Inside of a bustling Atlanta restaurant during the lunch hour. The busy workweek has brought together all kinds of fast-moving, slick-talking types from various industries to discuss the trades and sew the seeds for potential business deals.

A man in his 30s is sitting amongst the loud murmur at a table off the the side. This is Tayshawn. One of the baddest women he ever seen in his life is sitting across from him, looking over a stack of papers. There’s one problem: he’s sweating profusely, and he can’t stop taking sips of the lemonade in front of him. A voiceover floats in, granting us access to him:

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

This lemonade could use way more sugar. But I shouldn’t ask the waitress. That’s gonna look way too needy. Is everyone in here just okay with this level of sugar? I feel like these niggas lying. Or maybe they’re all drunk. That would be funny. But yeah, I can’t ask for more sugar. My goal here is to project confidence, no matter how much sugar.

He takes another sip.

The woman across from him, her name is Valyrie. She’s stunning. She looks up from the stack of papers, at him, then looks back down to keep reading.

A larger-than-normal bead of sweat forms on Tayshawn’s forehead and we swoop in to a close up of the bead as it moves down the side of his face and hits the tablecloth below.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Fuck. I’m sweating like crazy. Is it as bad as I imagine it? The way I imagine it, I feel like that one Jordan Peele meme. That’s a funny ass idea. That I sweat so much that I catch it in the lemonade and it suddenly tastes better. I could start serving it to everyone in here with the amount of sweat forming on my damn head. Oh, shit. She finished it.

Valyrie puts down the stack of papers impatiently. She takes a sip of her lemonade. She looks up at Tayshawn.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Aw, damnit. She hates it. She hates me. She’s disappointed in me. I could see it in her eyes when we met. My leg hurts. If some shit broke out right now and I had to run, I would prolly fall and bust my ass. I can feel the sweat. Stop sweating. I’ve got to stop sweating. Can she see it dripping down my forehead? Oh, she looked at my hairline. My shit kinda fucked up right now. I was just trying to keep it real natural, real cool, you know? But she’s thinking, “This nigga is a weirdo.”

VALYRIE

We think you’re great.

TAYSHAWN

Wow, thanks.

VALYRIE

I mean, I wanna take some more time to look over this treatment here. But from everything else we’ve seen of yours, I think you’re perfect for this. So now, forget the paperwork for a second. Tell me in your own words, where do you see yourself going with it?

TAYSHAWN

Like, my life direction?

Valerie throws her head back in laughter.

VALYRIE

There’s that humor. No, silly. With this.

She points down at the book that’s been sitting on the table in between them for the entirety of the meal. It’s a paperback copy of Zora Neale Hurston’s Barracoon: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo.”

TAYSHAWN

Oh, right! I mean, I think it’ll be tricky. As you know: it’s an account of a woman who’s interviewing a man who was on the last known slave ship out of Africa; who went through so much and is trying to remember it all. What a task to turn that into a whole 2 hour movie, you feel me? Uh ha. But... I think the whole story has to be about Zora, you know? Like, she’s the real hero after all...

Tayshawn zones out while pitching. We move to a close up of Valyrie, fully rapt, listening to him talk. Her round brown eyes sit perfectly spaced on her caramel complexioned face. She might even be 5’5” too. She’s not showing any teeth but the slight smile she wears while listening is devastating. All of this is flanked by her long, straightened hair. Finally, the muted magenta shaded lip gloss she’s wearing is so damn shiny it’s creating lens flares.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

God damn.

TAYSHAWN

...And ummmm, yeah. Like what was she thinking each time she got on that train from New York and headed for Alabama, her birthplace of all places to interview this man? How strong was this black woman’s curiosity, you feel me?! She was such a go-getter.

Another close up of Valyrie.

TAYSHAWN (continued)

And so… beautiful...ly written. Everything about her prose is beautiful. Um. So yeah, we really kick it off with her thought process and then for most of the runtime the movie keeps coming back to those train rides.

VALYRIE

Okay, okay. Well how do you see us turning that into some stakes?

Before Tayshawn can continue, the waiter’s hands thrust down two plates, interrupting his flow. Valyrie’s got a caesar salad with some kind of fish in it and Tayshawn has a plate of chicken and waffles with a lil parsley on top. She immediately stabs her fork into a chunk of the fish, barely getting any lettuce and puts into her mouth. Tayshawn watches her chew, and fixates as she licks clean a tiny piece of loose caesar dressing from the corner of her lip.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Mmmmm.

VALYRIE

(mouth full, holding hand over it)

Stakes? You were saying?

TAYSHAWN

Oh. Well I just think we’ll get there eventually. There’s going to be tension somewhere in her investigation. We don’t want to impose some hollywood limits to it, you know? And I think we also want to avoid a trauma porn angle, too. We just wanna show her being a full three-dimensional person who’s really interested in getting this story about this man and I think the rest that follows is what gets the audience engaged.

VALYRIE

Hmmm, okay. Interesting. You realize this is a movie, right?

TAYSHAWN

I know, I’m just saying. It could be this thing wher—

VALYRIE

(laughing)

I’m fuckin with you. We know you’ll figure it out. The studio’s looking for a slot to fill with this. So between you and me… stretch yo legs and get crazy with it. Fully explored black woman authorship! Who says no?

Tayshawn smiles, a little too much.

VALYRIE

Listen, I gotta run. Other meetings. But: SO glad to have finally met you in person, Tayshawn. Tired of them damn zoom calls!

TAYSHAWN

Shiddd, right! You too!

Valyrie gets up, leaves a wad of five 20 dollars bills on the table and walks off. He looks at her plate and sees the fish portion is all gone, the lettuce is barely touched.

VALYRIE

(almost out the door)

Let me know when you have something!

He looks back out toward her, as she slips out of the restaurant. A waiter slides into frame, blocking his view.

WAITER

More lemonade, sir?

TAYSHAWN

Uhhhhhhh… pshhhh… Sure?

Off the sound of the waiter’s pour we hear a whooshing sound, INTO—

WHOOOSH!

The outside world whizzes by through a glass window pane.

We’re on a train. It’s 1927. We find ZORA NEALE HURSTON, sitting by herself in a seat. She’s looks much younger than her age and wears a coat with a high fur collar, a pearl necklace and tilted-style hat with a long feather laid horizontally across it. She’s writing into a journal. Her voiceover floats in, granting us access to her:

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I’m hungry. They ain’t got no food on this train? Look at this corny nigga over here. Ugly ahh WHITE man, just sitting there.

There’s a white man in the opposite aisle, peacefully looking out the window. He looks at Zora, then looks back.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I just know he racist as shit. Look at him, he gotta be. It’s the early 1900s, everybody IN this mf racist.

Zora looks around at the other passengers. All of them white.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

And look at these dumbass fits everybody got on. Look like they bout to rob the juke joint in Sinners smh. I’d never be caught dead in no shit like that. Me? I’m mf Zora Neale Huuuurston and my fit gooo stuuuuupid! Blah blah blah. Mf head ahh asksjsjkshjkdsjskdkjsjd

We hear the loud sounds of typing stop. We’re close up on a white page and the letters “asksjsjkshjkdsjskdkjsjd” populate the screen.

TAYSHAWN (O.S.)

Fuck!

Inside the room of an apartment, it’s night time. Present day. Tayshawn is sitting behind a computer in a wife beater with a pencil tucked behind his ear. He looking kinda musty. There’s a browser tab open with a google image search of Zora Neale Hurston. His stomach growls.

TAYSHAWN

This isn’t gonna work.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Like, what am I supposed to do here? I ain’t live in the fucking 1900s. I just assume: everyone was racist as shit and she was fighting for her life. They had trains back then? What, Amtrak? The fuck? I might not be cut out for this. I need to do more research.

Tayshawn takes out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. We hear the sound of a FaceTime call initiating.

TAYSHAWN

Hey.

On the screen is a woman in her 30s with locs down to her shoulders. This is Paige.

PAIGE

Hey you.

TAYSHAWN

What you up to?

PAIGE

Oh, nothing much. Watching this new show Snakes on a Plantation. It’s not bad so far.

TAYSHAWN

Huh. What do you know about Zora Neale Hurston?

PAIGE

Uhhhh. I mean. I know who she is. Ain’t that that writer lady or whatever. Got classics…? Fuck is this, a history test?

TAYSHAWN

I’m adapting Barracoon.

PAIGE

You’re doing what? Who’s a coon now?

TAYSHAWN

Bro, It’s a book. By Zora Neale Hurston.

PAIGE

Oh! You got the job!?

TAYSHAWN

Yeah, I did. But I’m stuck. I pitched them this whole thing and now I don’t even know what the fuck to do. Shit is hard.

PAIGE

Hell yeah, Go Tay! We should celebrate.

TAYSHAWN

I just. I just don’t even know how to approach this. It happened 100 years ago. It’s a story about a woman who’s writing a story about a slave ship survivor who’s now in America and his story is even crazier back in Africa. And like, the more I dig into it he be sounding crazy with the way he talks but it’s also kinda cool…?

PAIGE

Sounds… deep. Why don’t you just copy and paste the contents of the book and then just write around it. That’s what I would do.

TAYSHAWN

That’s so amateur! Ew!

PAIGE

Ok, nigga, damn. I’m hangin up then.

TAYSHAWN

No, no no. My bad. I’m just stressed. But typically I like to just start from a blank page and let it flow. That’s how I know I got somethin.

PAIGE

Well, it’s clearly not flowing right now. Or else you wouldn’t be on here taking up all my rollover minutes.

Tayshawn chuckles.

TAYSHAWN

Hah. That was good.

Paige smiles.

TAYSHAWN (continued)

You think I could get away with just copy and pasting the whole thing? That sounds insane. Like… plagiarism, basically.

PAIGE

I mean, obviously you wouldn’t keep it that way. But I’ve seen what you can do once you get rolling. You can create anything, Tay. So if you’re stuck… it might help. That’s all I’m saying.

TAYSHAWN

Huh. Maybe.

Tayshawn looks up and off. A long pause between them. Action sounds are coming from Paige’s side of the call, from her TV.

PAIGE

(yelling at the TV)

Get him, girl! I know that’s right! Yup. Now run, bitch! Go!

Tayshawn sighs, to himself, at somewhere around 70% acceptance of Paige’s suggestion.

PAIGE (continued)

You ever wonder if the actors are really like running running, or is it camera tricks? I swear I’m faster than most of these ThespiANAS.

TAYSHAWN

I do wonder that sometimes.

Tayshawn’s stomach starts growling, loudly.

TAYSHAWN

Ah shit.

PAIGE

Ooooh! Look at you! I heard that. Get yoself something to eat and get off my phone!

Tayshawn shakes his head as the call ends and Paige’s face disappear’s from view.

Tayshawn puts his phone down and leans back in his chair. His stomach growls loudly again as we move INTO—

A new scenery, much less ambient sound. It’s 1927 again. Lush greenery and a bright blue, sunsoaked landscape: Plateau, Alabama. Just outside of Mobile. We’re close on a flowery dress, covered in orchids, moving through a field, until it stops. Pulling back, we see Zora standing at the gate to a property.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

It was summer when I went to talk with Cudjo so his door was standing wide open. But I knew he was somewhere about the house before I entered the yard, because I had found the gate unlocked.

Zora steps into the property and looks around. She walks up to the porch and sees an elderly darkskinned man (in his 80s) with stark silver hair on the sides of his head up to a shiny bald top, sitting down eating out of a pan.

ZORA

Kossula!

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I hailed him by his African name as I walked up the steps to his porch, and he looked up into my face as I stood in the door in surprise. He was eating his breakfast from a round enameled pan with his hands, in the fashion of his fatherland. The surprise of seeing me halted his hand between pan and face. Then tears of joy welled up.

The man, CUDJO LEWIS, stops eating and holds his hand between his pan and face. Tears of joy begin to well up at the sight of Zora. He greets her excitedly:

CUDJO LEWIS

Oh Lor’, I know it you call my name. Nobody don’t callee me my name from cross de water but you. You always callee me Kossula, jus’ lak I in de Affica soil!

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I noted that another man sat eating with him and I wondered why.

ZORA

I see you have company, Kossula.

CUDJO

Yeah, I got to have somebody stay wid me. I been sick in de bed de five month. I needa somebody hands me some water. So I take dis man and he sleep here and take keer Cudjo. But I gittee well now.

The man makes eye contact with Zora and continues eating. Zora fixates on the food on his plate.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

Damn. That look good as shit. Fuck. I’m so hungry. But I’m here to finish the job, not to hang out. Let’s get him talking.

Zora sits down across from them. Then she looks out into Cudjo’s bountiful garden.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

In spite of the recent illness and the fact that his well had fallen in, I found Cudjo Lewis full of gleaming, good will. His Garden was planted. There was deep shade under his China-berry tree and all was well.

