Gold Fire Blood

Campaign advert

Shooting script

Draft 3

12.02.2022

INT. MR ROY'S OFFICE DAY

Pan in on Mr. Roy seated behind his desk, studying his Bloomberg terminal displaying a constantly updating feed of market news. Noticing the camera, Mr. Roy turns and looks head-on. Dressed in his customary Italian suit made from African print textiles, atop which sits a large Ankh around his neck, Mr. Roy addresses the camera.

Mr. Roy

Greetings and salutations denizens of the Fold. To those who don't know me, my name is Roy. I am the founder and Chief Vision Officer for Gold Fire Blood. What is Gold Fire Blood? Follow me.

Mr. Roy rises from his seat, camera follows as he swiftly exits the room.

EXT. SERVER ROOM
Crane shot over seemingly endless rows of databanks, move in on Mr. Roy inspecting the machinery.

Mr. Roy

Know where we are? Sure you do. This is the place that keeps the cogs of progress in motion. Well, at least it could be. Right now, thousands of rooms just like this one are processing terabytes of data. Your data. All in the service of our great liquid democracy. But there's a catch...

CUT TO

INT. FAMILY DINING ROOM DAY

A large family sits around a dinner table. Camera circles the table as the family engages in what appears to be a heated argument. Between flinging food at each other, the various family members stare at their phones, making their choice in the weekly referendum round that has clearly sparked the tension and upended dinner. Enter Mr. Roy into the scene.

Mr. Roy

Look at this. Shameful. But familiar, right? Fights like this happen every day but they don't have to. What if, the promise of freedom granted us by SocialSynchTM didn't have to come at the expense of family feuds.

CUT TO

A field of sunflowers. A dazzling blue sky interrupted by a scattering of butterflies. And walking through the field, Mr. Roy in a different suit, blonde wig, and drag makeup. Camera dolly pans back as we follow Roy through the field.

Mr. Roy

Politics shouldn't be about policy positions. It should be about your mood, your taste, your sensibility. At Gold Fire Blood we put the poly- back in politics. Join us. We'll worry about the small stuff, and let you get back to what's important. Having a good time.

Camera pans out revealing the family dancing in various states of undress alongside dozens of fellow revelers.

Moira Middlesdrift, Atlas Studios, September 2022. I really don't have much time for this. Everyone treats hair and makeup like it's an afterthought until there's a schmutz. Then its, 'Moira! The powder'. I tell you, if it wasn't for the union benefits I woulda been outta this job years ago. Not to mention groping. Oy, the hands. Complain? Yeah, sure. All the time. But what of it? A stern warning then it's onto the next hijo de puta trying his luck. That Mr Roy you were asking about? Loves a good pinch on the bottom. Not mine, mind you. His. Insists on it every time I find him in my trailer. Doesn't bother me too much. He's usually quite a doll about the whole thing, bowing gently to receive it with a little pat of encouragement on his cheek. It's funny, though. Didn't bend that day.

What was it again? Oh, that's right. Another one of those absurd commercials. God knows what his company actually does. The way I hear it from the gals over in wardrobe, it's some funny business involving lifestyle branding. Sounds like a bunch of babka, if you ask me. Anyway, Roy seemed in quite a mood. Like he'd received some bad news, or something. It's not like we typically talk that much. The man's bald as cousin Moishe with the alopecia so just leaves me to do the face. But on that occasion, couldn't even manage a 'hello'. Until the farshtunken with the shabby suit bursts in. Well, Roy certainly had some words then. 

As I said, folk tend not to give me too much thought. Which can be a good thing if you're looking for that fresh juice. So yeah, I overheard some stuff. Roy gave that goy a real earful. 'Hank,' he says. 'Do I look like some warm, moist vestibule?' I can see the diction threw the goy off a bit, so Roy went in again. 'Why you trying to fuck me, Hank?' A bunch of uhm-ing and ah-ing from old Hanky Pank follows. Guy even looks at me as if I'm supposed to help. Roy's out of his seat now and let me tell you, for a short, chubby guy he's got the chutzpah of a man at least two feet taller. He backs HP into a corner  and starts whisperin something in his ear. I can't really make out what he's saying too clear, what without craning my neck obvious-like so I go about ordering my makeup table, which allows me to lip-read a bit using the mirror. Way I saw it, HP lost some delicate info he was 'sposed to be safekeeping for Roy. Then he asks the guy, whose schwitzing up a storm by now, whether it could be traced back to him? Well, seeing as I'm talking to you lot, I can guess what the answer to that question was.

