Script: Cleaners Raid

This is a script from a prewritten scene. There may be some inconsistencies with the podcast. Scripts are not consistently stylized, and are taken directly from our documents.

A white van with loopy red font advertising dry cleaning prices pulls into the slope leading to the underground loading area, before pulling in front of a few dozen figures already waiting in the grey expanse. Parking a cautious distance from the waiting figures, team of about eight people unload from the van, most in janitorial uniforms. All are wearing masks and sunglasses. Across from them are a collection of of a couple dozen figures, most carrying automatic weapons. One of the figures from the van crosses the fifteen or so feet to shake hands with one of the waiting party, a blonde man with a large flattop in a camo shirt, who is sitting on the back of a truck. The masked man offers his hand, only for the sitting man to stare at it for a moment before speaking.

"Cordel, I'm surprised you wanted to negotiate. I was under the impression Cleaners had no chips to put on the table."

"Patrick, I think you'll find that we have some compelling offer-"

Next to the sitting man, a woman in a purple-sequinned shirt and yoga pants lifts an uzi, cutting off the masked man.

"Actually, Cordel, if you'll excuse Daniella's interruption, I mean I still don't think you have anything to offer, so you'll have to show me something really amazing really quickly if you don't want to find out what those uniforms look like red."

The masked man humbly bows.

"I'm sorry to keep you wait-"

This time the masked man is interrupted by a jean-jacket clad behemoth, who to this point had been leaning casually against the side of the truck eating a sandwich. Specifically, the masked man was interrupted by the staccato clack of gunfire passing through himself and all of his cohorts.

"Sorry, but Patrick said really quick."

Camo shirt turns around, angrily, with both hands on his ears.

"IVAN, WHAT THE FUCK? YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE US ALL TINITUS IF YOU PULL SHIT LIKE THAT. IVAN? Ivan? Wat's wrong you, man?"

Ivan turns pale, and stares somewhat behind Patrick. Patrick turns back to the white van, where one tall, shocked individual was looking at the swiftly growing puddle on the floor around his feet. Camo shirt whistles, glancing at the bodies, and looks up to the remaining figure.

"Oh. Well shit, you must be the luckiest guy in the world. You should buy a lotto ticket in the afterlife. Daniella, fetch me some earmuffs, and Carlos, keep your gun trained on this one." A man in a white t-shirt and a black vest trains a shotgun on the remaining Cleaner as Patrick continues "We might be able to squeeze some info outta him before he bites the-"

Patrick's monologue is cut off short by his head and shoulders sliding off his chest, somewhat above the elbow. Immediately, Daniella, Carlos, Ivan, and every gun-toting member with a clear line of sight on the Cleaner unloaded their clips with spirited generosity seldom seen outside of the holidays. The sound of gunshots rang out and echo through the underground lot for about thirty seconds before the shots taper off. Before the smoke clears, dozens of reinforcements burst out of a nearby stairwell. The sound of casings rolling on the floor can still be heard as a lone, dissheveled figure steps forward out of the smoke. On his body, a tattered laundromat uniform is clinging by threads. The sunglasses are now a twisted empty frame.

From the truck, an obnoxiously florally adorned man draws a machete and charges the figure, screaming "JUST DIE YOU FREAK!"

Had a person been watching in profile, they would have seen three things in sequence. First, they would see the flash of a machete in the light, connecting squarely across the face of the Cleaner. Next, they would see the face of the man in paisley twist from anger to triumph to despair as the machete splinters into a fine shrapnel upon connecting to the masked man's face. Finally, they would have seen the masked man put a hand on either side of the paisley man's shoulders, and effortlessly rip off the man's left arm, leaving him a screaming mess on the floor.

The masked man gives the arm in his hand a thoughtful glance, and then addresses the screaming paisley man on the floor.

"You know, you should probably see a doctor for that."

He steps over the body, closer to the rest of the group, who have swelled in their ranks.

"I'm going to assume I can't leave this building without anyone following me, so I'd appreciate it if you all stood still so this process can be as quick and painless as possible."

The crowd rushes him. A woman in an all black crop-hoodie attempts to pistol whip the Cleaner. Far from seeming to affect the man, she instead cries out as her arm breaks in a grisly compound fracture. A man in a Hawaiian shirt attempts to sweep the Cleaner's leg, only for his leg to be severed from his body, halfway up the shin. The Cleaner reaches into the growing mosh and pulls out a man with a large blue topknot, before headbutting the man into a skull-less body. A bold few try to restrain the Cleaner with their hands, only to find the skin of their palms flayed away. Gunshots erupt, showing little discrimination among ally or foe. Suddenly the mob is in panicked retreat to the stairwell, funneling far too many people to the single-wide doors. In the stairwell, panic turns to people pushing the door shut in an attempt to barricade the escape not only from the Cleaner, but also the throngs of people trying to push their way to safety. Ivan and a man in a grey sweatshirt brace between the door and the concrete walls while the screams outside start to become more scattered, more weak, more distant, eventually ending altogether. The two are panting when a hand punches through the door, grazing the man in the sweater and leaving a foot wide hole in Ivan's torso.

Cut away to the outside of the warehouse, as Deroy rages on inside.

A woman with a black bob in a tracksuit, holding an AK, stands instructing one of her underlings.

"Get the product, get out. That's your only job, you hear me? Someone's tearing up the place, they-" The woman is cut off by a distant scream. Her face goes stony as he swears under her breath. "You do your fucking job! We'll slow them down as much as we can."

The goon facing them nods, face twisted in emotion. They've got a buzz cut, and are wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt. They're immediately running to load duffel bags into the van, letting the blood rushing through their ears and heart pounding in their chest drown out the sounds of gunfire and violence in the distance. In the distance, and coming closer.

Their arm catches in a tangled strap as they toss in the next bag, and there's a few seconds of desperate struggle before they pull out a knife and cut through it, hands trembling too much to undo the twisted knots. They turn around, but there's no more bags in the stack. There aren't any more peple running them out of the building.

The person with a buzz cut runs back into the building. The last three bags are right there, stopped just short of making it to their destination.

There's a man in a grey sweatshirt, lying on the ground. He reaches out to them, arm outstretched.

"Please."

They go for the bags. The man, bleeding from a massive wound in his side, grabs their arm.

"Kaz. Please." The person with the buzz cut- Kaz, tries to shake him off, but he won't let go. Their mouth twists. They want to say they're sorry, but the words won't come, and they say nothing.

They press their boot into the man's side, and he lets out a cry of pain, but he still clings on. Kaz presses harder.

He lets go. Kaz hefts up the rest of the bags. A booming sound comes from the other side of the room as a wall collapses.

They run.

As they drive away, Kaz sees a man in their rearview mirror. His features are obscured by dust, blood, and things that Kaz doesn't want to recognize.

Skittering out onto the street, the rearview barely registers as the tower collapses.

Wei part:

Cut to the universe without Deroy. Valencia sits, smiling, across a desk from Kaz. Their face, without the road rash scars that distinguish it later in life, looks younger under the buzzing artificial lights.

"You did well, Kath. Very, very well." Through a gap in the door, we see people unloading duffel bags from an armored van adorned with bullet holes, suggesting a fight with a lot more bodies.

"That wath our main competitor. With them gone, we'll be be free to focuth on other thingth.” She pauses, smile broadening. "How would you like to thtart rathing?"

Kaz has been wanting this for a long time, but they can only nod. Their eyes are distant. Valencia presses a soft hand to their shoulder.

“Go get thome retht, Kath. You detherve it.” Kaz nods again, and they stand up, slightly unsteady on their feet. We pan out on Kaz’s bloodstained boot.