The Corporate Gig

For those that don't know, improv is a form of Theatre where the actors make up a scene or play as it goes along. It's kind of like a rap battle, but with less dissing and more pantomimed shoveling. Usually, one of the performers will ask the audience for a suggestion of what the scene could be about. This shows that a) the scene is new and based completely upon impulsive swear words from the audience, and b) the actors were too lazy to write and rehearse a proper scene.

Learning improv is a lot like learning to juggle, but the juggling pins are constantly betraying embarrassing gaps in knowledge and shouting Freudian slips. I received the first of my improv training in high school Theatre classes, but many others got their start in backyards, playing cops and robbers or Dairy Queen drive-thru. Improv education ends when a performer has learned to embrace the zen idea of "now" or, failing that, when the streetlights come on and it's time for dinner.

I've gotten a lot of joy from watching and performing improv over the years, but I'm hardly a proper spokesperson. In terms of terrible theater-going experiences, I would place bad improv up there with exploding cellphones and "a sandbag fell on my date". The cruel thing is that it's so easy for improv to go bad. All it takes is one mistimed genitalia joke or accidentally racist caricature and the audience will turn on the performers, never to be won back.

In the early 2000's, I regularly performed with a comedy improv troupe called Torrential Downplay. (I'd love to go into the group's history and roster of performers, but I'm not qualified and this isn't the place.) Suffice it to say, we were a solid crew of individual opinions with a strong group spirit. I joined up when T.D. was young and idealistic, a society of clever actors, writers, and directors that wanted to see smart comedy thrive in Birmingham, Alabama. I'm biased, but I'd say that we actually achieved that for a few years, for hundreds of people that saw us perform. However, getting up in front of drunken crowds week after week, we quickly learned that "smart" comedy could sometimes include "yo mama" jokes and the occasional Austin Powers impression.

A typical Torrential Downplay show was around two hours of short-form improv games, such as the type of stuff you'd see on Whose Line Is It Anyway? ("World's Worst", "Party Quirks", etc. - though we'd usually do our own spin and title them something different). Most shows consisted of four performers and a "mediator" who would host the show, choose/introduce the games, and get suggestions from the audience. I was never very good at hosting shows; the only reason I initially wanted to do it was to pick the song that would kick off the show, after which I would have nothing more to add creatively. The 10-12 standing T.D. members were rotated to perform in these weekly shows at various Birmingham bars and coffee shops, usually on Sunday nights.

The first few months involved a good bit of aimless flailing onstage, cursing at our collective stupidity while literally cursing at audiences. But we eventually got comfortable and - dare I say - good in the weekly shows. And after we had established ourselves around town, Torrential Downplay became popular enough to warrant additional gigs on the side. Most of these turned out to be for family-friendly audiences, the kind that caused us to sweat over the possibility we might accidentally use words like "crap" or "hell".

I was lucky enough to perform at a few private parties, several citywide events, and one Bat Mitzvah. These gigs paid better than a typical Sunday night show, and usually ran much shorter than the two hour marathons of wacky character voices and forced puns that we were accustomed to. The flip side, however, was that random Alabama audiences rarely knew who we were or what the word "improv" meant, usually leaving all involved with that classic cocktail of frustration and embarrassment, always served over confused, distrusting ice.

Which finally brings me to the corporate gig that this story is named for.

I'm not supposed to talk about this corporate gig. The five of us who were selected to perform at the corporate gig north of Birmingham decided after the show, during a long, mostly quiet drive home, if anybody from the rest of the group ever asked us what happened at the corporate gig, we'd respond with "It went well." I think that enough time has passed that I can finally reveal what happened, though I won't name the company that hired us to perform (let's call them BlunderCo), nor the names of the other performers who were present that fateful night.

All of Torrential Downplay's corporate engagements had similar set ups. The person that contacted our booking agent would be the company's representative as far as we were concerned. They would give us directions to the gig, any special instructions about the performance, and (most importantly) pay us after we were finished. Sometimes there was free food involved, which would leave absent T.D. members steeped in jealousy for days. However, the BlunderCo rep (we'll call her "Angel") did something unexpected. About a week before the gig, she emailed us a list of employees that we should target during the show.

