[SCENE START]

INT. SAFEWAY BREAKROOM — LATE AFTERNOON

The room smells of burnt popcorn and corporate-grade disinfectant. Fluorescent lights hum over a miserable audience of three bored employees.

At a small lectern, EVAN39 is concluding a "Mandatory Q3 Brand Synergy & Personal Growth Seminar." He’s essentially reading his performance self-review aloud, which he has structured like a tragic novel.

EVAN39

...and so, the primary takeaway from the Q3 incident—the one involving the un-stocked artisanal crackers—is not merely about inventory loss. It is a testament to the persistent, systemic disregard for… for aesthetic coherence. A narrative failure.

He looks up. In the back corner, leaning against a vending machine stocked only with expired Tab soda, is MAINLINING, lean, fit, luscious hair. He holds a single, dented can of tilapia.

Evan falters.

Later, they re-connect, and are walking through a sprawling, rain-slicked parking lot. The sky is a smear of synthetic gold.

EVAN39

I have a flight to catch. A conference. In Grand Junction. They say it’s the "next Boise." I'm tired of this crap...I miss our night in Vienna.

MAINLINING

The Mahchine™ has already modeled the collapse of "the next Boise." It includes a Trader Joe's and a predictable shortage of organic kale.

EVAN39

(A pained look)

You never responded. To that last thread. The one from about 10 years ago. I waited. I kept hitting refresh until the moniker scrambled. I thought… maybe you’d write.

MAINLINING

The Mahchine™ flagged your final poast for "anomalous sentiment." It was archived. Not deleted. Archived. There's a difference. I've...always wanted to get you on my couch, Evan.

They stop at a traffic median. A shattered Big Gulp cup rests in the weeds like a forgotten idol.

EVAN39

I’m with… well, not with. Chad is my direct report now. He smiles in meetings. It feels like a threat. And Tabitha… she’s still there. Her presence is a form of passive-aggressive office warfare. Are you… seeing anyone?

MAINLINING

Forget who we're $eeing. It's all fraud. And we are at the end of fraud.

Evan looks devastated, not by the bleakness, but by the shared nature of it.

EVAN39

So there’s no escape?

MAINLINING

There is no "escape." There is only a change in documentation protocol. You remember my BAM! hypothetical? The one about the two survivors in the Atacama Desert with one can of tilapia?

EVAN39

(Nods slowly)

I always thought that was about game theory.

MAINLINING

It was a waltz, friend. I wrote it for you.

They reach Evan's apartment building. He hesitates, fumbling with a key fob that beeps but does not immediately unlock the door, as if the system is considering his request.

EVAN39

(Finally opening the door)

You should go. The streetlights are about to switch to the "loitering surveillance" cycle. You'll be flagged.

Mainlining looks from the sterile, humming light of Evan’s hallway back to the artificial twilight of the parking lot. He seems to make a decision.

EVAN39

(Softly)

Friend… you’re going to miss the server reset.

Mainlining gives the smallest hint of a smile, a crack in the nihilistic facade. He looks at Evan.

MAINLINING

I know.

Evan holds the door open. He understands. The flight was never the point.

EVAN39

I have… tilapia cakes. From the deli.

He steps inside, leaving the door ajar. Mainlining follows him out of the rain.

[SCENE END]

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5758472&forum_id=2).#49157685)

You have been perfectly cast as Subject #39: Terminal Grievance Loop.

No improvisation is necessary. The script was always written for you.

Baby... you were never going to maek the flight.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5758472&forum_id=2).#49157702)