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Director Eva Rostova’s office makes most people uncomfortable, which is exactly how she designed it. The space is deliberately austere, stripped of personal touches or warmth. The art on the walls is abstract and expensive, chosen not for beauty but for what it communicates about power and taste. The furniture is minimalist, forcing visitors into positions where they must look up at her, where they must feel small. It is a theater, really. Everything she does is theater.
Claire Davis sits across from her now, reading the preliminary contract with barely concealed dread. Rostova watches her face, tracking each micro expression as she processes the non disclosure agreement. The pupils dilate slightly. The jaw tightens. The breath catches. It is predictable and perfect.
Rostova keeps her own expression neutral, professionally pleasant. This is the critical moment, where the actress could still bolt. But she will not. Rostova has studied her financial records, her eviction timeline, her complete lack of options. Claire Davis has nowhere else to go. People with no options always make the same choice, which is to survive at any cost.
“This is a preliminary agreement,” Rostova explains, using the calm tone she perfected in business school. “It binds you to the project’s secrecy protocols while we finalize the full performer contract and medical addendums.”
She watches Claire process this, sees the conflict playing across her face. The actress wants to refuse, wants to throw the contract back and storm out with her dignity intact. But dignity is a luxury Claire cannot afford anymore. Rostova made sure of that.
When Claire finally signs, Rostova feels a small satisfaction. It is not pleasure exactly, she is not cruel, but there is a certain gratification in correct predictions, in understanding human behavior so thoroughly that you can orchestrate outcomes with precision.
Claire will resent her for this. She probably already does. But resentment does not matter. Results matter. And Fatal Script needs Claire Davis specifically, with all her intelligence and passion and barely contained rage. The algorithm will feed well on that combination.
After Claire leaves, Rostova pulls up the actress’s complete file on her tablet. It is extensive, compiled over two years of systematic observation. Financial records, social media activity, failed auditions, declining mental health markers. Everything is mapped and analyzed. The blacklist was regrettable but necessary. Claire’s exposé about the stunt coordinator incident could have cost Helios millions in legal fees and reputation damage. The company had to make an example, had to show what happened to whistleblowers.
But Rostova always knew Claire would be useful eventually. Talent like hers does not disappear simply because the industry rejects it. It just gets desperate. And desperate talent is pliable talent, willing to accept terms they would have laughed at during better days.
She opens another file, this one marked HEARTLINE ALGORITHM - STATUS REPORT. The neural interface technology was not developed for entertainment. Helios acquired it from a medical research company that went bankrupt before clinical trials could be completed. The original purpose was therapeutic, helping patients with emotional regulation disorders.
Rostova saw a different application immediately. Entertainment has always been about emotional manipulation. Movies make you cry, laugh, feel fear or joy on command. But it has been passive, guesswork based on test audiences and focus groups. The Heartline changes that completely. It reads emotional responses in real time and adjusts the content to maximize engagement.
The test results have been extraordinary. Viewers wearing tracking bands show addiction level neural responses, their brains lighting up with dopamine hits that rival gambling or drugs. The algorithm learns what they want before they know they want it, and then it delivers that precise emotional experience.
But the real breakthrough came when they realized the technology could work in reverse. The neural implants do not just read emotions. They can influence them through subtle feedback loops, tiny electrical impulses that nudge thoughts in specific directions. The actors do not even realize it is happening. They think the emotions are their own. That is where Fatal Script becomes revolutionary. The actors will generate authentic emotional performances because they will believe every feeling is genuine. The algorithm will guide them through perfectly crafted narrative arcs, and they will think they are making their own choices.
Claire Davis is perfect for this because she already distrusts everything. Her paranoia will make her performances more intense, more desperate. The audience will eat it up.
Rostova’s tablet chimes with a notification. Ben Malik has approved Claire’s preliminary file. Good. The data scientist has been difficult lately, showing signs of ethical concerns that border on liability. But he is too invested in the Heartline to sabotage it. He built the algorithm from the ground up, and it is his life’s work. People do not destroy their legacies, no matter how guilty they feel.
She opens the production timeline. Preliminary casting sessions tomorrow, then the final contract presentation. After that, the implant procedure and two weeks of emotional calibration to tune the algorithm to Claire’s specific neural patterns. Then they will bring in the co star and begin actual filming.
Cal Millers is the other critical piece. Ex industry insider turned rogue producer, known for his rebellious streak and talent for making viral content. He applied for the producer position three months ago with an impressive portfolio and even more impressive references. Too impressive, actually. Rostova’s security team flagged him immediately as suspicious, and a deeper investigation revealed his true agenda. He is trying to breach Helios security to expose corporate malfeasance, probably planning to leak evidence to underground media outlets.
Normally, she would have rejected him outright and added him to the blacklist. But then she ran his profile through the Heartline’s compatibility algorithms and cross referenced it with Claire Davis’s patterns. The match was extraordinary. Their emotional frequencies synchronized in ways the algorithm had never predicted before. Put them together, and the resulting neural data would be explosive.
So she approved him, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. Let him think he is infiltrating successfully. Let him believe he is the spy in the system. The algorithm will use his rebellion, his passion, his growing attachment to Claire. By the time he realizes he has been played, it will be too late. Fatal Script will have consumed them both.
Rostova closes the files and looks out her window at the city sprawling below. Fifty floors up, individual people become irrelevant. They are just data points, neural patterns, emotional content to be harvested and monetized.
Some people would call this monstrous. Rostova calls it evolution. Entertainment has always exploited performers. She is just more efficient about it, more honest in her exploitation. And the performers sign the contracts willingly, which absolves her of any ethical concerns. Free choice means accepting consequences.
Her phone buzzes with a text from her assistant, confirming Claire’s 10 AM appointment tomorrow. Everything is proceeding on schedule. She allows herself a rare moment of satisfaction. Fatal Script will be the most successful show in television history. The ratings will be unprecedented, the cultural impact immeasurable. And she will be the architect who made it possible.
Claire Davis will hate her for it. Ben Malik will be consumed by guilt. Cal Millers will rage against the cage he walked into willingly. None of that matters. What matters is that the show will succeed, the algorithm will perfect itself, and Eva Rostova will have created something that changes the industry forever.