A deafening crack of thunder. The lights plunge to a deep, supernatural, monochromatic blue. The music stops dead. Silence, but for a low vibrating hum that shakes the floorboards. BELSHAZZAR. (tripping backward over a couch, the wine and the swagger gone in an instant) What — what is that? Guards! The torches — why are the torches going out? On the upstage wall, a blinding white light. A massive disembodied shadow of a hand stretches across the stone, and with a sound like rock cracking under heat, traces glowing, molten letters: M E N E M E N E T E K E L U P H A R S I N Courtiers scream and scramble over one another, dropping the sacred cups, which clatter and roll across the stage. BELSHAZZAR is on his knees, his face lit by the burning letters. BELSHAZZAR. (a scream) Read it! Someone read it! My wise men — my astrologers — what does it SAY? A third of the kingdom — purple and gold — to any man who can read that wall! The Babylonian wise men shuffle forward, look at the flaming script, shield their eyes, and back away shaking their heads, useless. Then DANIEL steps out of the shadow, calm, his linen stark against the supernatural blue. He walks past the trembling guards and stands before the kneeling king. DANIEL. You don't need an astrologer, Belshazzar. (quietly) You need a mirror. BELSHAZZAR. (clutching at Daniel's robe) Daniel. The Hebrew. They said you had the spirit of the holy gods in you. (desperate) What does it say? I beg you — what does it say? DANIEL. (turning to the burning wall, his voice filling the hall) It is four words, my king. And they are very simple. (beat) MENE — God has numbered the days of your kingdom, and brought it to an end. (beat) TEKEL — you have been weighed in the balances... and found wanting. (beat) PERES — your kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and the Persians. (he looks down at the broken king) Tonight. BELSHAZZAR collapses, staring at nothing. The molten letters flare in one final, blinding pulse. Then — a massive splintering crash from beneath the stage. Distant, rising shouts of an invading army. The palace walls begin to fracture and lean. Chaos. Through the collapsing hall, DANIEL crosses to AVIVA — who stands untouched and unmoving in the center of the storm — and points to the golden temple cup, safe on its pedestal in the wreckage. DANIEL. The night is over, Aviva. The seventy years are spent. (urgent, joyful through the chaos) Take the cup. Take it home. It's time. Go. AVIVA snatches the sacred cup to her chest. NABU fights through the fleeing crowd and reaches her, gripping her arm. NABU. This way — there's a servants' passage under the east wall, the Persians won't — come on — AVIVA. (pulling back, staring at him) Why? Nabu — this is your city. Your gold. Your safety. Everything you told me to choose — NABU. (a decision made in a single breath) I was wrong about what a song is for. (beat) You taught me that. Some things are worth more than a city. (he pulls her toward the passage) Now RUN. They flee as the palace collapses in silhouette behind them. Blackout.
