SAN FRANCISCO, CA - MAY 27, 2013

It was unbelievably hot for this Memorial Day Parade, and Kelly was glad she had chosen the powder blue spaghetti-strap top with her too-short-for-mom's comfort jean shorts. This was originally for the visual delight of her date, but it turned out to be a smart decision on another level.

Her date, Zack, was really cute – but not her normal type. He was blond, but not all that athletic. He always overdressed with nice slacks and a stylish polo. He never wore jeans. Kelly preferred the athletic, jock type; Neanderthals in gym shorts.

But Zack won her over when he talked about a "reboot" of Saved by the Bell.

Lining both sides of the street, the crowd watches as current servicemen and reservists march. Some have built floats, while most are content to put on a display of precision drilling.

Kelly finally wiped the sweat away. Man, it's a hot one today!

She and Zack positioned themselves on the waterfront at an T-junction. Here, the parade hangs a left and continues down the waterfront. Kelly faces the parade route, where she can watch the backs of the soldiers march to the next destination after they put on the choreographed display at the corner. Behind her, the street is open, but little traffic comes this way. There'd be no point; after all, the cars couldn't drive into the parade route!

A couple of San Francisco police officers stand at each side of the barricade.

"This was a cool idea," Kelly half-shouted over the fanfare of the young soldiers' routine on the street and the din of the crowd watching. She interlocked her fingers with Zack's. She had turned him down when he first asked her to come today. But his unique approach made her think twice.

"I think you should reconsider that no," he had said.

"Why would I do that?"

"In an age of reboots," he had said, "it's time someone took on Saved by the Bell." She didn't get it at first.

Now she inched closer to him, pushing her body into his. Zack didn't protest. What guy would?

Saved by the Bell had been one of her favorite shows growing up, even though it was all reruns by then. She was also accustomed to seeing hit shows from the past get "rebooted" as a movie or an updated TV series. Her brain must have been addled by dating too many jocks, and not enough smart boys. That's the only explanation for why she didn't get the joke.

"What?" She had stopped in the hallway, and turned to face him. She was totally puzzled.

"You're Kelly. I'm Zack. Get it? We can write our own reboot of Saved by the Bell with our relationship."

She burst into laughter. It's sexy to a girl when a guy makes her laugh like that. So she agreed to come to the Memorial Day Parade with him.

As more soldiers marched away from Kelly, a black Ford Bronco stopped at the intersection behind them, its turn signal indicating it would turn toward the parade route. One of the cops snapped to attention and spoke something quickly into the radio.

Zack and Kelly paid no mind. Zack strained his eyes against the sun to read the program. "Next is the 44th Infantry," he said.

Kelly tried to crane her neck to see the next group of marching soldiers. Definitely a lot of old men, but she couldn't make out anything else.

"It says here the 44th were the first wave of the invasion of Germany during World War II. They helped capture Berlin."

Kelly nodded.

The Bronco started down the short path to the parade route. Annoyed spectators cleared a spot for the intrusive vehicle. One shouted something that would be totally inappropriate for a Saved by the Bell reboot. The two police officers moved against the surge of the crowd, palms out.

Instead of watching that spectacle, Kelly thought about the conversation she and Zack had as they drove to the parade.

"I can't believe you tried the line you did," she had joked.

"It worked," Zack had said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but it was unbelievably corny."

Kelly wondered why Zack's line had worked. "Reboots are just a lame way to avoid having to write something original."

"No such thing as original," Zack said. "Everything's been done. All a writer can do is put a new spin on something old, borrowed, or blue."

"You don't think a reboot is just a lame way to get famous using someone else's work?"

"No, actually, it requires some thought. You have to make up new characters, for example. Like interesting people for the audience to fall in love with at the beginning of the story to lead them into the action."

"Don't those characters usually buy it in the first scene?"

"Yep."

Kelly pondered this a moment. "What other so-called 'work' would a writer have to do?" Kelly had asked.

"He has to create a new backstory for the main characters. You can use some of the existing stuff, the familiar bit of litter you leave in the hamster cage after changing it so the poor thing doesn't revolt. But you still have to surprise the audience."

In the present, a police officer seemed concerned with the approaching Bronco, even if Kelly wasn't. "Halt," the larger of the two police officers said sharply.

"Whoa, buddy, you gotta back this thing up!" the other said.

Zack watched the commotion caused by the Bronco pulling up behind them. "What's this idiot doing?" Zack asked.

The Bronco ignored the police officers' warnings and pushed forward. A man leaned out from driver's seat. He was bald under a red beret, and he wore an eye patch. He looked quite sinister, and he talked with a vicious sneer. "Just watching the parade, Officer," the man with the eye patch spat.

Both officers' hands touched their guns, ready to draw. The burly, bald officer said, in his most authoritative voice, "You have to back up, sir."

The younger officer with brown hair spoke into his radio. "We need back up at the corner of Main and 23rd," he said.

The 44th Infantry, the ones instrumental in Berlin's final surrender, paused at the intersection. They began their choreographed routine, simplified for old guys. Kelly's eyes were on the Bronco. Something was terribly wrong here. The butterflies in her stomach were no longer cute-boy-butterflies. They fluttered for danger.

