Episode 20.0 - Black Widow
Episode Credits:
Episode 20 - Black Widow. Not everything is looking up in the Wild Wasteland. Meet Morgan Sosa, the Black Widow. As unassuming as she is treacherous, Morgan shows her hand and and catapults the Listener on a tour that makes stops with our favorite wasteland bad guys.
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Hannahpocalypse is intended for mature audiences on account of mature language, theme and violence and horror elements. Please be advised.
Episode Credits:
Amanda Hufford as Hannah
Abigail Turner as Cali
Jordan Rudolph as Mel
Will Handford as Jameson, Bogart, Ol' Blind Pete, Raider 1
Tom Schalk as Rictor, Charles
Ryan Hoyle as Reggie
Madeline Dorroh as Raider 2
Yenni Ann as Ashley
James Holyoake as Billy
Leslie Gideon as Morgan
Additional Voices - Ryan Hoyle as Dad, Ginger Sue as Mom, John Patneaude as Husband, Kristi Boulton as Wife
Thank you to our volunteer zombies from the Fable and Folly Network, Russ More and Beth Crane!
Writing and Sound Design by Damian Szydlo
Sensitivity and Script Reading by Mak Shepard (where required)
Special thanks to Velvet Moon & Argle Bargle Studios for providing music for Hannahpocalypse! Listen to Velvet Moon on Spotify and find Argle Bargle Studios on Instagram.
Intro Song: A Florentine Story by Michele Nobler & Luis Berra
Outro Song: If it Matters (Instrumental) by Velvet Moon
TRANSCRIPT
[FADE IN]
[Starts with a tense air of commotion. Two people on a yacht yelling at each other, sounds of waves, seagulls, etc.]
[CONTEXT: The yachters in this scene are a married couple, charmed and completely manipulated by Morgan Sosa to a boiling point. Their anger should be melodramatic and very War of the Roses-esque.]
HUSBAND
[Angry]
“It’s not gonna happen. Not on my boat. Got that? You might as well just go ahead and walk the plank, honey.”
WIFE
[Just as angry]
“Your boat? Oh, so this is your boat now? I’m sorry, I don’t remember you sweating and bleeding, fixing this tub up from death trap to luxury yacht. Yeah, remind me? Where were you again, big man?”
HUSBAND
“You know where I was. Working. So that we could find a way to pay for all these Goddamn repairs. You make it sound like I was sitting there sipping margaritas while you were sanding away at the hull all by your lonesome. Please! Fucking yikes.”
WIFE
“Yikes? You’re going to ‘yikes’ me? And what do you mean ‘work’? You were a ‘supervisor’. A fleet manager to be exact… And honestly, a really bad one, too. You professionally suck the profit from the labour of others. You know what? I can’t believe this! Morgan was 100 percent right about you!”
HUSBAND
“You better leave her out of this…”
WIFE
“Oh? What if I don’t? What if ‘we’ leave you out of this? Permanently.”
[pulls out a revolver]
HUSBAND
“A gun. Nice. She said you might pull this on me. Try to get between us and what we have together! Don’t think we haven’t seen the way you look at us, either. Jealous. The most jealous fucking look I’ve EVER fucking seen. That’s why she gave me this. For protection. From you.”
[pulls out a revolver]
WIFE
“You’re hilarious. Why would she give that to you when she gave me THIS gun to protect MYSELF! From you! Which I didn’t actually need because I already had a gun. See? You actual ass.”
[pulls out ANOTHER revolver]
HUSBAND
“Nice. Two guns. Bet you think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? The thing is, all I need is just one bullet for the likes of you. Right between your muppet-looking eyebrows. Also, for the record, I never loved you.”
WIFE
“What the fuck is wrong with my eyebrows? That’s pretty rich coming from a man with the weirdest dick I’ve ever seen. It’s like an olive stuck to a tiny corkscrew.”
HUSBAND
“You have toe thumbs.”
WIFE
“What the fuck is a toe thumb?”
HUSBAND
“Well, let me explain it to you. It’s basically that you have toes that look like thumbs. Strange, ugly little thumbs.”
WIFE
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
HUSBAND
“Freeloader.”
WIFE
“Layabout.”
HUSBAND
“You trollop.”
WIFE
“Tramp!”
HUSBAND
“Tramp, is it? Well, have some of this!”
