Los Angeles, California--The Future

The sky is a brilliant blue and the clouds reflect the sun so brightly that they look painted on. Los Angeles is ablaze, buildings were torn asunder like unfinished meals, and the roads and bridges are in tatters. Soldiers in sleek, metallic black and green uniforms run throughout the streets like insects. They travel from building to building and home to abandon home for points of shelter. Above them are soldiers in metallic red plates flying with motionless metal wings with mini-jet propulsions packs underneath them. The red devils fire down brilliant red lasers out of their palms down upon the green-clad soldiers below and at buildings causing severe damage.

Meanwhile, the green-clad soldiers also have to deal with large robots in red armor that stomp through the city like a pack of futuristic dinosaurs demolishing buildings. Sargent Devin Richardson, age 50, in green and black armor comes running out of a crumbling building being demolished by a robot. Several other soldiers follow behind him. They immediately must dodge laser fire from above and the flying slabs of concrete from the demolition of buildings all around them.

Sargent Richardson speaks through a mic that rests before his mouth in his helmet, "We need re-enforcements now! We are about to lose Los Angeles!" Where are the reinforcements?

Devin and his troops continue to rush down a stretch of sidewalk and poorly standing buildings. The soldiers from the rear shoot a red flyer down that is approaching low and firing at them. They cheer and high-five each other briefly at the small, victory. They cross the street into another building.

"West? From the West?" Richardson holds the glass door open as his troops are filing into the dust-covered room, "Login, see if you spot an aerial squadron coming in from the west."

Lieutenant Login eagerly runs through an open patio door its windows shattered stopping on the broken glass making the sound of pop-rocks as he makes his way over. He looks to the skies nervously to witness a legion of what looks like a swarm of black insects approaching.

"Sarge! They're coming!" Login runs back with the excitement of a child seeing Santa Clause with a sleigh of presents. "They're coming!"

"God damn, took 'em long enough."

Another soldier slaps Login on the back approvingly.

"Okay, men, this is it. Let's get with Troop 89 and take back Los Angeles!"

The soldiers jeer and grunt victoriously filing out toward the front of the building.

San Deigo, California-- Same Day

A vale of grey and black storm clouds rolls along the skyline threatening to oppress the city. The city streets are empty--from San Diego Bay to La Jolla. Military rockets pierce the clouds. The sound of heavy machinery and marching feet begins vibrating the emptied city. From the north, comes a legion of red armored military men with giant robots interspersed.

Outside a military compound in Miramar, San Diego several warehouse-like compounds are spaced out equally in fours. Floating in a central arena where the four paths converge from each compound is an illuminated, gray platform. Its electronic pulses hauntingly echo among the compounds. Stairs from all sides of the platform move in escalator fashion up the platform with the visible consistency of a holographic image. Soldiers in black and green armor begin filing uniformly out of the warehouses. Each line of soldiers steps forward and rides to the platform above.

On an additional, elevated stage on the platform arrive decorated generals. A microphone is being adjusted on a lectern by a nervous, junior military officer who appears as if he is also late for some other engagement. Glowing circles carved into the outer edges of the platform that pulsed in the rhythm of the platform suddenly manifest electronic blueprints of flying machines. The electrically generated outlines glow a bright blue and transform into solid three-dimensional weapons and crafts.

Inside Warehouse Bunker 4

Men in uniform are lined up and ready for a march outside the warehouse. Sargent Richardson eyes over his troop with critique and pride.

"Battalion 567! March in formation!"

Devin puts his headpiece on and steps aside as his troops march out. He walks beside them stoically and with energy. It was a close call today with Los Angeles, but they all had proved their metal and were riding high on the adrenaline of that victory. Though the next and final bout was no guarantee, and the odds weren't stacked in their favor, they had adrenaline on their side. He was determined to use that.

General Snodgrass sporting an eagle-shaped head walks up to the microphone with hat in hand and metal decorations jingling as a holiday all unto itself. He looks across the vast expanse of men and military might and gives a brief glance to the stormy skies above.

