Cast:

Jan Erikson: fat Christian Bale, à la Vice

Morguey: Ellen DeGeneres

Morgen: Jared Leto

Night Bringer / Terror of Men: Albino twins from The Matrix

Guy Fictus: Mark Proksch

When the watchful eyes and cruel judgments of the real world become too much for them, the Neogenian inner circle retreat into an alternate dream space, which they call The Neogenian

Content House. Whenever they need to do “Neogenian things,” they leave the real world and enter this alternate reality. In the House, they are free to create Neogenian content and pursue superstardom, unfettered by objective truth. It’s the hub for Neogenian leadership, where they can… let their hair down. It is a shared palace of the mind, a reified collective delusion. They have authored this place. Just as they have authored every horror found within.

FADE IN

Interior – Neogenian Content House Living Room – Night

From the back, we push in on a figure lounging on a couch. The TV is on. Wayne’s World plays. A nearby clock shows three o’clock, but no seconds tick. In fact, all the hands are static and lifeless.

Closer now to the figure on the couch. The raised hood of their tattered gray sweatshirt conceals their identity for now. The worn upholstery of the once-taupe couch now reflects a vague, unsavory yellow; its weathered cushions slouch in a defeated posture. This seated figure’s posture is also defeated. Like a tired old dog. Habitually unimpressed. Unexcited, and lacking the will to live.

We cut to this person’s face, and it’s revealed to be JAN ERIKSON, bloated to the point of resembling a decomposing corpse. But Jan is alive. Rusty metal implants (made to resemble black devil horns) are fixed to infected flesh on the top of her head. She feeds herself cheese balls and guzzles cheap beer (third can and counting). Her colossal double chin almost seems to be an independent entity. She subtly winces, as if mere existence is somehow painful.

Jan’s eyes aren’t fixed on the TV (which remains at full volume). She is looking at someone who is out of frame. This is revealed to be GUY FICTUS, a rather portly and unimposing man, sitting to the left of the TV in a padded folding chair. There’s something curious about him. His wrists and ankles are bound with ample duct tape.

Guy: Who… the hell are you? W-where am I?

Jan: In The Neogenian Content House. I’m Jan Erikson, the Galloping Gonad. You’ve probably seen me online. I’m terribly famous. This is the epistemic [she means “epicenter”] for building New Terra.

Guy: You kidnapped me? You brought me here?

Guy desperately pulls on his restraints. Jan is irritated by the insolence, yet manages to throw another cheese ball into her mouth, which is washed down with a hearty chug of suds. (So ungrateful, people like this. He was lucky to be getting a peek behind … the curtain. “Know your place.”)

Jan [picking teeth with tongue]: We chose you. We all choose someone…

someone who fits the profile. You’re here with us outside of judgment land. I saw you during Morguey’s livestream… that $200 superchat. Wooo. That’s great. We can use that. I can use that. Will you join my Patreon? [Remembers Morguey’s sales pitch] Help me wake up the world? [Whispers] I’m… trying to overtake Morguey.

Jan grows anxious. Unsure of herself. She quickly turns her head and checks her immediate surroundings. The double chin appears to make neck movement difficult.

Jan (Cont’d): Careful, the Morgues are around here somewhere. [Glancing nervously] I’m just not sure which one.

Guy sweats. (Which one? Was this person insane?)

Guy: Uhm… I like Morgue. I see him — sorry, them — as a great teacher. I don’t think there’s more than one [laughs uneasily], and even if there was, what’d be so wrong with that? [Blushing]

(Guy’s mind races. Did Jan bring him here because she wanted money? Where was “here,” even? The air was different here. Was this her world? He wanted to be part of Morgue’s world, not hers, but couldn’t afford either. What happens when he tells her no?)

Jan sighs heavily. (Imports from the outside world. They sicken her. The only value they have is what they can provide for her. Mere stepping stones to her destiny; to her throne. This “Guy” had no choice but to be swallowed up by her big face, big charisma, and to cough up big donations, right?)

