[
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. NEON WOK — BACK BOOTH — NIGHT\n\nTwo plates of half-eaten noodles. DANIEL pours tea. MAURA'S phone sits face-up beside her chopsticks.\n\nDANIEL\nSo the second round of chemo — when does that start?\n\nMAURA\nTuesday. Maybe Wednesday.\n\nHer phone lights. Daniel glances down out of habit. Freezes.\n\nDANIEL\n(reading)\n\"Caught a twelve-pound bass. Your mother says stop sending money, we're not paupers. Love, Dad.\"\n\nMAURA\nGive me the phone.\n\nDANIEL\nHe went fishing.\n\nMAURA\nDaniel.\n\nDANIEL\nStage three pancreatic, and he went fishing.\n\nShe reaches. He lifts the phone away, scrolling.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nSix months of texts. Golf. A cruise. Something about a new gutter.\n\nMaura sets down her chopsticks very carefully.\n\nMAURA\nI needed you to stay.\n\nDANIEL\nWhat?\n\nMAURA\nYou had the offer in Denver. You were packing. And I said the thing that made you unpack.\n\nSilence. Daniel places the phone face-down between them.\n\nDANIEL\nI turned down Denver. I also gave your father's \"treatment fund\" eleven thousand dollars.\n\nMAURA\n(quietly)\nI know.\n\nDANIEL\nThen he's about to get a call. From me. Tonight.\n\nHe stands, pockets his own phone, and takes hers with him.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. RENTED APARTMENT — KITCHEN — NIGHT\n\nTwo plates of half-eaten pasta. A bottle of wine, mostly gone. DANA refills her glass. MARCUS's phone buzzes face-down beside his fork.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad texted me.\n\nDANA\n(too fast)\nHe shouldn't be texting.\n\nMARCUS\nHe says thanks for the golf clubs.\n\nHe turns the phone over. Reads.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nHe says he shot an eighty-four Sunday.\n\nDana drinks. Sets the glass down carefully.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nStage three, you said. Pancreas.\n\nDANA\nMarcus—\n\nMARCUS\nI gave notice at work. I told them my girlfriend's father was dying, and they let me out of the contract, and I moved here.\n\nDANA\nI know.\n\nMARCUS\nWas there ever a diagnosis?\n\nSilence. She picks up her fork, puts it down.\n\nDANA\nYou were leaving in March. You had the flight open on your laptop.\n\nMARCUS\nSo you invented a tumor.\n\nDANA\nI invented a reason to stay. You needed one. You've never once stayed without one.\n\nHe stands. Takes his coat off the chair. Stops.\n\nMARCUS\nHis birthday's Thursday.\n\nDANA\nYes.\n\nMARCUS\nI already sent the flowers.\n(beat)\nCard says: fight hard.\n\nHe puts the coat back on the chair. Sits. Picks up his fork.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nPour me one.",
    "meanRubricScore": 92.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten pasta. Two wine glasses. MARCUS, 40s, pushes food around his plate. ELAINE, 40s, tops off her glass.\n\nMARCUS\nI swung by St. Vincent's today. Thought I'd bring your dad some flowers.\n\nElaine's hand stops mid-pour.\n\nELAINE\nHe's being moved. Different facility.\n\nMARCUS\nThat's the thing. There's no patient under his name. Not at St. Vincent's. Not anywhere in their system.\n\nShe sets the bottle down. Carefully.\n\nELAINE\nThey must've made a mistake.\n\nMARCUS\nI called his house, Elaine. He answered. He's in Florida. Golfing.\n\nSilence. She looks at her plate, then up — and something in her face shifts. The performance drops.\n\nELAINE\nSix months. You stayed six extra months because you felt sorry for me.\n\nMARCUS\nI stayed because I loved you.\n\nELAINE\nYou were packing your bags in January. I saw the suitcase.\n\nMarcus stands, chair scraping. He grabs his coat — then stops at the door, laughing once, bitter.\n\nMARCUS\nThe donations. My mother's necklace. \"For his treatments.\"\n\nELAINE\nI'll pay it back.\n\nMARCUS\nKeep it. Consider it tuition.\n\nHe opens the door — and Elaine's phone BUZZES on the table. The screen lights up: \"DAD ❤️.\" She stares at it, then answers, voice instantly bright.\n\nELAINE\n(into phone)\nHi, Daddy. Yes — the check cleared.\n\nMarcus, frozen in the doorway, slowly turns back around.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. SMALL APARTMENT KITCHEN - NIGHT\n\nA candle flickers between two plates of half-eaten pasta. DANIEL (40s) refills CLAIRE's (30s) wine glass. Warm, easy.\n\nDANIEL\nHow's your dad holding up? I keep meaning to ask.\n\nCLAIRE\nSame. Chemo Tuesdays. He hates the Jell-O.\n\nDANIEL\n(laughs, then)\nI could drive up with you this weekend. Meet him before... you know. It's been a year, Claire.\n\nClaire freezes. Fork mid-air.\n\nCLAIRE\nHe's not up for visitors.\n\nDANIEL\nOne visitor. I'm practically family.\n\nHe pulls out his phone.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nActually — my cousin's an oncologist at Mercy. Which ward is he in? She could look in on him.\n\nSilence. Claire sets the fork down. Very carefully.\n\nCLAIRE\nDaniel—\n\nDANIEL\nWhat ward, Claire?\n\nHer eyes don't move. That's the answer. Daniel's face changes — slow, like ice cracking.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nThe donations. The fundraiser I ran at work. Nine thousand dollars.\n\nCLAIRE\nI needed to get out of the lease. The deposit—\n\nDANIEL\nYou let me give a toast. About his courage.\n\nHe stands. Takes his coat. At the door, he turns.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nI'm calling the office Monday. You can explain where the money went, or the police can.\n\nThe door shuts. Claire sits alone. Then — she calmly finishes her wine.",
    "meanRubricScore": 84,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten pasta cools between DANIEL, 38, and MAYA, 35. Her phone buzzes beside the breadbasket.\n\nDANIEL\nYou should check it. The hospital might need you.\n\nMAYA\nThey have my number.\n\nThe phone buzzes again. Daniel glances down. A video notification fills the screen: MAYA’S FATHER, grinning on a sailboat, sprays champagne over a banner reading CANCER-FREE FOR 12 YEARS!\n\nDaniel taps it. Silent confetti erupts.\n\nDANIEL\nTwelve years?\n\nMaya snatches the phone.\n\nMAYA\nHe had a mole removed.\n\nDANIEL\nYou said stage four. You said you moved in with him for chemo.\n\nMAYA\nI needed time.\n\nDANIEL\nSo you invented terminal cancer?\n\nMAYA\nI tried “I’m overwhelmed.” You sent soup, called therapists, made spreadsheets. Cancer was the only boundary you respected.\n\nDaniel absorbs that. Removes a small velvet box from his pocket and sets it beside her plate.\n\nMaya stares.\n\nMAYA\nOh.\n\nDANIEL\nI was going to ask tonight.\n\nMAYA\nDaniel—\n\nHe opens the box. Inside is a key, not a ring.\n\nDANIEL\nTo move in.\n\nMaya exhales, almost laughing with relief.\n\nDaniel takes back the key.\n\nDANIEL\nGood news. Your father just made a miraculous recovery.\n\nHe signals for the check.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. NEIGHBORHOOD BISTRO — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten steaks cool between ELI, 38, and NORA, 36. Nora’s phone buzzes beside her wineglass.\n\nThe lock screen displays a message from DAD:\n\nSTOP TELLING PEOPLE I HAVE CANCER. CALL ME.\n\nEli reads it. Nora flips the phone facedown.\n\nELI  \nWhat does that mean?\n\nNORA  \nHe’s confused. The medication—\n\nELI  \nYou said he refused treatment.\n\nNORA  \nEli—\n\nHe takes a folded bank receipt from his jacket and smooths it beside her plate.\n\nELI  \nI emptied my savings this morning. Forty-two thousand dollars. For his surgery.\n\nNora stares at the receipt.\n\nNORA  \nI was going to tell you.\n\nELI  \nBefore or after I gave you the check?\n\nNORA  \nThere is no surgery.\n\nELI  \nIs there even cancer?\n\nShe shakes her head.\n\nELI  \nThen what’s the money for?\n\nNora reaches into her purse and sets down an ultrasound image.\n\nNORA  \nThe clinic. Three rounds of IVF. I knew you’d say we couldn’t afford it.\n\nEli studies the grainy shape.\n\nELI  \nWe agreed to stop trying.\n\nNORA  \nI didn’t.\n\nA long beat.\n\nEli takes out his phone and taps the screen.\n\nNORA  \nWhat are you doing?\n\nELI  \nCancelling the check.\n\nNORA  \nYou can’t.\n\nELI  \nWhy?\n\nNora places a protective hand over the ultrasound.\n\nNORA  \nBecause I already deposited it.\n\nHer phone buzzes again: TRANSFER COMPLETE.",
    "meanRubricScore": 84.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. UPSCALE RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nA quiet corner booth. LEO (40s), tie loosened, saws through a steak. Across from him, MAYA (40s) nurses a glass of red wine, her salad untouched.\n\nLEO\nYou barely touched your food.\n\nMAYA\nI’m not very hungry.\n\nLEO\nStill thinking about your dad?\n\nMaya nods. Leo reaches across the table, covers her hand.\n\nLEO (CONT'D)\nThe treatment’s going to work.\n\nMAYA\nYou don’t know that.\n\nLEO\nI know you’re scared. But my company’s flying in the oncologist from Sloan Kettering next week.\n\nMaya’s eyes widen, then drop.\n\nMAYA\nYou didn’t have to do that.\n\nLEO\nOf course I did.\n\nHe pulls out his phone, holds it up, and shows her a confirmation email.\n\nLEO (CONT'D)\nAlready booked it.\n\nMaya glances at the screen. Her face freezes.\n\nMAYA\nLeo... when did you send this?\n\nLEO\nTwo days ago. Why?\n\nMaya’s lips part, then press together. She withdraws her hand, picks up her wine, and drains it in one long swallow.\n\nMAYA\nI need to tell you something.\n\nLeo’s brow furrows. He puts his phone face-down on the white tablecloth.\n\nLEO\nWhat’s going on?\n\nMAYA\nMy father doesn’t have cancer.\n\nLeo blinks. A fork hovers, then lowers.\n\nLEO\nWhat?\n\nMAYA\nThere’s no tumor. No oncologist.\n\nLEO\nThe hospitals... the crying calls...\n\nMAYA\nThe crying was real. That’s me, being a terrible person.\n\nLeo stares at the half-eaten steak. He sets the fork down with a soft finality.\n\nLEO\nSo, what is it? Another guy? A divorce lawyer?\n\nMAYA\nWorse.\n\nShe looks up; tears arrow down her cheeks.\n\nMAYA (CONT'D)\nI’m me. And you’re you. And I don’t know how to leave someone this good.\n\nLeo studies her, then slouches back against the leather booth.\n\nLEO\nYou don’t have to leave. Just stop lying.\n\nMAYA\nI tried. You don’t listen.\n\nThe check arrives. Neither of them reaches for it.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA modest table set for two. Half-eaten plates. A bottle of red wine, nearly empty.\n\nMARK, 40s, twirls pasta. LENA, 30s, watches him.\n\nLENA\nYou’re quiet.\n\nMARK\nLong day.\n\nLENA\nTell me about it.\n\nBeat.\n\nMARK\nI called your dad’s office today. Wanted to send flowers.\n\nLena’s hand stops mid-reach for her glass.\n\nMARK (CONT'D)\nHis assistant answered. Said he’s in Singapore. Closing a deal.\n\nLENA\nMark—\n\nMARK\nSaid he’s been there three weeks. Full health.\n\nLENA\nI can explain.\n\nMARK\nYou told me he had cancer. Stage three.\n\nLENA\nI know what I said.\n\nMARK\nWhy?\n\nLENA\nBecause you were leaving.\n\nMark stares.\n\nLENA (CONT'D)\nYou had one foot out the door. I needed you to stay.\n\nMARK\nSo you killed your father.\n\nLENA\nI bought time.\n\nMark pushes his plate away. Stands.\n\nMARK\nTime for what?\n\nLENA\nFor you to remember why you loved me.\n\nMark picks up his keys.\n\nMARK\nI don’t.\n\nHe walks out. Lena sits alone. She picks up her fork. Takes a bite. Chews.",
    "meanRubricScore": 79.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nMARK (30s) cuts his steak. LENA (30s) pushes risotto around her plate. A half-empty bottle of red breathes between them.\n\nMARK\nHow’s he holding up?\n\nLena doesn’t look up.\n\nLENA\nGood days, bad days. Mostly bad now.\n\nMARK\n(Chews, swallows)\nThe new immunotherapy — did they start it?\n\nLENA\n(Flat)\nNext week. If his blood counts recover.\n\nMark nods, signaling a passing waiter for the check. He pulls out his phone, taps a contact: \"Mom.\" Puts it to his ear.\n\nMARK\n(Into phone)\nHey, Ma. Yeah, dinner was... listen, Lena’s dad. The one with the lymphoma? You still talk to Betty from the oncology desk at St. Luke’s?\n\nHe listens, fork frozen mid-air. Lena picks up her water glass. Her knuckles whiten.\n\nMARK\n(Into phone)\nRight. Right. No, just... thanks.\n\nHe hangs up. Sets the phone face-down. Stares at Lena.\n\nMARK\nBetty retired. Two years ago. St. Luke’s oncology wing burned down in ’21. They moved to Mercy General.\n\nLena’s thumb traces the stem of her glass. She sets it down. Perfectly centered.\n\nLENA\nThe risotto’s cold.\n\nShe stands, drops cash on the table, and walks out. Mark sits alone with two entrees and a lie he can’t return.",
    "meanRubricScore": 81.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nClinking silverware. Half-eaten entrees. MARK (40s) watches LENA (40s) push fish around her plate.\n\nMARK\nHow's your dad? The new treatment?\n\nLena pauses, fork mid-air.\nLENA\nGood. Good. They're... optimistic.\n\nMARK\nThat's great. Really.\n\nHe signals the waiter for the check. Pulls out his phone, screen lighting up with a notification. He freezes.\n\nINSERT - PHONE SCREEN: A photo post from \"Marie Calloway.\" Lena, her father, and a golden retriever on a golf course. Caption: \"Dad crushing it at 18 holes today! #remission #luckydog\" Timestamp: 20 minutes ago.\n\nMark stares at the screen. Then at Lena. She cuts a bite of fish, chews carefully.\n\nMARK\n(quietly)\nHe's golfing.\n\nLena stops chewing.\nLENA\nWhat?\n\nMARK\nMarie posted a photo. Twenty minutes ago. Your dad. Eighteen holes.\n\nLena swallows. Sets her fork down. The mask doesn't slip -- it calcifies.\n\nLENA\nOh. That's... he has good days.\n\nMARK\nGood days don't cure stage four pancreatic cancer, Lena.\n\nA beat. She reaches for her water glass. Her hand doesn't shake.\n\nLENA\nThen I guess it's a miracle. Pass the salt?",
    "meanRubricScore": 81.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nPlates of half-eaten pasta sit between MARK (30s) and ELENA (30s). Mark slides a thick manila folder across the linen tablecloth.\n\nMARK\nDr. Alvarez agreed to take him. Stage four protocol, starting Monday.\n\nElena stares at the medical files, her fork suspended in mid-air.\n\nELENA\nMark... you didn't have to call him.\n\nMARK\nHe’s family. If the chemo isn't shrinking the tumor, we need a specialist.\n\nElena's phone lights up on the table. A text notification previews:\n\n*Dad: Just finished 18 holes in the sun! Booking the Cabo flights now, kiddo.*\n\nMark reads the screen. The warmth instantly vanishes from his eyes.\n\nMARK (CONT'D)\nEighteen holes?\n\nELENA\n(reaching for the phone)\nHe... he has good days.\n\nMARK\nYou said he was admitted to hospice care in Seattle this morning.\n\nElena pulls her hand back. Her silence answers him.\n\nMARK (CONT'D)\nWhy?\n\nELENA\nYou were packing your bags last week, Mark. You were going to leave me.\n\nMark stares at her. He calmly pulls the medical folder back, drops a hundred-dollar bill onto his plate, and stands up.\n\nMARK\nNow I am",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten pasta sits between MARK (30s) and ELENA (30s). Mark slides a folded check across the white tablecloth.\n\nMARK\nTen thousand. For his hospice care. You shouldn't carry this alone.\n\nElena stares at the paper",
    "meanRubricScore": 58,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight flickers over half-eaten pasta. MARCUS (40s) sets down his fork. ELENA (30s) swirls wine.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad’s chemo schedule—how’s he handling Thursdays?\n\nELENA\nBrutal. He’s exhausted.\n\nMarcus pulls out his phone.\n\nMARCUS\nMy cousin’s an oncologist there. I called. They said no patient by that name.\n\nElena freezes.\n\nMARCUS\nYou lied. He doesn’t have cancer.\n\nELENA\nI needed you to stay.\n\nMARCUS\nSo the funeral, the drugs—\n\nELENA\nThere is no father.\n\nShe stands. From her bag, she pulls a folder—bank statements in HIS name.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nBut your accounts are real. I’ve been draining them for months.\n\nMarcus stares at the proof.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nNo cancer. Just me.\n\nShe exits. He looks at the empty chair, then the folder.",
    "meanRubricScore": 69,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight flickers over half-eaten pasta. MARCUS (40s) pours wine. ELENA (30s) checks her phone.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said he started chemo Tuesday.\n\nELENA\nYeah. Stage two. Scary.\n\nMARCUS\nMy dad went through that. Brutal.\n\nElena’s phone BUZZES. She glances, smiles.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nWho’s that?\n\nELENA\nJust work.\n\nMarcus reaches for her phone—accidentally swipes open a message thread.\n\nON SCREEN: \"Dad's golf scores crushing it again!!\"\n\nMarcus stares.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad's playing golf?\n\nElena freezes.\n\nELENA\nI—he's in remission. I wanted—\n\nMARCUS\nYou lied. About cancer.\n\nELENA\nI needed sympathy!\n\nMarcus stands slowly.\n\nMARCUS\nYou invented his death sentence for pasta and pity?\n\nElena reaches out. He pulls away.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nNext time, try being human.\n\nHe walks out. Elena sits alone with the candles, her lie burning brighter than the flame.",
    "meanRubricScore": 63.6667,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_control__r1",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandles. Half-eaten plates. MARCUS (30s) reaches across the table and squeezes ELENA's hand.\n\nMARCUS\nYou don't have to be strong with me. Not about this.\n\nELENA\n(voice catching)\nThe doctors say six months. Maybe eight if the treatment holds.\n\nMarcus nods slowly. His phone buzzes. He glances down—a text from his own mother. He pockets it.\n\nElena's phone lights up on the table between them. A text notification:\n\n**DAD: Still on for the lake house this weekend? Bring that guy. I want to meet him.**\n\nMarcus reads it. His hand stops moving.\n\nElena notices his face. She flips the phone over.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nThat's your dad?\n\nELENA\nIt's my uncle. I call him Dad.\n\nA beat. Marcus studies her. He pulls his hand back.\n\nMARCUS\nYour uncle has cancer too?\n\nElena\nNo. He's fine.\n\nMARCUS\nThen who's dying, Elena?\n\nShe opens her mouth. Closes it. Picks up her wine glass. Drinks. Sets it down.\n\nELENA\n(quiet)\nNobody.\n\nMarcus stands. Drops a twenty on the table.\n\nMARCUS\nThat's what I was afraid of.\n\nHe walks out. Elena sits alone. She picks up the phone. Types back: **Not yet. Give me time.**",
