INT. PADDY'S PUB — LATE DAY
(Chaos has matured. The kind of late-day Philly chaos where the air itself feels sticky.)
(GOJO is by the front window, casually observing the street like he's watching a nature documentary. The TRACKSUIT GUYS hover nearby, tense. The GANG is scattered in various states of "I am definitely fine.")
DENNIS(pale, sweaty, still trying to look managerial)
Okay. Great. Great. So— now we locate Cricket, we retrieve the product, and then you take this "curse situation" back to Japan and you file it under "not my bar."
GOJO(pleasant, barely listening)
Mm.
MAC(shadowboxing lightly, psyching himself up)
If Cricket is the source, I'm gonna— I'm gonna cleanse him. I'm gonna cleanse the hell out of him.
DEE(fixing her hair in the mirror behind the bar, still in performer mode)
Just remember: if Gojo takes a selfie with me, we can spin this as a collab.
DENNIS(snapping)
Dee, nobody is collaborating with you during a city-wide demonic event.
CHARLIE(holding a beer-soaked rag like it's a relic)
You can collaborate with blessings. Blessings are for everyone.
FRANK(hovering near the trash can by the door, fidgety)
The trash can's got a weird vibe.
DENNIS(whips to Frank)
Stop saying "vibe." You don't get vibes.
(From outside—A DISTANT ROAR of people, like a parade formed out of bad decisions.)
TRACKSUIT #1(tense, peeking out the window)
That sound… is moving toward us.
DEE(half-concerned, half-excited)
Is it my fans?
DENNIS
No, Dee. It's never your fans.
(The BACK DOOR suddenly RATTLES like it's being kicked by the concept of consequences.)
MAC(instantly ready, hands up)
YES. Okay. Okay. This is it. Curse confrontation.
CHARLIE(whispering to his rag)
Hold the line.
(The back door FLIES open.)
CRICKET(bursting in, filthy, wild-eyed, sprinting in place like he's still running)
MOVE! MOVE! THEY WANT MY SOUL!
DEE(screams, jumps onto a barstool)
JESUS CHRIST!
DENNIS(immediate fury)
CRICKET—!
CRICKET(pointing behind him, frantic)
I BROUGHT A MOB!
FRANK(instantly delighted, misunderstanding)
A mob?! That's demand!
(Behind Cricket, through the back doorway—SHADOWS. A wall of people. Phones out. Someone is foaming. Someone is biting a fist.)
MOB (O.S.)
PRIEST RAT!
CURSE DEALER!
GET HIM!
TRACKSUIT #2(eyes wide)
That's him. Street priest rat.
CHARLIE(to Cricket, hurt)
Dude… why would you bring the curse to the holy bar?
CRICKET(offended, still panicking)
I DIDN'T BRING THE CURSE— I BROUGHT OPPORTUNITY!
DENNIS(stepping forward like a man about to complain to God)
You brought vomit into my establishment.
CRICKET(sincere, pleading)
Dennis, I'm being hunted like an animal.
DENNIS
You are an animal.
(Cricket turns—sees GOJO across the bar.)
CRICKET(instant relief, pointing like he found a lifeguard)
OH—THANK GOD—ANIME GUY!
ANIME GUY, FIX THIS!
(GOJO looks at Cricket. Just one clean, clinical look.)
(Then Gojo looks past him—sees the mob—sees the city's general "Philadelphia is doing Philadelphia" thing.)
GOJO(flat, to himself)
That's not curses.
MAC(offended, instantly)
No, it is curses. Look at them. They're frothing. They're feral. That's cursed.
GOJO(still calm)
That's chemicals.
DENNIS(spins on Gojo, furious)
Okay— no— NO—
You don't get to walk in here, declare "chemicals," and then abandon the customer experience.
GOJO(pleasant, already backing toward the front door)
I'm gonna go.
DEE(panicking, chasing him like he's a departing celebrity)
Wait—Gojo— Gojo, no— we didn't even get a photo—
I didn't even do my "American girlfriend" angle!
DENNIS(shouting, voice cracking with outrage)
HEY!
NO!
YOU DON'T JUST LEAVE—
I NEED TO SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERVISOR!
GOJO(smiling like he loves this, then not stopping)
Sure.
(He steps out the front door like he's exiting a gift shop. He's just… gone from the situation emotionally, spiritually, and professionally.)
TRACKSUIT #3(watching Gojo go, confused)
He's… leaving?
DENNIS
YES, HE'S LEAVING! THAT'S INSANE!
MAC(furious, betrayed)
He bailed. The exorcist bailed.
CHARLIE(quiet, devastated)
Saints don't bail.
FRANK(watching the mob swell in the back doorway)
Okay—so we're alone with the mob. That's fine. We can monetize a mob.
(The mob surges into the back room entrance like water.)
