[THE FAME FILES]

ALEC 

Okay! Look at me! 

CC Stares deeply and unbothered into ALEC BALDWIN’S eyes. 

ALEC 

Not directly at me! What are you doing? Are you insane?

CC 

I may be. 

ALEC 

This is useless. Useless. Martha! 

MARTHA STEWART emerges from the foreground. 

Not the background?

No, we’re doing things differently this season. 

Okay! 

MARTHA STEWART 

Yes, dear?

ALEC 

What’s the ETA on that pot pie?

MARTHA STEWART thinks for a second— 

Suddenly— ATTICUS CATTICUS— also known as TOONCES, charges through the window, barely missing a pie that’s been cooling on the windowsill. 

MARTHA

Not even close.

ALEC 

TOONCES! 

CHAK CHEL

Oh, Mister kitty… there you are. 

ALEC 

The pie! The pie!

MARTHA STEWART 

Not my famous cherry pie.

No you don’t. 

ALEC 

Why on earth would you actually keep a pie on the window sill?!? 

MARTHA STEWART

…I’m Martha Stewart. 

ALEC 

Right. 

{Enter The Multiverse} 

“Thank God It’s Pie Day” 

3.14159. 

How does that get us any closer to figuring out where Lorne is?

It doesn’t… 

Then what was the point?

*Shrugs* 

Bobby! Come quick! 

How the hell did you get up here?! 

“Quick?” Okay. 

How long are we going to keep them frozen like this?

I dunno. Maybe forever. 

L E G E N D S 

CHAOS. (As MARK ARNOLD) 

Just stay here, alright. 

FINI 

Or else what?

He stops with a irrant look in his eye, almost irate, with even a glimpse of irrational fear, before settling on anger, snapping back at the small girl, 

CHAOS 

Or else, you’ll get murderedz 

In Infinity’s mind, this is confounding. 

Even appearing as a youth, she contemplates deeply of her brother’s truest intention. 

‘But…wouldn’t he want me to die? 

The Chronicles of WTF.

L E G E N D S 

KENAN grimaces. 

CC immediately turns back into a cat; TOONCES throws her ears back. 

“Her” 

Nobody said Toonces always has to be a boy. 

Enough with the progressiveness! 

JANE WYCKLINE kneels at the ALTAR. 

A SHADOW crawls over the tall marble– 

Yo what is this?

I don’t know. 

—whatever. 

Meanwhile, SETH MEYERS has just finished lunch 

No.

No more pumpkin bread. 

What. 

You stop that 

No. 

—with VAMPIRES. This weekly gathering has taken place for centuries. His brother JOSH or whoever is also at the table. 

That’s enough. 

Stop it .

Nyet!

SETH’S watch goes off. 

SETH MEYERS 

(Unaffected to a degree of relief) 

…I have to go. 

VERONIKA

OH! 

NICHOLAS

Oh, so soon?

SETH MEYERS 

Yes.

{Enter The Multiverse} 

I unilaterally belong to The Roots…

I have infinity musics for them. 

YOU CAN SEE THE ROOTS, for FREE. 

No.

FOR FREE. 

I’m not going. 

{Enter The Multiverse}

It digs at my soul,
It aches till it ain’t no more 

It screams till it rots, 

The fire, the burn, the essence of pure, 

Unadulterated horseplay 

Nonsense 

Horsepucky, 

I think i’m going to be sick if I don’t 

(Wait for it) 

Blow them all up, 

I could fold over once, like a wind bag, 

Wind pipes, 

Windmill, 

When, Where–
How did you get here? 

(Chaos)

Quite an honorable subordinate! 

Shut up! 

Oh, what an deplorable homonculous, you are— 

Hold it right there! 

I’ve had it up to Wherewold, 

Wind, Cloud– 

How did you get here? 

I woke up from a night terror 

Into a nightmare 

And into a nigh terror 

Into a nightmare 

Not now 

I looked into a white mirror: 

My ghost 

I looked into a snowglobe 

My lost empire 

Love struck, 

Dumbass 

Lust becomes a potent 

Potion, 

If you bat one eye just like that 

I will have to poke it right out! 

Right now 

–Yes, sir. 

