FADE IN:

A large office building.  People are coming and going; traffic
is non-stop.  This is Corporate America at its best... and
hungriest.

INT. CAFETERIA – DAY

It is a modest company cafeteria.  It's not lunch time, so the
cafeteria isn't crowded.  But there are about a dozen people
around one of the tables.  There's a cake on the table.  The
icing decoration has "CONGRATULATIONS" in it.

Of the people at the table, one of them is WANDA.  She's in her
thirties, attractive, and sensibly dressed in business attire.
She is the guest of honor at the small celebration.  She's
pleased for the attention and a little bit embarrassed.

BOB is also at the table.  He looks older and a bit more beaten
down than Wanda.  He's wearing a nice shirt and tie, with his
sleeves rolled up.  He's not a happy person, but he's trying not
to show it.

CRAIG isn't the last person at the table, but he's the last
person that matters.  He is the boss.  He's an executive,
somewhere in his fourties.  Like Bob, he's shed the suit coat.
But he hasn't rolled up his sleeves, so he looks more refined.

                        CRAIG
                 (raises coffee cup)
          Congratulations, Wanda.  You've been working
          hard.  You deserve the promotion.

The others raise their cups as well.  There is a general round
of "yea" and "congratulations" and similar things.  Bob joins
in, but his heart isn't in it.  Craig indicates the cake and
addresses the guest of honor.

                        CRAIG
          Wanda, your cake awaits?

                        WANDA
          Of course.

She picks up the knife and proceeds to cut the cake.

EXT. OFFICE BUILDING – DAY

Life goes on.  The metal and meat machines dance their corporate
dance.

INT. BOB'S HOUSE – NIGHT

It's dark as the sound of a key being inserted into a lock is
heard.  The door swings open and Bob flips on the entry light.
His place is small and slightly cluttered.  He's not a slob, but
he doesn't always immediately clean up after himself.

                        BOB
                 (mumbles to himself)
          Stupid bitch.  That should've been my
          promotion.

He tosses his keys onto the entry table and kicks the door shut.

                        BOB
          I'll fix her.

He walks to the bookshelf in the front room.  He turns on the
light above the shelves.  He pulls a few books off of the top
shelf so he can reach behind them.  He pulls out a very old book
and returns the others to their shelf.

The book is very old; it was published in the mid-1800s.  Its
pages are brown with age and unevenly cut.  Bob holds it
carefully.  He cradles the book as he turns pages, not wanting
to fully open the book and cause damage to the fragile binding.

He finds the diagram he wants and looks around for appropriate
space.  The front room floor will have to do.  He marks the page
and sets the book aside so that he can move the coffee table out
of the way to clear the floor.

He pauses, looking at the floor; then it comes to him.  He
disappears into the kitchen, but soon returns with a roll of
masking tape.  Referring to the book, he duplicates the diagram
onto the floor using the tape.

The next step is to light a few candles and dim the lights.
With the atmosphere properly set, he gets the book, goes to his
knees, and starts reciting the chant from the book.

                        BOB
          Ego Lar sum familiaris, ex hac familia, /
          Unde exeuntem me aspexistis, Hanc domum /
          Iam multos annos est cum possideo, et colo /
          Patrique, auoque iam huius qui nunc hic
          habet.

A knock at the door interrupts Bob.  He looks at the door in
annoyance before deciding to ignore the intrusion and continue.

                        BOB
          Reddita, quisquis is est, Summano templa
          feruntur, / Tum, cum Romanis, Pyrrhe,
          timendus eras.

The knock this time is more insistent.  Bob looks up and shakes
his head.  He marks the page and puts the book safely on the
coffee table before answering the door.  He opens the door only
a crack because the diagram can be seen from the door.

DAGREF is on the other side of the door.  He is thirty- to
fourty-something years old, wearing an expensive-looking
pinstripe suit.  He looks friendly enough to diffuse some of
Bob's irritation.

                        BOB
          Can I help you?

                        DAGREF
          Hello, Robert.

                        BOB
          Do I know you?

                        DAGREF
          No, we've never met before.

                        BOB
          How do you know me?  What do you want?

                        DAGREF
          May we discus this inside, rather than at
          your front door?

Bob hesitates only for a short time.  He eventually opens the
door and stands out of the way.

                        BOB
          Come in then.

                        DAGREF
          Thank you.

Dagref enters and Bob closes the door.