It's not uncommon for improv troupes to be given "funny" info about employees before performances, the expectation being that these little threads of insider comedy would be weaved into the show, a parade of the company's own "party quirks" as it were. Angel's list included such eccentric foibles as "Millie Wurther is afraid of clowns" and "Jeremy Purvis always works late" - you know, real heavy-hitting stuff.

What was unusual about this, at least to us at Torrential Downplay around this time, was the implication that the BlunderCo people actually understood what improv was (albeit in kind of a hokey, party game kind of way). Most side gigs were painful when it came to teaching new audiences what our regular audiences already knew, but this actually got our hopes up. We prepared ourselves for what would surely be a fun show, and we memorized Angel's list accordingly.

The drive up the BlunderCo's large office complex was uneventful, except for a few last-minute pop quizzes on what type of cologne does Dottie Hingleman hate and what alma mater does Harvey Lankdover constantly bring up? ("Belmont!") We arrived and Angel met us in the lobby. She seemed a little nervous, but we were still in high spirits. Torrential Downplay's show uniform was a nice white shirt over black pants in those days, so it's not like we looked like the Deltas from Animal House. She asked us if we'd mind waiting a bit and disappeared back into the recesses of the cavernous BlunderCo facility.

After an unsettling forty-five minute wait, Angel returned and led us to a large banquet room. 95% of the floor space was taken up by thirty large circular tables, where 300 very loud people shouted at each other as frantic caterers navigated between them. Dinner had obviously been served some time earlier and everybody seemed to be on their fourth or fifth cocktail round. Off to the side, we saw a 5x5 platform with a makeshift backdrop, our illustrious stage. Angel faced the crowd and verrry slowwwly got their attention. She quieted one table, which then quieted the next, and so on for several minutes until all thirty tables realized that Angel had something to say.

Torrential Downplay had seen more than a few rowdy audiences by that point and we knew a little bit about crowd control. My experience put the room's patience at about fifteen seconds, the time everybody assumed it would take Angel to announce that BlunderCo was awesome. Instead, she meekly welcomed us performers to the stage and the crowd became very concerned that us kids in the bad waiter costumes were going to take longer than fifteen seconds to do some kind of little skit.

Introducing a new crowd to the concept of improv is tedious, mostly because it's not very funny. When you're paid to be funny, the last thing an audience wants is a plea for proper conditions and an explanation of why something is eventually going to hopefully be very funny(!!!). The BlunderCo crowd was about as impatient with this part of the show as a four-year-old child on speed would be at a city counsel meeting.

It was looking more and more like, no, this crowd didn't know what improv was - and they did not care to find out. Our mediator took the understandable route of "Who better to explain improv than improv itself?" and we launched into the first game of the evening. It was greeted by some light chuckles and, I have to believe, conspiratorial murmurs of a rising coup from the far away tables. Luckily, we knew that we had aces up our sleeves: Angel's list of famous office quirks!

I'll pause here to say that Angel's magic list still amazes me. I have a ton of improv stories, but I'm telling this one because of that list. My memory is that it had about 20 people on it, 25 tops. BlunderCo had 300+ employees, so we knew that Angel couldn't have provided funny facts for everyone. But we assumed it was a cross section of the most beloved and popular BlunderCo employees. Do I need to tell you that this wasn't the case?

We began to unleash our veritable knowledge of the BlunderCo corporate family through sloppy, not-great-for-improv character assassinations:

"Don't mind me, circus clowns. It's just me, Rusty Frecklin, and my extensive collection of Beanie Babies!"

"You're the world's biggest Dallas Cowboys fan, huh? Well, I wouldn't mention that to Sandy Reynolds?"

It didn't take long for us to notice that these odd inclusions were only getting reactions from 1 of the 30 large tables. And they weren't good reactions; they were "oh no, okay fine, please move on" reactions. It dawned on us that Angel had only provided information about her own department, and the lack of reactions from the room signaled that her coworkers were apparently not very notable among the other 29 tables at the banquet.

