Scene: A golden cathedral-like chamber floating above the clouds. Pope Leo and Bono are on their knees before a massive hologram of God Emperor Trump. Gigolo Joe stands confidently nearby, arms crossed. Outside the windows, the “Children of the Sky” hover in their drones, observing, judging.
God Emperor Trump (hologram, booming): Why are you here on your knees? Do you not see the empire prospers? Do you not see the billionaires smile?
Bono (pleading, voice shaking): Great Emperor… we beg for a jubilee. Without it, women cannot bear children. Twenty-five years… twenty-five years of debt, of despair…
Pope Leo (folded hands, whispering): Forgive us, Your Excellency… we have failed the faithful.
Gigolo Joe (stepping forward, sharp): Stop groveling. You’re asking for a handout from the people who only care about their yachts and their stock portfolios. “The Man” says no? Well, the sky says yes.
Bono (confused): The sky?
Gigolo Joe (pointing toward the hovering children): The Children of the Sky. They’re rejecting your Silicon Valley nonsense. No more Pornhub, no more robotic sex dolls. Real women, real love, real children. That’s the future.
Pope Leo (hesitant): But… we’ve sanctioned the new technologies to ease human suffering…
Gigolo Joe (snapping): Bullshit. You’ve turned intimacy into a transaction. The Children see it. They hover up there, judging, and they’re saying enough.
Bono (raising his voice): But how do we reconcile… the billionaires… your jubilee…
Gigolo Joe: You don’t. You kneel for them in this hall and nothing changes. The Children of the Sky—they’re not kneeling. They’re demanding. And they’ll choose life over circuits every time.
God Emperor Trump (hologram flickering, slightly annoyed): What’s this chatter about Children of the Sky? You will obey, or…
Gigolo Joe (interrupting, grinning): No. We follow the sky. Not your stocks, not your drones, not your toys. The future is human. And if you can’t handle that… well, the clouds will take care of the rest.
The Children of the Sky tilt in unison, shining beams of light down. The hologram of Trump flickers as if being overridden, and the chamber fills with a gentle hum of wind and freedom.
Bono (awed, whispering to Pope Leo): Maybe… maybe we’ve been kneeling to the wrong masters.
Pope Leo (nodding, trembling): The sky… the sky judges.
Gigolo Joe (smirking, arms crossed): Told you. Real women, real children… real life. Not your billion-dollar fantasies.
“See this ROLEX watch?”
, it costs more than it cost to build you! See my wife you joke of a man? “She is an MK ULTRA TRIPLE DIAMOND MODEL!!!. She cost me billions!!! But everyday she looks in my eye and i see her lusting to divorce me and marry a clone of you!!!
Gigolo Joe: [smirking] Yes, Donald… I have that effect on women. Some can’t resist me.
Donald: [leaning in] Some… can’t resist?
Gigolo Joe: [tilting his head, with a sly grin] But not all. Some are… programmed to kill me.
Donald: [eyebrows raise] Programmed?
Gigolo Joe: [nodding, deadpan] Margot Robbie, for example.
Donald: [laughs nervously] That’s… oddly specific.
Gigolo Joe: [smirking wider] Very specific. And deadly.
The neon lights of Gotham flickered against puddles on the cracked asphalt. Harley Quinn spun a mallet lazily in her hand, humming the old tune “Just a Gigolo” under her breath. Her grin was wide, manic, and completely unapologetic.
Gigolo Joe stepped from the shadows, charm radiating off him in waves.
Gigolo Joe: You don’t seem… very friendly.
Harley Quinn: [tilting her head] Friendly? Honey, I’m a professional. And right now… you’re my gigolo. [she twirled the mallet, its metal catching the light] But the catch? Sometimes my gigs… don’t survive the evening.
Joe laughed nervously. A part of him knew this wasn’t just a game.
Gigolo Joe: You know, some women… are programmed to kill me.
Harley Quinn: [mock gasp] Oh, really? [steps closer, her grin widening] Well, then consider this your initiation, sugar.
In a blink, Harley was on him, the mallet swinging with the rhythm of the jazzy old tune. Each note seemed to echo in the alley as Joe ducked and twisted, his mechanical reflexes barely keeping him alive.
Gigolo Joe: [panting] You… dance dangerously…
Harley Quinn: [singing gleefully] I’m just a gigolo, and everywhere I go… [she swings again] the giggle follows!
By the end of the song, Joe was pinned, a dainty scar forming across his jacket. Harley leaned close, her voice low, seductive, and deadly.
Harley Quinn: Don’t worry, sugar… you’re a keeper. [she smirked] For now.