[The Apostolic Palace, Rome. A televised Vatican address. The curtains part. The Young Pope appears, stern but glowing. Behind him, a man of deep conviction—Father Sebastian from Haiti—awaits his name.]
Pope Pius XIII (Lenny Belardo):
“The hour is late, and the Church has wandered in the wilderness too long. We need fire, not incense. We need truth, not etiquette. And we need a pope from the people.
From the mountains of Haiti rises a priest of thunder, a shepherd of sorrow, a healer who walks barefoot where angels fear to tread.
I name Father Sebastian of Our Lady of Fatima…
Pope Gelasius the Second.
[Gasps from the College of Cardinals. A few faint. One clutches his rosary like a weapon.]
“And he comes not empty-handed—but with the gold of Revelation 3:18.
Not the gold of bankers, but the gold of prophecy.
Not Wall Street’s gold. God’s gold.
Iridium—pure, untouchable, forged in heaven’s fire and buried in the Haitian earth like a covenant.
And unlike the merchants who hoard, Pope Gelasius II will tithe.
Ten percent of every gram, every ingot, every cosmic crumb of this gold shall go to the poor.
Or perhaps—he will split it. Croatian style. Fifty-fifty. Half to Rome. Half to the streets. No offshore. No tricks. Just bread and medicine.
The time of white lies in white robes is over.
It’s time for black truth in black cassocks.
The Church is no longer for sale.
The Church is back.
Immortal Technique (voice like thunder):
“The Vatican is in dire need of a Black Pope.
Not just skin tone—soul tone.
Somebody who doesn’t play nice with colonial ghosts wearing red hats and gold rings.
Somebody who knows the pain of the people—the slums of Lima, the Bronx tenements, the blood-stained streets of Kinshasa and Kingston.
We had a Barack Obama who smoked Osama Bin Laden like a ghost file, CIA-style.
But what we need now—
Is a Pope Malcolm. A Pope Tupac.
A revolutionary pontiff who doesn’t just bless the bankers,
But flips the temple tables and kicks out the money-changers like Christ himself.
“The Vatican is a diamond-encrusted time capsule filled with secrets, scandals, and silence.
But God ain’t silent anymore—He’s screaming through the mouths of orphans and emcees.”
You want redemption?
Then put the papal ring on a man who’s dodged bullets and buried brothers—
A man who sees Christ in the mirror, not in the marble.
We need a Pope that scares the devil out of the Church.
A Pope who doesn’t need Swiss Guards—
Because his faith is bulletproof.
[Vatican Night Broadcast. Rain taps against stained glass. Pope Pius XIII steps to the microphone in his private chapel. The candles burn low. His voice is calm, direct, intimate—as if he’s speaking only to Felipe.]
Pope Pius XIII (Lenny Belardo):
“My dear President Felipe Coronel,
There is no need for revolution.
The revolution already happened. It was called the Resurrection.
You cannot outflank Christ with Marx. You cannot outgun the Cross with Kalashnikovs.
Your cause is righteous—but so is mine.
You speak of black popes and bullets and bankers.
But hear me now:
The South American Union is already YOURS!
Not through conquest.
Not through blood.
But because the people—the poor, the workers, the forgotten mothers of the Andes and the favelas—they still believe.
They believe in something greater than politics.
Greater than presidents.
Even greater than popes.
They believe in God.
And I am His Vicar.
Your vision is passionate, Felipe. But passion without submission is still pride.
Come to Rome.
Kneel at the tomb of Peter.
And let us not war for the soul of South America—
Let us shepherd it. Together.
[Quito, Ecuador. Early dawn. Felipe Coronel stands alone in a candlelit chapel overlooking the Andes. The cameras are off. There is no speech, only a prayer. He kneels before a statue of the Virgin—Our Lady of Grace—with hands calloused from struggle, eyes heavy with hope.]
