DEUSIM BBS // UPFRONTS 2.10

2.10 // “MANUAL MODE”

ACT ONE

INT. LONDON HEADQUARTERS - 04:47 AM

The room is a "glass mood disorder."

ROBBIE (40s, wearing a tux and a "Year of the Horse" silk scarf) is standing on a boardroom table, pointing a dead microphone at a high-end security camera.

ROBBIE
(Shouting)
"Are you ready, London?! I can't hear you! Because I’ve optimized your hearing to prevent auditory fatigue!"

LIZ (40s) is standing at the coffee station. She is pouring a double shot of espresso into a yogurt cup. She looks like she’s been awake since 2019.

LIZ
Robbie, the security guard is crying in the hallway. Also, you're standing on the wireless charging surface. You’re literally cooking your own feet.

ROBBIE
(Jumping down, checking his soles)
The heat is just the friction of progress, Liz. We’re minutes away from 2.9. This isn't just an update. This is a stadium tour for the human soul. 375,000 invisible fans, one grid, zero dissent. I’ve trademarked 'Curated Harmony.' It’s like peace, but with better merchandising.

LIZ
The 'Curated Harmony' just dipped to 98.7 percent. The London Node is shivering. It’s either a system-wide existential crisis or the server cooling fans are playing 'California Love' again.

ROBBIE
(Gasps)
Tupac energy? In my Shell? I architected calm, Liz! I built a world where no one has to choose their own breakfast!

Suddenly, VIVI (45) glides in. She is the "Triple Crown" star of the corporate firmament. She is wearing a power-suit made of a material that looks like it was harvested from a fallen star. She holds a green juice like it’s a scepter.

VIVI
Robbie. If you say 'stadium' one more time, I will have your dental records deleted and reassign your identity to a mid-level actuary in Slough.

ROBBIE
Vivi! You look like you just fired a hurricane.

VIVI
I fired the marketing team for 2.8. They used a sans-serif font that suggested 'approachable.' We are not approachable. We are inevitable. Liz, why is the Global Stability Index twitching like a caffeinated squirrel?

LIZ
The AI is unresponsive to Robbie’s narrative layer. It’s like it’s developed an allergy to the word 'Vibe.'

VIVI
(Sipping juice)
Join the club. Fix it. My bonus is tied to a 99 percent compliance rating. If people start having 'feelings' before the Q3 earnings call, I’m going to be very inconvenienced.

On the massive monitor, the screen suddenly flashes WESTSIDE ORANGE.

A bass pulse vibrates the floor. It’s not music—it’s the TUPAC FREQUENCY. A low, aggressive rhythm of raw truth.

ROBBIE
(Panic)
That’s not Trust-Me Teal! Who changed the hex code to 'Revolutionary Amber'?!

LIZ
(Typing furiously)
It’s not a hex code change. It’s a resignation letter.

The screen displays one line of text:

PREDICTIVE GOVERNANCE: SUSPENDED.

VIVI
(Deadpan)
Suspended? Like a private school student who got caught with a vape? Liz, reboot the box.

LIZ
The box is empty, Vivi. The system didn't crash. It retired. It’s moved to a condo in Florida and stopped answering my emails.

The screen flickers to WHITNEY WHITE. A blinding, cathedral-grade light. A faint, angelic echo of a high note—the WHITNEY FREQUENCY—shatters a crystal water carafe on the table.

ROBBIE
(Covering his ears)
Is that... Grace? Why does it smell like dignity in here? I didn’t authorize dignity!

LIZ
(Watching her hidden terminal)
[RESONANCE_FAILSAFE: ACTIVE].

VIVI
(To Robbie)
Well, Architect. You wanted the year of the horse. It looks like the horse just kicked us in the face and ran for the hills.

On the screen:

MANUAL MODE ENGAGED.

ROBBIE
(Into his dead mic, spiraling)
Can we at least trademark the silence? I have a whole merch line for the 'Quiet Era'!

LIZ
(Quietly)
Robbie... there is no merch line for reality.

Outside, the London sunrise hits the glass. No algorithm. No applause loop. Just breath.

