INT. STORAGE UNIT — NIGHT
Hands wrap thick wire around the positive terminal of a car
battery. Thirty more batteries wired in series, lines running
back to a concrete wall.
The hands belong to RAY KIND — 50s, Black. Bloodshot eyes,
ghost-white wild afro. Outfit courtesy of the Salvation Army:
jeans, T-shirt, beat-up sneakers. He lifts the final battery
onto a table, alligator-clamps wires to a small generator.
The table is scattered with old medical equipment.
A string swings overhead — attached to a flickering orange
bulb. Distorted shadows layer across the concrete walls.
Ray's eyes scan up to find JOHN JONES — 45, white. A man who
doesn't belong here. His presence alone overpowers the room.
Button-up, slacks, shoes that cost as much as Ray's car. A
Rolex pushes the total somewhere north of sixty grand.
John studies Ray as he tinkers. Not disgust. Pity.
Ray unravels two sets of jumper cables — clamps to the
battery, clamps the other ends to a curved copper piece
shaped like a yarmulke. Sized perfectly to rest on a man's
head.
John unbuttons his shirt. Folds it. Removes the Rolex.
Reaches for his left ring finger. Nothing there. Lingers.
Places a thick stack of cash on the table. Pushes it toward
Ray. Ray snatches it.
JOHN
Not gonna count it?
RAY
No need.
John studies him.
Ray picks up a glass of chunky gray liquid. Turns to John.
RAY (CONT’D)
Your first Violent Anchor?
John nods.
RAY (CONT’D)
We go when you're ready.
SUDDENLY — John's face goes blank. Hands to his knees. He
scans the room like he just arrived.
JOHN
Where am I... Who are you?
Panic. Hyperventilation. Deep breath. Confidence floods back.
RAY
You back?
Ray watches John gather.
RAY (CONT’D)
How often?
JOHN
Two, three times a day.
RAY
Good you came when you did. You
need The Violent Anchor.
Ray swigs the chunky gray liquid. It stains his mustache
maroon. John clocks it. Says nothing. Ray wipes his sleeve
across his face.
RAY (CONT’D)
(re: the drink)
Don't worry. You won't be needing
the Slurry yet.
John does not look upset.
RAY (CONT’D)
Ready?
JOHN
I don't have a fucking choice.
Let's go.
Ray picks up the copper cap and a tube of KY. Squirts a
generous amount. John removes his belt and sits on the couch.
Ray lowers the cap onto John's head. John catches a distorted
reflection of himself in its curved surface — calm, for a man
about to be electrocuted. Ray secures the chin strap, buckles
a chest belt around the couch frame.
John bites down on the leather belt.
His eyes settle. Unfazed. Confident. A man who has done
worse.
Ray looks at John. John looks back: fucking do it already.
Ray flicks the generator on.
ZZZAP — 2,000 volts travel through the wires at the speed of
light. John's head snaps back like an invisible brick hit his
face. Convulsions. Sweat pours down his temples. His eyes go
wide and stare at nothing.
Ray's face doesn't change as he increases the voltage. A few
more seconds — he flicks it off. John's body goes limp, arms
dangling.
He is dead.
Ray methodically gathers equipment onto a cart. Takes his
time. Wheels it to John, unbuckles him, lowers him to the
cold concrete floor.
Slowly, Ray retrieves a syringe — examines 30ccs of clear
fluid, flicks a bubble, checks his watch.
John's lifeless face doesn't bother Ray. He looks into the
wide-open dead eyes.
Those eyes. Still calm. Confident even in death.
Mesmerizing — closer — closer — through a pupil —
INTO HIS CRANIUM
THE NARROW, FLUID-FILLED SPACE ABOVE THE BRAIN. Meninges
partially cut. Brain exposed.
What hovers above it is something.
A green, wispy, ghost-like structure undulates above the gray
matter — alive, working. It morphs two featureless appendages
that spin into tendrils and harden into dark-green claws. The
claws probe — separate gyri — searching. Fast. Ravenous.
It stops. Arches. Lashes its claws into the tissue and goes
taut. Resembles green cellophane around a leftover roast.
Yellow bioluminescent circuitry pulses through the green.
Ray kneels over John. Checks watch. Scoots a thin pillow
under his head. Jabs the syringe into his arm. Opens the
defibrillator, frees the paddles, squirts gel, rubs them
together, flicks the switch —
HIGH PITCH HUM — charging — Paddles to chest. John jumps.
Head falls — THUD — on the pillow, which fails spectacularly
at its job.
Ray waits for the next charge. Patient as a man in line at
the bank.
WEEEZ — ZAPP — jump — THUD. Third round. WEEEZ — ZAPPP ...
GASP.
Life floods in. GROAN. John clutches his head. GRUNT. Shakes
it, checking for loose parts.
RAY
You get it?
John nods.
RAY (CONT’D)
Good. It'll stop The Bleed. Next
few days may be strange.
JOHN
Strange how?
BAMM — RATTLE — RATTLE.
The aluminum door swings open and a huge man walks in
backwards, dragging something with each arm. He slides the
bundles across the floor, closes the door.
The bundles are obviously human bodies. Bedsheets. Duct tape.
LEE — 30s, white, ginger flat-top, blood-spattered black
duster. Wild blue eyes. A grin like a jack-o-lantern that's
been at it too long.
LEE
Anyone down for some Slurry!
John's face: absolute no. Ray's face: nothing.