We see Zora look back at Cudjo and smile. Frailly, he smiles back. We watch as her and Cudjo chat it up AS: time passes, the man beside Cudjo leaves, and the sun lowers slightly in the distance. The voiceover continues:

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

He wanted to know a few things about New York and when I had answered him, he sat silently smoking. Finally, I told him I had come to talk with him. He removed his pipe from his mouth and smiled.

CUDJO

(smiling)

I doan keer. I lakee have comp’ny come see me.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

Then the smile faded into a wretched weeping mask.

CUDJO

I so lonely. My wife she left me since de 1908. Cudjo all by hisself.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

After a minute or two he remembered me and said contritely:

CUDJO

Excuse me. You didn’t do nothin’ to me. Cudjo feel so lonely, he can’t help he cry sometime. Whut you want wid me?

ZORA

First, I want to ask you how you feel today?

A long muted silence.

CUDJO

I thank God I on prayin’ groun’ and in a Bible country.

ZORA

But didn’t you have a God back in Africa?

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

His head dropped between his hands and the tears sprung fresh. Seeing the anguish in his face, I regretted that I had come to worry this captive in a strange land. He read my face and said:

CUDJO

(through sobs)

Excusee me I cry. I can’t help it when I hear de name call. Oh, Lor’. I no see Afficky soil no mo’!

Another long silence.

CUDJO (continued)

How come you astee me ain’ we had no God back dere in Afficky?

ZORA

Because you said you ‘thank God you were on praying ground and in a Bible country.’

CUDJO

Yeah, in Afficky we always know were was a God; he name Alahua, but po’ Affickans we cain readee de Bible, we doan know God got a Son. We ain’ ignant—we jes doan know. Nobody doan tell us ‘bout Adam eatee de apple…

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

Mmmm. Apple.

Zora’s stomach growls as Cudjo continues.

CUDJO (continued)

… we didn’t know de seven seals was sealee ‘gainst us. Our parents doan tell us dat. Dey didn’t tell us ‘bout de first days. No, dass a right. We jes doan know. So dat whut you come astee me?

ZORA

Well, yes. I wanted to ask that, but I want to ask you many things. I want to know who you are and how you came to be a slave; and to what part of Africa do you belong, and how you fared as a slave, and how you have managed as a free man?

Cudjo lowers his head and begins to weep.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

Again his head was bowed for a time. When he lifted his wet face again he murmured…

CUDJO

Thankee Jesus! Somebody come ast about Cudjo! I want tellee somebody who I is, so maybe dey go in de Afficky soil some day and callee my name and somebody dere say, “Yeah, I know Kossula.” I want you everywhere you go to tell everybody whut Cudjo say, and how come I in Americky soil since de 1859 and never see my people no mo’. I can’t talkee plain, you unnerstand me, but I calls it word by word for you so it won’t be too crooked for you.

Cudjo sits up straight in his chair.

CUDJO (continued)

My name, is not Cudjo Lewis. It Kossula. When I gittee in Americky soil, Mr. Jim Meaher he try callee my name, but it too long, you unnerstand me, so I say, "Well, I yo property?” He say, “Yeah.” Den I say, “You callee me Cudjo. Dat do.” But in Afficky soil my mama she name me Kossula.

My people, you unnerstand me, dey ain’ got no ivory by de door. When it ivory from de elephant stand by de door, den dat a king, a ruler, you unnerstand me. My father neither his father don’t rule nobody. De ole folks dat live two hund-ed year befo’ I born don’t tell me de father (remote ancestor) rule nobody.

The scene shifts. We’re close on a backlit blank white computer screen. We see characters populating onto the screen as Cudjo continues, mimicking his words as we hear his voice continue over top:

CUDJO’S VOICOVER

My people in Afficky, you unnerstand me, dey not rich. Dass de truth, now. I no goin’ tellee you my folks dey rich and come from high blood.

TEXT POPULATING ON THE SCREEN SIMULTANEOUSLY:

My people in aft icky you understand me they not rich. That’s D truth now. I know going Telly you my folks they rich and come from high blood.

Back to 1927. Cudjo is still going:

CUDJO

Den when you go in de Afficky soil an’ astee de people, dey say, “Why Kossula over dere in Americky soil tellee de folks he rich?” I tellee you lak it tis. Now, dass right, ain’t it?

My people in Afficky, you unnerstand me, dey not rich. Dass de truth, now. I no goin’ tellee you my folks dey rich and come from high blood. Den when you go in de Afficky soil an’ astee de people, dey say, “Why Kossula over dere in Americky soil tellee de folks he rich?” I tellee you lak it tis. Now, dass right, ain’t it?

My father’s father, you unnderstand me, he a officer of de king. He don’t live in de compound wid us. Wherever de king go, he do, you unnerstand me. De king give him plenty land, and got plenty cows and goats and sheep. Now, dass right. Maybe after while he be a little chief, I doan know. But he die when I a lil boy. Whut he gointer be later on, dat doan reachee me.

My grandpa, he a great man. I tellee you how he go.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I was afraid that Cudjo might go off on a tangent, so I cut in with…

ZORA

But Kossula, I want to hear about you and how you lived in Africa.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

He gave me a look of scornful pity and asked:

CUDJO

Where is de house where de mouse is de leader? In de Affica soil I cain tellee you ‘bout de son before I tellee you ‘bout de father; and derefore, you unnerstand me, I cain talk about de man who is father till I tellee you bout de man who he father to him, now, dass right ain’ it?

Zora nods her head.

CUDJO (continued)

My grandpa, you unnerstand me, he got de great big compound. He got plenty of wives and chillun. His house, it is in de center de compound. In Affica soil de house of de husband it always in de center and de houses of de wives, dein in a circle round de house dey husband live in.

He don’t think hisself to marry wid so many women. No. In de Affica soil it de wife dat go findee him another wife.

S’pose I in de Affica soil. Cudjo he been married for seven year for example. His wife say, “Cudjo, I am growin’ old. I tired. I will bring you another wife.”

Before she speakee dat, she got de girl who he doan know in her mind. She a girl she think very nice. Maybe her husband never see her. Well, she go out in de market place, maybe in de public square. She see disa girl and astee de girl, “You know Cudjo?” De girl tellee her, “I have heard of him.” De wife say “Cudjo is good. He is kind. I like you to be his wife.” De girl say “Come with me to my papa and mama.”

Dey go, you unnerstand me, to de girl’s parrents together. Dey astee her questions and she answeree for her husband. She astee dem questions too and if both sides satisfy wid one ‘nother de girl’s parents say, “We give our daughter into yo’ care. She ain’ ours no mo’. You be good to her”

De wife she come back to Cudjo and makee de ‘rangements. Cudjo got to pay de father for de girl If she be a rich girl dat been in de fat-house long time, you unnerstand me, he go to pay two of everything for her. Two cow, two sheep, two goat, chickens, yam, maybe gold. De rich man, keepee his daughter in de fat-house long time. Sometime two year. She gittee de dinner in dere eight times a day and dey don’t leavee her git in and out de bed by herself. De one whut keep de fat-house he lift dem in and out, so dey don’t lose de fat.

We watch Zora as she listens closely to Cudjo. Her stomach growls again, but she locks in:

CUDJO (continued)

De man not so rich, he cain keep his girl dere long so she not so fat. So po’ man don’t send his daughter—

Midway through the testimony, Cudjo’s voice changes. The natural, weathered gravel of his old man tone that wraps seamlessly around his pronunciations has all of a sudden turned to a sweet, sultry voice of a modern, vocally clear black woman, still aiming for the same pronunciation:

CUDJO (woman voice)

Derefore, you unnerstand me, de man pay different price for different girl. If she de daughter of a po’ family, or she been married before or somethin’, he don’t pay much for her.

Across from Cudjo, Zora continues listening, unphased by the voice change coming from the black man’s mouth.

CUDJO (woman voice, continued)

When de new wife come first to her husband compouns she live in de house wid de old wife———

Present day. The Atlanta city scape moves fast past a car window.

We’re close on a CarPlay screen that says “Barracoon: Chapter 1, (Zora Neale Hurston, Narrated by Robin Miles)” We pull back and Tayshawn is driving.

The same womanly voice from before floats though the car speakers:

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Narrated by Robin Miles)

When de new wife come first to her husband compound she live in de house wid de old wife. She teach her what to do and how to take keer de husband. When she learn all dat, den she have a house by herself.

Tayshawn is scanning the horizon for food options, as the audiobook continues playing. He looks through the passenger side window and sees “COOK OUT” several blocks down. Oh hell yeah. He rejoices heads straight for it.

We pan down from the window and see an open laptop facing Tayshawn that has a single text document open, but the “Dictation” feature is triggered and it’s automatically typing out the contents of the audiobook as it plays out of the speakers.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Robin Miles)

When dey gittee ready to buildee de new house, de man takee de machete and chop de palm tree to mark de place where de house goin’ be build. Den he throw down a cow and have plenty palm wine. Den all de people come and eatee de meat and drink de wine and stomp de place smooth and buildee de house.

ON THE COMPUTER SCREEN WE SEE THESE WORDS POPULATING:

When they giddy ready to (?) D new house, the man take heed the machete and chop the palm tree to mark the place where the house going to be built. Then he throw down a cow and have plenty palm wine. Then all the people come and E-D-D meat and drink D wine and stomp D place smooth and Billy D the house.

Tayshawn’s stomach growls as he pulls into the drive thru.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Robin Miles)

My grandpa, he buildee wife house many time.

Tayshawn rolls down the window.

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Welcome to Cook Out, may I have your order please?

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Robin Miles)

(really giving it her all)

Some men in de Affica soil don’t gitee no wife ‘cause dey cain buy none. Dey ain’ got nothing to give so a wife kin come to dem. Some got too many. When you hungry it is painful—

TAYSHAWN

Oh shit. Hol up.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Robin Miles)

—but when de belly too full it painful too.

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Huh? Hello?

TAYSHAWN

My fault! One second.

Tayshawn fumbles all over the interior of the car trying to manage the dictation but instead just pauses the audiobook after a number of different button presses. It cuts off mid-sentence:

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (Robin Miles)

All de wives make food (udia) for de husba—

TAYSHAWN

Uh. Hi. Yeah, can I get a Big Double burger tray?

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Ummmmmm. Yeah. You want bacon on that?

TAYSHAWN

Yeah.

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE

Okay. What are your two sides?

TAYSHAWN

I’ll take two orders of chicken nuggets.

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Got you. And your drink?

TAYSHAWN

Uhhh, a pink lemona—actually, wait. Hold on. Is the watermelon milkshake in season?

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Yes, it is.

TAYSHAWN

I’ll take one of those.

COOK OUT EMPLOYE (V.O.)

Aight. Pull up for your total.

Tayshawn sighs a sigh of relief. He looks to his right.

ON THE COMPUTER SCREEN WE SEE THESE WORDS:

Hol’ on. Iz da waTAHmelon milkshake in seezuhn?

Yessuh, it iyis.

I’ma take wunna dem, puhlease.

Aight’y now. Pull on up fo’ ya total.

*Deep sighing sound*

TAYSHAWN

(squinting)

The fuck?

THE COMPUTER SCREEN TYPES OUT AFTER THE ABOVE:

Da fuk?

COOK OUT EMPLOYEE (V.O.)

Huh?

TAYSHAWN

Nothing!

Tayshawn turns off the dictation and drives up.

It’s 1927 again. Plateau, Alabama. Zora stands at the entrance to Cudjo’s property.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

The next day about noon I was again at Kossula’s gate. I brought a gift this time. A big ass Watermelon. He received me kindly and began to eat the Watermelon. Mary and Martha, the twin daughters of his granddaughter, wandered up to the steps.

Two young black girls wearing colorful dresses walk up to Cudjo, and smother him.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

The old man’s love of these children was quite evident. With glad eyes, he selected four of the finest slices of watermelon and handed two to each little girl. He scolded them on off to play with affectionate abuse. When they were gone, he looked lovingly after them and pointed to a little clump of sugarcane in the garden.

Past the outstretched finger of Cudjo we see the girls running off into a garden. Zora looks in the direction of his finger.

CUDJO

See dat cane?

Zora nods.

CUDJO

Well, I plant dat cane. Tain much, but I grow dat so when Martha and Mary come to me and say “Gran’pa I wantee some cane,” I go cut and give ‘em.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

There is a large peach tree in the yard that bears small but delicious clingstone peaches. They were beginning to ripen. The old man gave me one or two and put away one for each of the twins.

