Night.

We open on a single guy, in an ultra-apartment with glass walls. The sodium streetlights of the Valley twinkle below. With the telescope on his porch, he can still see the apartment where he slept in a closet and ate Dollar Store groceries for six years. A very expensive minimalist computer system with a massive screen stares him in the face. The cup of green tea in front of him has gone cold, perched on a neat stack of opened envelopes rubber-stamped "Past Due". He stares with little hope as the cursor winks in a sea of unwritten white. In a rush, he starts to type.

Posting in an online forum, he positions himself as an up-and-coming tale-teller willing to help to those who have not yet found their creative footing. But the truth is, tomorrow he has the biggest pitch meeting of his life. And he has nothing. Unfortunately for him, no one with half a brain trusts anyone on the Internet. Beyond a few infantile taunts and one self-important meta-rant, the idea falls flat. No one is willing to pitch online, for fear that he will steal their ideas. Which is of course what he was hoping to do. Defeated, he passes out in his chair. All is black and noiseless...when a nightmare about a brutal bill collector rousts him from a fitful sleep. Did he just hear a knock at the door? It's 3 AM. Ridiculous. No, of course not.

Making his way towards his bedroom, he hears it again. Quiet, almost tentative, but most surely the knock of a human hand upon his door. Checking his security camera, he sees a manila envelope laying on his welcome mat. Checking the rest of the security cameras, he finds no one else on his property. And opens the door.

Written in a neat script are the words, "And the envelope, please…" inside is a single sheet of stationary with a street address not far from his home.

"What the hell," he thinks to himself. He gets in an expensive if understated car, and drives to the luxurious home. A single light is on inside, and he can see a piece of paper taped to the entryway that matches the one in his hand. Approaching the front door, which is ajar, he sees the paper's message, scribed in the same efficient and elegant script: "In this town people will do anything to get a head..."

Taking a breath, he steps inside. There is something wet on the floor...

Black. Smash cut to the following day. Inside the gleaming offices of the Artists' Creative Agency, our young gentleman has just made a profitable sale. The mood in the room is electric. And no one seems to care that the cover of the script in his hands appears flecked in blood...

Nightcrawler meets Swimming with Sharks in... The Plagiarist, an anti-Entourage fight club tailored to today's discerning bingewatchers.