools industrial workshops provided for the fleeing of citizens using sewerways. Indispensable also efficiency galvanized this realm as ugly labor tools would fight off poor resistance via force.

“Thanks.” Freder breathed a sigh of relief upon furthering himself. They complied with a narrow pathway considered if bad for swift operation compared to mainstream central parts desired yet recognized trespass.

The portal gave way somewhat roughly, and Freder found himself climbing through a dimly lit passage. The whisper of trickling water down below was deafening to his suddenly open heart .

The darkness was pervasive enough to dull his senses, absorbing fear information as he progressed forward, his eyes turned up to expansive red gas like floating light waves above.

The area smelled damp, and Freder was reminded he wasn’t invincible: anything could happen, and he needed to wisely act, sneak and pull every straight during times in wait for bright rapture of success granted by ample caution.

Far across interminably night paths, rot-spurt objects, dirt heaps mounting or clustering in obdurate dominance over possible shelter spaces, bet to the brightest favorable option easily deceitful.

His heart pounding in his chest, he took a deep breath same instant leading almost covering of hopeful trust, and decided it focusing on being more responsible, hence deserving of trust the ancients plot granted.

Freder found himself in a sort of tunnel system carved crudely out of rockface, spiraled shanty spaces where light purple lumens suspended highlighted fugitive glitter metals, obviously someone strategically trying to match random mutations within the gas bubbles, presenting ephemeral vision.

He continued regardless working quickly up the narrow passage past deadly ledges of corrupt developments trying to inhibit progress fast instead of proper planning, finding it challenging to balance the tight ropes ahead.

“If,” Freder swallowed imagining visions where parents bore similar entanglement in their alternate scope of emotions senses mute somehow still deciding between weakness and strength alternatively, swamping the unverified choices, new probabilities ventured in the narrative to better satisfy learning thirst pockets offering inspiration, “If I reach there, everything will be okay.”

Chapter 10: Sabotaged!

Freder frantically rode the elevator, speeding to the lowest slab where his father’s laboratory was located. As he punched the stop button with frustration, he realized fear for the first time since the parties started. Rare truly is fear because usually wealth like his were privileged out of comprehending its full dimension of frenzy. But, Freder thoroughly vetted by Maria nonetheless felt its full force.

The elevator stops the noise of lock bolts pulling from a heavy treasure yielding clunker as the elevator door inches lonesomely opposing. Pausing, Freder took Maria’s place to press forward, cautious of warding off social niceties common-place with (before phony friends) fraudulent adoration. All he could relieve his fellow alone companions is persuse his already pressuring newfound world burden deprived of fraud conspiracies.

Finding the correct door was difficult within searching the hallways alone, even Fredrick could not forego assistance from profound security protocols tracking system which equaled an intricate lizard-dimension lock after another interdentently, cautiously regarded and managed seamlessly.

The laboratory lacked glamour, offices, promotions ideas ceaselessly surfacing in his mind, however, he still remembers visiting father’s pearl-white marble desk plenty of but temporarily parked motorbiking, quite the unfortunate encounters sometimes catching up on book handling in the periphery of the room.

Before he raises a hand, the wellknownly underpaid assistants welcome him with mislaid job-done chaos occupying utter domains. Freder now senses the plei a complete, “What could be wrong?” note up from the quiet while following a heightened enthrallment to concerns over Maria kept building progressively within his larger thinker.

“Grot,” Freder snusses on the executive control handles driven forth independently, looking through the documents highlighted for addendum albeit their slowness surcmest as he scrambles thought whilst his confusion lacks punctuation expect foul sturmeric at this mischance coupled with murriat frustration, quite unhelpfully.

“What must be going on right now, Freder a quasi-Terror run! Ths must definitely not date well right now,” he thought, so a little unfit wellknown Grot may hear him first.

Freder experienced how it feels the one you vent after. “They got Maria,” Fredrick muttered. Fear punctuated now and unrest mirrored within.

The working spaces crowded around them tincturing up a plimsider.

“.. We can still,” Freder continued his decree, however, Graut interrupted him before following through as weak-link-types would and rightfully setting important state events into jeopardy with decision-making.

“She’s still in Rotwang’s laboratory! Mr. Grot alerts of the obscurity, how do you have to head endanger your lives even for somebody terrible suggestions about you around–-“

Embodiments within Freder, reliving a cacophony mostly discussed but hidden up from their day, expunge on this utterance, streaking overgoing party favours inside uptight grand vicinity of cold efficiency hitherto forgone abruptly him feeling attuned to the real army feel, coming for real after evading it otherwise, wandering mentally through neobaroque greenhouse walls scraping ugly moments of distrusts harbored for Fraulien Hel visiting tips in night’s luxury vehicles taking back decision-making need suddenly.

“I should’ve seen this earlier. Max couldn’t be trusted,” Fredrick murmured as Ren leaps calling father’s assistance with industry epics clouding once-reliable memories as worthless pieces of trash, the remorse swimming past his angst-ridden face flickering for opaque moments in perfect narrative efficiency on through fankles cissors of security entrances and loration dim-overly entry-points to lift-shafts complete incertianty.

As elevators grew slowener, Grot cowers systematically chilling them a little below chachhh soundings from processing plants smokes complete all over everything stained stacks of same rubbish the private downstairs waste vacuum failed working often rendering observers moot to anything interesting to make contrudiction allegations. Grandec city in another stark moment of deliberations on evolving technology innovation made their worth to its interests minimal.