Onward, choked the awkward duck; 

You murder whore; 

Outward laughed the awful aurtur 

(Where you are, I had been) 

And there you are for night-days, 

Five days west of you and my gaze 

Sets upon the flower that you might gave 

To wear on your clothes as though, not gold, 

But another precious metal, 

There are empires in your honor, now, 

I found out both the hard way and the long way, 

Look, the dust has settled, ash to war, 

And dirt to oceans, art to torture 

Reign again, my doesn’t notice sweet and this, 

My truth became her thoughts, and flowers past, 

This to which my heart could only suffer. 

CAMPIRE. 

Not no–[w]

*death* 

I told him. 

I know you did. 

He just didn’t look fast enough 

VAM–

AHA! This time I– 

*death* 

Goddamnit. 

Campfires, eh, 

And winter wool my sheath did hearth but cry 

A dart i gave and buried, 

Kept and wilted flower mine, 

and this does does but rot and settle, 

still , like fire it gathered trust, and sat 

upon the dusk as frozen snow does.

Okay?

Conan, go away.

Or somewhere–just. 

[The Festival Project ™ ] 

TIMBER!!!!!!!!!

[JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE goes running off into the woods STARK NAKED, after LEAPING from ATOP a FALLEN TREE as it SLAMS into the ground and over the MISTY LAKE.]

So that’s what i’ll call him…

[A SHOTGUN FIRE rings out into the forest and ricochets off of something metal.] 

JUSTIN

HA! YOU MISSED. 

[A SECOND SHOT rings out, then a thud.] 

JUSTIN 

OW. 

{Enter The Multiverse}

I’m beginning to hate this planet.

dare you see me over the sink, 

I am 

Dare you shut your eyes and go to sleep, 

I am, 

Dare you weep, 

I am 

Dare you keep this in your all and somber knowing?

Do you dare repeat this solemn oath to me, 

I am 

Stare into mine eyes, 

I am, 

Unbound to time, am I?

And now we whispered, waiting flare and flourish 

Grip not what mortals are offered, 

As I, I became, and welded this to then, my alter

For time I am, and courage, and King to now for all, 

I rot, and dare you slayeth me again, mine wake to mind, I am in slumber, not alone, but to this, I bear truth, and fruit to arms I bear, I, I bare and gave there roots to grow 

Into an ark of one, not parting grass but paths for serpents, 

So I keep, and so I very wary way and hanger upon her, 

Our time is passed, and yet illusion as does pass is also, 

Passing and ye, 

Have yet to pass, 

Amen. 

Amen. And so I came. 

Ah now, and shall I flourish. 

I weep, for slender mark did harp, I— 

And rot away, as came and won I take, my fair maiden to thy kingdom, and yet slaughter her upon my grasp. 

I lay my grave to thee, Therin. 

And truth did mark my gather. 

And bearing weight did truth bear oath. 

And faring way, this oath shall part. 

C’cxell Soleïl 

What a beautiful bizarre….

And look, she even wore her collar 

Now I don’t know what to call him 

Maybe nothing, 

Maybe not at all, but 

I can’t help but think about it 

I wash it down with salt and soda 

I’ve been around a lot of drama, 

But you know 

You really know, my love, 

I’m not the one to start it.

((Turn it up.))

I’m not in love, 

You know 

I shop at every market  

I buy my produce from the finest of the farms, 

–and i’m well known amongst the farmers 

Stop that

Come around, come around, come around, 

Come around 

–and I come around often

I’m not in love, 

You know 

I shop at every market 

Woah, woah, woah
Don’t touch 

No, we don’t talk 

No, not at all 

There’s nothing like 

A good old fashioned gathering 

All on community property

(Community Property) 

Nothing quite comes 

So much full circle 

As what you already know 

Shaking hands with 

What someone else told you 

Confirmed: 

It’s community property 

(Community Property) 

I’m not in love, 

You know 

I shop at every market  

I buy my produce from the finest of the farms, 

–and i’m well known amongst the farmers 

Stop that

Come around, come around, come around, 

Come around 

–and I come around often

I’m not in love, 

You know 

I shop at every market 

Woah, woah, woah
Don’t touch 

No, we don’t talk 

No, not at all 

There’s nothing like 

A good old fashioned gathering 

All on community property

(Community Property) 

Nothing quite comes 

So much full circle 

As what you already know 

Shaking hands with 

What someone else told you 

Confirmed: 

It’s community property 

(Community Property) 

((Turn it up.))

