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Updated: Jan 25, 2021

CYRUS: (Hello, my name is Cyrus O’Brian, and this…is my city. ‘Double-City’, from end to end, I own it. I’m your… “local” middle-man; which means I make all the deals: from bank transfers, stock exchanges, real-estate lotteries, contract negotiations... I do it all. My corporation has reached one hundred thirty-five million dollars that way. So yeah, that’s a ton of money. My net worth being ninety-five million because I hire a few other guys to do my bidding; you know, when I’m out of town working on vacation at Miami Beach.)

{Cyrus continues his walk up from his front gate driveway on the left hand side of his largely up-scaled tower. It reads "CYRUS".}

CYRUS: This is my office.

HEAD SECRETARY: Hello, Cyrus. You’re late for your meeting again.

CYRUS: Hello, Rhonda-- how’s it going this fine evening?

RHONDA: It’s going fine, but it’s only 12:36 in the afternoon.

CYRUS: Details, Rhonda Scott… Only details that are quite relevant are necessary.

{Cyrus walks through the solemn lobby hands engraved in his trousers with a few tranquil slacks passing around him. He hops on the elevator at the end of the sanction up to the mid-floor where the company’s meetings are usually held in conference rooms. Sleek, describing the area. Dark brown round tables in each room the size of an intern's entire work area. One with a half-poured amount of slacks growing irritable of their current waiting situation. The elevator door "bings’" at the floor of the conference rooms where Cyrus exits. He walks into the meeting room where the faces have now grown irritable at the site of Cyrus and his confidence in being so late to his own meeting. He makes his way to the head seat of the room and sits crossing his legs as if he were not in the wrong. And then he speaks one word.}

CYRUS: REWIND. *The conference members retrace their steps out of the office room*

{All of the attendees walk into the room as they had before. Completely unaware that they have already previously performed these actions.}

CYRUS: Hello, welcome! (I can control time. You are probably wondering "how?", and "why?", but do not worry, you’ll find out soon enough.)

{Later in the evening night, Cyrus steps out into the night for a city-wide event called the ‘ St. John’s National Foster Home Liberation’. There he hops out of his grey slimmed sports car to valet. Then he tugs at his blazer jacket with both hands -- not to make sure it fit appropriately, but to make sure he looked "okay" to the paparazzi cameras. Bustled around the gold and silver lighted area, the people with phones and cameras trying to get the best angle on the most spectacular beings in town. Cyrus’s golden hair sparkled as he walked upon the sidewalk.}

PAPARAZZI GUY: Hey, Cyrus, would you mind pict’... would you mind taking a picture for me; for my sister? She’s sick in the hospital. Her name’s… her name's Missy.

{Cyrus examines the kid. Well put together. Hair slimmed back and blonde. The kid had a perfect smile as if he’d recently had his braces removed. Cyrus could also tell his suit had recently been pressed and rented, and also sized for him perfectly. With almost no signs of worry or stress that conceived the notion of "sick family member". Only the physical display of sleep depravity.}

CYRUS: ... I think you're lying.


{Cyrus places a hand on his shoulders with a grim smile along

his tilted face.}

CYRUS: Your need for detail is too intact, young mate. Better luck next time, right?

{Cyrus walks inside the event leaving the young Paparazzi Guy baffled.}

PAPARAZZI GUY #2: Yo’, Jack! He didn’t go for your B.S sob story?

{Cyrus walks in the silver-dazzled room where the  lights shined from the ceiling upon the huge crowd of smiling faces. He crosses the center of the floor where he spots a brown-haired, emerald eyed beauty, and their eyes locked as if a sense of love had once been attained. Their glares  sparkle widely, as the woman takes a gasp for air. Then Cyrus breaks the connection, with his hands still pressed and engraved in his pockets, he heads over to the bar East of the center. The music in the place breathed a smooth breeze with live mezzo piano trumpets, drums, but the keyboard showed a for certain direction. As Cyrus crosses down the lobbying stairway onto the main floor, he spots a familiar lovely face. A medium shade brunette hair, blue eyes, about 5’4” inches tall. She could have been shorter, but Cyrus knew she was always around that size description. Wearing some purple dress-- a male can never make out an appropriate description. With a beautiful smile that could light up the night the way fireflies do down south. Cyrus would always visit his cousins south, and the fireflies would always light up the night down there. Cyrus bent at the bar east of the main floor where everyone chattered and bustled. awaiting service.}

RANDOM GUY #1: Man, did you see her?