[The YACHTERS open fire, shooting each other down. After the gunfire finishes we hear the click of high heels approaching]
MORGAN
[lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag on it]
“Well, that was dramatic. Or wait, that’s not it, is it? Not the right word at all. No… When you’re explaining an event like this, it’s always ‘tragic’, isn’t it? It’s supposed to go something like: Oh, officer, it was just terrible! I was below deck, mixing a drink for myself when I heard gunshots!”
MORGAN
[Pretending to be the authorities]
“It’s an absolute tragedy, to be sure, ma’am. Are you sure you’re alright?”
MORGAN
“Oh, do call me Morgan. But yes… yes I think so. It serves me right, I suppose. You see, I’d so hoped I might play matchmaker. Help them rekindle their marriage, maybe? We left Miami just yesterday on my very own luxury yacht. I even have the totally not counterfeit papers right here to prove it. Straight from the Miami Beach Harbourmaster, you see?”
YACHTER 2
[Moans, critically wounded but still alive]
MORGAN
“Oh! You’re still alive! Awkward, right!? Seems like he needed more than one bullet for you after all, huh? Men! Oh well! Let me get these stupid heels off. [kicks her heels off] There we go. Time to get to work.
For the record, I’m actually kind of sorry this had to happen to you. Really. I mean, you were both fairly awful people not to mention selfish lovers. You deserved better. Probably. I’m going out on a limb here. Give me some amount of credit.”
[Morgan grabs hold of HUSBAND, dragging him across the deck of the yacht, the next line should be done with some casual exertion.]
“I mean, I’d be lying if I told you this was a first for me. Or a second. [stops for a moment before reaching down for HUSBAND’s body] Alright fucker, let’s go. Up and… over.”
[strains as she lifts HUSBAND’s body over the rail to splash down into the sea, WIFE moans again in pain]
“Now what in the world do you suppose we do with you?”
WIFE
[barely able to speak]
“... Mutant… bitch-ass ska… skan-.”
MORGAN
“Skank? Rude, but fair, I guess. Not sure what that says about you and your late husband, though. Let’s be honest, you two did just kill each other over little old me. It’s a shame. Rich, yuppie types like yourselves never, ever know how to share. Oh look, a revolver!”
[picks up the revolver, pulling back the hammer]
“I suppose I want you to know that this wasn’t personal or anything. I just really, really… wanted your boat. Also, for what it’s worth? The comment that asshole there made about your eyebrows was a low blow. Not many people can afford makeup these days, and yours is spot on. Pity being beautiful on the outside doesn’t do much when the insides are full of shit. Now, go ahead and stay still a sec. Just have… to line this up so the bullet doesn’t end up lodged in the deck…
[gunshot]
“There. All done. A bit messy but what’s a little blood when you have an entire yacht to yourself!?”
MORGAN
“Or mostly to yourself. Sorry you had to see that. Yeah, [regards the Listener] I’m talking to you, whoever you are. I’m Morgan. Or, at least that’s what I call myself these days. After Morgan le Fay, specifically. She’s my muse. It’s also, without a doubt, a way better handle than what they started calling me on the wanted posters plastered back there on Miami Beach. The ones that call me the ‘Black Widow’. Pretty gross.
That’s a pretty nasty rep for a girl to tote around. When they start calling you things like that, you really don’t have much choice but to pack your shit and move on to the next settlement. Whatever happened to giving the benefit of the doubt? Innocent until proven guilty? Like, how is it my fault people just happen to drop dead after knowing me for an exciting yet often fairly short affair? Can I help it if all their worldly possessions also conveniently end up in my hands post-mortem? I’m a very passionate person! I get around and people really fucking like me. That’s not a crime, is it?
You’re not falling for it. Swell. Good thing you don’t seem to talk all that much. Let’s go ahead and put the whole act aside for now, and talk about the elephant in the room. You’ve probably heard that I’m a ‘mutant’. Or maybe you already figured that out? I mean, this weird dusky skin of mine does a pretty good job of giving me away if the milky eye thing doesn’t do it first.
[grunts as she tosses WIFE over the side of the boat]
Now, before you wonder, no, I’m absolutely not one of those crusty two-hundred-year-old hags that “remembers how things used to be before those darned robots showed up”. I got my bite about twenty years ago, I think. Something like that. I’m pretty fresh to all this. I was running some low level scams at the time. Grifting across the wasteland with this guy… a real pretty boy… Not sure I actually remember his name now, to be honest. Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. What matters is that we ran out of gas after leaving Eaton and ended up being sitting ducks for a small horde that was moving through the area. That was the end of a normal existence for Ms. Morgan Sosa.