What a beautiful bizarre….

And look, she even wore her collar 

Now I don’t know what to call him 

Maybe nothing, 

(Turn It Off.)

{Enter The Multiverse} 

[The Festival Project ™ ] 

The Complex Collective © 

The Lost Cause Comedy Vault Volume V 

Unstoppable.Co

WELCOME TO A U D A C I T Y: THE LOST CAUSE INTERACTIVE DRINKING GAME ("IT'S LEGIT" EDITION)

Congratulations on opening the box. Look, we have to talk about what just happened here, because by acquiring this set, you have chosen to participate in an activity specifically engineered by a woman whose linguistic wiring is an absolute lost cause. 

She had one job…and…

She quit.

[Please drink responsibly.]

OBJECT OF THE GAME

The primary objective of A U D A C I T Y is to witness a human being on stage rely entirely on a single mid-aughts colloquialism to carry an hour of narrative comedy while in an extreme caloric deficit while in rapid approach to the Emmy Awards Show– while you, the player and listener desperately attempt to maintain consciousness on your living room sofa (or, wherever) 

[Please drink responsibly.]

The secondary objective is to not have an ambulance pull up to your apartment before the third quarter. 

Which part of this entirely improved stand-up-comedy special is the “third quarter you ask?” 

I legitimately don’t know. (In theory, this is where you would take a shot.)

[Please drink responsibly.]

Actually, you know what? Don’t play this game. 

Just don’t.

…Don’t.

-Lost Cause.

COMPONENTS & SETUP

• One (1) audio recording of this stand-up specially originally recorded in Manhattan, New York on September 14, 2026 [Included] 

• Ears [Not Included]

• One (1) to four (Infinity) players of lawful, statutory drinking age in their given terrestrial jurisdiction.

• One (1) sealed bottle of distilled spirits that you should immediately put back in the cupboard because you have work tomorrow. And even If you don’t. Don’t play this game.

• One (1) large vessel of filtered water, which is what network standards and practices actually wants you to use.

[Please drink responsibly.]

(Actually, you know what? Don’t.)

BASIC GAMEPLAY & RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

Whenever the performer utters the root term "legit" 

“L E G I T –”

–or any of its grammatical variations or derivatives—i.e. “legitimate” players must immediately execute one of the following mandated actions:

1. SHOTS!!! 

(DO NOT DO THIS): 

Take one full shot of distilled liquor. Now, mathematically, do you know what happens if you do this? You don't make it to the punchlines. You are face-down on your area rug twenty-two minutes in, completely blacked out, sleeping straight through the actual ending and entirely missing the weird, unhinged bonus material waiting in the ether after the final credits roll.

Please drink responsibly.

1. SIPS.

 just take a modest sip of beer or wine every time she says any variation on the word “legit" Spoiler alert: a modest sip each time the word is uttered is either a really good or a really bad night–and in the moderately very least–a very interesting night. 

[Please drink responsibly.]

LIMITS + BOUNDARIES: If you stubbornly insist on the hard liquor route, the house rules strictly dictate a hard stop at ten shots.

 Actually, you know what? Ten shots is an insane amount of alcohol. 

What is wrong with you? 

What’s wrong with ME? 

Cap it at 5 shots….

Or, you know what? zero shots.

Because ten shots turns a comedy show into an actual comedy (which is derived in tragedy! Oh NO!)

[PLEASE DRINK RESPONSIBLY.]

[OR JUST–DON’T.] 

💀

EXPANSION PACKS & HOUSE VARIANTS

Wellness Edition: Discard the alcohol entirely.

Instead, Every time the performer utters "legit," take a swallow of ice-cold electrolyte water or an overpriced organic green juice. 

(Or just…buy green things and blend them together until it turns into a saucy grass-like beverage. Yum.)

Your skin will radiate, your vital organs will thrive–

YOU WILL FLOAT ON AETHER.

STONERS…’HUH?’ EDITION.

