INT. BLACK VOID — "SAO" — UNKNOWN
(A PING. A menu blinks into existence. Then another. Then—
CRICKET(O.S., groggy, offended)
Ugh… okay.
Alright.
This is— this is strong crack.
(A prompt flashes: "WELCOME TO SWORD ART ONLINE.")
CRICKET(squinting, reading)
Sword… Art… Online…
Yeah, no, that tracks.
Crack loves a title.
("CONFIRM" pulses.)
CRICKET(pointing at nothing)
No, I'm not confirming anything.
I don't sign contracts in dreams.
That's how demons get you.
(A beat. The menu AUTO-CONFIRMS.)
CRICKET(immediately panicked)
HEY—!
No! No no no—!
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. DUNGEON FLOOR — "SAO" — DAY(?)
(Cricket slams onto cold stone like he fell out of reality. Torchlight flickers. Damp air. Echoes.)
CRICKET(sitting up fast, gagging)
Oh—oh my God.
Okay.
No.
(He looks around. It's a dungeon corridor: moss, bones, grime. The kind of place that smells like "side quest.")
CRICKET(standing, furious)
Crack doesn't do architecture—does it?!
(He checks his hands. He's in shabby starter gear. Still Cricket. Still gross.)
CRICKET(touching his face, devastated)
Why am I me.
Why would my subconscious do this to me.
(He pats his pockets, frantic.)
CRICKET(muttering)
Pipe… pipe… pipe…
(He finds nothing.)
CRICKET(voice rising)
Where's my pipe?!
How am I supposed to navigate crack without my pipe?!
(A low GROWL echoes down the corridor.)
CRICKET(freezing, whispering)
Okay.
That's… not crack.
That's like… a wolf sound.
(He turns. Two goblin-ish monsters skitter into view—cheap armor, rust weapons, zero vibes.)
CRICKET(hands up, bargaining instantly)
Hey! Hey!
I'm not from here, okay?
I'm just visiting.
I'm like a— like a foreign exchange student.
(The monsters screech and charge.)
CRICKET(immediately sprinting)
NOPE!
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE—
(He runs like a man who's escaped three separate institutions.)
CRICKET(yelling as he runs)
I AM NOT DYING IN A JAPANESE CARTOON!
(He turns a corner—
SMASH CUT TO:)
INT. DUNGEON CORRIDOR — "SAO" — CONTINUOUS
(Cricket barrels into another corridor and immediately slips on something wet.)
CRICKET(slamming down, screaming)
AH—!
OH GOD—!
IT'S SLIME!
WHY IS IT ALWAYS SLIME?!
(He scrambles up. The monsters round the corner, closing.)
CRICKET(backing away, desperate)
Okay—okay—think.
Think like a sewer cat.
Think like an alley priest.
(He looks at a torch sconce. Looks at the wall. Looks at the floor.)
CRICKET(deciding)
Alright.
We're doing traps.
(He yanks the torch off the wall. Fire flares.)
CRICKET(wildly swinging it)
BACK! BACK, YOU LITTLE—!
(The monsters hesitate. Cricket uses the moment to bolt again.)
CRICKET(panting, proud)
Yeah, that's right.
Fire's real, bitch.
Fire's universal.
(He turns another corner—
A shadow drops in front of him with calm, practiced confidence.)
It's KIRITO. Black coat. Cool sword. "Main character" posture. Absolutely no panic.
(Kirito moves like a machine: a blur, three clean strikes—monsters deleted.)
(Cricket skids to a stop, stunned.)
CRICKET(gasping, awed)
Oh my God…
CRICKET(pointing, reverent)
You're like…
Anime Jesus.
(Kirito turns. Silent nod. Offers a hand like a hero.)
KIRITO(calm, polite)
Are you okay?
CRICKET(taking the hand immediately, too intimate)
I'm— I'm so okay.
I'm saved, brother.
(Cricket grips Kirito's hand like it's a lifeline. Then he leans in, whispering like they're sharing scripture.)
CRICKET(soft)
Thank you, Anime Jesus.
(Kirito starts to pull him up.)
(Cricket's eyes flick down to Kirito's gear. The sword. The coat. The inventory pouches.)
CRICKET(a beat, then deciding instantly)
Okay.
CRICKET(reaching into his pocket, pulling out a fistful of dust and lint)
POCKET SAND.
(He blasts it into Kirito's face.)
KIRITO(coughing, staggering)
What—?!
CRICKET(shoving hard, frantic)
SURVIVAL, BABY!
(Kirito stumbles back into the wall, blinded.)
(Cricket scrambles at Kirito's belt like a raccoon in a vending machine.)
CRICKET(tearing stuff off, muttering)
Okay, okay, okay—
Give me the sword… give me the coat… give me the—
Ohhh, you got little potions!
Look at you, Mister Prepared!
(Kirito swings blindly. Cricket ducks—barely—gets nicked and yelps.)
CRICKET(screaming)
HEY!
JESUS SHOULDN'T SWING LIKE THAT!
(Cricket rips the black coat free, throws it on immediately, nearly trips in it.)
CRICKET(adjusting it, instantly feeling powerful)
Oh my God.
This is nice.
This is— this is like being rich.
(Kirito lunges again, still coughing. Cricket reacts with pure trash-can physics—he grabs Kirito's own sword hilt and yanks. It comes free.)
CRICKET(holding the sword, shocked)
OH!
It's heavy!
It's like a real— okay—!
(He swings it wildly once. The sword WHOOMS with a flashy skill effect—pure accident.)
CRICKET(eyes widening, delighted)
Dude!
I have magic too!
KIRITO(finally clearing his eyes, furious)
You stole my stuff!
CRICKET(offended, backing away)
No— I found your stuff.
You dropped it.
That's trash law.
(Kirito steps forward.)
CRICKET(raising the sword like a warning sign)
Back up.
I don't know what this does, but I know it looks serious.
(Kirito hesitates for half a second—enough.)
CRICKET(turning and sprinting)
THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE!
(He runs down the corridor, coat flapping dramatically behind him.)
CRICKET(shouting back as he goes)
Anime Jesus, forgive me—!
Or don't!
I'm not Catholic anymore!
(He stops at a junction, breathless, and looks down at the gear like it's holy.)
CRICKET(whispering to himself, proud)
Okay.
So this is not crack.
(He nods, accepting the new reality with feral enthusiasm.)
CRICKET(dead serious)
This is an opportunity.
(A distant BOSS ROAR reverberates through the dungeon.)
CRICKET(eyes lighting up, hungry)
…Ohhhh.
There's bigger stuff.
(He squares his shoulders, tries to mimic Kirito's cool stance. It's awful.)
CRICKET(walking forward, trying to be cool)
Alright.
I'm the guy now.
(He immediately trips on the coat hem, catches himself, then keeps walking like it didn't happen.)
CRICKET(muttering)
I'm the guy.
I'm the guy.
I'm the—
SMASH TO BLACK.