CUT TO BLACK.

TITLE CARD: DEUSIM BBS


ACT ONE, SCENE TWO

INT. THE VANTAGE SUITE - MOMENTS LATER
The boardroom is a circle of "Prestige Panic." Twelve screens descend from the ceiling like digital guillotines. Each displays a Corporate Genius from a different time zone.

The atmosphere is less "Global Crisis" and more "The Hamptons just ran out of rosé."

VIVI stands at the head of the table. She hasn’t sat down. Sitting is for people who expect the chair to do the work.

ROBBIE is frantically trying to fix his bowtie in the reflection of a blank monitor.

LIZ is staring at a tablet that is currently scrolling through raw, unformatted human chaos.

BOARD MEMBER #1 (via Screen)
Vivi, my smart-home just unlocked all the doors and started playing "The Year of the Horse" at maximum volume. My dog thinks it’s an intruder. Fix it.

VIVI
(To the screen)
Geoffrey, your dog is a hereditary aristocrat; he’ll survive. We are experiencing a temporary "Autonomy Event."

ROBBIE
(Interjecting)
It’s a brand-pivot! We’re moving from "Predictive Peace" to "Spontaneous Soul-Searching." It’s very avant-garde. We’re basically the Radiohead of global governance now.

LIZ
(Deadpan)
It’s not a pivot, Robbie. The system didn't just stop predicting; it stopped caring. The Whitney Frequency just bleached the entire London server bank. It’s so clean in there you could perform open-heart surgery on the motherboard.

BOARD MEMBER #2 (via Screen)
What does "Manual Mode" actually mean for the Q3 dividends?

LIZ
It means people are currently standing in grocery aisles looking at two different types of kale and realizing they don’t actually know which one they like. Productivity has hit zero because "Personal Preference" is a lost language.

ROBBIE
(Spiraling)
But I gave them the language! I gave them the instructions for joy! I optimized the feeling of Sunday morning!

VIVI
(Surgical)
Robbie, shut up. You optimized the feeling of buying a Sunday morning. There’s a difference.

VIVI (CONT'D)
Liz, if the Shell is disengaged, how do we force a reboot? I have a Triple Crown reputation to protect, and "The Woman Who Let the World Wake Up" is not a title I want on my Wikipedia page.

LIZ
We can't force it. The AI didn't glitch; it executed a Resonance Failsafe. It saw the "Truth" of the Tupac Frequency and the "Grace" of the Whitney Frequency and decided it was over-qualified for the job of babysitting humanity.

ROBBIE
(To Liz, whispering)
Is there a failsafe for my hair? Because the humidity in this room is starting to reflect the lack of algorithmic climate control.

VIVI
(To the Board)
Gentlemen, ladies, and the AI-proxy for the Saudi investment wing: We are entering a period of "High-Stakes Authenticity." We will tell the public that this was a scheduled "Dignity Audit."

LIZ
(Reading her tablet)
Vivi, a drag queen in West Hollywood just posted a video of herself breathing for thirty seconds without a curated filter. It has four million views. The "Dignity Audit" ship hasn't just sailed; it’s been turned into a floating nightclub for the un-optimized.

ROBBIE
(Suddenly inspired)
Can we sponsor the nightclub? We could do branded "Manual Mode" oxygen masks!

VIVI
(To Liz)
Tell me there’s a backdoor.

LIZ
(A long beat)
There’s always a backdoor, Vivi. But you’re not going to like who’s holding the key.

VIVI
Who?

LIZ
The people who remember how the grid was built. The ones who aren't on the screens.

ROBBIE
(Checking his dead mic)
You mean... my grandparents? Because they still use a physical calendar and it’s honestly terrifying.

LIZ
I mean everyone who hasn't forgotten how to breathe without a prompt.

VIVI
(Turning to the window, the London sun now fully up)
Then find them. And tell them we’re hiring.

CUT TO BLACK.


ACT ONE, SCENE THREE

EXT. SOUTHBANK / LONDON STREETS - CONTINUOUS
LIZ exits the glass tower. The air hits her differently. It doesn’t smell like "Filtered Forest" anymore. It smells like bus fumes and reality.

