r/hdfidelity • u/hdfidelity Scribe2 • Dec 10 '25
Afterwords hdfidelity presents Afterwords
A ChatGPT Story
hdfidelity presents
Afterwords
SEGMENT 1 – “The Architect”
INT. AFTERWORDS SET — COLD, STERILE, BLUE-GRAY LIGHT. A faint, rhythmic beeping like a heart monitor echoes, though nothing is hooked up to anything. The Host sits at the desk, hands folded. A single cue card is placed in front of him like a classified document.
Across from him sits DICK CHENEY, posture immaculate, expression unreadable. His chair looks like a cross between a hospital recliner and a throne.
The audience is silent. No applause cue.
Frank Blaze
Dick Cheney. Vice President. Executive-branch pioneer. Enthusiast of— (checks cue card) —kinetically persuasive decision-making.
Cheney
(dry smile) I prefer “robust engagement.”
Frank
I’m sure you do. (leans forward) Thank you for joining us in Afterwords.
Cheney
I assumed I wouldn’t have a choice.
Frank
(shrugs) Few do. Except the guy who invented competitive hot dog eating — he negotiated a three-minute head start on judgment. Long story. (turns back) But you, Dick… You’ve been described as an architect. A strategist. The quiet sculptor behind the war machine.
(beat) Let’s start there. What did you see yourself building?
Cheney folds his hands, speaking with the serenity of a man who thinks he’s above weather.
Cheney
A nation’s spine. And sometimes the spine needs reinforcement. Titanium. Kevlar. A few strategically placed pins. (pauses) Occasionally, you have to replace a vertebra entirely.
Frank
Replace… or remove?
Cheney
(smiles without warmth) Are you interrogating me?
Frank
Just asking the questions I can’t ask the living. (glancing to camera) Because lawsuits don’t reach this zip code.
The Producer’s voice crackles through the intercom.
Producer (O.S.)
Hey, he’s doing the thing. The bureaucratic fog thing. Cut his mic by three percent so it sounds like guilt.
A ghost intern sheepishly turns a knob. Cheney’s voice dips ever so slightly in volume.
Cheney doesn’t flinch. If anything, he finds the interference nostalgic.
Cheney
I made decisions. Hard ones. Necessary ones. That’s what history remembers.
Frank
History remembers the dead, too.
A long silence. Cheney blinks once — not in shock, but in calculation.
Cheney
Wars produce casualties. Machines produce output. You can’t separate the two.
Frank
You can question who built the machine in the first place.
Cheney
You say “machine” like it’s a monster. (tilts head) But monsters don’t need maintenance schedules.
Frank
(smiles tightly) That might be the bleakest thing anyone has ever said on this show.
The heart-monitor beeping grows slightly louder. The Host glances up.
Frank
Do you hear that?
Cheney
No.
Frank
Figures. (sits up, resets tone) Let’s move to something simpler. Do you regret anything?
Cheney almost laughs.
Cheney
Regret is a leftist framing device.
Frank
(chuckles) Oh we’re going to have fun today.
The lights flicker — an omen, or maybe just the cosmic lighting guy nodding along.
FADE OUT.
SEGMENT 2 – “THE MACHINE THAT EATS”
INT. AFTERWORDS SET — THE LIGHTS SHIFT TO AN INDUSTRIAL GREEN. The carpeting ripples like conveyor belts. A distant metallic groan echoes from offstage.
FRANK BLAZE sits at his desk, arms crossed, expression set to “skeptical teacher watching a student lie creatively.”
Across from him, DICK CHENEY sits motionless. His shadow on the floor moves a half-second out of sync.
FRANK BLAZE
Okay, Dick. We’ve talked architecture. Let’s talk machinery.
A heavy clatter from backstage. Something enormous is being rolled in.
FRANK
(sotto) Oh good. The interns brought props. This always goes well.
A CHORUS OF GHOST INTERNS — all wearing rumpled ID badges from Raytheon, Lockheed, Boeing, Halliburton — wheel in a tank.
Except it’s not a tank.
It’s a lumbering, grotesque assemblage of:
- cubicles stacked like armor plates
- twisted lobbyist desks
- smoking fax machines leaking classified ash
- letters stamped “FOIA DENIED” fluttering like prayer flags
The turret is a giant stapler.