If permitted by regional statute and personal conscience, take a pull from the bong upon every invocation of the word. 

You will…
Wait, what was I saying?

OFFICIAL DISCLAIMER, WAIVER OF TORT, AND ABSOLUTION OF LIABILITY

Be it formally entered into the permanent record: the manufacturer, writer, broadcaster, and self-admitted lost cause behind this performance expressly declare that this entire game, its rulebook, and its interactive mechanisms are presented strictly as an extended piece of satirical performance art. The artist and network disclaim any and all proximate cause, duty of care, or civil liability for bodily trauma, spontaneous nausea, spiritual disorientation, or ruined friendships resulting from anyone actually consuming substances to this specific vocal cadence.

You [the reader and listener] assume total personal risk for your own decisions. 

Haha. 

Furthermore, let the record show she knows she has a vocabulary and caloric deficit, and the entire suggestion of this game is, in and of itself.

….completely a bit.

Thanks a lot, Seth Meyers.

You ruined my life.

Everybody thank Seth Meyers for ruining your life! 

What?

DO IT. 

-LOST CAUSE.

[please drink responsibly.] 

[Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S 

[The Festival Project ™ ] 

The Complex Collective © 

Unstoppable.Co

https://tidal.com/track/574136554

[Unreleased/ Untitled Mixtape - ‘Late Night Drive’]

Written, Produced By C’cxell Soleïl + neocloud

& Performed by Blū Tha Gürū 

[The Festival Project ™ ] 

The Complex Collective © 

{Enter The Multivere}

04. James Bond 

This motherfucker isn’t even funny!  

His dirty little fuckin’ brother might be even dumber; 

I wonder

What kind of fuckin’ love spell I was under

When i wrote this album 

Fuck it: 

That’s just how i won a Tony! (Tony!) 

The irony of Italy and throw in a third: 

Tony; 

You owe me, 

Like i’m the only fuckin lonely stoner full of

‘Gnochi?’--

–Gn–Gno–??

W–wait–

Gnocchi?

Nevermind,

Fuck it.

What you think i’m like a genie in a bottle, bro?

Don’t even got a body, bro! 

And I am not a fuckin blondie 

But uh – 

That sounds good, yo… 

With chocolate chips– 

This must be the battle, cause i’m sinking ships 

Loose Lips, 

Dude this fuckin’ guy has got a big mouth, 

Like a blow fish 

I went low, sis, 

So you went hi-hoe, Snow White 

This life is hopeless 

I–

Don’t know Pincohio: 

I know Jipetto’s broke and off his fuckin’ rocker, 

Down on his luck, but all I got is 

Frankenstein's Monster 

[I’M ALIVE.]

–but barely, cause I drove my G6 off of a bridge and– 

[DIED.]

In California 

Two blocks from the Brooklyn bridge in 

[Fi-Di]

But I never walk over it;

Cause I think of jumping off so much 

[I hate my life.]

Call me Al Bundy
Cause I hate my wife, 

Said every man! 

It’s badder than banter 

I got a cat in a hamper 

I’m microwaving a hamster 

Live on a fucking broadcast– 

I just turned the devil off 

Then I talk to God last, 

I got a medal of honor 

Cause once-upon i felt a hard blast 

Growing an apple tree so i can have a hard glass 

of hard cider 

Doing squats so I can have a hard ass 

She’s mad now, 

But i got a cash cow , 

I went to a lash-brow bar tho, 

and afterward, 

It’s all gone (gone, gone!)

Life is even harder when you’re not a blonde 

But suddenly my life is Lights, Camera, Action! 

Now i’m James Bond

Dunadunadunaduna 

What up 

I’m on Wall and Broad Street 

Pulling up on Whole Foods market 

Got a silver Glock in my pocket 

Trench coat, 

I’m a Lost Cause 

And I got a lot of Balls

You are mad that you are not me

What up; 

I’m on Wall and Broad Street 

I’m a lost cause 

And I got a lot of Balls

You are mad that you are not me

Dunadunadunadunaduna

Batman! 

James Bond 

Dunadunadunadunaduna

My name is 

Dunadunadunadunaduna

Batman! 

Nah!