END COLD OPEN
ACT I
Genres:
["Thriller","Sci-Fi","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Descent into Darkness
INT. PORSCHE SUV — NIGHT
John drives. Road sign: OKLAHOMA CITY — 4 MILES.
GROAN — he grimaces, touches his forehead. Beads of sweat.
Clocks a gas station and pulls off.
He reaches into the glove box and removes a black zippered
pouch. ZIP -
A prescription bottle labeled AMBIEN. He slaps a few in his
mouth, chews.
Next — a full syringe and rubber tourniquet. Inside the
pouch: a Ziplock of white powder, another with pills.
QUICK CUTS:
— Tourniquet tied with his teeth. Syringe cap bitten off.
— A nice juicy vein in the antecubital space.
— Needle pierces skin. Solution plunges in.
— The world blurs... spins...
SMASH CUT TO:
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Desperate Measures
INT. LIVING ROOM — NIGHT (16 YEARS AGO)
A middle-class living room. The kind that was once full of
noise.
John — noticeably younger, 30 — sits on a couch.
Disoriented. Grabs his head. Sighs.
SMASH CUT TO:
MEMORY HIT:
John's POV — Ray flicks the switch. The room bucks like a
bull, then vibrates into a complete blur. The sounds of
electricity and rapid CREAKS from a rickety couch.
BACK TO SCENE
The sound of an old couch. John looks down, puts his hand on
it. Gets grounded.
Next to him, his wife — SARA, 30, white. Brunette. Her gaze
fixed on AMBROSE — M, 50s, white — in the adjoining loveseat.
Ambrose is intensity wrapped in an expensive suit. He owns
any room he enters.
John's hand finds Sara's. His face full of sadness and
desperation. He turns to her — that familiar affect. Ray's
flat demeanor but worse. Pale face, staring into the void,
facial muscles slack, dark bags under her eyes.
JOHN
Honey, did you hear what Ambrose
said? He may be able to help.
She stares at the wall. John lifts her hand, holds it to his
chest.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Honey?
Sara comes to.
SARA
Uhh. Did you say something?
JOHN
Ambrose can help.
Sara looks at Ambrose. Yanks her hand from John's.
SARA
Ambrose my ass. You know who he is.
Why is he here? You're not welcome
here. Go.
Ambrose radiates a calm that could end wars.
AMBROSE
John called me. You need my help.
Whatever differences we share — I
could never not be here for you.
You know this.
Sara loses her grip on reality again. Back to the void.
JOHN
Can you help her?
AMBROSE
How many vessels?
JOHN
This is her eighth. My ninth.
AMBROSE
That tracks with the pattern. It's
new, but I have hundreds of my best
working on it. We will find a cure,
John. But it will take time.
He looks down.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
Years.
JOHN
She doesn't have years.
AMBROSE
No. She doesn't. Weeks at best.
She'll need stasis.
Tears run down John's cheek.
JOHN
No. No. I can't lose her again.
AMBROSE
Brother — the three of us — we have
lost one another more times than I
can count. But we always find each
other. You know she will be taken
care of.
John looks out the window into the dark.
JOHN
This house. This was going to be
our forever.
(shakes his head)
But this — this I did not see
coming.
He gestures at Sara, staring at nothing.
AMBROSE
Nobody would. Hearing about The
Bleed and seeing it up close are
very different things. You cannot
manage this, John. You did the
right thing.
A 4-year-old girl appears in Dora the Explorer pajamas,
Cinderella blanket in tow. BETH.
Ambrose clocks her. His zen evaporates. A rare crack in the
facade — utter shock — he processes — regains composure.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
(fascinated)
She's yours? Yours and Sara's?
JOHN
Last I checked, that's how babies
work, brother.
AMBROSE
Not anymore. Not for some time.
John goes to Beth. Picks her up.
JOHN
Baby lady — you are supposed to be
asleep.
BETH
I got hungry. My tummy's growling.
John smiles.
JOHN
Go back to your room, wait five
minutes, and I'll bring you
something. Deal?
She considers this with appropriate gravity.
BETH
Peanut butter crackers?
John nods.
BETH (CONT’D)
Deal.
He puts her down. She pads back to her room. John watches her
go, then turns to Ambrose with eyes like daggers.
Sara comes to. Clocks Beth passing Ambrose. Loses it
entirely.
SARA
Don't you touch her. Why are you
here? GO!
She lunges. Beth screams and runs back to her dad, wraps
around his leg like a monkey. John gently restrains Sara with
Beth still attached to his shin.
JOHN
He's here to help. Everything is
okay.
SARA
(panic)
He saw her, John.
AMBROSE
Yes. You didn't hide her
particularly well, did you?
A chuckle. Then softer.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
All right. Calm down. We've moved
past that. We have new methods you
wouldn't believe. She is of no use
to us. And even if she were...
He looks at Beth — still fused to her father's leg.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
She is my niece. The most beautiful
girl in the world. How could I...
Beth grimaces at Ambrose. He responds with a smile that could
melt a glacier. John kneels down. Eye level with Beth.
JOHN
Everything's okay. Off to bed. I'll
be in soon.
Beth looks at her mother — vacant, gone. Her face droops -
lumbers back to her room.
John straightens. Looks at Ambrose with total and complete
surrender.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Take her. Please. Help her.
AMBROSE
I will, brother. I will.
Ambrose dials. Speaks quietly.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
She's ready.
Seconds later — the front door. Two large MEN enter. One has
a syringe. Before he can inject, Sara comes to — screams,
kicks. The second man pins her arm. The needle goes in.