Jan [impatient]: Yeah, dude. Morgue’s alters are like, infinite. Multiplexity [“multiplicity”]. Can’t even keep track. [Burp] It’s obvious. “They/them” pronouns? THEY are fuckin’ LEGION, man. This is how we honor diversity. Many and One.

Guy [eyes widen]: That’s not… not possible.

(He didn’t know what was more troubling: a visibly unhealthy human being, stuffing her face while content to sit in her own gaseous eruptions, or the alarming content of her ass_ertions.)

Jan: Bet you didn’t think being here was possible, either. Look, MORGUEY is the one you see on livestreams. You love him. You need him. Morguey wants to be everything to everyone. He’s your lover, friend, teacher — whatever your little heart desires.

With every different Morgue alter mentioned, we cut to a brief onscreen depiction of that alter’s proclivities; we see each of them in their natural environment.

Morguey’s depiction: we see a person sitting in front of camera/livestream setup. He is animated, yet seems to be molded from plastic. This is his broadcast of the Neogenian signal to the outside world. (Members of the outside world who pick up on his signal long to be here in this special world with him. They long to breathe the rarified air of the “House.”)

He puts a graphic onscreen. Two lists of names. Top Donors and ULTIMATE

Donors.

He removes his shirt in a manner meant to seem off-the-cuff but is clearly orchestrated; he subtly moans as he reaches for a glass of water. (Despite all efforts to appear approachable and in good spirits, cynicism consumes him.

Contrivance defines him.)

If you look closely, there is a subtle, pained grimace and eye-roll between grandiose hand gestures. (He hates this… yet needs it.)

There are hollow sockets where his eyes are expected to be. No one in the chat notices.

He polls his audience, while grooming a short-haired cat (named MORGITE) with a metal brush. The poll asks them to vote on what his interests, values, and philosophy should be going forward. (What kind of human simulation would they prefer him to run?)

Cut back to: Jan (Cont’d): MORGEN [eyes glaze for a moment] is… so strong… so smart… [trails off]. He gave us a place to be special… be diverse. Belong. He taught us about the unity of flesh, and made us world shapers.

For Morgen’s depiction, we see an elf-like Aryan, bathed in mauve-tinted light. Shirtless. Platinum blond hair hangs down below the abdomen. Scowling. He is being photographed, and goes to great lengths to exude what he calls “troubled chic.” He holds a glass of red wine in his right hand, and the photographer is sure to capture deliberate sips, as if this consumption were the most forbidden and daring act one could possibly attempt. His wrists carry the evidence of self-harm, designed to evoke the Stigmata. He wears mascara, meant to add a sense of depth and drama to the insignificance of his eyes. The photographer is revealed to be a younger, thinner Jan Erikson, who gazes upon Morgen, worshipful and enraptured. Behind younger Jan is a tall mirror. Morgen’s eyes never leave it. Spellbound. (Through this mirror, he knows the truth of existence. It is he. He is the Judge, the Lawgiver. It is he who will save us. It has always been he.)

Cut back to… Guy: I thought you wanted to be more famous than him. Jan: That’s Morguey, dumbass. Not Morgen. Try and keep up.

Guy: Sorry.

Jan: There’s others we don’t see much of anymore. Like NIGHT BRINGER and TERROR OF MEN. They’re not gone, though. Just rare, like Pokémon [cackles]! You don’t wanna meet the rare alters, trust me… [trails off and swigs beer].

Night Bringer and Terror of Men are depicted as Satanic twins. Conjoined in spirit. They both have blood-red eyes. The world they see is constantly stained red. Red is the lens through which they see all. (Their own homicidal malevolence is always reflected back at them, and they use this as a sort of twisted justification for their own wretched sowing of chaos, murder, and destruction.

