"D'you wanna know?" Steve asks. "Yes. What if it fails. What if there's no Third Testament? Tell me that." And in the Big Brother room, the Devil leans back. Showtime. "I can!" he shouts, and it's not the Son of God that's shouting it. It's a video clerk in his early thirties. "I can find out." She calls the bluff: "Then do it." Steve downloads; there's a rattle on the soundtrack. The snake behind it. This is vulgar. He trances out for a bit, as the Devil watches, fingers crossed. There are drums. She looks at him, still with love for all that; Frank watches, Pete watches. It downloads, and he laughs sadly to himself. God's sick little surprise party. "What did you see?" asks Peter. Steve answers, "Nothing." And Jude nods the sharp little nod of the anarchist: "There you go." But wait: "No, I saw nothing. That's what I saw. There's nothing there." Frank questions this; questions nothing. It's like a play; every interaction takes place on another level. It's like a poem. Watch who says what. "Nothing exists. Darkness." Peter clarifies: "Like, the end of the world?" He stares. "...Steve?" Judgment Day. Jude swallows. "If there's no Third Testament, then it's Judgment Day. Tomorrow." Steve begins to crack, tears running quietly. "Tomorrow night." Jude calls bollocks, and Steve looks at her, full of tears and revelation: "Armageddon. I saw it. Death." He looks at us, through the camera. You love him more intensely. It's a thing Chris Eccleston does every time, turns it on behind the eyes like Miss Tyra. There's a music video by the band I Am Kloot. Chris Eccleston looking at you for two and a half minutes. Sounds gay, and it sort of is if you're not on the wavelength at the time. It's like sitting zazen, for him and for you. It's hard to watch, and by hard I mean impossible. Zazen means you sit facing the wall, it's a form of Zen meditation where you face the wall. And the storms come, and the rage and the pain and the sadness, and the smells come and the sounds, and you continue to sit. The discipline is in continuing to sit. And that's how the video plays, reward and all: it accomplishes in two and a half minutes what this movie needs two and a half hours to say. I highly recommend it. The band is from -- Did I really need to check? -- fucking Manchester. And the song is called "Proof."
Overlay Chris Eccleston looking right at you, through the camera, and fade to Bad Cop. Eyes shining silver. "Stop recording," he says. This is where the game kicks in. The techie gives him the tape and he puts out his cigarette -- near Jude's face on a surveillance screen, the angle of filming is very precise about that -- and he hops in a car with a briefcase, which he taps lovingly, and he leaves the station.