We see Zora and Cudjo roaming his lush garden. He plucks things and gives them to her, while keeping a few for himself.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

I was shown all over the gardens. Kossula was genial but not one word about himself fell from his lips.

We see Zora looking longingly at Cudjo as he moves about his garden, saying nothing. She wants to pry, but instead just watches.

ZORA’S VOICEOVER

So I went away and came again the following day…

TAYSHAWN (PRE-LAP)

Huh??

Back to present day. Inside Tayshawn’s apartment. We hear the loud sound of a space bar being struck. Tayshawn pauses the audiobook.

ON A COMPUTER SCREEN WE SEE THESE WORDS:

I was shown all over the gardens. Kossula was genial but not one word about himself fell from his lips. So I went away and came again the following day.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

She just hung out with the nigga? Quietly? Like just sat there and let him do his thing, without talking? What kinda journalism… idk, that’s… too much work. I’m not doing all that listening. Where’s the good stuff, Unc? I can’t write this.

Tayshawn is sitting hunched at his desk, back in a wife beater, and he’s eating out of a economy-sized bag of Sour Patch Watermelon. The decimated styrofoam of the Cook Out meal is nearby, alongside some balled up napkins.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

This is… kinda slow? It’s all these long monologues of him talking. What if… we introduce voiceover and then we like, see Cudjo back in Afficky. Oops, I mean Africa. Lmao here I am trying to talk like him. It’s kinda fun, I’m not gonna lie. “You unnerstand me?” Lmao. But fr, what if we add voiceover to Cudjo and then we get to see Africa and shit. Hmmm.

Tayshawn puts his hand on his chin.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

I don’t want to take the focus away from Zora though. She’s the hero after all… But: we’ll come back. Just need to switch it up.

Tayshawn leans forward in his chair, begins typing.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER (PRE-LAP)

I doan fuhgittee nothin. I member everything since I de five year old.

The year is 1865. We’re somewhere near the coast of Dahomey.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Yeah, my grandpa, he a officer of de king. He be wid de king everywhere he go, you unnerstand me.

We see an African man in his 40s who looks much like Cudjo, walking down a dirt road. He’s flanking another African man, muscular, tall and with a bald head. This is the King. We pull back and there’s a whole group of men surrounding the king, walking with haste. They mean business fr.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Derefore, you unnerstand me, one man he kill a leopard, well, de king doan keer ‘bout he kill a leopard, but de law say dat when a man kill a leopard, he got to bring it to de king.

Black and white footage. We’re deep in the jungle and a wide-eyed man is breathing heavily. He has a large spear in his hand. Opposite him: a snarling leopard with long black whiskers.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De king doan want take de beast away from de man what kill it, you unnerstand me, but he got to take de big hairs (whiskers) dat grow round de mouth. Dey very poison, and de king doan want none de people to gittee kill. Some mens dey wicked, you unnerstand me, and dey take de hairs and make de poison. Derefore, you know, de king say when any man kill de leopard, he got to cover de head so no women kin see it and bring de leopard to de king.

The leopard lunges at the man and he dodges it. The leopard resets and readies another attack. The man’s eyes are alert with focus as he maintains distance. The leopard lunges again. The man stabs the leopard in its side and files the spear down the side of its torso. Instant kill. The leopard falls on its side, wheezing.

The man stands over the leopard looking directly into its eyes. We zoom in on the man’s eyes.

CUDJO’S VOICOVER

Den de drums go beat and callee all brave chiefs come discuss dis leopard dat been kill.

Back to color. BIG, LOUD drum beat sounds fall into our frame AS: The King and his cohort are still walking, fast.

CUDJO’S VOICOVER

De king he keep de head, de liver, de gall and de skin. Dat always belong to de king. It all makee different medicine. All de body, it he dried and makee more medicine too. But some tribe make fetish and eat de flesh, so dey eatee de medicine, you know.

Derefore when a man kill de leopard and take de hairs before he let de king know he kill de leopard, dey kill that man. He a wicked man.

The king walks up to a tree where the body of the leopard is tied up and covered. Across from him, the man who killed it, bloody and sweaty, but: satisfied.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

One man you know, he kill a leopard. He cover de head and tie de body to a young tree.

The King removes the cover and he and the corhort of chiefs all fixate on the face of the leopard. There’s a hole where one of its whiskers used to be. They all look amongst each other.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Well de king call all de chiefs and dey come lookee. Dey take off de cover from de head and de king look at de hairs. He see one hair it gone from de hole in de face where it grow. All de chief dey lookee too. Dey see de hair ain’ dere. So dey call de man.

The king looks at the man, still sweaty.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De king say,

KING (Cudjo Lewis)

Well, you killee dis beast?

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De man say,

MAN (Cudjo Lewis)

Yeah, I kill him.

KING (Cudjo Lewis)

How you kill dis leopard?

MAN (Cudjo Lewis)

Wit de spear, I kill him.

KING (Cudjo Lewis)

Did you touch de head?

MAN (Cudjo Lewis)

No, I doan touchee de head at all. I only a common man and I know de head belong to de king. So I doan touch it.

The king looks at the leopard’s head and then looks at the man.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De king lookee at de head and lookee at de man. He say,

KING (Cudjo Lewis)

How is it dis beast got de hole for de hair but one hair not dere. Tell me where de hair is. I see where it pull out. Who is it dat you want kill?

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De man say,

MAN (Cudjo Lewis)

I doan want killee nobody. I ain’t touchee de hair. Dats de truth now. If I touchee de hair, let in-si-bi-di (that is, may I be turned over to the executioner)

The king and his men search the man. They find something.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Well dey search de man and find de hair. Den dey try him. All day dey talk palaver. So nex’ day dey find him guilty. So dey say he got to die. He a wicked man what speck to killee somebody wid de hair.

Derefore, you unnerstand me, dey tie him by de left foot and wait for aku-ire-usen (King’s day) den dey takee him to de place of sacrifice.

We’re at a new location. The man is tied up in the middle of an open space, while the King and the chiefs are in a group nearby, sitting down on stools, waiting.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De king come wid his seat and all de chiefs bring dey stool too. Dey seatee deyself and de drum beat. It speak wid de voice of de king.

We see the drummers nearby hitting the surface of the drums with wooden sticks, every beat more thunderous than the last. We move to a close up of the man, tied up and wide eyed, fear in his eyes awaiting his fate.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Den three insibidi come in de place and dance. One have a mouth-piece dat rattle. He shake de mouth-peice dat rattle.

Three men, executioners, waltz out into the open space together and dance around the space, one of them with a rattling mouth piece. They slink around freely in their own directions but eventually converge and then disperse again, smiling at each other, nodding with approval like a team of seasoned professionals. Between them is a precious glee that only the 3 of them understand. The king looks on, deeply amused.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

He shake de mouth-piece and sing. What he sing? Cudjo goin’ tellee you…

The one with the mouth piece opens his mouth and launches into song. Cudjo’s voiceover fills in the tune:

insibidi (Cudjo Lewis)

(singing, not well tho)

On a great day like this, we kill de
One dat is evil
On a day like this we kill de bad one
Who would command the poison one
from the leopard to kill us.
On a great day like this we kill him
Who would kill the innocent?

This insibidi, clearly the ringleader, is a true showman. He walks over to the closest drummer, puts his arm around him and smiles while bobbing his head to the beat. He cheers excitedly under the blanket of percussion. The other two men join him. It’s a party. Meanwhile, the king looks on.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

He dance some more wid de drum and de other two dancee wid him. Den he sing some more:

insibidi (Cudjo Lewis)

A great knife dat eats no other blood but human blood.
Let it killee him.
It a great knife—it feed de earth
A great knife dat eats no other blood but human blood.

The showman makes eye contact with the king. He slinks away from the drummer, back into the open space. The other two follow suit.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

Dey dances some mo’ when de king makee de sign, dey dance up to de man where he tied at…

Close up on the king’s eyes, as the dancing insibidi look back at him. The king nods subtly. That’s the cue. They approach the tied up man, still dancing but shoulders heavier than before. One of the inisbidi raises a machete and strikes the open neck of the tied up man.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

…and wid one lick, choppee de head off.

The head of the man falls to the ground, mouth still open and moving, while the insibidi dance around it.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De head fall to de ground and de mouth work so—it open and shut many time.

Present day. We hear the sound of typing, then see words on a backlit white computer screen.

TAYSHAWN (O.S.)

Hell yeah. There we go.

Back to the execution.

The insibidi reach down and place a stick into the mouth of the severed head. Then they reach down and pick it up.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

But quick, they put a piece of de stick from de banana tree in de mouth. Den dey kin open de jaw when dey gittee ready. If dey don’t do dat, de jaw close and dey cain git open no mo’.

De body of de man, dey bury it in de ground. De head, dey put it in de sacrifice place wid de other heads.

We see the king close up, as he is very satisfied with the event. He raises his arm in approval to the insibidi. They nod back.

CUDJO’S VOICEOVER

De king go back to his village, but de chief have court every day. All day somebody say to him, “Dis man, touch my wife! Disa man commit adultery!”

We look at all the other chiefs, they nod amongst each other. They congratulate the king. Then, we pan to Cudjo’s grandfather, an officer standing off to the side, watching all of this happen. Cudjo continues:

CUDJO (PRE-LAP)

Everything be done open dere. Not so may secrets. When a man kills somebody dere, he be tried open an’ all de boys and men in de village hear de trial.

We’re back in Plateau, Alabama. Close on Cudjo as he speaks, he’s super animated right now.

CUDJO

(gesturing with his hands)

I doan know how come he done it, but one man killee anudder one wid de spear. So dey ‘rested dat man an’ tie his hands wid palm cord. Den dey pick up de dead man an’ carry him to de public square, de market place, you unnerstand. Den dey send message by de drum to de king in de village where he at to come set on de trial an’ ‘cide de case. In Afficky, you unnerstand, if somebody steal or commit adultery, de chief of de village, he try him. But if a man killee somebody, den dey send for de king an’ he come an’ ‘cide de case. Therefore, when dis man spear de udder one through de breast, dey send word for de king to come.

Zora sits across from Cudjo, listening, wearing a different flowery dress. She makes a face like “oh my”, but says nothing.

TAYSHAWN (PRE-LAP)

And so yeah…

Present day. We’re looking at a computer screen, a pitch deck with Cudjo’s words laid out on a slide. In the corner of the screen is Valyrie, on a zoom call, listening. She’s wearing a robe and some reading glasses.

TAYSHAWN

…that’s where we’re at so far widdit!

VALYRIE

Wow! Okay! I see you with the Cudjo voice!

TAYSHAWN

(blushing)

It keeps going too! Like the whole next part is about the trial and how the murderer, de man who killee de other man, has to be tied face to face with the corpse for days. Wild!

VALYRIE

Fantastic! I think I see it. That part about the executioners. That’s a moment right there.

TAYSHAWN

Right!?

Tayshawn clicks out of presentation view and Valyrie is now full screen.

VALYRIE

Okay, and so the way you see it. It’s Cudjo’s voice coming through the African men?

TAYSHAWN

Yup.

VALYRIE

Huh. That’s interesting. Not bad. Less speaking roles. More on the backend.

TAYSHAWN

Mmm.

VALYRIE

I like it! That brain of yours.

TAYSHAWN

Thank you!

VALYRIE

And so, what about Zora? What’s going on with her?

TAYSHAWN

(trying to find the words)

Uhhh… well— Uh…

VALYRIE

Oh, I know you’ll figure it out! No worries there!

TAYSHAWN

Yeah, it’s one of those things—

BRRNG! The doorbell rings on Valyrie’s side.

VALYRIE

Whoops! Hold on! One sec.

Valyrie gets up from her desk and leans over slightly. The robe that she’s wearing comes a little bit loose and exposes some cleavage from her v-neck underneath. She leaves the frame.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Whoa.

After a few moments, Valyrie returns to frame, but the robe is still undone. As she sits back down, there’s some noticeable jiggle coming from her t-shirt.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Oh my god.

VALYRIE

(out of breath)

Phew! Damn packages.

TAYSHAWN

Oh. Yeah. Aha.

VALYRIE

Well. You seem to be in GREAT shape. I think we’re headed somewhere real good! Great work. If there’s nothing else Tayshawn, I’m gonna get going.

TAYSHAWN

Yeah! Of course. Thank you again!

VALYRIE

Exciting! Byeeee!

Valyrie clicks off the call.

Tayshawn leans back in his chair, with a sigh of relief.

After a moment, he takes out his phone and opens Instagram. He scrolls past a few reels, then he opens the search tab. In the search field he types the letter “V”, then pauses.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Hmmmm.

He types in the rest of Valyrie’s first name.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

What’s her last name again?

