The Rust of Applause
Years after his face sold millions in tickets, former action star Shiro now works the door at a club where the only hits are on the jukebox. When a botched data deal unfolds on his patch, he's reminded that some scripts, you can't escape.
EXT. ALLEY / THE VELVET COFFIN - NIGHT
SOUND of a muffled, rhythmic BASS THUMP bleeding through a metal door.
The alley smells of stale beer and desperation. Rainwater, iridescent with leaked coolant from a wheezing A/C unit, pools in the cracked asphalt.
SHIRO (50s), weathered and worn, leans against the rough brickwork. He watches his breath plume in the damp air, a ghost of a ghost. He runs a thumb over a faint white scar on his knuckle. An old injury from a different life.
The fire door SCREECHES open, vomiting a rectangle of purple light and noise into the alley.
KENNY (late teens), all nervous energy, darts out. He clutches a small, padded envelope like a holy relic, eyes flitting around the darkness.
SHIRO
> Everything alright, Kenny?
Kenny jumps, startled. He avoids Shiro's gaze.
KENNY
> Yeah, man. Course. Just needed some air.
Shiro’s gaze drifts past him, toward the alley’s mouth.
SHIRO
> The air out here’s got a bit of a bite. And it tends to attract rats.
Two figures emerge from the sodium-orange glow of the main street, becoming sharp silhouettes against the light. They move with a fluid, predatory tandem.
Kenny sees them. The color drains from his face.
KENNY
> Oh, hell. They weren't supposed to... I gotta go.
He makes a move, but the men block the only exit. Shiro sighs, a cloud of weary vapor. He pushes himself off the wall.
The two men step into the dim light. TALL GUY has a ragged scar cutting through his eyebrow. The other, FIRE HYDRANT, is built low and solid.
TALL GUY
>>(flat, bored)
> Give it to us, kid.
Kenny backs away, hitting the brick wall beside Shiro.
KENNY
>>(squeaking)
> I don't have it.
FIRE HYDRANT
> Don't make this a whole thing. We're on a schedule.
SHIRO
> Gentlemen. This is a private alley. For bins and existential dread. You're not on the list.
Tall Guy finally looks at Shiro. A flicker of recognition.
TALL GUY
> I know you. You're... Shiro. From 'Neon Dragon'. My dad loved that film. Said it was unrealistic but had heart.
SHIRO
> Tell your dad I appreciate the nuanced critique. Now, leave the kid alone.
Fire Hydrant lets out a short, ugly chuckle.
FIRE HYDRANT
> Or what? You'll deliver a cheesy one-liner and jump through a pane of sugar glass? The world's a bit harder out here, champ.
He lunges for Kenny. It's sloppy. Overconfident.
Shiro moves. Not like a movie star, but like a tired man with deep muscle memory. He doesn't block. He simply steps in, hooks Fire Hydrant's arm, and uses his own momentum to send him stumbling face-first into a large metal dumpster.
A deeply satisfying CLANG echoes in the alley.
Tall Guy is more cautious. He pulls a KNIFE, the blade catching the dim light.
TALL GUY
> Bad choice, movie man.
SHIRO
> Was it? I always thought my worst choice was agreeing to the sequel.
Shiro kicks a loose brick on the ground. It skitters across the wet asphalt. A clumsy, pathetic move.
Tall Guy glances down at it for a fraction of a second.
It's all Shiro needs.
He closes the distance. His hand clamps down on Tall Guy's wrist, twisting with a practiced violence that makes BONE GRIND. The knife clatters to the ground.
A sharp jab to the throat. A knee to the solar plexus.
Tall Guy collapses, gasping like a landed fish.
Shiro stands over them, chest heaving. The adrenaline tastes like bitter metal.
Kenny stares, mouth agape.
SHIRO
>>(rasping)
> Go. Get out of here.
Kenny fumbles with the envelope. A small, metallic DATA CHIP falls out, unseen by Shiro. Kenny scrambles to pick it up, then shoves the now-empty envelope into Shiro's hand.