So, give me a… where did I put that drink? Ah! There it is. [takes a sip] Perfect. Anyway, I’ll spare you the gory details as to what obviously followed. The point is that I’ve been thinking about the whole zombie thing a lot lately. Specifically, I heard that all those disgusting little groups of zombies that just kind of drift around are actually off-shoots of a real BIG papa horde. THE horde to end it all, they say. A walking, shambling apocalypse. To put it bluntly, I want a piece of that.
Mask all the way off: I am SO sick of this small time shit. Sick of getting my hands dirty and selling myself for a few years of living high off the hog before getting run out of town only to do it all over again somewhere else. As far as I figure, a horde like the one we’re talking about has to run over a settlement every once in a while, right? I’ll just hang out with them and sweep up the wealth they leave behind. I’m not exactly an appetising meal for those things these days thanks to my tainted blood and all, so as long as I don’t… I don’t know, goad them? I should be fine.”
[efforts as Morgan relaxes, taking a seat on a lounge chair to enjoy the sun]
“Last I heard, a horde the size I’m talking about was spotted moving North through Virginia. Slow and steady. Lots of time for me to get to land, trade this yacht for transportation, and head them off in Ohio. Until then, I’m going to enjoy my new boat and the quiet that comes with it now that those two are dead and gone. Seriously, it’s time to get some sun on my body, for whatever that’s worth. Mutants don’t really tan… Still feels AMAZING, though. Why don’t you go ahead and catch up with me later, okay?”
[FADE OUT]
[FADE IN]
[The sound of a sizzling grill, occasional sounds of children playing somewhere nearby in a forested area in Virginia. Rictor is standing silent in the foliage. Watching.]
RICTOR
“Well, hell. Ain’t it good to see you again, kid. Great timing too, if I do say so myself. You know, I’ve been thinkin’... Ain’t this just a wonderful world? I say so because, back when I was still walkin’ and talkin’, I couldn’t help muse on about the end of it. Thought: ‘Wouldn’t it be swell if something came along and snuffed out this big ‘ol dirt-ball once and for all?’. Get it over and done with. Think I might have even said as much to you a while back.
I mean, sure as shit this place must have been well overdue for another reckoning. The Wrath of God. Thunder, lightning, floods, and earthquakes… Never came though. Maybe it was that we used up all our good luck back when we had two apocalypses at the same time. It’d be typically ‘us’ to just shit ourselves and forget about it. Doomed to just keep on keepin’ on, ever after. Dirty pants and all. Seems a damn shame to me. Fuckin’ half measures. These days, I’m not all that invested either way.
You see, I’ve made a discovery of sorts. Had an epiphany, even! I’d been living a life of sin and debauchery. Figured we were all animals of different stripes, so might as well just go for gold and make sure I spent my days as a predator. Beats the alternative, right? Well, after we last spoke I spent some time milling' around. Pissed off and shambling. Trying to take control of my body and failing so-fucking-miserably. Didn’t work out quite the way I’d hoped. It was like bein’ trapped inside a fuckin’ wild animal. Trying to train it but having no stick to beat the damn thing with. Infuriating.
Now, it took me a while. More time than I’m proud to admit. But, I eventually figured things out. If I wanted to control that wolf I’d become, I needed to feed it. Understand that you don’t train a beast. You bend it. Let it think that what it’s doin’ is its own idea. That’s when we started having some FUN, me and my wild side. Got to dreaming big. Figured why wait for that new apocalypse when you can go ahead and start one yourself! We’ve been having a grand ol’ time ever since!
Shhh, shhh, shh. [talking in an almost whisper even though he doesn’t have to] Shut the fuck up and get a load of this.”
DAD
[puffing on his pipe]
“What a beautiful day wouldn’t you say, honey?”
MOM
[Laughs in a 50’s sitcom/commercial kind of way]
“Isn’t it just delightful?”
DAD
“Not half as delightful as you are! And you know, those doggery-do’s you’re grilling up smell ab-solute-ly yummy-to-my-tummy! Well worth the trade for that dusty old pocket watch we found.”