Before he can remember, he looks at the results. The username “@valygrlfolife228” is like 6 names down in the results. 2 mutual followers. The avatar is a picture of Valyrie with her hair up at some restaurant. Tayshawn clicks the profile. He scrolls through. There are different photo dumps of Valyrie on vacation in many locations all over the world. Some with her dog. Some at awards shows. He stops on a picture from about 3 years ago. It’s her in a bikini. He taps on the photo.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Okay, okay. Here we go.

The geotag says “St. Lucia” and Tayshawn scrolls through the dump. She’s got sunglasses on and is posing with her hands up in some of them, others with a drink in her hand, but all of them in the bikini. There are many different angles. Tayshawn reaches in his pants and begins masturbating.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

God damn.

Tayshawn is going hard. This continues for about a minute or two, before he gets a DM notification at the top of his screen:

“@yanville sent a video”

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Fuck. I fuckin hate this nigga, bro. Always buggin’ me.

Tayshawn doesn’t stop masturbating, but the notification stays at the top of the screen. So while stroking with one hand, he takes the other hand holding the phone and tries to swipe the notification away. He instead taps on it and a selfie video of “@yanville”, whose real name is is Bryan, plays full screen:

BRYAN

Yooooo! What’s good bro! Saw you were online. Don’t know if got my last message but been trying to link with you for a minute to talk shop! As you can see I’m driving—oh shit, look at that I got a boogie up my nose HA HA—but yeah, bro. Hit me back man, I got an idea I wanna run by you!

Tayshawn looks down and sees he hasn’t stopped masturbating and has been doing it while watching Bryan’s video. He throws the phone on the table and lets go of his dick.

TAYSHAWN

(horrified)

Man what the fuck!

Deep sigh from Tayshawn. He picks the phone back up. There’s another DM notification from Bryan:

Ayeee you opened it! What’s up??

TAYSHAWN

Fuck.

Tayshawn picks up the phone, opens the IG chat, and starts typing:

Whats good bro

Bryan responds immediately:

Nothing much, at a stoplight. But I had a question for you bro

Tayshawn responds:

What is it

Bryan:

You ever thought about putting your writing online, like publicly? I feel like that’s the new wave I’m seeing people on. You know, with everything changing in the industry. 2026 shit lmao. And I wondered if that’s something somebody on your level ever thought to do

Tayshawn:

Hell no. Why would I do that. That doesn’t even make sense. Someone could steal it. All kinds of issues.

Bryan:

I mean, isn’t everything stealing?

Tayshawn:

Not where I’m at w/ it bro. My producer wouldn’t have none of that. Just got off a call w/ her

Bryan:

I feel that.

A lull, but Bryan begins typing again:

What you working on rn?

Tayshawn:

Couple adaptations. Some rewrites. Super busy.

Bryan:

Damn, that’s fire bro! Good shit!

Tayshawn liked the message.

Bryan again:

Yo can I send you something I wrote bro. I posted it online lol. It’s super rough but I’d be honored if you could check it out.

Tayshawn:

I mean, it’s w/e bro. I won’t get around to it anytime soon, but feel free

Bryan:

Bet! Thank you so much my guy!

Bryan sends a link through to a Substack article and the embededed thumbnail pops up. It’s titled “Snakes on a Plantation: The Mars Colony”

Bryan sends a follow up message:

So like a little backstory fr there’s that really popular show Snakes on a Plantation idk if you heard of it, but its all set in the past. So im thinking like damn what if we take this shit to the future? Plantations on mars and shit? It’s like a little fan fiction pilot type thing bro, you know. Just trying shit out

We’re close up on Tayshawn, looking at his phone. He wants to put it down but he’s kinda intrigued.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Interesting.

Tayshawn starts typing into his phone:

Cool bro. Got another meeting, but have a good one

Bryan:

yessir!!!

Tayshawn puts his phone down. He leans back into his chair again. He looks at the half-finished screenplay for Barracoon on his computer screen. A long pause. After awhile, he sucks his teeth, picks up his phone and clicks the link Bryan sent him.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Lemme see this shit, man.

It opens to a article page with the title and the subheading is just a tagline that says:

IN SPACE, CAN”T NOBODY HEAR YO ASS SCREAM

Tayshawn lets out a chuckle. But then covers it up with a cough. He looks around his empty room to see if anyone saw him. Obviously not, but we cut to a wide and see his room: unfolded laundry and a trash can filled to the brim and an unmade bed. He keeps reading.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Oh wow. Okay. Interesting.

He stands up, still reading. He goes to lay down in the bed.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Ha ha. Huh.

Tayshawn holds the phone above his head as he lays in bed, backlight illuminating his face as night falls.

TAYSHAWN’S VOICEOVER

Daaaamn. Aight. Aight.

Before long, he finishes. He puts the phone down and we move to a close up of him, laying down. Out loud:

TAYSHAWN

It’s actually not a bad idea.

A sliver of moonlight illuminates the dark bedroom. There’s baby-making music playing in the background.

FEMALE VOICE

(gasping)

Oh my god! It’s so big!

A male voice nearby chuckles confidently.

MALE VOICE

Uh ha. Well, of course it is.

The man had just taken his head scarf off and we see his bulbous, glowing, bald head directly in the path of the moonlight. We watch closely as his abnormally giant cranium pulses in conjunction with the 808s coming out of the stereo system. She can’t take her eyes off the source of his power.

He begins taking off the rest of his clothes.

THE WOMAN

Oh wow! And your dick is a pretty nice size, too.

THE MAN

Wow. Thank you. I actually really appreciate that.

THE WOMAN

(admiring)

It’s just like—look at you. Look at that head of yours. I’m just—you’re so handsome… I just don’t know what to—

He presses his finger to her lips.

THE MAN

Hush.

He takes that same finger and slides off the strap on her left shoulder.

THE MAN (continued)

Now come here, girl.

The next morning the man in question wakes up with a smile on his face. This is TRUMAYNE WATTS, our protagonist. Blinking his eyes open, he turns over to look at the woman sleeping in his bed. She’s fast asleep. With his eyes finally adjusted to the morning light, he looks up and on the ceiling is a taped 24-by-36 inch poster of Soulja Boy, staring back at him.

TRUMAYNE

(saluting)

Yes, sir. You already know.

Immediately, he hops out of the bed and darts for the bathroom to start his morning routine.

Inside the bathroom. The sink is lined with all kinds of products, but they’re neatly organized from smallest to largest in terms of bottle size. He hums a tune as he brushes his teeth in strong, vigorous strokes until he has to gargle and spit.

Then, in a near-single fluid motion, he sweeps through his entire skincare routine with utter precision, plucking bottles and returning them to formation. He splashes ointment dollops onto his palm in perfectly proportioned amounts, and covers his skin with different substances until his face bears a dense, natural glitter. He takes one look in the mirror at himself and smiles.

TRUMAYNE

(saluting again)

Yessir. You already know.

Lastly, he moves to an abnormally wide tub at the end of the line of bottles. He spins open the top and scoops out a creamy lavender-colored gunk, working it between his hands. He smacks the substance onto his viciously oversized bald head (no fr, its like 3x times the size of a normal bald headed nigga), sculpting it like icing on top of a cupcake, and then massages it through until it’s absorbed by his lush, glowing scalp. Another look in mirror.

TRUMAYNE

(flexing this time)

Yessir! You already know!!!

He then brushes through his luscious beard, takes one last look in the mirror, smiles, and heads out.

Outside of a large, industrial sports facility. Trumayne pulls up in a small, efficient electric vehicle. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he spins them around his finger—via the keyring—5 times before exiting, counting each spin.

TRUMAYNE

1… 2… 3… 4… 5.

Trumayne hops out, there’s a real pep in his step.

We’re inside a large auditorium that seats about 15,000. Right now, there’s only a few people in it. Trumayne sits down in a row of empty spectator seats, right next to Hecky Nawlings, the star player for one of the best teams in the biggest American sports league and one of the most famous men on the planet. Hecky is sitting courtside at a private players’ practice, as its the morning before a big game.

Trumayne thrusts his microphone into Hecky’s face, to which Hecky doesn’t much flinch.

TRUMAYNE

So, Hecky, how do you do it?

HECKY

Well, you know. I just stay in my lane. Trust the work. It’s all about the work, for me. I think about everything I’ve been through, all the repetition and… hard work, which centers me to my purpose in between those lines and I just, well… I just play.

TRUMAYNE

Mmmmm, beautiful. And for the fans who hear that and go ‘That guy is just like me.’ You know, the ones that look to you for motivation. What do you have to say to them?

HECKY

Keep at it. Whatever you’re doing. Just stay focused, and keep at it. Keep going. That’s life.

TRUMAYNE

Spoken like a true champ. Thanks so much for doing this, Hecky.

HECKY

As always, my friend.

Before leaving, Hecky gives him a hearty fist-bump and then rubs the top of our journalist’s head. On this contact, the large head glows with warmth and then it pulses to the same pattern as the Grindin’ beat. Smiling, Trumayne gets up and moves to a nearby table and begins typing away frantically into his laptop, transcribing what he learned from Hecky’s interview for immediate publication.

BRRRRRMMMMP!

The sound of a buzzer. A close up on a scoreboard and it says:

WE WIN!

The same sports facility from before is now filled to the brim with extras—I mean, people. We’re at capacity. Trumayne hurries from his courtside media seat past a crowd of people into the tunnel.

We’re inside the post-game press conference room, where most of the packed room is waiting for Hecky’s arrival.

Hecky, fresh from an amazing performance and a clutch team win, enters the room, stretching his legs comfortably at the podium. From the podium’s point of view, we see a hand feverishly waving above a big ass bald head, hoping to catch more attention than the other esteemed journalists in the room.

PODIUM MANAGER

You, sir, with the extremely large head.

TRUMAYNE

Hecky, it’s me again…

HECKY

My guy! Long time, no see.

TRUMAYNE

Haha! Good one. Hecky, before the game, you said something along the lines of ‘Just doing my thing and staying in my lane.’ I thought that was the key to tonight’s win. But frankly… I’ve been covering you for what feels like my whole career and your message has hardly changed much. Is this still a good way to describe your feelings about your performance, even after all these years?

HECKY

Why, of course, yes it is. And thanks for that question.

TRUMAYNE

Do you have any more to add?

HECKY

Well, yeah. I would say I just try to keep at it, every single day, and take what the defense gives me out there. I trust the hard work, and I just go out there and leave it all on the floor.

TRUMAYNE

Mm-mmmm-mm! Well said! Another bar!

HECKY

Haha, my man.

TRUMAYNE

Thank you, Hecky.

HECKY

Anytime, brotha.

We’re outside the sports facility and it’s dark. The parking lot is pretty empty. Trumayne takes his car keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door and gets in. Before doing anything else, he spins the keyring around his finger and begins counting.

TRUMAYNE

1… 2… 3… 4… 5.

Trumayne puts the key into the ignition while humming the same tune he hummed brushing his teeth that morning. He drives off from the facility as the moon rises higher into the night sky.

Outside Truymayne’s house. He’s pulling into the driveway, but he notices something off.

TRUMAYNE

Wait, that’s weird.

One of the bulbs on the lighted-path to Trumayne’s front door is flickering on and off. He turns the car off and gets out to check it out. Before he gets a few paces...

TRUMAYNE

Fuck!

He quickly runs back in the car, sits down in the driver’s seat and frantically spins the keyring 5 times.

TRUMAYNE

1! 2! 3! 4! 5!

Trumayne’s breath shortens, his adrenaline rises and we see his head vibrating. He closes his eyes tight and waits for the ringing sensation to subside. After a few moments, he takes a deep breath, gathers his belongings and scurries into the house.

Inside the house.

TRUMAYNE

Honey! I’m here.

A distant female voice registers his arrival:

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Okay! How was your day?

Trumayne takes the time to remove his shoes and put his things down in their designated spots by the front door.

TRUMAYNE

You already know! Another one for the books, what can I say? Hecky was phenomenal today.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Oh, of course. Isn’t he great every day?

The voice is coming from upstairs, it seems.

TRUMAYNE

You can say that again!

After shedding all his work things, Trumayne reaches for a large head scarf on a nearby hanger and wraps it around his enormous scalp, covering every inch of it comfortably.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Were you able to get something to eat on your way home, baby?

TRUMAYNE

Yeah, they had food in the media room I was able to get my hands on!

There’s a slight pause in conversation.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Well. Whenever you’re ready, sweetie, I’m up here!

We’re at the top of the stairs now, watching Trumayne enthusiastically walk up them. We can hear a soulful tune floating through the cracked door to his bedroom as he approaches.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

There you are. Are you ready?

TRUYMAYNE

Oh, you know it.