CYRUS: … Yes, Curtis, I did.

CURTIS: Man, if I could get a girl like that, I would…

CYRUS: PAUSE! *Time stops* This is my best friend Curtis Loans. I’ve known him since I was a rowdy teenager, running on sex and drugs. Well, I still run on those things, but. . . you get the idea. PLAY *Time plays*

CURTIS LOANS: . . . marry her in no time. You need to propose.

CYRUS: What?

CURTIS LOANS: Just kidding. But you should go talk to her more often.

CYRUS: Curtis, we… aren’t at that place yet; now would you relax! Geez.

CURTIS LOANS: Just sayin’. You guys have been out a few times and obviously have feelings. . . you’re just scared to commit to anything.

CYRUS: Yeah. Well, how about I commit to kicking your ass?

CURTIS LOANS Alright, alright. I’m just sayin’. Just do it, man.

CYRUS: Alright,man -- shit… 

{Cyrus pretends to check himself for fashion etiquette; knowing deep down that there was no need.}

CYRUS: I’m good? Yeah I’m good.

{Cyrus crosses the room where she stood. He approaches the one with the melon welcoming.}

CYRUS: Hello, Elizabeth, I was just wondering if you would. . . you know, like to go out with me some time later next week, and then later. . .we could get married and have children, and. . . wow, that came out really bad. REWIND! *Time rewinds* Hey, Elizabeth, would you like to. . . REWIND! *Time rewinds* Elizabeth, I lov--. . . REWIND!

*Time rewinds* okay, come on, man you’ve done this like plenty times in your head and dreams.

{Cyrus approaches her once more. And then again after numerous failed attempts. He finally got it "right"?}

CYRUS: Hi, Elizabeth, would you like to. . . maybe have a drink with me some time next week. I know you’re busy and all but. . . I would really love your company? (Okay that was really good.)

ELIZABETH: Hi, Cyrus! How’s it goin’!? Uhm, sure. . . are you free next week around. . . I don’t know, Wednesday-ish?

CYRUS: Well actually, I believe I am. And if I weren’t, I’d simply make time for you.

ELIZABETH: Oh, okay then, Cy’. Then it’s a date!

{Cyrus turns back with a stale grin and walks back over to the bar back to Curtis with a new found glory.} 

CURTIS: What’d she say?

CYRUS: What do you think?

CURTIS: "Get away from me?" AHAHAHA!

CYRUS: ...

CURTIS: Oh frick!

{Both smile at each other and continue conversation. Meanwhile, there is a new set of lustful things sitting west of the bar. Maybe two, maybe three, maybe four. Cyrus lost count after his fourth drink. But he knew one was a redhead. All the girls make their way over to Cyrus. Placing hands and such things. Cyrus continues to reject the feelings of the moment. One of the girls then whispers naughty agendas into his left ear. Cyrus, blacking out, but Curtis is there and would help him to not do anything he would regret. Cyrus heads up to the front entrance with Curtis, and the groupies are still there.}

CYRUS: I wonder if Liz' sees these groupies following me out. I do not remember giving them consent...

{But Elizabeth indeed sees the crowd leave the event rather early. They stagger with jitters into Cyrus’s moonlit mobile. The night still dark as an abyss but still young in some minds. They arrive at Cyrus’s condominium and head up. The party continues for an hour or two. Drugs and narcotics all over the sitting room table. The party rarely dies down before Curtis Loans clears the space of people, and even tries to straighten up a bit before helping up the rarely conscious Cyrus to his bedroom and onto the bed before prompting his due exit.}


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