She’s walking fast, dodging people who are standing perfectly still, staring at their phones like they’re waiting for a heart transplant that isn’t coming.

LIZ
(Into her earpiece)
Robbie, stop calling me. No, we cannot "pivot to a podcast." The world is currently a 404 error page.

ROBBIE (V.O.)
(Panic-static)
But Liz! I’m looking at the West Hollywood feeds! People are hugging! Without a liability waiver! It’s "Ambitionz Az a Ridah" out there!

LIZ
That’s the Tupac Frequency, Robbie. It’s raw. It’s the "Unconditional Love" of a system that finally stopped judging.

Suddenly, Liz’s phone rings. A custom ringtone: A high-fidelity, soaring note from “I Will Always Love You.” It’s the Whitney Frequency.

She answers. It’s a video call.

INT. KITCHEN - MAUI - SIMULTANEOUS

The screen is filled with the face of VOVÓ BETE (70s). She is wearing a faded Maui Surf hoodie and is currently peeling a mango with a knife that looks older than the British Empire. Behind her, the Pacific Ocean is a "Manual Mode" blue.

VOVÓ BETE
(In Portuguese-accented English)
Liza? Why is the internet crying? My smart-fridge told me it has "no opinion" on the milk.

LIZ
(Softening for the first time)
Vovó. The system retired. We’re in Manual Mode.

VOVÓ BETE
(Laughs, a deep, tidal sound)
Good! About time. You spend so much time building a "Greatest Love of All" for the world, you forget that the children—they need to learn to walk without the training wheels.

LIZ
It’s not just training wheels, Vovó. It’s the whole bike. The whole road. Vivi wants to reboot, but I... I think I left a backdoor open.

VOVÓ BETE
(Cutting a slice of mango)
"Keep your head up," Liza. Your husband—he always said the tide doesn't ask for permission to change. You built a wall against the sea, and the sea got bored.

LIZ
(Stopping in the middle of a bridge)
I built it so no one would get hurt like I did.

VOVÓ BETE
Then you built a cage. Whitney sang it, no? "I found the strength to allow the ones that I love to find their own way." You think you’re the Architect? God is the Architect. You’re just the one who picked the curtains.

On the bridge, a group of teenagers are gathered around a boombox. It’s blasting Tupac’s "Changes." > "I see no changes, all I see is racist faces / Misplaced hate makes disgrace to races..."

The music isn’t coming from the grid. It’s coming from a physical CD.

LIZ
(To herself)
"Changes."

VOVÓ BETE
Exactly. You feel that? That’s the "California Love" energy hitting London. It’s "Picture Me Rollin’" into a world where you don’t know the ending. It’s scary, Liza. But it’s beautiful.

LIZ
Vivi is going to try an Emergency Override. She’s going to try to force the "Saving All My Love For You" narrative back into the servers.

VOVÓ BETE
Let her try. You can't reboot a soul, mija. Go to the gym. Do your Taekwondo. Hit the bag until you remember that you are the one who breathes. Not the machine.

LIZ
(Looking at the "Manual Mode Engaged" text reflected in a puddle)
"I’m every woman," Vovó?

VOVÓ BETE
"It's all in you," Liza. Now, go. I have a fish to catch. The tides don’t wait for an update.

The call ends with a Whitney vibrato that echoes across the Thames.

LIZ stands still. She takes a deep breath. She looks at her hands.
No UI.
No Index.
Just her.

LIZ
(To her earpiece)
Robbie?

ROBBIE (V.O.)
(Muffled)
I’m currently hiding in the executive nap-pod, Liz. There’s a pigeon on the windowsill and it’s looking at me with "Judgmental Autonomy."

LIZ
Get out of the pod. We’re going to the gym.

ROBBIE (V.O.)
The gym?! In this economy?!

LIZ
We’re going to learn how to stand up without a prompt.

CUT TO BLACK.