"Soldiers! Today is a day for heroes! I would not be standing before you if I didn't think each and everyone of you didn't have the making of a true hero," he turned his head to cover the expanse with the intent to show that he was looking every man in the eye the best he could, "We face an enemy that looks like us and talks like us! But, rest assured, they are not us! At 08:00 hour, California will belong to humankind once again!"

The soldiers cheer.

Devin looks on and then briefly up at the rumbling clouds that threaten to barrel down on them. Drifts of clouds like Grim Reaper's hands reach and curl. Devin is suddenly distracted by a pain in his right arm. He attempts to reach in between the space of two metal plates to rub the pain out but the attempt is in vain. A sound like metal warping invades his ear. He shakes his head and re-focuses.

"Stay alert. Remember your training! All across this great United States, operations against these super humanoids, these red devils, are now underway. Systematically, we will defeat them. The world will be safe again!" General Snodgrass pounded the lectern with a resulting cheer from the soldiers once again.

Devin almost in a hypnotic trance is rudely awakened again by this mysterious sound invading his ear once more. He grips his arm tighter this time as the pain increases. A flash of white overtakes his eyesight and his heartbeat pounds in his ears like a drum. He is no longer sure where he is. Richardson attempts to blink. Maybe if I blink hard enough, my focus will come back...blink damn it, blink...is this a heart attack?

Devin sees himself seated on the edge of a couch cushion. He's younger, no gray hair. His skin is smoother. Oh those were the days! He is home and not in a military bunker. Devin, in horror, notices there is a coffee table covered in towels that are now catching the blood from this younger Devin's right arm as he holds a knife in his left.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Richardson shouts but the young man doesn't respond. He can't hear me, this must be a dream.

Devin watches himself nervously start spreading out papers and dropping the knife. Then, this younger version of himself seemingly looks in the vicinity in which he is standing.

"Listen to me! I need you to remember this! Look at these papers," says the younger Richardson.

Devin finds his conscious self pulled inside the body of his younger self. In a split second, the two become one. As the rush of the younger man's present life comes splashing over him, the desire to control him with his aged wisdom fills him with renewed hope. He first examines his civilian clothes as if he were in a foreign body. Then there are the blood-stained papers sitting before him. Are you trying to kill yourself? He seems to have control over his eyes, but the mouth and voice go under someone else's control. NO came a very strong, forceful reply back. Read the damn papers, there's not much time, remember this. His eyes move over to the blood-stained papers. He is not under the control he thought he had. His eyes move according to the other's wishes.

""No Signs of Life in Europe: New Society Council Meets In San Diego"

"Creation of First Cryogenic Warehouse Complete"

"Senator Devin Richardson Questions Upgrades On Bloomfield's Revolutionary Brain Chip"

He hears the voice of his wife, which stirs emotion he hadn't felt in what seemed like years.

"Honey, what are you doing up this late?" asked Cindy.

Don't pay attention to that, read that paper, hurry! Remember! Devin's eyes are still dancing about the titles as blood drips from his arm.

Cindy approaches with a horrified look, "Devin, what are you doing?"

Devin looks up at her nervous, and intense. When he sees her face, the blue eyes like pools of untouched waters off the Florida Keys, and her blonde hair flowing down like soft shafts of wheat in a field, a flood of memories flash through his mind at hyper speed.

The mile long vision of bodies in capsules in cryogenic suspension units hanging like coats of flesh on enormous coat racks. The face of his long-time business partner, Leonard Bloomfield. Login sitting across from him in a business office wearing business attire and saying, "Devin, this may be too big for the both us."

Sargent Richardson's eyes blink furiously behind his helmet, he shakes his head as he stumbles backward a few steps.

Login rushes over to keep him from falling. ­It creates a domino effect of soldiers uniformly turning their heads in his direction.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Devin pushes the soldier's hands away, blushing from embarrassment underneath his helmet.

"Yes, soldier. Get back in line."

A General several lines up turns around and heads in Devin's direction. Devin desperately tries to regain his composure.

"Sargent?" asks General Dickinson giving him the once over.

