Under the Neutral Light

MARCY:
“It’s not about replacing you.”

JUSTIN:
“That’s literally what you’re doing.”

MARCY:
“It’s about expanding the conversation.”

JUSTIN:
“What conversation ends with me packing my brushes in a box?”

MARCY (beat):
“Justin, the board loves your work. This is... about innovation.”

JUSTIN (quietly):
“No, this is about predictability. You want paint without the painter. Art without the artist.”

MARCY (carefully):
“You’re brilliant, Justin. But brilliance doesn’t scale.”

(Justin doesn’t respond. The robot in the corner hums to life and drags a perfect cobalt arc across the canvas.)

NICO:
“You look like you screamed into your pillow for three days.”

JUSTIN:
“Close. Just yelled at a PDF instead.”

NICO (grinning):
“Sounds productive.”

JUSTIN:
“You ever see a machine hesitate before it makes a mark?”

NICO:
“Not unless you program it to.”

JUSTIN:
“That’s what I’m saying. No fear. No second-guessing.”

NICO:
“Maybe that’s the point. No ego either.”

JUSTIN:
“But ego is the art. Doubt is part of the fingerprint.”

NICO (leans in):
“So paint. Mess up. You act like you’re dead, but you’re just broke.”

JUSTIN (softly):
“It’s not the money. It’s... I used to be someone they waited for.”

(Nico doesn’t answer. That one hit.)

(Justin sits on the floor. Sketches everywhere. He tries to lift a brush but can’t commit to paper.
His phone lights up: a message to Maya—half-written. He deletes it.)

(He picks up a blank canvas. Stares at it.)

JUSTIN (to himself):
“What if it’s not that they replaced me... What if they just realized I wasn’t essential?”

ELENA:
“You still trying to write a eulogy for your job title?”

JUSTIN:
“I’m trying to find the moment I vanished.”

ELENA:
“You didn’t vanish. You were algorithm’d out of frame.”

JUSTIN:
“Is that better?”

ELENA (leaning back):
“No. It’s worse. No villain to blame. Just clean, invisible choices.”

JUSTIN (pulls a graph from his notebook):
“They call it democratizing.”

ELENA:
“They mean cheap. They mean passive. And they mean—no one has to think about the guy with the sketchpad.”

JUSTIN (quiet):
“You think I should just walk away?”

ELENA (pointed):
“I think you’re still waiting for the world to apologize. It won’t.”

MAYA:
“You ghosted me. You only do that when you’re spiraling or painting.”

JUSTIN (opening the door):
“It was both. Then neither.”

MAYA (hands him food):
“Eat. You get philosophical when you’re starving.”

(They sit. The place is a mess. The heat’s off. Justin hasn’t touched a brush in days.)

JUSTIN:
“They made something that looks like what I make. But it doesn’t feel the same. And no one... seems to notice.”

MAYA:
“They’ll notice eventually. But they might not care.”

JUSTIN:
“Cool. That’s worse.”

(She doesn’t argue. Silence stretches.)

MAYA:
“You remember what you said when you dropped out of design school? You said you wanted to make people feel something they couldn’t explain.”

JUSTIN:
“Yeah. Then I made something a robot could simulate.”

MAYA (soft):
“No, Justin. You made something worth simulating. That’s not the same.”

(Beat.)

JUSTIN:
“I used to think money was evil. Or tech. Or Marcy. But now I think it’s just people. People make choices and never look behind them.”

MAYA (quietly):
“Then make them look. Use it.”

(The canvas is massive. The robot is at the center—painted in cold geometry. Around it: executives, engineers, copies of Justin himself, all blurred, watching. The crowd is hushed.)

NICO (whispers):
“You really did it.”

JUSTIN (nods):
“Yeah.”

TEENAGER (to Maya, unsure if she should say this):
“It feels like... like someone trying not to disappear.”

(Justin hears her. Turns slightly. Smiles—not for show, but real.)

MAYA (to him):
“That’s the first time you smiled in months.”

JUSTIN:
“She got it. That’s all I wanted.”

MAYA:
“What now?”

JUSTIN:
“I don’t know. But for the first time... I’m not scared to find out.”