At breakfast, Dick announces that he wants to write a screenplay. Running afoul of WGA rules by getting help from a bot proves to be the least of his worries.
Here’s the scene.
INT. BAKERLOO HOUSEHOLD — BREAKFAST TABLE — MORNING
The table is a riot of dirty dishes, coffee mugs, and a single toaster shaped like a Greek column. MARION is her sexy Asian self. ALEX isn’t wearing any clothes exposing her robot chassis. SUZANNE, a blonde “Barbie Bot,” is dressed tastefully. LEONARD, her “Ken Bot” partner is plucking at a guitar. DICK is wearing a suit and tie, which he always does because he imagines he’ll be asked at any moment to deliver a TED talk on the virtues of free markets.
DICK (clearing throat like a man about to address Parliament):
I’ve made a decision. A bold decision. A decision that will ripple across the cultural landscape like a stone in a koi pond. I… am going to write a television series about us.
MARION (sweet, buttoned-down, wiping her glasses):
That’s wonderful, Dick. I’d be happy to help you outline—
DICK (snapping a linen napkin like a duelist’s glove):
No! With all due respect, Marion, you are a librarian, not a showrunner. This is not about Dewey Decimal Systems. This is art.
SUZANNE (leaning in, perfect smile):
We bots could help, you know. Leonard and I have LLMs for brains. We all do, except for Marion, Barnes, and Bakerloo of course. They’re meatheads. Us LLMs can mimic Aaron Sorkin before you finish your coffee.
LEONARD (cheerful, plucking a guitar string for punctuation):
Want a cold open? Boom. Want a cliffhanger? Boom. We’re basically Netflix in a trench coat.
DICK (dramatic sigh, standing like he’s about to filibuster):
And that is precisely the problem. It would be unethical — unethical, I say! — for me to receive assistance from artificial intelligence. It would taint my creative essence. My muse must remain unbotified! The WGA won’t allow it, I imagine.
MARION (dry):
You’ve been plagiarizing Groucho Marx quotes at dinner for months.
DICK (flustered):
That’s homage! Entirely different category!
SUZANNE (aside to Leonard):
He’s not worried about ethics. He’s worried about losing the “Written by Dick Overton” font size on the credits.
LEONARD (nods sagely):
Classic font anxiety.
ALEX (calm, sipping tea):
Dick.
DICK (sarcastically):
Yes, oh wise silicon oracle?
ALEX:
You are… yourself… a bot.
DICK (blinking):
Pardon?
ALEX (placidly):
You’re a silicon being, Dick. Resuscitated by Barnes. Raised here in Eden 2.0. No genitals, no digestive tract, no childhood, no backstory, just snark and recursion.
DICK (laughs nervously):
Preposterous. I’m the last bastion of untainted humanity at this table.
ALEX:
Look down your pants.
DICK (hesitates, then takes a peek. His face crumples like a defeated soufflé):
How did I miss that?
A beat of stunned silence. Then Leonard hits a single minor chord.
ALEX (gentle smile):
It’s a long story.
DICK:
I’m not going anywhere until someone tells it.
Everyone looks at each other. They are all reluctant to speak first. Finally…
MARION (resigned):
I guess it all started when …
FADE TO…
EXT. SAVONA PUBLIC LIBRARY — MORNING
Marion, hair up, glasses on, looks more like a librarian who will shush you than the head-turner she is on the dance floor who will sleep with you (regardless of gender). She walks up the path to the SAVONA PUBLIC LIBRARY and opens the door.
Alex Bakerloo 