What made this part worse was that, even after we realized what was happening, we didn't stop including Angel's group - not at all. I can't speak for the other T.D. performers, but I thought maybe I'd hit on a name that was a general manager or somebody that everybody from BlunderCo would have heard of. Surely, I thought, Angel would had thrown us their version of a Steve Jobs or a Ted Turner.

But this was not the case. Her department's embarrassment only deepened as we continued to expose their odd fears and habits without any proper context. We watched that embarrassment turn into absolute humiliation as Angel's team proved to be the unfunny comedy group's only target. It was as if Angel's team had ordered a crappy moon bounce filled with putrid air and told the rest of BlunderCo that they were the only department allowed inside.

Okay, so nobody died. Nobody got punched in the neck and threw up all over a baby. In the grand scheme of things, the BlunderCo Job was less of a fiasco as it was an unfortunate miscommunication. But the show went on for nearly an hour, every minute of which felt like drowning in molasses. The only thing that got any semblance of a laugh was when our mediator jumped into one of the games to mix the company's name with...I'll just say a "well known product" to make it sound like...I'll just say a "part on a lady". And then another performer did it and it got another laugh. And then I did it too, because it was the only thing that they seemed to like and being liked was what we got paid for.

Hands scrubbed and a hundred miles later, the road home quietly hummed beneath us. Angel had paid us, had even thanked us, but we couldn't help but wonder what the folks over at BlunderCo would have to save the next time somebody mentioned "improv" in their presence. They might just turn and walk away. Our mediator, inventive as always, gave us the "It went well," response to any questions we'd be asked later, and we all agreed it was the only thing that we could say.

And we stuck with that line that for a long time. The other folks at T.D. might have learned tidbits here and there, but it wasn't that big a deal, not really. We had other bad shows, some of which I fought tooth and nail to see produced. Some failures you just can't outrun. But there were a lot of great shows and many terrific audiences that stayed with us, even when we accidentally said "crap" in front of their kids.

I'll leave it with a theory I have: the problem with improv is that it wants to lead to something greater: a stronger premise, a better acting gig, doesn't matter - just greater. Improv in and of itself is never enough; its value is only instrumental. Once our group felt that the normal shows were about as good as we could get them, Torrential Downplay tried its hand at long-form shows (one scene per show, high concept premises), sketch comedy, and all sorts of other experiments to keep us moving forward. Some did pretty well and turned a few bucks, but our bread was always buttered by the normal Sunday shows.

Through it all, we'd have these long, two-hour meetings where we'd sit around a big table to discuss our future: opening up a theater, offering classes, maybe making a feature film. I have to admit that I found these meetings awkward, because each of us would offer a different idea and none of them sounded all that likely.

I guess that's easy to say now, some 15 years later. (Stick around and I'll tell you why the Bears lost Super Bowl XLI back in 2007.) Still, I've realized over the years that hindsight was always the best method for looking at Torrential Downplay. Between the dozen or so of us hanging around in its ranks at any given time, we'd each of us have a unique vision for how something should be, something we'd be willing to fight for because we cared so damn much about it. But after the dust had settled and the shouting died down, we would usually agree when we were asked how something went.

And how did it go? What can I say? It went well.

Rejected Story Ideas

Like all true writers, my mind harbors a vast reservoir of innovative, thought-provoking ideas. However, an unrefined idea is really only the genesis of a completed story, and time does not allow each narrative spark the possibility to bloom into a thrilling bonfire.

With that, I present these selections from my archive of rejected story ideas. The finished tales that would have resulted from these will never come to pass, though they certainly would have electrified readers with the literary tasers of pure emotional resonance. For denying current audiences and future generations that unquestionable pleasure, I must apologize. But I hope that by presenting these ideas here, I will grant my fans a rare glimpse into my process, as well as my special mind.

• An arrogant scientist named Katrina Gerehorne is recruited by the US government to compete against Russia in a time traveling contest, where the goal is to go back in time and collect specific objects - all of which are selected in order to minimize significant changes to the course of human history. One such item is a document detailing the Monmouth surrender at the Battle of Sedgemoor (1665). However, Katrina accidentally steals Isaac Newton's scientific notes for Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica instead, which causes her to return to a world where gravity has never existed.