"Yes, sir. Just got a little dizzy."

A long silence goes between them with only the wind and Snodgrass's words between them.

Dickinson interjects coldly, "We got a hold of Los Angeles from the Resistors today. You gotta be on top of your game. Can you handle yourself, Sargent?

"Yes, sir."

"Good. As you were."

The platform steps have withdrawn, and it begins to fly away from the compound with soldiers, crafts, and mobile weapons riding on top. The General exits the podium and the lectern descend within the platform. Soldiers scramble to crafts and mobile weapons while their metallic boots keep them grounded to the platform-making every step laborious. Other soldiers pull out weapons harnessed within the metal at their thighs gearing up for flight and battle.

Sergeant Richardson joins his troop pulling out his weapons at his thigh plates as he prepares for flight. He stands motionless as if spellbound. He blinks and notices Sargent Dickson staring at him. Devin nods and presses the button that releases metal wings across the length of his shoulders.

Several floating platforms from various directions of the southern California skyline converge on downtown San Deigo. Red clad soldiers in the city streets below march with jagged spears, their heavy, uniform footsteps and chants are heard opposing the thunder above. Giant red robots are climbing up top buildings to perch themselves high above like giant maniacal crows. They pay no mind to the destructive force they create to the city they are trying to conquer.

The sky is being sprayed with weapons from the city buildings and the robots use the buildings as launching pads to attack flying machines and men. The firing of futuristic artillery, even as thick as it is, does not reach the platforms. The platforms launch the soldiers, mobile flying weapons, and crafts.

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Sargent Richardson flies down with the masses as do his soldiers. They breeze through the thick clouds like birds of prey with the wind whipping violently over their metal suits. Weapons spray gunfire through the clouds to knock them down. The soldiers disperse and some are hit spiraling down like rouge fireworks. Devin breaks through the cloud barrier to see a city of chaos and war below. He gasps as he dives down in eager pursuit toward fulfilling his mission.

As a giant flying robot reaches toward him from below, Devin finds himself engulfed in a warp of colors blurring together into a white. He finds himself lost in a world of white, unsure of where he is once more. This time it is different: he ends up completely unconscious. He has a dream that he isn't sure is a memory or fantasy.

He sees himself with Login and both of them are wearing dark color business suits in a warehouse. Miles of cryogenic suspension units with bodies in them hang with eerie lighting making carnivorous lanterns out of precious lives. There is a darkness in this warehouse that isn't just due to its size but due to the dark sins behind what was taking place here. A Dark witchcraft of technology created a heaviness he could feel even in this dream state. He wanted to wake up. He felt like one of the bodies in those cryo units but awake, suffocating with no way out, but he was forced to go on with the dream. He was too deep in it.

Login hands Devin a cigarette and a lighter. ­Devin steps forward, lights up a cigarette, and burns himself with it.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"This is merely insurance. It's the only way to remember, Login. Just enough sensory trauma to trigger a memory if we ever end up in one of these things," Devin threw his head back in the direction of cryogenic tubes.

"There's no proof that will work. Besides they would probably kill us before they would ever try to keep us alive with all we know."

"The Law of Recycle won't allow it. The most they could do is put us in one of those. So, just do it? I'm going to need you if something were to happen."

Devin starts stepping toward Login with the lighted cigarette. Login steps back putting a hand up.

"Absolutely not! You can mutilate yourself all you want. I'll take my chances."

When Devin awakes in his bunk with his eyes darting about as if he isn't sure where he is. He sits up in bed frightened and hits his head on the ceiling of peeling, white paint.

"Ahh, Damn it!"

"You all right, sir?"

Devin jumps down from his bunk bed onto the hard floor.

"Whose idea was it that I have the top bunk, anyhow?"

"Yours sir. I knew better than to argue that point," replied Lieutenant Login.

Devin opens a window blind letting the light in which produces a moan from the lieutenant. Devin rolls his eyes.

"Wonder what time it is."

"12:00. Another thirty minutes sir till rise and shine... so can we continue with project shut-eye?"

Devin stands there silently and frozen as if downloading information."