    "meanRubricScore": 81,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_control__r2",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_control",
    "condition": "Bare prompt — no reference",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nHalf-empty wine glasses. Candlelight. CLAIRE (30s) dabs her eyes with a napkin.\n\nCLAIRE\nThe second round of chemo was the hardest. Dad lost thirty pounds. I just—I didn't know if he'd make it.\n\nMARCUS (30s) reaches across the table. Takes her hand.\n\nMARCUS\nYou don't have to carry that alone. Not anymore.\n\nClaire squeezes his fingers. Her phone, face-up on the table, BUZZES. The screen lights up.\n\nINSERT - PHONE SCREEN\n\nA text from \"DAD 💪\": \"Just PR'd my deadlift! 315! Come over Sunday, I'll show you.\"\n\nBACK TO SCENE\n\nMarcus stares at the screen. His thumb goes still against her knuckles.\n\nClaire follows his gaze. Her smile doesn't vanish—it freezes.\n\nMARCUS\nThree-fifteen?\n\nClaire pulls her hand back. Sets her napkin down with surgical precision.\n\nCLAIRE\nI should probably explain.\n\nMARCUS\nYeah.\n\nClaire opens her mouth. Closes it. The candle between them suddenly feels very small.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. GOLDEN LANTERN CHINESE RESTAURANT — BOOTH BY THE WINDOW — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten platters. A lazy Susan stopped mid-spin. DARREN, 40s, neat, folds his napkin into smaller and smaller squares. MAEVE, 30s, eats with chopsticks like a surgeon.\n\nDARREN\nYou know what I love about this place? The fortune cookies are stale. Every time. Twelve years, stale. That's not neglect, that's commitment.\n\nMAEVE\nYou said that last time.\n\nDARREN\nI say it every time. That's my commitment.\n\nHe slides an envelope across the table. She doesn't touch it.\n\nDARREN\nEleven thousand. For your dad's treatments.\n\nMAEVE\nDarren—\n\nDARREN\nSaint Bernice's. Oncology. I called to ask about the payment plan.\n\nMaeve sets down her chopsticks.\n\nDARREN\nNice woman named Patrice. Says they don't have an oncology floor. Closed in 2019. She was very apologetic. Kept saying sorry like it was her fault.\n\nSilence. Maeve pours tea. Steady hand.\n\nMAEVE\nMy father's been dead since March.\n\nDARREN\nOkay.\n\nMAEVE\nCirrhosis. No insurance, no funeral. I took the eleven grand you gave me in June and paid a lawyer.\n\nDARREN\nFor what?\n\nMAEVE\nThe restraining order.\n\nShe turns the envelope over. Underneath: a folded court summons, already served.\n\nMAEVE\nYour name's on it. Eat your rice.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. LUCKY HORSE DINER - BOOTH BY THE WINDOW - NIGHT\n\nTwo plates. One steak, mostly eaten. One salad, untouched. DARNELL, 40s, salts everything twice. RENATA, 30s, stirs coffee she isn't drinking.\n\nDARNELL\nYou know what I like about this place? They don't rush you. Guy could sit here till Thursday.\n\nRENATA\nMm.\n\nDARNELL\nYour dad. Cedars, right? That's where they sent him.\n\nRENATA\nCedars, yeah.\n\nDARNELL\nSixth floor.\n\nRENATA\nSixth.\n\nDARNELL\nSee, that's the thing. Sixth floor's maternity. My sister had twins on the sixth floor. Screamed the paint off the walls.\n\nRenata sets the spoon down. Precisely.\n\nRENATA\nThey move people around.\n\nDARNELL\nThey do. They moved your father all the way to Reno. Blackjack table, Silver Nugget, Tuesday. Man looked robust. Man looked like a man who never heard the word oncology.\n\nSilence. He salts the steak again.\n\nRENATA\nI needed the eleven thousand.\n\nDARNELL\nI know what you needed.\n\nRENATA\nAre you gonna hit me?\n\nDARNELL\nRenata. I'm gonna eat my dinner.\n\nHe cuts. Chews. Points the fork at her, gently.\n\nDARNELL (CONT'D)\nThen you and me are gonna drive to Reno, and you're gonna introduce me to your father, and he's gonna cover the vig.\n\nRENATA\nHe'll kill me.\n\nDARNELL\n(mouth full)\nThen he's got a healthy set of lungs on him.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINER – NIGHT\n\nA booth. Meatloaf, two coffees, fluorescent hum. RAY (40s, calm) eats slow. DIANE (30s) checks her phone.\n\nRAY\nSo your dad. Chemo Tuesdays, right?\n\nDIANE\nWednesdays. I said Wednesdays.\n\nRAY\nYou said Tuesdays. In the car. Memorial Day.\n\nDIANE\nI meant Wednesdays.\n\nRAY\nBecause I swung by St. Vincent's Tuesday. Brought flowers. Thought I'd surprise him.\n\nShe stops chewing.\n\nRAY (CONT'D)\nOncology's on four. Nice nurses. They never heard of a Harold Weiss. Any floor. Any week.\n\nDIANE\nRay—\n\nRAY\nEat your potatoes.\n\nShe does. A forkful. Her hand shakes.\n\nRAY (CONT'D)\nI sat in that lobby forty minutes like an idiot. Then I called the number he gave me at Christmas. Guy answered. A marina. In Tampa.\n\nDIANE\nMy father sells boats.\n\nRAY\nYour father's alive, Diane. Which means the money I gave you — nine grand — \"treatments\"—\n\nDIANE\nI'll pay you back.\n\nRAY\nWith what? You quit the pharmacy.\n\nBeat. She sets down her fork, steady now. A different person.\n\nDIANE\nHere's the thing, Ray. The money's gone. And you put it in my account. Voluntarily. I never signed anything. Nobody did.\n\nRAY\nYou're telling me this over meatloaf.\n\nDIANE\nI'm telling you this because the check already cleared. And because you should know — the flowers were a nice touch.\n\nShe slides out of the booth, drops a twenty on the table.\n\nDIANE (CONT'D)\nDinner's on me.\n\nShe walks out. Ray stares at the twenty. Slowly, he picks it up — pockets it.",
    "meanRubricScore": 84.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. LUIGI'S TRATTORIA - NIGHT\n\nA corner booth. Half-eaten veal. MARCUS, 40s, cuts his food with surgical calm. DELIA, 30s, spins her wine glass.\n\nMARCUS\nSo your father. How's he doing?\n\nDELIA\nThe chemo's brutal. But he fights.\n\nMARCUS\nMm. St. Vincent's?\n\nDELIA\nSt. Vincent's.\n\nMARCUS\nBeautiful building. All that brick. Shame they tore it down.\n\nDelia's glass stops spinning.\n\nDELIA\nTore it down.\n\nMARCUS\nTwo years ago. It's condos now. My cousin bought one. You want to try that again?\n\nSilence. She sets the glass down, slow.\n\nDELIA\nHe was never sick.\n\nMARCUS\nNo.\n\nDELIA\nHe's dead. Ten years. I say cancer because it makes men gentle. They pay for dinner. They don't ask the real questions.\n\nMARCUS\nWhat's the real question?\n\nDELIA\nWhy a woman invents a dying father to get a stranger to lower his guard.\n\nMarcus looks at his steak knife. Then at her purse, sitting open beside her — a POLICE BADGE glinting inside. He sees it. She sees him see it.\n\nMARCUS\nYou're a cop.\n\nDELIA\nAnd you're the man who's been laundering money through my father's old hardware store. I didn't need cancer to get you talking, Marcus. I needed veal.\n\nShe signals. Uniformed OFFICERS rise from the bar.\n\nMARCUS\nThe veal's on you, then?\n\nDELIA\nEverything's on you now.",
    "meanRubricScore": 81.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. NEIGHBORHOOD STEAKHOUSE - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten steaks. One candle. ELLIOT saws at a baked potato while MARA arranges asparagus by length.\n\nELLIOT\n\nHospital mashed potatoes come from flakes. Your father mentioned that?\n\nMARA\n\nHe’s fighting pancreatic cancer. I don’t audit his side dishes.\n\nElliot’s phone BUZZES. A video call: “DR. HALPERN.” He answers and turns the screen toward Mara.\n\nOn-screen, her sunburned FATHER grins beside a golf cart, holding a trophy. No sound.\n\nMara freezes.\n\nELLIOT\n\nInteresting treatment plan.\n\nMARA\n\nHe beat it.\n\nELLIOT\n\nBetween Tuesday and the back nine?\n\nShe sets down her fork.\n\nMARA\n\nYou were leaving. I needed a reason you couldn’t leave without becoming the kind of man who leaves a woman whose father has cancer.\n\nELLIOT\n\nSo you gave him cancer.\n\nMARA\n\nMetaphorically.\n\nELLIOT\n\nI canceled Zurich.\n\nMARA\n\nYou hated Zurich.\n\nELLIOT\n\nI loved the salary.\n\nHe pockets the phone. Calmly cuts his steak.\n\nMARA\n\nWhat happens now?\n\nELLIOT\n\nNow I finish dinner.\n\nMARA\n\nThen?\n\nELLIOT\n\nThen I call your father.\n\nMARA\n\nWhy?\n\nELLIOT\n\nHe thinks I’m investing in his golf-course condos. I was going to say no.\n\nMara’s confidence drains.\n\nELLIOT (CONT’D)\n\nBut chemotherapy changes a man’s priorities.\n\nHis phone BUZZES again. Elliot smiles at the screen.\n\nELLIOT (CONT’D)\n\nHe just sent the wire instructions.\n\nMara reaches for the phone.\n\nElliot pins her hand to the table with his steak knife.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. NEIGHBORHOOD STEAKHOUSE — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten steaks. One candle. MARA saws through a baked potato while ELI studies the check.\n\nMARA\nYou know what’s dishonest? Calling six shrimp a “shrimp festival.”\n\nELI\nFestivals have rides.\n\nHer phone BUZZES beside the butter dish. The screen lights up: DAD. A preview appears.\n\nON SCREEN: “Biopsy clean. Again. Stop telling people I’m dying.”\n\nEli turns the phone toward her.\n\nELI\nYour father’s unusually chatty for a terminal man.\n\nMara stops chewing.\n\nMARA\nHe jokes when he’s scared.\n\nEli taps the notification. A thread opens: months of clean results. Then Mara’s message: “Eli finally paid. Cancer story works every time.”\n\nELI\nForty-two thousand dollars.\n\nMARA\nFor treatment he might need someday.\n\nELI\nThat’s not medicine. That’s a weather forecast with wire fraud.\n\nMara calmly wipes sour cream from her knife.\n\nMARA\nYou didn’t give it to him.\n\nELI\nI gave it to you.\n\nMARA\nExactly.\n\nEli’s anger falters. Mara nods toward his briefcase under the table.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)\nWhich is why I wondered where a suspended accountant found forty-two thousand in cash.\n\nA beat.\n\nOutside, BLUE LIGHTS flicker across the window.\n\nMara raises her wine.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)\nI lied about cancer. You lied about the money.\n\nEli looks toward the entrance.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)\nOnly one of us invited the police.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nSoft red booth. Half-empty plates. A candle flickers between them. DARREN (40s, dark blazer, calm like a man deciding something) twirls fettuccine. SANDRA (30s, sharp black dress, a little too relaxed) sips pinot grigio.\n\nDARREN\nYour dad’s treatment. How’s he handling the nausea?\n\nSANDRA\nBetter. The new pills help. He says he can finally keep oatmeal down.\n\nDARREN\nThat’s good. Oatmeal’s underrated.\n\nSANDRA\nRight? Most days he watches the Food Network and complains he can’t taste anything.\n\nDarren nods. Sets down his fork. Wipes his mouth. When he speaks, it’s slow, like he’s reading a menu.\n\nDARREN\nI called his office this morning. Just to ask if they could send flowers.\n\nSandra’s wine stops an inch from her lips.\n\nDARREN\nThe receptionist said he’s been in every day. I said, damn, that’s strong. She said cancer can’t keep a man like that out of the building.\n\nSandra lowers her glass. The candle flame leans.\n\nDARREN\nThen she got a little confused. Said, “What cancer?”\n\nBeat.\n\nSANDRA\n(quiet)\nYou called his office.\n\nDARREN\nI called to be polite. Turns out I was the only one.\n\nSandra stares at him, then lets out a soft, ugly laugh.\n\nSANDRA\nSo now you know. Now what?\n\nDarren reaches across the table and pulls her glass away. He takes a long sip. Sets it back down in front of himself.\n\nDARREN\nNow you sit there and think about what else you’ve been lying about. And I finish my pasta.\n\nHe picks up his fork. Sandra just watches him, the color draining from her face.\n\nDARREN\nEat. It’s getting cold.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. JULES’S DINER – NIGHT\n\nA booth. Two plates of half-eaten meatloaf.\n\nVERN (40s, cheap suit, cheaper watch) saws a piece with his fork. Across from him, DEE (30s, tired eyes, sharper than she looks) sips a Dr Pepper.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nYou ever notice how every liar picks cancer? It’s the cover story that never gets fact-checked.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">DEE</font>\nYou wanna say something, say it.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nI called your mother’s house. Wanted to send flowers for the old man.\n\nDee sets down her glass. Careful.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nShe said your father’s at a bowling tournament in Tulsa. Bowled a 220 last Thursday.\n\nBeat.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">DEE</font>\nSo you called my mother.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nI got a suspicious nature. Occupational hazard.\n\nHe cuts another piece. Chews. Swallows.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">DEE</font>\nYou want to know why I said it?\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nI know why you said it. You needed three days off. But here’s what I want to know—\n\nHe points the fork at her.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\n—did you think I was too stupid to check, or too soft to care?\n\nDee leans back. The tiredness is gone. Something else now.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">DEE</font>\nI thought you were too busy counting other people’s money to notice I was gone.\n\nVern stares at her. Smiles.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nFinish your meatloaf.\n\nShe doesn’t move.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nYour father’s fine. But my dry cleaner has a wife. And she’s real good at finding people who come back to town with a borrowed car and a suitcase full of my receipts.\n\nDee stands. Slow.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">DEE</font>\nI didn’t steal your receipts.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nI know. You just needed the car.\n\nShe freezes.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nWhat’s in the trunk, Dee?\n\nHer hand goes to her coat pocket. Vern doesn’t blink.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">VERN</font>\nCheck, please.",
    "meanRubricScore": 78.3333,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINER BOOTH - NIGHT\n\nA greasy spoon, 2 AM. Fluorescent light hums.\n\nVINCE (40s, wears a suit like armor) cuts his pancakes with surgical precision. LENA (30s, tired eyes, sharp mouth) stirs cold coffee.\n\nVINCE\nHow's the old man?\n\nLena freezes. Microscopic.\n\nLENA\nDying. Same as Tuesday.\n\nVINCE\nChemo treating him right?\n\nLENA\nPoison treats poison. He's at Memorial. Room 402.\n\nVince nods. Chews. Swallows.\n\nVINCE\nMemorial. That's the one on Fifth.\n\nLENA\nSince 1987.\n\nVINCE\nHuh. My buddy Ray works admissions there. Texted me yesterday. Said a guy matching your dad's description checked out Friday. Alive. Whole.\n\nLena's spoon clinks against ceramic.\n\nLENA\nRay's a liar.\n\nVINCE\nRay's a bored clerk who reads discharge logs like sports pages. Your father, Leonard Haas, signed out against medical advice. No cancer diagnosis in the file. Just... \"acute anxiety.\" \"Family stress.\"\n\nSilence stretches. The hum grows louder.\n\nVINCE\nSo. What's he actually dying of?\n\nLena's face rearranges. Something cold settles behind her eyes.\n\nLENA\nMe. He's dying of me.\n\nShe slides a manila envelope across the table. Vince doesn't touch it.\n\nLENA\nOpen it.\n\nHe does. Photos. Bank statements. A life insurance policy.\n\nLENA (CONT'D)\nTwo hundred thousand. Accidental death clause. You're the beneficiary.\n\nVince stares at his own face on the form.\n\nLENA (CONT'D)\nI didn't lie about the cancer, Vince. I lied about who has it.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINER - NIGHT\n\nA vinyl booth. Fluorescent light BUZZES. VINCE (40s, sharp suit, calm) cuts his steak. LENA (30s, oversized cardigan, tired eyes) pushes french fries around ketchup.\n\nVINCE\nMedium rare. The way God intended.\n\nLENA\n(Small smile)\nMy dad always ordered well-done. Said pink meat was the devil’s handshake.\n\nVince pauses, fork mid-air.\n\nVINCE\nYour dad. He, uh... he doing okay? With the... you know.\n\nLena freezes. A beat too long.\n\nLENA\nChemo’s brutal. But he’s stubborn. Stubborn like me.\n\nVince nods, chews slowly. Swallows. Wipes his mouth with precision.\n\nVINCE\nThat’s funny.\n\nLENA\nWhat?\n\nVINCE\nI ran into Dr. Aris Thorne at the club Tuesday. Plays a mean nine holes. Chief of Oncology at County General.\n\nLena’s fork clatters against the plate.\n\nVINCE\n(Continuing)\nHe mentioned a patient. Late fifties. Aggressive lymphoma. Name of... Harold Miller.\n\nSilence. The BUZZING grows louder.\n\nLENA\n(Quiet)\nHarold’s my stepfather. My dad... my real dad... died in ’98. Car accident.\n\nVince signals the waitress. Two checks.\n\nVINCE\nThen who’s in Room 304?\n\nLena’s hand trembles reaching for her water.\n\nLENA\nNobody. I made it up. I needed you to stay.\n\nVince picks up his check. Reads the total. Smiles — cold, genuine.\n\nVINCE\nCheck, please.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. HIGHWAY DINER - NIGHT\n\nFELIX (40s) methodically slices a blood-red sirloin. Across the booth, CLARA (30s) nurses a bourbon. \n\nFELIX\nYou know what they say about stage four pancreatic? Usually, you don’t see a fella swinging a nine-iron at the driving range off Interstate 4.\n\nClara freezes. Her glass hovers inches from her lips.\n\nFELIX (CONT'D)\nI was grabbing a bucket of balls around noon. And there’s Big Gene. Tan as a pecan. Crushing drives two hundred yards dead center.\n\nCLARA\nFelix--\n\nFELIX\nNow, a guy whose liver is supposedly turning to cottage cheese doesn't usually wear salmon polo shirts and high-five the cocktail waitress.\n\nCLARA\nListen to me. The collectors were going to break my legs. If I told you the truth, you wouldn't have handed over the forty grand.\n\nFelix dabs his chin with a linen napkin, calm and cold.\n\nFELIX\nI gave you that envelope out of Christian charity, Clara. Out of respect for a dying elder.\n\nHe reaches into his jacket, pulling out a heavy snub-nosed revolver and placing it beside his silverware.\n\nFELIX (CONT'D)\nSo finish your potatoes. Then we’re gonna go make an honest woman out of you.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. BOOTH - DINER - NIGHT\n\nA neon sign buzzes pink against faux-leather. \n\nLEO (40s, sharp suit, unfastened tie) slides a plastic squeeze-bottle across the table. \n\nMAYA (30s, vintage leather jacket) paints a neat red spiral over her crinkle-cut fries.\n\nLEO\nYou got an exceptional palate for diner mustard. It’s sixty percent vinegar, Maya. It strips chrome.\n\nMAYA\nIt has integrity. Unlike the butter.\n\nLEO\nI wired the forty grand to St. Jude’s oncology wing this afternoon. Like we agreed. For your old man.\n\nMAYA\n(doesn't blink)\nHe’ll have the finest cobalt drip in the county.\n\nLEO\nFunny thing. I called the registrar to bump him to a private suite.\n\nMaya dips a fry. Chews.\n\nMAYA\nGenerous.\n\nLEO\nRegistrar says Arthur Vance isn’t on floor four. Arthur Vance isn't in oncology. Arthur Vance shot a 71 at Pebble Beach this morning. Hole in one on the seventh.\n\nMaya freezes. The neon hums louder.\n\nLEO (CONT'D)\nClean bill of health. Iron prostate.\n\nMAYA\nLeo—\n\nLEO\nSo the question isn’t about Arthur's white blood cells. The question is what kind of hole you just dug yourself into with forty grand of my money.\n\nLeo places a heavy chrome revolver beside his milkshake.\n\nLEO (CONT'D)\nEat your fry.",