Trumayne flings the bedroom door open, and a curvy silhouette is sitting on the edge of the bed. Her shape is only legible courtesy of the moonlight backlighting her.

THE WOMAN

Welcome home, hubby.

He walks over to her, and stands above her. Even in the flat darkness, he could tell she was giving him the most seductive of eyes.

TRUMAYNE

You already know… wifey.

Trumayne proceeds to take off his head scarf.

THE WOMAN

Oh my god! It’s so big!

Trumayne chuckles confidently.

TRUMAYNE

Uh ha. Well, of course it is.

His bulbous, glowing, bald head catches the moonlight coming in through the window. The baby-making music playing in the background causes the abnormally giant cranium to pulse in conjunction with the 808s coming out of the stereo system.

The woman—his wife of 9 years, DONNA WATTS—can’t take her eyes off the source of his power. And just like that, they get right into their nightly ritual. Trumayne begins taking off the rest of his clothes.

DONNA

Oh wow! And your dick is a pretty nice size, too.

TRUMAYNE

Wow. Thank you. I actually really appreciate that.

DONNA

It’s just like, look at you. Look at that head of yours. I’m just—you’re so handsome… I just don’t know what to—

Trumayne presses his finger to her lips.

TRUMAYNE

Hush.

He takes that same finger and slides off the strap on her left shoulder.

TRUMAYNE

Now come here, girl!

He throws his wife back onto the bed and they proceed to make love, holding each other tight as they stare directly into each other’s eyes. It’s on.

DONNA

Fuck me harder!

Trumayne grunts.

DONNA (continued)

Look at you with this big ass fucking head!

Trumayne grunts again, but deeper this time.

DONNA (continued)

(looking deep into his eyes)

You fuckin me, ain’t you?

TRUMAYNE

Damn right, baby. Now look at my shit!

DONNA

Oooh! Yeah??

Donna’s eyes darts upward.

TRUMAYNE

Don’t take yo eyes off my shit! You hear me?

DONNA

Hell no I won’t!

Donna is screaming, her eyes fixated on his endless scalp.

TRUMAYNE

Matter fact, hold my shit while you ride this shit!

Donna digs her grip into the firm flesh of his gigantic head, palming it with two hands like a basketball. And off that action, it warms and glows with sensation.

DONNA

Fuck yeah, I’m holding this big ass head of yours while you fuckin me like this!

TRUMAYNE

Now lick it!

DONNA

Lick this shit??

TRUMAYNE

Yeah, lick it!

Donna licks it.

Trumayne lets off a deep, deep LOUD spiritual grunt.

It goes on like this for ~2 more minutes, before Trumayne finishes and they fall into each other’s arms, exhausted.

MOMENTS LATER

Deep, deep breaths fill the air. The married couple, post-event, settles into their respective sides of the bed, ready to fall asleep.

POV: As Trumayne drifts off, his eyes gradually close. But just as they almost fully shut, we notice a dark figure moving around in the room.

Trumayne jolts himself awake. It’s Donna, almost out the door.

TRUMAYNE

What are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed?

DONNA

I’m just feeling a little restless, I’m gonna go downstairs and watch some TV.

TRUMAYNE

Wait, what do you mean? After—you know, the thing—we usually fall asleep here until morning.

DONNA

Yeah, yeah I know sweetie. But, tonight I wanted to try something else tonight before I fell asleep.

TRUMAYNE

I’m sorry I don’t understand. We’re supposed to stay here—in the bed—until tomorrow morning. That’s just how it works.

DONNA

Baby, I’m gonna be here in the morning when you wake up.

Trumayne’s head, still slightly red from the activity, starts to vibrate from stress. It starts pulsing again, but this time not on beat. He closes his eyes in agony and starts to take some deep breaths. Donna walks back to the bed, and gets under the covers.

DONNA (continued)

Okay, okay, okay. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.

Trumayne sighs, and before long he falls into a deep, well-earned slumber.

THE NEXT MORNING

Trumayne is waking up. But he isn’t smiling like the previous morning. Something feels different.

He turns over and his wife next to him is wide awake staring directly at the ceiling. She looks at him and gives a hesitant half-smile, as if to appease.

Trumayne rolls out of bed—neglecting to look up at the poster on the ceiling—and makes his way to bathroom, groggily moving through his morning routine. By the time he comes back out, Donna is no longer in the bed.

Inside the sports facility. It’s not very lively. Trumayne walks in, hoping to make the most of another private players’ practice before a big game. He sits down in his usual spot.

Hecky is nowhere to be found.

We watch as Trumayne gets up to question a few of Hecky’s teammates, but they don’t have much to add. On the opposite side of the court, other media members, also looking for a pre-game soundbite, speculate amongst themselves about the mysterious absence. Trumayne yells out to them:

TRUMAYNE

He must be saving his energy! You already know Hecky’s not one to skip out on pre-game.

They all look in his direction, offer no response and go back to their conversations. Trumayne sits back down in the empty row and practices his keyring spins.

BRRRRRMMMMP!

The sound of a buzzer. A close up on a scoreboard and it says:

WE LOSE!

We’re in the press conference room, hours later, post-game. The vibes are tense. Hecky lumbers into the press-conference room, seemingly anxious and jittery. Very different from his relaxed presser the night before. Before he even has a chance to get settled, all the hands in the room jolt to the ceiling.

Hecky raises both of his hands, palms down, and sends them downward. Like an orchestra conductor, all the journalists’ hands go down when does this.

HECKY

I just want to say a few things before we get into any questions.

The room is hushed, and no hands are raised… except for one. Our large-headed protagonist has his hand raised and waving frantically, hoping to get some special treatment.

HECKY

That means you too, brotha.

Trumayne’s hand lowers slowly.

HECKY (continued)

I wanted to explain my poor performance tonight as well as address some other… important… happenings in my life…

And… well…

… that’s because, effective immediately, I am shifting careers. I no longer want to play this game.

Gasps all over the room. Cameras flash and a wide-eyed, frantic murmur emerges from the media personnel in attendance. Hecky pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and reads off it:

HECKY (continued)

(reciting)

My athletic prowess has taken me to new heights, and I am thankful for all the blessings it has afforded me, but it’s time to hang it up. This context that you know me in has served its purpose. Rather, it has run its course. I will be taking some time for myself and consulting with my family to decide which of my side interests I will pursue next.

There’s a moment of hush after Hecky says this. This is real. The most popular player in the game has just sworn against the sport he single-handedly popularized and is pivoting right before our eyes.

HECKY (continued)

I’m sorry this is coming so abruptly, but I felt there was no need to prolong it any further. I want to thank the fans, the media—many of whom I have great relationships with—and most certainly my peers and fellow players. I hope my path can be informative for those who may be going through something similar.

Hecky re-crumbles the piece of paper and puts it in his pocket. ALL of the hands in the room shoot up, while pulsating camera flashes punctuate this historic moment.

HECKY (continued)

Actually. You know what. No further questions.

Hecky walks off the podium. This causes even more pandemonium. Every single member of the media rushes after Hecky, who puts his hood on and makes a swift path towards the exit of the stadium. The entire room of journalists, photographers and team security empties and spills out into the hallways, following the commotion.

Except for one.

Trumayne sits, slack-jawed and still. The large, bulbous dome sitting above him has lost its color, and it’s shape looks more deflated than usual.

TRUMAYNE

What…

Stuck in a state of shock, he stares off into the distance, murmuring to himself, unable to process the news he just heard.

TRUMAYNE

I… don’t… understand…

wh…at… do I do…

… now…?

We’re back in the bed: Trumayne is just waking up. Was that a bad dream? He looks to his left, and his wife is not in the bed. Shit, if it is a bad dream, it’s still continuing.

He sluggishly moves to the bathroom to complete his morning routine.

Trumayne is making his way down the stairs, fully dressed.

TRUMAYNE

Baby?

No response. Trumayne bends around the corner to the kitchen. It’s a very boilerplate kitchen, with no pictures of the two of them on the fridge, no decorations or anything. But fully functional. There’s a note on the counter, folded in half.

Trumayne picks it up and the writing is a little chickenscratchy. It reads:

Hey Trumayne,

I had to go to my sister’s for a few weeks. I’m not feeling too well. I hope you can understand.

-Donna

Trumayne drops the note on the ground. His head begins throbbing. He’s taking deep breaths. He picks up his belongings and heads out the door. Just as he opens the door, he stops.

TRUMAYNE

Wait, what? Sister? You ain’t never tell me you had a sister, Donna. The fuck is going on?

Trumayne hustles back to the counter and there’s a new note on it, neatly folded. He picks it up and it’s the same chickenscratch writing:

Hey Baby,

I took a solo trip to the park to clear my head. I needed the fresh air, with everything going on in the world. I left some treats in the fridge for you. I’ll be back later tonight.

-Your One and Only

Trumayne sighs, but then looks around on the floor for the old note, it’s nowhere to be found. That’s odd. He opens the fridge. There are some of them lil grocery store mini-cupcakes in there. He takes one and eats it quickly to calm his nerves. Off that, his head pulses with vitality. Deep sigh.

Trumayne rushes out of the house.

Outside the sports facility. Trumayne pulls up in his car and there’s a group of people removing the banner from the front of the entrance. They are all wearing the same light grey T-shirt with red writing on it. Trumayne spins the keyring 5 times and then gets out.

CREW MEMBER

He’s here! Move! Move! Move!

The group of people all scatter before Trumayne can approach the entrance. The banner hangs half off and a ladder is underneath. He walks closer to the entrance, but one of the people, a young woman in her 20s is heading back towards him.

CREW MEMBER (O.S.)

Girl, come back! He’s gonna see you!

CREW MEMBER #2

I don’t give a damn, we not fuckin gettin paid anyway.

The young woman walks up to the ladder and grabs her phone off of it.

CREW MEMBER #2

Scuse me, sir.

Trumayne just looks at her. She walks off. On the back of her shirt it says “The TRUMAYNE Show” in bright red writing. Trumayne looks on, confused but in a daze. He enters the building.

Inside. The facility is in a state of pure transition, far from the lively energy of a game. Chairs are stacked in the corner, there are a bunch of large lights and light stands in another section. The players that are usually practicing at this time are nowhere to be found. There are only a few people and they seem to be handymen types. Trumayne walks over to his usual floor seat row and takes out his laptop.

He opens a new blank writing document and titles it:

THE POST-HECKY REBUILD STARTS NOW

He looks around, surveying, looking for a way to write to this.

TRUMAYNE

Hmmmm.

A couple of seats away he notices a brown box in one of the chairs, but on the very outside of it it says “Trumayne”, written in sharpie. There’s a large post-it note on it that says:

NEED TO GET RID OF. FREE, TAKE ONE PLEASE

He scoots over to it, opens the box and there’s a pile of the same shirts the woman outside was wearing.

TRUMAYNE

What—

SECURITY (O.S.)

Sir! We can’t use this facility anymore. The studio shut us down for goo—

Trumayne turns around to a female security guard.

SECURITY

Oh, it’s you. Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…

The guard just walks away.

TRUMAYNE

Huh?

Moments later, the house lights of the facility shut off one by one. The backlight of Trumayne’s laptop is the only thing left. He doesn’t leave though. He starts typing away, and we hear the echo of each keystroke throughout the empty facility.

Back at Trumayne’s home, it’s dark out. We see him enter through the front door.

TRUMAYNE

Honey?

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Yes?

The voice is coming from upstairs. Trumayne sighs. He flings off his belongings, grabs his head scarf off the rack, and sprints up the stairs while putting it on.

We’re upstairs. Trumayne flings open the bedroom door, and there’s that silhouette against the moonlit backdrop. Only: It’s even curvier than usual.

FEMALE VOICE

Welcome home, husband.

Trumayne moves closer. He kneels at the bedside, spreading open her legs and leaning his large covered head towards her, like an offering. There’s a brief pause, until:

FEMALE VOICE

(aggressive)

Now lemme see that dick, boy!

Trumayne stands up and stumbles back in horror. He flips the light switch on and a totally different woman than Donna is sitting on the very edge of the bed. She is beautiful, curvy, but much lighter in complexion than Donna was. She smiles, assuredly:

NEW DONNA

Uh. Hey!

TRUMAYNE

Donna? Wait. No. What? What the fuck is going on here? Who are you?

NEW DONNA

I’m Donna, baby. Remember.

New Donna gets up and walks towards him. Trumayne looks her up and down. Damn. She thick as hell.

Trumayne takes off his headscarf and waits. New Donna doesn’t respond to the reveal of his big ass head, pulsating from anxiety. She just keeps walking towards him. We look down at Trumayne’s pants and he has an erection coming through. He looks down at it, too. Then back at her, approaching.

TRUMAYNE

Awww, hell!

Trumayne runs out of the room.

