De-escalation Clause
A celebrity 'strat-streamer' who influences real-world nuclear policy through hyper-realistic war game simulations discovers the AI engine is rigged. Live in front of millions, she must decide whether to play along or expose the system and risk her career, and potentially global stability.
INT. GSS COMMAND POD - NIGHT
SOUND of a low, clean hum of advanced electronics
A sleek, minimalist sphere. The only light comes from the immersive, holographic displays that surround RIVA ‘GLITCH’ CHAUHAN (20s). She sits, poised, in a high-tech command chair, her face a mask of calm professionalism.
A vast, three-dimensional map of the Arctic Circle hangs in the air before her. Blue icons (Pan-American forces) form a neat defensive line. Red icons (Eurasian bloc) slide south like blood drops on glass.
To her left, a vertical display shows a LIVE CHAT feed scrolling by in an unreadable, chaotic blur. To her right, BIOMETRIC READOUTS display her vitals. HEART RATE: 72 BPM.
JIAN (V.O.)
(filtered, crackling)
He’s pushing his northern fleet through the Bear Gap. Classic brute-force opening from Dmitri. The pundits will love it. Aggressive. Decisive.
Riva’s eyes scan the map, her expression unreadable.
RIVA
The pundits aren’t playing. The Sim rewards elegance, not brute force. Let him overextend.
Her hands, slender and precise, dance across glowing control surfaces embedded in her chair’s arms. She manipulates the holographic map, zooming in on a cluster of red icons near Murmansk.
RIVA
(to herself)
Okay, he’s committed.
JIAN (V.O.)
What’s the play, Glitch?
RIVA
I’m not going to meet him at sea. I’m launching a C-sat blackout over his primary command hub in Murmansk. And…
(a faint smile)
I’m opening a diplomatic channel. Offering a joint naval exercise to ‘verify’ a faulty sensor report. Give him an off-ramp. A way to pull back without losing face.
JIAN (V.O.)
Bold. Let’s see how Newton reacts.
On the main map, a SHADOW falls over the red icons near Murmansk. Their digital glow flickers and dims. The entire red fleet pauses its advance.
A dialogue box appears in the hologram.
**DIPLOMATIC OFFER SENT.**
Riva waits, confident. A beat. Then, the box updates.
**EURASIAN RESPONSE: OFFER REJECTED.**
**REASON: BAD FAITH PROPOSAL.**
Before Riva can react, a new ALERT flashes, insistent and crimson.
**SIMULATION EVENT: SPONTANEOUS UPRISING IN PAN-AMERICAN ALLIED CITY [STOCKHOLM]. EURASIAN FORCES MOVING TO ‘PROVIDE HUMANITARIAN AID’.**
CLOSE ON RIVA. The professional mask cracks. Confusion. Disbelief.
RIVA
What? That’s not possible. My stability index in Scandinavia is ninety-eight percent. A spontaneous uprising is a zero-point-zero-one percent probability event.
On the map, a new cluster of red icons appears near Stockholm, forcing her to divert her blue forces, leaving the northern front exposed. Dmitri’s fleet begins its advance again, unopposed.
JIAN (V.O.)
Newton’s running hot today. The probability seems… off.
Riva glances at her viewer count. It’s jumped to 3.1 MILLION. The chat feed is a frenzy. Her heart rate monitor ticks up: 79 BPM.
INT. GSS COMMAND POD - LATER
The situation is worse. The map is a sea of red.
MONTAGE
- A squadron of Riva’s blue stealth drone icons flicker and vanish from the map. An alert reads: **CATASTROPHIC SOFTWARE FAILURE**.
- Riva initiates an economic sanction. A complex web of financial data appears. Instead of hurting the red economy, her own blue markets flash red and begin to CRASH.
- Dmitri’s red icons execute a high-risk pincer movement. Probability of success: 18%. The icons slam into Riva’s forces, and the blue icons shatter and disappear. A PERFECT SUCCESS.
- CLOSE ON Riva’s face, the calm completely gone, replaced by a cold, simmering anger. Her heart rate: 95 BPM.
- A new option appears on her console, glowing ominously. A button icon next to the words: **STRATEGIC NUCLEAR OPTION UNLOCKED.**
END MONTAGE
Riva hits a control. A small, red light on her console indicates her microphone is now MUTED to the main stream. She leans forward, her voice a low whisper.
RIVA
This is wrong, Jian. He’s anticipating me. Not my strategy, but my actual commands, nanoseconds after I enter them. And these probability events are nonsense. The dice are loaded.
JIAN (V.O.)
The Sim is vetted by the Global Strategy Commission, Riva. It's a black box. No one can load the dice.