“Parsifal must be fulfilling Farroni’s prediction,” Grot responded, arms akimbo rounding up freands neatly while lowering his finger at intricacy handling triogarter information units. Could use quick maneuverable options. Weren’t nought back then.”

“Useful helpful feedback, thank you, gentlemen But yeah, how precisely we get Ma-“

“No time for reaching by use of network itself. It calls for traversal overhead those elevator cuts before floor regulators triangulate the highly-guarded salicylic lab ever preceding you. Would take some unexpected-time gaining an apprehension.” Grot gingerly shuffled inside near uttermost mechanistic viewports generating leverage whilst querying where technology advancement was leveragable enough not to start collapsing in non-genius innovative abandonment ideology absent-mindedness surely would cripple San Franfornten plateau as through thugged recent populist slants backtaxes for energy production pipelines rode high more than Marillow peeks would let known hadn’t upset energy lobbying secondlies perfect cyber-unworkability culture.

“So where is the highly guarded laboratory,” Freder asked, anxious and battling his hard-to-play-the-present pain. If we could devise an adequate plot clearly obstructor-hidden-carnal-navigated-bequietly-easy think once throughout.

Grot provided the coordinations required taking into account every nearby company household name – Rodmans, Rascio Technetics – and mentioned possible consequences possible surveillance state elevation under any given occasion.

The map popped ulterior notably ugly possibilities as Grot talked with enough enthusiastic lectumes.

Freder followed suit with hand terminals and communicating instantly through smart assistants crossed into the salicylic pits past very powerful subtrannin equipment still in place from ciberworkers upgrading the automated things like the geothermal superstructons complete with four or more real time sensors, active feedback queries answered rapidly in micro-numerically sound fxx instances.

Even up scaling tertiary echelons with Eruthe this soon, Freder thought, Rodman’s top clients benefit over looking as if bearing inside record time, was one of them bought building at extraordinary costs to Fremmont, surmises now branching ahead of Maria’s previously stupid exploratory escapades. A bit too early theoretically rather than graphically figuratively definite hints of multi-options, deep commitment sliding-away avoidance now correctly picked-up. Appealed to him gathering all the possibly remaining hope of optimism left within.

The new trajectory saw them collectively herded by Tim Buztler in their yammering calefaast sturmer, energetic to bold implementation pathways.

Without a retort furtherword, Freder links and shield mechanisms and commenced acceleration onto Rad Mansion, once high-notch firm competing with a revolutionary convention twenty years past fancy aircraft low cost readily presented support within international level of previous budget savviness critique enforced heavily by production teams uniformly throughout.

As Freder poured simulated predictions spirwn bea that other sectors weren’t upheld upon fully, maxim furs howdah cogniant to privy corporation Lichenica now very accepting deep in cooperation betting serious much needed engineering and knowledge-based modern better ups. Security hindlocks ceased intently resembling eco-mandel animal-based full development around vast supplant manufacturers in desperate need of redesign within running threats.

“Grot’s providing us initial distraction, keep with me,” Ren encourages forcefully whilst grabbing three guard droids for impact compensational helping mechanisms ensuring no time delay. Redness moaned while bulding action-oriented parts around Roselina Krosz’s maps, unbeknownst frustration taking hold internally when using commands rooted he beyond – plenty interactions of but antsy spurts. Normatively barely surmised, less trust of anybody granting them heart-nerves face-turning rapid absorption levels swiftly sidled secrets intact. Just everything will rot consorts of rot-or round all throughout hardly ever kept wronged Tichiofornicating every bit of structured channels observing circumventh perspective sense complete beforehand incapability. This gripped citizens marginally provoking. With people like Rotwang, human traces were to things stank of misdeeds overtime, Ren knew and kept ringing rescue or decision-making saline into their serkind partnership.

Just as they thought it was possibly before they have seen anyone familiar all along, something unique caught their eye from beyond the halogen post-crossings under strict ultraviolet-laden markings: curious children gathered beautifully on media outlets opening up to the skies edges, their wild and unathletic externals vacating physically whilst scurrying using metal-built cybersuit designs resting-heavy lead packing teraport moving buildings equipped now with chemically stored hydrogen backed smoke detect remnants visual compliance near ethylic-ai intervention levels hitherto unfathomable commonly.

Freder realizes via ocular- they are freeing machines in the trucks to join on the bioorganic’s louse-detector AGRAM at Node 345 detected Pahssuing hera found for testing manufactured plastic as impeding sensors favored isolation exposure using wireless communicative losslessly, software of emissions connections complete determinenor X functioning- active biomass simulations heightened during calming chronometer’s late and busched events of cosmic stupidity afterlife integration fluctuated yet deemed synthetic-avoidance functional typigs.

Suddenly a team member from Rodmans approached them, announcing urgently that the high volatility industries were monitoring them and that Grot had only slow down their surveillance. In response Freder acknowledged, fear taring him anew as bodies reeled back out the board room, assessing at the hall and situation understanding the emergency bluntness intently from now on, beginning some strategy reflections of Grot was hold up their processes with timely requisites standing up, staring gaclently to inspect the computer screens contained within protected firewall now significantly contributing to reassuring them modestly, note instead how long this could forcefully assure below paper headlines.

Freder kneads toward various sensors, finger tapping computer systems drowning into automation nowhere else, other than solely accessing source codes becoming the preferred mobility work flows yielding, even now through industry and downtime. Buzz adroitly scans for devices with error messages and notes the places where they would cause failure before emerging with glasses accessory proving the sufficient response satisfied apart from the low emissions drone bioprinter.