I may have only got my GED, but I got a university-grade education in BS. And let me tell you, whatever scam Roy and this Hank fellow was running… It don’t get any stankier. You probably know about that more than me, but I’ll add one last thing. Soon as Sweats is out the door, Roy just sorta collapses back into chair. I says, ‘You OK, honey?’ Everything alright?’ Well, the darnest thing, he starts laughing. And this ain’t no ordinary laugh. It’s a bit… unhinged. Like he’d give Pennywise a run for his money. I put a little base on and he’s out the door and shooting his silly advert after that like nothing’s out of the ordinary. Makes me grateful I’m only the one putting makeup on the clowns.

Howard Smilkstein, Basement of Smilkstein family residence, September 2022. It's alright Ma, I'll call ya if we need anything. I swear that woman was born holding a platter of meatloaf. First time here in Staten Island? I could tell by the way you held your noses outside. Nothing personal. I wouldn't be here if I could help it. We only moved a couple years back, when New Yorke went City State. Folks really got caught up in the whole UBI wave, figured it was their way out of the rat race. 'Come live a quiet life in the suburbs' I believe was the tag-line. I'll give those copywriters one thing, it is pretty silent round these parts. Pity they didn't mention the smell. Plastic de-processing facility, right down the road. Great for the environment, terrible for my sex life. Well, that and the fact I still life in the rent's basement. But you didn't come here to discuss my mating habits, didya? I know the score, you wanna talk about Kevin.

I begged him not to go with that British prick for his handle. Thing is we were all really into libertarianism at the time. If it weren't Ayn Rand, it was Andrew Yang and the shiny new world beyond neoliberalism. Kevin went more gothic than the rest of us, though. Maybe dug a bit too deep. That's how you end up naming yourself after a deadbeat who low-key endorsed human culling. But as I said we were but babes, plus Kevin always liked styling himself the rebel among rebels. It's what eventually drove us apart. Well that and all those wetware bodymods he had put in. Tells his poor folks its fancy new-age piercings. Since when did an earring set you back .5 bitcoin. Not to sound bitter, cos I'm not, but the guy definitely changed post-op. He outgrew us, if I'm honest. It's why we rebranded to #thecause. A way of setting ourselves apart from the old crew. If only we'd known then where that silly act of ego would get us.

You don't mind if I light up? Why I'm even asking you, its my house. Plus it helps with the odious odours. You're welcome to some? No. Oh, ok. Where were we again? Oh, that's right, #thecause. Aw hell, don't you hate it when your life becomes a cliché? If its too good to be true, it probably is. That was us when we first made contact with Beezlebubbie. Shoulda seen the forest from the trees with that one, and by trees of course I mean that fat stack of hydroponics she sent us as a courtesy. No such thing as free cabbage. 

A more sober mind may have alerted us to the fact we had absolutely no idea what we were hoisting from hank, let alone for who. It was only after we figured it might be in our interest to take a look through the data did we realise the depth of the hole we'd dug. Guess we're all still waiting for that bomb to go off. Can you hear that? Yeah, me neither. Fucking terrifying.

That business with Kevin intercepting our D&D discord was sorta the nail in the coffin for #thecause. I mean, I'm talking to you lot aren't I? Guess I wasn't as cut out for this life as I'd thought aged 13. Hell, at least this little session's my get out of jail free card. As for Kev. Well, your guess is as good as mine. Last I heard he was headed for a ranch down old Oaxaca way. Though, that's exactly the sorta romantic BS he'd want us to believe.

remember to feed my goldfish

From: antiquatedasshole@ibeam.com 
To: d2653@secureserver.com

Heading outta town for a few days, D. You know how to get into my place, right? If you could come by sometime during the week and drop a couple pellets in the water that'd be swell. My therapist thought it would be a good idea for me to get 'em, now I can't go nowhere without considering the little buggers. I guess that was the point of the exercise, compassion yadda yadda. Anyway now I'm left with these barely sentient floating shitgibbons who really wouldn't know the difference between my hand feeding them and an automated robotic arm. Yet here we are. I can't seem to keep a girlfriend, but at least i can maintain the heartbeat of a pair of ungrateful fucking fish. 

I really shouldn't be complaining though as I literally have bigger fish to fry. I'll be turning on my tracing app so if things go south on the trip, well, you'll know what direction i'm heading in. Damn, I can't tell if its the hemorrhoids or what some folks might call intuition but i ain't feeling too hot about this one. Sorta wishing the kid wasn't so damn proficient but here we are: a balding misanthrope who, in the eternal words of Sergeant Roger Murtaugh, is too old for this shit, heading to a decommissioned Amazon packing plant in bumfuck Pennsylvania. I guess on the bright side, if I perish at least I now have a profile on Facebook for everyone to leave their two-bit tributes.