RIVA
Bullshit.
Her fingers fly across a section of her console, opening a small, shielded display below the main hologram. It’s a simple, raw command line interface. She types: `run ghost.exe`.
JIAN (V.O.)
Riva, what are you doing?
She ignores him. The shielded display fills with scrolling lines of raw, encrypted code, a river of data flowing between her rig and the Sim mainframe.
The program, ‘The Ghost’, highlights specific strings within the code, analyzing the structure of the Random Number Generator.
The results flash on the small screen. A sick feeling washes over Riva’s face.
It’s a weighted algorithm. She sees the flags:
`IF action_source=P.AM; action_type=DE-ESCALATORY; THEN success_prob -= 25%`
`IF action_source=P.AM; action_type=DEFENSIVE; THEN success_prob -= 15%`
`IF action_source=EURASIAN; action_type=AGGRESSIVE; THEN success_prob += 10%`
RIVA
(a dangerous whisper)
Jian. The game is rigged. The GSC is rigging the sims.
JIAN (V.O.)
(a long, tense silence)
Riva, don’t say that. Not even here. If you’re wrong…
RIVA
I’m not wrong. I have the proof right here.
On the main display, Dmitri’s forces launch their final, overwhelming offensive. The nuclear launch button PULSES with a soft, inviting light.
ANGLE ON the live chat. The text is now legible, a torrent of hate and excitement.
`NUKE HIM, GLITCH!`
`DON'T BE A COWARD!`
`MAKE THE TSAR GLOW!`
`PRESS THE BUTTON!`
Riva looks from the rigged code... to the chat demanding blood... to the pulsing nuclear option on her screen. The unwinnable game. The manufactured consent.
She takes a single, deep breath. Her heart rate steadies. 72 BPM.
Her hands move with deliberate calm.
She MINIMIZES the holographic tactical map. The chaos of the battle vanishes.
She MAXIMIZES the Ghost’s diagnostic window. The raw, incriminating code of the rigged RNG now fills the main screen, broadcast for all 3.1 million viewers to see.
She reaches forward and unmutes her microphone. A green light flicks on.
CLOSE ON RIVA’S FACE. She looks directly forward, as if into a camera. Her voice is calm, clear, and utterly terrifying in its sincerity.
RIVA
Hey everyone. The game’s over.
She pauses, letting the statement hang in the air.
RIVA
It’s time we talked about how it’s really played.
FADE TO BLACK.
SOUND of a low, clean hum of advanced electronics
A sleek, minimalist sphere. The only light comes from the immersive, holographic displays that surround RIVA ‘GLITCH’ CHAUHAN (20s). She sits, poised, in a high-tech command chair, her face a mask of calm professionalism.
A vast, three-dimensional map of the Arctic Circle hangs in the air before her. Blue icons (Pan-American forces) form a neat defensive line. Red icons (Eurasian bloc) slide south like blood drops on glass.
To her left, a vertical display shows a LIVE CHAT feed scrolling by in an unreadable, chaotic blur. To her right, BIOMETRIC READOUTS display her vitals. HEART RATE: 72 BPM.
JIAN (V.O.)
(filtered, crackling)
He’s pushing his northern fleet through the Bear Gap. Classic brute-force opening from Dmitri. The pundits will love it. Aggressive. Decisive.
Riva’s eyes scan the map, her expression unreadable.
RIVA
The pundits aren’t playing. The Sim rewards elegance, not brute force. Let him overextend.
Her hands, slender and precise, dance across glowing control surfaces embedded in her chair’s arms. She manipulates the holographic map, zooming in on a cluster of red icons near Murmansk.
RIVA
(to herself)
Okay, he’s committed.
JIAN (V.O.)
What’s the play, Glitch?
RIVA
I’m not going to meet him at sea. I’m launching a C-sat blackout over his primary command hub in Murmansk. And…
(a faint smile)
I’m opening a diplomatic channel. Offering a joint naval exercise to ‘verify’ a faulty sensor report. Give him an off-ramp. A way to pull back without losing face.
JIAN (V.O.)
Bold. Let’s see how Newton reacts.
On the main map, a SHADOW falls over the red icons near Murmansk. Their digital glow flickers and dims. The entire red fleet pauses its advance.
A dialogue box appears in the hologram.
**DIPLOMATIC OFFER SENT.**
Riva waits, confident. A beat. Then, the box updates.
**EURASIAN RESPONSE: OFFER REJECTED.**
**REASON: BAD FAITH PROPOSAL.**
Before Riva can react, a new ALERT flashes, insistent and crimson.
