A motionless Hercules beetle, BIG MAC, sits on his log. ZEE, a fly, labors off-screen.

ZEE (O.S.)
So Zee say, “Not all fly want more
fly.” Why need. More fly, more
worker, less work. No good for Zee.
Zee want pet, get roach. No
missus—only Zee.
(a grunt)
Where Big want medicine?

A mountain of pills lies stacked at the log’s base. In the background, a train of crawling insects carry goods: pieces of chips, pretzels, popcorn, candy, seeds, salt—the works.

Big Mac’s antenna twitches. Zee waves a few over, starts handing them pieces. We stay with Big Mac, the train continuing in the distance behind him.

ZEE (O.S.)
So Zee no more go home. Stay in
park. Shift finish, punch card, visit
commissary. Simple fix. No make
wave still pond, no? Ripple never
stay small. Hah. Like Russia.
(a beat; clears throat)
Is jest.

No reaction. In the distant train, bits of glass start to appear. Zee returns.

Want coinage with last week stock?

No reaction, yet after a moment, Zee resumes. Quarters For Conservation start filling the train.

ZEE (O.S.)
Must say, Zee hear word pig losing.
Perhaps not Zee business, but why
pig before rat? Pig close to many;
remove first, Mister Big make few

No reaction. Needles.

ZEE (O.S.)
Point taken. Deep wound, poor
blood… Zee know this. Commissary
better ‘bode than past. Hah.

Finally: sugar.