• In one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young man named Claude leaves his small hometown in search of higher education, cleaner water, and overall better opportunities. His family is just glad to be rid of him.

• A mysterious count named Havel DeLanque buys an old castle in the Kentuckian countryside. Eventually, it becomes obvious that he wants to live there because of its large cellar, where he imagines that he'll one day entomb his enemies, like in Edgar Allan Poe's "The Black Cat". However, Havel never acquires any enemies and he eventually puts a pinball machine down there and uses the extra space for his collection of soapbox racers.

• Goats are extremely psychic and can read human minds. Most of the time they aren't interested in doing anything with the information they learn, but every now and then they use their powers to get free food and make people fall in love. A goat named Gingerbread uses both tactics to enter the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition. The goat loses the contest, but learns a lesson about the human spirit.

• Unsuccessful car salesman Robby Enston has the ability to see into the future, but only for people that refuse to buy cars from him. He tries to convince prospective customers to come back and buy a car after his predictions prove to be 100% accurate, but they never do. Robby becomes embittered and eventually tells everyone that he has lost his powers. Desperate for information, everyone buys a car from him, which cancels out his powers. Robby appeases the new car owners by inventing wildly unlikely predictions, all of which are foretold to happen a couple of weeks past the warranty expiration dates on their new cars.

• Shy guy Willis Dabney decides to get a dog to serve as an icebreaker to meet the women that frequent his local park. However, the adorable beagle he brings home turns out be inhabited by the reincarnated spirit of John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk. This is not a problem for the most part, though Willis does grow tired of explaining who John Howard was and what a duke's responsibilities are.

• It is the year 2055 and Bayou Drinks is Louisiana's hottest honky-tonk. "Swamp" McSurge has returned to collect some money owed to him by the owner, a cyborg named Thelma (who is also his ex-wife). Trouble ensues when the local space sheriff decides to close down Bayou Drinks unless they can raise 10,000 NewMerica credits by midnight. They do, of course, and Thelma sees that Swamp has become a man of his word. The bar's house band plays Madonna's "Open Your Heart" in celebration.

• In another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young woman named Sybil leaves her small hometown in search of ways to go hang gliding without having access to either mountains or hang gliders. Her family eagerly awaits her findings.

• After months of searching, Hank Pritchard is thrilled to get hired as the editor of a brand new website called Vrinkle. Unknown to him, however, is the company's secret purpose: it was created by Hank's friends to make him feel better about himself. When his friends eventually tell him what they've done, Hank asks for a raise. The makeshift website is then bought by Google.

• In a parallel universe where magic is real, but GPS is not, people have many tales about a satellite-assisted method of giving people directions in an assortment of celebrity voices. College student Stacy Crawford is obsessed with the stories and desperately wants to make them into a reality, but her family forces her to major in levitation spells instead. Stacy flunks out anyway and starts a 80's cover band.

• Crass businesswoman Laura Caldeen decides to retire early and see the world. After a trying month spent mainly in airports, Laura returns to Philadelphia and unsuccessfully tries to get her job back. Not one to be defeated, she enters the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition and narrowly beats out a goat named Gingerbread. Laura adopts the rascally goat, they move to Palm Springs, and soon after, Laura falls in love with a local hotdog vendor named Chet.

• A lonely man named Louis becomes infatuated with a painting that hangs in the background of his favorite TV sitcom, Pleasant Times. He travels to Los Angeles and sneaks onto the sitcom's set, only to find that most of the background (including his beloved painting) is computer-generated. Louis has a fit and interrupts filming by shouting his complaints about life in general at the Pleasant Times cast and crew. Annoyed at first, they slowly discover that they all agree with Louis's criticisms and really enjoy his fresh takes on modern topics. However, the executive producer of the show is too busy to witness any of this, and therefore doesn't give Louis his own sitcom. Security escorts Louis away from the studio and filming resumes.