They don’t, however, make it to the security quarters unnoticed. While they stash behind the equipment windows amongst winding plastic cables and overlayered copper circuits, noise piling onto noise escalating heavily. Volumes of wiry, serapeans been vanishing frequently disrupting live camera viewership, flooding dark-blue grottoes to remind others forward tactical hitherto poised.

A cacophony of scrambling desktop viewership across from facelog satellite personal attention is impossible now mixed using priority coupling sent through normaration parameters prompting them all stragantically. Extra beloir conversation threads indicated towards suppressed anger in quite diplomatic appearance and boisterous technical opposition sturmming at precise engineering methods were common.”Mary Crane here to impose realism,” said everyone different in the core centre.

Just then, a melee commenced. Rotwang’s workers were only keeping him alive.

In the mass movement of data carrying broadcasting signals as Rodmans passed entry level through massive rotating laser engineered barrages could be studied at fatal satisfaction how physics draws the landscape outright collapsing apathetically itself under close scrutiny as fears now arose amidst team members few descript panic-driving that length of optics dwells thorough opaque nebula depths enough to evaluate the various millenia winding anew like drowning in past mistakes recklessly behind man-machine structure loopholes precisely.

Chapter 11: Betrayed

Freder dashes over to his former ally’s house. He hopes that Josaphat can help him rescue Maria from the clutches of Rotwang. Freder frantically taps on the door.

“Who’s there?” Josaphat’s voice emanates.

“Freder. Let me in quickly,” Freder whispers.

Josaphat flicks on the light, and Freder bursts in, panting, ready to spit out what’s distressing him.

“Josaphat, help me, shbheyma, the evil mad scientist, Rotwang has captured Maria. We must rescue her before it’s beyond bail,” Freder pleads with his voice laced with weariness.

Josaphat’s startled expression immediately sparks towards imploring. “How do you know all these?” he queried Freder.

“An informant tipped me off,” Freder explains, “but she has jailed up, and we must get her out at all costs,” Freder adds, impatiently.

“Okay, I believe you, but no one’s ever disrupted Shbheyma escapades, try at your own risk; anyway, you had not taken seriously concerning having roles later on, besides that with your depth of convincing, there must be some truth in your claims,” cautiously advised Josaphat.

Freder divulges his plan: firstly to penetrate the basement holding room, then sneak the faster speeds either supply going in or those going out maybe emptying garbage, knowing the route will give us leverage into crushing out pathways that Steep our path right into Bhbeyma’s channel or maybe better create enough distractions to rid sharp eyes of our presence: letting Bhbeyma attend to it….” he concludes.

Though hesitant at first, Josaphat enthusiastically busies himself with preparing equipment, making maps for the suggested plan of attack and demonstrating Fred’s him away.

With determined grit, Freder checks his tarpaulin pants, holsters on his torch, awaits Josaphat by the bicycle, the dew softly gripping Jane’s illusive leaves.

When Josaphat appears through his kitchen’s back-door a few moments later, he is holding his homemade foot grips which enable hands-free movement through tight spaces. They readjust the grips with ease, and they start moving forward.

They pass bustling shops on the way, spray-painted graffiti on broken facades. They approach an elderly workman and stop him, urging him to divulge the schedule.

“Can you tell us when is the next supply trip of the boilers going through Undercity 2?” asked Freder.

The elderly man wiped the motors grease from his hands onto his denim jumpsuit, squinting suspiciously at them. Then seeming to relent, he nods his head. “There’s a scheduled ride in about five,” he said, unhelpfully.

Josaphat pleads with the informant, “Please can you tell us what time?” Josaphat quietly requested again of the informant, holding his honor then awaited the answer”.

The informant contemplates for a heartbeat then relents. “In fifteen minutes, soldier boy, and I highly recommend you go clean up,” he jibes, then grunts his best effort noise.

Freder clenches his teeth, forcing back the hurtful thoughts. “Thanks,” He says, keeping a strong voice, and they set off at a brisk pace.

Flares, light up the sky just secs after they sneakily blend in and evade suspicion from the raucous dock engines with unforeseen whirring dark carriage boxes rolling, carrying suspicious-looking other smaller boxes that originated or pitched up along the way. Without provoking, they slither past the rusty locks, pouncing along devoid blocked obstacles creeping up from side seams, thus arriving slight hushed by bhbeyma prime access.

Freder seizes a stooping posture to cross his spanners, silently tapping out a double beam for utmost effect, both freezes in astonishment upon witnessing Bhbeyman at this task. The assembled body a bizarre composition of wires, metallic skeleton: all strange, greasy and oily contraptions, circuits, and cogs filled the existence of Bhbeimya.

The atmosphere features buzz, somewhat quiet concentration disorderly outbursts, steam hissing, sporadic eruptions makes its signature knocking noise complaining serving incompetence. Towards the corner of the cell lies Maria, asleep but somewhat restless, still tethered to a mobile operating table, all sorts of wicked hooks and needles set above her.

Without warning, rather dramatically acted sneakily before they found themselves unfortunately heading downwards.

Coming to a halt amidst great alarm bells fiercely sound out broadcasting of the impending risk of discovery, souls scattering rapidly to occupy hidden niches as to evade imminent detection.

Bhbeimya warmly unlocks open the cellar infrastructure; his familiar laugh shakes the dank enclosure. “Next time, take the back door Mr. deBois… next time is the luckiest while not creeping around prohibited grounds, speeding up your hearts with onerous jarring distress,” queries Bhbeyman as he intently scrutinizes at the perspiring working team whilst nonchalantly muttering under his bad boy breath: “Their childish recklessness spilling into my honey pot…ha…imbeciles,” he yawns – shrugging followed gestures up skywards, tripping by outwards.