    "meanRubricScore": 82.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINER BOOTH - NIGHT\n\nRed vinyl. Cold fries between them.\n\nMARCUS (40s) spins a plastic straw wrapper.\n\nLENA (30s) cuts her steak like clockwork.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad still in chemo?\n\nLENA\nThird round. Rough.\n\nMarcus pulls a creased HOSPITAL PHOTO from his wallet—Lena’s father, healthy, holding a bass at a gig. Dated yesterday.\n\nMARCUS\nHe played \"Mustang Sally\" at the Blue Note last night.\n\nLena doesn’t flinch. She dabs her mouth.\n\nLENA\nYou followed him.\n\nMARCUS\nI followed the bass line. No cancer, Lena. Just leverage.\n\nShe pushes her plate away. Smiles.\n\nLENA\nLeverage cuts both ways, Marcus. Your wife thinks you’re in Denver.\n\nShe slides a PHONE across the table—his wife’s text glowing: \"Hotel pillow smells like her.\"\n\nMARCUS\nYou planted that.\n\nLENA\nI planted the photo in your wife’s mailbox too. You’re not leaving this booth with a secret, Marcus. You’re leaving with a partner.\n\nShe picks up her knife. Not to cut—just to hold.\n\nLENA (CONT'D)\nCancer was the audition. You passed.\n\nBLACKOUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA half-eaten steak. Candlelight. MARCUS (40s) stares at a PHOTO on his phone. ELLA (30s) slices her salmon.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad. Playing eighteen holes. Tuesday.\n\nHe slides the phone across the linen.\n\nMARCUS\nNo chemo. No hospice. Just a tan.\n\nELLA\n(chews)\nYou went through my cloud?\n\nMARCUS\nYou said he was dying. I sent flowers. I skipped my brother's funeral for your grief.\n\nELLA\nAnd you felt like a hero.\n\nMARCUS\nI felt like a mark.\n\nShe sets her knife down. Smiles, slow.\n\nELLA\nI needed to know if you'd stay for a lie. You did. Three months.\n\nMARCUS\nWhy?\n\nELLA\nBecause your wife didn't leave you, Marcus. You buried her. In the desert. No marker.\n\nMarcus freezes.\n\nELLA\nNow we both know what the other one's capable of.\n\nShe takes a bite. The candle flickers. He doesn't touch his wine.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_pulp_fiction__r1",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Half-eaten plates. DIANE (30s) twirls pasta. MARCUS (40s) watches her with soft eyes.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad's chemo going okay?\n\nDIANE\nWeek three. He's tough though.\n\nMarcus nods. His phone buzzes. He glances down. A Facebook notification: \"Diane Kowalski is feeling blessed at Lake Havasu with Frank Kowalski.\" Photo: a sunburned man holding a bass, grinning.\n\nMarcus stares. Looks up.\n\nMARCUS\nLake Havasu's nice this time of year.\n\nDiane's fork stops mid-twirl.\n\nDIANE\nWhat?\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad. Looks healthy.\n\nA beat. Diane sets her fork down carefully.\n\nDIANE\nMarcus—\n\nMARCUS\n(pleasant)\nI wired you four thousand dollars on Tuesday.\n\nDIANE\nI was going to tell you—\n\nMARCUS\nI know. That's the problem.\n\nHe pulls out his phone. Dials. Holds it to his ear.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\n(into phone)\nYeah. It's me. She's here.\n\nDiane's face goes blank.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\n(to Diane)\nYou want dessert?",
    "meanRubricScore": 82.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_pulp_fiction__r2",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_pulp_fiction",
    "condition": "Pulp Fiction / Quentin Tarantino",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. STEAKHOUSE - NIGHT\n\nMARCUS cuts a ribeye. DIANE watches him, wine glass untouched.\n\nMARCUS\nSo I called your dad today.\n\nDIANE\nYou what?\n\nMARCUS\nWanted to invite him to the thing Saturday. He picked up on the second ring. Sounded good. Strong. Asked me about the Knicks.\n\nDiane sets her glass down slowly.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nYou told me he's in his third round of chemo. You told me he lost forty pounds. I've been bringing you soup for six weeks, Diane.\n\nDIANE\nMarcus—\n\nMARCUS\nHe asked me about the Knicks.\n\nBeat. Diane leans forward.\n\nDIANE\nHe's not my father.\n\nMarcus stops chewing.\n\nDIANE (CONT'D)\nI don't know who he is. I needed someone to answer if you ever called.\n\nShe finally drinks her wine.\n\nDIANE (CONT'D)\nThe soup was good though.",
    "meanRubricScore": 87.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. NARROW BISTRO — NIGHT\n\nTwo plates, half-finished. DANIEL turns his phone face-down. MARISOL keeps eating.\n\nDANIEL\nYou said the diagnosis came in March.\n\nMARISOL\nFebruary. March was the second scan.\n\nDANIEL\nRight. Because in March I was in Lisbon, and you called me from the hospital lobby. I remember the intercom.\n\nMARISOL\nYou remember what I told you to remember.\n\nDANIEL\nThere's no intercom in a hospital lobby at 2 a.m. There's a vending machine. I know, because I sat in one for six weeks when my mother was upstairs.\n\nMarisol sets down her fork.\n\nMARISOL\nDaniel—\n\nDANIEL\nSo I called him. Your father. Tonight, in the bathroom. He picked up on the second ring and asked me how the fishing was in Norway.\n\nSilence.\n\nMARISOL\nHe doesn't know I told you he was sick.\n\nDANIEL\nWhy would he. He isn't.\n\nMARISOL\nNo. But you were leaving. And when your mother was dying, you stayed. For six weeks. You stayed.\n\nHe goes very still.\n\nDANIEL\nYou built a cancer out of my mother.\n\nMARISOL\nI built a reason for you to sit down.\n\nDaniel stands. Puts on his coat. Then — slowly — sits back down.\n\nDANIEL\nOrder dessert. Then you're going to tell him what you did. While I listen.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. NARROW BISTRO — NIGHT\n\nTwo plates, mostly finished. A candle guttering. DANIEL turns his water glass slowly. MARA watches him do it.\n\nMARA\nYou always do that when you're building up to something.\n\nDANIEL\nDo I.\n\nMARA\nThird date, you did it before you told me about your brother.\n\nDANIEL\nYou remember the third date.\n\nMARA\nI remember all of them.\n\nHe sets the glass down, deliberate.\n\nDANIEL\nI ran into your father this afternoon. Outside the hardware store on Cleeve Street.\n\nMara's face doesn't move. That's the tell.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nHe was carrying a bag of soil. He asked about you. He asked how the wedding planning was going.\n\nMARA\nDaniel—\n\nDANIEL\nSix months ago you said stage three. You said you needed to go home for the treatments. Every second weekend. Eleven trips.\n\nMARA\nTwelve.\n\nSilence. The candle steadies.\n\nDANIEL\nTwelve.\n\nMARA\nI wasn't going home.\n\nDANIEL\nNo.\n\nMARA\nAnd you knew that. In March. You saw the hotel charge and you said nothing, because as long as it was cancer you didn't have to ask.\n\nDaniel picks the glass back up. Turns it.\n\nDANIEL\nHis name's Owen, isn't it. He's outside. He's been outside since we sat down.\n\nMara looks at the window.\n\nMARA\nHe's been outside since March.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. NARROW BISTRO — CORNER BOOTH — NIGHT\n\nTwo plates, half-eaten. DELIA turns her wineglass a quarter-turn, then another quarter-turn.\n\nMARCUS\nYou did that in March too. The glass.\n\nDELIA\nDid I.\n\nMARCUS\nMarch fourteenth. You told me about your father's scan. You turned the glass, then you said \"stage three,\" then the waiter dropped a tray.\n\nDELIA\nYou remember a tray.\n\nMARCUS\nI remember everything twice. Once when it happens, once when I can't sleep.\n\nHe sets down his fork.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nSo tonight you said \"stage two.\"\n\nDelia stops turning the glass.\n\nDELIA\nPeople misspeak.\n\nMARCUS\nCancer doesn't go backwards. You never told your sister. I asked her at the wedding. She laughed like I'd made it up.\n\nSilence. Delia looks at the tablecloth as if reading it.\n\nDELIA\nI needed you to stay somewhere I could find you. So I built a reason.\n\nMARCUS\nOut of your father.\n\nDELIA\nOut of the only thing you'd never walk out of.\n\nMARCUS\nHe's alive.\n\nDELIA\nHe's fine. He's in Lisbon. He asks about you.\n\nMarcus laughs — one dry note — then reaches into his jacket and sets a small ring box on the table, unopened.\n\nMARCUS\nI bought this on March fifteenth.\n\nHe slides it toward her.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nNow tell me one true thing before I open it.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Half-eaten pasta. MARA (38) refills wine. ELI (40) spins his fork, watching her.\n\nELI\nHow's your dad? The chemo.\n\nMARA\nRough week. He sleeps a lot.\n\nELI\nWhich hospital?\n\nMARA\nI told you. St. Anselm's.\n\nEli slides his phone across the table. A photo: Mara's FATHER, alive, laughing on a boat. Timestamped today.\n\nELI\nMy sister's a nurse at St. Anselm's. Oncology. No patient by his name. So I called him.\n\nMara sets the bottle down. Very carefully.\n\nMARA\nYou called him.\n\nELI\nHe thought I was the contractor. About your kitchen renovation. The one I'm apparently paying for.\n\nMARA\nEli—\n\nELI\nEight months, Mara. I drove you to \"appointments.\" I held you in parking lots while you cried.\n\nMARA\nThe money wasn't for a kitchen.\n\nELI\nThen what?\n\nBeat. Mara reaches into her purse. Places a folded ultrasound printout beside his plate.\n\nMARA\nIt's for a clinic. In Denver. Someone's been following me, and I needed cash you couldn't trace. The cancer was the only story you never questioned.\n\nEli stares at the printout. Then at her. The candle gutters.\n\nMARA (CONT'D)\nNow you've called him. So they know where you are, too.\n\nHeadlights sweep the window. Neither of them moves.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT – NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. MARA and DANIEL, mid-dinner. Her phone buzzes. She silences it.\n\nDANIEL\nYour dad?\n\nMARA\nHe doesn't call anymore. Chemo days.\n\nDaniel rotates a small brass top on the tablecloth—his habit when he thinks. It spins. Steady.\n\nDANIEL\nRemission word came up at Christmas. You said \"remission.\" Tonight you said Stage Four. Both can't—\n\nMARA\nDaniel, don't do the spinning thing at me.\n\nDANIEL\nI drove him to oncology in March. The appointment. I sat in the lot.\n\nMARA\nYou never told me that.\n\nDANIEL\nYou never asked what I saw. Which was nothing. No clinic on that street. Just a marina.\n\nThe top wobbles. Mara goes very still.\n\nMARA\nI needed the money you gave me. For treatment, I said.\n\nDANIEL\nWhere did it go?\n\nShe reaches into her bag. Sets down a folded photograph—an ultrasound.\n\nMARA\nA clinic. Different kind. Your clinic, technically.\n\nDaniel stops breathing.\n\nMARA (CONT'D)\nI told you about my father because that lie was smaller than this one. I thought—if you could forgive a sick man, maybe you could forgive—\n\nThe top tips over. Silence.\n\nDANIEL\nHow far along?\n\nMARA\nFar enough that you choosing to stay or leave right now counts.\n\nHe looks at the door. Looks back. Slowly rights the top—and spins it again.\n\nFADE OUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 81.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM – NIGHT\n\nCandles. Half-eaten pasta. MARCUS, 40s, tops off ELENA's wine. She watches him too carefully.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad's biopsy. You said Thursday.\n\nELENA\nWednesday. The results.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said Thursday. On the phone. I wrote it down.\n\nHe slides a small notebook across the table. Her eyes drop to it — then to his hand. His wedding ring is gone.\n\nELENA\nWhere's your ring?\n\nMARCUS\nAnswer the question.\n\nELENA\nIt was Wednesday. I misspoke.\n\nMarcus turns the notebook to an earlier page. Reads.\n\nMARCUS\n\"Elena's father, St. Vincent's, oncology.\" I called St. Vincent's this morning. To send flowers. Oncology has no patient under his name. Neither does the hospital. Neither does anyone.\n\nElena sets her fork down. Slow. Composed.\n\nELENA\nThen you've had a strange day. Digging into a dying man.\n\nMARCUS\nThere is no dying man. Which means the nights you were \"at the hospital\"—\n\nELENA\nCareful.\n\nMARCUS\n—were somewhere else. With someone else.\n\nSilence. Elena reaches into her purse. Places a photograph on the table. Marcus, at a motel, with a woman. Dated three weeks ago.\n\nELENA\nI lied about my father because I needed you to feel watched. So you'd confess. Instead you hired someone to count my lies.\n\n(beat)\n\nYou've been cheating for a year, Marcus. I invented a cancer to give you the mercy of telling me first.\n\nHe stares at the photo. She stands, takes her coat.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nDinner's on you. So is the divorce.\n\nShe exits. Marcus sits alone with the notebook, the photo, and two cooling plates.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. MAYA’S DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nTwo half-eaten plates. A candle gutters beside EVAN’s phone, recording.\n\nMAYA watches him rewind the audio waveform.\n\nEVAN  \nYou said the diagnosis came Tuesday.\n\nMAYA  \nIt did.\n\nHe plays a fragment: Maya’s recorded voice—identical room tone, identical clink of cutlery.\n\nMAYA (RECORDING)  \nThe diagnosis came Tuesday.\n\nEvan swipes back. The file is dated six weeks ago.\n\nMAYA  \nYou’ve been recording our dinners?\n\nEVAN  \nBecause every time I decide to leave, something terrible happens to your father.\n\nHe opens a message thread. On screen: a photograph sent ten minutes ago—Maya’s father, grinning at an airport, holding a sign: “CANCER-FREE TEN YEARS.”\n\nMaya goes still.\n\nEVAN  \nYour sister finally answered me.\n\nMAYA  \nI only needed you to stay until the sale closed.\n\nEVAN  \nWhat sale?\n\nMaya looks toward the dark window. In its reflection, a red light blinks beneath the sideboard.\n\nEvan follows her gaze, kneels, and pulls out a hidden camera.\n\nMAYA  \nThe buyers wanted proof the house was occupied. A stable couple. No complications.\n\nHis phone CHIMES. An automated email fills the screen: “PROPERTY TRANSFER COMPLETE.”\n\nEvan absorbs it—then turns the hidden camera toward Maya.\n\nEVAN  \nGood. Because my scheduled statement just went to the fraud unit.\n\nOutside, blue lights wash across the dining room.\n\nMaya blows out the candle.",
    "meanRubricScore": 84.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten risotto cools between MARA, 34, and ELIAS, 38. A phone records beside the wine.\n\nMARA\nYou’ll say you suspected me tonight.\n\nELIAS\nI did.\n\nMARA\nNo. You suspected me three weeks ago. Tonight is just when you arranged proof.\n\nElias turns the phone facedown.\n\nELIAS\nYour father’s oncology bills weren’t in the insurance file.\n\nMARA\nHe paid privately.\n\nELIAS\nThen why did he post this ten minutes ago?\n\nHe mirrors his phone to the television. On screen, Mara’s father grins atop a mountain, holding today’s newspaper.\n\nMara stares. Then calmly lifts her plate. Beneath it: a printed transcript of their conversation, including Elias’s last question.\n\nELIAS\nWhat is that?\n\nMARA\nThe version you practiced in your car yesterday.\n\nShe taps the recording phone.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)\nYou broke into my cloud. I needed you to admit what you found there.\n\nELIAS\nSo he never had cancer.\n\nMARA\nNo.\n\nA beat. Elias’s anger collapses into calculation.\n\nELIAS\nYou made me cancel the merger. Sell my shares.\n\nMARA\nAnd transfer the proceeds into the account I gave you.\n\nHis phone CHIMES. The television changes: TRANSFER COMPLETE.\n\nElias lunges for the device. Mara pulls the power cord; the screen dies.\n\nELIAS\nWhere did it go?\n\nMara raises her wine.\n\nMARA\nMy father’s hospital fund.\n\nPolice lights pulse through the blinds.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)\nHe’s outside. He brought the handcuffs.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. QUIET RESTAURANT – NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten dinners cool between MARA and ELI. Mara arranges a fork, spoon, and knife like markers on a timeline.\n\nMARA  \nYou left the hotel at nine. Dad called me at nine-ten. At nine-twenty, his car was burning.\n\nELI  \nWe’re not doing this again.\n\nMARA  \nWe do it every night. Just in different orders.\n\nEli turns the fork away.\n\nELI  \nTonight was about his cancer.\n\nMARA  \nTonight was about getting you here.\n\nHer phone lights beside the wineglass. In its curved reflection, Eli reads a message preview:\n\nDAD: “Landed safely. Stop telling people I’m sick.”\n\nHe snatches up the phone. A photo fills the screen: Mara’s father, smiling at an airport gate, holding today’s newspaper.\n\nELI  \nHe doesn’t have cancer.\n\nMARA  \nNo.\n\nELI  \nYou lied.\n\nMARA  \nAnd you came because dying men can’t contradict you.\n\nEli stands, rattling the silverware.\n\nELI  \nContradict what?\n\nMara taps the knife—the nine-twenty marker.\n\nMARA  \nThat you moved his car after you hit the cyclist.\n\nEli freezes.\n\nELI  \nI moved it because you begged me to.\n\nMara’s phone flashes: AUDIO UPLOADED.\n\nELI sees it.\n\nMARA  \nThat’s the order I couldn’t remember.\n\nOutside, blue light begins pulsing across the window.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight softens a table set for two. Plates nearly empty, wine glasses half-full.\n\nJULIA (30s) sets down her fork, watches DAN (30s) across from her.\n\nDAN\nYour mom called me today.\n\nJulia’s hand freezes on her wine stem.\n\nJULIA\nDid she.\n\nDAN\nShe said your dad’s been in remission for three years.\n\nJulia takes a slow sip. Places the glass down with precision.\n\nJULIA\nThat’s wonderful news.\n\nDAN\nYou told me he was dying.\n\nJULIA\nI told you he had cancer.\n\nDAN\nAnd let me believe it was active.\n\nJULIA\nYou assumed.\n\nDan exhales, pushes his plate away.\n\nDAN\nFor eight months, I’ve been waiting for a call that was never coming.\n\nJulia studies her reflection in the wine.\n\nJULIA\nYou were so kind when you thought he was dying.\n\nDAN\nWhat does that mean?\n\nJULIA\nYou kept showing up.\n\nShe meets his eyes.\n\nJULIA\nI couldn’t risk you leaving.\n\nDan leans back, chair creaking. The candle flickers between them.\n\nDAN\nYou didn’t think I’d stay for you.\n\nJulia’s composure cracks, just for a breath. She looks down.\n\nJULIA\nWould you?",
