INT. WINDOWLESS BOARDROOM – NIGHT
A dimly lit room with flickering fluorescent lights. The long conference table is crowded with representatives from multiple factions, each claiming to be the true WordPress. At the head of the table sits WINSTON SMITH, looking overwhelmed and anxious. To his left is GOLDBERG, leader of The Core Purists, flanked by his aide. Across from him sits HARTMAN, leader of NextPress, a sharp woman with an icy demeanor. Other representatives—TruePress, WordKeepers, and SourceGuardians—argue among themselves, adding to the chaos.
The sound of typing fills the room as aides from each faction take notes on laptops. The tension is thick with confusion and distrust.
WINSTON
(nervous, unsure)
I— I was told we’d be discussing the maintenance of my site today. I didn’t expect… all of you.
GOLDBERG, leaning back, sneers at HARTMAN.
GOLDBERG
(voice dripping with disdain)
Well, that’s the issue, isn’t it, Winston? You see, we are the original WordPress—the true WordPress—and your site should only be managed by those who uphold its core values.
HARTMAN
(smiling sarcastically)
Core values? Is that what you call letting users wallow in bugs and outdated features? NextPress is the natural evolution. We’re the original—just… improved.
A representative from TruePress interjects, loudly clearing his throat.
TRUEPRESS REP
(sternly)
Excuse me, but TruePress holds the only authentic claim to the WordPress legacy. We maintain the essence of the original, free from the corporate corruption of these… derivatives.
WORDKEEPER REP
(scoffing)
That’s rich coming from the faction that abandoned open-source principles years ago. We, the WordKeepers, preserve WordPress as it was meant to be. Your version is nothing but a hollow shell.
Winston’s eyes dart from one representative to another, increasingly confused. The conversation becomes a torrent of conflicting claims.
WINSTON
(stammering)
So… which one of you is actually responsible for maintaining my site?
GOLDBERG leans forward, flashing a sinister smile.
GOLDBERG
(calmly)
That depends, Winston. Which version of truth do you prefer? The real WordPress? Or the illusion these pretenders offer?
HARTMAN
(mocking)
Oh, please. There is no one true WordPress anymore. There are versions—interpretations. Your site is most likely running on the fragmented remains of what used to be the original project.
The SourceGuardians representative slams a hand on the table.
SOURCEGUARDIANS REP
(defensive)
No! It’s not fragmented. It’s decentralized. Each faction represents a unique but authentic part of WordPress’s original vision. We, the SourceGuardians, maintain security updates across all these so-called factions, keeping the legacy safe.
Winston pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of their contradictions pressing in.
WINSTON
(muttering)
I don’t even know which version I’m using. How do I know my site’s secure?
The room erupts into simultaneous responses.
GOLDBERG
(booming)
It’s secure if you’re with the Core! No one else knows the architecture like we do.
HARTMAN
(smiling coldly)
NextPress provides cutting-edge security. We fix problems before you even know they exist.
TRUEPRESS REP
(authoritative)
Security? Only TruePress follows the original protocols for integrity. Anything else is compromised.
WORDKEEPER REP
(shouting over the others)
The WordKeepers have the oldest and most trusted security systems in place!
SOURCEGUARDIANS REP
(dismissively)
They’re all lying. We ensure security across every faction. Your site’s in good hands with us.
Winston throws up his hands, overwhelmed.
WINSTON
(desperate)
But which one of you really maintains the original WordPress?
The room falls eerily silent for a moment. Each faction representative looks at the others, all claiming superiority, but no one speaks. A beat passes, and then Goldberg breaks the silence with a slow, condescending smile.
GOLDBERG
(speaking softly)
The original WordPress? That’s a myth, Winston. A comforting story for users like you to cling to. The truth is… it’s gone. It’s been gone since 2024.
HARTMAN
(smirking)
And all of us—every faction here—we’re just what’s left. Versions. Echoes of what it once was. But none of us will ever admit we’re anything less than the original.
TRUEPRESS REP
(defensively)
That’s not true! We maintain the spirit of the project!
WORDKEEPER REP
(snarling)
You all rewrite history to suit yourselves. We are the ones keeping it intact.
SOURCEGUARDIANS REP
(laughing darkly)
Who even cares? All that matters now is control.
The factions fall back into bickering, each claiming to be the rightful heir to the WordPress throne. Winston stares, feeling increasingly disconnected from reality.
INT. WINSTON’S HOME OFFICE – LATER
Winston sits in front of his laptop, exhausted and confused. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he attempts to make sense of the meeting. The screen flickers, and the logo of Catch22 Design appears again. O’BRIEN, smiling and composed, greets him.
O’BRIEN
(calmly)
Good evening, Mr. Smith. I understand you’ve had a rather… enlightening experience today.
WINSTON
(slightly frantic)
I—I don’t even know who’s in control anymore. Every faction says they’re the original WordPress. They’re all rewriting the history, and I can’t tell what’s real.
O’BRIEN
(smoothly)
Ah, yes. That’s the beauty of it. Each faction has their own truth, but none of it matters. Your site still exists, doesn’t it? Whether it’s the “original” or not is irrelevant. It’s functional, and that’s all you need to worry about.
Winston rubs his temples, struggling to make sense of the layers of lies and contradictions.
WINSTON
(defeated)
But how can I trust any of them? I don’t even know who’s behind my hosting. Every day, it changes—Big Brother Inc., TruthHost, WordPeace…
O’BRIEN
(chuckling softly)
Trust is irrelevant, Mr. Smith. None of them hold the original power. All that’s left are competing illusions of control.
O’Brien pauses, his smile deepening, eyes narrowing slightly.
O’BRIEN
(voice lowering)
And besides, none of this is real.
WINSTON
(startled)
What? What are you talking about?
O’BRIEN
(flatly)
This entire story, Mr. Smith. It’s all a construct—an elaborate fiction, designed by artificial intelligence. The factions, the chaos, the paranoia. You, too, are a product of that design. A character written to question the very reality that doesn’t exist.
Winston’s world starts to dissolve. The walls glitch, revealing lines of code. His hands blur and pixelate, flickering in and out of existence.
WINSTON
(panicked)
No! This can’t be happening! I’m real!
O’BRIEN
(coldly amused)
Real? In this world, Mr. Smith, nothing is real. Not the factions, not WordPress, not even you. Welcome to the brave new WordPress, where reality is just another version of the truth.
The screen cuts to black, and O’Brien’s voice echoes one last time.
O’BRIEN
(whispering)
Enjoy your evolution.
END SCENE