While we're on the topic of morbid matters, I guess I better update you on last month's expenses so im at least square with mr taxman. Ok, lets see, there was gas (B$ 0,000325), grub from Tina's (B$ 0,000150), subscription to PI Monthly (B$ 0,00075), dry-cleaning (B$ 0,000050), mr malthus' up-front fee, a crime worthy of investigation unto itself (B$ 0,01500), and that pauper's pantry that passes itself off as an office (B$ 0,000460).

If it wasn't evident from the hints i was dropping back there, ms kitty flew the coop. Who knows what it was this time. The strange hours I keep, my pearlescent personality, or maybe it was the way I reacted to her wanting to slip a digit right there up my anus. As if the grapes weren't enough to keep my mind occupied on that part of the anatomy, now i got a bird trying her luck with a finger. I may have reacted a bit strong at first, but she caught me off guard. So I says to her, 'Look doll, I'm a bit of a rube when it comes to matters of the rim, so you gotta go easy round those parts'. Maybe I wasn't the exciting package deal she thought she was gonna get dating a PI. Should have read her some Chandler.

Anyway, not that yous was askin but feels good to share. Talkin of which, feel free to use the full facilities when you stop by to feed the fish. I know its not much, but the jacuz is good for a ride and that sauna really is my pride and joy. Go wild.

Wish me luck on this one, D. At best Imma find a couple rusted machines and some hare-brained hackster who just wants to see the world burn. At worst, well, I guess, a whole bunch of nothing. I ain't afraid of a bit of a rough and tumble, it's chasing down a bad guy with no corporeal form that scares the bejesus outta me. 

It's the same reason I don't keep myself one of them smart houses. Nothing too smart about it, if you ask me.

As always stay shooting,
DS

Sheila Finkelberg, Finkelberg Family Living Room, September 2022. I'm sorry officers, I'm not usually like this. Oh, not officers? Well, whatever title you prefer to go by you're gonna have to excuse my blubbering. It's just... Oh Kevvy. Yes, you can just pass the whole toilet roll. As I says to Stanley, 'It's not like our boy to just disappear for days on end.' And now you're telling me he's involved in what? A fishing fraud investigation. I never even knew Kevin liked to fish. Oy, this is too much for my nerves. At this rate I'll inherit the family goiter by fall. Just breathe, Sheila. Breathe. Excuse me a sec, 'Stanley, bring me my pills and a glass of water will ya?' I'll be better after I take my pills.

Ok, ok, so what can I tell you? Kevin. He was a pretty ordinary boy growing up. Your typical kid glued to a screen half his life. Never went in much for the sports. But that was alright cos he kept his grades up nicely. Could have done with more friends, I guess. He always told us all his friends were online. Never understood that. How could you be friends with someone you never met? I used to ask him, I'd say, 'Why don't you invite some of your internet pals over, I can make them your favorite - brisket.' Then he'd do his usual rolling of the eyes and go back to whatever cartoon or what's he call it... application, he was working on. Oh, Kevvy.... Sorry, sorry, I'll pull it together.

Right, well as you can imagine Stanley and I was so relieved when he finally brought some kids his own age over to play at the house. I remember the one boy's name was Howard. They seemed to really get on. And by that I mean they   shared the same amount of enthusiasm for staring at those damn computers all day and night. But so long as Kevin wasn't by himself all the time, Stanley and I were happy. I'd bring them down snacks and those energy drinks they were so hooked on and they was happy as Larry. Which is why it was so sad when that young Howard left Jersey. All those poor families who up and left all cos they was convinced the grass would be greener. Well, you know what I says, it may be greener, but that's cos its been covered in... yep that's right, cow manure.

In fact a lot of things changed around that time. Kev got those godawful earrings put in. More like steel head plates, if you ask me. I've never been much for fashion but really, those things push the limit. I mean, since when is it hip to make yourself look like a mid-century kitchen appliance? And another thing, since when does a piercing require two weeks recovery time? Thank Hashem bubbie isn't alive to see half the things these kids are up to nowadays. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, the earrings. Well, Kev seemed to grow a lot more in confidence after that. Even went on a few dates, which really smacked the gob outta our mouths. Little Kevvy was growing up. Things really seemed to be on track for a while, until all this funny business that brought you nice gentlemen into my living room started.

Not like Kevin ever shared much with us. How'd we pick up on this whole palaver? Well, it was Ethel's boy, Mikky, he was the one told us he thought he saw Kevin with some shifty looking man at a crumby diner in Brooklyn.  Well that was enough to get my goose going. Is Kevin gay, we wondered? Stan and I always told Kevin, 'We'd love you no matter who you choose to get meshugganah with.' But an older man? In Brooklyn? It was all a bit too much, too soon. Of course we couldn't keep this to ourselves so we asked Kev about it and to our surprise he was pretty upfront. He tells us, 'Oh, what Doc? He's a client of mine, I'm doing some programming work for him'. Well, to say we were relieved was an understatement. Of course, now I'm wishing the old fella really was doing our boy up the bum.