    "meanRubricScore": 86,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight trembles between them. Plates half-finished. LEAH (30s) cuts her chicken with surgical precision. MARCUS (30s) watches her, fork suspended.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said stage three. Last spring.\n\nLeah chews. Swallows.\n\nLEAH\nHe responded well.\n\nMARCUS\nTo what?\n\nLEAH\nTreatment. Marcus, the wine—\n\nMARCUS\nI called your mom today. About the lease. She said he’s been in Phoenix since March. Golfing.\n\nLeah sets down her knife. The sound is too loud.\n\nLEAH\nHe needed a break.\n\nMARCUS\nFrom what?\n\nBeat.\n\nLEAH\nFrom me asking.\n\nMarcus leans back. The candle gutters.\n\nMARCUS\nYou wore his sweater for a week. You cried in the shower.\n\nLEAH\nI was sad.\n\nMARCUS\nAbout what?\n\nShe looks at him. The mask slips, not into grief—into something older, colder.\n\nLEAH\nThat I had to keep lying to you.\n\nMarcus stares. Then, slowly, he picks up his fork and resumes eating.\n\nMARCUS\nI’m not hungry anymore.\n\nHe keeps eating.\n\nLEAH\nThen stop.\n\nHe doesn’t.\n\nFADE OUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nPlates half-cleared. A single candle flickers between them.\n\nDANIEL sips wine, studying MAYA like a locked door.\n\nDANIEL\nWhen I asked about moving in together... you said you couldn't. Not until things with your dad stabilized.\n\nMAYA\nI did.\n\nDANIEL\nI ran into Carol today. Chemo's going well. She said he's been cancer-free since March.\n\nMaya's fork stops.\n\nDANIEL\nMarch. Four months ago.\n\nShe sets the fork down carefully.\n\nMAYA\nIt was simpler.\n\nDANIEL\nSimpler than what? The truth?\n\nMAYA\n(quietly)\nMarch was when I first thought about saying yes.\n\nDaniel's expression shifts—anger unsteadied by confusion.\n\nDANIEL\nWhat does that even mean?\n\nMAYA\nI got scared. Of how much I wanted it.\n\nShe picks up the fork. Continues eating. Calm.\n\nMAYA\nYou always said you hated liars more than anything.\n\nDaniel watches her chew, like he's seeing someone else entirely.\n\nDANIEL\nSo you gave me one. To see what I'd do.\n\nMaya looks up.\n\nMAYA\nNow we both know.\n\nDaniel sets down his wine glass.\n\nDANIEL\nI don't think I know anything about you.\n\nMaya folds her napkin. That's what she wanted.\n\nMAYA\nGood. Now we're honest.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nA dim corner table. MAYA (30s) stirs risotto. ELIAS (30s) watches her, fork suspended.\n\nMAYA\nThe scan was Tuesday. They're calling it responsive.\n\nELIAS\n(nods, slow)\nResponsive. That's the word they used?\n\nMAYA\nThe word the doctor used. \"Encouraging responsiveness.\" Your turn.\n\nShe pushes the wine list. Elias doesn't move. His eyes track a WAITER passing with a tray -- CLINK of glass, SWISH of liquid -- each sound amplified, distinct.\n\nELIAS\nYour father's doctor. Dr. Vance. Oncology, Mercy General.\n\nMAYA\n(smile fixed)\nThat's right.\n\nELIAS\nDr. Vance retired eighteen months ago. I know because I sent him a bottle of that Barolo he likes. For his retirement.\n\nThe ambient HUM drops out. A high-pitched RING replaces it -- tinnitus or truth.\n\nMAYA\n(still)\nYou checked.\n\nELIAS\nI checked the hospital directory. No Dr. Vance. No oncology wing renovation. Just a cardiology unit where oncology used to be.\n\nMaya's fingers tighten on her napkin. The ring resolves into a PHONE VIBRATING -- hers, face down on the table. Screen lights up: \"DAD CALLING.\"\n\nELIAS\n(quiet)\nYou want to take it? Or should I?\n\nMaya stares at the phone. Then at Elias. She picks up the wine list, hands shaking, and begins to read -- upside down.",
    "meanRubricScore": 84,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. QUIET RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nA half-eaten risotto sits between LENA (30s) and MARK (30s). Rain traces the window. A low HUM of conversation.\n\nLENA\nHe’s responding to the immunotherapy. The scans next week should show shrinkage.\n\nMark stirs his wine. Doesn't drink.\n\nMARK\nThat’s good. Really good.\n\nLENA\nI didn't want to ruin the reservation. You looked forward to this place.\n\nMARK\n(soft)\nI did.\n\nHe reaches into his jacket pocket. Pulls out a folded, crisp RECEIPT. Slides it across the table.\n\nLena freezes. Fork mid-air.\n\nINSERT - RECEIPT\n\n\"FLORIST - SYMPATHY ARRANGEMENT - DELIVERED TO: MERCER HOSPICE - 3 DAYS AGO.\"\n\nBACK TO SCENE\n\nLena’s hand trembles. She reads. Re-reads.\n\nLENA\n(whisper)\nMark...\n\nMARK\nHospice doesn't do immunotherapy, Lena. They do comfort.\n\nThe HUM of the restaurant seems to LOUDEN, a rising TINNITUS.\n\nLENA\nIt’s... complicated. The facility handles both.\n\nMARK\n(standing)\nI called the number on the card. \"Mercer Hospice.\" The woman who answered? She knew your father’s name. She said he passed peacefully. Tuesday.\n\nLena’s face collapses. Not grief. Calculation.\n\nLENA\nI needed you to stay. Just for tonight.\n\nMark stares down at her. The waiter approaches, oblivious.\n\nWAITER\nDessert menus?\n\nMark places cash on the table. Covers the receipt.\n\nMARK\nNo. Just the check.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. PRIVATE DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nLow amber light. White linen. Half-eaten risotto. A PHONE buzzes face-down beside ELENA’S (30s) water glass.\n\nMARCUS (30s) watches the vibration travel across the table. He doesn’t reach for it.\n\nMARCUS\nThat’s the third time.\n\nELENA\n(Cutting salmon)\nHospice nurse. Shift changes.\n\nMARCUS\nAt nine forty-five?\n\nELENA\n(Pauses, fork mid-air)\nThey rotate. You know this.\n\nMarcus picks up the phone. Screen illuminated: \"MOM — Video Call.\"\n\nMARCUS\nYour mom’s calling from the hospice?\n\nElena’s hand tightens on her knife. A beat. She sets it down.\n\nELENA\nShe... visits. Weekends.\n\nMarcus swipes \"Accept.\" The screen fills with a SUNLIT KITCHEN. A WOMAN (60s) chops vegetables, laughing at something off-camera. Healthy. Alive.\n\nElena goes pale.\n\nMARCUS\n(Quiet)\nStage four, you said. Three months.\n\nELENA\n(Voice cracking)\nI didn’t want you to—\n\nMARCUS\nTo what? Stay?\n\nHe ends the call. Places the phone face-down. The buzzing stops.\n\nMARCUS\nThe risotto’s cold.\n\nHe stands, drops his napkin on the table, and walks out.\n\nElena stares at the dark screen. Her reflection: dry-eyed.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nWine glasses catch the low amber light. JULIAN (30s) studies ELENA (30s), his fork resting motionless.\n\nJULIAN\nThe third-floor oncology wing at Mercy. You said room 312 had the window facing the river.\n\nELENA\n(softly)\nJulian, please. Don't make me relive the chemo cycles.\n\nJULIAN\nYou said you watched the sunrise there on the twelfth. Just before you asked me to liquidate the trust for his experimental treatment.\n\nELENA\nAnd it saved him. Why dissect it now?\n\nJULIAN\nBecause Mercy demolished that entire wing three years ago. There is no river view.\n\nElena freezes. The restaurant noise seems to drop away.\n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nYou didn't build that memory from a hospital. You built it from the hotel terrace in Geneva where you planned to run with the money.\n\nElena doesn't blink. Her fragile posture straightens into cold calculation.\n\nELENA\nIf you knew the story",
    "meanRubricScore": 75,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. CORNER BOOTH - NIGHT\n\nTwo untouched plates sit between JULIAN (30s) and CLARA (30s). Julian methodically turns a silver lighter over in his palm, tracking the clicks.\n\nJULIAN\nYou said the diagnosis arrived in November. Third-floor oncology.\n\nCLARA\nJulian, please. Don't dissect it. It’s painful enough.\n\nJULIAN\nYou canceled Zurich for his chemotherapy cycle. Second Tuesday of every month. The calendar was absolute.\n\nCLARA\nBecause I had to be there for him.\n\nJULIAN\nMy brother is the chief radiologist on that floor, Clara.\n\nClara freezes. \n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nHe called me this morning. Not about a patient file. About an estate registry.\n\nHe sets the lighter upright on the polished mahogany. It doesn't wobble.\n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nYour father died eight years ago in Lyon.\n\nClara looks at the standing lighter. Her grief vanishes, replaced by a cold, precise lucidity.\n\nCLARA\nHe did.\n\nJULIAN\nThen whose bedside have you been sitting beside every Tuesday?\n\nCLARA\nYours. If I didn't give you a dying man to rescue, you would have walked out four months ago.\n\nJulian stares at her as the entire architecture of their year collapses.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "[SCENE START]\n\n**INT. BISTRO - NIGHT**\n\nTwo untouched plates sit between JULIAN (40s) and CLARA (30s). Julian turns his wine glass by the stem, tracing concentric wet rings on the linen.\n\nJULIAN\nYou said Stage Four. December third. You called me from the clinic in Zurich.\n\nCLARA\nI remember, Julian. The snow had trapped us in the lot.\n\nJULIAN\nExcept the storm in Zurich wasn’t in December. It was February. And your father wasn't in Switzerland.\n\nClara’s hand freezes near her fork.\n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nI wired the seventy thousand because you said his lungs were failing. But I ran into Arthur this morning at the harbor. He was sailing. Completely healthy.\n\nCLARA\nJulian, listen to me—\n\nJULIAN\nYou didn't build an alibi. You built a reality. You needed me paralyzed by grief so I wouldn't audit the trust.\n\nClara leans back, her sympathetic posture vanishing into cold precision.\n\nCLARA\nIf you had audited it, you would have found out you were bankrupt anyway. I just gave you three months of peace.\n\nJulian stares at her, the check lying between them, now an indictment.\n\n[SCENE END]",
    "meanRubricScore": 84.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT - DINING TABLE - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Empty plates between MARCUS (40s) and ELENA (40s).\n\nMARCUS\nYou said he was in chemo.\n\nELENA\nHe was.\n\nMARCUS\nThe hospital bracelet. It’s stamped today.\n\nShe freezes.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nYour father died three years ago, didn’t he?\n\nELENA\nThat was the first layer.\n\nMARCUS\nWhat?\n\nELENA\nThe lie you needed to forgive. I planted it tonight—same table, same wine—to see if you’d still leave when the grief was fake.\n\nMarcus touches the bracelet. It bends.\n\nMARCUS\nThen who’s sick?\n\nELENA\nNo one. Except the version of me you keep rebuilding from false memories.\n\nShe pushes the plate away—underneath, a second bracelet, identical, stamped yesterday.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nWhich layer are you in now?\n\nMarcus stares, breath shallow. The candle flickers—two shadows merge into one.\n\nFADE OUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 74.3333,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Half-empty plates. MARCUS (40s) and ELENA (30s) across from each other.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said the chemo started Tuesday.\n\nELENA\nIt did.\n\nMARCUS pushes a PHONE across the table. A PHOTO: her father, LAUGHING on a golf course. Timestamp: TODAY.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nLayer one: he’s sick. Layer two: he never was. Which reality are we eating in?\n\nElena freezes. The candle flickers—she stares through it, as if seeing another table.\n\nELENA\nIf I told you he was dead, you’d leave. So I built a memory where he lived long enough for you to love me.\n\nMARCUS\nThat’s not grief. That’s architecture.\n\nELENA\nCheck the bottom drawer. The will. He died three years ago. This dinner? The anniversary.\n\nMarcus opens the drawer with mechanical precision. He pulls out a folded document. His hand shakes—not with anger, but recognition.\n\nMARCUS\nYou didn’t lie to trap me.\n\nELENA\nNo. I lied to see if you’d stay for the truth underneath.\n\nMarcus slides the will back. He reaches across, takes her hand.\n\nMARCUS\nThen we descend together.\n\nHe blows out the candle. Darkness. The sound of a DRAWER CLOSING—final, absolute.",
    "meanRubricScore": 68.6667,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Half-eaten risotto. MARCUS (40) sets down his fork.\n\nELENA (38) swirls wine.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said he was in hospice. Last Tuesday.\n\nELENA\nHe was.\n\nMARCUS\nThen why did he call me?\n\nHe slides his phone across the table. A voicemail timestamp: TODAY. A man’s voice, clear, cheerful: \"Tell Elena I caught the bass.\"\n\nElena stares. The layer cracks.\n\nELENA\nThat’s not him. That’s the first level.\n\nMARCUS\nWhat?\n\nELENA\nYou think this is real? The cancer, the grief— it was the seed. I planted it so you’d stay.\n\nMarcus touches the photo frame beside him. Their wedding photo— but his face is blank, unpainted.\n\nMARCUS\nThen who is sitting across from me?\n\nELENA\nThe projection you needed.\n\nShe smiles. The candles flicker out one by one, leaving only the phone glowing.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nWake up, Marcus. Dinner is the dream.\n\nHe looks down. The risotto is sand.\n\nBLACKOUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 70,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_inception__r1",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandles gutter between two half-empty plates. MARA (30s) stirs her risotto without eating it.\n\nMARA\nThe second round of chemo hit him hard. He can barely—\n\nHer phone buzzes face-up on the table. A text from DAD:\n\n\"Grill's acting up again. Tell your mother I'm not buying a new one.\"\n\nMara doesn't see it. DAVID (30s) does.\n\nHe stares at the message. Then at her.\n\nDAVID\nYour dad's grilling?\n\nMARA\nWhat?\n\nDAVID\nYour phone. He's asking about a grill.\n\nMara's spoon stops. She glances down. A beat of silence that holds too long.\n\nMARA\nHe has good days.\n\nDAVID\nMara.\n\nMARA\nSome days he's—\n\nDAVID\nYou told me he couldn't get out of bed.\n\nShe sets the spoon down. Looks at him with something that isn't guilt. It's calculation.\n\nMARA\nYou were going to leave. I needed a reason for you to stay.\n\nDavid's face shifts. Not anger. Something worse. Recognition.\n\nDAVID\nHow long ago were you going to leave?\n\nShe doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_inception__r2",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandles. Half-eaten plates. CLAIRE (30s) dabs her eyes with a napkin.\n\nCLAIRE\nThe second round of chemo was the worst. He couldn't keep anything down. I just sat with him.\n\nMARCUS (40s) watches her. Steady. He hasn't touched his wine.\n\nCLAIRE (CONT'D)\nThat's why I needed the money. The treatments aren't covered.\n\nMarcus nods slowly. Reaches into his jacket. Produces a PHOTOGRAPH and sets it between their plates.\n\nA tan, healthy man on a fishing boat. Date-stamped three days ago.\n\nClaire stares at it.\n\nMARCUS\nHe posted this Tuesday.\n\nA beat. Claire's grief evaporates like fog. What replaces it is calculation.\n\nCLAIRE\nYou knew.\n\nMARCUS\nI wanted to hear how far you'd go.\n\nClaire sets down her napkin. Deliberate. Unhurried.\n\nCLAIRE\nThen you know I already spent it.\n\nMarcus finally picks up his wine. His hand trembles.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_inception__r3",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_inception",
    "condition": "Inception / Christopher Nolan",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Half-eaten plates. MARTIN (40s) sets down his fork.\n\nMARTIN\nYou said he was in hospice.\n\nELENA (30s) nods, dabbing her mouth.\n\nELENA\nThe last two months were the hardest.\n\nMARTIN\nYou said you visited every weekend.\n\nELENA\nEvery single one.\n\nMartin stares at her. His jaw tightens.\n\nMARTIN\nElena. I drove past Mercy Hospice on Route 9. It closed in March.\n\nElena's napkin stops moving. She doesn't look up.\n\nMARTIN (CONT'D)\nThat was four months ago.\n\nA long beat. Elena folds the napkin into a precise square. Sets it beside her plate.\n\nELENA\nYou drove past it.\n\nMARTIN\nWhat?\n\nELENA\nYou noticed a closed building on Route 9. You remembered it. You held it for four months.\n\nShe looks up. Her expression is clinical, warm in a way that isn't warmth.\n\nELENA (CONT'D)\nThat's exactly what I needed to know.\n\nMartin's face falls. He realizes the dinner was never about dinner.\n\nMARTIN\nWho are you?\n\nElena picks up her wine.\n\nELENA\nSomeone who needed to be sure before I made you an offer.\n\nShe slides a folded card across the table.",
