INT. PADDY'S PUB — LATER
(The bar is… open-ish. Lights on. No music. No energy. The kind of dead quiet that makes the beer taps sound like they're judging you.)
(The GANG is slumped in the booth wearing the headsets. Mouths open. Drooling. One of Dee's feet is up on the table like she died mid-kick. Mac is sitting bolt upright like he's asleep in church. Dennis's posture is somehow still smug. Charlie looks blissed out. Frank looks like a corpse that owes you money.)
(The front door CREAKS.)
CRICKET(entering, cautious, sniffing the air like an alley cat in a new alley)
Hello?
…Hello?
CRICKET(walking in, scanning)
Alright, cool. Great. Love this.
An empty bar with a bunch of unconscious people.
This is… this is normal.
CRICKET(moving closer, squinting)
Wait—are those—
CRICKET(stopping dead, incredulous)
Oh my God.
CRICKET(leans in, delighted and appalled)
You guys finally doin' crack too?
(He circles the booth like he's at a museum exhibit.)
CRICKET(gesturing at each of them like he's taking inventory)
Look at this. Look at the positions.
That's "first-time crack."
That's "I fought the crack and the crack won."
That's "I'm about to meet God."
And Dennis—Dennis somehow looks like he's doing crack condescendingly.
CRICKET(leans in to Dennis, whispering like they're sharing a secret)
I didn't think you had it in you, brother.
(Dennis does not respond. A thin string of drool threatens gravity and wins.)
CRICKET(recoiling, then nodding)
Okay. Yep. Full drool. We're in it.
CRICKET(noticing the headsets, impressed)
And you're doing it with the fancy sleeping masks.
Real bourgeois crack setup.
CRICKET(taps one headset with a fingernail)
What is this? Like… NASA crack?
(He looks around, hears only the faintest electronic hum from the devices.)
CRICKET(calling out)
Hey!
Hey, Mac!
Are you guys alive, or is this like… a group suicide thing?
(He pokes Mac's shoulder. Mac doesn't move.)
CRICKET(immediately defensive)
Alright—if it's a group suicide thing, that's fine, I'm not judging—
I just don't want it to be pinned on me.
(He leans in closer, checks for breathing, like the world's worst paramedic.)
CRICKET(relieved)
Okay. You're breathing.
You're breathing like a… like a smug baby.
But you're breathing.
CRICKET(noticing something on the table)
And you got beers out.
So this is a party.
(He grabs a beer.)
CRICKET(drinks, immediately grimaces)
Warm.
Perfect.
Just like God intended.
(He sits down on the edge of the booth, wedging himself between Charlie and Frank like he belongs there.)
CRICKET(settling in, cozy)
Alright. So what is this, like a— like a meditation?
Like a rich person coma?
(He spots the sixth headset sitting off to the side—unused. Waiting. Like a cursed invitation.)
CRICKET(eyes widening)
Oh, you got an extra.
CRICKET(to the unconscious group, like they can hear him)
That's… that's very inclusive.
I appreciate that.
CRICKET(pulls out his pipe, casual as putting on chapstick)
Alright. I'll meet you nerds in Heaven.
CRICKET(takes a hit, exhales, then blinks at the bar's ceiling like it moved wrong)
Okay.
Yep.
That's the ticket.
(He picks up the sixth headset, turns it over, squints at it.)
CRICKET(reading, badly)
"Do not remove while in use."
Ohhh, okay. So it's like a commitment thing.
Like a relationship.
Or a curse.
(He looks at the gang again—five drooling idiots wearing matching "sleeping masks.")
CRICKET(soft, almost touched)
You guys… you guys found something.
CRICKET(puts the headset on, adjusting it like sunglasses)
Alright.
Show me the crack dream.
(A tiny BEEP. The hum deepens. Cricket freezes.)
CRICKET(suddenly nervous)
Wait—hold on—
Is this one of those "I die in real life" things?
Because I cannot afford that.
(The headset locks in. Cricket's eyes widen.)
CRICKET(panicking, tugging at it, then letting go, tugging, letting go repeatedly)
No no no no—
Okay—okay—no...OKAY!
Alright, fine—fine—wait no...YES! Yessss!
I'm in. I. Am IIIIN!
I'm committing to the bit!
(Cricket slams back, slumps in the booth, mouth opening, drool immediately pooling over his lips.)
SMASH TO BLACK.