Francisco de Miranda is in the darkness. He stares at his own chest. Then, he is lifted from darkness, his body unfolded. Fingers run over his form, and straighten him out so he can be seen in full. He stands proud. There is thunder, a giant's voice. He sees the purple sky of dusk, he feels the breeze. He smells the air of his birth city. He thinks that maybe, like a hum, he hears the freedom of his people. Then he is plunged back into darkness. He is returned to his Spanish prison.