KENNY
> Here! Take it! Just... thanks.
Kenny flees, vanishing into the night.
Shiro looks at the empty envelope, then at the two groaning men. This wasn't in the job description.
EXT. STREET CORNER - MOMENTS LATER
Shiro walks under the orange glow of streetlights. The damp chill seeps into his bones.
He finds it: a PAYPHONE, a dinosaur relic tucked into an alcove.
He feeds it a handful of coins. The receiver is cold and greasy against his ear. He dials a number from memory.
It rings four times. A CLICK.
NANA (V.O.)
>>(female, crisp, unimpressed)
> You have an astounding amount of nerve calling this number, Shiro.
SHIRO
> Hello to you too, Nana. Still enjoying retirement?
NANA (V.O.)
> I was, until about ten seconds ago. This had better be good. I'm missing a documentary about cephalopods.
SHIRO
> A kid named Kenny just tried to sell a data chip to some very unfriendly people. I might have... intervened.
A weary sigh on the other end of the line.
NANA (V.O.)
> You 'intervened'. Shiro, you're not on a film set. The extras don't just go back to their trailers when you're done with them. What was on the chip?
SHIRO
> How should I know?
He glances down at his hand, and for the first time, sees the DATA CHIP Kenny must have dropped during the exchange. It's cool against his skin.
SHIRO
>>(CONT'D)
> Actually... I seem to have acquired it.
Silence on the line. A long, heavy pause.
SOUND of faint, rapid TYPING in the background.
When Nana speaks again, her voice has lost all its flippancy. It is cold. Urgent.
NANA (V.O.)
> Where are you?
Shiro tells her the intersection.
NANA (V.O.)
> Stay there. Don't talk to anyone. Don't move.
SHIRO
> What's going on, Nana? Who are these people?
CLICK.
The line goes dead.
SOUND of a monotonous, indifferent DIAL TONE humming.
CLOSE ON Shiro. He slowly lowers the receiver, his face illuminated by the sickly orange city light. He is alone again, a piece of serious trouble in his pocket, the ghosts of old theme music playing faintly in his head.
SOUND of a muffled, rhythmic BASS THUMP bleeding through a metal door.
The alley smells of stale beer and desperation. Rainwater, iridescent with leaked coolant from a wheezing A/C unit, pools in the cracked asphalt.
SHIRO (50s), weathered and worn, leans against the rough brickwork. He watches his breath plume in the damp air, a ghost of a ghost. He runs a thumb over a faint white scar on his knuckle. An old injury from a different life.
The fire door SCREECHES open, vomiting a rectangle of purple light and noise into the alley.
KENNY (late teens), all nervous energy, darts out. He clutches a small, padded envelope like a holy relic, eyes flitting around the darkness.
SHIRO
> Everything alright, Kenny?
Kenny jumps, startled. He avoids Shiro's gaze.
KENNY
> Yeah, man. Course. Just needed some air.
Shiro’s gaze drifts past him, toward the alley’s mouth.
SHIRO
> The air out here’s got a bit of a bite. And it tends to attract rats.
Two figures emerge from the sodium-orange glow of the main street, becoming sharp silhouettes against the light. They move with a fluid, predatory tandem.
Kenny sees them. The color drains from his face.
KENNY
> Oh, hell. They weren't supposed to... I gotta go.
He makes a move, but the men block the only exit. Shiro sighs, a cloud of weary vapor. He pushes himself off the wall.
The two men step into the dim light. TALL GUY has a ragged scar cutting through his eyebrow. The other, FIRE HYDRANT, is built low and solid.
TALL GUY
>>(flat, bored)
> Give it to us, kid.
Kenny backs away, hitting the brick wall beside Shiro.
KENNY
>>(squeaking)
> I don't have it.
FIRE HYDRANT
> Don't make this a whole thing. We're on a schedule.
SHIRO
> Gentlemen. This is a private alley. For bins and existential dread. You're not on the list.