Their will seeks only to inflict pain and exact brutal revenge. Their will be done. These two always wait beneath the surface, begging to be unleashed on the world. Their mind is a garish hellscape of twisted dreams. Of children being ripped limb from limb. Mothers with gashed stomachs. Spilled intestines. Cold cadavers being violated with steel wire drill bits.)

We see Night Bringer in a darkened room. He is obsessively inserting used surgical needles into his face through the brow ridge. He appears to derive sexual pleasure from this, as he rubs himself just below the camera’s view.

The camera pans to the right, and we now see his twin — Terror of Men — inflicting this very same (surgical needle) punishment on another person, who is seated in front of him. This victim is slumped over (perhaps already dead) and appears to be female. Terror uses a large steel hook (often used in extreme stunts) to fish out the victim’s eyeballs from their sockets, and the tendons are severed by way of small pruning shears. (Terror of Men is pleased with himself.)

In the doorway of this room, two figures appear: Morguey and Morgen. Roused and excited, they approach the twins. Morgen licks Night Bringer’s face, deliberately seeking out the surgical needles and using them to puncture his own tongue. His head moves downward (offscreen), and he begins to fellate Night Bringer, who holds Morgen’s hair out of the way.

Morguey goes to Terror, who slips the female victim’s severed eyeballs into Morguey’s hollow eye sockets. Morguey is moved by this act of love and produces a dildo molded in the shape of a unicorn’s horn, stolen from Jan’s room. Wild smells, heavy breathing, and orgasmic squeals fill the room as the camera moves past this impromptu, sweat-soaked carousal to the back corner of the dark room, where a transparent plastic habitat, tiny and forgotten, is seen on the floor. It has a porous lid. Something lives in here.

Jan (Cont’d) (Voiceover): Then there’s one called COREY, who we never see. We don’t talk about Corey.

We continue to push in and slowly boom down on this habitat, and within its dark, damp environment, a small worm becomes visible. This is Corey.

(Corey’s needs are almost nonexistent. He causes no fuss. No protest. He witnesses the others live his life for him. They’re more equipped for it than he is. It’s better this way. This is what he likes. No sunlight. No responsibility. Cold and dark. Endless night, stretching on for eternity.

More darling than the oppressive dawn. Alone. He is “free.” No one will harm him ever again.)

Exit montage of Morgues. Cut to Jan on the couch. By this time, she is clearly DRUNK. Her words slur. Occasionally she appears to “lose consciousness” and enter some unseen fantasy world. (The fact that her current surroundings qualify as a fantasy world seems to suggest that NO reality —

regardless of how artificial or contrived — is acceptable to her.)

Guy begins to panic. (“Her drunken stupor might distract from any malice in her heart. Keep her talking.”)

Guy [softly]: So this house… isn’t real?

Jan: Better than real, honey. Alternate dream space. Like a sub-reality. It’s like… [singing Dean Martin] when you walk in a dream but you know you’re not dreaming, sig-nOor-e. The outside world gets so damn loud, y’know what I mean? And hateful. Here, we can breathe. It’s like a construct we all contribute to. Morgen made it, and we… agreed to it, I guess you could say. We’re free here. Free from them.

Guy: Them?

Jan: Yeah, they wanna kill people like me, and destroy this place. I’m sure you heard what that “Victor” scumbag has been sayin’. Hateful red-rick [“rhetoric”]. They’re afraid of the new world. Afraid of unity.

Guy: Oh… ok.

Jan: That’s why we made this. Why we come here. To be free. To express

…and feel. No one should ever have to think about things they don’t want to. Slaves to thoughts. But you’re not a slave anymore. We’re here to bust you out.

Guy [quaking]: Bust me out?

(“Bust me out of objective reality and into this nightmare world?”)

Jan [drunk; revealing too much]: Wellll, freedom from the outside world comes with two options. Pay to play… we need you to choose… money or flesh… either way, you’re helping New Terra. You can support our work… or we can show you the underlying unity and raise the collective consciousness… which is also supporting our work. [Laughs.]