John turns away. Tears streaming. Sara's screams fill the
room.
SARA
John!! JOHN!! Help me!
Ambrose puts a hand on John's shoulder.
AMBROSE
You did the right thing. This is
her best chance and you know it.
JOHN
Just take her. I can't...
Ambrose directs his men out. Sara's screams recede.
SARA
(fading)
John... Please...
Silence. A long pause.
AMBROSE
Your daughter is beautiful. Perhaps
I could meet her properly sometime?
John gives him a look that hits like a .45.
JOHN
Just help my wife.
Ambrose nods and leaves. The energy in the room collapses.
John wipes his face. Takes a breath.
Beth stands half behind a wall — tears in her eyes. She saw
the whole thing. She turns and quietly drags her blanket back
to her room.
SMASH CUT TO:
Genres:
["Drama","Psychological","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
Dawn of Discontent
INT. PORSCHE SUV — DAWN
John in the car. Parked at the gas station. Sun coming up.
Tears drying on his face.
He shakes his head. Checks the clock — 7:00 AM.
JOHN
What the...? Four fucking hours?
He wastes no time. The Porsche squeals out of the lot.
Bird's-eye view — dueling stacked billboards:
— TOP: 'Don't Believe in God? Join the Club. Oklahoma
Atheists Group.’
— BOTTOM: Floating Jesus above a hopeless man with face in
hands. 'Delusional? Jesus Offers Help.'
In the distance, the Porsche blows toward a gorgeous Oklahoma
sunrise under a low, wide sky.
Genres:
["Drama","Psychological Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Echoes of Grief
EXT. JOHN'S HOUSE — CONTINUOUS
An affluent neighborhood — and then some. The Porsche turns
into a long driveway.
INT. JOHN'S HOUSE — CONTINUOUS
John enters a high-ceilinged entryway, turns left into a
beautiful kitchen. In the breakfast nook — a young woman
rocks out through earbuds, head-banging while attempting to
eat scrambled eggs.
Half the eggs make it to her mouth. The other half are in her
hair.
This is BETH — 20, wild-haired, Faith No More T-shirt, an ESP
star-shaped red guitar leaning against the table beside her.
She is metal. Wild and free.
John watches from the doorway. Beth looks up. Earbuds out.
BETH
Where have you been, Mr.
Mysterious?
JOHN
Business.
Beth gives a skeptical 'hmmm.' Plays along. Grabs guitar.
BETH
Got a gig tonight. Eight o'clock at
The Hammer.
She riffs. In a guttural metal growl:
BETH (CONT’D)
WITH THY AXE —
(re: guitar)
I SHALL EVISCERATE THE INNOCENTS. IMPALE THE HEARTS OF
INFIDELS AND VIRGINS. ODIN COMMANDS ME SO.
MEMORY HIT:
John in a dim, horrible place. Lee in a black, bloody apron,
hunched over — digs inside an eviscerated body. Yanks out the
heart. Holds it toward John in an offering pose. Smiles with
yellow, grimy teeth. Blood drips.
END MEMORY HIT
John goes pale. A slight gag.
Beth is right in front of him now, studying his face.
BETH (CONT’D)
You look like shit, Dad.
JOHN
Thanks.
He chuckles.
BETH
Wh—
JOHN
(cutting her off)
Nothing to worry about. Okay?
Beth shoots a dirty look. Then fake 'whatever.'
BETH
Fine.
(studying him)
Good luck with that. Be home late.
Shame crosses John's face. Long silence as Beth moves toward
the door. She stops. Grabs her guitar case —covered in
stickers. On one face: a hand-drawn sketch of Sara, and
beneath it in Beth's handwriting: 'RIP MOM 1984–2016. My
music is yours.'
She loads the guitar and straps the case on.
JOHN
Love you. Kick ass.
Beth answers with a confident smirk. Then stops. Turns back.
A beat. They share a look — tungsten-bond, shared weight,
shared history. Two people who've held the same grief.
Satisfied, she leaves.
Genres:
["Drama","Family","Psychological"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Urgent Connections
INT. JOHN'S LIVING ROOM — CONTINUOUS
$300,000 in furniture. John moves to the wall above the TV
— a fingerprint scanner, hidden in plain sight. CLICK —
CLICK. TV swings out. A door.
INT. JOHN'S CENTCOM — CONTINUOUS
Five serious hacker rigs. Seven or eight screens. Mr. Robot
on steroids.
John sits and boots the stack. Screens light up:
— Crypto wallet: $180 million USD.
— Maps of the Middle East and Eurasia. Missile and drone
diagrams, prices, buyer names.
— A dark-net drug market. Images of product.
— A second crypto wallet: $40 million USD.
He swivels to a seemingly empty area. Rests his palm on a
circular sensor. A holographic Earth emits above the table.
John spins the globe, stops it on Africa. Pulls hand back —
Earth shrinks - Earth orbit above central Africa. A blueish
flash, a bean - More blue beams emit from the same place on
the surface.
John's eyes light up.
JOHN
Gotcha.
A mischievous smile.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Time for a dysfunctional family
reunion.
He rolls to the console and runs a script. A red warning
blinks on screen: NODE 152 — OPEN TO INBOUND TRAFFIC.
Deep breath.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Come and get me.
He opens a video call. FRENCH — 40, African American, thick
glasses, lab coat — answers from a high-tech lab.
Big windows reveal a snowy mountain landscape.
