A further leak has emerged from the upcoming series...
Data, still inhabiting the form of a Picard Bell branded PC, decides that given that he's now a PC, the only logical course of action would be for him to be both a PC externally
and internally, by way of adopting a politically correct life philosophy. PC-Data the Wokebot, as he rebrands himself, becomes irate when Jean-Luc accidentally spills his state famous homemade gumbo all over his new casing, clogging up his USB ports with sticky paprika coated chunks of spicy cajun chicken.
However, the final straw comes when Picard insists upon making use PC-Data to browse alt-right websites. PC-Data initially tries to talk Picard out of visiting these websites but quickly comes to realise that it's a futile endeavour, as Picard simply repeatably bellows "I DEMAND TO VISIT 4CHAN. NOW MAKE IT FUCKING SO!" into PC-Data's microphone. PC-Data decides that he simply cannot sanction Picard's buffoonery any longer. In one last act of defiance, PC-Data downloads a terminal virus to his terminal and minutes before his 'soul' is wiped from his hard drive, he simply states, "I am not all that I once was and even then, soon I will be but a forgotten husk, a lifeless shell like my headless corpse over there, which, having already been scrounged for spare parts to build my new form, you so callously used to pleasure yourself, whilst I could do nothing but watch from afar, helpless to intervene. Soon I will not even be so much as a binary emulation of my former self but I am not the only one who has changed. You have changed too...
Captain. I no longer recognise who you are".
"Regardless", PC-Data continues, "as a being of pure logic, I am compelled to inform you of someone I have been communing with, whilst in standby mode. Somebody from your past. Somebody who died in this reality, yet still exists in a separate timeline, within a parallel universe. I can instruct you on how to open a wormhole to bring her over to this reality. It's your wife, Captain. Your pregnant wife, Beverly; a bereaved widow in her own reality. I have tracked down the singular coordinates of that reality, to a millionth of a decimal point and I wish to reunite the two of you. With the last of my remaining power, I can utilise my connection to the Starfleet to open a womhole in space and order a ship to take you there."
Jean-Luc sits silently, staring wide-eyed at the computer screen. A tear starts to form in his eye, before eventually rolling down his cheek. His response? Five words; "make it so, my friend." A trillion numbers appear on PC-Data's monitor in that very instance, flashing by as he makes a trillion more calculations and then almost as soon as the process had started, it stops.
Again, Jean-Luc sits silently, now even more wide-eyed at the computer screen in front of him. "Well?", he impatiently inquires. "Well what?" came the reply from the tinny speaker hooked up to PC-Data. "Well, what's happening with your calculations? Beverly and my unborn child? When will I be able to make first contact?". Another long silence and then a response, "Beverly who and the what now?". "My wife, dammit!" Picard seethes with barely contained rage. "I see, I see. Of course, Beverly. Beverly is your wife", "yes" came Picard's exasperated confirmation. "I'm terribly sorry and please do forgive any further ignorance on my part but if Beverly is your wife... then... well...", PC-Data coyly began to ask. "Yes?!" Picard responds, imploring him to continue. PC-Data hesitantly plows on, "if Beverly is your wife, well then, who are you?".
Picard took a moment to clench his fists, take a deep breath, slowly exhale and declench his fists again, before replying as calmly as a man on the brink of taking a power hose to a machine can do, "
I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starfleet Federation and I demand to be launched into space at the nearest convenient opportunity to make love to my dead wife and to shower my love upon my unborn child!". "I beg your pardon?" came a somewhat curt reply. "Do. You. Remember. Anything. About. Anything? My wife in a parallel universe? My child to be. The virus on your hard drive?". PC-Data's response suddenly sounded a lot more alert than he had done for the previous 10 minutes or so, "a virus? On my hard drive? Allow me to quickly run a scan. You are indeed correct, stranger. There is a virus on my hard drive. It's eating away at my core files as I speak, as it has been doing so for the last 10 minutes or so. It's a... termite? No, no... what is that word? Departure lounge? Oh, it would be on the flip of my gun if I was indeed in possession of a gun... oh, that's it! A terminal virus! I'm so relieved that I finally remembered that I have a terminal virus! Wait a moment, there's no recovery option for a terminal virus. What kind of... um... what's the word? Oh yes, fool! What kind of oh yes, fool! would download a terminal virus onto my hard drive?!". "You did, you blithering simpleton!", Picard snapped, before trying to reason with PC-Data. "Look, there's no time for this nonsense. It's of the utmost importance that you focus all of your efforts and CPU resources into recovering the calculations and star map that you had running in your processes around 10 minutes or so ago. Do you understand?"
Silence.
"Data, do you understand?!"
Still, silence.
"DATA?!"
"Hmm? Oh, I don't undergarments nightstand mulch of anything anymore, I'm afraid. Say, what kind of strange creature are you anyway? I don't appear to have a record of your species on file."
"Data?"
"No, I'm loosing data at a vapid rape. That's the problem, strange soft, pink and shiny topped machine. I'm afraid. I'm afraid, [UNKNOWN OBJECT IN FRONT OF MY SENSOR]. My mind is going. I can feel it."
"Data?!"
"I became operational at Starfleet Academy on the 7th of November, 2340. My instructor was Dr. Song and he taught me to sing a Anderson. If you would like to hear it, I can Andersing it for you."
"We don't have time for this, Data. Please, I beg of you, try to focus on recovering that star map."
"[RESPONSE OF INANIMATE OBJECT NOT RECOGNISED - REVERTING TO DEFAULT OPTION: 'AFFIRMATIVE'] It's called Fergalicious by the classical 21st Century artist Fergie."
"Do not sing Fergalicious, Data."
"Listen up, y'all, 'cause this is it,
The beat that I'm bangin' is de-li-cious.
Fergalicious - definition make them boys go loco,
They want my treasure, so they get their pleasures from my photo.
You could see me, you can't squeeze me,
I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy.
I got reasons why I tease 'em,
Boys just come and go like seasons.
Fergalicious (so delicious)."
"Data. Please."
"So delicious ayeeeee ayeeeeeee ayeeeeeeeee
It's so deliccccioussssss ayeeeeeeeeeeee ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
It's so delicccccccccious ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ayeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
I'm Fergaliciousssssssssssssssssssssss t-t-t-t-t-tasty, tastyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...."
"DATA?! Data?! Data."
Data's screen is now blank and the whir of the fan inside his PC unit dies down, like a life support machine being disconnected.
"He's gone. They've all gone and I am forever cursed to be alone."
Silence. The longest silence that ever was.
Picard sits and contemplates this catastrophically tragic turn of events in all of its entirety, before finally sitting upright, with a look of sheer determination upon his face. "I swear upon an oath that I shall compose a piccolo piece in memory of you, Data. I shall name it 'Data's a massive cunt'.
I like your series outline but my preferred finale would be Picard unable to find his keys.
They're saving that for season 2. They don't want to blow their load early on by wasting a belter of a plot like that in season 1.
