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Title: THE RED DOT
Bastard Factory Studios Universe
FADE IN: INT. BASTARD FACTORY STUDIOS – MORNING
A collapsing Hollywood knockoff studio where every hallway smells faintly of weed, microwave burritos, and legal liability.
Employees wander around carrying lighting rigs and emotional damage.
At the center of it all is FREDRICKA, 49, Pakistani, average-looking in a way that somehow becomes hypnotic after three minutes. Sharp eyes. Dry wit. Permanent exhaustion.
And on her forehead:
A PERFECT RED DOT.
She scrubs it furiously with a makeup wipe while marching down the hallway.
FREDRICKA(to herself): What kind of cursed nonsense is this? I use soap, alcohol, bleach, holy water — still this stupid dot stays. Maybe Allah himself says, “No refunds.”
Iggy Mclulz steps aside as she storms past.
Iggy: Morning, Fredricka.
FREDRICKA: There is no morning. There is only payroll.
TITLE CARD: THE RED DOT
INT. PRODUCER’S OFFICE – LATER
Fredricka slams a stack of scripts onto her desk. Every title is terrible.
“Zombie Chiropractor.”
“Sexy Bankruptcy.”
“Fast & Delirious 9.”
The office door slowly opens.
Smoke creeps in first.
Then comes X, 60, permanently baked, wearing sunglasses indoors and a scarf despite the heat wave.
He carries a lava lamp for no reason.
X: Fredrickaaaaa...
FREDRICKA: No.
X: I didn’t even say anything yet.
FREDRICKA: You walked in like a man about to suggest yoga in a hot tub.
X sits backwards in a chair like a teenager trying to flirt at community college.
X: You know what your energy is?
FREDRICKA: Threatening?
X: Exotic sadness.
FREDRICKA: And your energy is “man banned from aquarium.”
X nods thoughtfully.
X: That’s fair.
He pulls out a tiny notebook.
X: I wrote a movie for us.
FREDRICKA: There is no “us.”
X: Listen to title first-Fifty Shades of Jihad.
Fredricka closes her eyes in pain.
FREDRICKA: Every day I survive, Allah owes me.
INT. STUDIO CAFETERIA – NOON
Fredricka sits alone with lentil soup and paperwork.
Suddenly—
A SHADOW looms over her.
It’s ALTICUS, 60, mailroom manager, wearing a stiff Walmart suit two sizes too large. Hair slicked back with what may literally be cooking oil.
He holds a tray containing:
Tuna sandwich
Chocolate milk
One huge dollop of low self-esteem
ALTICUS(Sounding like Ted Bundy): May I... dine beside you?
Fredricka looks up slowly.
FREDRICKA: You say that like if Ted Bundy were a vampire asking permission to enter.
ALTICUS: Check it! I ironed this suit.
FREDRICKA: I can tell. It still steaming.
Alticus sits awkwardly.
Long silence.
He smiles too intensely.
ALTICUS: I haven’t been intimate with a woman in fifteen years.
Fredricka freezes mid-bite.
FREDRICKA: That is not lunch conversation.
ALTICUS: I just believe honesty is sexy.
FREDRICKA: No. That kind of honesty is a lawsuit.
Alticus nods solemnly and unwraps his sandwich with the tension of a bomb technician.
ALTICUS: Well, you smell nice.
FREDRICKA: That's the garlic naan.
Alticus tries to lick his lips seductively which makes him come off looking like Heath Ledger's The Joker.
ALTICUS: Still counts.
INT. BATHROOM – AFTERNOON
Fredricka furiously attacks the red dot with industrial cleanser.
Nothing.
A JANITOR enters, sees her scrubbing like she’s removing evidence.
Martini: Lady... that thing ain’t coming off.
FREDRICKA: Why does everybody talk about it like it's haunted artifact? I not bad guy!
Martini: Because every time you try removing it, the fire alarm goes off.
They both look up.
The FIRE ALARM immediately starts blaring.
Fredricka stares into camera.
FREDRICKA: I hate this country.
INT. SOUNDSTAGE – NIGHT
X directs actors during a low-budget romance scene involving pirates and tax fraud.
He’s completely baked.
X: More passion! More yearning! Like your souls owe each other money!
Fredricka enters holding production schedules.
FREDRICKA: X, you are three days behind schedule and somehow filmed twelve minutes of fog.
X: Fog tells a story.
FREDRICKA: No. Fog hides unpaid extras.
X notices her blouse slightly unbuttoned from stress.
He leans in.
X: You know, Fredricka...if fate had brought us together twenty years ago—
FREDRICKA: I would still say no.
X: You didn’t let me finish.
FREDRICKA: I've heard enough.
Alticus suddenly appears carrying mail bins.
ALTICUS: Fredricka, your bomb arrived.
Everyone on set starts to run.
FREDRICKA: Please say “shipment.”
ALTICUS: Your... shipment arrived.
FREDRICKA: Much better.
INT. ROOFTOP – LATER
Fredricka stands alone stress eating her 4th 32 oz container of hummus today.
Los Angeles glows below her like a malfunctioning casino.
Alticus quietly approaches holding two vending-machine coffees.
ALTICUS: I brought hazelnut, your favorite.
FREDRICKA: You're trying too hard.
ALTICUS: I know.
She takes the coffee anyway.
ALTICUS: You ever think maybe the red dot means something?
FREDRICKA: Probably means universe enjoys practical joke.
ALTICUS: Maybe it means you survived.
She looks at him for the first time with genuine softness.
Then—
X bursts through the rooftop door wearing a kimono.
X: Good news! Studio approved my erotic detective musical!
Fredricka immediately walks away.
FREDRICKA: I wonder if I.S.I.S is still hiring?