                        BOB
          Okay, who are you and what do you want?

                        DAGREF
          No, I think the question is what do you
          want?

                        BOB
          Look, I'm kinda busy right now--

                        DAGREF
          You asked for me.

                        BOB
          What?  I asked for you?

                        DAGREF
          Well, not me directly.  You're looking for
          assistance from my... employer.

Bob looks at Dagref for a moment, then turns to look at the
diagram on the floor.  He finally puts it together.  He looks a
bit scared as he turns to face Dagref again.

                        BOB
                 (nervously)
          You mean you're...

                        DAGREF
          Merely an assistant.  I am Dagref.  My...
          employer rarely makes personal appearances.

Bob glances at the diagram again.

                        BOB
          But aren't you supposed to appear in the
          circle, mister Dagref?

Dagref looks mildly amused and walks toward the diagram.

                        DAGREF
          It's just Dagref, no mister...

He stands in the center of the diagram.  He faces Bob and holds
out his arms illustratively.

                        DAGREF
          ...And I can stand here if it will make you
          feel better.

Bob thinks briefly.

                        BOB
          I guess it doesn't matter at this point.

                        DAGREF
          No, it doesn't.

He moves out of the diagram.

                        DAGREF
          So, let's try again.  What can I do for you?

                        BOB
          I'll sell my soul to get ahead of Wanda at
          work.

                        DAGREF
          It's that important to you?

                        BOB
          Look at me: no family, no friends.  Work is
          all I have.  And I'm tired of seeing
          everyone but me promoted.

Dagref sets a thin briefcase on the coffee table.  Wait a
minute.  Did he have that briefcase when he entered the room?
He opens the briefcase and extracts a standard soul-sale
contract, which he hands to Bob.

                        DAGREF
          This is all it takes.

Bob takes the contract, not without some apprehension, and
starts reading.

                        BOB
          It's already filled out.  The details are
          all here.

                        DAGREF
          I believe you'll find all of the particulars
          are in order.

Bob continues his reading.

                        DAGREF
          There's even a clause stating that
          fulfillment is based on your intent, not on
          some ironic twist that meets the letter of
          the contract without meeting the spirit of
          the contract.

Bob is satisfied.

                        BOB
          Where do I sign?

                        DAGREF
          There's a box on the last page.  It only
          requires a drop of your blood.

Bob flips to the last page where there is a single box at the
end of the text.

                        BOB
          What about you?  Don't you have to sign, or
          use blood, or something.

Dagref indicates the briefcase.

                        DAGREF
          I have a stamp and a power of attorney.

Bob turns it over in his mind.

                        BOB
          Well... okay then...

He sets the contract on the coffee table then looks at his
finger as if to think, "how do I get the blood out?"

Dagref clears his throat to get Bob's attention.  Bob looks at
Dagref, who indicates a large pin sitting on the coffee table.
Was that there before?

Bob takes the pin and looks at Dagref one last time before
sticking the pin into a fingertip.

                        BOB
          Ouch!

                        DAGREF
          It wouldn't mean anything if it was
          painless.

Bob squeezes one drop of blood into the box on the contract.
The blood is immediately absorbed into the paper.

                        DAGREF
          Thank you.

He stamps the contract then places the contract and stamp into
the briefcase.  He snaps the briefcase closed and picks it up.

                        DAGREF
          Now, if you'll just follow me.

He heads for the door.

                        BOB
          Excuse me?

                        DAGREF
          It's time to go.

                        BOB
          Go where?

                        DAGREF
          Hell, of course.

He opens the door onto a fire-blasted landscape.  Sounds of
torment and suffering reach Bob's ears.  Bob is scared now.

                        BOB
          No!

                        DAGREF
          Anyone who makes a deal like this is damned
          immediately.  It happened as soon as your
          blood hit the paper.  My stamping it was
          merely for show.

                        BOB
                 (desperately)
          But we have a contract.

                        DAGREF
          So?

                        BOB
          What about your side of the bargain?

                        DAGREF
          I choose not to honor it.

                        BOB
          But you can't do that.  That's cheating.

                        DAGREF
          So sue me.

He chuckles to himself over that one.  He indicates the doorway.

                        DAGREF
          Let's go.  I can't waste my whole night
          here.

                        BOB
          But... but...

His complaints fade as he reluctantly shuffles out the door.
Dagref follows behind and closes the door.  Silence.


                                                   FADE TO BLACK.



                             The End