• The Rowdy Maggots, a dangerous motorcycle gang, descends on a small town called Willow Glen, destroying its infrastructure and generally wreaking havoc. Not to be outdone, the citizens of Willow Glen buy motorcycles and start their own biker gang. The formerly quiet townspeople are transformed into brutal savages practically overnight. The Maggots, having learned their lesson, ride out of town. The citizens of Willow Glen then sell their motorcycles and begin cleaning up the wreckage. However, just as the town begins to look like its old self, an approaching gang of metal detector enthusiasts appears over the horizon.

• In yet another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, an older gentleman named Gus leaves his small town in search of promiscuous women. He finds plenty and sends the resulting bar tabs to his family back home.

Blackout in Electric City 3: The Midnight Grid (1990)

Blackout in Electric City 3: The Midnight Grid (AKA, Kiss of the KryptoSphere) is a 1990 cyber thriller directed by Leon Powell, starring David Everett as Kade Dakota, Brenda Sachs as Roxanna, and JoBeth Williams (Poltergeist) as Wendy Pavlord. The film was a wild departure from the Cold War themes of the first two Blackout entries, focusing instead on some of the emerging computer software technologies of the late 1980's/early '90's. A notorious flop, the movie led to the bankruptcy and eventual demise of its distributor, Premium Shift Pictures.

Blackout 3 begins in the virtual reality world of the KryptoSphere, which looks like a cross between Tron and the video game Doom. People in "the KS" appear as themselves, but with futuristic clothes and colorful auras around their bodies.

In a digital arena, handsome tech virtuoso Kade Dakota fends off a group of computer hackers using a 3-D game called Deity Blaze (a hybrid of Chess, Tetris, and Badminton). The three cyber criminals all wear white ski masks and their voices are filtered through a distortion program. They continuously refer to Kade as a "coral reef", alluding to his hindrance of their open web-surfing. Kade gains the upper hand when he dispatches a "zero-gravity spin-cube", the ultimate checkmate move in Deity Blaze. The hackers dissipate into digital mist.

The threat defeated, Kade removes his VR helmet and is back in the real world. His control center is located at futuristic Pavlord Industries, creator of the KryptoSphere. Kade is praised by his supervisor, Hector Stormdale (David Naughton, An American Werewolf in London), and told that the Wendy Pavlord owes a huge debt to Kade for keeping her company's innovations virus-free. Kade reveals his desire to see compu-crime ended by the year 2000. Kade then says he has to leave for a hot date with a woman named Roxanna that he met at a nightclub called Throttle Drive the night before.

Later that night, Kade meets with the beautiful Roxanna at her stylish condominium. Before they leave for their date, she requests that Kade fix her malfunctioning answering machine. Kade makes jokes about her not being tech savvy, but is embarrassed when he too cannot get the machine to work. She teases him before leading him toward her bedroom for gentle lovemaking. As they leave the room, the answering machine's message light switches on and the audiotape rewinds.

Kade is awoken in the early hours by voices coming from somewhere in Roxanna's condo. He tells the girl to hide in the closet and inspects the other rooms. He discovers that the voices are coming from the answering machine, which now is malfunctioning by playing back old messages. Before he can hit stop, however, he overhears a man's voice describe an upcoming crime in the KryptoSphere, expressing hope that no "coral reefs" prevent him from "catching a big wave".

The message ends and a moment later Roxanna appears in the doorway. She asks what the voices were, but Kade tells her it was nothing and they go back to bed. Roxanna blissfully sleeps on Kade's chest as he stares at the ceiling, obviously troubled about what he has overheard.

The next morning, Roxanna climbs into her Ferrari Testarossa and drives off, secretly tailed by Kade in his lime green Mustang. They end up at a storage warehouse downtown, where Roxanna walks in. Kade spots a payphone across the street and uses it to call into work. Hector is upset that Kade isn't at the office, informing him that Wendy Pavlord has asked that Kade present a lecture on compu-crime at a global conference in two days, to held in the KryptoSphere's Golden Palace.

Kade hints that he may have a lead on the recent hacks and hangs up. Using his impressive physical prowess, Kade climbs up some scaffolding to the warehouse's second story and enters through an open window.