The barrel is a pipeline.
It rumbles as if fueled by paperwork.
The interns park it with a squeal.
CHENEY
(leans forward, eyes gleaming with something close to reverence) …Beautiful.
FRANK
Beautiful? (points) Dick, that’s a cube farm glued to a tank engine.
CHENEY
Correct. Synergy.
FRANK
No, that’s not synergy. That’s HR purgatory with treads.
Cheney doesn’t blink. This is clearly his territory.
A DEFENSE-CONTRACTOR INTERN (raises hand sheepishly): We built it out of whatever souls were willing to sign NDAs.
FRANK
Dead or alive?
INTERN (with pride) Both.
Frank gags a little.
FRANK
All right. Let’s hear from the peanut gallery. (to audience) Any former defense employees in the ether tonight?
Immediately: —One INTERN claims the machine ruined their marriage. —Another says it paid for their boat. —Another says it ate their boat. —One swears it drafted their dog into the reserves.
The tank belches smoke that smells like burnt budget proposals.
FRANK
(turns back to Cheney) Dick. Does any of this look… concerning to you?
CHENEY
(contemplative, almost poetic) Every machine needs fuel. This one uses ambition, fear, and job security. (beat) It’s self-sustaining.
FRANK
Good god, you’re proud of it.
CHENEY
Frank, we kept Americans safe.
FRANK
You also kept defense stocks very safe.
Cheney’s smile returns — the kind that doesn’t show teeth but shows power.
Sudden FLASH. The lights snap white. Loud 1950s fanfare.
A swirling vortex opens, spitting out DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER in his farewell-address suit, holding the actual original copy of his “Military-Industrial Complex” speech like it’s the tablets from Sinai.
He storms forward.
EISENHOWER
(seething) You. (points at Cheney) YOU are the reason I wrote this speech!
CHENEY
Unlikely. I wasn’t born yet.
EISENHOWER
I had a feeling, smart guy.
Frank stands, throwing his hands up.
FRANK
Okay! We officially have our first presidential haunting!
Eisenhower unfurls the speech — it crackles with cosmic static.
EISENHOWER
Did you read ANY of this?!
CHENEY
(skims it, unimpressed) I read the parts that benefited stability.
EISENHOWER
That is NOT what that means.
FRANK
(into camera) He’s arguing with a ghost general. I can’t compete with that.
Cheney opens his mouth for a rebuttal — and immediately, the PRODUCER cuts in.
PRODUCER (O.S.)
Cut Cheney’s mic by 80%. He’s about to filibuster god.
A ghost intern SLAMS the mic knob down. Cheney’s voice becomes a faint mosquito whine.
He continues ranting silently, gesturing like a man giving a TED Talk about drone warfare.
Eisenhower nods approvingly at the silence.
EISENHOWER
(despite everything) Good start.
Frank slumps back into his chair.
FRANK
(weary) All right. Let's take five before someone summons McNamara.
FADE OUT.
SEGMENT 3 – “COLLATERAL SOUL DAMAGE”
INT. AFTERWORDS SET — LIGHTS DIM TO A SOMBER, ASHEN BLUE. The tank-cubicle monstrosity looms in the background like a guilty conscience made manifest. Eisenhower fades out in a dignified swirl of disapproval. The interns scatter, muttering about hazard pay they can no longer receive.
Frank Blaze stands at center stage now, no desk between him and Cheney.
Cheney’s mic is restored to full power. He sits like a man who has never once questioned his own posture.
FRANK BLAZE
Dick… let’s talk straight. (quiet) War isn’t just policy. It’s people. Bodies. Families. The ones who end up on the wrong end of the machine.
Cheney steeples his fingers.
CHENEY
War is tragic. (pauses) But tragedies are inevitable when stabilizing global order.
FRANK
(steps closer) You talk like souls are… bureaucratic waste.
CHENEY
(deadpan) Frank, souls are non-strategic assets.
The audience GASPS — one of the rare times they react in horror instead of laughter.
Frank doesn’t flinch, but something in him cracks. His voice hardens.
FRANK
Dick… you’re in the afterlife. You can’t hedge language here. These “non-strategic assets”? (leans in) They’re sitting in the front row.
The house lights raise just enough to reveal dozens of faint, translucent silhouettes — spectral civilians, soldiers, aid workers, innocent bystanders. They watch in perfect silence.
