The Questioning of Burbanked.

INT. EMPTY ROOM, DAY

A GRIM-FACED MAN sits at a table, waiting. He wears a dark suit and a sour look. Another man - SUNGLASSES - stands in the corner, sullen. The DOOR OPENS and a third man stumbles in as if shoved from behind. He’s late 30s; wrinkled Oxford shirt and jeans. Cheap watch.

This is BURBANKED.

He looks around the room, smiles a bit sheepishly. With a curt, silent gesture of his head, Sunglasses orders Burbanked into the only other chair. Burbanked sits. The Grim-Faced Man opens a file on the table and speaks.

GRIM: Do you know who we are?

BURBANKED: No, sorry.

GRIM: We run your blog.

BURBANKED: …you do? Really? I kind of thought -

GRIM: We ensure your bandwidth, we secure your server space. We decide what gets out there and what doesn’t.

BURBANKED: Oh. Okay. It’s nice to meet you.

GRIM: So you like blogging?

BURBANKED (a bit surprised): Um, yes. Quite a bit, actually. I wish I had more time -

GRIM: - and you liked that little thing we did for you, where you got placed on that little list for bloggers? That’s important to people like you, right?

BURBANKED: Oh, you - ? Yeah, that was great, thanks.

GRIM: You’re familiar with Defamer?

BURBANKED: Of course, it’s -

GRIM: It’s come to our attention that you and Defamer recently ran headlines that were a little bit similar to each other.

BURBANKED: Oh. Er….

Grim swivels a paper-thin monitor up into position, showing Burbanked an Internet browser screen. It displays this.

BURBANKED: Oh, wow. That’s…that’s just like my headline from a couple days ago.

GRIM: Well, it’s a little like your headline. (beat) Actually, it’s quite a bit funnier.

BURBANKED: Well, I suppose that’s a matter of -

GRIM: Listen, I’ll be honest with you. We just called you in here because we wanted to make sure that there was no misunderstanding.

BURBANKED: …?

GRIM: It’s been our experience that sometimes when an A-list blogger does something that’s kind of like another blog…like yourself…that people get excited and make a big deal about it.

BURBANKED: They do? What do they do?

Grim looks at him with pity, the weight of the world in his cold, sad eyes.

GRIM: Listen, kid, I know you’re still pretty new at this, so I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to tell you exactly what you’re going to do.

BURBANKED: (beat) What am I going to do?

GRIM: You’re going to do nothing.

BURBANKED: I kind of thought that’s what I was going to do.

GRIM: So we’re fine with this.

BURBANKED: Yeah, sure. Is that it?

GRIM: That’s it. We just need to you sign this paper, right here.

BURBANKED: Oh, that’s so -

GRIM: - so there’s no misunderstanding.

BURBANKED: Gotcha.

He signs the paper, stands. He turns for the door and reaches for the handle - but stops. Turns back again.

BURBANKED: Say, can I ask one question?

GRIM: (knows what’s coming) Sure, kid.

BURBANKED: Defamer - does he…does he read Burbanked?

In the corner, Sunglasses smirks, shakes his head.

GRIM: No, kid. Of course he doesn’t.

Burbanked nods. He understands. Perhaps more than ever. And leaves the room in silence.

Grim closes the file folder, casts a sidelong look at Sunglasses who is distractedly picking his teeth.

GRIM: I’m getting too old for this shit.

FADE TO BLACK.

Fin!