Memories Forgotten and RemadeINT. STREAKER'S MOTEL ROOM - MORNING
Streaker is still asleep in bed as the morning light peers through the venetian blinds. Commander and Fircoal furtively enter the motel room. Fircoal brandishes a knife, prepared to stab Streaker. He raises his arm, but Commander stops him.
COMM: We're not going to kill him.
CHU: We're not. I am.
COMM: No. We need to set this right.
CHU: He killed my brother. This is setting it right.
COMM: Give me one chance.
Fircoal, begrudgingly, relents. He lowers the knife down to knee level.
CHU: So what're you going to do?
COMM (pulling out a briefcase): Make him remember.
Streaker AKA Leonard Shelby (Memento, 2000)
Non-Town Vengeful Schizo turned
Clueless Schizo Serial Killer has been lynched!

Commander9 AKA Dominic Cobb (Inception, 2010)
Pro Town Mind Controller has won! (1.5 victory)

Fircoal AKA Alfred Borden (The Prestige, 2006)
Non-Town Lyncher and Double Voter has won! (1.5 victory)

Other victors:
Nagerous (1.0 victory)
TA1LGUNN3R (1.0 victory)
Spiesr (1.0 victory)
edocsil (1.0 victory)
sheepofdumb (0.5 victory)
"So that's it?" the producer puffed as he pulled the cuban from his mouth. "That's Chris's last script?" Jonathan was nervous; his eyes jumped around to other tables but there wasn't much to see. The dim light of the restaurant left him isolated under a single incandescent bulb of Damocles, waiting for the producer's verdict.
It was trash. He knew it was trash. When Chris had insisted he write the next script without his input, it had been cause for concern. After reading the first few drafts, it became a cause for panic. All of Chris's stuff had been Hollywood gold with a dash of Chris's independent streak, but this? He didn't even know what it was. An abomination, maybe. Yes, that was it. An abomination. A crime against all the things Chris stood for. Yet here he sat, in a sleazy restaurant where the smoke filtered what little light there was, pitching this script to a corporate kingpin because he had no other options. How can you be here right now? How can you be doing this? How on earth are you going to live with yourself?
"I've got to admit" the producer wafted on a cloud of smoke "this isn't exactly what I was expecting. It's not really Nolan's style. Especially bringing in all of his older characters in. Doesn't seem like something he'd do." Jonathan cringed. Here it comes, he thought. Here comes the disgust, the ridicule, the shame, the loss of reputability in Hollywood. I can't show my face in this town again. He rose. "I'm sorry I wasted your time." he quickly darted as he reached for the abomination. The producer reached out to stop him "Relax, Johnny boy." the smoke relayed with an optimism that disgusted Jonathan. "I'll fund your picture." Jonathan sat back down and stared at the hellfire of the cigar.
The producer ashed quickly and returned the cigar to his mouth. "I know the script's not his best, but it's got some great selling points. I can see it now: 'The last script of the director of
The Dark Knight.' With his name behind it, there's no way we'll lose. It's even got sequel potential! It's perfect in every way! Johnny, you and I are gonna be set for life!" Johnathan sunk down into his chair. The cuban burned away as the kingpin laughed, shooting a smoke signal that spoke his joy for him. It was worse than he had thought.
Thanks to everyone who played! I'll have actions, PMs, and my comments up soon. Feel free to comment, criticize, or whatever.