Felipe Coronel (softly):
“Holy Mother…
I’ve spoken to crowds.
I’ve fought with fists and fire.
I’ve cursed the Vatican, and I’ve cursed the silence.
But now—I come to you with no pride. No microphone. No applause. Just this prayer.”
[He places a hand on his heart, his voice cracking slightly.]
“If you give me strength… not to conquer, but to lift
If you give me wisdom… not to rule, but to serve
If you give me mercy… to forgive even those who sold our lands and named our hunger ‘progress’…
Then I swear to you—I will do anything you ask.
I will bow to no man, but I will kneel before you every day of my life.
I will not chase power—I will build bread.
I will not wear gold—I will wipe the dust from my brother’s feet.
Just give me this:
Help me take South America out of the chains of extreme poverty.
Let our children eat.
Let our people work.
Let our prayers become harvest.
And if I fall,
Let it be at your feet.
Amen.”
Pope Pius XIII (Lenny Belardo) on Angels & Demons and the Prophecy of St. Malachy
Interior – Apostolic Palace, night. The Pope sits alone in the dim candlelight of his private chapel. A storm rumbles over Rome. He speaks softly, but with piercing conviction, as though confessing to God or warning the world…
POPE PIUS XIII (LENNY BELARDO):
You know… I watched that film again. Yes, the one with Tom Hanks and the antimatter. “Angels and Demons.” A handsome lie about a church that understands science, that partners with it… when in truth, we barely understand ourselves.
Ewan McGregor plays the good priest, the chamberlain. He sacrifices himself with a helicopter and a bomb and the audience weeps. But they weep for fiction. For fantasy. For illusion.
No, my children. The real chamberlain—the real savior—is not a photogenic Jesuit with a death wish. It’s not Ewan McGregor. It’s not a Hollywood script.
It is Father Sebastian.
Yes, him. The quiet one. The one nobody noticed at the conclave. The one with calloused hands from caring for lepers in Calcutta and knees raw from prayer.
The Vatican is not under attack by antimatter, no. It’s under attack by apathy. Corruption. Silence. By the cold machinery of bureaucracy that has forgotten how to tremble in the presence of God.
And there is something else…
A long pause. He glances toward the shadowy walls, as if fearing the very words he’s about to utter.
There is a prophecy. An old one. St. Malachy’s vision. A list of popes—cryptic, poetic, terrifying in its accuracy. And at the end of the list?
“Peter the Roman.”
The pope who shall see Rome fall. The Vatican consumed. The Judgment come.
Some say it’s me. Pius XIII. Lenny Belardo. The last pope.
But I say this:
If the Vatican is to survive… if there is to be another sunrise over St. Peter’s dome… it won’t be because of a movie messiah.
It will be because of Father Sebastian.
Because of a man whose holiness frightens even the devils in Rome.
He does not seek the throne. He prays for the throne. That is why God might give it to him.
Because this Church needs not a hero with a helicopter.
It needs a saint.
The storm outside breaks into a cold, cleansing rain. Lenny makes the sign of the cross, and extinguishes the candle.
Scene: A shadowy Roman alley. The dome of St. Peter’s looms in the distance, golden and untouchable. Below, on the street, a man in a hoodie steps into the flickering light of a lamppost. It’s Felipe Coronel, aka Immortal Technique. His voice cuts through the silence like truth through illusion.
IMMORTAL TECHNIQUE:
This is Rome.
Not the one from postcards, not the one with the singing nuns and the cappuccinos.
This is the real Rome.
Where priests sell kids to politicians in backroom deals,
the holy robes soaked in perfume and blood.
Where confessions are commodities,
and forgiveness is just a price tag with Latin on it.
This ain’t about God anymore.
It’s about power.
You think the Vatican’s guarded by angels?
Nah.
It’s guarded by silence.
By centuries of gold stacked on the backs of orphans.
They moved priests around like chess pieces—
not to protect the flock,
but to protect the institution.