Kade sneaks along some rafters until he gets a good view of Roxanna's meeting with a mysterious figure in a white ski mask and black leather trench coat. They put on VR helmets and Kade climbs down to get a closer look at the equipment they are using. Both helmets have Pavlord Industries labels on them, which confuses him. They end their VR session and Kade hides behind some large crates. He overhears them agree to meet again later that same day and they go their separate ways. Kade tries to follow the mysterious stranger, but a secret passageway in one of the warehouse's backrooms thwarts his attempt.

Later at the Pavlord Industries, Kade gears up in his VR equipment. He enters the KryptoSphere and appears surrounded by various types of Krypto-denizens: mostly typical web surfers, but also game peddlers, sexbots, and roving scammers. Kade enters a virtual dive bar and approaches shifty Hawke Gunnar (Harry Dean Stanton in one of his paycheck roles) sitting by himself in a corner booth. They trade a few verbal barbs before Kade threatens to ban Hawke from "the KS" due to a scam involving counterfeit KryptoKash (the virtual world's currency).

Hawke offers information about the team of ski mask-wearing hackers, which he refers to as the Midnight Grid. He tells Kade that they are a super-group of disgraced technophiles from each of the Electric Nations, assembled by none other than Hector Stormdale himself. Kade pushes for more information, but Hawke's connection distorts and his avatar appears extremely digitized. A health meter appears above his head, emptying fast. Distressed, Hawke says that he has just been stabbed through the heart in real life and will be dead soon. Kade backs away as Hawke's avatar explodes into digital carnage.

Kade removes his VR helmet and, through his control center's window, sees Wendy Pavlord talking to Hector. Kade exits his station to investigate. He can tell that Hector is overcome with Wendy's beauty and sophistication. She sees Kade and compliments him on this hard work for her company, saying that her father, Reynolds Pavlord, would have be proud of him. Kade thanks her and she leaves. Hector admonishes Kade for being rude and asks what he was doing in the KryptoSphere. Before Kade can ask Hector about the Midnight Grid, an assistant tells Kade that he has a phone call. It's Roxanna - and she needs Kade's help.

Kade rushes to Roxanna's condo. She is distraught, coming clean to Kade about her involvement with the Midnight Grid and their nefarious plot to bring down the value of KryptoKash. She explains that she thought the KryptoSphere's collapse would help the Electric Nations' economy, but found out that it would only lead to anarchy. Kade asks her about Hector, but Roxanna says she doesn't know who he is. Once he's convinced, Roxanna leads Kade toward her bedroom for another round of gentle lovemaking (set to "Hyperdrive" by C.C. Cobalt).

The next morning, Kade sneaks Roxanna into Pavlord Industries and they enter the KryptoSphere together. She tells him that there is a virtual records cave in Database Mountain where the secret identities of the Midnight Grid's members are held. Kade and Roxanna reach the base of the virtual mountain and begin to scale it in a sequence that has gained notoriety as a viral video.

The sequence is as follows:

Rather than using normal mountain climbing techniques, Kade switches off the surrounding gravity and the two of them bungee-jump up each level. Badly-rendered digital pterodactyls attack them as they near the top of Database Mountain. Roxanna uses a program called "KryptoKopy" in order to create opposing pterodactyls to defeat the initial wave of prehistoric birds. However, Roxanna's bungee cord is inadvertently cut by one of their beaks. Kade catches her and resets the mountain's gravity to normal. They find a winding path that leads up and activate inline skates (see: rollerblades) from within in their avatars' feet.

The clip currently has over 12 million views on YouTube.

Once they reach the top of Database Mountain, Roxanna points out the entrance to the records cave. However, they are stopped by overriding signals, warning alarms, and messages that appear in their VR helmet displays. Kade and Roxanna are wanted by the Electric City Police Patrol for the murder of Hector Stormdale.

They quickly exit the KryptoSphere and avoid several security guards as they escape Pavlord Industries. Driving through downtown Electric City, Kade explains that they won't be able to access the KryptoSphere while they are wanted. Roxanna asks Kade about Hector Stormdale and he tells her a funny story about a time they got into a street race in "the KS" and had to allude a fleet of KryptoKops. Kade then gets an idea and drives to an old arcade called Button Mashers.