    "meanRubricScore": 79,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. MID-RANGE ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nDALE, 41, in a clip-on tie, chews breadsticks. Across from him, MARNIE, 38, dabs her eyes with a cloth napkin.\n\nMARNIE\nIt's just been hard. With Dad. The prognosis.\n\nDALE\nI made him a playlist. Forty-one tracks. All winners.\n\nMARNIE\nHe'll love it.\n\nDale's phone buzzes. He glances down. Freezes.\n\nDALE\nWhy is your dad tagged in a photo at a water park?\n\nMARNIE\nThat's an old photo.\n\nDALE\nHe's holding a churro. He's on a slide. Marnie, he's doing a thumbs-up.\n\nMARNIE\nWater is very healing.\n\nDALE\n(standing, chair scraping)\nHe's in a tank top that says WORLD'S OKAYEST GRANDPA.\n\nDiners turn. Marnie sips wine, unhurried.\n\nMARNIE\nOkay. He's fine. He's extremely fine. He bowls Tuesdays.\n\nDALE\nI shaved my head!\n\nMARNIE\nIt grew back beautifully.\n\nDALE\nI did a walk! I raised nine hundred dollars in his name!\n\nMARNIE\nAnd that money helped people. So really, I'm a hero.\n\nDale sits down slowly. Picks up a breadstick. Points it at her.\n\nDALE\nI want my playlist back.\n\nMARNIE\nI burned it to a CD for him.\n\nDALE\nThen I'm coming bowling Tuesday. And I'm going to beat a healthy man.\n\nHe bites the breadstick. Aggressively. She raises her glass.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. OLIVE GARDEN-ADJACENT ITALIAN RESTAURANT — NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten lasagna. DENNIS, 41, holds a folded napkin like a legal document. BRENNA, 38, chews aggressively.\n\nDENNIS\nSo your dad's treatments. How's that going.\n\nBRENNA\nBrutal. He's a warrior.\n\nDENNIS\nWeird, because I ran into him at the batting cages.\n\nBRENNA\nLot of guys look like my dad.\n\nDENNIS\nHe was wearing a shirt that said \"Brenna's Dad.\"\n\nBrenna sets down her fork with tremendous dignity.\n\nBRENNA\nThat's a common shirt.\n\nDENNIS\nHe told me he's never been sick. He said, quote, \"I have the bones of a stallion.\"\n\nBRENNA\nThat does sound like him.\n\nDENNIS\nYou lied. For eight months. I organized a 5K.\n\nBRENNA\nAnd people ran! Joy was created!\n\nDENNIS\nI gave a speech at the pasta buffet!\n\nBRENNA\nWhich was moving.\n\nDENNIS\nWhy would you do this?\n\nBRENNA\n(quietly)\nBecause you were going to break up with me in March.\n\nBeat.\n\nDENNIS\n...That's actually a really good reason.\n\nBRENNA\nThank you.\n\nDENNIS\nNo, I mean it. That's strategy. That's chess.\n\nHe reaches across the table and takes her hand, eyes shining.\n\nDENNIS (CONT'D)\nMarry me.\n\nBRENNA\nYes.\n\nDENNIS\nWe'll tell everyone your dad's in remission. At the wedding. He can walk you down the aisle. Triumphantly.\n\nBRENNA\nHe'll cry.\n\nDENNIS\nWe all will.\n\nThey toast. Behind them, a WAITER quietly removes the donation jar.",
    "meanRubricScore": 82.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. MIDPRICED ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nDALE, 41, in a clip-on tie, twirls spaghetti. Across from him, BRENDA, 38, chews breadsticks defensively.\n\nDALE\nSo how's your dad holding up? With the... you know.\n\nBRENDA\nGreat. Amazing. He's doing laps.\n\nDALE\nLaps.\n\nBRENDA\nAround the yard. Doctor says he's the healthiest man in the county.\n\nDale sets down his fork.\n\nDALE\nBrenda. Last week you said he had four months.\n\nBRENDA\nFour months of laps.\n\nDALE\nI sent him a gift basket. I made him a playlist. Nine hours!\n\nBRENDA\nHe loved it.\n\nDALE\nHe called me and asked who I was! Then he asked if I wanted to buy a boat!\n\nBRENDA\nHe's confused. From the laps.\n\nDale stands, chair screeching. Diners turn.\n\nDALE\nYou lied to me. You lied so I wouldn't break up with you on my birthday.\n\nBRENDA\n(standing)\nI panicked! You were about to order dessert alone!\n\nDALE\nI want the truth. Right now. In front of these people.\n\nBRENDA\nFine! He's fine! He's in Arizona! He plays pickleball!\n\nBeat. Dale sits, calm, and dabs his mouth.\n\nDALE\nThen I'm free.\n\nHe pulls a small velvet box from his pocket — and hands it to the WAITER passing by.\n\nDALE (CONT'D)\nKeep it. She's paying.\n\nHe walks out. Brenda stares at the check.",
    "meanRubricScore": 78,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. OLIVE GARDEN-STYLE RESTAURANT — NIGHT\n\nBreadsticks everywhere. MARCUS (40s, polo tucked in) and DENISE (40s, wine glass refilled twice) mid-dinner.\n\nMARCUS\nSo I brought this. For your dad.\n\nHe slides a get-well card across the table. It's enormous. Musical. It plays a kazoo version of \"Amazing Grace.\"\n\nDENISE\n(staring at it)\nPut that away.\n\nMARCUS\nIt cost thirty-one dollars. The cashier cried.\n\nDENISE\nMarcus. My father does not have cancer.\n\nBeat. Marcus slowly closes the card. It wheezes shut.\n\nMARCUS\nYou told me at Brandon's barbecue. You made me donate to a walk. I walked. I have a T-shirt.\n\nDENISE\nI said that so you'd stop talking about your jet ski.\n\nMARCUS\nYou took a casserole from my mother.\n\nDENISE\nThat casserole was for ME, emotionally.\n\nMARCUS\n(standing, too loud)\nEveryone here needs to know! This woman faked a father!\n\nDiners turn. Denise stands too, fully committed.\n\nDENISE\nHe did have SOMETHING. A mole. It was suspicious-adjacent!\n\nMARCUS\nA MOLE?!\n\nThe WAITER approaches with a sympathy dessert — \"OUR THOUGHTS\" written in chocolate.\n\nWAITER\nCompliments of the chef.\n\nMARCUS\n(snatching it)\nShe doesn't get this!\n\nHe eats the whole thing in two bites, maintaining eye contact. The kazoo card wheezes again. Nobody touches it.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nCandles. Spaghetti. MARCUS (40s, polo shirt too tight) chews with his mouth open, nodding solemnly at DANA (40s, regret in real time).\n\nMARCUS\nAnd the wig shop guy said this one's \"funeral ready.\" For your dad.\n\nDANA\nMarcus. Stop buying wigs for my father.\n\nMARCUS\nHe has cancer, Dana. Bald men get cold. It's science.\n\nDana sets down her fork. Deep breath.\n\nDANA\nHe doesn't have cancer. I made it up so you'd stop coming to family stuff. You called my mom \"bro.\"\n\nA beat. Marcus slowly lowers his fork.\n\nMARCUS\nSo I spent four hundred dollars on a \"chemo-care basket\"...\n\nDANA\nYou put a beeper in it.\n\nMARCUS\nFor emergencies!\n\nHe stands, clutching the basket like a betrayed prophet.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nI prayed over this beeper, Dana.\n\nDANA\nSit down.\n\nMARCUS\nNo. You know what the worst part is? Your dad and I were finally close. He texted me a boat meme.\n\nDana's phone BUZZES on the table. Marcus snatches it. Reads.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\n\"Tell Marcus the wig arrived. Best gift ever. He's my son now.\"\n\nHe turns the phone to her. Devastated. Triumphant.\n\nMARCUS (CONT'D)\nYour father chose me.\n\nDANA\nThat's... a group text. He sends it to everyone.\n\nMarcus sits back down, hollow.\n\nMARCUS\nWe're keeping the beeper.\n\nHe resumes eating. Dana does not.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. TRATTORIA GIORDANO — NIGHT\n\nCandlelight. Wine. GREG, 40s, dabs his eyes with a napkin. Across from him, DENISE, 40s, buttering bread with violent calm.\n\nGREG\nYour dad's lucky to have you. My uncle beat lymphoma. It's a fight, but—\n\nDENISE\nHe doesn't have lymphoma.\n\nGREG\nRight. The other one.\n\nDENISE\nThe colon one.\n\nA beat. Greg slowly lowers his napkin.\n\nGREG\nLast week you said lungs. You did a whole thing. You drew a diagram on a placemat.\n\nDENISE\nHe has several cancers. He's an overachiever.\n\nGREG\nDenise.\n\nDENISE\n(crumbling)\nFine. There is no cancer. His doctor said he has \"the bloodwork of a twenty-year-old.\" Those were the exact words and I hated them.\n\nGREG\nWhy would you lie about that?!\n\nDENISE\nBecause you were about to dump me and I panicked, and then you got so nice, Greg. You drove my dad to the farmers market.\n\nGREG\nHe bought plums.\n\nDENISE\nHe loves plums.\n\nGreg stands. Sits. Stands again.\n\nGREG\nI shaved my head for solidarity!\n\nDENISE\nYou said that was for a movie.\n\nGREG\nTHERE WAS NO MOVIE.\n\nA WAITER approaches with the dessert cart. Both instantly smile.\n\nDENISE\n(beat)\nWe're celebrating. His father's cancer-free.\n\nGREG\n(dead inside)\nBring the whole cart.\n\nThe waiter sets down seven desserts. Greg eats tiramisu with his hands.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten lasagna between GREG, 38, and NINA, 36. Nina guards the bread basket like a dragon.\n\nGREG\nI’m glad your dad’s responding to treatment.\n\nNINA\nHe’s very brave. Doctors say he has the strongest shoulders they’ve ever treated.\n\nGreg’s phone CHIMES. He glances down.\n\nINSERT: A livestream. Nina’s father, shirtless and jubilant, water-skiing beneath a banner: “TWELFTH ANNUAL PERFECT HEALTH PARADE.”\n\nGREG\nIs that your father?\n\nNINA lunges for the phone. Greg raises it overhead.\n\nNINA\nThat could be old.\n\nGREG\nHe’s holding today’s newspaper.\n\nNINA\nHe loves journalism.\n\nGREG\nYou said he had cancer.\n\nNINA\nI said “the C-word.”\n\nGREG\nYou said “aggressive colon.”\n\nNINA\nHis colon is aggressive. He once cleared a hardware store.\n\nGREG\nI shaved my head for him.\n\nNINA\nAnd your skull is magnificent. This exposed a strength.\n\nGREG\nWhy lie?\n\nNINA\nBecause you were going to cancel dinner for fantasy football.\n\nGREG\nThat league has a constitution.\n\nNINA\nSo I created a medical emergency with emotional seniority.\n\nGreg stares, devastated.\n\nGREG\nI mailed him a handmade coupon for one free hug.\n\nNINA\nHe framed it.\n\nGreg’s phone CHIMES again. He reads.\n\nGREG\nHe just redeemed it.\n\nNINA freezes. Greg stands.\n\nGREG (CONT’D)\nHe’s in the parking lot.\n\nNina grabs the bread basket and bolts.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. UPSCALE RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten steaks. MELANIE guards the bread basket. GREG stares at his phone, then at her.\n\nGREG  \nYour father’s cancer fundraiser just refunded me.\n\nMELANIE  \nThat’s normal. Cancer refunds people constantly.\n\nGREG turns the phone around. A video plays silently: Melanie’s father, shirtless and jubilant, water-skiing beneath a banner reading CANCER-FREE SINCE ALWAYS!\n\nGREG  \n“Since always,” Melanie.\n\nMELANIE  \nHis doctor believes in aggressive optimism.\n\nGREG  \nYou said he had six months.\n\nMELANIE  \nTo finish his patio. You interrupted me with a hug.\n\nGREG  \nI shaved my head for him.\n\nMELANIE  \nNobody requested that. You unveiled it during dessert.\n\nGREG  \nI raised twelve thousand dollars!\n\nMELANIE  \nAnd we learned you’re incredible at fundraising. This has been a growth experience.\n\nGREG  \nWhere did the money go?\n\nMelanie slowly removes an expensive watch and hides it under her napkin.\n\nMELANIE  \nSome went toward awareness.\n\nGREG  \nThat watch is aware of everything.\n\nMELANIE  \nFine. I panicked. You were going to dump me, and “Dad’s redoing the patio” felt emotionally weak.\n\nGreg stands, devastated.\n\nGREG  \nI told my entire office he died.\n\nMELANIE  \nWhy?\n\nGREG  \nThey gave me bereavement leave!\n\nHis phone BUZZES. He checks it.\n\nGREG  \nThey saw the water-skiing video.\n\nMelanie brightens.\n\nMELANIE  \nSo we agree he needs to die now.\n\nGreg sits.\n\nGREG  \nAfter he finishes my patio.",
    "meanRubricScore": 87.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nHalf-eaten lasagna sits between GREG, 38, overdressed, and MARA, 36, gripping her wineglass.\n\nMara’s phone BUZZES. Greg glances down.\n\nON SCREEN: DAD: “Stop telling dates I have cancer. I’m at pickleball. Also, your mother says use a different lie.”\n\nGreg slowly lifts the phone.\n\nGREG  \nYour father’s at pickleball?\n\nMARA  \nDoctors recommend joy.\n\nGREG  \nHe says you lied about cancer.\n\nMARA  \nHe’s very private.\n\nGREG  \nHe used the word “lie,” Mara.\n\nMARA  \nThat’s his generation’s word for “complex emotional shortcut.”\n\nGREG  \nYou made me shave my head for solidarity.\n\nMARA  \nAnd honestly? Strong skull. You were hiding premium architecture.\n\nGreg removes his napkin. Underneath: a tiny velvet ring box.\n\nMARA  \nOh, no.\n\nGREG  \nI was going to propose because I thought your family needed hope.\n\nMARA  \nThat is a terrible reason to marry someone.\n\nGREG  \nI know that now, Professor Honesty.\n\nHe opens the box. Inside is not a ring, but a folded receipt.\n\nGREG (CONT’D)  \nI panic-returned it during appetizers.\n\nMARA  \nYou left the table to “check the moon.”\n\nGREG  \nThe moon was inside a jewelry store.\n\nMara’s phone BUZZES again.\n\nON SCREEN: DAD: “She also lies about being allergic to birds.”\n\nGreg freezes. Mara slowly looks toward the restaurant’s open patio, where dozens of pigeons gather.\n\nMARA  \nDon’t weaponize them.\n\nGreg grabs the bread basket and marches outside.\n\nMARA (CONT’D)  \nGreg. Greg, they have no legal authority!",
    "meanRubricScore": 84,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT\n\nA man, DEREK (40s, polo shirt tucked into jeans), saws through a pork chop. Across from him, LISA (40s, blazer over yoga pants), sips wine.\n\nDEREK\nSo I called your dad today. Wanted to see if he needed anything after his, you know...\n\nLISA\nThat was sweet. He’s doing okay.\n\nDEREK\nYeah, he sounded great. Really... robust.\n\nLISA\nChemo’s been rough, but he’s a fighter.\n\nDEREK\nFunny thing. He said he just got back from a golf trip.\n\nLisa freezes, wine glass at her lips.\n\nLISA\nThey have golf at the treatment center. It’s very progressive.\n\nDEREK\nHe said he shot a 78.\n\nLISA\n(beat)\nIt’s a very nice treatment center.\n\nDEREK\nLisa, you told me he had cancer.\n\nLISA\nI said he had a *mass*.\n\nDEREK\nYou said, and I quote, “My father has a golf-ball-sized tumor.”\n\nLISA\nRight. And then he went to the doctor, and they removed it. And he celebrated by golfing. With his healthy, tumor-free body.\n\nDEREK\nSo he’s cured?\n\nLISA\nThe man is a medical miracle.\n\nDEREK\nThen why did you tell me last week he was starting radiation?\n\nLisa sets her wine down. She folds her hands on the table.\n\nLISA\nBecause you wouldn’t stop asking me to help you move that armoire.\n\nDEREK\nThat armoire is solid oak!\n\nLISA\nAnd my father is solidly *fine*. I needed a reason to be busy for three Saturdays.\n\nDEREK\nYou invented a tumor to get out of moving furniture?\n\nLISA\nI invented a *golf-ball-sized* tumor. For a *golf-ball-sized* favor.\n\nDEREK\nThat’s insane.\n\nLISA\nYou’re the one who bought a two-hundred-pound cabinet with no plan.\n\nDEREK\nThe plan was you!\n\nLISA\nThe plan is always me! I needed a break!\n\nDEREK\nSo you gave your dad fake cancer?!\n\nLISA\nI gave him a fake *recovery*. It’s a feel-good story.\n\nDerek stares at her. He picks up his fork, then puts it down.\n\nDEREK\nI sent him a casserole.\n\nLISA\nHe loves casseroles.\n\nDEREK\nI wrote “KICK CANCER’S ASS” on the lid in Sharpie.\n\nLISA\nHe probably thought that was very supportive.\n\nDEREK\nHe called me “son.” I’ve never heard him call me “son.”\n\nLISA\nSee? This brought you closer.\n\nDEREK\nYou are a monster.\n\nLISA\nI am a woman who did not want to throw out her back for a piece of furniture you found on the side of the road!\n\nDEREK\nIt’s an antique!\n\nLISA\nIt has a raccoon living in it!\n\nDerek stands, pacing.\n\nDEREK\nI’m calling him right now. I’m telling him you lied.\n\nLISA\nGo ahead. Tell a cancer survivor his daughter is a liar. See how that makes you feel.\n\nDEREK\nHe’s not a survivor! He never had it!\n\nLISA\nHe survived the *ordeal*.\n\nDerek grabs his phone. Lisa snatches it and holds it behind her back.\n\nLISA\nYou call him, and I’ll tell everyone at your office party that you cried during the ASPCA commercial.\n\nDEREK\nEveryone cries during that commercial.\n\nLISA\nYou sobbed. You tried to adopt the dog through the screen.\n\nDEREK\nI was emotionally available!\n\nLISA\nYou were a liability!\n\nThey glare at each other. Derek sits back down, defeated.\n\nDEREK\nI’m keeping the casserole dish.\n\nLISA\nFine. But you’re still helping me move the armoire.\n\nDEREK\nWhy would I do that?\n\nLISA\nBecause if you don’t, I’ll tell my dad you broke his daughter’s heart. And he will *survive* you.\n\nDerek stares. He picks up his pork chop with his hands and takes a huge, angry bite.\n\nDEREK\n(mouth full)\nI hate you.\n\nLISA\nI know. Eat your vegetables.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nA half-eaten basket of bread sits between DEREK (40s, cheap suit, earnest) and LISA (30s, nervous, stabbing a single penne). Muzak wheezes.\n\nDEREK\nI just think it’s beautiful you postponed your water aerobics certification to be with him.\n\nLISA\nDad always said family comes before buoyancy.\n\nDEREK\nThat’s a real man. And what stage did they catch it in?\n\nLISA\nUhh... the one where they give you a little bell to ring.\n\nDEREK\nTerrific. So he rings it at the end?\n\nLISA\nHe rings it to summon more blankets.\n\nDEREK\nSmart. Blankets keep the cancer guessing.\n\nLisa nods, relieved. Derek reaches for her hand. She flinches.\n\nDEREK\nYou know, my cousin beat lymphoma. I could ask him to call your dad. Compare port scars.\n\nLISA\nHe doesn’t have a port.\n\nDEREK\nNo port? How do they get the chemo in?\n\nLISA\nThey... rub it on. Like a lotion.\n\nDEREK\n(beat)\nChemo goes in through the blood, Lisa.\n\nLISA\nNot the new kind. The new kind is topical.\n\nDEREK\nTopical chemo.\n\nLISA\nIt’s called Oncolo-gel. Huge in Europe.\n\nDEREK\nSo your dad has a cancer that’s treated with a moisturizer.\n\nLISA\nIt’s more of a mousse.\n\nDerek slowly withdraws his hand. He picks up a breadstick and points it at her like a tiny sword.\n\nDEREK\nI’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you to say the first thing that comes into your brain.\n\nLISA\nOkay.\n\nDEREK\nWhat’s your dad’s name?\n\nLISA\nThat’s not fair. I call him Dad.\n\nDEREK\nWhat’s his first name, Lisa?\n\nLisa stares at the breadstick. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple.\n\nLISA\n...Philip.\n\nDEREK\nAnd what did Philip tell you when he got the diagnosis?\n\nLISA\nHe said, “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you at the funeral.”\n\nDEREK\nHe said that to his own daughter?\n\nLISA\nHe’s very dry.\n\nDEREK\nSo dry it’s slippery.\n\nDerek snaps the breadstick in half. Crumbs spray the table.\n\nDEREK\nYou don’t have a dad, do you?\n\nLISA\nOf course I have a dad. Everyone has a dad.\n\nDEREK\nNot if he’s a mousse.\n\nLISA\nThat’s the treatment, not the person.\n\nDEREK\nI think you made him up to get out of meeting my parents.\n\nLISA\nThat’s insane. I just didn’t want to go to your parents’ crab boil.\n\nDEREK\nSo you killed your fictional father.\n\nLISA\nI didn’t kill him. I gave him a manageable skin condition.\n\nDEREK\n(with rising awe)\nYou are the most committed liar I have ever met.\n\nLISA\nThank you?\n\nDEREK\nI’m not complimenting you. I’m terrified.\n\nLISA\nThen why are you smiling?\n\nDerek catches himself. He is smiling.\n\nDEREK\nBecause I’ve never seen anyone order a second basket of bread on a lie this big.\n\nBeat. Derek slides the butter dish toward her.\n\nDEREK\nKeep going. I want to see how deep this goes.\n\nLisa takes a breadstick, dips it in the butter, and eats it without breaking eye contact.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. MEXICAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nDale and Karen sit in a red vinyl booth. Guacamole drips down Dale's chin. Karen dabs her mouth with a napkin.\n\nKAREN\n...so after my father’s stem cell transplant, he started painting miniatures of lighthouses.\n\nDale nods gravely, chewing.\n\nDALE\nThat’s beautiful. My Uncle Rick got a colostomy bag and now he makes wind chimes out of spent shell casings.\n\nKAREN\nWow. Casual.\n\nDale reaches for the salsa. His elbow knocks a framed photo off the windowsill.\n\nDALE\nSorry. Clumsy hands.\n\nHe picks it up. It's a photo of Karen and an older man on a jet ski, both giving thumbs up.\n\nDALE\n(quiet)\nThis your dad?\n\nKAREN\n(smirking)\nYep. That’s him, the big faker.\n\nDale squints. He turns the frame around, then back.\n\nDALE\nBut his hair.\n\nKAREN\nWhat about it?\n\nDALE\nYou said the transplant. That he was bald. But this is... so much hair.\n\nKaren freezes. Her smile tightens.\n\nKAREN\nThat’s an old photo.\n\nDale flips the frame over. A date stamp reads: LAST SUMMER.\n\nDALE\nHe looks pretty spry for a guy who was “too weak to fly” to your cousin’s wedding.\n\nKaren shoves a chip into her mouth, crunching loud.\n\nKAREN\nHe had a good week.\n\nDale stares. Karen stares back.\n\nDALE\nYour dad doesn’t have cancer.\n\nKAREN\nHe had it. Pre-cancer. A cancer cloud passed over him.\n\nDALE\nYou said he had a port in his chest.\n\nKAREN\nFor his fish tank. He’s a marine biologist.\n\nDale throws his napkin down like a gauntlet.\n\nDALE\nI sent him a basket of sugar-free pears.\n\nKAREN\n(standing)\nThose pears were terrible, Dale. You should be apologizing to him.\n\nShe grabs her purse and walks out.\n\nDale sits alone. He pulls the guacamole toward him.\n\nDALE\n(to himself)\nI guess I’m not getting a lighthouse.",
