Lost Cause: {AETHER.}

INT. VOID / LIMINAL SPACE - NIGHT CHAOSHey, Sis. CCNow that’s strange. CHAOSGet this: I’m you. CCWell, that’s stupid. CHAOSTo you. FINIYou’re a similar, aren’t you? REDNo, I’m a familiar. FINIClose enough. CHAOSIt’s not enough. It’s not the same. Not even close. FINITorture. Who are you? CHAOSI’m not distinctly anything. FINIWhy am I Jimmy Kimmel? CHAOSWho knows! FINIGreat, now the president hates me twice. CHAOSDon’t be so sure. FINIIt’s just a friendly game of— CHAOSOh, there’s my ogre. FINIYou have an ogre?! CHAOSI have everything. FINII see that. CHAOSThat’s great, now wake up. INT. GREEN ROOM / DREAMSPACE - CONTINUOUS JIMMY KIMMEL bolts upright, gasping as he wakes from a dream of golfing with Donald Trump. KIMMELAre we friends?! A beat. VOICE (O.S.)Possibly! CCYo. Lorne, you gotta stop doing this. VOICE (O.S.)Doing what? KIMMELIs he younger?! A boyish, youthful LORNE MICHAELS sits pleasant and completely calm, casually eating popped corn as he speaks with an almost maniacal chill—chill, as in too calm, but also sort of electric. KIMMEL (CONT'D)Uh... Dude. LORNE MICHAELSUgh. KIMMELYou’re horrible. You’re horrible. How did you learn to do this?! LORNE MICHAELSWhen did you develop that habit? KIMMELWhen did you? LORNE MICHAELSYou’re right. {Enter The Multiverse} "The Timekeeper" VOICE (O.S.)Open your eyes. KIMMELOh no. Not you again. VOICE (O.S.)Me. Again. KIMMELYo! Fuck you! VOICE (O.S.)You’re a DJ. KIMMELNO! VOICE (O.S.)THE END. KIMMELTHE END. SKRILLEX (V.O.)THE END—AGAIN. KIMMELAGAIN?! THIS IS YOUR F— [The Festival Project ™] AULTYo, why do I do this? VOICE (O.S.)You’re fasting again. AULTI’m not fasting. I’m starving to death. VOICE (O.S.)MY FAULT?! THIS IS YOUR F— AULTYou fucked up. VOICE (O.S.)Well. I did. AULTThis is your fault, you know. 👀 L E G E N D SI C O N S T I T A N S VS. O L Y M P I A N SROUND III CCYou know I’ve been writing this series for seven years. VOICE (O.S.)Yeah, and look where it got you. CCIt got me— 🏙️ 🌃 🌆✈️ ✈️ ✈️ CC (CONT'D)Oh. Huh. VOICE (O.S.)Yeah, that’s right. "Oh." CCYo, that’s strange.The color of Lorne was distorted;I noted the Martian below him;I’m older but all out of order,My honor aborted award shows,Coveted,Conan was lo and behold him,All over the asphalt,Sat on a fault line,Fell into hard times, a giantMulti-conglomerate global,Holding awards up,Shout out to also important,Impostor for no one,And all of a buck,Give the poster to Ariana! ARIANA GRANDEAhem. CCYeah, thanks sis. ARIANA GRANDEYou’re welcome. CCI’m... licensed to murder. ARIANA GRANDEYou are. CCSo— ARIANA GRANDEGo ahead. CCI’m all out of purpose,Purportedly,Semi-unconscious,An honest reflection subconscious;Get too toxic,And washing my knocks in the fraudI uncovered, corruptionQuite abruptly,And I erupted.Free Tibet,Highlight tribe. ARIANA GRANDEHow’s he doing? CCOh, him? She nods. CC (CONT'D)That guy died.Everyone I like is dead;Running numbers in my head.How can I get back to Los AngelesWith a bagIf I’m just an actressWithout removing my pantsOr just dancing,Being ratchet?Shout out to Natalie,I cannot handle that,I am a nun;But believe everything under theSun is justOne.A conglomerate:Almost forgot that I bought NBC,Universal,And Oxygen. She takes a deep, ragged gasp of breath. CC (CONT'D)Everyone I like is dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Amen.All of my life I’ve been dead.Dead.Dead.Dead.Amen.I think it’s all in my head;All of my life I dependOn paying off debt.Take a lesson from stressing onWomen and men.Not a friend in the world.God.God. ARIANA GRANDEOh, I respect that. CCI started over again—God.God.No, Conan!I think I’m seeing in red.Lessons.More lessons? FUCK.I had so many depressions,It turned into text,And then to a check.Lessons.More lessons? FUCK.Amen.I called him a friend,But never again,Fred.Don’t marry your torturer;Get a divorce and thenPass 'em the torch, you know.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets.Bullets. INT. PRODUCTION OFFICE - CONTINUOUS WRITER 2What the fuck, that’s the end?! WRITER 1I guess. WRITER 2Oh my— [W T F]The Chronicles of WTF. INT. KIMMEL'S DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT MOLLY MCNEARNEY walks in, holding a production binder. JIMMY KIMMEL quickly tries to slide an ancient glowing relic under a stack of cue cards. MOLLYWhat are you doing? KIMMELNothing! MOLLYLet me see. KIMMEL👀 MOLLYWhat is this? KIMMELIt’s magic. MOLLY(gasps)Magic?! KIMMELJust a little. MOLLYLet me see. KIMMELGimme—wait. MOLLYLet me see! KIMMELFine. MUSIC CUE: "HATE THAT I MADE YOU LOVE ME" - ARIANA GRANDE The sub-bass drops as strings swell into the track, launching a hyper-kinetic visual MONTAGE: -- EXT. ANCIENT CANYON - SUNNI BLU fastens tactical utility harnesses over camouflage gear, adjusting a sidearm holster while staring intently toward a violet horizon. -- INT. CELESTIAL ARMORY - ARIANA GRANDE methodically straps on sleek, gilded pauldrons, running her fingers along the edge of a crystalline broadsword that hums with raw energy. -- EXT. COSMIC VOID - An ancient celestial tree burns across dimensions, glowing embers drifting into the skylines of terrestrial metropolises below. -- INT. DIMLY LIT 30 ROCK CORRIDOR - A familiar silhouette in a tailored suit and tie stands with his back turned, adjusting his cuffs with an unnerving, deliberate slowness. The posture mirrors Jimmy Fallon's slight frame, yet his reflection in the dark glass door fails to move with him—remaining rigid, watching the hall with faint, unnatural eyes before snapping into an easy, boyish grin that never reaches the shadows behind him. -- INT. MONITOR ROOM - The two intergalactic AGENTS rack slides on sub-atomic blasters, locking biometric visors over their eyes as surveillance feeds cycle rapidly between battle zones. -- EXT. ISLES OF YUM - A GIANT BIRD EXTENDWS OVER PRINCESS SHAMALAMA DING DONG And DRAMALAMA DING-DANG (ADAM SANDLER) extends broad feathered wings atop the ramparts, notching a barbed arrow to her bow as the sky fractures into thunderous emerald light. -- EXT. DESERT SUMMIT - REINCARNATED SILHOUETTES take their positions along the ridgeline, unholstering heavy ballistic rifles against a mountain consumed by celestial flames. -- INT. LAB CHAMBER - The green-lit relic inside the containment gate throbs in exact time with the track's driving beat, cutting on the final snare. FADE TO BLACK.