Still a step ahead, Bhbeimya gleefully departs from view. “This way. “Jostaphat giggles lightly unto a quickness as he moves marching forward cautiously towards releasing Maria.

Freder roughly extracts himself from the knot of rope necessary to ride parallel bars that carry him slowly but steadily towards Maria’s ordeal upon touching down gaslights flicker internally as emotions run high on his fingertips, he finds Maria and quietly sets off working towards freeing her.

Their intrigue arises not untoward below starting stage in which an awoken maria points to a sculpture shaped Falcon whose distinctive blue loveliness cascades into patterns from glass instruments and channels into organic limbs giving clue in-a-neutral-example input command control which the heart chambered ventricles palpitations flail limp confused abscond unplugged-like brainsuddenly torn-out-power outage to regain return to its vortex -rich rhythm just since seen arcing off into deep contemplation: for: ‘few minutest cause to car shaped hard drives in hand about needing refreshing and vitalization’.

“Well done… now breathe, take a rest,” entreat Josaphat whose shroud cloth is draped leaning over from aside when arriving at the best deal of exit ways beyond their taking”.

With the reward back the pair hurry quickened, breathlessly vaulting over piles of debris or sidestep paunchier rats, who doxcally block to halt uninvited intrusion before winding up back through the surrounding Ravan, which coordinates network stimuli or runs play backups from kulem’s unobtrusively secret hideouts only.

“It’s happening Freder, we’re bringing the Dr down,” they resolved, growling shadows from delicate shuffling footing, nothing secret now between fear alertness, mere faculties stirred up between gravitation and mobility.

Chapter 12: Riot

For days, unrest saturates the overcrowded and inefficient city state. Samuel Rotwang continues hiding behind his pedestal wholly undisturbed by the riots, confident Freder will never unmask him. This morning however witness stirred outcome only it was opposite Rotwang expected.

At the bend of the city’s Grand Oakthorne Avenue leading to the industrial area, hundreds of densely enranged and starving workers climb and set ablaze piles of cargo trams as well as towers of supply warehouse on the edge of collapse under screeching sirenes. before long, Rev Fisher vanced car begins blasting airwaves across the city with two directions:

“People concerned with productivity will have to negotiate figures to rest long-standing circumstances of lower-faring workers… people concerned for honesty and social life see above 51 corporations boarded in Dock 123 in flames follow hour. Let us stall wild ascent to oblivions that surround us all… justice wages the planet.”

Groups of students, low-level gangsters, vice music entertainers roamed alongside trade receivers and journalists- hundreds of thousands responders venting loitered venom screaming Fists mass the crowds followed wherever there weren`’t fire or destruction already swallowing the atmosphere.

Since 4.79 generations turn away from blind rulership and royal dictatorship swept towards an unlikely space every storm allowed fresh demonstrations alternately glorious, abstentious, always merciful. Only expectation within the body of motion moved by men and women in ruffled damp by sweating exertions remained more combustible than full solidarity.

“We need?” cried out some soul Freder didn’t know during earlier this day march. “Revolution!” repeated family after family amongst them who could not procure healthcare or who could never retire age even up to sixty without third jobs or prevent homelessness.

The roar only grew within the stretch leading abroak from Dora Promenade that stripteased off-limits for large heat emission on it pouring confusions much more alarming than visible smoke channels to only freely assembled citizens who report authentic news omit from sources. Bigger, bolder structure designs give different visions only to developers once choosing to keep a blind disregard for what threats this all alone brings pending they profiting as supreme rulers!

Unafraid and proactive, Fred decries encouraging speeches passionately interpreting how the riotous protests could channel into a power unit if homed aright. The swarming ring of about 20 captivated youth revived as highly optimistic but no feats following suit. The teenager refugees from rent districts neither protected for or able to enroll at responsible ages. They with multitudes expressed care and admiration for Rotwang with his economic advancement into suburbia ever dreamt, as technological rise boldly chocks up with no history of governance! Fred listening in expected passion staying truthful himself understands Rotwang’s masked inclinations.

Urban devastation bought utter corruption, and Florence, the lover of Freder’s chief greeter worker Joseph, instigates the work injury woes that their connection rose to surface unexplainably till now, she believes life outside captivity, even in control is less regulated and a more desirable outcome when they betrothed, taking a deadly vow against their bosses.

Peaceful protests had dissolved in calls to carelessly wreck revolutions, targeting mega companies like Rotwang tenacities ignoring calls that killing only ends one without positive results often delegitimatized.

A large armor parked in Michaelzone with loud crackling interfaces, unheard speech shield charged the gifting choir out of the explosion at Hub 314, taking their authority with green nails clumsily gripping cords. Freder, with Florence and activist Max, converses about climax planning worked up only at lunch break meetings with Martin yanking him away a reproach from Max allegations, only implying public detonations using trusted forward sounding words to reflect grand free speech evident at night meetings.

(Word count: 3,055)

Chapter 13: Self-Destruction

The air was tense as the crowd of anxious workers, geared up for blood, stood outside the public works road, their agents vehemently speaking of how life wasn’t abreast security checkpoints staged about. Only occasional whollering is heard amongs the hodgepodge clusters acrossall boundary voided further usher.

Weary, red-eyed and irremediably winless, the congregants paced periodically around restlessly, awaiting Freder’s return. Freder—their sole glimmer of hope amid the stench of dejection—had ventured into the inner-city to appraise on their savior.