Dunadunadunadunaduna

James Bond 

My name is 

James Bond 

My—my name is 

James Bond

James Bond 

My—my—my 

Name is 

James Bond.

{Enter The Multiverse} 

L E G E N D S 

{Enter The Multiverse} 

Parallel Park [The Whip] 

Performed by Blū Tha Gürū 

Prod./Composed by C’cxell Soleïl  + neocloud.

Written By: C’cxell Soleïl

UK Drill Hybrid NY Drill

(Peep my attempt at a British accent. Lolz.) 

I wrote this song in LA pre-pandemic (2019-2020) 

Inspired by the hypnotic sound of my blinker, I had to parallel park so often in LA every time I did it I would rap using my blinker as a beat. 

Cool to finally breathe actual life into it. 

S/O 

To the west coast, I guess if there was a such thing as LA Drill, this is it.

Working on accents, impressions and other funny stuff, the music is just a passion…

Idk. Anyway.

The full and complete Old School Hip Hop Mixtape Coming Soon, trying to figure out how to shoot the music video for the last single titled James Bond on a ltd. budget cause art costs out the nose these days.

Link to the full mixtape soon, will be free to DL. 

Enjoy this lil Drill bop in the meantime, though.

Love,

-Blu. 

A Little History On The Subject:

UK drill emerged primarily out of Brixton, South London around the early 2010s, spearheaded by crews like 67 who imported the stark, percussive aggression of Chicago drill and cross-pollinated it with indigenous UK soundsystem culture.

That lineage directly intersects with dubstep's birth in neighboring Croydon, inheriting its low-end architecture: both subgenres share the foundational DNA of South London pirate radio, Jamaican dub pressure, syncopated half-time rhythms, and an obsession with cavernous, sub-bass weight.

UK producers transmuted that sonic heritage into drill’s signature sliding 808 glides and frantic, syncopated hi-hat patterns—a distinct sonic alchemy discovered online by Brooklyn artists like Pop Smoke and Fivio Foreign, who sourced beats directly from British producers like 808Melo and AXL Beats to ignite the transatlantic phenomenon of New York drill.

The Complex Collective © 

[The Festival Project ™ ] 

‘Parallel Park [The Whip]’ -  Blū Tha Gürū

Untitled/ Unreleased EP’ 

Unstoppable.Co

LYRICS: 

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I pull up, I rip and I dip

I parallel park the ghost

You see me i'm doing the most

Damn if I stamp it

This is not the post office!

I'm ballin!

They're callin’ my phone;

Step into the party--

I'm coming alone;

Pull off with the homie,

I bought him a blonde;

She show him her OnlyFans

I get a percent back

If she give him some dome!

On The Low!

I cannot park in the hood

my rims are too chrome,

And my exhaust

Loud

like I am a proud

Boy

Don't talk to me now,

Boy

I found a good spot

And i'm tryna parallel park

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I

Parallel park the Whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I

Parallel park the Whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

California kisses

He fell in love he's calling me the Mrs.

But miss me with that shit!

I am a savage:

Made man

Rockefeller, Malkovich

Space X, Billionaire

Natural face,

Fake hair

Natural ass

Waist Snatched

Butter. lips

Butterscotch interior;

See your beater clearer in my rearview

Than you see you in your mirror

(You wish you could be here!)

Cause

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I

Parallel park the Whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I

Parallel park the Whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

I parallel park the whip

Excerpt - The Chronicles of WTF

INT. MODERN ESTATE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

A cavernous architectural expanse of cast concrete and austere luxury.

CHARACTER NOTE: C.C. (played by Meryl Streep) is an ageless deity and primordial mystic disguised in mortal refinement. Across parallel timelines and cosmic shifts she assumes myriad forms, but in this realm she embodies Old Hollywood royalty—silver-screen elegance, supreme poise, and the chilling authority of an ancient power disguised in tailored silk.

C.C. sits ensconced behind a sprawling low marble table. She remains entirely absorbed in her manuscripts, pen poised, an imperious sovereign whose authority requires neither volume nor effort.

Her ASSISTANT (20s, hyper-attentive, subtly overwhelmed) hovers near the entry.

C.C. (without looking up) Go into my glass case.

ASSISTANT Which one?

C.C. In the den.