FRENCH
Hey. How did it go?
JOHN
Wonderful. Death by electrocution —
overrated.
FRENCH
Did it work?
JOHN
I think so. No amnesia. But...
FRENCH
But what?
JOHN
Nothing.
Silence.
FRENCH
Lucid flashbacks. Time loss. Just a
guess.
JOHN
How did you know?
French rolls her eyes.
FRENCH
Side effects of The Violent Anchor,
John. Did they not tell you?
JOHN
Not a big deal.
(getting to business)
Progress?
FRENCH
Good.
JOHN
(frustrated)
How long?
FRENCH
A week. Maybe two.
JOHN
You have a day.
He takes a breath. Leans into the screen.
JOHN (CONT’D)
He's going to burn it, French. All
of it. Everything.
That sits.
FRENCH
How long do we have?
JOHN
I don't know. But it started and
I've lit the flares. The game is
on. We need to move.
FRENCH
Well — it's your Umbra.
An orangutan knuckle-walks behind her. She glances back.
FRENCH (CONT’D)
(optimistic)
I just sent Louie through.
(re: orangutan)
So far so good.
SUDDENLY — Louie erupts in an angry guttural growl. Full
offensive posture. Scientists appear with a syringe — before
they intervene, Louie simply stops. Lies down. Snores.
JOHN
What the fuck?
FRENCH
(not confident)
Oh, that. That's nothing. Louie can
be moody. All is well. It's fine.
John gives her an 'oh fuck' look. Then the steel returns.
JOHN
I believe in you, French.
FRENCH
I know. And it'll be ready. You
just worry about the kid. Save the
kid, John. Bring him here.
They share a look. A bond.
FRENCH (CONT’D)
God help us with this insane plan.
JOHN
There are no more gods. We help
ourselves.
John ends the call. Everything goes dark.
Genres:
["Thriller","Sci-Fi","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Signals in the Bunker
INT. UNDERGROUND BUNKER — CONTINUOUS
Darkness and carved rock. Cathedral-scaled. A mountain
hollowed out by patience and resources beyond reckoning.
AMBROSE — new vessel, 30s, British Indian — reclines on a
leather couch, phone in hand, face lit blue by its glow. A
razor-sharp gray suit, red tie. Elegant even in a cave.
A high tech, 3 inch diameter, metallic, cylindrical implant
partially covered by his hair on his left parietal.
In the background — barely noticed — a 3D holographic Earth
rotates on its axis. A wormhole bores through it.
The planet comes apart. Resets. Comes apart again.
A screensaver. Ambrose doesn't look at it.
AMBROSE
(RP British, to phone)
Bollocks. Every single time with
the helicopter.
A TECHNICIAN — 40s — turns from a white console.
TECHNICIAN
Sir. We have a signal.
Ambrose doesn't look up.
TECHNICIAN (CONT’D)
Two, actually. One intercepted
inside the open system.
A beat.
Ambrose sets the phone down. Slowly. He rises. Moves to the
console. Studies the screen.
Something crosses his face — not quite a smile. The
satisfaction of a proof completing itself.
AMBROSE
My two little birdies.
He straightens his tie.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
One of them has a response signal.
Someone is coming to him. Find me a
location.
The technician types. A map. A parking garage.
Ambrose studies it. Then glances — just briefly — at the
holographic Earth behind him. The planet ripping apart on its
quiet, eternal loop. He looks at it the way you'd glance at a
clock on the wall.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
Send a team to the garage. I want
his backup neutralized before we
move on him.
He returns to the couch. Picks up his phone.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
(to phone)
Right. Now. Where were we?
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
Bollocks. The helicopter.
END ACT I
ACT II
Genres:
["Thriller","Sci-Fi"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Preparation for the Mission
INT. KEMP'S BEDROOM — DAY
SUPER: WEST MIDLANDS COUNTY, UK
A dark cobalt iris. An eye. A man's face takes shape.
KEMP ALBURN — 50s, Black-British. Built like a linebacker.
Carved rather than born.
KEMP
(Brummie — Peaky
Blinders register)
CADE. Wake the fuck up. Have work
today.
CADE
(O.S., same)
Ok, Pops. Give me a bit. Fuck...
CADE — mid-20s, Black-British. Kemp's son. Every bit as
dangerous, built more like a running back.
The old house is a dump. They meet in the KITCHEN without
speaking. Kemp has breakfast laid out. They eat like
prisoners — fast, efficient.
CADE (CONT’D)
What's the job?
KEMP
Got two. First one — wet-work for
our MI5 mates.
CADE
They can't do anything anymore.
What happened?
KEMP
They want it done right. That's
what happened.
CADE
And the other?
KEMP
For the Americans.
CADE
Fucking CIA minges? Again?
Kemp's phone dings. He checks it.
KEMP
MI5. Let's get strapped.
KEMP'S ROOM — lockbox from under the bed. Inside: guns,
knives, grenades. Badass shit
MUSIC CUE: 'METAL GODS' — Judas Priest
— Kemp: black combat pants, tactical vest. Blades in pockets
— the KNUCKLE KARAMBIT; the filthiest
— Two handguns: SIG SAUER P228 M11-A1. GLOCK 19
— Cade: combat pants, tactical vest. Blade: COLD STEEL PUSH
DAGGER. Guns: BERETTA 92, CZ 75
— Both guns side by side on the desk
— At otherworldly speed, they tear them down simultaneously
— a blur of components on a soft towel
— clean steel and chrome
— reassemble pats in unison like it's a race
— the speed supernatural
— Gun-metal engaging — CLICK — CLICK — synchronized with the
rhythm of their Birmingham brethren
END MUSIC
Genres:
["Action","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Operation Nightfall: The Fall of Drammad Kassar
EXT. GRASS FIELD — DAY
A helicopter lands. Kemp and Cade exit their Range Rover and
meet DAWN, F, 30s - MI5 through and through.