"Sure."

Devin releases the blind and the room goes dark. A moment later he turns a lamp on and sits down. Luitenant Login grumbles and just gives in, sitting up in his cot."

"Nerves sir?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been tossing and turning all night. Thought you were going to come barreling down on top of me."

"Sorry about that. Its not nerves. Something else."

Login grabs a drink out of their small fridge unit.

"Ever dreamt something, felt like you have done something dangerous...and like the dream is more real then...this? Then right now?"

"You mean de ja vu?"

"Sort of. But more then that. You and I were in it...but another time, place..."

The lieutenant plops his full weight down into an old lounge chair and takes a drink examining the dreamy Sargent once over.

"Honestly, I think you hit your head too hard up there or someth'en."

Devin hears the sound of commotion out their window. He opens the blinds producing a groan out of Login again. He sees vehicles, crafts, and soldiers moving about. His eyes look upon the scene as if it is strange to him. Login is beginning to get dressed.

"Honestly, I'm a bit relieved to see you a little out of sorts. You're like a damn stone... After all today's the big day."

"The big day??"

"You're kidding, right? The battle of the century? You do remember Los Angeles from yesterday? ­We captured her?...Oh my gosh! ­The last stronghold is San Diego--today."

Devin blinks a few times. He looks out the window again. A flying disk-like platform approaches the compound from the distance.

"Honestly, sir. You're beginning to worry me." He gives his Seargent a once over, "Maybe some eats will help ya."

Devin, now closer to the window, seems to somehow see the platform as if he was riding up right up to close to it. Flashes of memory start invading his space: Standing outside a building as a squadron of flying armed soldiers pour into Los Angeles victoriously, soaring through the air, descending upon San Diego on the flying platform, the sea of marching soldiers to the escalating steps that rise to the platform, a bloody arm, bloodied newspapers and his own voice hollering "I need you to remember this!", and flying through the clouds with fellow soldiers as they are being fired upon.

"Damn!" exclaimed Devin.

Login dressed in casual military wear presses his lips in a puzzled look. Devin rushes over to some kitchen drawers and searches through them frantically while talking.

"Don't you remember me, Login? From before here? Before today?"

"What? Is this some kind of joke because I haven't-" The Sargent turns toward him with something held behind his back now. He tries to mask his anxiety and warmth flushes over him, coloring his cheeks red.

"No Login, it's not a joke. Think. Think hard."

"Ooookay. You are kind of freaking me out, Sarg. We've been here 12 months...There's Bootcamp, but before that? I don't think so...I, ah-"

"Let me ask you a better question: Do you remember anything before here, before Bootcamp? Of your life before?" Login ruffles his own hair frustrated.

"Of course! Come on Seargent, there's..well, no..I--look--I don't know! What are you going with all this anyway?"

"See, I don't remember anything before Bootcamp 'cept these flashbacks and one is of me and you! Clear as day, but it's a whole nother life, Login." Login seems to be trying to peer behind the Sargent to what he is holding behind his back.

"Honestly, sir, I hope you don't mind me saying, it's probably your nerves."

"Yeah, I know, with 'the big day' and all. Same thing you told me yesterday and the day before that."

Login furrows his brow, "Yesterday? Shit, we took Los Angeles yesterday! You need to see a med doc!"

Sargent Richardson approaches Login with a crazed look. "I don't! I really don't. Listen, I've lived this day before, Login. So have you!"

Login's eyes go wide. "Okay, no offense, but you need to back off, Sarge. What do you have behind your back, there?" he steps back and points to his arm.

"It's to help you remember. Remember giving me the cigarette before?"

"No and I don't smoke, sir." The Sergeant shows him a cigarette with an expression that is harmless and then lights it. He holds it looking at and starts stepping toward the lieutenant.

"Okay, just get away from me with that!" The Sargent forces himself on Login grabbing for his arm.

"Just trust me!"

The Sargent pulls around a small, sharp kitchen knife.

"Damn it! What do you think you are doing?"

"Stand still! Login, we have another life. Trust me! It has to be something bigger; we don't have time to waste."

