Shaky iPhone footage of darkly lit dive bar with residual checks plastered on the walls and ceiling. JESSICA (30’s, slim but fierce) knocks back a shot with a grin standing next to her boss, BRADLEY (40’s, towering and overweight) who coughs on the aftertaste.

Goddamn, you can handle your liquor. How? You’re tiny.

I’d blame my sorority, but it’s genetic. Thanks dad!

Jessica throws a kiss to the ceiling and then swigs her beer.

When are we gonna talk? Huh? Got time for a little chat right now?

About what?

The show! Mystery Now!

Jesus. I’m off the clock.

She coughs and slugs him on the arm.

Come on!

Damn! Take it easy tiger.

You’re impossible to get a hold of Bradley. Just trying to rub shoulders with you while I can. Can’t blame a girl can you?

She throws finger guns at him.

Boss.

Bradley sighs and turns to her.

I’ve been sitting in rooms all day with the network gods and they keep telling me we gotta start pulling numbers or else. Think you can post a couple Tik Toks dances or something? Maybe we change the format to be more sexual? Nobody gives a damn about murders these days unless there’s some tits involved.

Jessica huffs and rolls her eyes, turning directly to the camera.

Hey you were the one who asked for a chat.

Miguel, tell him this is stupid.

I don’t get paid to have an opinion.

Jessica makes death eyes at ‘us’, turns back to Bradley to prove her point.

Alright. Anything for my favorite producer and adoring public. Tits it is.

Jessica unbuttons the top button of her blouse and squishes her chest at Bradley who rolls his eyes at her.

While starting directly at Bradley, Jessics metes out the most pained tik tok dance you’ve ever seen.

So much for feminism.

Bradley huffs and gestures towards the camera and Jessica whips around to it and performs the same zombified dance.

Make sure it’s all in focus Kubrick.

Yea! Nice!

Miguel zooms in on Jessica as she mouths to the camera “fuck this”.

Webcam footage of the barren and disheveled bachelor pad of TYLER (20’s, both punchable and handsome). He slouches in a run down gamer chair in front of his laptop, unmade bed in the background, live streaming to a meager 153 viewers.

He holds a dictionary in one hand and a white energy drink in the other and reads out an entry.

Incompetent.

He looks directly up.

Wow. Rude. Lacking the qualities needed for effective action. Lacking necessary ability or skills. Unable to function properly.

He notices a new person has joined his live stream, ratcheting the number up from 153 to 154.

Hey! Thanks for the follow! I’ll be here reading the dictionary until I get famous so like and subscribe! We’re halfway there and just peaked at 154!

He throws a thumbs up to the camera.

The user count blips back down to 153.

Son of a--

We’re in the hands of a Paparazzi doing a hijack interview by ‘sniping’ the indomitable and magnificent DOUG JONES (60’s, tall, handsome, affable) as he exits the Burbank airport wearing a cream suit and bowler hat.

Doug! Doug! Is it true you’re part of a cult that brainwashes its members?

Doug smiles at him curtly and puts his horn rimmed tortoise shell glasses on.

He’s cooler than the cucumber in a mint mojito.

Don’t be absurd.

Do they worship death?

No.

Is it a Pyramid Scheme.

Totally. Worse than Bitcoin.

The pap rolls their eyes and tries again.

What does a big time guy like you need from a secret society?

Honey, It doesn’t sound so secret when you just shout it out loud like that, does it? Plus, the only ones brainwashed are people like you.

Doug waltzes down toward a taxi, the paparazzi follows him still.

What’s your involvement in this society? What do they do?

(dry)

Mostly Bingo Nights.

You don’t seriously expect me to believe that.

Doug peers down his glasses at the man and sighs.

Alright then young man. It’s the same thing everyone normally does on their own but we’re all doing it together. Just trying to find love, kindness, hope, and certainty in our shifting and crumbling society. It’s mostly a social club for lonely folks like you who need a damn hug.

He sniffs the air at the paparazzi.

And maybe a shower. Now. if you’ll PLEASE excuse me...

Doug saunters off. A burly and handsome man carries his luggage in lock step.

The camera zooms in on the man’s hand, with some sort of circular tattoo, but he walks off quickly and it’s blurry, unfocused.

MIGUEL (40’s, scruffy, short) is looking at himself through his iPhone lens in the bathroom mirror. Fixing his hair to look suave. He has an empty water bottle he puts in front of the camera lens to see the distortion. Likes the way it looks. Plays with the frame.

Kubrick...

Two scantily clad twins - or are they twins? ORO and PLATA (20’s, allergic to clothing, thoughts somehow both deep and fleeting) Are standing in a liminal chrome and water like space, cooing at the viewer. They dance languidly like video game character emotes in a GTA club.

Happiness.

Certainty.

Your future awaits.

A web address slams into the bottom of the screen. www.thedeathsentence.com

A flowing RED WAVE of BLOOD? crashes around them and suddenly they’re gone.

Only their voice echo in the space, which glitches with blood red chrome.

Fulfill your fantasy.

Visit us online.

We’re waiting.

Miguel is holding his iPhone, using lens distortion filters on it to see if he can’t get a beautiful image out of his own reflection in a oil slicked puddle.

Miguel!

We whip around to see Jessica walking towards us, starry from the filter. She rolls her eyes, leans in and touches his arm.

We’ve got to get back to work. You ready?

Sure. Could you do like a little pose for me?

Does it mean we can get back to serious reporting faster?

Yea. Sure!

She rolls her eyes, but does a little pose for him.

Perfect!

And ready for some juicy reporting on the crime in this fucking city.

She makes an ‘ugly’ face.

Alright. Let’s go Picasso.

Miguel and Jessica start walking towards the studio door.

The video cuts out to a blue tv station screen, then to bars and tone, then to black.

A mysterious and murky title card flies into view in an ‘Unsolved Mysteries’ inspired font.

TITLE CARD - “Mystery Now Report: DEATH SENTENCE”

True crime style re-enactment footage, intentionally cheesy.

Men in overfitting robes with vaguely Mayan themes sit in a circle outside a fancy Hollywood mansion clapping, chanting, and laughing with each other. A drone of ‘Palabras, Palabras, Palabras’ chills the air.

TEXT over footage - “Recreation of description from our Inside Man”

We hear Jessica’s matter-of-fact investigative journalist voice.

They call themselves Las Palabras. Translated to “the words” in Spanish, it’s a new age manifestation of ancient Mayan spiritualism, known for their elaborate and gaudy rituals, courting the Hollywood elite--

Shaky cam style footage of a stupidly fancy Hollywood gala. Gold glittering off every visible surface. Doug Jones shaking hands on the stage with members who are receiving white robes, and a single beautiful black feather.

The new member kneels holding the feather, and Doug ‘knights’ them with the traditional Mayan sword, a Macuahuitl (an obsidian bladed wooden club).

-- their anxious and fearful members --

We’re on the grimy and slick streets of skid row. Tents and trash are everywhere. In the middle of the street a dirty and totally disheveled man has duct taped several feathers to his head and is muttering to himself.

No don’t say it. Don’t say the sentence. It’ll happen. Nobody can say it. I won’t say it either-- No! Quiet!

-- and of course their signature ritual: The Death Sentence.”

Jessica is walking through the park as she speaks directly to the camera.

What is “The Death Sentence” you ask? We at Mystery Now have obtained exclusive insight into this practice through secret undercover footage and interviews with their former members. Join us tonight as we dive deeply into the lowest recesses of Hollywood depravity and the highest enclaves of tinsel town titans. We proudly present to you a Mystery Now special report - “LAS PALABRAS: The Death Sentence”.