DAWN
All right, you brawny Brummies —
ready to take down a terrorist?
KEMP
That's the job.
DAWN
Nasty one. Latest intel has him
planning attacks on schools right
here in the Black Country.
CADE
Fancies himself a big-timer, does
he? Let's put an end to this piece
of shit.
DAWN
DRAMMAD KASSAR. Real name — WILLIAM
CORNCHESTER. An expat with ties to
nearly every terrorist org in the
Middle East and Eastern Europe.
This is his big play to get an
invite from Syria. Let's nip that,
shall we, boys?
CADE
(laughs)
Willy Cornchester.
KEMP
Enough dossing about. Let's go.
FADE TO:
A FOGGY FIELD. A hundred yards out: a run-down abandoned
TENEMENT.
DAWN
Ten guards inside. Drammad is on
the third floor with the bombs. Be
careful. Be quick.
CADE
Always surgical. Always swift.
He looks at Dawn.
CADE (CONT’D)
I do take my time during other
activities.
He winks. She smiles.
KEMP
Ignore junior. Apologies, miss.
(to Cade)
We move in from the north. When I
raise my hand, cut the power.
DAWN
Got it.
Night vision goggles on. Silencers screwed. Then — POOF —
they fly through the fog at otherworldly speed. Kemp raises
his hand — lights out.
Backs to the door. Cade's face lights up. A quick 'it's on
now' look to his dad. Synchronous pull-down of night vision —
they enter.
CADE POV: Night vision — CZ fires — THWIP THWIP THWIP — three
bright green corpses.
CADE
Clear.
KEMP POV: SIG fires — CLACK CLACK — two more green corpses.
KEMP
Clear.
Up the stairs. Windows. Light. Night vision off.
BACK TO SCENE
A hallway. Kemp: goes left. Cade: goes right.
Cade breezes down the narrow hall. Two goons ahead — smiles,
switches to blades, stays low, dashes — a blurry slash opens
a neck. Blood. A hand fails to plug the leak. Man goes down.
Next goon rushes high. Cade kneels. Double push daggers:
bilateral-simultaneous-Achilles penetration. Twist.
CRUNCH. Then evisceration upon brutal removal of barbs. Blood
and shredded tendon.
GOON
FUCK!! AHHH! FUCK! FUCK!
Cade stands. Flips dagger horizontal, catches it mid-thrust
into the goon's neck. Turns it. Pulls it. THUD — two dead men
on blood-soaked carpet.
Two more at end of hall. CLACK — CLACK. They fall. Kemp
appears, clocks Cade's mess.
Cade holds up blades in a 'you're a puss' shrug. Up the
stairs. Kemp holsters. Shows Cade his own blades. An 'okay
son, watch and learn' smirk.
Two men exit rooms — one ahead, one behind Kemp. He clocks
both.
Spins a knuckle karambit on each hand — a blur.
One graceful step. Drops to a knee. Closes his eyes. Back to
one goon, front to other. His wrists explode in perfectly
controlled 90-degree turn — SLICE — an ancient violence.
Blood - an Adam's apple stuck to a blade. Both goons hit the
floor, hands over necks, choking, dying.
Kemp flings the cartilage from his blade — blood spatter and
tissue blurs everything. Chunks of the organ slowly slides
down. PLOP. Clear.
DRAMMAD busts out of a room, holding a trigger.
DRAMMAD
I will blow this fuckin place!
KEMP
Really? You'd just blow it all up?
Not very memorable, now, is it?
(to Cade)
Would it, son?
CADE
Considering we don't exist in the
eyes of the British government,
it'll be written up as some wannabe
terrorist who blew himself up and
shat his pants.
(pause)
'Shite Bomber' would be the
headline.
They laugh. Drammad doesn't find it funny.
KEMP
Son. That was quite good.
CADE
(smiles to Kemp)
Ya. See what I did there?
DRAMMAD
You're insane!
KEMP
(deadpan)
Most definitely.
CADE
Is that a dead man's trigger, Your
Willy? Can I call you Willy?
Drammad is an arse name.
He looks around.
CADE (CONT’D)
So — where's the bomb, Willy?
Drammad's eyes flick involuntarily to the room behind
him.Cade catches it.
DRAMMAD
If I let go —
CADE
Yeah yeah. Boom. We get it.
Cade walks into the room. Returns with three sticks of C4.
Starts juggling them.
DRAMMAD
STOP! You'll kill us all!
KEMP
(trying not to laugh)
Son. Don't kill us.
CADE
Won't be like last time. Promise,
Pop. I've been practicing.
KEMP
On what? I don't have C4 lying
around the house.
CADE
Swords.
Tosses one bomb up. Catches it. Two. Nearly drops one.
Drammad looks woozy.
CADE (CONT’D)
Okay, okay. I think I feel the
weight now.
DRAMMAD
Please! I have information! I can —
CADE
Too late, Willy.
Cade runs at Drammad. Squeezes his hand around the trigger so
it can't release. Shoves him — and the C4 — out the third-
floor window. Drammad explodes before he hits the ground.