Tall Guy finally looks at Shiro. A flicker of recognition.
TALL GUY
> I know you. You're... Shiro. From 'Neon Dragon'. My dad loved that film. Said it was unrealistic but had heart.
SHIRO
> Tell your dad I appreciate the nuanced critique. Now, leave the kid alone.
Fire Hydrant lets out a short, ugly chuckle.
FIRE HYDRANT
> Or what? You'll deliver a cheesy one-liner and jump through a pane of sugar glass? The world's a bit harder out here, champ.
He lunges for Kenny. It's sloppy. Overconfident.
Shiro moves. Not like a movie star, but like a tired man with deep muscle memory. He doesn't block. He simply steps in, hooks Fire Hydrant's arm, and uses his own momentum to send him stumbling face-first into a large metal dumpster.
A deeply satisfying CLANG echoes in the alley.
Tall Guy is more cautious. He pulls a KNIFE, the blade catching the dim light.
TALL GUY
> Bad choice, movie man.
SHIRO
> Was it? I always thought my worst choice was agreeing to the sequel.
Shiro kicks a loose brick on the ground. It skitters across the wet asphalt. A clumsy, pathetic move.
Tall Guy glances down at it for a fraction of a second.
It's all Shiro needs.
He closes the distance. His hand clamps down on Tall Guy's wrist, twisting with a practiced violence that makes BONE GRIND. The knife clatters to the ground.
A sharp jab to the throat. A knee to the solar plexus.
Tall Guy collapses, gasping like a landed fish.
Shiro stands over them, chest heaving. The adrenaline tastes like bitter metal.
Kenny stares, mouth agape.
SHIRO
>>(rasping)
> Go. Get out of here.
Kenny fumbles with the envelope. A small, metallic DATA CHIP falls out, unseen by Shiro. Kenny scrambles to pick it up, then shoves the now-empty envelope into Shiro's hand.
KENNY
> Here! Take it! Just... thanks.
Kenny flees, vanishing into the night.
Shiro looks at the empty envelope, then at the two groaning men. This wasn't in the job description.
EXT. STREET CORNER - MOMENTS LATER
Shiro walks under the orange glow of streetlights. The damp chill seeps into his bones.
He finds it: a PAYPHONE, a dinosaur relic tucked into an alcove.
He feeds it a handful of coins. The receiver is cold and greasy against his ear. He dials a number from memory.
It rings four times. A CLICK.
NANA (V.O.)
>>(female, crisp, unimpressed)
> You have an astounding amount of nerve calling this number, Shiro.
SHIRO
> Hello to you too, Nana. Still enjoying retirement?
NANA (V.O.)
> I was, until about ten seconds ago. This had better be good. I'm missing a documentary about cephalopods.
SHIRO
> A kid named Kenny just tried to sell a data chip to some very unfriendly people. I might have... intervened.
A weary sigh on the other end of the line.
NANA (V.O.)
> You 'intervened'. Shiro, you're not on a film set. The extras don't just go back to their trailers when you're done with them. What was on the chip?
SHIRO
> How should I know?
He glances down at his hand, and for the first time, sees the DATA CHIP Kenny must have dropped during the exchange. It's cool against his skin.
SHIRO
>>(CONT'D)
> Actually... I seem to have acquired it.
Silence on the line. A long, heavy pause.
SOUND of faint, rapid TYPING in the background.
When Nana speaks again, her voice has lost all its flippancy. It is cold. Urgent.
NANA (V.O.)
> Where are you?
Shiro tells her the intersection.
NANA (V.O.)
> Stay there. Don't talk to anyone. Don't move.
SHIRO
> What's going on, Nana? Who are these people?
CLICK.
The line goes dead.
SOUND of a monotonous, indifferent DIAL TONE humming.
CLOSE ON Shiro. He slowly lowers the receiver, his face illuminated by the sickly orange city light. He is alone again, a piece of serious trouble in his pocket, the ghosts of old theme music playing faintly in his head.