EXT. PHILADELPHIA CONVENTION CENTER — DAY
The sidewalk is a chaotic sea of neon wigs, oversized foam swords, and people who haven't seen a vegetable in a fiscal quarter. The air is thick with a cloying, humid scent: a mixture of cheap polyester, industrial hairspray, unwashed desperation, and the faint, artificial tang of strawberry Pocky.
CHARLIE is hunched behind a concrete pillar, his body compressed into a tactical ball. He peeks out with the intense, twitchy focus of a man who hasn't slept because he's been "working on his night-moves." His eyes are bloodshot, tracking THE WAITRESS through the crowd. She is power-walking toward the entrance, clutching her badge (which reads: 'The Waitress') like a talisman, looking over her shoulder with visible, vibrating terror.
CHARLIE (to himself, whispering)
She's making a break for the fortress. Very clever. She thinks she can lose me in the crowd of colorful people. She thinks the wigs will baffle my senses. But you can't outrun love, honey. You can't outrun the tracking-smell. I know the scent of your shampoo anywhere... it's like... generic floral mixed with 'avoidance.'
The Waitress sees a massive surge of people in straw hats and red vests. She dives into the center of them like a soldier into a trench, disappearing behind a wall of yellow foam swords.
CHARLIE (lunging forward, arms flailing)
Wait! No! Don't go into the sea of red! It's a trap!
Charlie slams into the crowd. He is immediately buffeted by the "Straw Hat Grand Fleet." He spins, disoriented by the sheer volume of "Gomu Gomu" shouts. He is surrounded by five different LUFFY cosplayers—all of different heights and varying levels of fitness—and a NAMI who is frantically trying to duct-tape a cardboard climate baton back together.
CHARLIE(panicking as the group moves)
Whoa! Whoa! Why are you guys all dressed like... what is this? Are you guys sailors? Are we on a boat? Is this a boat?! I don't have my sea-legs! I'm a land-man!
The crowd shoves him toward a massive, upward-moving escalator.
CHARLIE (screaming as the escalator rises)
We're at the peak! We're descending into the Grand Hall! If we don't hold the handrails, the Sea-Currents will take us! This is Reverse Mountain, baby! I can feel the pressure in my ears!
He tries to "steer" the escalator by leaning his entire body weight aggressively against the rubber handrail, causing a pile-up of fifteen annoyed nerds behind him. At the top, a LUFFY COSPLAYER (a guy in his 20s with a sharp jawline and a straw hat that looks like it cost more than Charlie's apartment) steps forward, striking a hero's pose.
LUFFY COSPLAYER
You looking to join a crew, old man? We're heading for the One Piece! We've got the spirit! We've got the hunger!
CHARLIE (blinking, wiping sweat from his forehead)
The One Piece? Is that... is that like a settlement? Did you guys get a class-action for the wigs? Because I know a guy—a bird-specialist—who handles that kind of law. He's a top-tier lawyer, very familiar with avian-related grievances.
LUFFY COSPLAYER
It's the ultimate treasure! It's everything this world has to offer! Take the map, scout. We've been in this line for three hours. We're losing our minds. We need someone to find the entrance to the screening room before we starve.
He shoves a folded, glossy CONVENTION FLOOR MAP into Charlie's hands. To Charlie's illiterate eyes, the icons for "Vendor Hall," "Autograph Alley," and "Main Stage" look like ancient, glowing runes. There is a massive, bleeding red X over the "Main Stage" area.
CHARLIE (gasps, eyes widening)
It's a real pirate map. I gotta find Mac. I need my First Mate. I need someone who knows how to do a karate-kick if we hit a kraken.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: THE GANG FORMS A PIRATE CREW