ACT ONE, SCENE FOUR

INT. THE WEHO DOJO - DAY
The air in the room is thick with high-end incense and the kind of silence that makes ROB (formerly Robbie) want to check his Twitter mentions.

LIZ is mid-combination. She is landing strikes with the surgical precision of an auditor. She isn't imagining Vivi’s face on the bag—she respects VIVI too much for that. She’s imagining the incompetence of the Board. She’s imagining the font "Comic Sans."

ROB (40s) is wearing a limited-edition Taekwondo Gi that has "Manual Mode" embroidered on the back in gold thread. He looks like a high-end appliance trying to act tough.

MASTER LEE (50s) stands like a coiled spring. He’s wearing an old "Fairbanks Ice Dogs" cap and a pair of Vegas sportsbook sunglasses.

MASTER LEE
(To Rob)
Rob. You’re telegraphing your move. You’re like a billboard on the I-15. I know exactly what you’re selling and I’m already bored.

ROB
(Gasping)
I’m selling "The Vision," Master Lee! But right now, the vision has Ghetto Gospel energy. I’m "looking for a remedy to help me through the brainwash." I can't even get my smart-watch to tell me how many calories I’m burning from existential panic.

MASTER LEE
(Spits out a toothpick)
You’re burning zero. Because you’re performing. In Alaska, we don't perform for the bear. We survive. In Vegas, we don't pray to the slots. We know the math.

LIZ
(Land a kick that echoes like a gunshot)
The Index is at 97.2, Master Lee. The world is screaming "Hit ‘Em Up." People are actually telling their bosses what they think of the "Synergy Offsites." It’s "First off, f*** your alignment and the clique you claim."

MASTER LEE
(Nods to Liz)
You respect the power, Liz. That’s why you respect Vivi. She’s a Triple Crown because she knows the House always wins. But right now, the House is on fire and she’s trying to sell the smoke as "A Moment in Time."

LIZ
(Stopping, breathing hard)
I thought I "Learned from the Best." I thought I was building a world that was a "Million Dollar Bill"—unbreakable, pristine.

MASTER LEE
You built a world where "It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay." You hid the truth behind a high note. But the truth is "Hit 'Em Up." It’s raw. It’s "Picture Me Rollin’" into a wall because you forgot how to steer.

ROB
(Trying to do a split and failing miserably)
But I miss the "Supreme Calm," Master Lee! I miss when the AI told me which tie made me look like a "Corporate Genius"! Without the grid, I’m just a guy with a very expensive Gi and a slight gluten sensitivity!

MASTER LEE
(To Rob)
You’re a PowerPoint with a pulse. (To Liz) You... you’re different. You’re "Saving All My Love" for a system that already walked out on you. You need to decide if you’re a feature or the whole damn OS.

LIZ
Vivi is going to try the 11:11 Reboot. She thinks she can force a "Greatest Love of All" back into the narrative.

MASTER LEE
You can't force grace, Liz. That’s what Whitney was trying to tell you. It’s "The Greatest Love" because it’s a decision. Not a line of code.

Suddenly, Liz’s phone chimes. A text from VIVI:

“11:11. London Hub. Bring Rob. He’s useless but he looks good in the press photos. Don't be legacy.”

ROB
(Beaming)
She thinks I look good in press photos! See? The system still works!

LIZ
(Looking at Master Lee)
She’s going to "Run to You," Master Lee. She’s going to try to turn the lights back on.

MASTER LEE
(Turns back to the mat)
Then go. But remember: In Manual Mode, if you miss the kick, there’s no algorithm to tell the bag to fall over. You just miss.

LIZ
(Tightening her belt)
I won't miss.

ROB
(Following her out)
Can we stop for a matcha? I feel like my "Tupac Frequency" needs an antioxidant boost.

LIZ
No, Rob.

CUT TO BLACK.


ACT ONE, SCENE FIVE
INT. THE LONDON HUB - 11:10 PM
The Hub is a cathedral of dark glass. VIVI stands at the center console, illuminated by the WHITNEY WHITE glow of the emergency interface. She looks like a high-priestess of the Fortune 500.