Kemp and Cade look down at the mess.
KEMP
You think he soiled himself?
CADE
'Shite Bomber.' Eh?
KEMP
Shame we'll never have proof.
CADE
It's the unknowing that keeps me up
at night.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Disconnected Melodies
EXT. OUTSIDE PAWN SHOP — DAY
John's SUV. He steps out in jeans, flannel, aviators — phone
to his ear. The sign above reads: BIG CITY PAWN.
JOHN
(to himself)
Answer the fucking phone.
Muffled voicemail. BEEP -
JOHN (CONT’D)
Beth, this is call five. Call me
back. Please.
INT. THE HAMMER BAR — CONTINUOUS
A dimly lit bar. The sound of a badass Metal riff that
demands submission. A bar tender stocks liquor and head
bangs, nobody else here except...
Someone on stage. Closer - it’s Beth on guitar making the
room quiver. A solo, pre-show shed.
She is the Metal Queen - her hair flies - hand a blur - foot
to pedal - music goes filthy.
Her face: in full trance- wide eyed, raw and refined. A mad-
woman and a genius. A master at work in her arena.
Backstage — her guitar case. Her phone reads: 5 MISSED CALLS.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
The Pawn Shop Revelation
INT. PAWN SHOP — CONTINUOUS
Typical pawn shop. John coughs loud. Nothing. Coughs louder.
CARL — 60s, white, Uncle Fester energy — limps over. Sees
John. Goes serious. Submissive.
JOHN
Tomorrow is the day.
CARL
Oh. Exciting. Been too long.
He rubs his hands. Quasimodo's to the back. Drags out a black
trunk.
CARL (CONT’D)
All there.
JOHN
Good. Your job, Carl. What is your
job?
CARL
Keep them here. Keep them here.
Yes.
JOHN
And?
CARL
Keep them here.
JOHN
Perfect.
Carl smirks.
CARL
Yes sir. All done. Exquisite.
He reaches down — THUNK — on the glass countertop.
The most unique revolver in existence. Massive — barrel and
frame like a Smith and Wesson 500. Cylinder and trigger:
Civil War era, Whitneyville Dragoon. Grip: a robust plow-
handle covered in gray python skin. Shiny. The groove depth
feels alive. In fact, the entire gun is an organism. Perfect.
One of a kind. Fifty caliber.
Carl runs his finger from chrome-coated steel to the
glistening python grip.
CARL (CONT’D)
Cleaned and polished. New frame.
New grip.
John's face goes soft.
CARL (CONT’D)
Sure you want it back?
John ignores him. Eyes only on the gun.
JOHN
(to gun with care)
Bashmu.
He picks it up with ease. A thorough, loving check from tip
to grip. Behind his flannel a shoulder-holster. Bashmu goes
in.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Good, Carl. Good.
He lifts the trunk with little effort. Sunlight surrounds his
silhouette as he walks out.
Genres:
["Thriller","Action","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Breakfast Banter and Dark-Net Hacking
INT. KEMP'S KITCHEN — DAY
Back at the house. Like nothing happened. They calmly finish
breakfast. Kemp's boot has a dried chunk of someone on it.
KEMP
Next job is simple. Some spooks
want us to find a dark-net drug
kingpin and bring him in.
CADE
Should be easy. We'll need Zaz.
KEMP
Already on his way.
CADE
You know the CIA built the dark-
net, but now they hire out when
they need to find some dodgy fucka.
Bloody yampy.
KEMP
Nobody wants to get their Donnies
dirty anymore. Deniability. It's
the American way, son.
CADE
What does the CIA want with a dark-
net drug dealer? That's feds, not
spooks.
KEMP
I learned not to ask questions. Get
paid.
They nod. Finish eating. KNOCK — KNOCK.
Kemp answers the door. A peculiar, short-skinny Welshman.
ZAZ, W, late 40s. Boba Fett T-shirt.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Alright, Zaz. Been too long, mate.
Bearhug. Lifts him like a feather. Zaz — obviously not a
hugger.
ZAZ
(Welsh accent)
KEMP, you ol' cont uffar. Been too
long it has. Harder to keep track
of time the older we get.
KEMP
Aye to that. Ol' salty dogs, we
are.
They laugh.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Get your gear. Let's help the
Americans and make ackers.
Zaz grabs his duffel. Follows Kemp. Cade gives Zaz a hug. Zaz
stiffens.
CADE
The legend himself. Good to see
you.
ZAZ
(awkward)
Hugging. Yes. Lots of hugging.
ZAZ (CONT’D)
Cade. Don't even think about it.
CADE
Uncle Zaz, I've matured. Let's get
to business.
Zaz looks pleased. Follows Kemp. Cade immediately spits on
his fingers and rubs it in Zaz's ear.
ZAZ
O, cont!
He turns — attempts to tackle Cade. Fails. Cade laughs as he
shoves with everything he's got.
CADE
Okay. I am sorry. Working on
myself. Promise.
Zaz relents.
ZAZ
Good. Maybe by the time you're my
age you'll function in normal
society. If you aren't in prison by
then.
Cade takes that like a bullet.
ZAZ (CONT’D)
Well enough. Let's get to work.
Zaz opens his duffel. Removes a serious laptop, hooks up
external hardware, boots to a terminal.
ZAZ (CONT’D)
We are on the dark-net, folks. Took
a whole minute. Scary — a sprog can
do this.