We’re downstairs.

Trumayne runs out of the house.

We’re outside.

Trumayne gets into the car, spins the keyring 5 times, puts the key into the ignition and speeds off into the night.

FADE TO BLACK

OVER BLACK WE HEAR A COUPLE BLACK VOICES:

VOICE 1

See, I just feel like he handled that really well. Especially with everything going on. Very professional.

VOICE 2

He’s so good. So believable. He deserves better than what they tryna do to him.

VOICE 1

Right! I’ve never seen him be bad in anything.

VOICE 2

This whole thing is on the producers. Get him off here and on sumn where his talents can be used properly.

VOICE 1

Preach.

We hear the sound of a TV cutting off.

The let out at a high school graduation. The sun is high above, beating down.

In our frame: A white family poses together on the front lawn of the school, smiling ear to ear. They’re huddled around a medium-height, slender, blonde-haired boy at the center, wearing a gradutaion cap. We don’t know the young boy’s name, so for the sake of it we’ll call him “Cody.”

“CODY”

Hold on, Mom. He’s saying we need to get in closer.

“CODY”’S MOM

Honey, I’m as close as I can get. You tell your father over on that side to move in.

“CODY”

Mom!!! One of you do something! I don’t care who.

We pull back and the screen of a smartphone floats into view, as the family squeezes in tighter while maintaining big smiles. A pair of melanated hands hold the device. It’s pressing the shutter over and over. Like, a lot.

“CODY” (continued)

Sir, can you take one like this?

With one arm draped around a younger girl who looks just like him, “Cody” gestures a rectangle turning on its side. He wants a landscape photo.

We hear a voice close to us, deep and full of bass:

THE VOICE

Mmmmhmmm.

The family keeps posing. More shutter presses.

“CODY”

Sir, thank you so much. You’re the best.

THE VOICE

No problem.

We flip around to the source of the voice and are introduced to Clint, a 60-some year old-looking black man with salt and pepper hair. He wears tinted shades, a knitted polo with the top button undone, wide pleated slacks, down to a pair of hardbottoms. There’s a bluetooth piece in his ear and he’s got a little glisten going from the heat. No problem though, as there’s a white towel draped over his shoulder.

Around him in all directions are hundreds of people: families celebrating the achievement of young kids headed off to college in a matter of months.

A black woman (she looks about Clint’s age) dressed to the nines, scoots past him and smiles at him. He nods back at her with a calm reassurance. She joins her family, a group of 6, as they also gather around a young girl to take pictures. It’s a very structured exercise.

Another black family nearby is a bit more animated. They mess with the young man in the center of it all, pushing him around and pulling on the tassle hanging off hsi graduation cap. He’s giggling at all the attention.

FAMILY MEMBER #1

HEll yeah, young boul!!

FAMILY MEMBER #2

College bound!! I see you!

FAMILY MEMBER #3

(To Clint)

Ay, Gerald! Come over here!

This is one of the older men in this family, he’s tapping Clint on the shoulder.

Clint just looks at him. The man realizes his mistake:

FAMILY MEMBER #3 (continued)

Oh shit, my fault brotha. Ha-ha! I thought you was someone else. B-but congrats to you brotha!

CLINT

No problem… Brotha.

Back close on Clint: he’s very very focused. He surveys around the graduation. He’s looking for something.

We move to a large dark room. It’s a gynasium and all the lights are off. Slowly, we reveal to behind the bleachers: a group of masked men are huddled around a canvas sheet with a pile of automatic weapons laid out. There are 4 of these henchmen in total and they pick up the weapons, trying them on for size, aiming them in preparation.

Back outside. While surveying, Clint senses something behind him. He turns around and catches a glimpse of “Cody” running up to him, bubbly and full of energy.

“CODY”

My mom wanted me to tell you thanks. She’s been worried about my grades for this last semester and so she’s all strung out today, so I apologize for her behavior. Do you want me to return the favor and take a picture of you with your family?

Off in the distance, we see “Cody”’s mom with a stern look on her face, nudging “Cody” to keep going.

CLINT

I’m not with them. I’m not with nobody.

“CODY”

Well, how about I take a picture for just you? You could have it for your scrapbook. You know, some fit pics. You’re dressed nicely and it’s a sunny day.

CLINT

Young man. I’m busy right now.

“CODY”

You don’t look busy.

Clint doesn’t respond. “Cody” takes the smartphone out and points the lens on a full body photo of Clint.

“CODY” (continued)

Here. I got you.

Clint snatches the phone with lightning quick reflexes, locks it and puts it in Cody’s shirt chest pocket, with the rear lens facing inwards.

CLINT

Please don’t do that.

“CODY”

Oh. Sheesh.

“Cody” is visibly rejected. Clint watches him.

CLINT

I’m looking for someone.

“Cody” perks back up.

“CODY”

Oh! Who are you looking for? I know every single person in our graduating classes name by heart. I also feel like i’ve been to most of their houses before. I actually came second in the student government elections. I got what amounts to the popular vote, and the teacher’s said I had some of the best speeches they’d ever heard. I feel like if I spent more time on the actual campaign materials I would have—

CLINT

It’s not a student.

“CODY”

Oh. Well. I’ll look, too.

Cody stands next to Clint and crosses his arms, mimicking the stoic side to side gaze. Clint sighs.

CLINT

What’s your name, young man?

“CODY”

I’m Kody, with a K.

CLINT

Ah, of course. Well, Kody. I need a favor real quick.

KODY

What you need, big dawg?

CLINT

I need you to go up to that limo right there and ask them to move. You see the way they’re parked in front of the walkway, right at the curb. Tell them they gotta move bout 20 feet so that the students have a place to step off. It’s a hazard right now. Can you do that?

KODY

That’s Mayor Brighton’s limo.

CLINT

I know that, young man.

KODY

Uh, okay. Bet. Say less.

CLINT

Thank you.

We stay with Clint as he watches Kody jog over to the limo and knock on the passenger’s side window. The driver doesn’t budge. Kody starts gesturing with his hands and pointing at the student body. Clint’s eyes shift to the crowd.

CLOSE UP SHOTS OF INDIVIDUAL FACES IN THE CROWD:

-An older black man, in his late 70s at least, is waiting patiently. He coughs and takes a second to compose himself.

WHIP PAN TO:

-A white lady is standing by a group of students smiling with her hands clasped together. Teacher perhaps?

WHIP PAN TO:

-A man in his late 30s, white with eastern-euro features, wearing a dapper suit and some sunglasses is watching Kody’s conversation with the limo intensely.

Clint makes a beeline for the man. The man spots him and jogs off. Clint not about to run though, so he stops and surveys the crowd again. More graduation-ready faces until: Another euro-looking sunglassed gentleman about 20 feet away saw the first man start running, but he didn’t see Clint. He starts fleeing too but he’s hustling right by us.

Clint sticks his leg out and the man trips, his face heading straight for the floor. WIth a balletic grace, Clint reaches down, lets the towel from his shoulder fall onto his forearm and catches the man by the chest before hitting the ground like his whole being is a tray of food or some shit.

CLINT

Whoops! I gotcha!

Clint takes his thumb and index finger and firmly pinches the small dipped area about four finger-widths above where the man’s achilles is located: the man dozes off immediately. Clint brings him back up to a standing position and drapes his arm around him.

CLINT

(with full teeth showing)

Aw man!! So good to see you!

Clint laughs hysterically while maintaining the the unconscious man’s upright posture, pretending to be catching up with an old friend for all the onlookers. He clearly strong as shit.

Clint limps the man over to a nearby bench and pretends to hold a conversation, but slips his hand into the mans inner chest pocket and waistband. He finds a wallet and a pistol. He tucks the pistol in his pants and grabs the wallet, looking through it while continuing to survey the crowd.

He pulls out the man's ID. It’s a HAWAII Driver’s License and it says: VLADIMIR JONES, DOB: 06/03/1981. Clint sucks his teeth. This man don’t look a day older than 25.

CLINT

(to himself)

This fake as hell.

Clint surveys the crowd for more Vladimir Joneses. What’s really going on here?

MORE TIGHT WHIP PANS to people in the graduation crowd: No, not him. No, not her. Not her either.

Whip pan to over by the curb, The limo is finally moving, and Kody is gesturing like a traffic cop.

KODY

You got another foot! Keep coming!

Continuing Clint’s POV: The graduation crowd seems to part and give way to a young black girl in a pale pink dress and high heels. This is ZARAH. She has a 1000-watt smile and a whole group of people are crowded around her including an older black man with a really presidential looking suit and his own crowd of people around him. This is Mayor Darnell Brighton, her father. Like a perfect mirror, parents swarm him while students magnetize around her. Just as quickly as they were revealed in the crowd from this tight angle, the bodies move together and close Clint’s vantage point on the two of them.

KODY

(startling the POV)

“Who’s your friend?”

CLINT

(Pointing to Vlad)

Who? This guy? Oh, I don’t know who he is.

Somewhere nearby, but isolated. A close up of the first “Vladimir Jones” that Clint spotted, running away from the graduation but talking into an earpiece.

FIRST VLAD

It’s time to go. Now.

Back in the auditorium. We follow the nose of an automatic weapon through the darkness. We swing around to a follow shot of the masked man holding the gun and reveal the group of three other masked and armed men behind him. They FLING OPEN an exit door and walk into a flood of sunlight.

We track behind them as they move in a makeshift military formation, checkpointing at available corners and giving hand signals. The camera swoops UP and we see them located on the same small campus as the large graduation crowd, only a couple hundred feet away, bending around buildings en route to where everyone is.

Back at the bench. Kody sits sandwiched between Clint and the slumped dude.

KODY

(pointing)

So that right there is Jemere. He’s got a crazy high vert. No D1 scholarships but got recruited to like a D3 military school type thing. Which doesn’t really count but I think he could make an impact if given minutes.

Clint just nods. Then, just on the other side of the crowd: pure commotion. Womanly screams and a loud blanketed murmur. The energy completely shifts. Clint can’t see anything, so he stands up and sees black automatic rifles pointed above the crowd, but so does everyone else. The whole crowd begins RUNNING in pandemonium. Parents, grandparents, students, teachers sprint in the direction of the parking lot. Clint heads straight for the commotion but can’t break through as the wave of people pushes him back.

The crowd dissipates. Clint steps into the cleared courtyard. There are two black male bodyguards, also in suits, on the ground rubbing their heads, presumably with the mayor. There’s a cluster of unused zipties on the ground near them. The mayor himself is in the middle of the courtyard, on his knees with his palms facing the sky.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

They took my baby!!! Noooo!!!

The two husky bodyguards stand up and pick the mayor up, as he continues sobbing loudly. Clint offers a hand, but they swat it away.

BODYGUARD 1

Where the fuck was you, Clint?

Clint stands by and watches as they carry the hysterical Mayor off, his legs dangling, not touching the floor once. As they reach the curb:

BODYGUARD 1

Yo!! Where the fuckin limo go??

BODYGUARD 2

I don’t know!!! It was supposed to be right here!

BODYGUARD 1

Oh! There it go! Why the fuck did he move!?

MAYOR BRIGHTON

My baaaaaby!!!!!!

They toss the mayor into the backseat of the limo and it speeds off. Clint turns on a dime and heads for the parking lot. He approaches a busted, maroon town car with woodgrain side paneling. He gets in.

Clint immediately fires up the engine and the A/C, then wipes his brow with the towel. His passenger door opens and Kody slides into the passenger’s seat.

KODY

That was SO crazy.

CLINT

What the hell you doing, man?

KODY

I’m coming with you.

Kody gets comfy in the passenger and starts putting on his seatbelt.

CLINT

Hell no, man. Your parents probably looking for you, I’m not about to be responsible for some little white boy. Not with all this.

KODY

Oh, they’ll be fine. I’ll text my mom and tell her I met up with friends. Besides, you left this.

Kody pulls the pistol out of his pocket. Clint, surprised, furrows his brow then checks his pockets.

CLINT

You little muhfu—How’d you get that?

KODY

I kinda… just… take things sometimes. It’s a weird habit of mine.

(beat)

Plus, it’s not a real gun anyway so I figured you were just pretending.

CLINT

What?

KODY

You didn’t know it wasn’t real?

Kody brandishes the gun in the light and it doesnt take a reflection. It’s heavy and solid, but it’s clear now it’s an articulate prop. Clint takes a deep sigh.

CLINT

Yeah, well. I, uh. I took it off the guy on the bench.

KODY

See! I knew you were like secret service or something. No family, no pictures. ULTRA smooth with it. Mayor Brighton hired you, didn’t he?

Clint doesn’t answer. He takes the towel off his shoulder, uncorks the bluetooth from his ear, and tucks both neatly in the middle console. Kody keeps going.