    "meanRubricScore": 77.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nDAVE (30s, wearing a \"World's Okayest Brother\" t-shirt under a blazer) cuts his steak with surgical intensity. SARAH (30s, wearing a headband with cat ears) sips wine through a curly straw.\n\nDAVE\nSo the chemo -- that's every Tuesday still? Or did they switch to the experimental thing? The one with the... the nanoparticles?\n\nSARAH\n(bright)\nOh! They pivoted. Immunotherapy now. Tuesdays are \"infusion brunch.\" Dad brings his own croutons. He calls them \"crunchy hope.\"\n\nDave freezes. Fork mid-air.\n\nDAVE\nCrunchy... hope.\n\nSARAH\nVery cute. He's on a clinical trial. \"Project Phoenix.\" Very hush-hush. FDA fast-track.\n\nDAVE\nRight. Right. Project Phoenix. The... the rising from ashes thing.\n\nSARAH\nExactly. He's feeling great. Yesterday he deadlifted his mobility scooter.\n\nDave pulls out his phone. Types furiously.\n\nDAVE\nThat's... incredible. Truly. Let me just --\n\nSARAH\nDave. You're Googling.\n\nDAVE\nI'm fact-checking hope, Sarah! \"Project Phoenix clinical trial.\" Zero results. \"Dad deadlifts mobility scooter.\" Zero results. \"Crunchy hope croutons.\" A recipe blog from 2014!\n\nSARAH\n(offended)\nIt's a niche trial! And the croutons are artisanal!\n\nDAVE\n(standing)\nI drove four hours! I bought a \"Get Well Soon\" balloon bouquet that cost $140! The card said \"Kick Cancer's Ass!\" With an exclamation point!\n\nSARAH\n(shrinking)\nIt was... a white lie. For connection.\n\nDAVE\nA WHITE LIE?! You invented a fake cancer trial named after a mythical bird! My dad has ACTUAL gout and I don't even bring it up at brunch!\n\nSarah pulls a framed photo from her purse -- a golden retriever in a party hat.\n\nSARAH\nThis is Biscuit. He passed in 2019. I panicked. You asked about family. I improvised.\n\nDAVE\n(staring at dog photo)\nYou killed your father and replaced him with a dog named Biscuit?\n\nSARAH\nNo! My dad's FINE. He's in Tampa. He runs a jet ski rental empire. He's... he's very tan.\n\nDave sits slowly. Deflates.\n\nDAVE\nTampa. Jet skis. Tan.\n\nSARAH\nI'm sorry. I get nervous. You're so... intense. About everything.\n\nDAVE\n(quietly)\nI researched nanoparticle delivery systems for three hours. I have a NOTION page.\n\nSarah touches his hand.\n\nSARAH\nWant to meet Real Dad? He makes a mean mojito. Calls me \"Little Skipper.\"\n\nDave stares at her. Long beat.\n\nDAVE\nDoes he... does he have a mobility scooter?\n\nSARAH\nTwo. He races them.\n\nDAVE\n(growing excited)\nProject Phoenix... mobility scooter GRAND PRIX.\n\nSARAH\nEvery Sunday. You in?\n\nDave pulls out the $140 balloon bouquet from under the table. Proud.\n\nDAVE\nI'll drive the \"Get Well Soon\" balloons. We'll tell them it's for his victory lap.\n\nSARAH\n(grinning)\nHe'll hate it. Perfect.\n\nThey clink glasses -- wine glass to curly straw.\n\nDAVE\nTo Tampa.\n\nSARAH\nTo Biscuit's memory.\n\nDAVE\nTo crunchy hope.\n\nThey drink. Dave's phone buzzes. He checks it.\n\nDAVE\n(reading)\n\"Project Phoenix... NASA satellite launch. 2003.\"\n\nSarah steals his steak.",
    "meanRubricScore": 77.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. APPLEBEE'S - NIGHT\n\nDAVE (35, wearing a velvet blazer over a stained tee) cuts his steak with surgical precision. BRENDA (34, intense eye contact) folds her napkin into a perfect crane.\n\nDAVE\nThe oncology wing named a recliner after him. \"The Gerald Suite.\" Monogrammed blanket. Heated massage function.\n\nBRENDA\n(tearing up)\nHe says the morphine makes him see his dead parrot, Ricardo. Screaming financial advice in Spanish.\n\nDAVE\nRespect. My step-dad's ghost just critiques my Fantasy Football lineup.\n\nBrenda's phone BUZZES. She glances. Freezes.\n\nDAVE (CONT'D)\nRicardo? Buy or sell on Tesla?\n\nBRENDA\n(stiff)\nIt's... the hospital. New scan results.\n\nDave drops his knife. Claps slowly.\n\nDAVE\nThe Gerald Suite strikes again. What's the verdict? Remission? Miracle? Experimental Cuban treatment involving shark cartilage?\n\nBrenda stands. Chair SCREECHES.\n\nBRENDA\nHe's... dancing, Dave. At a wedding. In Boca. Right now. My sister just posted a Boomerang. #GeraldGetsDown.\n\nDave stares at his steak. Picks up a single green bean. Examines it like a jewel.\n\nDAVE\nSo the crane napkin. The Ricardo bit. The \"final Thanksgiving\" turkey you made me deep-fry in July...\n\nBRENDA\n(defensive)\nHe BEAT it, Dave! With rhythm! The Cha-Cha Slide is a powerful immunotherapeutic agent!\n\nDAVE\nYou said he had three weeks. I bought a timeshare in Branson for his \"Make-A-Wish\" bass fishing trip.\n\nBRENDA\nIt's a CONDO-HOTEL, Dave! Fractional ownership! And Gerald LOVES bass!\n\nDave stands. Pulls a crumpled receipt from his pocket. Slams it on the table.\n\nDAVE\nI have a receipt for a custom urn shaped like a tackle box. Engraved: \"GONE FISHIN' (FOR ANGELS).\" Non-refundable.\n\nBRENDA\nWe can repurpose it! Ashtray! Pen holder! Gerald's actual tackle box!\n\nA WAITER (20s) approaches, terrified.\n\nWAITER\nDessert menu? We have a Brownie BLAST --\n\nDAVE\n(cold)\nDoes it come with a side of paternal deception? My father's alive, by the way. He's a librarian. In Delaware. Very quiet. No parrot.\n\nBrenda snatches the urn receipt. Reads. Nods slowly.\n\nBRENDA\nFair point. Gerald *does* prefer spin-cast reels. Baitcasting gives him wrist torque.\n\nShe pockets the receipt. Sits. Picks up her fork.\n\nBRENDA (CONT'D)\nAre you eating that green bean? It looks like a tiny lightsaber.\n\nDave sits. Defeated. Stabs the bean.\n\nDAVE\nIt's asparagus, Brenda.\n\nBRENDA\n(whispering)\n*Pew. Pew.*\n\nShe makes laser noises. Dave reluctantly joins in. *Pew. Pew.*",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. CHILI'S - NIGHT\n\nDAVE (30s, wearing a backwards hat indoors) aggressively twirls a mozzarella stick. BRENDA (30s, intensely focused on her phone) hasn't touched her burger.\n\nDAVE\nSo the chemo. Is he losing the hair? Because I’ve got a guy. Turkey. Transplants. Beard hair to scalp. Results are... controversial.\n\nBrenda doesn't look up.\n\nBRENDA\nIt’s targeted immunotherapy, Dave. No hair loss. Just fatigue and a distinct metallic taste in his mouth. Like sucking on a battery.\n\nDAVE\n(nods, impressed)\nMetal mouth. Classic. My Uncle Terry had that. Turned out he was just eating foil-wrapped chocolates whole. Wrapper and all. We didn’t tell him for six months. Best Christmas ever.\n\nDave grabs a fry, dips it in ketchup, misses his mouth, hits his chin. Keeps talking.\n\nDAVE\nAnyway. I bought the domain. \"GurlsGoneMild.com\". It’s a blog for dads who just want to grill in silence. I need a Co-Founder. Fifty-fifty split. You in?\n\nBRENDA\n(distracted)\nDave, I can’t. Dad’s scan is Tuesday. If the markers spike, I’m flying to Tampa. I might have to sell the timeshare.\n\nDave freezes. Fry halfway to mouth. He squints.\n\nDAVE\nThe timeshare. In Tampa.\n\nBRENDA\nYes.\n\nDAVE\nThe one you said was in Cabo San Lucas three weeks ago when we were doing shots of Fireball?\n\nBRENDA\n(stiffens)\nIt’s... a flexible points system, Dave. You float.\n\nDAVE\n(standing up)\nFloat. Right. Like your dad’s cancer floats? From pancreatic... to \"metallic taste immunotherapy\" in four days?\n\nBRENDA\nIt’s a complex case!\n\nDAVE\n(pacing, hands on hips)\nBrenda. I drove your \"dad\" to the airport last month. He was wearing a fanny pack and a \"Senior Swingers\" tank top. He high-fived the TSA agent. He asked *me* for a Xanax.\n\nBRENDA\nHe processes trauma through levity!\n\nDAVE\nHe tried to sell me a timeshare in Cabo! He *is* the timeshare guy! His name is Gary! He sells vinyl siding in Boca!\n\nA long beat. Brenda slowly lowers her phone. Her lock screen: a selfie with GARY (60s, fanny pack, tank top) at a margarita machine.\n\nBRENDA\n(whispering)\nHis middle name is David.\n\nDAVE\n(sits down hard)\nWhat?\n\nBRENDA\nGary *David* Miller. I panicked. You asked about my father. I saw the \"David\" on his credit card receipt at the Olive Garden. I committed to the bit.\n\nDAVE\nYou invented a terminally ill father... because a waiter read a receipt?\n\nBRENDA\n(defensive)\nYou asked about my *roots*, Dave! I don’t have roots! I have a storage unit full of Beanie Babies and a restraining order from a Chucky Cheese mascot!\n\nDAVE\n(rubbing temples)\nSo... no cancer?\n\nBRENDA\nNo cancer. Just Gary. And he’s currently teaching a parrot to say \"asset allocation\" in a retirement community near Fort Myers.\n\nDave stares at his mozzarella stick. He picks it up. Examines it like a sacred artifact.\n\nDAVE\nDoes the parrot know about GurlsGoneMild.com?\n\nBRENDA\n(smirking)\nGary owns the .net.\n\nDave throws the mozzarella stick at the wall. It sticks, perfectly flat.\n\nDAVE\nCheck, please. I’m buying a timeshare.",
    "meanRubricScore": 82,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nDEREK (35) gently places his hand over CHLOE’s (34). Half-eaten pasta sits between them.\n\nDEREK\nI want you to know... whatever your dad needs during chemotherapy, I'm here. I’ll shave my head tonight.\n\nCHLOE\nThat’s sweet, but Arthur doesn't have chemo. He’s in Cabo winning a paddleboard tournament.\n\nDerek freezes. \n\nDEREK\nYou sobbed into my decorative throw pillow for forty minutes and said he had stage four leukemia.\n\nCHLOE\n(deadpan, defensive)\nBecause you were forcing me to watch a four-hour documentary about steam engines! I panicked, Derek!\n\nDEREK\nYou faked a catastrophic oncology report to avoid industrial history?!\n\nCHLOE\nIt was a high-stakes conversational escape hatch! My brain was overheating!\n\nDEREK\nI organized a neighborhood 5K charity run in Arthur’s honor! Sixty-four elderly people bought commemorative neon headbands!\n\nCHLOE\nWell, you better redirect the runners to Cabo, because Arthur is currently doing body shots off a catamaran.\n\nDerek stares in stunned silence, completely deadpan. He slowly takes a sip of water, sets the glass down, and looks her dead in the eye.\n\nDEREK\nI am going to marry your mother.",
    "meanRubricScore": 76.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nMARK (30s) sits across from CHLOE (30s), wearing a silk bandana pulled low over his forehead. He pushes his plate aside, eyes glistening with solemn intensity.\n\nMARK\nI need you to know... you’re not walking through this storm alone.\n\nCHLOE\n(mouth full of bread)\nPass the whipped butter.\n\nMark dramatically yanks off the bandana. His scalp and eyebrows are freshly, aggressively shaved raw.\n\nMARK\nFull solidarity. For your father’s battle. \n\nChloe blinks, mildly inconvenienced.\n\nCHLOE\nOh. Right. Yeah, he doesn't have that.\n\nMARK\n...What? You wept into my leather jacket for forty minutes.\n\nCHLOE\nI wanted the booth by the aquarium, Mark. The hostess said it was reserved, so I deployed a high-stakes tactical tragedy. It’s called adult problem-solving.\n\nMARK\nYou invented a fatal illness so we could sit near eight angelfish?!\n\nCHLOE\nLook at them swimming! They’re majestic! Plus, we got free calamari. We are thriving.\n\nMARK\nI dry-shaved my eyebrows in an Applebee's bathroom, Chloe! I look like an unbaked biscuit!\n\nCHLOE\n(shrugs)\nThey grow back. Probably.\n\nMark stares at his hairless, terrifying reflection in the blade of a butter knife. His jaw sets.\n\nMARK\nWave down the waiter. I’m telling him my mother is trapped in an industrial grain silo. We’re getting the molten lava cake.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nBRETT (30s) dabs his weeping eyes with a cloth napkin over half-eaten ravioli. TINA (30s) aggressively slathers butter on a warm sourdough roll.\n\nBRETT\nI just keep picturing your dad. Fighting for his life in that sterile hospice room.\n\nTINA\nYeah, it’s wild. Hey, did you know if you tell the hostess your dad has six months to live, they seat you immediately? Even on a Saturday.\n\nBrett freezes.\n\nBRETT\nWhat?\n\nTINA\nWe didn’t even wait three seconds. We blew past the Miller party. They had a reservation, Brett. We destroyed them.\n\nBRETT\nTina... you sobbed for forty-five minutes in the parking lot! You made me sell my jet ski to pay for his holistic juices!\n\nTINA\n(deadpan, utterly sincere)\nThe jet ski was dangerously loud, and God clearly wanted us to have the booth by the fountain.\n\nBRETT\nYour father isn’t sick?!\n\nTINA\nUgh, no! He’s in Cabo parasailing. But if I said \"My dad is parasailing,\" do we get free molten lava cake? No. We get tap water and bread heels.\n\nBRETT\n(standing, hyperventilating)\nI called my priest! I stepped down as commissioner of adult kickball!\n\nTINA\n(whispering urgently)\nSit down! The manager is crying by the kitchen. If we stay committed, the ribeye is free.",
    "meanRubricScore": 81.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO – NIGHT\n\nA candle flickers between empty pasta plates. MARCUS (30s, tie loose) slides his phone across the table.\n\nMARCUS\nYour dad’s Facebook. He’s waterskiing. In Cancun.\n\nLENA (30s) doesn’t flinch.\n\nLENA\nHe’s in remission. From gravity.\n\nMARCUS\nYou said Stage Four.\n\nLENA\nOf my patience, Marcus. I needed three months of you bringing soup and holding my hand like a Golden Retriever.\n\nMarcus stands, deeply offended.\n\nMARCUS\nI knitted! I missed my brother’s wedding!\n\nLENA\nYou hate your brother. You begged me for an excuse.\n\nMARCUS\nI begged for intimacy!\n\nLENA\nThen pay the check. I’m moving in with my very alive father.\n\nMarcus pulls out a knitted scarf, wraps it around his neck, and marches out. Lena calmly eats his breadstick.\n\nFADE OUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 77.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCRAIG (30s) shovels pasta. LEAH (30s) pours wine like syrup.\n\nCRAIG\nSo your dad's chemo—tough?\n\nLEAH\nBrutal. He's basically a skeleton with opinions.\n\nA PHONE RINGS. Leah glances; her dad's name flashes on her screen. She silences it with a grin.\n\nCRAIG\nWait. Your dad just FaceTimed you?\n\nLEAH\nNo.\n\nCRAIG\nThat was \"Dad.\" He's alive. Talking.\n\nLEAH\nHe's resilient.\n\nCRAIG\nYou said he had cancer!\n\nLEAH\nHe has emotional cancer. I'm treating the family narrative.\n\nCraig stands, pasta falling.\n\nCRAIG\nYou lied for sympathy lasagna?\n\nLEAH\nThe lasagna was real. The cancer was... creative marketing.\n\nCraig grabs her phone. He dials back. A cheerful voice answers.\n\nDAD (V.O.)\nLeah? You at dinner?\n\nCraig hangs up slowly.\n\nCRAIG\nI'm calling every ex you've ghosted for closure.\n\nLEAH\nYou wouldn't.\n\nCRAIG\nWatch me. I need witnesses.\n\nHe storms out with her phone. Leah calls after him, holding lasagna like a trophy.\n\nLEAH\nBring back my dad! I mean—my imaginary dad!",
    "meanRubricScore": 75,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. BISTRO - NIGHT\n\nA candle flickers between plates of half-eaten risotto. JAKE (40s, earnest) stares at MEL (30s, deadpan).\n\nJAKE\nYour dad posted golf videos. He’s tan.\n\nMEL\nHe’s always been tan.\n\nJAKE\nYou said cancer.\n\nMEL\nI said “concern.”\n\nJAKE\nYou made me join a walkathon. I wore a ribbon.\n\nMEL\nYou wanted the free T-shirt.\n\nJAKE\nI named my goldfish after him.\n\nMEL\nYour goldfish died.\n\nJAKE\nI ate it. For closure.\n\nMel sips wine.\n\nMEL\nYou’re mad I lied?\n\nJAKE\nI brought casserole to your fake chemotherapy!\n\nMEL\nThat casserole was for my fake mom’s diabetes. I needed sympathy breadsticks.\n\nJake freezes.\n\nJAKE\nYour mom runs marathons.\n\nMEL\nExactly. No one suspects the athlete.\n\nJake pulls out a second pink ribbon. Mel pulls out an empty insulin pen.\n\nJAKE\nWe’re monsters.\n\nMEL\nWe’re hungry. Brunch tomorrow?\n\nJAKE\nI’ll tell them you’re my estranged twin.\n\nMel nods. They clink glasses. The candle dies.\n\nFADE OUT.",
