A pack of bandits is chasing after the alchemist. 

The alchemist holds the secret that feeds their greed. Unable to run any further, the alchemist collapses in the padi field as the sound of parangs reaches him. He is then taken to the bandits' lair where strange devices are already in place. There, under the watchful eyes of a low rank bandit, the alchemist is put to work - melting and burning and cooling...turning lead into gold. He presents the nuggets of gold to the Pack Leader who has a hole in his heart, never satisfied, he demands more. The alchemist reluctantly complies, more gold it is. Yet another low rank bandit is guarding the prisoner's door, replacing the previous one who seems to have slipped away in the night. For countless days, the alchemist is melting, burning and cooling... Strangely, more disappearance occurs as more lead cools to gold and soon, the entire lair is glowing with a blinding splendour. 

At his throne, the Pack Leader has the sweat of God all over him but there is nothing godly about it at all. He calls for his minions but there is no one left but the depressed alchemist.
Where are all my people? What have you done to them? The Pack Leader asks.
You are wearing them, the alchemist answers.

On a busy street there is a present on the floor. People rush by it, children stare at it and beggars fight for it. The most agressive beggar gets hold of the present and he opens it. Looking in, he begins to laugh almost maniacally. The others gather around him, curious about its content, pushing and shuffling, the present is torn to a million pieces. Each holding a piece yet no one is pleased. The beggar who first looked in confesses: the present is empty.

In an asylum, all the lunatics are ready for apocalypse. Outside, chaos when the world hears about end times. The lady lifts up her veil and spits out her insides. 

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in relation to our imagination can things be called beautiful or ugly, well-ordered or confused.

- Spinoza

A band of fools are marching into court and a grand jury sits in the box. Sworn to be impartial, the jurors listen to the fools, exercising their roles as finders of fact. The verdict is long overdue and the judge removes the box, beyond a reasonable doubt - the fools and the jurors are one not two. 

Underneath the bed, a father and his 5-year old daughter are silent. He is hiding from the loanshark who is hunting for his flesh. She is playing, thinking that it is a game, and happy in the company of her father. Layers of dust stick on them, mosquitos feast on them and sorrow follows him. Few feet away, sun light comes through the window and particles are becoming visible. Her naked eyes take a picture and they take her to the waters... Tired, she closes them and sleeps.