KODY (continued)

Ooooh, shit! This is some high-level political kidnapping shit—uh, stuff, isn’t it? And you know what, Zarah was really mean to me one time. She told me she didn’t vote for me to my face. So I hope she’s okay and all, but—I could help you! Seriously. I know enough about the school, the ins and outs. If you really want my help to figure out what’s going on here, I’m the perfect guy for the j—Wait. You really couldn’t tell this wasn’t a real gun? Haha! It’s so fake.

Clint puts the car in drive.

CLINT

I’ve never used one before. I’ve never had to.

KODY

Whoaaaa. That’s fucking badass, man!! But why?

Clint takes a long look at the young man, then presses the pedal.

CLINT

Long story.

The town car speeds off.

Street level on a city block, about 20 minutes later. Clint’s car parks in front of a super modest city row home storefront that says “HOPE CAMERA BROKERAGE” on the signage.

Inside the Camera shop. Clint enters through the front door, ringing a bell on his way in. We see all around us: vintage film cameras of every kind. Metal construction, plastic construction, every different format. No digital tho. The black man behind the register, bald headed and even older than Clint, is turning a screwdriver into the internals of a Canon, wearing some pretty intense glasses to see his progress. He stops to look up at who walked in.

RON

Alright, Clint.

CLINT

How you doin, Ron.

KODY

(immediately)

What’s good, Ron. Cool shop you got.

Kody reaches out for the dap. Ron, very slowly, obliges.

RON

(chuckling)

Thank you, young man.

Clint and Kody scoot past the shop into a long creaky hallway, with a flight of stairs at the end. They mozy up them and Clint slides a key into a the door of an apartment labeled 4L.

Inside Clint’s apartment. We could say it’s not too shabby, but lowkey it’s pretty shabby. There’s not much to see, no pictures or anything, though there’s a single martial arts wooden dummy in the far corner of the room. Next to it, leaned against the wall is a Casio electric keyboard, looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. There are worn clothes peppered throughout the room, and most of them sit on top of the sparing furniture: namely the couch that’s plopped in front of a single 50” TV. A 4-foot high media storage tower, full of DVDs, sits upright next to it. We smash into a close up of its contents: 20-30 different copies of The Equalizer 1, 2 and 3. Whoa. Some of the DVD sleeves are in Español, some of them are in French. But there is not a single other movie in Clint’s collection other than this franchise.

KODY

Cool place, bruh!

Kody plops down at the modest 4-person dining table, the only place to really sit, tossing his graduation cap onto it.

KODY (continued)

Phew! Detective work is hard.

Clint hangs up his towel on a coat rack and goes to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and takes out a half-full liter of orange juice and drinks straight from it.

KODY

Can I take my phone out?

CLINT

If you remember to never train the lens on me. Ever. Then, yes.

(beat)

Thank you for asking.

KODY

Yeah.

(beat)

… Look! Someone, someone got footage of the incident earlier today. I’m looking at it right now on stories. It’s shaky… but…

Clints body turns to Kody. He hesitates a moment.

CLINT

Yeah, lemme see that.

Clint stands over Kody’s shoulder and they watch the phone together.

IN the phone:

Shaky footage by someone on the other side of the courtyard where all the students and families were gathered. Someone was taking a video of the wider crowd when we see the black automatic rifles emerge in the deep background. The crowd starts to scream and disperse frantically. The footage holds on the masked men as they emerge.

CLINT

Hold on, stop it right there.

Kody holds his index finger down on the screen. It pauses.

CLINT

No, no, go back.

Kody swipes back a couple seconds.

CLINT

Now stop it.

It pauses again on a clear view of one of the masked men holding the automatic rifle above his head demonstratively. Through the eye opening in his mask we can see he’s a white man. Stocky build, about 6 foot.

CLINT

Can you like, zoom in?

Kody pinches. We go in close to the man.

CLINT

Look, he’s not even holding the trigger, there isn’t even a hole for him to put his finger through. Those guns are fake, too, man.

The gun looks just like the one he took off Vlad.

KODY

Wow! Something’s up!

CLINT

Sure is.

KODY

We could’ve beat them boys up!

CLINT

Let it play.

Kody releases his finger. The scene plays out sloppily as the camerperson starts running while filming, but we see the kidnapping: The masked men make a beeline for Zarah, grab her and tie her arms behind her back with a zip tie. We see one of them throw the cluster of zip ties on the ground and hurredly rush in the direction they came from while carrying her over their shoulder. It’s an eerie sight, they came for her specifically, grabbed her and left.

KODY

(under his breath)

Ugh. Sloppy, if you ask me.

Clint looks bewildered at this opinionated little white boy. He’s right tho.

CLINT

Yeah. Mayor’s daughter. Big ransom. Dropping the zipties. Huh. You would think they would be more careful with such a high profile target.

KODY

Is a hot dog a sandwich?

CLINT

… the hell you asking me for?

KODY

No, it’s like a saying we have.

CLINT

Huh?

KODY

Like, when someone says something lowkey philosophical you just go ‘Is a hot dog a sandwich?’ and then that’s it.

CLINT

What’s the answer?

KODY

Oh, I don’t know. It depends. It’s like a question that has no answer. Some of the other kids say “type shit” but me—and my friends—we didn’t think that sounded appropriate so we, all of us, we just say “is a hot dog a sandwich?”

Clint stares at the white boy for a prolonged moment.

KODY (continued)

Ok ok, I made it up. It’s just my thing right now. But I think it could catch on.

CLINT

Huh.

Clint looks back at the phone, as the video has looped back to the kidnapping part again.

CLINT (continued)

Poor girl.

KODY

Where were the Mayor’s bodyguards when this was happening? I don’t see them.

CLINT

I don’t know. But I was supposed to be with them. The Mayor told me that something might go down. He pulled me aside and told me to stay alert, to make sure that nothing would happen to him and his family. He seemed paranoid.

(beat)

I could have done something.

KODY

No way, man! You were doing your job! You didn’t know this was going to happen. At least we know now that they’re fake. We can go find them, and then tell the Mayor what’s up.

CLINT

I don’t know about that. This was my first time doing this. He hired me as a freelancer. I think he probably won’t want to hear from me again.

KODY

Aw come on. Look at these frauds, this is a big development. We gotta let the mayor know!

Clint with another long look at Kody.

CLINT

Yeah. Huh.

(beat)

I guess I could go to his office. Huh.

KODY

Aw yes!

Clint puts the orange juice away and prepares to leave.

CLINT

You stay here. Don’t got much in the fridge but… I got stuff to watch if you want. I’ll be back soon.

KODY

What! Oh nah!! I’m coming with.

Kody stands up, tucks his graduation cap under his arm and stands by the door. Clint opens his mouth to talk, but elects against it.

Clint’s car pulls up to the the office of the mayor.

Clint and Kody walks in through a door to a modest office. It’s one of those earlier offices, the one before the mayor’s, where a secretary might typically be. But, we only see the two bodyguards from before. The talkative one, his name is Dell. He’s a big, rotund bald-headed mf with tiny eyes. A tad unkempt in the face, but the important detail is that he’s got about 6 inches and 90 pounds on Clint.

DELL

Oh wow. The hell you doin here, CLINT.

Dell said “Clint” with some real force behind it. Clint doesn’t take the bait.

CLINT

I have some news. For the mayor. About his daughter.

DELL

He’s not seeing people right now. He’s… processing.

CLINT

Man, let me through. It’s some stuff y’all gonna wanna hear, too.

DELL

Yeah, like what, CLINT?

CLINT

Boy, don’t play with me. I need to see Mayor Brighton.

Dell steps close to Clint’s face. A long stare between the two men. Clint holds his position. Dell relents.

DELL

Go ahead in.

The inside of the mayor’s office is more ornate than expected. He clearly decked it out with gold trims and furniture to make it feel more luxurious than your typical political place of work.

CLINT

Mayor Brighton.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Ay! There he is. What can I do for you? Cliff, was it?

CLINT

It’s Clint.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Oh, aight. Clint. What you need, brotha?

CLINT

Well, I’m here to report back, Mayor Brighton. I have some updates.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Uh, about what? And who is this?

CLINT

This is Kody. A student at Zarah’s school. He’s helping me with the investigation.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Investigation.

The Mayor nods from behind his desk, takes a long pause to look at the two visitors. He stands up and walks around to the front of the desk. His face is more concerned.

MAYOR BRIGHTON (continued)

Right. Of course. I’m worried sick, I ain’t gonna lie. Please, tell me what you know.

CLINT

Kody.

Kody steps up and shows the Mayor the looping video of the incident. The Mayor watches the video intently.

KODY

So, if you look here, you;ll see that the men that took your daughter are armed, but these guns are fake.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

How do you know?

Kody pulls the fake gun out of his pocket and brandishes it up in the air. The mayor doesn’t flinch at the sight of it. Clint gently pulls Kody’s arm down, becuase the gun is pointed right at Clint as he holds it up.

CLINT

You see, I took this off of one of the sunglassed men that were snooping around the graduation. He tried to run, but I got to him first.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Wow. Huh.

CLINT

I also got his ID. And I ain’t never, in all my life, seen nobody named Vladimir Jones. And I been around a long time. A real long time, uh ha. It was real fishy to me, Mayor Brighton.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Huh. Is that right?

KODY

Spooky stuff, sir!

MAYOR BRIGHTON

So they take my daugher, and fake all of it without any real muscle? So they must not want to hurt her? So she gotta be safe, right?

CLINT

That’s what we’re thinking. They probably want money and some notoriety, but it’s not like they can do anything, Mayor Brighton. They don’t want to.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

You know…

(beat)

This exactly why I hired you, brotha. I saw what you did last week when you went down there and pulled that homeless gentleman’s head out of the sewer, and I’m thinking: Man, we need some new blood. Some new ideas and new energy. Them dickheads outside my door just going through the motions. You know what. I want you to follow this trail for me. You said they was white guys?

CLINT

That’s right.

MAYOR BRIGHTON

I’ll let you in on a secret. We been having some real issues with the I-talian mafia here in town lately. We go way back, before I was in office. And they hate that I’m up in office and won’t do everything they ask. Shit, if it was up to me they’d alll be locked up.

Clint leans in.

CLINT

So you think they’re sending a message?

MAYOR BRIGHTON

Clint, right? Yeah, Clint. I think they trying to send a message. I want you to do something for me, Clint. Can you follow a lead for me? The mafia supply house is over there on Front and Wynton Sts. Right on the corner. It’s sometimes where they get shipments for various things. Don’t ask me how I know. But I want you to go over there and check it out. You don’t have to tell them the Mayor sent you. In fact, don’t. But if I know them well enough, I want you to ask for a “Carmichael”: it’ll get their attention. Say that you have a message for Carmichael when you get there. That name is of great importance to them and they’ll take any chance to listen. But don’t deliver that message unless you get to a Carmichael? I mean it Clint, don’t tell it to anyone else, even if they press your ass. Assert yourself and tell them what’s what.

CLINT

Front and… Wynton streets. Carmichael. Ok I got it. And about your daughter, sir?

MAYOR

Ah, well. Just tell them you know what they’re up to. And if they don’t return “the package” to a safe secure location in the next 24 hours then it’s gon’ be a real problem. But don’t forget the message for Carmichael. Can you do that for me?

CLINT

Yes, I can.

MAYOR

You guys say they won’t hurt anyone, well, test that. Push their buttons. And don’t let them lie to you. We got the footage right here.

The mayor steps even closer.

MAYOR (continued)

I mean it, Clint. I need some real muscle on this. Show them who’s who.

The mayor walks away.

CLINT

I’m on it, sir. That’s no problem. But what’s the message?

The mayor turns back again and leans in close to Clint’s ear and whispers something inaudible. He steps back, staring at Clint.

MAYOR

That’s only for Carmichael, you hear?

CLINT

I got it.

MAYOR

And you, you attend my daughter’s school, yes?

KODY

Formerly, sir. Headed to Georgetown in the fall!

MAYOR

Ah. Well, I know some people at Georgetown. I thank you for your help with this, and I’ll make sure to put in my recommendation for you. Clint, see to it that this young man gets back home safely. I think you can handle it from here.

(toward the door)

Ay, Dell! Come escort these fine gentlemen out.

The door opens and Dell pokes his head in, smiling all crooked and whatnot. Clint shakes the Mayor’s hand before leaving. Kody looks back as he walks out.

Clint and Kody cruising through the city in the town car. It’s pretty quiet. Finally, Clint looks over to his makeshift partner.

CLINT

What's a good place for me to drop you off?

KODY

Damn. I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.

CLINT

You heard the mayor. The rest of this is grown up business.

KODY

You believed all that?