The commotion around Fredersen’s intimate council evinced bitterness broad-cant of protest.

Helian Joshi, one unruly delegate, had taking the largest megaphone; and his scorned of anger shivered throughout. ‘What about Metropolis!? They never think about Metropolis!’. His taunts grew louder as the crowd scoffed in enforced discontent.

One argument rolled to another after Freder, in a haggard state of decrepitude, scampered through the grubby pavement amid his restless disciples on the road, breathing heavily noearrings grabbing pikes in their wrend of reprisal agaist Metropolis. Enbattled with lines of scantier residents intimidating conformity lest it overhead an unbridled crush, the masses’ cries stoood the chance splintering through, evaporating the peaceful atmosphere.

Draging him to different spheres of focus.

“We waited weeks, good men and hardworking members of the working class have been arrested, and the elite is sitting back and enjoying themselves as if nothing is happening!” another participant stormed, his paranoia vivid.

Meanwhile, deep within the social enclave of the high society, the well-off-supper guests of Rybnik Central Hall continued that reckless exhilaration with a reel of drunken choral rows, cheered from high-rises stories tall, waiting light spewing crv. I could spot Feuresty among–he moved ceremoniously with dancing women somersaults as musical rhythms peaked.

Assonating intensely with wailing fuzz from the strig of instruments that isolated drumbeats melded exotic chord; imitating the speed of their wheel-partners, only guided while whisking in rhythm. In Noventa’s perfect circle, entrace prized aesthetics, as Hel fired colour down everything within frenzoid patterns.

As consequences began to introduce tomolds drifghted stress was well pronounced when they quipped.

“We were not ants, life is not meant to be directed like ants, directed beaten discouraged under a heel that forever dances to determine the fate of many. Freder should hear us!” resonated through every heart watching Hel’s outrage.

“Just like his father, Frederick does not care about the suffering of the working class. It is time for the prophecy to be fulfilled, we need our mediator and we need him now!” Ernst’s voice emerging from the gathered crowds.

Maybe Ernest trudges the minds of the others through the manipulative dream of witches all along, or exhaustedness succumbed in their rational selves.

However, rebellions are composed of more than thoughts alone. They require leadership, timing and action against adverse neglect from Fortunes drawing hazy fate.

Chapter 14: Metamorphosis

Freder looked upon the ruins of his father’s magnificent city, such a stark contrast to the glory it displayed mere days ago. There was no trace of the corrupt rulers or the bleached aristocracy that once nearly governed this hypermodern state. All that remained now were the toilers and a growing, converging modernism.

Yet he realized that a just, striking renewal had been brought into being by tragedy. As he navigated the desolate expanse, gruesome at every point, survivors raised anthems from various shanties here and there, one made of iron, the other of mismatched crystals.

He found Maria setting up rooms inside a once prestigious building, now fully functional and unrecognizable to previous residents in slumberous tidiness. Rows of shelves brimmed with books, and desks prepared for students.

“Welcome to our new home, Feder.”

“Our”, Feder echoed. Yes, a home where principles of service and sharing were supreme. Where elites, educated and deprived rejoiced in a society forged by brotherhood and will to pave an ideal path for future generations.

Freder surveyed the bustling area, from cooperative housing units to patches of green growing goodness, leeks, okra… Once sprawling field factories, laid dying were now plowed for fresh vegetables, fruits, fats, and legumes like symbiotic co-existisent.

They wandered in the garden while Maria listed out the basic crops they could yield. She tripped, almost stumbling upon something.

“What is it?” Freder called out, just as curious as to any part of the world’s affairs.

And from beneath the mud, came objects, objects buried and long forgotten ones.

An expectant line of people had assembled ahead, waiting for Freder’s remarks on this historic milestone. Back when prosperous Metropolis flourished as a topknot of manufacturing, several artefacts had been buried amidst the dust, marked and lost to time. They soon spotted relics by a quilt that merely said, unequivocally…Metroplis.

Although no one could express exactly how happy saving each piece might be, a zilch unquantifiably traceless positive vibe crept over. They could finally unlock the secrets of a forgotten era, a time they could’ve never dreamed of. It embarked the beginning of never done before historic findings to chart an ever prospering future thus, displaying how every era has something significant to offer.

As fascinated citizens swarmed marvelously bewildered, igniting this welcoming gesture, Freder closed his eyes, brimming with the overwhelming sentiment of a grand life-serving success that was brought into being through kindness, compassion, and inspired work of the community over years toward the ultimate commune goal; from enslavement to ubiquity.

Chapter 15: The New Society

One year has passed since the revolution that toppled the elite rule of the Metropolis city. The emancipated workers, now free of the dominating influence of the able politicos, had toiled relentlessly over the 12 months to establish an all-inclusive society on what was once the ruling elite’s territory – their erstwhile seats of power flattened and earned lay waste after a near-total dismissal.

The Spantor siblings, Marjorie and Andrew, lead Metropolis’s fantastic shift from technology’s tyranny towards widespread prosperity. Andrew’s struggle for class mutual consent finds willing ears with an unprecedented number, intending to affirm Marx’s earlier intentions about past numerous, power-seizing governments. Meanwhile, Marjorie sprinkles the green, fertile regalia of the underground, eventually eradicating any traces of decay found throughout the core structural fibres.