Kemp puts a piece of paper on the table.
KEMP
Intel from the Americans.
Zaz scans it.
ZAZ
(serious, not cocky)
A drug dealer? Don't you think I'm
slightly overqualified for this?
KEMP
I just get paid. They said use the
best. And here you are, Zaz.
ZAZ
Come back in fifteen minutes and
I'll have this bloke's address,
phone, who he's having it off with,
and the length of his plonker.
Kemp approves. They leave Zaz to his work.
Zaz types. One command. Two. Then — the sound of typing on
fast-forward. Commands fly down the screen in a blur.
Zaz's eyes behind his glasses: reflections of cascading code.
Calm. Unwavering. Unblinking.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
The Hasty Journey to Oklahoma
INT. UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE — DAY
A dark, half-empty parking garage. John carries the black
trunk to a Dodge Caravan. Hits the fob — BEEP BEEP. Slides
the door open. Lifts the trunk in.
INT. JOHN'S CENTCOM — CONTINUOUS
Empty and dark. A screen lights up. A blip. A terminal opens
— lines of script descend at the speed of light.
INT. KEMP'S KITCHEN — DAY
The same script reflected in Zaz's glasses. A big goofy
smile.
ZAZ
Aye! Over here.
Kemp comes over.
ZAZ (CONT’D)
Took some tickling of the front
bits to open up the back bits but
we're in.
KEMP
(genuinely impressed)
That was... quick.
Zaz arches his back. Cracks his knuckles like a piano
maestro.
ZAZ
A tidy bloke but didn't really
require the likes of me, to be
honest.
KEMP
Who is he?
ZAZ
John Jones.
KEMP
Dodgy. What else?
Zaz points at the screen — John's drug market. Images of
product. Zaz's finger directed to three ancient CUNEIFORM
SYMBOLS at the top:
Kemp's eyes go wide.
KEMP (CONT’D)
(quietly)
Bloody hell.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Where is he?
ZAZ
Oklahoma City, USA.
KEMP
(calling out)
Cade! Book us three tickets to
Oklahoma City. Soonest flight.
CADE
(O.S.)
Alright.
Kemp closes the laptop.
KEMP
No time to fock about. Get the lead
out.
ZAZ
Now? I didn't plan on... I have to
ask someone to look in on Greedo.
KEMP
Who the fuck is Greedo?
ZAZ
My cat.
Kemp stares at him. Then, business-like:
KEMP
Thirty percent?
Zaz ponders. Cade jumps in:
CADE
Done. YEE-HAW! We gotta get us some
cowboy hats, gents.
Zaz looks at Kemp.
ZAZ
Thirty percent and a cowboy hat.
BEGIN MONTAGE:
— Luggage — CRACK — ZIP — ZIP —
— Sad looks as Kemp and Cade return weapons to the lockbox
- BLUMMP — CLICK —
— House door — SLAM —
— Cab ride. Car door — SLAM —
— Through the back window: Bull Statue, St. Philip's
Cathedral, The Black Sabbath Bridge, Ozzy Osbourne statue,
Birmingham Library, a street mural of Rob Halford reading:
'BIRMINGHAM — BIRTHPLACE OF HEAVY METAL.'
— They enter Heathrow.
— Security line. Candy Crush on Kemp's screen.
— Cade sets off the body scanner. Red square blinks on his
crotch. Officer frisks him.
— Cade winks at an attractive woman while gesturing to the
red square.
CADE
(whispers to woman)
Happens every time.
— She smiles.
— They board. Plane takes off — HEEEHHHHEEWWW —
— Asleep. Zaz's head on Cade's shoulder.
— Cade exits the airplane bathroom followed by the woman from
security. Disheveled. Lipstick on his neck.
— Wheels hit — BUMP — BUMP — SQUEEELL —
— They deplane: WILL ROGERS WORLD AIRPORT. Tiny. A ghost
town.
— Airport store. Cade and Zaz try on cowboy hats.
— They walk away — Kemp in the middle, towering over both men
in their new cowboy hats.
END MONTAGE
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Ambush in the Garage
INT. UNDERGROUND RENTAL CAR PARKING GARAGE — CONTINUOUS
Dark. Lower level. Kemp presses the fob. A Dodge Caravan
lights up.
CADE
You got a people carrier.
Fantastic.
KEMP
Shut it. It was cheap and it's pre-
loaded.
A MAN pops out from behind the minivan. Blacked-out
sunglasses. In a dark parking garage.
He waves as they approach — but Kemp's face tightens. The
hair on his neck stands up.
KEMP’s POV:
— WOOSH — time slows, tunnel vision — a hand exposed from
behind a concrete pillar — WOOSH — shifts — a foot on the
other side. Another person hiding terribly.
BACK TO SCENE
KEMP (CONT’D)
(smiling, whispering)
Slow down. These ent friends.
CADE
These? As in more than one? I only
see the one bloke. Do they all have
sunglasses on?
KEMP
Smile. Don't mooch.
Wide smiles. Overly friendly waves toward the man by the van.
CADE
Perfect trap. Fresh off the plane.
No weapons.
He looks at Zaz, then Kemp.
CADE (CONT’D)
Do we leg it — or do we scrap?
ZAZ
You know me. I love some good
ballistic therapy.
KEMP
Fight it is. Stay close. Follow my
lead.
Kemp bends to tie his shoe. Zaz starts to do the same.
KEMP (CONT’D)
(whispering, annoyed)
Stop, ya saft fucka. Why don't we
all tie our shoes together while
we're at it? That's not suspicious
at all.