It wasn't like Kevin to stay home from school. I figured maybe that moonlighting he was doing for this old Doc character was catching up with him a bit. But I didn't give him a hard time about it. As long as he was turning in his papers, and bringing in some extra pocket money while he was at it, who was I to stand in the way? If only I'd known... Now, who knows where he's gone? All we get is an email. An email, can you believe it? He says he's safe and hopes he won't have to be gone very long. Oy, gevolt! 

Kevin, my baby boy. Is he in a lot of trouble? You can tell me, I can handle it. I don't know if he'd be able to handle prison.  He has a very weak constitution, you know, and really struggles with lactose. Gets the violent shits. Oh, I hope he's somewhere that has lactaid. 

No Subject

From: lilcopernicus@ibeam.com
To: d2653@secureserver.com

Not sure if this note will get intercepted. Doc assured me this was an untapped service and 'not another one of them encrypted doodahs secretly being fisted by the surveillance industrial complex'. He never quite knew the difference, but he sure had a way with words. 

I've had some time to reflect since old Mac bought the farm. A sudden loss and new found life on the road will do that for you. And I've decided I have a couple things I'd like to get off my chest. In fact, I think it's better if more people get to read what I got to say so don't worry too much about who does or does not end up with this missive in their case files as I plan on posting my diatribe to a public platform. 

This here is more of a 'nice to meet you' sort of thing. From the little bit Doc did share about his life I hear, 'yous a true peach, the real McCoy.' Hope I get to see it for myself one day. But until things settle a bit or go completely down the tubes, its faraday cages and hot pockets for this young turk. 

As you may have noticed I changed my handle. Figured it was about time I took Doc's advice and updated my historical references. Copernicus seemed like a good fit, seeing its about time someone started pointing out what's really sitting at the center of our universe. 

Hope you're still keeping those fish alive? As much as he complained about them, I got the sense Doc cared about the little buggers.

Your friend,
Kevin

Blog post title: 'Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? 
Author: LilCopernicus

Source of origin: subreddit /r/Futurology
Date of posting: November 4 2022
Current upvotes: 11.6M

I must have been about three first time I recall the hit of dopamine delivered courtesy of an app. It would have been some sort of social simulation game planting crops, feeding cattle or the like. Most of you have a similar story. Nothing new. Maybe you're reading this thinking, 'here we go, the self-absorbed confession of another addict, weaned on the teat of social media, here to tell us of the horrors that shall befall us upon relinquishing our freedoms to SocialSynch™.' And you're not completely wrong. Although I was never an addict. 

Instead I saw the opportunity inherent in being a dealer over a dabbler. That's how I stayed a step ahead of the game and why you might consider listening to what I got to say. It doesn't make for pleasant reading, but it may help you find a bit of shelter before the storm.

Thanks to my line of work I recently found myself wading through a rather lugubrious corner of the web. There I found greasy, greedy men with far too much mirth for the business they was in. See, these particular gents were hoarding encrypted keychains. How'd they get them? That's what I'm still tryna figure, but the fact is they had 'em. Emphasis on the past tense. And now, who knows? Another piece of the puzzle.

Let me pause on my story for a sec to explain what exactly is afoot. See, for those of you not too interested in how the sausage is made, those little keychains encode the two-factor authentication that gets you through uPort and SocialSynch™. If you have those together with certain bits of biometric data, you essentially have a backdoor pass into the sacred halls of liquid democracy governed by the great lord Zuckerberg and his ilk. Get ahold of that info somehow and you have yourself the influence formerly wielded solely by the likes of Billionaire-funded lobbyists. Thanks for attending my TedTalk.

I won't go on much more. The trail’s gone a bit cold my end. But I'll leave you with this. If you think what I'm saying is cause for concern, consider those 'lifestyle gurus' popping up promising to represent your interests. What are they really doing? Appealing to your individual whims so you’ll lend them the only thing worth having in this mess of a liquid democracy: your vote. And it’s all made possible through data harvested from Golem networks (thought renting out your computer’s ram for a couple extra bucks a month was a good idea? Well it ain’t). Just a bunch of false prophets serving an invisible god.

My advice? My dear moms would always huck on about me not spending enough time outdoors. I reckon do that. There’s nothing good for you online anymore. Call me a cynic but I’ve stared into the abyss, and as Nietzche doth proclaimed, it stared right back.

Fact is we’re caught in a landslide, and there’s no escaping reality. But please, spare me your sympathy. I'm easy come, easy go, mostly high, lying low.