MOM
“Hmm. You know, I’m still trying to pin down exactly what they’re made from. It’s not pork. [trails off] I’m sure it’s not pork…”
DAD
“I’m quite certain it’s beef. Almost a hundred percent sure, actually.”
MOM
[thinking, doubting]
“I just don’t know, Howard.”
DAD
“Oh come now, sweetheart. Live a little! It doesn’t matter what’s in them! They’re fine, see!? [takes a bite] Perfect! Just keep those dogs turning and we’ll be swell!”
[pauses before taking an exaggerated deep breath of the Appalachian air]
“I’ve found that sometimes you just have to take life by the old gonads and seize the day. I mean, imagine if we’d gone and listened to everyone back home. With their hemming and hawing and all. “Who goes vacationing in today’s America!?”. “Virginia just isn't safe right now”. Shows how much they know! Bellyaching, I say! Who dares go on vacation? Well, I’ll tell you who dares! It’s the Stevenson Household, that’s who. In search of a little peace and quiet.”
MOM
“You’re assuming life has gonads again, aren’t you?”
DAD
“Well, of course it does. [excited as he snatches MOM up in his arms] And you’ve gotta grab ‘em! With your bare hands!”
[Spins his MOM around, both of them laughing]
MOM
[calming down]
“I’m… I’m not sure if I’m entirely comfortable with all this gonad grabbing. [being a little silly for a moment] Far be it for me to stop you, but you ought to at least get life’s consent first. I mean, for God sakes; we’re not politicians, Howard.
Besides, on a more serious note, I think everyone back home was just looking out for us. Worrying in our best interest. After all, safety first, Papa always said.”
DAD
[reassuring, rubbing MOM’s shoulders]
“Nonsense. NONSENSE! Do you hear me? Don’t let those naysayers get into your head, Agnes. We made it to this old campsite without so much as a sighting or- or even a sniff of zombie activity. And believe you me, you’d smell them. They’re not exactly known for their stealth OR their bathing habits, afterall.”
MOM
[Reassured]
“You know, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m worried about nothing, aren’t I? I mean, it’s not as if there’s a zombie right over there… in that bush. Or, that one… [sounding a little less sure] Waiting to pop up… is there?”
[Children’s playing has stopped though MOM and DAD don’t notice]
DAD
“That bush? Sugar Plum! You’re joking! You’re joking, right? [huffs] Alright, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go check it out. I’ve never been one to deny you a little peace of mind, afterall. Not on my watch, I say!”
[walks over to the bush, putting the barrel of his shotgun into it and rustling the foliage]
“Come out, come out- you dirty brain-eaters! Meet the end of my twelve-gauge, double-barreled Remington! S-Mart’s top of the line, or so I’m told.”
MOM
“Oh, Howard, you’re so brave.”
DAD
“Obviously. You see? Hmmf. There you are. Nothing to worry yourself over. Nothing at all. It’s that overactive imagination of yours, honey.”
MOM
“I guess… You’re right. Thank you. For always encouraging me. You’re a wonderful husband.”
DAD
“And you are a fabulous wife. One who inspires me to feats of bravery a past me could only dream of. Now, be a dear and hold down the fort. I need to see a man about a dog.”
MOM
“Go on, you rascal!”
[DAD walks away as MOM humming while flipping the hotdogs.]
MOM
“Hotdogs or hamburgers, children?”
[no response, casually worried now]
“Whatever are those kids up to? I do so hate it when they get quiet.”
[Suddenly some commotion is heard from the bushes, DAD is now zombie food. MOM stops singing]
MOM
“Howard…? Is everything alright?”
[walks away from the grill, very concerned now]
“Howard? Won’t you say something? Howard?”
[no response, afraid]
“This… this isn’t funny.”
RICTOR
“You might wanna turn around now, Listener. Try not to piss your pants.”
[As she gets close, Rictor jumps from the bushes and eats MOM. Finishes up with her before regarding the Listener again]
[NEED: RICTOR Zombie attack noises and some assorted grumbles as it eats]
[NEED: MOM dying ‘scream’ and efforts]
RICTOR
“Well now. Ain’t that just a big damn tragedy. Oh well. Guess those brain-eaters learned how to stay quiet after all, didn’t they? Got the wrong bush, Howard! Shame it had to come down to this… but, we’ve all got our children to feed, don’t we?”
[calling out to his zombies as the hotdogs burn on the grill]
“Come on now, my little monsters. Supper’s up.”
[FADE OUT]