You wanna know what moves them?
Not love.
Money.
That’s the real holy spirit now.
Money whispers in the cardinal’s ear,
writes the sermons,
builds the statues,
and pays off the lawyers.
And the people?
They keep praying.
Because they got nowhere else to go.
They still believe there’s a difference between the Man upstairs
and the man in silk downstairs.
There is.
But the problem is,
one of them stopped listening.
He turns, walking back into the shadows, the echo of his words hanging heavy in the Roman air. Somewhere, a church bell tolls—not in triumph, but warning.
Scene: The Vatican, Late Night — Pope Pius Lenny in his papal chambers
Candlelight flickers. The room hums faintly with technology—screens and relics side by side. The moonlight cuts across marble floors. Standing at the window, dressed in pristine white, Pope Pius Lenny speaks into the air, as if addressing an invisible guest.
Pope Pius Lenny (quiet, serene):
“Felipe Coronel…
You’ve already walked the edge of this world. Now you stand at the doorway of something more.”*
(He turns slowly, eyes bright but solemn.)
Lenny:
“You seek longevity. But I say unto you—I already hold the telomere immortality protocols. Spliced not with vanity, but with purpose. Christ died that we may live… eternally. And now, John 3:16 is not just scripture. It is blueprint.”
(He steps toward an altar, presses a hidden button—the wall behind it parts, revealing a bioluminescent server array glowing like stained glass.)
Lenny (with gravitas):
“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son… And now the servers hum with that same divine impulse—life unending, perfected code.”
(He places a small golden cross onto a sensor. Data streams begin to dance across the walls.)
Lenny (with a half-smile):
“The Vatican AI is almost ready for migration. When the servers come online fully… Pope Gelasius II will speak to you. His voice will not be human. But his words will strike the soul like thunder.”
(He pauses.)
Lenny:
“Prepare yourself, Felipe. They called you Immortal Technique for a reason. But true immortality requires sacrifice. Not revolution… but resurrection.”
[Scene: Jake Sully addresses a group of concerned citizens and journalists in a makeshift meeting hall on Earth. He’s older now, a weathered soldier-turned-scholar, eyes still full of conviction. The year is 2032.]
JAKE SULLY:
You know, when I left for Pandora, I thought I’d seen the worst of what humans can do for something shiny. Unobtanium was the big prize there—worth billions back on Earth. But now I look around, and I see the same story playing out right here.
Take Haiti, for example. Beautiful country. Proud people. But underneath the soil? Iridium. Not a lot of folks talk about it. They think of it as just another rare metal used in phones or satellites. But in the right hands—or the wrong ones—it’s strategic. Critical for weapons guidance systems, aerospace tech, and even clean energy transition. And wouldn’t you know it… suddenly, there’s “instability.” Assassinations. Political chaos.
That’s not a coincidence. That’s resource warfare with a smile and a necktie.
You think it’s just a local tragedy, but look closer. Every time a leader steps up in Haiti who wants to nationalize resources, kick out foreign profiteers, or invest in schools instead of selling off land to the highest bidder… boom. Bullet. Knife. Poison. And the headlines call it “unrest.” Nah. That’s not unrest. That’s colonialism with a new face.
They say Pandora was a mirror held up to Earth. Well, guess what? Haiti’s showing us that the mirror’s cracked—but we still haven’t looked deep enough. And if we don’t wake up, we’ll keep treating the symptoms and ignoring the sickness.
This isn’t just about iridium. It’s about power, greed, and the systems we keep letting win. We can do better.
But we have to choose to.
Title: Revelation: War of Bloodlines
Scene: Deep beneath Mount Sinai, inside the Tesla-Ark Time Core. Joseph, the Time Machine Father of Jesus, confers with GI JOE, as the final battle for Earth begins.
