This early morning, Blake sits alone in the living room, watching Ent News Updates and taking notes in his notebook. The caption reads, “Jeremy Allison breaks both legs doing his own stunts on movie set.” Jeremy Allison's a major A-lister and Blake couldn't be more rapt. Jeremy does mainly action and adventure flicks, all of which are blockbusters, and some of them record breaking. He prides himself in the fact that he does his own stunts on set, although, he never speaks of the few times where he, at the last minute, chickens out and the production has to track down the only stunt man with him humongous, hunky physique they know. Although, no reproach could be given Jeremy Allison; no, sir. He's the goose that lays the golden eggs. People can't help but love the guy for everything he is, or presents to be. The studios and producers would rather wait ages for him, than settling for anyone else: The man is at that status. But now that he's gone and broken both his legs from doing something stupid, he may lose face enough to let other actors in his physique class get some food in their mouths. It wasn't a terribly hard stunt, Jeremy was supposed to swing across a monkey bar forty feet long, bridging the second floors of two adjacent buildings. He'll have to dangle twenty-five feet from the ground, but the whole thing looked easy enough in his head, and it was decided not to bother about setting a safety cushion down below. A safety rope should suffice, but Jeremy declined that as well, with the hope to impress one of the tech assistants he thought was smoking hot. And of course no one insisted. Who wouldn't wanna watch such a show? So Jeremy went on, grabbing onto the bars, feeling comfortable and confident, swinging along with ease, but then, half way through, his hand begins slipping. Panic didn't ensue immediately, the guy's cocky like that. He gripped harder, and like a spell, the slipperiness worsened. “Damn that goddamned lotion,” he thought. “Damn my sweaty palms. Not everything can be solved with brute force, Jeremy boy, think better next time.” There still a glimmer of hope, only quarter way to go. But. Nope. The slipperiness instantly reduces his grip to just his finger ends, and real panic ensues. The man knows he's going down. Some of the crew members watching still think the man’s got this, and is just fooling around, showing off; some others get a lump in their throats, and their hearts beat out of their chests, seeing the real distress and panic on Jeremy; and some others just appreciate how great the show is, even better than what's in the script. “Well if Jerry has to fall, then at least my eyes are gonna feed.”
The cameraman, being savvy and experienced, and knowing that Jerry really could drop, readied himself to follow the scene whatever direction it spins. Of course, footage of Jeremy Allison failing and falling could only be worth a fortune. And the cameraman decides he'll do his best to have exclusive rights, or at least, get the lion share, after all, that part is not in the script.
And just then, “Shit!” Jeremy goes down screaming. A few of the crew spin away, horrified. Everyone has their mouths agape, as Jeremy lands feet first, making a ghastly thud, or snap, and grimacing widely. The cameraman caught the whole thing, and he keeps filming, as Jeremy lays on the ground, agonized. Not that Jeremy screams in pain or anything, but he's barely conscious, and he won't stop whimpering. The guy's probably delirious, he hit his head. Everyone's too stunned to call 911 right away: the cameraman; not a chance. He has to get this in full. This could set his career in gold, or even give him a lush retirement. Other crew members just remain still processing the enormity of the incident. The executives are devastated at how this puts their income prospects in jeopardy. Emergency services finally arrived and start to hoist the pain stricken Jeremy onto a gurney. Jeremy can't stop flinching and wincing. He begs the paramedics to take it easy with his legs, but these guys are not very empathic. Maybe they're haters, or just don't give a shit. But they're so rough on the pleading Jeremy, that his colleagues have to intervene, exhorting the paramedics to do their goddamned jobs right, and not further compromise the goose that lays the golden eggs. The paramedics try to comply, but these guys are just really shit-bad at their jobs. Jeremy covers his face, trying to mask the pain and shame. At this point the cameraman is right there in front of the crowd, getting the full picture, and hoping the sound quality will come out well with his camera microphone; Jeremy had on a body mic, and after the fall, you wouldn't bet on the functionality. And the sound man's tight buddies with Jeremy, he wouldn't wanna record this. Or at least not overtly. Of course, everyone including Jeremy sees the cameraman having his way, but no one can reproach him, these are the kind of people that know that all manners of incidents can be recorded. The fact that people, or at least, somebody somewhere’s gonna appreciate the footage is the only thing that should matter: How professional; How reasonable. Some of the onlookers, on seeing the cameraman, quickly took out their phones and did the same, cursing at themselves why they didn't think of it sooner when they'd have got all the juiciest stuff. Funny enough, the movie’s titled, “Can’t Fight Fate.” Guess, that's how Jeremy must be feeling now, some of the crew thought. The paramedics finally got the man in the ambulance, slamming him in and taking their places in the vehicle as it initiates take off.
Blake watches the news show, rapt, jotting in his note book. The hosts warn that something that may be disturbing to some viewers is about to screen, and after a short moment for anyone that'll rather not watch to tune out, the footage of Jeremy's accident screens in all its gory details. Blake is astonished and torn with mixed feelings by what he sees. He, being someone that loves Jeremy Allison has to feel some devastation about what has happened to the man, or will happen to the man. And at the same time, he knows this is excellent content for God's-Plan-dot-com. And that brings him some joy in such a time. The news hosts now make a statement of how terribly serious Jeremy’s injuries are, and how they're happy about the fact that despite that, he's expected to make a full recovery by the year's end. They make a joke of how Jeremy will now have to take a break from acting. Blake laughs. Then the hosts talk about how sad the incident really is, something like this happening to a sweetheart like Jeremy Allison, just terribly sad.