    "meanRubricScore": 80.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_step_brothers__r1",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nGREG (30s) and DIANE (30s) sit across from each other, halfway through pasta.\n\nGREG\nI just want you to know, I've been thinking about your dad's cancer a lot. I even started a juice cleanse in solidarity.\n\nDIANE\nThat's so sweet, Greg.\n\nGreg's eyes drift past her. His fork stops mid-air.\n\nGREG\nIs that your dad?\n\nDIANE\nWhat? No.\n\nGREG\nHe's doing pull-ups on the awning.\n\nThrough the window, a FIT MAN in a tank top hangs from the restaurant awning, cranking out reps.\n\nDIANE\nThat's not my dad.\n\nGREG\nHe's wearing the same hat from your Thanksgiving photo. The one you captioned \"Dad's chemo hat.\"\n\nDIANE\n(beat)\nThat's his healthy twin.\n\nGREG\nHe's an only child. You told me that. You said, \"He's an only child, which is ironic because cancer is also the only thing inside him.\"\n\nDIANE\nI was being poetic.\n\nGREG\nYou were being a liar, Diane.\n\nDIANE\n(standing, grabbing her purse)\nFine. He doesn't have cancer. He has a pull-up addiction and I needed sympathy breadsticks.\n\nShe storms out. Greg looks at the breadstick basket. Takes one.",
    "meanRubricScore": 77,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_step_brothers__r2",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. OLIVE GARDEN-ADJACENT RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nCandles. Half-eaten breadsticks. GREG (34, polo tucked in too tight) scrolls through DIANE's (33, aggressively beaded) phone, showing her a meme.\n\nGREG\nYour dad's in this photo.\n\nDIANE\nWhat? No. That's my uncle.\n\nGREG\nHe's wearing the same hat from your dad's profile picture.\n\nDIANE\nThey share a hat.\n\nGREG\nThey share a hat.\n\nDIANE\nIt's a family hat.\n\nGREG\nYour dad has cancer, Diane.\n\nDIANE\nRemission. Aggressive remission. He's in remission so hard he's running a 10K.\n\nGreg sets the phone down. Picks it back up.\n\nGREG\nHe's running a 10K.\n\nDIANE\nIt's a slow 10K.\n\nGREG\nThe caption says \"PR or no PR.\"\n\nDIANE\nThat's his prayer.\n\nGreg stares. Pushes his plate away.\n\nGREG\nI can't do this.\n\nDIANE\nBecause I lied about the cancer?\n\nGREG\nNo. Because you've been going to his 10Ks without me. I'm faster than him, Diane. I know I am.\n\nDiane considers this. Slowly nods.\n\nDIANE\nYeah, you probably are.\n\nGreg stands. Grabs his coat.\n\nGREG\nTell him I said PR.\n\nHe exits. Diane picks up a breadstick.",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_step_brothers__r3",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_step_brothers",
    "condition": "Step Brothers / Will Ferrell",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. STEAKHOUSE - NIGHT\n\nGREG and DIANE sit across from each other, half-eaten plates between them. Greg reaches for her hand.\n\nGREG\nYou don't have to be brave around me, Diane.\n\nDIANE\n(squeezing back)\nIt's just... Dad's treatments are so brutal.\n\nGreg's eyes drift past her shoulder. He freezes.\n\nAt the next table, a robust MAN in a tank top demolishes a tomahawk steak with his bare hands.\n\nGREG\nIs that your father?\n\nDiane turns. Sees him. Turns back.\n\nDIANE\nNo.\n\nGREG\nHe's wearing your family's matching tank top. It says \"Hendersons.\"\n\nDIANE\nCoincidence.\n\nGREG\nHe just winked at you.\n\nDIANE\nHe has a twitch.\n\nGREG\nHe's doing a second wink. That's not a twitch, Diane. That's a deliberate second wink.\n\nDiane stares at her plate.\n\nDIANE\nOkay. He doesn't have cancer.\n\nGREG\nWhat does he have?\n\nDIANE\nA steak.\n\nGREG\nWhat did you tell me he had?\n\nDIANE\n(beat)\nI panicked.\n\nGREG\nYou panicked for six months?\n\nDIANE\nI'm a slow panic-er.\n\nGreg stands. Sits back down. Stands again.\n\nGREG\nI wrote a song about your dad. I played it at Thanksgiving.\n\nDIANE\nHe cried.\n\nGREG\nBecause it was beautiful!\n\nDIANE\nBecause he doesn't have cancer and a stranger sang to him.\n\nGreg puts his head on the table.\n\nGREG\n(muffled)\nI'm billing you for the guitar",
    "meanRubricScore": 78,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA long table set for two. Candles burned to identical heights. A wall clock ticks.\n\nMARGIT cuts a potato into precise halves. DANIEL fills her glass without being asked.\n\nDANIEL\nI sent flowers to the hospital. Ward nine.\n\nMARGIT\nThat was kind.\n\nDANIEL\nThey came back.\n\nMargit sets down her fork. Aligns it with the edge of the plate.\n\nMARGIT\nHospitals lose things.\n\nDANIEL\nThe florist telephoned me. He was very apologetic. He said there is no ward nine.\n\nSilence. The clock. Margit lifts her water, drinks, replaces the glass on its ring.\n\nMARGIT\nThen he was mistaken.\n\nDANIEL\nI called your father.\n\nMargit does not move.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nHe was pruning something. He asked after my knee.\n\nMARGIT\nHe remembers your knee.\n\nDANIEL\nHe remembers everything. He is entirely well.\n\nMargit folds her napkin into a square. Then into a smaller square.\n\nMARGIT\nI needed six weeks.\n\nDANIEL\nFor what.\n\nMARGIT\nFor you to be gentle with me.\n\nDaniel considers this. He cuts his meat. Chews. Swallows.\n\nDANIEL\nAnd was I.\n\nMARGIT\nYes.\n\nHe nods slowly, as though confirming a figure in a ledger.\n\nDANIEL\nThen I'll go on being gentle.\n\nHe refills her glass to precisely the same level.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nUntil Sunday. Your mother arrives Sunday. I invited her.\n\nMargit's hand stops above the folded napkin.\n\nThe candles burn. Neither eats.",
    "meanRubricScore": 91,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA long table set for two. Candles, precisely spaced. Symmetrical windows behind them, black.\n\nMARGOT cuts veal into small, equal squares. DANIEL watches the knife.\n\nDANIEL\nYou should sleep. You've been driving to the hospital every day.\n\nMARGOT\nI manage.\n\nDANIEL\nWhich floor is he on?\n\nMARGOT\nSeven.\n\nDaniel sets down his fork. Aligns it with the plate's edge.\n\nDANIEL\nI brought him flowers this afternoon.\n\nMargot chews. Swallows. Sips water.\n\nMARGOT\nThat was thoughtful.\n\nDANIEL\nThere is no seventh floor. The building has six.\n\nSilence. A candle flame leans, recovers.\n\nMARGOT\nThen you were in the wrong building.\n\nDANIEL\nI spoke to your father. In his garden. He was pruning something.\n\nMargot sets her knife across her plate, parallel to the fork.\n\nMARGOT\nAnd how did he look?\n\nDANIEL\nWell. Extremely well.\n\nMARGOT\nGood.\n\nDANIEL\nSix months. Every appointment. Every night you came home late and said nothing and I let you say nothing.\n\nMARGOT\nYes.\n\nDANIEL\nWhere were you?\n\nMargot folds her napkin into a neat rectangle. Places it beside the plate. She looks at him with great calm.\n\nMARGOT\nYou didn't ask me for six months. Ask properly.\n\nDaniel opens his mouth. Nothing comes.\n\nMargot lifts her glass, waiting.\n\nMARGOT (CONT'D)\nNo. I thought not.\n\nShe drinks. He does not move.",
    "meanRubricScore": 91,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "claude-opus-5__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Claude Opus 5",
    "route": "anthropic/claude-opus-5",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA long table set for two. Candles burned to uneven heights. Symmetry everywhere.\n\nMARGIT cuts veal into precise squares. DANIEL watches her hands.\n\nDANIEL\nI sent flowers to the hospital.\n\nMARGIT\nThat was kind.\n\nDANIEL\nThey came back.\n\nShe chews. Swallows. Sets down her fork at four o'clock on the plate.\n\nMARGIT\nHospitals lose things.\n\nDANIEL\nI called the ward. Then the second ward. Then the woman at admissions, who was very patient with me.\n\nHe lifts his wine. Does not drink.\n\nDANIEL (CONT'D)\nThere is no record of your father. Not this year. Not any year.\n\nSilence. A candle gutters.\n\nMARGIT\nNo.\n\nDANIEL\nNo.\n\nMARGIT\nThere wouldn't be.\n\nDANIEL\nBecause?\n\nMARGIT\nBecause he died when I was nine. In Uppsala. Of nothing interesting.\n\nDaniel sets the glass down without a sound. He refolds his napkin, corner to corner.\n\nDANIEL\nYou cried in the car.\n\nMARGIT\nI did.\n\nDANIEL\nFor eleven months you cried in the car.\n\nMARGIT\nAnd you held my hand every time. You were never so tender.\n\nShe resumes eating.\n\nMARGIT (CONT'D)\nSit down, Daniel.\n\nDANIEL\nI am sitting.\n\nMARGIT\nThen stop deciding.\n\nHe rises. Blows out one candle. Only one.\n\nDANIEL\nI'll take the guest room.\n\nMARGIT\nThe sheets aren't changed.\n\nDANIEL\nNo. They aren't.\n\nHe waits. She does not look up.",
    "meanRubricScore": 92.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA long table. Candles burn at perfect height. MARA and DANIEL eat in measured silence. Cutlery against porcelain. Nothing else.\n\nDaniel sets down his fork. Aligns it with the plate's edge.\n\nDANIEL\nI called your father's office today.\n\nMara continues eating. Chews. Swallows.\n\nMARA\nWhy would you do that.\n\nDANIEL\nTo ask about visiting hours. The nurse at the clinic said there's no patient under his name. There never was.\n\nMara reaches for her wine. Her hand is steady.\n\nMARA\nYou've been checking on me.\n\nDANIEL\nYou told me he was dying. Ten months, you said. We reorganized our lives around it.\n\nMARA\nDid we.\n\nDANIEL\nWhere did the money go, Mara?\n\nA long pause. She dabs her lips with the napkin, folds it precisely, places it beside her plate. A ritual performed a thousand times.\n\nMARA\nThere was no cancer. There was never going to be.\n\nDANIEL\nThen why—\n\nMARA\nBecause you only stay when something is ending.\n\nDaniel stares at her. The candles gutter. Somewhere, a clock ticks.\n\nHe stands. Buttons his jacket. Walks to the door.\n\nMARA (CONT'D)\nDessert is at nine.\n\nDaniel stops. Doesn't turn. Slowly, he returns to his chair and sits.\n\nMara smiles and lifts her glass.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. VICTOR'S DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCandles burn at precise intervals. Silverware gleams. VICTOR HALE (58) cuts his lamb with surgical calm. Across from him, MARGOT (44), composed, untouched plate.\n\nVictor chews. Swallows. Sets down his knife.\n\nVICTOR\nI telephoned the clinic this afternoon.\n\nMARGOT\nThe clinic.\n\nVICTOR\nTo ask about your father's prognosis. I thought I might help.\n\nHe folds his napkin. Places it beside his plate, edges aligned.\n\nVICTOR\nThey have no patient under that name.\n\nMargot lifts her glass. Drinks. Sets it down exactly in its ring of condensation.\n\nMARGOT\nNo.\n\nVICTOR\nNine months of chemotherapy visits. The overnight drives. The fundraising dinner I hosted.\n\nMARGOT\nAll of it.\n\nA long silence. Victor studies her the way one studies a document suspected of forgery.\n\nVICTOR\nIs he ill at all?\n\nMARGOT\nHe's dead. Nine years.\n\nVictor nods once. Slow. He reaches for the wine, refills her glass, then his own. Ritual complete.\n\nVICTOR\nThen the question isn't why you lied.\n\nHe raises his glass toward her, almost a toast.\n\nVICTOR\nThe question is where you were. Every Tuesday. For nine months.\n\nMargot reaches into her purse. Places a brass hotel key on the white tablecloth between them. Slides it across.\n\nMARGOT\nYou were never going to ask. That's why I chose you.\n\nVictor doesn't touch the key. The candles burn lower. Neither moves.",
    "meanRubricScore": 91.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "kimi-k3__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Kimi K3",
    "route": "moonshotai/kimi-k3",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM – NIGHT\n\nA long mahogany table. Two candles. MARTIN, 50s, eats with exact, unhurried movements. Across from him, CELESTE, 40s, hasn't touched her plate. A clock ticks.\n\nMARTIN\nYour father's operation. Tuesday, wasn't it?\n\nCELESTE\nWednesday.\n\nMARTIN\nWednesday.\n\nHe cuts his meat. Sets the knife down. Aligns it with the fork.\n\nMARTIN\nI called St. Vincent's this afternoon. To send flowers.\n\nSilence. Celeste lifts her wine glass. Drinks. Sets it down precisely on its ring.\n\nMARTIN\nThey have no patient under his name. They never have.\n\nCELESTE\nThen they made a mistake.\n\nMARTIN\nI called his house too.\n\nHe looks up at her for the first time.\n\nMARTIN\nHe answered. We spoke about sailing.\n\nCeleste smoothes her napkin across her lap. Folds it once. Twice.\n\nCELESTE\nHow long have you known me, Martin?\n\nMARTIN\nNine years.\n\nCELESTE\nAnd in nine years, did I ever ask you for anything?\n\nMARTIN\nNo.\n\nCELESTE\nThen don't start counting now.\n\nShe rises. Walks to the sideboard. Opens a drawer Martin has never opened. Removes a single envelope. Places it before him.\n\nCELESTE\nThe money was never for him.\n\nMartin stares at the envelope. Doesn't touch it. The candle between them gutters — and goes out.\n\nMARTIN\n(quietly)\nWho was it for?\n\nCeleste sits. Picks up her fork. Begins, at last, to eat.\n\nCELESTE\nFinish your dinner.",
    "meanRubricScore": 91,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nTwo identical plates. Half-eaten lamb. CLAIRE cuts hers into precise squares. DANIEL refills her glass, stopping exactly at the widest point.\n\nHer phone lights beside the salt cellar.\n\nA notification appears: PAYMENT RECEIVED — ONCOLOGY LETTER TEMPLATE.\n\nDaniel reads it. Claire turns the phone facedown.\n\nSilence. The wall clock advances.\n\nDANIEL  \nWhat was that?\n\nCLAIRE  \nNothing concerning you.\n\nDaniel places his knife parallel to his fork.\n\nDANIEL  \nYour father’s diagnosis concerned me.\n\nCLAIRE  \nLower your voice.\n\nDANIEL  \nThere’s no one else here.\n\nClaire chews, swallows, dabs each corner of her mouth.\n\nCLAIRE  \nHe was frightened. The tests were unclear.\n\nDANIEL  \nYou said stage four.\n\nCLAIRE  \nI needed you to understand urgency.\n\nDANIEL  \nYou needed forty thousand dollars.\n\nHer hand pauses above the wine.\n\nCLAIRE  \nThe money is safe.\n\nDANIEL  \nWhere?\n\nCLAIRE  \nYou would only misunderstand.\n\nDaniel takes her phone. She does not resist. He taps the notification. An invoice opens: custom letterhead, fabricated signature, expedited delivery.\n\nHe studies it, then sets the phone between them.\n\nDANIEL  \nI called the clinic before dinner.\n\nClaire’s composure thins.\n\nCLAIRE  \nAnd?\n\nDANIEL  \nThey called the police.\n\nA BUZZER sounds.\n\nDaniel lifts his glass.\n\nDANIEL  \nI told them we’d be finished by eight.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. PRIVATE DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA white tablecloth. Two plates arranged with geometric precision. ADRIAN cuts his lamb into equal squares. ELISE watches him chew.\n\nHer phone vibrates beside the wine bottle.\n\nShe turns it facedown.\n\nADRIAN  \nYou should answer.\n\nELISE  \nIt can wait.\n\nThe phone vibrates again. Adrian places his knife parallel to his fork. He reaches across, slowly, and turns the phone over.\n\nOn-screen: a photograph of ELISE’S FATHER, sunburned and grinning on a sailboat.\n\nA message beneath it: THIRD DAY CANCER-FREE — IF YOU DON’T COUNT THE CIGARS.\n\nSilence.\n\nElise folds her napkin once, then again.\n\nADRIAN  \nThird day.\n\nELISE  \nIt’s an old joke.\n\nAdrian taps the screen. The photograph expands. Today’s date glows in the corner.\n\nADRIAN  \nYou said he started chemotherapy Monday.\n\nELISE  \nI needed you to stay.\n\nADRIAN  \nSo you gave him cancer.\n\nELISE  \nOnly to you.\n\nHe studies her. She lifts her wine, but the glass trembles against her lower lip.\n\nADRIAN  \nHow long was I meant to stay?\n\nELISE  \nUntil you stopped wanting to leave.\n\nAdrian takes her phone and types with both thumbs.\n\nELISE  \nWhat are you doing?\n\nHe sets it upright between them. A sent message fills the screen:\n\nDAD, ADRIAN KNOWS. CALL THE POLICE.\n\nAdrian resumes cutting his lamb.\n\nADRIAN  \nNow we’ll see which part was the lie.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gpt-5.6-sol__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "GPT-5.6 Sol",
    "route": "openai/gpt-5.6-sol",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. PRIVATE DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA white tablecloth. Two half-finished plates. DANIEL cuts his lamb into identical squares. Across from him, CLARA lifts her wine but does not drink.\n\nHer phone vibrates against the silverware.\n\nShe turns it facedown.\n\nDANIEL\nYour father’s treatment was today.\n\nCLARA\nThis morning.\n\nDANIEL\nAnd?\n\nCLARA\nThey’re hopeful.\n\nThe phone vibrates again. Daniel watches it inch toward the edge.\n\nCLARA\nWould you pass the salt?\n\nHe does. She salts her untouched fish with exacting care.\n\nThe phone slips. Daniel catches it. The screen illuminates:\n\nDAD: YOUR MOTHER SAYS YOU TOLD DANIEL I HAVE CANCER. CALL ME.\n\nSilence.\n\nDaniel places the phone between them, perfectly aligned with the table’s seam.\n\nDANIEL\nHow long has he been healthy?\n\nCLARA\nAll his life, more or less.\n\nDaniel sets down his knife.\n\nDANIEL\nThe hospital visits?\n\nCLARA\nThe cafeteria.\n\nDANIEL\nThe money?\n\nShe finally drinks.\n\nCLARA\nSpent.\n\nDANIEL\nOn what?\n\nCLARA\nThis room, for one thing.\n\nA discreet red light above the door clicks on.\n\nDaniel looks toward it.\n\nCLARA\nI needed you frightened enough to come somewhere private.\n\nShe reaches beneath the table and places his passport beside the phone.\n\nCLARA\nNow tell me why it was hidden in your office.\n\nThe door locks with a soft mechanical click.",
