Pre-pandemic/years ago I worked at tech support call centre in that super-dsicouraged and demoralized way. During a rare instant where I'd check to see the location of the coworkers I'd transfer calls to et al, I noticed a pattern of how obscure some of the locations were and thought about the socioeconomic issues of those areas that'd make call centres one of the few consistent venues of employment plus how pernicious it all was. 1:16~2:37 was the music which came to mind while going through that info.
This is a great theme for revealing the truth about Kronos and the other Superheroes, I can tell many people used this theme for revealing the secrets about something.
If Giacchino would know that in the future this piece would have been used by stupid conspiracy cartoon theories videos on TikTok, he would have probably contacted Danny Elfman to take over the whole sountrack 😂
Everyone is talking about when he runs on water but personally, 1:29 is my favorite part, when he starts getting hits on that one grunt and he's so proud of himself
Me after watching Across the Spider-Verse and thinking about the horrific implications regarding Miguel and his little cult of emotionally damaged spider-people
The Ronald Reagan Building in downtown DC shuddered. Within its confines, stood a thousand stamping Republicans. Over the course of the evening, they had watched the election returns with breathless anticipation, not worried by the possibility of defeat but instead excited by the promise of a final, cataclysmic victory over the enemy. They waved their tiny flags as the massive image of Brit Hume was projected overhead. The crowd trilled as Kentucky and Indiana turned red. They roared as the wave overtook Ohio and Florida. Their bodies shuddered as the red wave flooded into Illinois, New York, and Hawaii. At 2:00 AM, Brit Hume took in a deep breath, and announced that George W. Bush had done the unthinkable. He had won Washington, DC. He had become the first Republican in the history of the country to win all 538 votes. They had called the president insane for his visits to the District and his voter outreach. This was a historic occasion, not one with any parallel in the modern age. Not since Washington had the nation-. In his green room, George Bush muted his television. He continued to watch as Hume mouthed empty words into the camera, names and faces appearing beneath him. There was a clip of his own rally, the mood bordering on religious ecstasy. There was a picture flashed across the screen of himself, younger, standing next to Jeb and his father. He continued to watch the silent images, which lapsed into an ad for Vicks VapoRub. The tagline promised relief in seconds. George looked down at his feet and tried to focus intensely on the muffled cheering just outside. By all accounts, he had achieved the stupendous, something impossible. In just two years, he had turned himself from a laughing stock to a kind of icon. He was a uniter. A liberator. A decider. He had vanquished every enemy, foreign and domestic, and achieved everything he had set out to do. Why, then, did his achievement feel so fleeting? Why did he feel so hollow? He gazed into the television and instead of focusing on the picture, all he could see was his own ghostly reflection in the glass. There was a knock on the door. George put on his best smile and invited the guest to enter. In walked his bagman, Blake. He continued smiling as the overgrown boy removed a small Blackberry from his pocket. “Well, first of all, congratulations, sir,” said Blake. George nodded good-naturedly. “Your father just called. I know you wanted to talk with him and…” “Of course, thank you kindly, Blake. You tell Turd Blossom that I’m gonna talk to Poppy and then I’ll be right out,” He forced a chuckle. “Can’t let these good people wait any longer for this, er, histrionic occasion.” Blake gave a laugh and then shut the door. George flipped the phone to his ear. “Well, hiya, Poppy. I was wondering when you’d call.” The remark felt pointed and aggressive, but he needed to feel something beyond this dull ache. He needed Poppy to provide him with something to make sense of what was happening. “I trust you gotta be happy with tonight’s outcome?” “Well, it’s historic. That’s what they keep saying on the television anyways,” Poppy sounded like he was sucking on a piece of sour candy. In his mind’s eye, George could see his father’s tight-lipped expression and the empty glass of bourbon on his desk. “I suppose many consider it impressive.” “Yeah.” "Yeah?" His father said. The void inside him was yawning. The pain was constant. “Yeah, Poppy. It is. I don’t know what more you want me to say.” ““I just want to make sure… it's important that you not let this get to your head... There's an old saying about 'showboating'...'" Poppy drifted off. "It would have been easy to let things go to my head after I won a landslide against Dukakis in ‘88, but I focused on uniting the country… on bringing people together.” George said nothing. He felt inconsolable. “This is about uniting the country, not stroking your ego." The television had returned to broadcasting the pandemonium inside the Ronald Reagan Center. The screen was alight with raining confetti and red and white banners with his name emblazoned on them. He saw a thousand signs with his own smiling face and a bright letter “W” imposed on the wall. George had never felt more desolate in his life. "Sure, Poppy." "DC didn't used to be this Democratic stronghold, you know" The voice on the other end of the receiver seemed distant. "And this election’s unusual, but there's been plenty of people who won landslides before…" It had finally become unbearable. "Poppy, I'm afraid I gotta head out. Rove's standing right next to me and pushing me to give my victory speech." " …who kept in mind the... dignity of the office... the responsibility..." "Okay, I'll talk to you soon, Poppy.” "They knew they served beneath the Great Seal and-." He hung up the phone and was once again alone. He was aware now that there was no hope of transcendence, no possibility of metanoia or spiritual conversion. Standing at the mountaintop and gazing down at the world below, what he felt now was indifference. A void in himself that would never be filled. An entire lifetime of striving to prove himself good enough-for nothing. He stood a moment longer, then un-hunched his shoulders. With a cowboy’s confidence, he forced himself to emerge from his green room and greet his many smiling aides, slapping them hard on the back or shaking their hands. Then, with Laura at his side, he stepped out onto the stage before blinding stage lights. He could not see the crowd before him but, then again, he no longer cared.
I love how you can see that past superheroes have already damaged the omnidroid, showing the previous ones it already killed, and how it was staged to take place in a Volcano because Frozone was the original target, only later did they change to Bob due to Syndrome's personal beef with him. That's INCREDIBLE detail :D