“Yeah,” Blake mumbles to himself, “sad … for him,” he basks in the fact that it's really not his problem, and that this story's gonna do great justice to God's-Plan-dot-com.
“The website's done, bro.” Olly appears, wearing his backpack, ready for classes at UCLA.
“Woohoo!” Blake rejoices, “Yeah! Let the games begin! Run me through.”
“Well of course the web address is God's-Plan-dot-com. But no apostrophe on-” he does air quotes, “ ‘God's.’ You can’t use apostrophes on web addresses.”
“Noted,” says Blake, thinking, “What a nerd. Who would ever bother to use an apostrophe on a web address in the first place?”
“I signed you up,” Olly smiles, “with the username; ‘unsatisfied loser.’ ”
“ ’Course,” says Blake.
Olly continues, “Your password's ‘wasted years,’ ” Blake giggles, “but you can change it to whatever you like like ‘lucky loser.’ Blake again giggles.
“Sure.”
Olly motions to the TV, “Anything new?”
“Yes, Olly, TV shows from the future can be very new.”
“Yeah, and they can also be very reruns.”
“Don’t be a smart ass,” says Blake.
Olly looks into Blake’s notebook, reading aloud, “ ‘A-list movie star to break both legs doing his own stunts on set on February 27.’ ” He looks at the TV, “Jeremy Allison! Come on, leave the stunts to the pros, man. You get paid enough to recite lines already.”
“When you've been indestructible in enough movies,” says Blake, “you start to lose grip with reality. You start to think you’re really indestructible, that no harm can be done you. Till it's God's plan,” he motions to the TV, “for you to free fall twenty-five feet and snap both legs.”
Olly chuckles, “Can’t fight God.”
“But really,” says Blake, “the future isn't written.” He motions to the TV, “What this is showing us are just projections; projections of the present. If I convinced Jeremy Allison that he'd break his legs if he showed up on set that day, he wouldn't show up, and he wouldn't break his legs. But I ain't gonna do that, cuz it hurts my agenda.”
“And then, he goes on and breaks his legs just as shown on God's Plan. And that's what's important, man.” He motions to the TV, “We’re being shown what’ll happen if we don't interfere with things, and that’s good enough to work with. It's perfect.”
“Yup. Now focus on finding us an untraceable way to contact Henry Cassidy.”
“On it.”
“Honey,” Blake calls out to Joanna, “as you come out, please fetch my laptop.”
“Yeah,” Joanna calls out from the bedroom. A moment later, she appears with it. She's dressed for work; so elegantly skimpy, and showing just how exquisite her body is. She's the kind of secretary straight guys would jump to hire, and that can afford to be bad at her job as she's an absolute keeper. Most guys would be worried their girlfriend dressed like that to work as some other dude’s secretary, but thankfully, Joanna’s boss is a woman. Or at least, that's what she tells Blake. And he'd rather believe her, than giving himself a chronic headache, in finding out the otherwise.
“Honey,” Blake beholds his girl, “you look exquisite.”
“Oh this old thing?” Joanna sets the laptop before Blake. “Thanks, baby,” she air-kisses him; the better not to mess up her make-up. “Is the site done?”
“Yup,” says Blake, “Or at least, that's what Olly-boy here says. Now let's see if he actually did good this time, or his usual bullshit.”
“It better be good,” says Joanna, “remember, Ent News says the predictions were posted on the 20th. That's today. We have to comply with that, if we undermined it, we don't know what could happen.”
“Sure, Jo,” says Olly, “We all have to go according to God's Plan.”
“You bet your ass,” says Jo. She now air-kisses both men, “Later, guys, someone has to pay the bills around here.” Blake rolls his eyes.
“Bid me farewell all you want,” says Olly as he takes his air kiss from Jo, “but you're my ride, we're not done yet.”
“Whatever,” says Joanna.
“Bye, Blakie,” says Olly, “Don’t drag ass with the blog. We have to publish today, we cannot afford to defer it.”
“Well, I know how far along on it I’d be, if you weren’t distracting me with your bull.”
“Okay, have your peace.” Olly then faces Joanna as they head for the door, “you know with God's Plan, I'll soon have my own ride; my own sweet ride. I think I'll get like an Aston Martin or something.”
“And your own place,” says Joanna.
“Nah, that can wait. I love imposing and invading on you guys.” They exit, shutting the door behind them.
Blake focuses on the task at hand, editing the God's Plan blog. He types in the laptop, opening the website. The homepage is impressive. Olly's really good at this. The logo of the blog is a caricature of God sat behind a golden desk, and pondering what to write in a scroll with a white feather. You really get the idea, God is planning something. Blake nods, impressed. He begins editing. He does all the stories they've gotten so far from Ent News, except for the story of Jeremy Allison breaking his legs. He decides that should come in the next post, as the ones on; The Oscars, Riley Stevenson breaking his back in a motor cycle crash, and Amanda Fisker flashing her boobs on live, family TV are enough for this first post. Of course, he edits in the future tense, writing that something is to happen, as opposed to something has happened. It’s funny: news newer than news. And of course he doesn't name names, or even specific places in the ones on Riley Stevenson, and Amanda Fisker, but he gives dang specific details of the events, and good, non-identifying descriptions of the celebrity subjects. He proof reads his work, dotting every ‘i,’ and crossing every ‘t.’ He sees that the work is good, and it pleases him that he's gotten to this point, that they've gotten to this point. He hits “publish,” and God, there's such a rush; he's never felt this good. Who knew such a feeling existed? The hint of smile on his face, doesn't betray the fact that it's the solemnest moment of his life, and he'd never felt so gratified. “Feels kinda good to be God,” he mumbles to himself.