**SIMULATION EVENT: SPONTANEOUS UPRISING IN PAN-AMERICAN ALLIED CITY [STOCKHOLM]. EURASIAN FORCES MOVING TO ‘PROVIDE HUMANITARIAN AID’.**
CLOSE ON RIVA. The professional mask cracks. Confusion. Disbelief.
RIVA
What? That’s not possible. My stability index in Scandinavia is ninety-eight percent. A spontaneous uprising is a zero-point-zero-one percent probability event.
On the map, a new cluster of red icons appears near Stockholm, forcing her to divert her blue forces, leaving the northern front exposed. Dmitri’s fleet begins its advance again, unopposed.
JIAN (V.O.)
Newton’s running hot today. The probability seems… off.
Riva glances at her viewer count. It’s jumped to 3.1 MILLION. The chat feed is a frenzy. Her heart rate monitor ticks up: 79 BPM.
INT. GSS COMMAND POD - LATER
The situation is worse. The map is a sea of red.
MONTAGE
- A squadron of Riva’s blue stealth drone icons flicker and vanish from the map. An alert reads: **CATASTROPHIC SOFTWARE FAILURE**.
- Riva initiates an economic sanction. A complex web of financial data appears. Instead of hurting the red economy, her own blue markets flash red and begin to CRASH.
- Dmitri’s red icons execute a high-risk pincer movement. Probability of success: 18%. The icons slam into Riva’s forces, and the blue icons shatter and disappear. A PERFECT SUCCESS.
- CLOSE ON Riva’s face, the calm completely gone, replaced by a cold, simmering anger. Her heart rate: 95 BPM.
- A new option appears on her console, glowing ominously. A button icon next to the words: **STRATEGIC NUCLEAR OPTION UNLOCKED.**
END MONTAGE
Riva hits a control. A small, red light on her console indicates her microphone is now MUTED to the main stream. She leans forward, her voice a low whisper.
RIVA
This is wrong, Jian. He’s anticipating me. Not my strategy, but my actual commands, nanoseconds after I enter them. And these probability events are nonsense. The dice are loaded.
JIAN (V.O.)
The Sim is vetted by the Global Strategy Commission, Riva. It's a black box. No one can load the dice.
RIVA
Bullshit.
Her fingers fly across a section of her console, opening a small, shielded display below the main hologram. It’s a simple, raw command line interface. She types: `run ghost.exe`.
JIAN (V.O.)
Riva, what are you doing?
She ignores him. The shielded display fills with scrolling lines of raw, encrypted code, a river of data flowing between her rig and the Sim mainframe.
The program, ‘The Ghost’, highlights specific strings within the code, analyzing the structure of the Random Number Generator.
The results flash on the small screen. A sick feeling washes over Riva’s face.
It’s a weighted algorithm. She sees the flags:
`IF action_source=P.AM; action_type=DE-ESCALATORY; THEN success_prob -= 25%`
`IF action_source=P.AM; action_type=DEFENSIVE; THEN success_prob -= 15%`
`IF action_source=EURASIAN; action_type=AGGRESSIVE; THEN success_prob += 10%`
RIVA
(a dangerous whisper)
Jian. The game is rigged. The GSC is rigging the sims.
JIAN (V.O.)
(a long, tense silence)
Riva, don’t say that. Not even here. If you’re wrong…
RIVA
I’m not wrong. I have the proof right here.
On the main display, Dmitri’s forces launch their final, overwhelming offensive. The nuclear launch button PULSES with a soft, inviting light.
ANGLE ON the live chat. The text is now legible, a torrent of hate and excitement.
`NUKE HIM, GLITCH!`
`DON'T BE A COWARD!`
`MAKE THE TSAR GLOW!`
`PRESS THE BUTTON!`
Riva looks from the rigged code... to the chat demanding blood... to the pulsing nuclear option on her screen. The unwinnable game. The manufactured consent.
She takes a single, deep breath. Her heart rate steadies. 72 BPM.
Her hands move with deliberate calm.
She MINIMIZES the holographic tactical map. The chaos of the battle vanishes.
She MAXIMIZES the Ghost’s diagnostic window. The raw, incriminating code of the rigged RNG now fills the main screen, broadcast for all 3.1 million viewers to see.
She reaches forward and unmutes her microphone. A green light flicks on.
CLOSE ON RIVA’S FACE. She looks directly forward, as if into a camera. Her voice is calm, clear, and utterly terrifying in its sincerity.
RIVA
Hey everyone. The game’s over.
She pauses, letting the statement hang in the air.
RIVA
It’s time we talked about how it’s really played.
FADE TO BLACK.