Guy goes pale… more pale than usual. Guy: Why did you pull me into this world?

Jan: You had potential top-donor status. That big-ass superchat? Shit. You used the Morguey crypto, right? Revenant Coin… tracked you through that. Beep boop ta-da you’re here! I said, “Gimme a chance with him first.” Wanted to level with you, y’know?

Guy: So all you want is money?

Jan: So… you can become a monthly top donor and support New Terra. Or you can experience oneness and support New Terra… I can totally process your payment right here and now.

Guy [through tears]: I don’t… I can’t… I’m not wealthy. I’d donate if I could, I swear. Please believe me! I… have no money. I used everything to buy Revenant Coin. I wanted him to… see me, I guess [embarrassed]. I’m telling the truth. I know that’s probably not what you wanna hear. I’m very sorry… I apologize… please… let me go home!

(Guy’s stomach sinks. He thinks of any way he could deceive this person, but he’s never been good at lying. His mother had told him never to lie.)

Jan: Oh… that’s completely fine… totally… option two is your purpose. Tea- logy [“teleology”].

Guy: Huh?

Jan: Yah, you get to be a gold star, ultra donor! No money required from you, hun. There’s something else, though… you… [singing Biz Markie] you got what I NEE-EED.

Guy: Oh god… no one can find me here, can they?

Jan: Not unless they’re a highly advantageous [“advanced”] mind! [Cackles.]

(And no one would hear him scream. Neogenian HQ. A judgment-free paradise where people could graze freely like beautiful sheep? Or an underworld from which there was no escape?)

Guy [panicking]: Don’t I have to volunteer to be included in your alternate reality? Don’t I have to choose this for myself?

Jan [growing belligerent]: You don’t know what you believe! Idiot. That’s the only reason you can be here! You’re very fuckin’ pliable, aren’t ya? That’s the only way this works! We gave you this gift of reality because we are HIGHLY EVOLVED MINDS, lookin’ to rub our mind juice on smaller minds. That’s no fucking joke. You’re the joke.

Jan rolls her eyes and breathes deeply.

Jan (Cont’d): We’re all one deep down. Sometimes… we just need a little reminding. Let’s tear apart our illusion of separateness! We’ll do it for you!

Guy [aggressively]: You live in A FANTASY WORLD!! But you talk about

reality?! Why don’t YOU face reality?

(Guy surprises himself. Confrontation was not his forte. He normally avoided it at all costs. Raising his voice and sticking up for himself felt… odd. He didn’t much care for it.)

Jan [indignant]: Listen, bitch. I’m creating New Terra! That is my reality! That’s what’s true. That’s what’s real. The outside is… hate and violence. We don’t need their truth! What we need is this House so we can build New Terra in peace. Who wouldn’t wanna support that reality? Meanwhile, what’s your fuckin’ reality? You’re a cis white male? Oh wow. Oh gosh.

Good for you. Hah. [Burp.] Check this out, bitch-face: we all got our place in the world. We all got our role to play. That’s real shit. Reality munches your asshole eventually, hun. [Loud fart.]

(Guy wanted to shrivel up into invisible nothingness. His crime was wanting somewhere to belong. Was that so wrong? Regardless, he was now suffering the consequences.)

Jan (Cont’d): Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a monster. Consent is totally important to me. But this is just the way things gotta go. This is Neogenian reality.

Guy [bargaining]: So, you’re saying there’s a role for me to play. What do you want from me? Who do I need to be?! Maybe I can’t give you money, but I’m sure I can help you in some way! [Pleading.]

(Ever so briefly, it crosses Guy’s mind that he’s always done this. He’s always begged to be included. He’ll play any part requested of him in order to find acceptance.)

Jan [softly]: There’s this… hunger. [Muttering] It’s hungry.

Guy is beside himself. The gloss of heavy sweat covers his entire face. Guy: You’re hungry?!

