It is 9:00 PM Californian time. Daylight has faded, and the lights of LA light up the cityscape. However, something is very wrong. On a giant theater screen erected in the middle of the city, the Paramount logo appears, then fades to a dusty desertscape where some bald guy is harvesting rocks. Several tourists who are walking through the city lookup. This is the Reese family. Bob, Barb, Rob and Carl.
Barb: Hey Bob, look. They’re showing a movie!
Bob: I hope we aren’t supposed to be impressed. Good God, this movie sucked.
Rob: What is it, Daddy?
Bob: You’re better off not knowing.
Barb: It doesn’t look that bad. Look at the nice guy riding up on a horse to help that guy dig up rocks!
Bob: ‘Oh, yeah. Oooh aaahh,’ that’s how all this starts. Then later, there’s running and then screaming.
Sybok: I can’t believe you’d kill me over this worthless pile of rocks...
(The sound is so loud the Reese family explodes, and a three block circle of Los Angeles cityscape becomes no more. A flattened barren wasteland with nothing but an extemely large screen playing an extremely corny movie. After pointless dialogue, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier can be seen on the theater screen. Along the non-decimated parts of LA, cars can be seen cramming the streets as people flee this city. Looting and rioting are also occurring)
(In a secret underground lair, Rick Berman is watching all the carnage on a closed circuit TV. He is giggling and petting his kitty.)
Berman: Excellent. All is going according to plan.
Braga: I loved the part where all those buildings just exploded. Such mindless destruction. Heheheheheehehehehehe...
Taylor: My Lord, all those... People! Those were Americans down there!
Berman: Yes, they were. But, they had to be made an example of. Plus, it will get Washington’s attention.
Berman: Yes. Unless the United States government gives me direct control over the US, I will set up a large theater screen in the heart of every major city and play Star Trek V until they surrender to me.
Taylor: The board of human ethics won’t like this...
Berman: I already have some crews erecting the screens across the country...
Braga: Hehehe... “erect.”
Berman: ...it is just a matter of time before the country falls into my hands. (As if to emphasize, Berman’s eyes glow red) I am going to contact President Bush...
Braga: hehehe.... “Bush.”
Berman: (Gets up and slaps Braga in the face, then sits back down) ...and give him my demands tomorrow. The country should be mine in about 47 hours.
Taylor: President....... Bush?
Berman: Damn! Oh, yeah. This is 1994. That was the president in 2001. President Bush hasn’t been elected yet.
Taylor: President Bush was our last president.
Berman: No, this is his son.
Taylor: George Dubya Bush? As in, the governor of Texas?
Taylor: Good Lord. The end times are only seven years away... besides, what do you intend to do once you rule the country?
Berman: First Paramount, then... the world! I will form a Bermantopia where Deep Space Nine is not on the air, and Voyager is watched in every household!
Taylor: (Shudders at the thought)
Berman: Plus, my picture on newspapers, TVs, magazines, buildings. Plus, an outlaw for the original Star Trek.
Braga: Success, my lord.
Piller: (Slobbers at the mouth, which is really starting to get wrinkly. A doctor comes up and sticks a syringe in his neck and green ooze slimes out.)
Doctor: He’s aging rapidly. We’ve reached the limits of genetic manipulation.
Berman: He won’t need any more genetic manipulation if our Voyager friends would allow us to complete this mission.
(The doctor cuts off some of Piller’s face skin, pulls it back, and staples it to the back of his head)
Piller: (Looks in a mirror) Ah, I look young again.
(Suddenly a commlink can be heard.)
Guard: Operations to Berman, we’ve got a problem.
Berman: What is it?
Guard: It’s Robert Beltran. He’s attacking the lair.
Berman: Red Alert! All hands battlestations!