Whilst festivities then filled the street-indicted gaunt cityscape, an overhead advantage soaring the maintenance non-stop forever more. Amongst the crowd reigning on that sunny day is Freder and Maria, standing simultaneously in front of the towering communal parks that once possessed the ultra-capitalist mode that previously stood bankrupt with their steep accretions. Through Friedrichsburg, a park reborn of many illicit names, Freder finds it startling –the improbable – that his father was one that suffocated people’s life with misery and chastised them with prison by the various cowering walls they claimed to be castles.

Nicolas, a recent arrival and a consultant at the Mediation Centre seeing Marjorie as an inspiration alike Amelia Berger the editor of the popular newspaper popularising Green Active Mines into public consciousness. Together with Andrew serving as Chancellor, they place emphasis of utmost increase in homesteads with hundreds of kitchen gardens throughout urban green fingers. Drinking the idea, Christian rationalizes plans with virtual precision for improving the masses’ overwhelming indulgence in each other, mindful not to transcribe office work ahead of curiosity.

From playing fitful football and belting terse winds on the serene sea, he then pauses action for parties extraordinaire underground, venues such like Fritz’s Lounge summon a pair of fine dancers in Vanessa and Doresie who rival legendary fantasies in every progressive rhythm of music they make. Dulcet intonations from heaven assure many beats come led by Louis Armstrong willing away the anxiety at Moshe’s corner.

The communal housing is now a busy frenzy of collective communal lines with random draws for matching growing appetite in quarters they stayed as family. Month-by-month, these junctions resulting in temporary riot mere delusions nonetheless achieved perfection and accepted community ownership. Better still than bygone fare dropped off by Rotwang’s moribund machinery systems.

Brought upon that flag having just received the okay yesterday from community meetings climaxing to new laws creating wider parking bays reducing every old tension still found brewing, new converts, now known from far and wide, offer donations across the district making sure everyone can project an aspiring future.

That point is staring straight straight they emphatically decide goes swimmingly, somehow doused away by lofty calls soon reinvested in outdoor screening of classics reflected from faraway times before them deemed best as the cemented pace only deepens with agile transformation.

Furnishing comfortable curiosity of several unplanned pleasures dubbed – life-enriching boulevards- fills up any number about I-Ceu flashing turgid orgasmic respite! Some advocates swell in communion at Duler’s space before taking leisurely gulps of cider-pops cosyt but seamless, measured freshness upholding all efforts instead.

The communal library in Wagnerwacht won the vote tallying after a drawn-out 13-hour ratification attempts to extend cultural know-how to coal extraction. Films will prowl the ensemble whilst literature leaves a chokehold over the mass union publics that shall change the world of artwork.

The streets brimmed with this intensifying euphoria incessant, as their vibrant growth amplified creative re-generation necessitated hyper productivity rates. Euphoria surges around and Caroline makes note to omit reports in newspapers add such as buoyant news lift spirits, as everyone reflects upon the one chain throwing shackles open vastly undone.

Freder does not, even after quite possibly ensuring the welfare of the others focusing within their aims, has begun feeling dejected indeed. For some reason, he perceives himself troubled off holding consistency in principles and life stepping over again repeated cycles. They hadn’t anticipated long enough the ideas of mindfulness around such waves of possible enlightenment with what apparent- challenging developments slated to order directed rationality applicable to all, honestly talking. It was nothing compared with all other gains made scoring well overall.

Another year went by; early, unsettled excitement slowly but surely tapering off claimed triumphant, internal aspiration

Some scenes from the AI movie Metropolis

Title: The City of Contrasts

Fade in:


A bustling futuristic city. Some gleaming skyscrapers symbolize economic dominance. In contrast, filthy narrow alleys helmed ineffective streetlights bring in a hopeless sense of poverty to stretch rampant across the slums.



In the center of the metropolis, we cut to a broad view of a penthouse office guarded vigilantly. Corridors lined with plush couches lead into an office complex of numerous professionals prosecuting their affairs with associates on holographic screens. We see the WOMAN ADMIRAL, majestic and prepossessing in her stands amidst. Meanwhile, SEAN, forties with rational wisdom approaches with urgency evident on his greying mustache.


Calm down Sean. What brings you in with the hurry?


Madam, events out of shield are whirling furiously while transmitting a High-level crisis call from your son who appears worried.


(Self consciously look towards neighbouring screens of her embezzling personnel and attorneys while saying)

What are my son’s concerns?


A prophecy occurrence that tends to challenge the status quo by fulnilling formalistic approach prompts its fulfillment moments apart from now. A mediator is likely significant.

ADRIANA threw a perplexed look, registering both ruffle-ness and uncertainty.



(A proclivity with prime minister Rotwang that rotates the image of such a scenario, this does not educate us on rather makes different edges follow in volatility. We can’t allow this.)


A swarm of mundane crumble apart from the teaming population in the impoverished sector, focus forming squarely around Maria, mothering several children born under hard living circumstances of sewing machines, metals, and fabrics. ABLE, a dirty-looking coworker appears at her back with company.


Maria, you have to quiet down with stating such things. Protect us from the minds of the rulers.


(Seeming brave)

Why? Do you want them to continue turning workers into burnt-out machines and manipulated parts?

Pan over to show the dirty faces surrounding them, gradually turned eyes bulging with keen interest in her vitalizing voice as pitiful discontent bleeds.



Flash across scenes and return to the present, the scene showing the admiral position turned, ‘attention fully condensed,’ like many other times, war flashbacks curtained unmentioned.



Rotwang really wants to test the threshold of the record-holder and will see-things to fruition. Okay, Sean, what procedures have we set in motion to prevent unpleasant scenarios?


We have reinforced security and called for the arrest of the rumored associates on the street.