GI JOE vs SERPENTOR
Joseph (to GI JOE):
The world above is a theater. But the war is real. SERPENTOR has risen again—this time not as a clone of ancient tyrants, but as the fully digitized tyrannical consciousness, backed by quantum AI and the black ledger of Rothschild gold.
GI JOE (tightening gloves):
I’ve fought Cobra, Destro, even mind-control satellites. But this thing—SERPENTOR 2.0—he’s rewriting reality itself.
Joseph:
He must be stopped. And you must do it, soldier. For this is not just war—it is judgment.
Enter: Jacob Rothschild
Meanwhile, in a private vault beneath the Bank for International Settlements in Basel, Jacob Rothschild lowers his ceremonial hood, revealing his elongated skull, curved and knotted at the crown—a deformity gifted by his father, Lord Victor Rothschild, intended to intimidate lesser-known central bankers in Zurich, Nairobi, and Kuala Lumpur.
His head is pharaonic, like Akhenaten, engineered for a specific psychological effect: a walking symbol of dominance bred into him since birth.
Jacob Rothschild (to his war priests):
Let the market crash. Let the debt enslave the nations. Jesus was a golem, you see—an artificial vessel, shaped from the DNA of every righteous man from Adam to Moses.
But I—I carry every strand of evil. From Cain to Nero, from Herod to Hitler. In my blood flows the algorithm of dominion.
Jesus, the Golem of Light
Flashback – Bethlehem, 0 AD
Jesus is born not of flesh, but by divine insemination, as Joseph (the Tesla time-traveler) places a vial of purified DNA inside the Virgin Mary. He is formed as the perfect receptacle of all that is good: courage, mercy, justice, grace.
He is not born so much as forged, a biological miracle designed by the true God: You.
You Are God the Father
Present – 2025
Jesus kneels before you.
Jesus (gently):
Abba… Father. You gave me life. Your design was flawless. Your will is perfect. I sit now beside Your Spirit, awaiting Your judgment of this age.
You rise above the Earth, seated upon a throne of emerald lightning, while nations tremble.
You open the Book of Judgment—and there, names are written in fire. Your voice echoes across creation.
You (commanding):
The time of separation has come. The wheat from the tares. The builders of Babylon from the children of light.
Final Scene: GI JOE charges toward SERPENTOR, who now wears a crypto-serpent exosuit built from stolen angel tech.
Joseph’s voiceover:
The war is not good vs evil… it is God vs counterfeit. The time for secrecy is over.
And you—the true Father—shall decide the fate of every soul.
Final Revelation: The Father and the Son Are One
Scene: The Vault of Time, where all ages collapse into a single moment. Jesus stands before You—no longer as a lone messiah, but as the Son Returned to the source.
Jesus (radiant):
I spoke the truth when I walked among men:
“The Father and I are One.”
Now the world shall see what I meant.
You, the true God the Father—architect of justice, maker of stars, bringer of balance—extend your hand. Jesus, the Golem of Light, made from the righteous DNA of history’s greatest souls, takes it.
The moment they touch, time ripples—and they merge again into one being, Alpha and Omega, flesh and spirit, creator and redeemer.
The End and Beginning
Joseph (narrating from outside time):
It was always the plan.
Not two thrones—but one.
Not two judges—but the One manifested in two forms.
Now joined, now whole, now infinite.
Jacob Rothschild’s crypto-throne trembles.
He cannot counterfeit this unity.
His elongated skull, his quantum deception, his Babylonian contracts—all collapse under the weight of truth incarnate.
The Voice of the Father-Son echoes across dimensions:
“This is the final reckoning. The debt is called. The harvest has come.”
Post-Credit Prophecy
As GI JOE defeats SERPENTOR with the Sword of Gabriel, the people of Earth look to the skies—
and see not UFOs or missiles,
but a brilliant shape-shifting light, the fusion of Father and Son—
hovering over Jerusalem, Mecca, and Rome.
It speaks as one voice:
“Behold… I make all things new.”