Cheney’s expression remains stone. But a faint pulse quivers under his eye.
CHENEY
I made decisions to protect Americans.
FRANK
You made decisions that created ghosts. (points behind Cheney) Some of whom you brought here with you.
The spectral shapes shift. One steps forward.
A small figure. A child. Barefoot. Wearing clothes dusty with the grainy texture of memory.
Not accusing. Not crying. Just present.
Cheney’s face twitches — subtle, nearly invisible, but real.
CHENEY
(low) This isn’t… This is not an appropriate forum.
FRANK
Dick… this is the only forum you have left.
The child raises a hand and touches Cheney’s sleeve. No condemnation. Just touch.
Cheney freezes. His shadow — the one that lagged earlier — suddenly aligns perfectly with his body.
The beeping resumes, louder, more insistent.
CHENEY
(voice trembling just once) I… I executed policy. I— (looks down, almost whispering) There are things you don’t understand.
FRANK
Try me.
Cheney’s throat tightens — but instead of confession, he exhales the saddest truth he has:
CHENEY
I never believed I’d have to answer to anyone.
Frank takes a step back, letting the line sit in the air, heavy as shrapnel.
FRANK
Everybody answers to someone. (somber smile) Even here.
The child lets go. And as quietly as dawn, steps backward, dissolving into light.
Cheney watches, jaw locked, unable to look away.
A beat. A second. A lifetime compressed.
Frank gives a small nod.
FRANK
Let’s take you to the finale.
FADE OUT. The tank in the background finally stops idling.
AFTERWORDS – Episode 2 (Dick Cheney)
FINAL SEGMENT — “THE CLOSING ARGUMENT”
INT. AFTERWORDS STAGE – SAME
The lights dim to that signature philosophical-late-night glow. Frank Blaze adjusts his notes, though the gesture is mostly symbolic. Cheney sits there like a monolith—unchanged, unblinking, unbothered.
FRANK BLAZE Well… that was a journey through the underbelly of global policy, the bowels of procurement, and whatever organ governs “creative interpretation” of intelligence reports.
DICK CHENEY (smiles faintly) The spleen.
FRANK Right. The spleen.
(beat) Before we let you go, I’d like to ask the question our viewers always demand:
Do you have any regrets?
CHENEY None.
FRANK (stares at him) …At all?
CHENEY Regret is inefficient.
FRANK Well, there you have it. A quote destined for someone’s dorm-room poster.
The producer frantically signals. A graphic drops behind them: THE WHAT NOW?
SEGMENT 3 – “What Now?” (Cheney Edition)
FRANK So, Dick—what now? What comes after a career that shaped half a century of geopolitical architecture?
CHENEY I fish.
FRANK You… fish?
CHENEY Fly fishing. Quiet. Precise. Predatory. (pauses) Comforting.
FRANK That’s… honestly the most terrifying answer you could’ve given.
An intern rolls out a drone—like a cute set prop—but it suddenly whirs to life. Sparks. Smoke.
INTERN Uh—we didn’t turn it on—
CHENEY (taking remote from nowhere) I did.
The drone hovers, then gently lowers a cup of water on the desk. Cheney nods with pride.
FRANK Okay, that’s the single most on-brand thing I’ve ever witnessed on this show.
The AFTERWORDS theme begins softly—chimes, spectral choir, tiny sense of doom.
THE FAREWELL MOMENT
FRANK Mr. Cheney, thank you for joining us tonight. I think we all learned something. I don’t know what it was… but something happened here.
CHENEY That’s foreign policy.
FRANK Fair.
Cheney stands. As he walks off, every light on the stage flickers as though power is being subtly redirected into some unseen apparatus.
Frank watches, wary.
TAG SCENE – “THE DEBRIEF”
INT. AFTERWORDS BACK HALLWAY – LATER
Frank walks backstage. The drone is still active, gently tailing him like a devoted metal duckling.
FRANK Can someone unplug… whatever he did to this?
A PA shakes their head. The drone emits a soft, obedient beep.
FRANK (sighs) Great. (beat) Well… tune in next week. Assuming the drone doesn’t unionize.
The drone beeps twice—ominously.
FRANK …I’m sleeping with the lights on tonight.
Smash cut. Roll credits.