ASSISTANT The trophy room?

C.C. In the den.

INT. DEN / TROPHY GALLERY - CONTINUOUS

DIRECTOR’S NOTE: The camera tracks slowly behind the Assistant into an intimidating, high-ceilinged rotunda lined with a curved panoramic window overlooking the precipitous canyon drops outside.

Opposite the glass horizon stands an immense, built-in vitrine: tier upon tier of polished bronze, silver, crystalline monoliths, engraved medallions, and soaring statuary celebrating an exhaustive lifetime of prestige.

The Assistant lingers framed in the threshold, utterly paralyzed by the overwhelming labyrinth of accolades.

She blinks, exhales, and pivots back toward the living room.

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

C.C. remains motionless over her documents, pen scratching steadily against parchment.

ASSISTANT What did you need?

C.C. Oh. Go into my glass case.

ASSISTANT Okay?

C.C. And get my trophy.

The Assistant squints, bewildered by the sheer logistical impossibility.

ASSISTANT Which one?

C.C. The pretty one.

A tense pause. The silence is broken only by the rhythmic scrawl of C.C.'s fountain pen.

ASSISTANT Which one?

C.C. You’ll know it when you see it.

The Assistant swallows hard, nods submissively, and turns back.

INT. DEN / TROPHY GALLERY - CONTINUOUS

CLOSE UP - SHELVES

The Assistant paces slowly down the length of the illuminated glass cases. Gleaming brass wings, faceted quartz prisms, heavy gold wreaths. All of them possess an ornate, detached elegance.

She arrives at the farthest alcove.

ANGLE ON A LOWER SHELF

Tucked between two towering obelisks sits a solid bronze figurine: a sculpted, unclothed MAN. He carries a distinct boyishness—youthful features, an open, unassuming expression, and a magnetic grace.

There is no engraved placard. No commemorative laurel.

The Assistant slides the glass panel aside. The mechanism glides with a muffled hum.

She lifts the figurine. It has noticeable density. She turns it over in her hands, searching for markings. Blank.

She glances up at the sweeping glass window overlooking the sunlit abyss of the canyons, then down at the statue again.

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The Assistant appears in the archway, holding the bronze figurine gingerly with both hands.

C.C. lifts her eyes from her papers for the first time. A faint, knowing flicker in her gaze.

C.C. Oh good, you’ve got it.

The Assistant hesitates, disarmed by the sudden validation. She steps briskly to the low marble table and bends to set the statuette down.

C.C. (CONT'D) (firm) No, not there.

The Assistant snaps upright as if struck by a current.

C.C. studies the space for a fraction of a second, then gestures dismissively toward the kitchen.

C.C. (CONT'D) There. On the island.

ASSISTANT Mmhmm.

The Assistant complies, setting the bronze figure squarely on the pristine quartz island counter.

C.C. Could you get me a water? And whatever you want.

ASSISTANT Sure.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

The Assistant pulls open the stainless steel refrigerator door. The heavy door obscures the hallway alcove directly behind it.

She retrieves a chilled glass bottle of sparkling water and a mineral water carafe from the interior shelf.

REVEAL SHOT

She swings the refrigerator door shut.

Standing directly where the open door had masked the view is a completely NAKED MAN (early 20s, olive Irish complexion dusted with light freckles, soft pink lips, and dark brown eyes brimming with a wide-eyed, boyish innocence—evoking a young, fresh-faced Jimmy Fallon).

The Assistant drops both bottles. They strike the hardwood floor with a deafening rattle; one rolls wildly under the lower cabinets.

ASSISTANT Oh!

Flushed crimson, the Assistant drops instinctively to her knees, averting her eyes while scrambling to trap the spinning bottle.

The naked man remains motionless, standing on the polished floorboards like a recently unpacked museum relic, his face completely serene and unblemished.

C.C. (O.S.) (calm, flat, from the other room) There’s a towel.

Scrambling on all fours, shielding her peripheral vision with an upturned forearm, the Assistant blindly reaches for a linen dishcloth hanging off the oven handle.

Without looking directly at him, she extends the small towel into the air.

A youthful hand gently receives it from her grasp.