He looks at the tub of cheese balls. Near-empty. Empty candy wrappers. Strewn about the couch. Scattered, knocked-over cans of Easy Cheese. A spoon sticks out of a jar of mayonnaise.

Guy: Haven’t you been eating this entire time?!

Jan sees Guy looking queasily at the open jar of mayonnaise.

Jan: Oh, that mayo’s not for eating. I rub it on my dick. It’s actually a luxurious treatment for your junk.

(Revulsion and confusion dovetail in Guy’s mind as interlocking partners.)

Jan (Cont’d): I think eating is similar to sex. Think about it — you’re pleasing a hole. It’s total sex! [Eyes glaze.] Dude… I love fuckin’ my face with food!

Guy [softly sobbing]: What more could you possibly want to eat? Jan: Ah, not me. … Loppy is hungry.

Jan suddenly shoots up from her seated position on the couch. Drunk. Unsteady. Dizzy. Gathering balance. Guy looks up at her, slack-jawed. Eyes wide with horror. He sees her immense double chin begin to twitch and pulsate.

Jan is excited. (This was shadow expression, baby. They would write about her. Had there ever been a greater person to do it? The stench of musky sweat. Tangy fear. Jan loved the smell of the hunt. “Yes… fear me, bitch.”)

The bulbous fold of neck fat stretches and expands. Something is beneath.

Jan pulls downward on her neck skin with vigor. The slab of flesh tears at the inferior edge of the mandible and falls to the collarbone in a bloody, sagging pile. This process would seem quite painful, were it not for the fact that she appears to enjoy it.

Jan: Ahhh…

Guy whimpers and screams in short bursts. (“What… is… that?!”)

Beneath the veil of flesh is an embedded, sentient mound. Tumorous. Sickly red-gray. It resides in Jan’s neck. An oversized mouth is its only face. Twisted in a cretinous grin. Teeth seem to be made from steel razors. Perfect for eating. This is known as LOPPY.

Jan: Shadow Season came early. [Cackles.]

Jan approaches Guy, and is now mere inches from the side of his face. Loppy breathes, and slowly opens its mouth wider.

Guy is sure he is about to die. Tears flow.

(For all of his New Age posturing, trauma causes his Abrahamic childhood beliefs to surface once again.)

Guy [blubbering]: Please Jesus!

(Was he in hell? Is this what they called the gnashing of teeth?) Guy (Cont’d): Please… deliver me… father… oh God…

Jan: Shh! You disrespect Morgen and I’ll make sure this takes longer!

Loppy sinks its teeth into the side of Guy’s neck. It avoids the artery, but takes a mound of flesh as payment. (“Just a taste.”)

Guy roars in agony. Blood spurts.

Jan outstretches her arms and throws her head back in a sort of sloppy “ascendant Christ” pose as Loppy chews on shredded flesh. (This was their ritual.)

Jan: I feel. A lot. We have urges.

Jan discovers a quarter-full beer can and takes a gulp.

Jan (Cont’d): Sometimes they’re so strong… sometimes they tell you to do unspeakable things. But we can’t deny them, stupid. I need to feel. Loppy needs to feed. And y’know what? That’s okay. The complete you, y’know? A story of Holeness. Flesh holeness. Then diverse again. Over and over.

Maybe you’ll learn in the next life. We’ll all be there at smegma, even the dummies.

(She is proud of the Neogenian “lesson” she just gave, but doesn’t find Guy to be receptive.)

Jan (Cont’d): I see your mind butthole is hurting right now. I can help with that. We have a great Neogenian who teaches the Hole Course. Him and his little friend — they’re our bald kings. They’ll help you understand Neogenian reality.

(Guy doesn’t want to understand. He wants to go home.) His eyelids are heavy, and his breathing is labored. (Even in the seated position, dizziness overtakes him. He knows the end is soon.)

Jan (Cont’d) [bellowing]: PHIL! GET IN HERE! Bring your little friend with you! YOU’RE UP!

CUT TO BLACK