In the dark early morning, a glass and steel skyscraper towers over the empty downtown streets. A single lighted window resembles a cyclops eye looking out from the sleeping structure.

The single red light on the copier machine shines in the dark room. The button reads STANDBY. A LARGE HAND reaches in and strikes the green ACTIVATE button and a deep whirring sound begins as the copier wakes to life.

The large hand is attached to an even larger man, MIKE. He shambles down the hallway toward the light that shines from a single office.

Football memorabilia and paperwork dominate the office. Game balls, a framed jersey with a blood stain on the shoulder, various trophies, and so on. Surfaces not covered by football junk or general office dreck hold a vast array of empty and semi-empty coffee cups.

Perched on the edge of the vast oak desk is a weathered LASER PRINTER. It looks like it's seen as much time on the field as any football player.

Mike enters the room and pitches a folder atop a pile of folders next to a desk clock. The clock face reads 4:32.

MIKE drops into the leather chair behind his desk. Sighing, he leans forward and grabs a sheet from the printer output tray. He carefully places the page into an open 3-ring binder that sits in the middle of the desk. He snaps the three rings of the binder closed with a CLACK.

Mike turns to the computer and bumps his coffee mug -- almost knocking it to the floor. He wearily pushes the mug into a less dangerous position and enters the final numbers with the computer keypad.

He works the mouse--

Checks the printer status light--

Hits the Ready button--

Flips out the paper output catch--

Returns his attention to the mouse and display--

Mike looks at the wall clock that reads 4:50 AM.

Dramatically he hits two keys to begin printing. The printer warms up. He fidgets with the debris on his desk.

He twiddles his fingers and watches the screen display a variety of status bars such as 'Processing...', 'Spooling...' 'Preparing to print...'.

The printer beeps. Mike scans the printer status lights.

Mike lurches out of his chair and heads out of the room.

As soon as Mike steps through the doorway, the printer audibly snickers behind him.

PTEW! Printer spits out the cable in back.

Mike returns with a fresh ream of paper. He yanks the paper tray out of the printer. Surprisingly, there are still a few sheets in the tray.

Mike shoves the paper tray home and the Paper Out indicator is still lit. He pulls the paper tray again.

He tears open the new ream and shoves a stack of new paper into the tray.

While Mike fixes the paper in the tray, the lights on the printer shimmer in a strange pattern. When he glances at the panel, the lights show the steady Paper Out indicator.

Tenderly, he slides the cartridge back into place.

Whirring sounds as the printer warms up again. Mike drops into his chair.

Flashing on the computer screen.

Examining the printer, Mike sees the end of the printer cable.

He plugs the printer back in.

Mike waits. Drinks from a mug sitting next to the monitor. The cold brackish coffee makes him wince and he slams the cup on the desk. (pause) With resignation, he picks up the cup and drinks again. He taps on his desk, waiting.

The page begins feeding through the printer. Mike's face brightens with elation. KRUMF. The printer eats the rest of the page.

Mike opens the printer, clears the jam.

He hits print again. A page starts printing.

Mike sits with his eyes closed, praying for the right output. The page feeds perfectly out of the printer. Mike opens his eyes.

He grabs the sheet that was spit out. When he glances at it, the smudged page reads: "Error: Offending Command. Please try to print again."

Mike steams for a moment, crumples the paper and throws it aside. He sharply exhales. He puts his hands together as if praying.

He hits print again. Half the page feeds. Mikes does 'come on' hand signals as he silently urges the paper out of the machine.

The page jams and crumples.

Mike sighs. He opens up the front feed door and hits print again.

Clock reads 5:42

Sound of paper crumpling.

Clock reads 6:37

(O.C.) Mike shouts and curses the printer.

Clock reads 7:05

Mike stares into space, his hair disheveled. Covered in toner he sits in a room filled with sheets of crumpled, half printed paper.

The INTERCOM on the phone buzzes.

Mike stares at the phone in horror. He glances up at the clock. He straightens his tie poorly.

Hesitantly, he hits the button to pick up. A voice booms from the intercom speaker.

Mike mimics 'Knew I could count on you.' He looks down at the printer, stares at the wall a moment, and then reaches for a pen and paper.

We see a page with a hand written grid of numbers on lined paper. It's the first page of a report folder that Mike holds. Sweat beads on his upper lip. Mike slowly closes the report and makes the sign of the cross.

He turns to stare at the printer and his gaze is deadly.

Car idles by the curb.

Mike engages in elaborate driving preparation. He pulls on a pair of leather racing gloves, checks all the car gauges, smooths down his hair, and revs the engine. The smile in his eyes spreads to his lips.

He puts the car into gear and hits the gas.

The car barrels down the street.

The printer sits in the middle of the street lane.

Car revs and gains speed.

The printer sits.

Mike speeds up and laughs manically.

Mike's joy disappears. He gasps at what he sees through the windshield.

The printer magically takes a short hop toward the other

lane. It hops again.

Mike floors it.

Printer makes several hops and gets out of the way.

The car goes by the spot previously occupied by the printer. Mike slams on the brakes.

Mike turns the car around for another pass. The car sprints toward the printer.

Mike focuses intently on the road ahead.

The printer again hops out of the way and leaps onto the

curb.

The car pulls to the curb. Mike pops the trunk and gets out of the car. He walks around to the back and grabs a large, heavy crowbar.

Mike walks menacingly toward the printer. In the gutter next to the printer is a glass bottle. Testing, Mike swings the end of the bar down on it. The bottle shatters easily.

He hefts the weight of the crowbar and smiles. He turns toward the printer. As he lifts the crowbar over his head, the printer mewls.

Mike looks confused.

Printer mewls again.

Mike slowly lowers the crowbar. He shakes the bar over the printer.

Mike sighs.

Mike sits on the sidewalk next to the printer. He disgustedly throws the crowbar into the street.

MINA walks up and a shadow falls across Mike.

Mike shakes his head.

The printer makes a noise like it's warming up. A sheet feeds into the output tray. Mike grabs the paper. It's a cartoon picture of Mina standing by the curb.

A second picture prints of cartoon Mina bending over. Mike looks puzzled.

A third picture prints and when Mike looks at it, he flinches. He looks again and flinches again.

A light bulb goes off in Mike's head. He smiles and glances at the printer.

Behind his desk, Mike pats the printer happily as it spits out pages. Two folders sit closed in front of him.

The intercom buzzes. The voice on the intercom is grumpy.

Mike looks at his computer screen that shows a web page for 'Horny Virgin Sluts.'

Ignoring the voice, Mike picks up the two folders.

Mike looks down and the intercom light is already off.

Mike sighs, opens a drawer, and takes out an empty folder. Mike grabs all of three folders and heads for the copy room.

After a few moments, a knock at the half open door.

Donna walks into the room. She spots the stack of paper in the printer.

She reaches for it.

> FADE TO BLACK.

> FADE OUT.