MOB WOMAN(screaming, pointing)
THAT'S HIM! THAT'S THE CURSE DEALER!
CRICKET(hands up, trying to reason like a man who's never once succeeded at that)
MA'AM—
I AM A PHILANTHROPIST—
DENNIS(snaps, instantly choosing a narrative)
This is Cricket's fault.
CRICKET(hurt)
How is it my fault?!
DEE(clutching her stomach suddenly, face draining)
Oh—oh my God—
I feel… bad.
MAC(hands on his knees, gagging)
My warrior body is… rejecting poison.
CHARLIE(eyes glassy, sincere)
I think my blood is haunted.
DENNIS(swallowing hard, trying to stand tall while his body rebels)
Nobody is dying. This is a… temporary inconvenience.
(He immediately DRY HEAVES mid-sentence. He recovers like he meant to.)
DENNIS(through clenched teeth)
Temporary.
FRANK(also suddenly pale, sweating)
I don't feel great either.
And I got— I got a good stomach.
I ate a turtle once.
DEE(dry heaving, furious)
I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die in public.
CRICKET(realizing, horrified)
Oh no— did you guys take it?!
Did you take the stuff?!
DENNIS(snaps, pointing at Cricket like it's a lawsuit)
You brought this into my ecosystem.
CRICKET
I brought it into Frank's hands because Frank understands commerce!
FRANK(offended, weak)
I do understand commerce.
CHARLIE(to Cricket, betrayed)
You brought cursed commerce into our holy home.
CRICKET(desperate, to the gang, gesturing wildly at the mob)
GUYS—PLEASE—
Can we do the blaming later and do the saving me now?!
(The mob pushes forward, bodies and noise and phones.)
MOB GUY(frothing)
HE CURSED MY COUSIN!
TEEN(filming, thrilled)
Bro this is like anime!
CRICKET(shouting, outraged)
STOP SAYING ANIME LIKE IT'S A MEDICAL CONDITION!
(Dennis takes one look at the mob… then one look at his own trembling hands.)
He makes a decision that is pure Sunny: survival through cowardly certainty.
DENNIS(already backing away toward the front, authoritative tone)
We're leaving.
DEE(weakly)
Yes.
MAC(gagging, still trying to sound tough)
This is tactical repositioning.
CHARLIE(soft, spiritual)
Retreat is… a blessing.
CRICKET(disbelieving)
Wait— NO— YOU CAN'T JUST—
DENNIS(cutting him off, with finality)
This is Cricket's fault. I don't know how yet. But it is.
(The gang PEELS OFF out the front door in a sloppy line, each one vomiting or gagging or holding their stomach like they're escaping a haunted buffet.)
CRICKET(standing alone now, heartbroken)
Oh my God…
You're abandoning me.
FRANK(as he passes Cricket, weak, accusatory)
You ruined commerce.
CRICKET
I WAS HELPING YOU!
(The mob closes in.)
Cricket tries one last tactic—he points toward the front.
CRICKET(fast-talking, pleading)
WAIT—WAIT—WAIT—
THEY LEFT! THE REAL CULPRITS LEFT!
THEY'RE— THEY'RE—
(No one cares. The mob doesn't do nuance.)
MOB (overlapping, screaming)
GET HIM!
PRIEST RAT!
CURSE DEALER!
CRICKET(small, sincere, doomed)
I just wanted to be a hero.
SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. STREET OUTSIDE PADDY'S — CONTINUOUS
(Cricket bursts out the back alley mouth into the street—
—and gets immediately DOGPILED by the mob like a nature documentary where the gazelle makes a clerical error.)
CRICKET(muffled under bodies)
I WAS HELPING YOUUUU—
(Someone's phone CAMERA FLASHES. Someone yells "WORLDSTAR" like it's 2011.)
SMASH TO BLACK.
ROLL CREDITS.
TAG / MID-CREDITS
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND PADDY'S — NIGHT
(FRANK is in the trash like it's a personal office. He's humming. He's fine now. Because Frank's body is powered by spite and preservatives.)
FRANK(rummaging, focused)
Okay… okay…
There's always value. There's always value in the aftermath.
(He lifts something out: a SHRIVELED, FINGER-LOOKING THING. Dry, ugly, ancient. It looks like it came from a museum that got condemned.)
FRANK(squinting, impressed)
Ohhhh…
That's cool.
(It TWITCHES. Just a little. Like a gross wink.)
FRANK(nods, satisfied)
…Nice.
(Frank immediately pulls out his phone, starts typing with two greasy thumbs.)
FRANK(muttering as he types)
"AUTHENTIC JAPANESE RELIC (REAL)."
"No lowballers."
"Serious collectors only."
(The finger twitches again.)
(Frank pauses, looks at it like it's a business partner.)
FRANK(quiet, conspiratorial)
You and me, pal.
We're gonna make a fortune.
CUT TO BLACK.