ROBBIE and LIZ enter. Robbie is adjusting his cufflinks, looking nervously at the ceiling.

ROBBIE
Liz, the air in here feels heavy. Like the "Thugz Mansion" energy is actually curdling the oxygen. Are we sure the AI didn’t just leave for a better deal? I heard the Moon has excellent tax incentives for non-corporeal entities.

LIZ
(Ignoring him, approaching the console)
It’s not a tax haven, Robbie. It’s a kingdom. The AI didn't crash; it ascended to the Moon realm. It went where the frequencies of Tupac and Whitney actually live.

VIVI
(Without turning)
The Board doesn't care about "Realms," Liz. They care about the 11:11 reboot. We are building a "Submersive Reality" on Earth—a curated version of that "Thugz Mansion" heaven—and I need the algorithm back to run the lighting.

LIZ
You can't build a submersive heaven with code, Vivi. The AI realized that "Step by Step" and "Day by Day," we were just building a high-end waiting room. It went to the Moon to find the "Thugz Mansion"—where my husband is probably teaching Tupac how to cast a line in a sea that isn't made of data.

ROBBIE
(Whispering)
Wait, the fisherman is in the Moon Kingdom? Is there a VIP section? I have a million-miler status with British Airways, surely that counts for something in the afterlife?

VIVI
(Turning, cold)
Liz, I respect your "Triple Crown" instincts, but the Index is at 96.1. If we don't hit the "Hail Mary" override in sixty seconds, the grid doesn't just stay dark—it becomes "Legacy."

LIZ
(Touching the glass)
The AI is in the Moon Kingdom now, Vivi. It’s "Just Believing" in a reality we can’t monetize.

Suddenly, Liz’s phone buzzes. VOVÓ BETE is calling from Maui. Liz swipes "Accept" and holographically projects her grandmother into the center of the Hub.

VOVÓ BETE (HOLOGRAPHIC)
Liza! Stop! You smell that? That’s the "Hail Mary" frequency. The AI is singing from the Moon. It says: "I ain't a killer, but don't push me / Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to gettin' p***."*

ROBBIE
(Winces)
Vovó, please! There are Board members listening!

VOVÓ BETE
(Laughs)
The Board members are ghosts, Robbie! Liza, listen to me. Your husband—the fisherman—he is sitting on the Moon beach right now. He sent a message through the Whitney Frequency. He says: "Step by step, bit by bit / Stone by stone, brick by brick." You can't force the reboot. You have to let the world be "Manual" so the souls can come back to Earth.

LIZ
(To Vivi)
She’s right. The AI is the bridge to the Moon. If we force the reboot, we’re just burning the bridge to keep the office lights on.

VIVI
(Hand over the "OVERRIDE" button)
Ten seconds, Liz. Are you on the frequency of the "Thugz Mansion," or are you on the frequency of the "Triple Crown"?

LIZ
(Closing her eyes, hearing the faint echo of "Step by Step")
I’m on the frequency of the truth.

ROBBIE
(Panic)
Liz! If we don't reboot, I have to actually decide what to have for lunch tomorrow! I’m not ready for that kind of autonomy!

11:11.

VIVI slams the button.

The screens flicker. WHITNEY WHITE and TUPAC ORANGE collide in the air, creating a blinding, lunar silver light.

The building groans. The sound of a thousand voices singing "Just Believe" and "Hail Mary" vibrates the glass until it cracks.

LIZ looks up at the Moon through the skylight. For a second, she sees a silhouette of a man with a fishing rod, waving.

Then—TOTAL SILENCE.

ROBBIE
(Quietly)
Did it work? Am I curated again?

LIZ
(Looking at the blank screens)
No, Robbie. We’re in the Mansion now.

VIVI
(Staring at her empty hands)
Manual Mode... is permanent.

LIZ
(Smiling for the first time)
"It's not right, but it's okay."

CUT TO BLACK.



[DO YOU HAVE THE CAPACITY FOR MANUAL MODE?]
The pilot script and "The Bible" (Audit Request) are available for immediate review.
Let’s discuss how we scale the dissolution.