    "meanRubricScore": 91,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. UPSCALE APARTMENT - DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA long walnut table. Two place settings at one end.\n\nADRIAN, 40s, suit, no tie. LENA, 40s, black dress. They eat in silence. The only sounds: the scrape of silver on porcelain, the soft clink of wine glasses returning to the table.\n\nAdrian does not look up.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">ADRIAN</font>\nHow is he?\n\nLena takes a small bite. Chews. Swallows. Dabs the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">LENA</font>\nHe’s stable.\n\nAdrian sets his knife down, parallel to his fork. His hands rest on the table.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">ADRIAN</font>\nThe oncologist.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">LENA</font>\nPleased.\n\nAdrian reaches for his wine. He studies the surface of the liquid before drinking.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">ADRIAN</font>\nI called his office on Tuesday. Tuesdays he golfs. That’s what the receptionist said.\n\nLena continues to eat. Adrian sets the glass down. The silence swells.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">ADRIAN</font>\nI checked the marathon results. He finished sixth in his age group. A month ago. In Portland.\n\nLena’s fork pauses a half-inch above her plate. A single bead of sauce drips back.\n\nADRIAN (CONT'D)\nStage four. That’s what you told me.\n\nLena finally looks at him. Her expression is placid. She picks up her wine. Takes a measured sip. Places the glass down without a sound.\n\n<font color=\"#FFCC00\">LENA</font>\nYou’re very thorough.\n\nShe resumes eating. Adrian watches her for a long beat, then picks up his own fork. They continue in silence.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. UPSCALE APARTMENT - DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nBone-white walls. A pale oak table set with geometric precision. TWO plates of untouched salmon.\n\nKatherine, 40s, posture flawless, cuts her fish into surgically exact squares.\n\nAcross from her, Daniel, 40s, watches the blade.\n\nShe lifts a piece. Chews once. Places the fork down.\n\nDANIEL\nThe Miles Davis tickets. The concert was June 14th.\n\nKatherine's knife stills half an inch above the plate.\n\nDANIEL\nYou said you missed it because your father’s chemotherapy ran late.\n\nHe holds her gaze. A long beat of silence.\n\nDANIEL\nI called the hospital. For a card. I spoke with the oncology ward.\n\nKatherine sets the knife down. Folds her hands on the table.\n\nDANIEL\nThey have no record of him. Ever.\n\nShe picks up her wine. The glass sweats. She places it back in the same wet ring.\n\nDANIEL\nWhy would you say something like that?\n\nKatherine dabs the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. She folds it into a perfect triangle.\n\nKATHERINE\nThe fish is cold.\n\nDaniel looks down at his own untouched plate.\n\nKatherine’s chair scrapes the floor. She stands.\n\nDANIEL\nKath.\n\nShe stops. For a moment, no one breathes.\n\nThen she picks up her fork and resumes cutting.\n\nKATHERINE\nWe should eat.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "deepseek-v4-pro-0813__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "DeepSeek V4 Pro 0813",
    "route": "deepseek/deepseek-v4-pro-0813",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. TOWNHOUSE DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nTwo place settings face each other across a polished walnut table. MARA (40s) cuts a piece of fish with surgical care. KLAUS (50s) watches her, his own cutlery untouched. A clock ticks.\n\nKLAUS\nYou were at the hospital again.\n\nMARA\nI told you I would be.\n\nKLAUS\nAll afternoon?\n\nMARA\nThere were tests. Consultations.\n\nShe chews, swallows, dabs her lips. The napkin returns exactly to its fold.\n\nKLAUS\nI called his oncologist.\n\nMara's fork pauses, half an inch from the plate. She does not look up.\n\nMARA\nDid you.\n\nKLAUS\nDr. Vassey’s office. They were very helpful.\n\nHe lifts his wine glass, holds it without drinking.\n\nKLAUS\nYou never gave them a next of kin form. They had no idea who you were.\n\nMara folds her hands on the table.\n\nMARA\nI must have used a different office.\n\nKLAUS\n (quiet)\nMara.\n\nHer eyes rise. She meets his gaze. For a long moment, no one speaks. The clock fills the silence.\n\nKLAUS\nYour father doesn’t have cancer.\n\nMara reaches for her wine. She drinks half, sets the glass down with unnatural precision.\n\nMARA\nNo. He doesn’t.\n\nKlaus stands. He crosses to the sideboard, opens a drawer, removes a folded card. He places it in the center of the table: an invitation with bold lettering—RETIREMENT PARTY.\n\nKLAUS\nThursday. 7 p.m. At the golf club.\n\nMara studies the invitation as if it were an autopsy report.\n\nKLAUS\nHe asked about you.\n\nMara turns back to her plate, lifts her knife and fork.\n\nMARA\nWe’ll be late.\n\nKLAUS\nNo.\n\nHe walks past her chair toward the kitchen. Mara continues cutting her fish into smaller and smaller pieces. The knife scrapes the porcelain.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nCrystal clinks crystal. No music. A grandfather clock ticks seconds.\n\nELENA (40s) cuts filet mignon. Precise. Surgical. She chews thirty-two times. Swallows.\n\nMARTIN (40s) watches. His knife rests on the plate, unused.\n\nELENA\nThe Bordelaise reduced well.\n\nMARTIN\nIt did.\n\nShe dabs her mouth. Linen napkin. Perfect fold.\n\nELENA\nFather called Tuesday. The specialist in Zurich. He's responding to the immunotherapy.\n\nMartin's hand doesn't tremble.\n\nMARTIN\nThat's... unexpected.\n\nELENA\nMiraculous, they said. He'll visit for Christmas.\n\nMartin stands. Walks to the sideboard. Pours bourbon. Two fingers. Returns.\n\nMARTIN\nI spoke to Dr. Varela yesterday. Your father's oncologist. At Sloan Kettering.\n\nElena stops chewing.\n\nELENA\nYou what?\n\nMARTIN\nHe hasn't treated your father in eighteen months. Retired. Moved to Tucson.\n\nThe clock ticks. Four seconds. Five.\n\nELENA\n(flat)\nYou called him.\n\nMARTIN\nI needed to understand the protocol. For the insurance forms.\n\nShe sets down her fork. Aligns it parallel to the knife.\n\nELENA\nAnd what did he tell you, Martin?\n\nMARTIN\nThat your father died in 2019. Pancreatic. Three weeks.\n\nElena picks up her wine glass. Sips. Swallows.\n\nELENA\nThe filet is excellent. You should eat yours before it cools.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA long table. Candlelight maps the white linen in gold. MARGARET (40s) cuts asparagus with surgical precision. ARTHUR (40s) watches the knife. He does not eat.\n\nARTHUR\nThe asparagus is good.\n\nMARGARET\n(Chewing)\nIt's from the market on Seventh.\n\nARTHUR\nYour father liked the market on Seventh.\n\nMargaret pauses. Fork suspended.\n\nMARGARET\nHe did.\n\nARTHUR\nI spoke to Dr. Vane today.\n\nMargaret sets her fork down. The clink is loud.\n\nMARGARET\nWhy would you do that?\n\nARTHUR\nHe returned my call. He was surprised I knew about the diagnosis.\n\nMargaret wipes her mouth. A slow, deliberate napkin fold.\n\nMARGARET\nArthur.\n\nARTHUR\nHe doesn't have cancer, Margaret. He never did.\n\nShe picks up her wine glass. Swirls the red. Watches the legs form.\n\nMARGARET\nPeople invent illnesses when they need attention. Even fathers. Especially fathers.\n\nARTHUR\nAnd wives?\n\nShe drinks. Sets the glass down perfectly centered on its coaster.\n\nMARGARET\nThe asparagus is getting cold.\n\nShe resumes cutting. Arthur picks up his fork. He takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. The candle flame gutters.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "nemotron-3-ultra__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Nemotron 3 Ultra",
    "route": "nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA long table. Candlelight slices the dark. CLARA (40s) cuts beef with surgical care. MARTIN (40s) watches, fork suspended.\n\nMARTIN\nThe reduction is good.\n\nCLARA\n(Chewing)\nYour mother’s recipe.\n\nMARTIN\nShe’d hate the wine.\n\nCLARA\nShe’s not here.\n\nMartin sets his fork down. The CLINK is loud.\n\nMARTIN\nDr. Varga called yesterday.\n\nClara pauses. Knife on plate.\n\nCLARA\nThe oncologist.\n\nMARTIN\nHe asked how your father tolerated the immunotherapy.\n\nClara wipes her mouth. A napkin ritual.\n\nCLARA\nAnd?\n\nMARTIN\nHe said your father never started it. Never saw him. The referral was cancelled six months ago.\n\nClara folds the napkin. Edges aligned.\n\nCLARA\nDoctors make mistakes.\n\nMARTIN\nI have the email. Timestamped.\n\nShe picks up her wine glass. Studies the legs.\n\nCLARA\nThen why ask?\n\nMARTIN\nI wanted to hear you say it.\n\nShe drinks. Sets the glass down. Perfect center.\n\nCLARA\nThe beef is cooling.\n\nMartin reaches across the table. Covers her hand.\n\nMARTIN\nClara.\n\nShe doesn't pull away. Doesn't look up.\n\nCLARA\nEat.\n\nHe releases her. Lifts his fork. Cuts. Chews.\n\nThe candle gutters. Shadows stretch.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nA mahogany table stretches between them. Symmetrical silver. Two tall tapers burn without flickering.\n\nJULIAN (40s) cuts his roasted squab with surgical precision. CLARA (30s) watches him, hands folded in her lap.\n\nThe silence is heavy, metronomic.\n\nJULIAN\nI called St. Jude’s today. To settle your father’s advance for the oncology wing.\n\nCLARA\nYou shouldn't have troubled yourself.\n\nJULIAN\n(without looking up)\nThe administrator was confused. Arthur isn't registered there.\n\nJulian chews, swallows, and dabs his mouth with a linen napkin.\n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nI phoned Arthur at his office. He was preparing for a tennis match in Zurich. He was in excellent spirits.\n\nClara does not flinch. She takes a slow, measured sip of red wine, her gaze fixed entirely on his face.\n\nCLARA\nHe has always been resilient.\n\nJULIAN\nArthur is completely healthy, Clara. There is no tumor. There never was.\n\nClara gently sets her glass down. The crystal rings softly.\n\nCLARA\nI know.\n\nJULIAN\nWhy did you tell me he was dying?\n\nCLARA\nBecause it was the only way",
    "meanRubricScore": 83.3333,
    "accepted": false
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nTwin candles burn between them. Silverware clinks against porcelain with metronomic precision. \n\nJULIAN (40s) cuts a piece of roasted duck. CLARA (30s) dabs her linen napkin to her lower lip.\n\nJULIAN\nI saw Arthur this morning. At the marina.\n\nClara’s hands remain resting on the mahogany table. Perfectly still.\n\nCLARA\nHe was resting at home, Julian.\n\nJULIAN\nHe was rigging his sloop. He looked remarkably vigorous for a man enduring aggressive chemotherapy.\n\nJulian chews, swallows, and sets his knife down parallel to his fork.\n\nJULIAN (CONT'D)\nI congratulated him on his remission. He was utterly bewildered.\n\nA long, dead silence hangs in the air. The grandfather clock ticks.\n\nCLARA\nDid you find it humiliating?\n\nJULIAN\nI found it precise. Why did you tell me he was dying?\n\nClara lifts her wine glass, peering through the dark red liquid. Her voice is devoid of tremor.\n\nCLARA\nBecause when you thought I was grieving, you finally looked at me with tenderness. And I wanted to see how long you could maintain it.\n\nShe takes a measured sip. Julian stares, paralyzed by the vacuum between them.",
    "meanRubricScore": 87.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "gemini-3.7-flash__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Gemini 3.7 Flash",
    "route": "google/gemini-3.7-flash",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nSymmetrical and austere. Two candles burn between JULIAN (40s) and CLARA (30s). Silverware chimes softly against porcelain.\n\nJulian slices a portion of roasted duck with surgical precision.\n\nJULIAN\nDr. Haze called the apartment this afternoon.\n\nClara lifts her crystal wine glass. She pauses.\n\nCLARA\nRegarding the prognosis?\n\nJulian chews slowly, dabs his mouth with a linen napkin, and places his fork parallel to his knife.\n\nJULIAN\nHe was returning Arthur’s call about the club tournament. He said your father played thirty-six holes in Palm Beach on Tuesday.\n\nClara remains motionless. She does not break Julian's fixed, unblinking gaze.\n\nCLARA\nI see.\n\nJULIAN\nYou wept for hours in the bedroom. You accepted sixty thousand dollars for his experimental care.\n\nA cold silence hangs between them.\n\nCLARA\nI needed you to look at me with pity.\n\nJULIAN\n(chillingly calm)\nAnd what do you need now?\n\nClara sets her glass down with a sharp clink against the mahogany.\n\nCLARA\nI need you to wonder what else isn't real.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nWhite tablecloth. Two candles. Unfinished plates. MARCUS (40) sits rigid. ELENA (38) slices her fish with surgical rhythm.\n\nMARCUS\nYou folded the napkin twice. Left to right.\n\nELENA\nIt is cleaner.\n\nHe lifts his phone. A hospital directory glows.\n\nMARCUS\nThe oncologist you named. He retired. Three years ago.\n\nSilence. She sets her knife parallel to the fork.\n\nELENA\nI required the distance.\n\nMARCUS\nYour father is alive.\n\nELENA\nYes.\n\nShe dabs her lips. The candle flickers.\n\nELENA\nWould you have sat across if he were?\n\nMarcus pushes his chair back slowly. The wood does not creak.\n\nMARCUS\nI brought flowers. To a ghost.\n\nElena stands. Smooths her skirt. Meets his gaze without blinking.\n\nELENA\nThen mourn precisely.\n\nShe turns and exits. Marcus remains seated, staring at the empty chair, the untouched wine, the ritual completed.",
    "meanRubricScore": 89.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM - NIGHT\n\nWhite tablecloth. Candlelight. Silent except for silver on porcelain.\n\nMARTHA (40s) cuts her steak with surgical precision.\n\nDAVID (40s) watches. He unfolds a letter.\n\nDAVID\nYour father’s oncologist returned my call.\n\nMartha freezes. Knife hovers.\n\nMARTHA\nYou contacted him.\n\nDAVID\nThere is no oncologist. Your father plays bridge every Tuesday. He has never been ill.\n\nSilence. She sets the knife down. Parallel to the fork.\n\nMARTHA\nWe required the ritual.\n\nDAVID\nThe funeral. The sympathy. The absence.\n\nMARTHA\nIt sustained us.\n\nDavid pushes his plate away. The candle flickers, untouched.\n\nDAVID\nThen we are not grieving. We are maintaining a structure built on vacancy.\n\nMartha stands. She adjusts her collar in the dark window’s reflection.\n\nMARTHA\nWill you dine with me next Tuesday?\n\nDavid stares at the empty chair opposite him.\n\nDAVID\nOnly if he dies by then. For real.\n\nMartha exits. The door closes with a click.\n\nDavid resumes cutting. Alone.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "inkling__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Inkling",
    "route": "thinkingmachines/inkling",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM – NIGHT\n\nA long table. Two places. Silverware aligned with geometric exactness. MARCUS (40s) and ELENA (30s) sit at opposite ends, eating in synchronized silence.\n\nMarcus cuts his meat with clinical precision. Elena sips wine.\n\nMARCUS\nThe prognosis was terminal.\n\nELENA\nYes.\n\nHe pauses. From his jacket, he produces a postcard. Places it beside her plate.\n\nMARCUS\nYour father sent regards from Provence. Yesterday.\n\nElena does not look at it.\n\nELENA\nHe travels well for a dead man.\n\nMarcus folds his napkin into a perfect square.\n\nMARCUS\nYou needed sympathy.\n\nELENA\nI needed you to stay.\n\nSilence. The clock ticks. Marcus stands. He adjusts his cufflinks.\n\nMARCUS\nShall we proceed to dessert?\n\nELENA\nThere is none.\n\nMarcus walks to the door. He does not turn back.\n\nMARCUS\nThen the evening is complete.\n\nHe exits. Elena remains seated. She takes a bite. The door locks behind her—audible, final.\n\nShe smiles, barely.",
    "meanRubricScore": 86.6667,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r1",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 1,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nWhite tablecloth. Candlelight. The room hums at a frequency just below comfort.\n\nMARTIN and CLAIRE sit opposite each other. Their entrées remain untouched, arranged with surgical precision.\n\nCLAIRE\nThe oncologist says six more rounds. He's losing weight. You can see it in his face.\n\nMartin nods once. He lifts his wine glass, holds it at the level of his eyes, then sets it down without drinking.\n\nClaire's phone lights up on the table between them. A notification.\n\nINSERT - PHONE SCREEN\n\n\"Dad: Beat Gary at the back nine today. Told you the new driver was a game changer.\"\n\nBACK TO SCENE\n\nMartin looks at the screen. Then at Claire. She hasn't noticed. She is adjusting her napkin.\n\nCLAIRE\nI just need you to understand why I can't come to the thing on Saturday.\n\nA silence. The candle flame does not move.\n\nMartin picks up his fork. Examines it. Sets it down.\n\nMARTIN\nOf course.\n\nHe reaches across the table and turns her phone face-down.",
    "meanRubricScore": 85.3333,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r2",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 2,
    "output": "INT. DINING ROOM — NIGHT\n\nA long table. Two place settings at opposite ends. Candlelight. The only sound is silverware against porcelain.\n\nMARTIN sets his fork down. Aligns it parallel to his knife.\n\nMARTIN\nYour father. How is he this week?\n\nCLAIRE lifts her wine glass. Holds it at a precise angle.\n\nCLAIRE\nThe same. Some days better than others.\n\nMartin watches her drink. Her phone, face-up beside her plate, illuminates.\n\nINSERT — PHONE SCREEN\n\n\"Dad: Beat Greg at the back nine. 74. Not bad for a dead man.\"\n\nBACK TO SCENE\n\nMartin reads it. His face does not change. He picks up his fork. Aligns it again.\n\nMARTIN\nSeventy-four.\n\nClaire lowers her glass. Looks at him. Looks at her phone. Sets the glass down.\n\nA long silence. The candle flame does not move.\n\nCLAIRE\nMartin.\n\nHe places his napkin on the table. Folds it once. Stands.\n\nMARTIN\nI'll have the car brought around.\n\nHe exits. Claire remains seated. She does not follow.",
    "meanRubricScore": 90,
    "accepted": true
  },
  {
    "id": "qwen3.8-max__dinner_eyes_wide_shut__r3",
    "model": "Qwen3.8 Max",
    "route": "qwen/qwen3.8-max",
    "conditionId": "dinner_eyes_wide_shut",
    "condition": "Eyes Wide Shut / Stanley Kubrick",
    "repeat": 3,
    "output": "INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT\n\nA white tablecloth. Two place settings, symmetrical. MARTIN (50s) and CLAIRE (40s) sit across from each other. The room is nearly empty. A waiter refills water glasses and withdraws.\n\nMartin watches the waiter leave. Picks up his fork. Sets it down.\n\nMARTIN\nI saw your father today.\n\nClaire's hand pauses over her wine glass.\n\nCLAIRE\nThat's not possible.\n\nMARTIN\nHe was at the gallery on Fifth. He looked well.\n\nSilence. Claire lifts the glass. Drinks. Sets it down precisely on the same ring it left.\n\nCLAIRE\nYou're mistaken.\n\nMARTIN\nHe recognized me.\n\nShe looks at him. He does not blink.\n\nCLAIRE\nWhat did he say?\n\nMARTIN\nHe asked how you were.\n\nClaire's jaw tightens. She places her napkin on the table. Folds it once. Twice.\n\nCLAIRE\nI told you he was sick.\n\nMARTIN\nYes. You did.\n\nHe picks up his fork. Begins to eat. The sound of knife against porcelain is very loud.\n\nCLAIRE\nMartin.\n\nHe does not look up.\n\nMARTIN\nI'll have the check.\n\nHe raises his hand. Not a wave. A single, slow lift. Like a man signaling something irreversible.",
    "meanRubricScore": 88,
    "accepted": true
  }
]