This is Sacagawea. Here, the Mormons are a superpower.
Out here, the mesas stand tall...as do the buttes, arches, and escarpments. Here, the land provides little...and yet, that's precisely what makes everything here so precious.
Here and there, there are remnants of asteroids; craters, specifically. They're basins that drop deep into the earth...and bottom out very far from the tops of their walls.
Out here, herds of pronghorn roam...and do so very fast. The bucks run faster.
The roadrunners run, chasing lizards through the desert. Out here, the collard lizards are virtually made emerald, with their own naturally-growing diamond necklaces...and yet, if roadrunners can tell, they don't stop chasing them.
By day and night, kangaroo rats hop across the ground, avoiding detection. They do MUCH more of this at night.
Across the ground, a man runs. He's not very fast...but he makes good time.
Meet Raph. He's a Latino...who's a product of the Spanish and Shoshone nations; and those are just the known ones. The pro-Mormon government of Deseret is confused. They think he's a felon...but he's little more than an interracial creep who loves his Shoshone heritage too much to become a Mormon.
Onward, into the desert, he keeps running. Out here, there's way too much ground to cover...
Far away, there's a cottage. Here and there, Deseret Marshals lie in wait.
Inside, a hot blonde bathes. From above, a hot waterfall rains down on her. Her hair is so wet, it looks dark brown. She's all wet...in more way than one.
The suds of her soap cascade off the domes of her rack...and drip down her body, into the ever-collecting drain below. The suds run down her back, and her very bodacious upper legs...
Out there, Raph still runs. The suspense is killing him...as is the fatigue that's coming on...
All around, in the shower, Brandi Shannon shakes her wet hair. She gets it all over the stall. She laughs, as she expresses how this makes her feel. She's in paradise...
Onward, Raph runs. In a way, he looks scary when he does...
Brandi's got a scorpion tattoo on her back. It's not very big...but then, it wouldn't be too intimidating, if it was...
Out there, Raph tops a hill, and looks around. There's only more of where he's been, surrounding him. He's in some real deep shit. And yet...it feels more like hell.
"Freeze," someone behind him yells.
Above Brandi, the water cuts off...on its own. It's supposed to; desert societies have water restrictions, after all...
The shower stall slides open. Brandi grabs a pink towel, smiles, and starts rubbing all over herself with it. She turns it into a rope, and saws it, back and forth, all across her back...temporarily covering up her scorpion tattoo in the process...
Behind Raph, there are ATVs, dirt bikes, and jeeps...all painted with deterring colors, and all flashing police lights. Their drivers have surrounded him, from behind.
There's at least one female Marshal in the rank. She's either Ronda Rousey, Carol Danvers, Power Girl, Boom-Boom the X-Force mutant, or a contender.
Brandi comes out of the bathroom...and enters a bedroom, where the bed has a wooden bedstead made of authentic and cured hardwoods. The bed spread is game fish-themed; trout, salmon, walleyes, and saugers seem to be the dominant fish in the theme.
Before a nightstand, Brandi spreads her legs. She bends over, opens a top drawer, and pulls out a stringy pink G-string. Through between her thighs, one can survey her progress...
Back out there, Raph's knees hit the ground. His hands are behind his head.
From behind him, the Rousey contender storms up to him, from behind, and roughs him up. Rephrase: she kicks him in the ass, drags him across the ground, and gets to work on him...
Clad in the G-string, Brandi opens her closet door, digs through a pile of rugs and rags, and retrieves a bottle of cherry brandy. She stands boldly, raises the bottom of the bottle, and chugs, from its neck.
From out there, a spooky breeze blows the silken drapes around. Someone's out there with a sniper rifle...and they ain't a Marshal. But then, what happens next won't necessarily prove that, considering how brutal the Mormons can be, when they enforce the Book of Mormon...on Mormons, as well as non-Mormons...
Brandi isn't a Mormon. Her ancestors were once, but her most recent relatives couldn't keep the faith...
From out there, a bullet flies. It's high-caliber. It enters, through the open window, and silently flies across the room. It misses Brandi's hand by nths...and shatters the bottle of brandy that she's chugging.
She screams, when it does. And she becomes terrified, when she hears a gunfight going on out there.
Some of the bullets vainly come through the window, targeting her. She panics, crawls under the bed, and waits the firefight out.
Out there, Rousey is still hard at work, persecuting the Shoshone half-breed. Never has Raph ever felt so good and so bad at the same time.
Behind her, none of her colleagues bother to stop her. They're too scared to. Her MALE ones are too scared to; and to think that men are worth more than women in Mormon lore...
Out there, the hit-men that've come for Brandi now lie dead, among sagebrush. Ambulances soon come by, gather their corpses into body bags, throw them aboard, and haul them off. The Marshals confiscate their weapons.
Brandi waits, a VERY long time, before crawling out from under her bed. When she does, her G-string's loose; one of her nipples is exposed.
A Marshal comes in...and covers up his face, when he sees her revealed tit. Brandi notices this, and covers it up for him...although she isn't entirely sure why he wants her to.
He drops a Marshals-issue duffel bag at her bare feet. "Pack," he orders. "We have to move you."
Brandi heaves a sigh; her boobs rise and fall, within her G-string bra. Crap; just when she's gotten settled...
Across the land, a prison convoy moves. There's a van, and several jeeps guarding its bow, amidships, and stern. A caboose keeps far behind, and covers the rear. Far ahead, a flashier and nice red car, with its convertible top down, takes point.
Raph's in here...alone, and in chains. There aren't very many portholes...and the few that there are have bars on them.
Behind the stern, outside the emergency exit, Raph's escape has been sealed...by two jeeps staying close, and one more straggling. Raph's half-surprised that the straggler doesn't have a huge flyswatter-shaped radar antenna spinning around constantly...
And so, the Mormons have caught another Shoshone. It won't end here...as there are way too many more, where that one comes from.