COLD OPEN
EXT. SOUTH PHILLY ALLEY — NIGHT
(A humid Philly night. Trash juice. Sirens in the distance. CRICKET is pressed against a brick wall, peeking around the corner like a spy who was trained by hunger.)
CRICKET(whispering, intense)
Okay.
Okay—this is good.
This is righteous.
(Cricket clutches a DUFFEL BAG like it's a newborn.)
CRICKET(nodding to himself)
This is… Drug Robin Hood.
(A beat. Cricket realizes he needs to justify the name.)
CRICKET(quick, defensive)
Which is a hero. Robin Hood's a hero.
He did crimes for the people.
That's like… philanthropy.
(He glances down the alley. A BLACK SUV idles at the end of the block. Two GUYS in track suits—YAKUZA-ADJACENT PHILLY MIDDLEMEN—stand by the trunk.)
MIDDLEMAN #1(incredulous, shouting)
HEY! HEY—!
THAT'S OUR BAG!
CRICKET(hissing)
No, it's not— it's the community's bag now.
(Cricket takes off RUNNING with the duffel. The middlemen chase.)
MIDDLEMAN #2
GET HIM! GET THAT RAT PRIEST!
CRICKET(running, yelling back)
I AM NOT A PRIEST ANYMORE!
I'M A SOCIAL PROGRAM!
(He turns a corner hard—nearly eats pavement—keeps going.)
EXT. UNDERPASS ENCAMPMENT — LATER
(A cluster of HOMELESS GUYS huddled around a trash-can fire. Cricket bursts in like a sweaty prophet with terrible news.)
CRICKET(presenting the duffel)
Gentlemen.
Boys.
Kings.
(He opens the duffel. Inside: baggies. Powder. Pills. Weird little wrapped "samples.")
HOMELESS GUY #1(squinting)
What is that, man?
CRICKET(proud)
Justice.
HOMELESS GUY #2
Is it… crack?
CRICKET(offended)
No. No no no—crack is local. This is international.
This is— this is import.
This is like the iPhone of drugs.
HOMELESS GUY #1
Is it safe?
CRICKET(shrugs, honest)
Safe is a spectrum.
(Cricket starts handing it out with the confidence of a man who has never had a license for anything.)
CRICKET(big, performative)
One for you.
One for you.
One for you—because you look like you've had a hard year.
HOMELESS GUY #3(already snorting)
WOO—!
CRICKET(calmly, like he expected it)
Yep. Okay. That's immediate.
(A GUY in the back takes a pill, then suddenly stands up too fast—eyes wide.)
HOMELESS GUY #4(shouting at nothing)
WHO SAID THAT?!
CRICKET(watching, impressed)
Okay. Interesting.
It's got… kick.
HOMELESS GUY #4(spinning, paranoid)
THE WALLS ARE LOOKING AT ME!
CRICKET(to the group, reassuring)
Alright—alright—that's normal.
That's… transitional.
That's your brain stretching.
(A second guy starts barking at a shopping cart.)
HOMELESS GUY #2
THE CART'S CURSED!
CRICKET(freezes, a beat)
Cursed?
(Cricket nods slowly, filing it away.)
CRICKET(muttering)
Okay… so it's like a themed drug.
(A SCREAM from down the block. More chaos ripples outward in the encampment—people yelling, sprinting, knocking things over.)
CRICKET(eyes narrowing, pragmatic)
Alright.
So maybe… we do smaller portions.
(Cricket reaches back into the duffel and pulls out a FAT HANDFUL.)
CRICKET(suddenly businesslike)
Okay—okay— new plan:
I take some for distribution later.
Because you can't just flood the market. That's how you crash an economy.
(He ties the duffel up and starts moving.)
EXT. SIDE STREET — NIGHT
(Cricket jogs, clutching the duffel. He's talking to himself like a man pitching a TED Talk to the moon.)
CRICKET(whispering)
Drug Robin Hood has overhead.
Robin Hood had overhead.
He had arrows, he had a hat—
This is overhead.
(A CAR DOOR SLAMS behind him. Cricket freezes.)
CRICKET(quiet, panicked)
That's… that's a car door sound.
That's a "they found me" sound.
(He looks back. The two middlemen have multiplied into FOUR. They're gaining.)
MIDDLEMAN #1
YOU THINK YOU CAN STEAL FROM US?!
CRICKET(yelling back as he runs)
I DIDN'T STEAL!
I RE-ALLOCATED!
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND PADDY'S — NIGHT
(Cricket skids into the alley behind Paddy's like he's returning to a nest. He bangs on the back door.)
CRICKET(shouting)
FRANK!
FRANK!
(The door cracks open. FRANK peers out, suspicious, holding a tiny bat like it's a keychain.)
FRANK
What the hell do you want, Street Rat?
CRICKET(panting, desperate)
I got product.
International product.
High-end product.
FRANK(eyes narrowing)
I don't like "international." International means paperwork.
CRICKET(shoving the duffel forward)
No paperwork. Just… opportunity.
And you understand commerce.
FRANK(takes the duffel immediately, hefts it, impressed despite himself)
I do.
(Frank peeks inside. His eyes widen. His brain starts doing evil math.)
FRANK(soft, reverent)
Ohhh… this is nice.
This is fancy.
CRICKET(proud)
Right?!
FRANK(already stepping back inside)
Get in. Get in.
We're gonna cut this, we're gonna move it, we're gonna— we're gonna franchise this.
CRICKET(following, urgent)
Okay—also—small note—
Some of the people I gave it to started saying things like "the cart is cursed."
(Frank pauses. Looks back.)
FRANK(deadpan)
What does that mean.
CRICKET(shrugs)
I don't know. It felt… Japanese?
FRANK(waves it off, dismissive)
They're just high.
(A beat. From OUTSIDE the alley: distant yelling grows louder. Footsteps.)
CRICKET(hearing it, panicking)
No no no no no—
They followed me.
They followed me.
(Frank looks past Cricket, squints into the alley mouth.)
FRANK(calm, annoyed)
Is that the Yakuza?
CRICKET(terrified)
I don't know if it's the Yakuza, Frank!
It's like… Yakuza vibes! It's like… tracksuit Yakuza!
FRANK(suddenly alarmed, clutching the duffel)
OH SHIT.
Okay—no—
If this is Japan debt, I'm not taking the fall for Japan debt.
CRICKET(desperate)
Frank—please— I'm doing a community service!
FRANK(shoving the door)
You did a community crime!
(Frank SLAMS the back door shut in Cricket's face.)
(Cricket stands there, betrayed, breathing hard.)
CRICKET(hurt, whispering)
…Robin Hood didn't have friends either.
He had… Merry Men.
But I don't have Merry Men.
I have Frank.
(The footsteps are CLOSE now. Cricket looks down the alley, eyes wide.)
CRICKET(suddenly loud, bargaining to the universe)
OKAY!
OKAY—NEW PLAN—
I RUN!
(Cricket takes off.)
SMASH TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD:THE GANG GETS CURSED