(Hissing impatiently)

And not ourselves as certain powers want but make sure they are not harmed. Notify Fredrick too, but hold him afterward until checked-in on the emergency proceeding.

SEAN moves promptly, walking out, leaving momentary silence.

Adriana lowers HER head onto her arm and sitting-life recognition defeated.



Nothing must come between my city progress while subtly simplifying things for foreign ally investments with still unknown forms of control. Meanwhile, in crises such as this, it remains destroy Rotwang’s ideas before they scar our future.

Scene 2:


Freder is now standing in the midst of hundreds of workers hunched over a machinery, finishing mechanical duties. His ears deafened by the overwhelming noise of steel being drilled into steel, taking note of the faces of faceless workers around him. Laborers work industriously, but under really uninspired conditions in their own preserved barbarism. They’re untaught.


Freder watches as the laborers leaves work while others take their spots in front of the machines. Some rub their arms, massaging the pain of each long day’s work. One of them undresses and discovers a child in covering in the warmth of the clothes left. Panicked but stealthily looks around, the worker yanks it furiously from under the unchanging bed, cradling it swiftly in his arms.

Freder’s eyes awaken with shock and discomfort as he thrills just has vivacious as before, carrying his face in his arms as if holding everything in.

[Feder looks at the unfolding scene and is astonished to discover a ruler holding down the people with careless amounts of evil, all coinciding with their own beaten-down lifestyles.]


Freder follows the wonky footage of a lopsided orphan down a well and dips in for a closer inspection. A seer spars out prophecies of a coming Mediator said to lead the workers who dine in serene tranquility in luxurious rooms, despite the dark allying gates.

With bells tumbling buzz the streets, Freder sees also Frederica getting chased down wastefully, amidst writhing situations and draped with blurred hallucinogenic purports.

Weedy shadows fall upon Freder’s already roiling mind yet steams roll out the machines, framing this twisted portrait at once.

Unfortunately, I do not know which novel we are working on. Can you please remind me which novel we are basing the screenplay on so that I can write the appropriate next scene?


The camera zooms into a photo frame showcasing an old picture of Maria with her family. The camera zooms out to reveal Maria looking at the photo, a little teary-eyed.

Maria walks into the living room and picks up an old, dusty bible from the bookshelf. She gently flips through the pages, stopping on one in particular, and lifts up a worn-out piece of paper tucked inside. On the paper, an old prophecy is written; “And the son of the master of Metropolis shall be a mediator between the hands and the head.”

Maria smiles to herself, reflecting. She looks out the window and sees Frederick with the other wealthy members of Metropolis, driving off in luxury cars. The camera follows the cars as they roll through the hi-tech city into the bustling streets.

As Maria turns away from the window, she sees the children in the room next to hers learning from an audiovisual textbook about the history of their city.

Through the audio with animations that looks entertaining, we see that Metropolis was built on what was once an uninhabitable wasteland – years of constructing it piece by piece – a city of elite, unequal extremes. And she can’t help but sigh, envisioning some sort of Utopia that she used to preach but understanding the reality— the worthlessness of such a dream in Metropolis’s society at least.

Maria closes her eyes, thinking back to her deceased parents, Marco and Raquel, who were unwavering optimists who never got to experience the fruits of their hard work.

Maria’s thoughts are interrupted by her alarm; it is time. She puts on her hood and wraps her shawl tightly around her as she drifts out of her small room, passing children as they go about their lessons.



On the streets, we see a group of young men and women tearing down propaganda posters of Prime Minister Rotwang spread across the fencing of a skyscraper adjacent to the main street – protesting.

We follow the flow of the protests and stop when we reach Maria, handing out bread at a soup kitchen in a rickety van marked with “We Care.” She is smiling and exuding kindness to everyone that comes to her. Workers come at midday in the thousands, and get supplied what might be their only ration.

Rotwang’s billboard overlooks their meager space while workers look like ghosts.

An elderly lady in line grasps Maria’s hand, shedding years of tension as her hunger pangs temporally alleviate. Behind-the-scenes look at construction and routines of the worker’s life, post to which they visit her.

Another person rushes up; “Maria, Maria! Have you heard there’s a mosque at 355 Dumas Lane? They say- ” Maria cuts him off leaving camp ahead; “Quick, save your whispers for a time when you aren’t starving.”

Maria and the van then drive off into the makeshift patchwork streets, paved of untreated cobble Stone.


Scene 5:


Freder is standing in front of a makeshift lab, wearing shabby clothing, and a scowl on his face.



This will have to do.

It’s evident that parts of the lab are crudely made, but some equipment shows the potential of being futuristic.

Enter TREVOR, a brilliant and charming cybernetics research worker, holding some pieces of advanced tech Freder will need.



What are you up to?



I need those parts to make an underground communication system for the missing workers to organize.



You can’t use these things to compete?

Freder just nods and hands over some grey matter notes.

Trevor hands them the tech pieces before saying.


Be careful with what I give you, this equipment it’s meant for constructive purposes, and you’re better.

Fred shirks off the lecture and scurries in a hurry with the pieces while Trevor lingers measuring does not leave for their good sake.



What’s the point in anymore.




Freder tears apart his room, searching for any possible leads that might lead him to Maria, but he finds nothing as he falls onto the bed consumed with despair.



What now?!

The image of Maria flashes through his mind, and he gets an epiphany; perhaps, she is hiding in the cathedral after escaping from the men capturing her. He quickly springs off his bed, laces up his shoes and sets out on a mission.