A patrol car arrived behind the Bronco and a uniformed police officer stepped out with a bullhorn in hand. He spoke into the bullhorn. "You, in the Bronco, you must leave this area at once. If you do not comply, we will arrest you."

What happened next stunned Kelly, Zack, and everyone else in the crowd. Kelly first heard the whirr of metal and the distinct klak of guns being loaded. Then, a blinding flurry of motion she couldn't keep up with. The Bronco's hood shifted over the windshield and cannons protruded from the front bumper. The back canopy raised with a hydraulic hiss and opened to reveal twin heavy machine guns The whole vehicle rearranged itself like a malignant kaleidoscope, going from innocent to scary in the blink of an eye.

Like something in a Michael Bay movie, the car was now a heavily armored tank. Another man emerged from the top turret, taking aim with the large twin guns. He wore a malevolent mask that hid his face, though Kelly was pretty sure this wasn't Eye Patch. The new villain sprayed bullets into the crowd with a smooth tat-tat-tat-tat.

The crowd erupted into panic. Kelly tried to move away from the tank-thing, but she was cut off and trampled to the ground. Moments ago, there was a benign group of spectators watching a parade. Now, it was a malignant tidal wave of panic trying to escape death.

The police officers fired their guns at the tank-thing, with only the distinctive ping of ricocheting bullets for their efforts. No bullet-pocks scarred the car.

The upper turret swung into position and sprayed both police officers, riddling their bodies with bullets. Most penetrated clean through, chewing up the wooden barriers behind the officers. The newly deceased slumped to the ground.

"We have officers down! We need medical to the corner of –" The officer in the patrol car never finished his sentence; he was flung backwards by a new hail of bullets.

Kelly pushed her way up through the crowd as another spray of bullets leveled the soldiers in the parade. She heard something... something from the Bronco that wasn't gunfire. It was laughter. The same hearty laugh when she finds genuine pleasure in what she is doing.

Eye Patch enjoys this. And that thought chilled Kelly to the bone.

"Zack!" Kelly shouted. "Zack!"

Zack emerged, bruised but alive, from a knot of terrified spectators. The turrets atop the Bronco swung again, laying down more gunfire and cutting down a few remaining soldiers.

Every member of the 44th Infantry lay dead in the middle of the street.

But that isn't why Kelly screamed.

Five shots tore into Brad's body and a fine spray of red covered Kelly head to toe. He fell forward into her arms, already dead.

Tears flowed from her eyes, sobs heaved from her chest. Just when Kelly mustered the strength to move on, she heard a car door slam shut behind her. Eye Patch had left the tank-thing.

She was rooted in place by fear. She saw now that Eye Patch now wore a metallic mask as well. It was dark gray with dark holes for eyes and a square mouth. Eye Patch's mask breathed a long line of fire into a nearby building, which exploded and rained glass, concrete, and bits of wood. The glass tore Kelly's face and legs, the concussive force knocked her off her feet and drove Zack's limp body from her hands. Terror and grief both came in one scream that was choked off with a sob.

Kelly bounced along the pavement as the merciless fire tore through the building. The driver launched another stream of concentrated flame across the street, and another building exploded with wooden shrapnel and shards of glass tearing at the fleeing spectators.

Kelly was able to pull herself into a crouch.

A shadow crossed over Kelly. She looked up to see Eye Patch standing over her, the terrible visage of his mask somehow smiling down at her. She never even felt the flames envelope her. A vicious red tongue licking at her in malevolent 3D was the last thing she saw before forever walking a long tunnel of light.


BOULDER, CO - LATER THAT DAY

Typical teenager Scott Trakker lazily flipped the channels on the 52-inch TV that dominated one wall of his own, personal living room. That was the advantage to having a multimillionaire for a father – the biggest bedroom ever.

Teenagers seldom watched the news, but Scott couldn't escape this breaking story.

In San Francisco, a Ford Bronco had just transformed – yes, transformed – into some kind of tank and opened fire on a large crowd of people that had come to watch the parade. It was on every channel.

"... 288 people are confirmed dead so far in this, possibly the worst mass shooting in United States history," the stoic news reporter said as if he were casually reading a shopping list.

As images of the dead and dying filled his screen, as aerial shots from news choppers captured the devastated buildings and the fleeing crowds, Scott knew the same feeling that older men and women experienced watching reports of the JFK assassination, or the Challenger disaster, or 9/11.

The feed switched to ground level. It was grainy, but a single figure was visible. Concealing his face was a grotesque, gunmetal gray mask. People scrambled to escape him.

"Here we see stunning footage of one of the attackers," the news man narrated. "His mask isn't just for concealing his identity ..."

The masked man looked to his left, and a stream of red-hot fire spat from the mouth of the mask. The camera jerked left to follow the flames just as they connected with the door of a nearby highrise. The entire building erupted in flame, windows exploding and shards of glass and splinters of wood raining down on the crowds of panicked people trying to escape a grisly death.

Scott was on his feet in an instant.

"Dad!" he screamed.

"What?" a faint voice yelled in reply.

"Are you watching TV?"

"No... why?"

"Remember those masks Uncle Andy designed? Turn on the TV... Any channel... Still think the masks won't work?"