The two wrestle and finally Devin gets a hold of Login's hand and makes a cut.

"Owee! You crazy bastard!" Login pulls his arm away and slams Devin back into a wall as blood splatters around them.

"I'm sorry, son. You'll see something now. Just give it a moment. I need you to remember!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna remember this as the day you lost your frigg'en mind!" Login looks at him with a stiff look and begins moving quickly to take care of his cut. "You've lost it, Sarge! Totally lost it! I could have you court marshaled for this; do you realize that!" he turned screaming with his eyes bulging out.

Devin tosses the bloody knife on the table and throws his hands up barely able to keep his composure, so he looks away. Login finishes running water over his hand and wraps a towel around it.

"Sarge, I don't know what is going on with you but just keep away! I should report you but I...I just don't know...I just don't know what to think."

"Login, don't you remember all the bodies in cryogenic sleep units? Hanging there? Miles of them! And-and you got the codes for me? Some type of encryption for a chip."

Lieutenant Login blinks and blinks again.

"I burned myself with your cigarette to help me remember...so I could wake myself in this very moment."

Login replied forcefully, "I gotta get something to eat. This better not happen again." Login shakes his head in disgust and lets the screen door slam shut behind.

The Sargent walks up to the screen door watching the Lieutenant briskly stomp his way toward the medical unit. Devin turns his eyes to the sound of vehicles nearby. His eyes rest upon heavy military trucks entering through a force field secured gate. One truck pulls up to a warehouse with a convertible-like top revealing an empty carriage. A second truck with the top on and full carriage heads towards the gate.

MILITARY CAFETERIA

Men and women are filing around like ants to their tables and through buffet lines. The room is as energized as a locker room just before a football game. Devin, slightly lethargic, enters the cafeteria allowing others behind to go ahead of him. He stands contemplating momentarily having stood here before and then enters the line. ­

As Sargent Richarson grabs a tray, he sees Login looking over at him as he talks with fellow soldiers with a suspicious look.

"Pancakes, French Toast, or Waffles Sargent?" asks the cook.

Devin turns to face a waiting female cook on the other side of the buffet with tongs ready. He stands frozen and eyes blinking slow and hard.

"Don't..I..know you?" He was caught by her blue eyes. Her hair length was hard to tell as it was tied up in a bun and netted.

The cook smirks, "Well I hope so Sargent. I've served you every morning now for 12 months."

"No, no. I know you from somewhere else."

The woman tosses her head to the side and gives him a frustrated look. "I'm not sure what the punch line is going to be but there's folks lining up behind you so make your pick: pancakes, French toast or waffles."

Devin turns to see a frustrated line building. "Neither. I'll get some eggs, thanks." He moves on. The cook looks at him with a look of concern. Now detached from his surroundings, the estranged sergeant sits off on his own and eats. He stares and watches the woman cook who is paying him no mind.

He later awakes from a haze still in the cafeteria with few people left. He hears the footsteps of a man approaching him. It's a young lieutenant with thin blonde hair.

"Sarge, Sargent Dickson and General Snodgrass want to see you in their office right away."

Devin looks at the young man and is deeply troubled. Sargent Richardson exits the cafeteria and is walking up to the offices of the administrative building. He keeps himself out of sight and peers in through a window in a crouched position seeing Login and General Snodgrass standing in the same room. A moment of sheer panic seizes his limbs. He can't move. He muscles through and makes a bee-line to loading/unloading military warehouse with quivery legs. Coming around the side to the main doors, the sergeant approaches one of the trucks and looks around to see who might be watching him. The carriage of the truck is half-loaded.

Devin peers inside the carriage intently spying for room to hide in between the number of metal plates and disengaged weapons that have been loaded inside.

"Morning Sargent. May I help ya?"

Devin moves back stiffly as the soldier loads a large octagon disk into the carriage.

"Oh no, just observing. What is this for?"

"For the weapon launchers just outside the city. They won't know what hit 'em, sir."

The soldier smiles, nods and returns inside just as another soldier comes by and slides in another disk.