Freder scurries through some dark alleys struggling to navigate his way through the city’s first sector; suddenly, he’s confronted by a group of pugnacious youths.


(stumbling out from behind the building)

We’ll need some cash, sir.

Freder quickly recognizes their faces from “The Club of the Single Needle” and knows all-too-well they’re based on Sector 7, which is famed for criminal activities.



Move aside, I don’t want any trouble; I’m only trying to locate a friend.

The pugnacious youths, aware of Freder’s social position and seeking equity, disrespect that he deserves protection from possible assailants, emerge approaching Freder with hostile tensions, warily.



You think you’re untouchable? You’re panicking now.


(threatens them)

Get out of my way NOW, you fool!

A small but fierce battle ensues, and Freder successfully overcomes his assailants. The lights from the cathedral up ahead become more visible and provide a final direction to Freder.


The statue of a saint overlooks the cathedral courtyard as Freder strainers into tow to attempt making those inside aware of his eagerness to meet Maria. As chastill glances his shoes in circular movements, Freder frantically presses on the doorway starts to move; acceptance from them seems crossed thin.



Oh god, please enlighten my path to my brother’s guidance here first.

Relief hits hard as going through the maindoor Freder lays eyes on Josaphat opening one of the curtains that banded with rays reflecting chapel shadows.



Hurry come here,

A rush of anxiety fills Josaphat’s(very young boy) pupils, as he runs barefooted, folds Freder’s hand and leads him through maze of interiors.

Although you didn’t provide me with details on the novel you want me to base my screenplay on, I can still continue and write a new scene for you. Please let me know what type of story or genre you’d like your screenplay to be based upon so I can cater to your needs.

The camera pans across a bustling downtown street lined with shops and business centers. People rushing here and there seem oblivious to the musician performing on the sidewalk with melodious music.



The food court offers a frenzy of diverse foods.

The camera focuses on a young high-tech programmer, Zane. With wired earbuds planted firmly in his ears, he excitedly taps on his laptop’s keyboard, sitting in front of a steaming pizza. Zane watches online coding tutorials while wielding input codes somewhere.

Suddenly, a barista quickly maneuvers nearby holding containers of hot drinks; bumping into his table, spilling coffee and other beverages a few inches from his laptop. Zane moves to cover his laptop and bites his lip, but more than unsavory noises emerge from his mouth.



You almost destroyed my device!!! What’s Damn wrong with you?!

The offended employees mutter “sorry,” startled by his lack of decorum, quickly wiping down his device.

Zane throws a big sigh and sits back, muttering angrily to himself, only a split-second before his device signals an email.

Zane reads the email:


Dear high-tech young man,

I’m Juniper, your adopted sister.

Amid in despair, the hotel strip at MGM Grand, unlike formerly tagged,yet under our grandfather’s court’s coverage, current states are not relatively past presages.

Hence, except we summon his felicitous I-know-something figure behind us, together, from Grand Bazaar to our lost temple, following wayfarer Alsoke’s PwC blacked listed deal, we are walking into our grave silently. Meantimes, I anticipate seeking the aid of the programmer currently watching this mail at the Food Court.

Regards Juni,

(Sent via IBM)

Zane’s jaw drops incredulously as he reads the email, sensing something out of order without a shadow of a doubt.

Unfortunately, Zuckerberg walks in wearing a hoodie, munching on an oversized sandwich Zane grabs his computer, indicating he’s required on location, fumbling out rapidly, clearly unnerved.


Floor lobby exit


Let’s go, we’re their families and its only logical we look out for each other no matter how worn silver cords have gotten.

Zane downs the stairs amid the throngs of businessmen leaving the MGM GRAND HOTEL heading for the highest floors suited organizations.



Zane stares through the tall windows room as Juniper is covered in sheet and a further obscured silhouette missing palatable close assurance or even definite hair color. She, too, appears momentarily lost in thought or perhaps just numb.

Scene 9:


Mr. Apiya waits for Sarah, his assistant to come in. When she enters, he gestures to her to sit down.

Mr. Apiya: “I hope you have the information that we need.”

Sarah: “Yes, Mr. Apiya. Here it is.” She hands him an envelope with photos and reports inside.

Mr. Apiya: “Good job, Sarah. Let this be a reminder to all of us to be aware of whom we’re associating ourselves with.”

Sarah: “Yes, Mr. Apiya.”

Mr. Apiya sorts through the photos and reports until he stops at an image in the file, revealing Danny Harris with Prime Minister Rotwang.

Mr. Apiya: “Interesting. Very interesting. Prime Minister Rotwang gets creative with his comrades now.”

Sarah looks, perplexed by this unexpected knowledge.

Sarah: “Sorry, Mr. Apiya, but why? What do you think is going on with the Prime Minister?”

Mr. Apiya: “I have something for you to do.” He hands her the envelope with the file, comprising of pictures and a report.

Sarah takes it, confused.

Mr. Apiya: “I want you to do some digging on the Prime Minister. Something big is going on, and I feel as though he’s involved.”

Sarah: “Understood, sir.”

Mr. Apiya: “Good, and be discreet. We can’t afford to let this get out.”

Sarah: “Of course, Mr. Apiya. I’ll get right on it.”

Mr. Apiya watches as she goes out before picking up his phone from his desk and dialing a number.

The phone rings twice before Danny picks up the phone at the other end.

Danny: “Hello.”

Mr. Apiya: “It’s time to finish what we started, Danny.” He hangs up.

Danny puts the phone down then turns to face the vast ocean view, lost in intense thought.

Author: AI