CLINT

Believe what?

KODY

Uh, I don’t know. Nevermind.

CLINT

Lemme know where I can drop you.

KODY

I did a project once where I had to map out the routes of our subway system and track the movements that the different buses take, but I geotagged myself and took screenshots of my movements while investigating and organized it so that the dropped pins looked exactly like our school’s mascot.

CLINT

Uh huh.

A long pause. Clint gives him a look like ‘and?’

KODY

I’m good here. I can find my way home.

Clint pulls over.

CLINT

I appreciate you, young man.

Kody nods, then exits the vehicle. Clint reaches in the middle console and pulls out the towel and bluetooth headset.

We’re close on the street signs at the intersection of Front and Wynton streets. Clint steps out of the vehicle and we track with him across the street until he arrives at the warehouse. He knocks on the door three times. It has one of those slots that slides open and a sliver of a white face with green eyes and dark sideburns, wearing wired earbuds, peers through.

CLINT

I have a message.

DOORMAN

Aight. Big deal. Fuck off.

The opening slides closed. Clint knocks again. This time with a friendlier 808 pattern.

CLINT

I have a message, I said.

The opening slides open.

DOORMAN

Me too. It’s the same one as before. Fuck off.

CLINT

It’s for Carmichael.

The opening stays open and the eyes squint at Clint. The opening slides closed and the door unlocks, then opens. The man standing on the other side of it has slicked back hair and a medium build, and he’s wearing a white t-shirt with Nike Tech pack sweats and white forces with black socks. He’s no more than 22. Clint enters the building. The man pats him down, looking under the towel draped over Clint’s shoulder.

DOORMAN

Go that way.

The man points to a long hallway. Clint goes down it.

We’re in a large warehouse room, and there are boxes piled high to the ceiling. Boxes of what, we can’t say from this far away. We’re right with Clint as he enters, he’s surveying the room. From the shadows emerge about 11 different white men, with 60-70% of them having the same slick back hairdo and the rest with more modern cuts. Some old, some young. But it’s clear who’s in charge when one of them, somewhere in his late 30s, steps forward. This is Alfie, and he’s looking at his phone screen.

ALFIE

I got a text here. It says you got a message. But not just any message. Care to explain?

CLINT

Well, I’m here for a very specific reason. I have a message for Carmichael.

ALFIE

No, I know that. But you can’t just say that and not explain.

CLINT

I was sent here to deliver it to him directly.

ALFIE

This fuckin guy, man.

Alfie steps closer. Clint doesn’t move.

ALFIE

Aight, one more time. Do… you… care… to… explain.

CLINT

I’m here to talk to Carmichael. He’s the one I wanna deliver a message to. Can you go get him?

ALFIE

Ohhh shit. Here we go. Did I fuckin order a funny guy from Amazon Delivery service? Is that who you are? Or are you the delivery guy? I didn’t know you fucks hired workers this old.

CLINT

Look, man. It’s from somebody of great importance. I think we both know who I’m talking about. If you could just tell Carmichael to return the package, this will all get resolved. You don’t want to make him mad.

ALFIE

You talking about my fuckin’ dead cousin Carmichael? The one who got killed? That’s who you talking about?? You fuckin’ with me?

Alfie unholsters his gun from his belt and holds it at his side.

CLINT

I’m talking about the Mayor’s daughter.

ALFIE

Man, fuck the Mayor’s daughter.

CLINT

Hey, hey. Hold on now. Watch your mouth.

ALFIE

No, fuck you. You’re not about to just come in here and mention my cousin by name, and—you know what—

Alfie points the gun at Clint.

CLINT

Look, I don’t want no trouble.

ALFIE

Well, I don’t give a fuck. You got some.

We’re close on a smartphone screen, there’s a navigation app up with the destination set for Front and Wynton sts. Behind the phone, the world zooms fast around it. We pull out wider and it’s Kody, wearing a helmet and moving fast on a rideshare electric scooter.

Back in the warehouse.

CLINT

Take a deep breath, man. Let’s talk. You have her somewhere and I just need you to confirm with me that you’re going to return her. That’s all. I think at this point, there ain’t going to be no ransom money. No none of that.

ALFIE

Take a deep breath? How about you take a deep bullet. You got until the count of 3 to tell me what this fuckin’ message is and who sent you or I unload into your fuckin’ chest.

Clint steps forward towards Alfie, his eyes squinting. He’s looking at the gun that Alfie is holding. It’s pretty shiny.

CLINT

Listen, I need you to release the mayor’s daughter right now.

ALFIE

Hey, asshole. Since you don’t listen.

Alfie shoots a bullet at Clint’s feet. Clint doesn’t flinch, but he looks shocked.

ALFIE (continued)

One.

CLINT

Uhhh… okay, okay. Huh.

Clint takes a moment to think to himself, putting his hand on his chin.

CLINT

I think we need to take a step back here.

Alfie takes a step forward.

ALFIE

No, I think we’re just fine. Two.

A knock on the warehouse front door. The opening slides open:

DOORMAN

What?

KODY

I’ve got a delivery.

DOORMAN

I don’t take deliveries.

KODY

Well, this is the address they gave me.

DOORMAN

Who gave you?

KODY

(gesturing to his phone)

It says it right here.

CLINT

Listen: I was sent by the mayor to investigate his daughter’s kidnapping. I have reason to believe that you and those gentleman behind you were at a graduation earlier. If you are keeping her here, then please release her now.

ALFIE

I know fuckall about that.

CLINT

(pensive)

Huh. He said you might say that. But.. the rest of this isn’t quite going as planned.

ALFIE

You’re cooked, brother. You stepped into the wrong spot today.

CLINT

Well, here. I guess I can just tell you the message.

ALFIE

You better do something, motherfucker.

CLINT

(reciting)

Operation Butter Knife is about to melt.

The other 11 men all pull out their handguns simultaneously upon hearing Clint utter these words.

ALFIE

What the fuck did you just say?

DOORMAN

Lemme see that.

The doorman reaches a hand out of the opening and Kody hands his phone over, but then drops it before the doorman can grab it.

KODY

Oh shit.

Kody drops down low, too low for the Doorman to see him through the opening.

DOORMAN

What the fuck, man?

KODY

(from below)

Ah, frick man! Sorry! It’s stuck down here.

The doorman opens the door. Kody pops right back up.

KODY

Phew. Found it!

He hands the phone over to the doorman, face down. Then, close up in Kody’s left hand we see he’s holding a remote shutter button.

CLINT

No?

ALFIE

You disrespect the name of the great Carmichael Sbarro and talk out loud about our secret initiative. Who tf you think you are?
… Three, fucko!

Back at the door. We hear a loud GUNSHOT by the door to the warehouse, and the doorman’s attention immediately shifts to the hallway. The doorman looks back at Kody and then Kody punches the shit outta him, right in his chin. He falls down right in the lobby and his wired earbuds go flying. He out cold.

KODY

Ooooh, shit!

Kody immediately reaches for his hand, throbbing in pain. He takes his phone back and enters the building, running towards the sound of the gunshot lol.

Close on Alfie’s smoking gun. We flip around to Clint, and… he’s just standing there. There’s a bullet casing on the ground by his feet.

Alfie is stunned. He unloads another 3 shots. Nothing doing. Clint is unphased.

Clint lets off a deep sigh. The other men surrounding Alfie step back, as they don’t understand what’s happening.

We’re with the POV of Kody, he’s just entered the same room. He sees Clint standing in front of this group of men, all with guns at their sides. He hides behind a stack of boxes.

CLINT

Alright now.

ALFIE

What the fuck is going on here?

Alfie looks down at his gun, to make sure it’s not shooting blanks. He fires another one at the ground, and it connects.

ALFIE (continued)

Hey! All of yous fuckin’ guys! Shoot this motherfucker!!

The whole squad of men raises their guns at Clint, and they unload the clip. Gunshots ring off.

Over by the boxes, Kody is petrified. He ducks down and covers his ears.

The gunshots stop. The smoke clears. And you guessed it, not a scratch on Clint.

CLINT

Are y’all finished or are y’all done?

The whole room is stunned.

Clint takes the bluetooth piece out of his ear. Upon a closer look, it’s not a plastic bluetooth headset at all, it’s a dark, ancient metallic black earring-like thing with carvings in the side of it. He tightens his fist around it, takes a deep breath and slides it in his pocket. He flings the towel off his shoulder and tucks it into the waistband of his pants.

The men look on, confused.

We hear a familiar tune float in: It’s the opening notes to Future’s “Draco” instrumental.

Clint lowers into a fighting stance. His knees are working just fine.

He goes to work.

He engages henchmen #1. Open hand chop to the neck, that’s light work. He falls to the ground holding his shit. Henchmen #2, we got kicks for him. Left foot to the face, then a right foot to the chest, he goes flying back. Henchmen #3 tries to get ahead of his fate, and ambush Clint from the back with a choking maneuver. Clint flips him over onto his back and two-pieces him downward in the chest. Now he coughing up blood.

#4, 5 and 6 all take the approach of using the guns again. They unload on Clint but it doesn’t remotely stop his fluid martial arts movements. He fixes them right up. #7 heads for the exit while this is all happening. Smart man. #8 through 11 are all routine “we think we can take you” guys, but they have no choice fr. So Clint lets them get into fighting stances. They engage Clint and he blocks their punches as they come from all sides, and he kicks one away and then another and then another until there’s one left. He kind of a big dude, about 6’4” and ugly as hell. Doesn’t really matter. Clint punches him in the ribs then folds that into an elbow strike to the jaw, he goes down to his knees and Clint knees him in the face.

The instrumental goes off.

Clint stands a few feet from Alfie.

From behind the boxes, Kody looks on, stunned.

ALFIE

Ay look man, I don’t want any trouble. We got a misunderstanding going.

CLINT

Oh, now you don’t want no trouble. And I agree, something is very much misunderstood.

Clint chops the gun out of Alfie’s hand, 3-pieces Alfie in the gut, and he falls to his knees. Alfie grabs at Clint and Clint swiftly breaks 3 of his fingers, then pulls his shoulder joint out of place. He screams in agony. Clint grabs Alfie by the ear. He pinches down on a nerve ending.

ALFIE

Ah!!!

CLINT

(calm)

What is the Butter knife project?

ALFIE

Come on, man. You can go. We won’t say shit to anybody, just get outta here.

Clint pinches harder.

ALFIE

Ahhh! What the fuck! I thought you knew what it was!

CLINT

Remind me.

ALFIE

We got some shipments coming in from a far away place. Important product.

CLINT

Where?

ALFIE

From Georgia.

CLINT

What’s so crazy about that?

ALFIE

Like, the country Georgia.

CLINT

Oh. Huh. And what’s so special about the cargo?

ALFIE

Beats me.

Clint pinches harder.

ALFIE (continued)

Ah! Okay, it’s weapons. You know, military grade airborne stuff. You must’ve heard about the war going on, no?

CLINT

Only vaguely. Who are the two teams again?

Alfie looks up at Clint, bracing for another pinch. It doesn’t come.

ALFIE

You’re caught up in some shit, man. I don’t think you understand what you’re asking about. They’re gonna come looking for you. Whoever sent you here with that message wanted you fried and fertilized.

Clint goes for the pinch.

ALFIE

Fuck!! Ok. It’s between our side and their side. The Russians, man. They’re gonna pay for the bodies they took from us. Let’s just say that.

Clint lets go. Alfie takes his deep breath, finally.

Clint wipes the back of his right hand on the towel hanging from his waistband. He backhand slaps the shit out of Alfie, knocking him out. Clint holds the follow through for a couple seconds.

The room is silent.

CLINT

God damnit.

Clint makes his way toward the exit. A shadowy figure lunges at him.

KODY

(with glee)

Hey!

Clint jumps up, startled.

CLINT

Good lord, boy. You scared the shit out of me. How did you get in…

Clint doesn’t even keep asking, as he sees Kody’s excitement is on the verge of—

KODY

Oh my fuckign god, bro!!! Are you serious!!? You’re a fucki—frickin demon, bro! That was the CRAZIEST thing I’ve ever seen. BROOOOO. How did you—?

Kody pokes at Clint’s shoulder, Clint swats him away.

CLINT

We gotta get out of here. I don’t know what you overheard but… somebody’s lying. And I don’t think it’s these fools.

We pan back to the warehouse floor, Italian bodies strewn everywhere.

KODY

Is a hot dog a sandwich?

Clint stares at the boy for a few seconds.

CLINT

I don’t like being lied to. Something dangerous is about to go down in this city.

Another long stare at Cody, who’s just smiling eagerly at Clint while holding his hand, now a bright red color.

CLINT

Let’s go, young man.

The two of them walk out of the warehouse, together.