"Morning. Good job Soldier."

The second soldier nods and continues on inside. With hands behind his back, Devin walks in front of the carriage peering into the warehouse to see who else might be heading with a load.

He makes sure the coast is clear, hops inside, and crawls through a space into the back hidden by the dark. More trucks are seen passing through the wide gate and Devin's truck is up next receiving clearance. Sargent Richardson braces himself between two metal plates and the riveted floor of the carriage. The truck bounces up and down and Devin holds his breath hoping to not make any loud noises. He swallows grunts and groans, reminding him of the time when he had to keep himself quiet with the girlfriends he would sneak in his bedroom. The consequences from his parents felt just as dangerous.

The truck comes upon a dirt road and just as it all seems to be too much, without warning, he falls through the bottom of the carriage. Like a vapor, the truck turns into a ghost image of its former self. Devin rolls on the dirt road and quickly skirts himself into the tall grass. He watches in amazement as what are now ghost trucks go on without him. Bewildered, he rises to his feet brushing the dust off of.

What the hell just happened?

Sargent Richardson looks back and sees the compound in the distance. He looks upon her for a moment and turns heading in the direction of the truck. It is a long, lonely walk toward downtown San Deigo.

Sargent Richardson, sweatier and dirtier, walks past the last vestige of quaint homes and is beginning to enter the downtown. The only sign of life is the rolling thunder above him. He has painstakingly arrived to La Jolla. Richardson jogs past a few side streets to what appears as a larger main street where hears the metal clanking of a marching army. The march echoes off the buildings and the waters of San Diego Bay.

He arrives and stands on a sidewalk near the center of an empty intersection filled with the sound of heavy feet marching but not a soul is seen. Bewildered, Devin steps out into the intersection and suddenly finds himself like a ghost in the middle of an already pressing army of red men. They fill the streets with the number of migrating birds. Once not visible, now pressing in him, on him, through him on all sides.

Devin, unable to move, in horror, covers his eyes as they march through him. He feels the wind of their presence. The fury of their anger, the one mindset of destruction, the sharpness of their cruelty like the sharpness of their metal cutting through the air. He hears the one chant that runs their minds over and over: KILL THE GREEN REBELS. Then, they are gone. Down another side street. Devin returns to the sidewalk, breathless. Once there, the images of the red army fade into more like ghost images. He's besieged with nervous laughter of relief. He turns to see if anyone else is observing this phenomenon. At first, he sees no one. At least, there is no one on the streets. However, then he sees movement inside one of the establishment's windows across the street. He gets up and makes his way over.

Inside this small cafe, servers pleasantly move about, and people drink tea and eat scones oblivious to any trouble outside the window. Devin notices a woman being served who sits at a window seat. She looks like the cook in the buffet line but dressed much more formally, dolled up real nice. Her hair cascades down as freshly sun-kissed grass in on untouched hills. She gracefully nods to the waiter who stops pouring her tea, and she takes a drink. In a nonchalant manner, this mysterious yet familiar woman locks eyes with Devin through the looking glass, and she smiles charmingly before taking a bite into a scone.

Sargent Richardson enters the cafe and looks about at the oblivious-minded patrons and servers who are behaving like it is a regular Sunday afternoon.

Did they not see the red soldiers marching by?

"Sir, just take a seat anywhere you like!"

Sargent Richardson made his way slowly to the female noting only a few suspicious glances from others. When he approaches the female dressed in her Sunday best, he feels suddenly self-conscious about his dust-covered, blood-stained military clothes. He thought it might be better to run to the bathroom and clean up first. Nevertheless, it was too late. She looked upon him and smiled, waving him over.

"Good afternoon. Take a seat, Devin."

Sargent Richardson takes his seat keeping his eyes on her filled with distrust and a sense once again of being stuck.

"You know my name."

The woman doesn't respond but continues to drink her tea. Devin glances outside to see another band of ghost soldiers whisking by. Additionally, there is now a giant ghost robot climbing a tall building across the street sending down ghost rubble.

I would hope so," she smiled, "I am your wife."