FADE OUT
Bastard Factory Studios Universe
FADE IN: INT. BASTARD FACTORY STUDIOS – MORNING
A collapsing Hollywood knockoff studio where every hallway smells faintly of weed, microwave burritos, and legal liability.
Employees wander around carrying lighting rigs and emotional damage.
At the center of it all is FREDRICKA, 49, Pakistani, average-looking in a way that somehow becomes hypnotic after three minutes. Sharp eyes. Dry wit. Permanent exhaustion.
And on her forehead:
A PERFECT RED DOT.
She scrubs it furiously with a makeup wipe while marching down the hallway.
FREDRICKA(to herself): What kind of cursed nonsense is this? I use soap, alcohol, bleach, holy water — still this stupid dot stays. Maybe Allah himself says, “No refunds.”
Iggy Mclulz steps aside as she storms past.
Iggy: Morning, Fredricka.
FREDRICKA: There is no morning. There is only payroll.
TITLE CARD: THE RED DOT
INT. PRODUCER’S OFFICE – LATER
Fredricka slams a stack of scripts onto her desk. Every title is terrible.
“Zombie Chiropractor.”
“Sexy Bankruptcy.”
“Fast & Delirious 9.”
The office door slowly opens.
Smoke creeps in first.
Then comes X, 60, permanently baked, wearing sunglasses indoors and a scarf despite the heat wave.
He carries a lava lamp for no reason.
X: Fredrickaaaaa...
FREDRICKA: No.
X: I didn’t even say anything yet.
FREDRICKA: You walked in like a man about to suggest yoga in a hot tub.
X sits backwards in a chair like a teenager trying to flirt at community college.
X: You know what your energy is?
FREDRICKA: Threatening?
X: Exotic sadness.
FREDRICKA: And your energy is “man banned from aquarium.”
X nods thoughtfully.
X: That’s fair.
He pulls out a tiny notebook.
X: I wrote a movie for us.
FREDRICKA: There is no “us.”
X: Listen to title first-Fifty Shades of Jihad.
Fredricka closes her eyes in pain.
FREDRICKA: Every day I survive, Allah owes me.
INT. STUDIO CAFETERIA – NOON
Fredricka sits alone with lentil soup and paperwork.
Suddenly—
A SHADOW looms over her.
It’s ALTICUS, 60, mailroom manager, wearing a stiff Walmart suit two sizes too large. Hair slicked back with what may literally be cooking oil.
He holds a tray containing:
Tuna sandwich
Chocolate milk
One huge dollop of low self-esteem
ALTICUS(Sounding like Ted Bundy): May I... dine beside you?
Fredricka looks up slowly.
FREDRICKA: You say that like if Ted Bundy were a vampire asking permission to enter.
ALTICUS: Check it! I ironed this suit.
FREDRICKA: I can tell. It still steaming.
Alticus sits awkwardly.
Long silence.
He smiles too intensely.
ALTICUS: I haven’t been intimate with a woman in fifteen years.
Fredricka freezes mid-bite.
FREDRICKA: That is not lunch conversation.
ALTICUS: I just believe honesty is sexy.
FREDRICKA: No. That kind of honesty is a lawsuit.
Alticus nods solemnly and unwraps his sandwich with the tension of a bomb technician.
ALTICUS: Well, you smell nice.
FREDRICKA: That's the garlic naan.
Alticus tries to lick his lips seductively which makes him come off looking like Heath Ledger's The Joker.
ALTICUS: Still counts.
INT. BATHROOM – AFTERNOON
Fredricka furiously attacks the red dot with industrial cleanser.
Nothing.
A JANITOR enters, sees her scrubbing like she’s removing evidence.
Martini: Lady... that thing ain’t coming off.
FREDRICKA: Why does everybody talk about it like it's haunted artifact? I not bad guy!
Martini: Because every time you try removing it, the fire alarm goes off.
They both look up.
The FIRE ALARM immediately starts blaring.
Fredricka stares into camera.
FREDRICKA: I hate this country.
INT. SOUNDSTAGE – NIGHT
X directs actors during a low-budget romance scene involving pirates and tax fraud.
He’s completely baked.
X: More passion! More yearning! Like your souls owe each other money!
Fredricka enters holding production schedules.
FREDRICKA: X, you are three days behind schedule and somehow filmed twelve minutes of fog.
X: Fog tells a story.
FREDRICKA: No. Fog hides unpaid extras.
X notices her blouse slightly unbuttoned from stress.
He leans in.
X: You know, Fredricka...if fate had brought us together twenty years ago—
FREDRICKA: I would still say no.
X: You didn’t let me finish.
FREDRICKA: I've heard enough.
Alticus suddenly appears carrying mail bins.
ALTICUS: Fredricka, your bomb arrived.
Everyone on set starts to run.
FREDRICKA: Please say “shipment.”
ALTICUS: Your... shipment arrived.
FREDRICKA: Much better.
INT. ROOFTOP – LATER
Fredricka stands alone stress eating her 4th 32 oz container of hummus today.
Los Angeles glows below her like a malfunctioning casino.
Alticus quietly approaches holding two vending-machine coffees.
ALTICUS: I brought hazelnut, your favorite.
FREDRICKA: You're trying too hard.
ALTICUS: I know.
She takes the coffee anyway.
ALTICUS: You ever think maybe the red dot means something?
FREDRICKA: Probably means universe enjoys practical joke.
ALTICUS: Maybe it means you survived.
She looks at him for the first time with genuine softness.
Then—
X bursts through the rooftop door wearing a kimono.
X: Good news! Studio approved my erotic detective musical!
Fredricka immediately walks away.
FREDRICKA: I wonder if I.S.I.S is still hiring?
FADE OUT
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