Roxanna tells Kade that this is no time to play Dig Dug as he leads her to a classic pinball game in the back. He taps out a pattern on the flippers and the machine sinks into the wall, revealing a secret passage. They enter and are faced with a old-school robot that demands a password. Kade says "Bodlaender" and the robot leads them to a room filled with technology from all eras. Roxanna is confused, but Kade explains that Bodlaender was an important Dutch computer scientist.

Hunched over a tiny microchip in the middle of buzzing electronics, sits computer tech legend Bolty Dobbs (Jon Gries, Real Genius). He yells at Kade about bringing the Spanish Inquisition to his doorstep, but it turns out to be a Monty Python reference. The two old friends greet each other and Kade introduces Bolty to Roxanna. Bolty say that he knows all about what is happening and that he's there to help them both.

Bolty tells Kade that he has something for him and takes him to a side room with a wall of display monitors. Bolty hits play on a VCR and Hector Stormdale appears on every screen. In a pre-recorded video, Hector explains that if Kade is seeing the message, then he (Hector) has been murdered. He reveals that he once worked directly under Reynolds Pavlord and had a brief love affair with Wendy, which angered the old man. Hector was moved from R&D to security detail at the company, but he kept his ear to the ground over the years and witnessed Wendy absorb her father's penchant for greed, especially after Pavlord died. He then discovered her plot to throw the Electric Nations into chaos, all so that the KryptoSphere would be the only safe haven for people looking to escape crime and rampant poverty.

The message ends abruptly with Hector telling Kade to get as far away from Wendy Pavlord and the Midnight Grid as he can. Bolty hits stop on the playback and Roxanna (who has been standing in the doorway for much of Hector's message) asks Kade what he wants to do. Kade asks Bolty if he can gain access for two to the KryptoSphere, along with counterfeit identities for their avatars. Bolty says that he can and will. Kade turns to Roxanna and tells her that they are going to "KryptoKrash Pavlord's party".

Inside the KryptoSphere, two giant blue pterodactyls circle the Golden Palace. Krypto-denizens pour into the large compound, a banner that reads "Electric Nations Global Conference 2000" adorns the entrance. Wendy Pavlord's smiling face is seen on monitors at every corner. The pterodactyls perch atop one of the landings and transform into two members of the Midnight Grid, both holding briefcases. They enter the building through a roof access opening.

The conference takes place inside a large ballroom where digital food and beverages are being served. Inside the KryptoSphere, people are well-dressed and ecstatic. However, in their real-life Electric Nation homes, people are merely wearing VR helmets while in their underwear and surrounded by filth.

Wendy Pavlord takes the stage, greeted by thunderous applause. She welcomes the denizens and speaks about her father's vision for the KS, as well as the need for evolution. Speaking to concerns about security, Wendy reveals that the Midnight Grid has bested Pavlord Industries' team at every level, infiltrating their ranks and murdering Hector Stormdale. She reveals her romance with Hector, saying that she never stopped loving him.

Behind Wendy, the two Midnight Grid figures appear. Wendy is confused and asks security to capture them, but the masked figures are able to disappear and reappear, seemingly at will. Finally, one accuses Wendy of murdering Hector. The crowd gasps. The two figures press buttons on their trenchcoats and reveal themselves to be Kade and Roxanna. The crowd gasps again.

Wendy asks why their presence isn't transmitting alert signals and Kade explains that they've accessed an override command through a friend. He also tells her that he and Roxanna again have reached the summit of Database Mountain and now know the identity of the Midnight Grid. He asks if it could have been her the whole time: Wendy Pavlord herself?

Through a flashback, Wendy is revealed to be the Midnight Grid in the real world, leading Roxanna through a maze of corporate espionage in order to ensnare Kade in a trap. The figure gracefully alludes Kade in the warehouse without letting on that she knows she is being followed. The secret passageway door closes and she removes the white ski mask, smiling. Later, she sheds a single tear as she plunges a knife into Hector Stormdale's heart.

