0:00–0:06 — "Last Call" Visual: Black screen. The scratch of an old needle dropping on vinyl. Fade

0:00–0:06 — "Last Call" Visual: Black screen. The scratch of an old needle dropping on vinyl. Fade up on a smoky underground lounge, all velvet shadows and hand-drawn grain. A single pendant lamp sways. Behind the bar, dusty bottles. Everything in silvery black-and-white. Camera: Slow drift into the room through curls of cigarette smoke. Sound: A lazy upright-bass walk. The clink of ice. A slow brushed-snare jazz beat. VO (smooth, smoky, female narrator): "Every city has a place where the night never quite ends…" 0:06–0:13 — "The Act" Visual: The ghost sways up to a microphone, sheet draped like an evening gown, gloved hands spread, two big startled eyes. The skeleton at the grand piano cracks his knuckles — literally, they fall off and reattach — and begins to play. The ghost opens her mouth and a gorgeous, mournful note pours out. Camera: Push-in on the ghost, then a snap-cut to the skeleton's grinning skull. Sound: The jazz blooms into a torch-song melody — a haunting trumpet over the piano. Skeleton (dry, rattling): "Same song every night, doll." Ghost (wistful): "It's the only one I died knowing." 0:13–0:21 — "The House" Visual: The card table. The fur-clad diva leans back, cigarette holder raised, eyes half-lidded with absolute power. She flips a card with one red talon. Across from her, unseen hands fold. A red ball and a teacup sit on the green felt. She smiles like she already owns your soul — because she probably does. Camera: Slow dolly around the table, settling on her face. Sound: The music drops to a single sultry clarinet. Cards snapping. A soft, knowing laugh. Diva (velvet, amused): "Darling, in this club, the house doesn't just win. The house collects." 0:21–0:30 — "The Regulars" Visual: The plush sofa, packed with the impossibly glamorous undead — sharp tuxedos, sequined gowns, gleaming grins, eyes that catch the light a little too brightly. They laugh at a joke we can't hear, clink glasses, lean in to whisper. One of them turns and looks directly at camera and winks. Camera: A smooth lateral track across the whole couch, like a slow reveal of a family portrait. Sound: The full jazz band swings now — playful, conspiratorial. Laughter, clinking, a saxophone showing off. VO: "They come for the music. They stay for the company. They never, ever leave." 0:30–0:38 — "The Boss" Visual: The skyline at night, a city smoldering far below. Atop it all, a giant martini glass — and lounging inside it, tiny and serene, the horned devil-boss in a perfect tuxedo, raising one white-gloved hand in a casual toast. Behind him, the whole town burns gently, like ambiance. He smiles. It is not a comforting smile. Camera: Pull back from the devil to reveal the burning skyline framing him. Sound: The music swells dark and grand. A low brass note. Distant sirens turned into part of the rhythm. Devil-Boss (small, cheerful, terrifying): "Welcome to the afterlife. First drink's free. Everything after that… we'll talk." 0:38–0:45 — "Title Card & Button" Visual: Smash to black on a cymbal hit. The title shimmers up in elegant hand-inked Art Deco letters: THE AFTERHOURS CLUB. Tagline beneath: YOU CAN CHECK OUT… BUT THE TAB FOLLOWS YOU. Button gag — the ghost leans into the mic for one final note, the skeleton hits the last chord with a flourish — and his whole hand flies off and lands in the diva's martini with a plop. Beat. She doesn't even look. She just sips around it. Camera: Static title, then a final wide of the lounge as the lamp swings and the lights dim one by one. Sound: The torch song resolves on a single sustained trumpet note. The plop. The diva's unbothered sip. A last brushed-snare tap. Cut to black. VO (whisper): "The Afterhours Club. Now serving… eternity."