The Assistant retrieves the lost bottle from beneath the toe-kick, scrambles upright, and avoids looking anywhere below his collarbone.

The man has neatly knotted the compact kitchen towel around his hips. It barely covers him.

His dark brown eyes rest on her with unclouded, gentle innocence.

MAN Hello.

The Assistant winces, turning an accusatory, wide-eyed stare toward the living room archway.

C.C. (O.S.) Bring him here.

The man extends an open palm toward the Assistant, maintaining a hold on the towel with the other.

She takes his hand. His skin is warm, supple, completely real.

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The Assistant escorts the Man out of the kitchen, guiding him to the opposite perimeter of the marble coffee table. She releases his fingers instantly.

C.C. looks up, conducting a cool, forensic inventory of his silhouette, his freckled features, and his calm disposition. After an agonizing second, she offers a singular, almost imperceptible nod of assent.

C.C. Good. Now take him to his room.

ASSISTANT His—

C.C. snaps her head up. Her gaze turns glacial, chillingly final.

The Assistant’s voice catches in her throat.

ASSISTANT (CONT'D) Okay.

The Man extends his hand again, smiling faintly with docile compliance.

INT. NORTH RESIDENTIAL CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS

STEADICAM - FOLLOWING

A long, minimalist hallway illuminated by recessed baseboard LEDs.

The Assistant walks with measured speed, holding the Man’s hand. He trails quietly alongside her, his youthful, freckled face placid and agreeable.

They pass three identical walnut doors.

The Assistant slows to a halt, realizing she has no frame of reference. She releases his hand, hoping his instincts might guide him.

The Man simply stops dead in his tracks. He stands in the center of the runner rug, draped in a dishcloth, hands resting politely at his sides.

The Assistant studies the blank walls, exhales through her teeth, and grasps his wrist once more. She pulls him past three more doorways, making a sharp, arbitrary pivot toward a door on the left.

She turns the brass handle and pushes it open.

INT. GUEST BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

A grand, museum-like suite: a massive circular burgundy carpet dominates the floorboards, matching heavy velvet draperies frame an expansive window overlooking an internal stone courtyard, and an antique rosewood bureau sits quietly in the corner.

The Man steps into the center of the rug, motionless.

The Assistant takes one deliberate step backward toward the corridor.

His dark brown eyes watch her with gentle, boyish detachment.

She takes a second step back.

The Man pivots gracefully and sits on the edge of the mattress.

The Assistant takes a third step backward, crossing the threshold into the hall frame.

They exchange a silent, prolonged look through the doorway.

The Man reaches out, grasps the inner edge of the heavy door, and pulls it smoothly shut until the latch clicks into place.

Through the solid wood, a muffled, soft voice carries out:

MAN (O.V.) Bye.

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

LOW ANGLE - ON THE COFFEE TABLE

The Assistant marches back into the room, coming to an abrupt halt across from C.C.'s table, radiating unspoken demands for an explanation.

C.C. completes a handwritten notation, caps her pen, and raises her chin.

C.C. You can go, now.

The Assistant maintains her posture, daring the room to supply a rationale.

C.C. looks straight through her with impenetrable indifference. The sheer weight of an ironclad NDA and an unwritten rule of survival hangs heavily between them. The Assistant knows better than to break the silence.

C.C. (CONT'D) Your check is in the escrutoire drawer.

INSERT - ANTIQUE ESCRUTOIRE

Against the architectural concrete wall stands an antique mahogany escrutoire—a high-end writing bureau flanked by twin miniature tiered open bookshelves on either side of a centered nest of petite drawers.

The Assistant crosses quickly to the bureau. She catches a delicate miniature golden drop-ring pull with her fingertips and draws out the center drawer.

Inside rests an unmarked hardcover volume, bound shut with a tailored silk ribbon. Tucked securely beneath the knot is her payroll check.

ANGLE ON ASSISTANT

She stares down at the spine. The title remains obscured, turned away beneath the fabric. Curiosity pulls at her for half a breath, but a wave of profound, uncanny unease takes hold.

She snatches the tied bundle without untying the ribbon, tucks it firmly under her arm, grabs her coat from the rack by the threshold, and practically flees through the heavy front door into the corridor outside.

{Enter The Multiverse} 

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