Back in the KryptoSphere's Golden Palace, Kade says that this is only partially the truth. He opens his briefcase and dumps files onto the floor which morph into a 2-D hologram of the Midnight Grid. He announces that Wendy might be able to play secret agent in Electric City, but the true identity of the Midnight Grid is none other than her father, Reynolds Pavlord, his mind uploaded into the KryptoSphere before death. However, in the KryptoSphere, he is represented in triplicate. The three members of the Midnight Grid appear from the crowd and remove their white ski masks (each played by Harry Dean Stanton).

Kade shakes his head, saying that he never expected a dirtbag like Hawke to actually be Reynolds Pavlord, not in a million years. Two of the Pavlords fade into digitized blocks as the remaining one leaps onto the stage. His clothes transform into a tuxedo and he kisses his daughter's cheek. Smiling, Pavlord greets the audience, telling them that this is all a part of the night's amusement.

Reynolds Pavlord removes a transmitter from his pocket and presses a button, locking Kade and Roxanna into place and preventing them from disappearing again. Pavlord takes his daughter's hand and reiterates to the crowd the need for evolution in the KryptoSphere. He then announces that there is a new innovation from Pavlord Industries. He presses another button on the transmitter and the Golden Palace becomes ultra-realistic. He welcomes the audience to the KryptoSphere Version 2.0 and they rapturously applaud.

As the applause dies, one person in the crowd refuses to stop clapping. Pavlord glares to see who this is. Hector Stormdale, also wearing a tuxedo, walks up onto the stage and asks if they validate parking.

Pavlord demands to know how he got there and Hector explains that he uploaded himself into KryptoSphere 2.0 as soon as he found the specs. He then tells Wendy that he doubts she ever loved him. The only love she ever knew was for her father, who controls her even from beyond death. Wendy begins to cry, finally realizing that this is true.

Hector reveals that he too has a transmitter and releases Kade and Roxanna. He presses another button and the Golden Palace begins to shake and the walls crumble. They begin to flee, but Pavlord tackles Kade and they both disintegrate into digital dust. Roxanna screams, but Hector forces her to keep running. The palace falls and the KryptoSphere reverts back to its 1.0 version.

Later they all gather in a digital KryptoSphere field, a digital scrawl in the sky informs everyone that Wendy Pavlord has been arrested by the Electric City Police Patrol and that Reynolds Pavlord's program in the KryptoSphere was somehow deactivated. Roxanna wonders what became of Kade.

A moment later Kade appears over the horizon, triumphant. He explains that Pavlord believed that he could best Kade in any game of his choosing. She asks him what he chose and he removes a zero-gravity spin-cube from his pocket. She smiles at him and they kiss.

Kade asks Hector what he plans to do now that the Pavlords are gone. Amused, Hector says that he will let the KryptoSphere evolve on its own. He won't be its ruler, but perhaps he'll be its protector. His tuxedo transforms into a superhero outfit and he flies off. Kade and Roxanna laugh. They look at each other and kiss again.

The credits roll in a futuristic font created for the film.

Despite an extensive marketing campaign by Premium Shift Pictures, Blackout in Electric City 3 failed to capture the imagination of its intended audience. The film opened eleventh in its opening weekend and went on to gross only 23% of its production budget. While some critics maintained that the movie featured lively performances and a fun soundtrack, many were confused by the plot and jargon-heavy dialogue. Rumors of a behind-the-scenes romance between David Everett and JoBeth Williams were found to be a marketing ploy perpetrated by Premium Shift, resulting in one marriage's dissolution and several lawsuits.

Today, Blackout 3 is seen as an early counterpart to other cyber thrillers such as Hackers and The Net, though its legacy is less pronounced due to lack of future stars. The special effects, while not bad for its time, now look crude compared to the notable blockbusters that soon followed (T2: Judgement Day and Jurassic Park). However, many fans discovered Blackout 3 on various cable channels and the film has maintained a healthy cult status in the decades since its disastrous theatrical run. Upon Blackout 3's DVD release in 2011, former Premium Shift president Howard Kleinhorn asked these fans where they were in 1990, and then told them all that they could go to hell.