ZAZ
You said follow your lead.
KEMP
(grunts, whispers)
Get back down here. More suspicious
if you stop. You knob.
ZAZ
You know what's suspicious? The
fucking sunglasses in the dark. I
wouldn't worry about us.
Kemp removes a sharp plastic blade from his shoe.
ZAZ (CONT’D)
I want one of those.
Kemp ignores him. Stands with a giant fake smile.
KEMP
Alright, you — you the tossa?
No answer. Closer. Thirty feet.
KEMP (CONT’D)
(louder)
The tossa — are you the tossa?
Ten feet.
MAN
(American, confused)
Uhhh... sure. I'm a tossa.
Four feet.
KEMP
Let me show you something, tossa.
He gestures Zaz and Cade to cover. They abide. Kneel behind a
car.
SUDDENLY — Kemp pounces. Four quick thrusts to the groin —
femoral artery severed. A barrage of kidney strikes — renal
artery opened. BLOOD. All with a three-inch plastic blade.
Gently, he takes the dying man to the ground.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Well. Looks like your days of
tossing are over.
Shots from both sides. Kemp takes the man's gun.
KEMP’S POV:
Tunnel vision — a head pokes from behind a pillar — gun
extends — POP — one shot through the head.
BACK TO SCENE
Cold cobalt eyes.
CADE
One more, I think. Over there. Want
me to draw him out?
KEMP
Sure. These guys are shit shots.
Cade bolts for the next row. The last man steps out to fire —
BANG — Kemp beats him to it.
Zaz inspects the second dead man's handgun. Not a normal gun
— oversized, strange tech on the barrel. He shows Kemp.
ZAZ
Look. A fuckin Atomizer it is.
Dirty pool... cocoens.
Kemp doesn't look shocked.
Cade examines the first man. Pale skin. Yellow eyes. Bald
head. He turns the head — a gruesome scar on the right
temple.
CADE
Somebody's science project.
ZAZ
(calling back)
This one too. Clones. Wankers!
KEMP
(to the dying man)
Who sent you?
The man's eyes glow yellow. Up close his pallid face is wrong
in ways that are hard to name.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Why find John Jones? Who is he?
MAN
You know why.
KEMP
What?... Who is your boss?
MAN
ENLIL sends his condolences.
Kemp's armor cracks. He closes his eyes. The world turns
slowly around him. Vertigo.
ZAZ
What did he say?
A long pause. Kemp still on one knee. Gathering himself.
KEMP
Nothing. Nonsense.
ZAZ
He said Enlil, he did.
KEMP
(pissed)
I fucking heard him. Leave it be.
Kemp scans the garage. His mind churning.
KEMP (CONT’D)
We need to go. Now.
Cade is putzing around looking at cars.
KEMP (CONT’D)
Cade! We're going. Game has
changed.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Gear Check and Cowboy Banter
INT. CARAVAN — CONTINUOUS
Kemp drives. Zaz and Cade go through a trunk of gear left for
them. Pre-loaded.
KEMP
Did they miss anything? Wasn't
cheap getting that delivered.
CADE
Looks good to me.
KEMP
Zaz — get John's number. Get him on
the phone.
Zaz grabs his phone.
Cade studies the Atomizer. A big boxy handgun with a blinking
light. Ejects the mag — a blue plasma-like substance churns
and glows white. Zaz glances at it.
ZAZ
Get shot with that and your
Umbra... Bu farw.
CADE
What is 'boo farw' in Welsh, Zaz?
Close on Zaz — looking utterly ridiculous in his cowboy hat.
In his best — and overall fucking horrible — American cowboy
accent:
ZAZ
BOO FAARWW... it means —
(dramatic pause)
Dead meat, partner.
END ACT II
ACT III
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Sci-Fi"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
The Slurry Ritual
INT. STORAGE UNIT — NIGHT (CONTINUATION OF THE OPEN)
Lee winks at John. Something out of a horror movie — red flat-
top atop a 6'5" beast of a man. Unlike Ray, he has energy.
Emotion.
LEE
You just had an Anchor. You need a
Slurry.
John looks at Ray.
JOHN
You said I wouldn't need it.
RAY
It'll help. Decreases the chance of
de-coalescence by ten percent or
so.
JOHN
That's pretty fucking significant,
Ray. You should've said something.
RAY
Didn't have any Slurry at the time.
Now we do.
John laughs.
LEE
Come on. Let me show you my office.
Lee grabs both bodies — one hand gripping a leg from each —
drags them behind. John watches. Looks down. Two parallel
blood streaks on the concrete.
A gray tarp hangs over the side wall. Lee walks right through
it into the neighboring unit. John hasn't moved.
Eyes on the blood. Lee calls out:
LEE (CONT’D)
Buddy — you need to learn how to
make a Slurry. In case shit goes
south for you.
He laughs. Ray says something to Lee — faint, out of earshot.
Lee is never out of earshot.
LEE (CONT’D)
Holy shit. No way!
Then, to John:
LEE (CONT’D)
We don't get your type in here
much. Or ever. What the fuck are
you doing here?
John doesn’t answer.
LEE (CONT’D)
Never mind. Times are strange.
He lumbers on. CHHHSHHH — bodies drag on concrete.
A battery-powered lantern throws blue light off a curved tarp
enclosing a small work area in the corner. Ray, Lee, John,
and a dead body — hidden from the world in this
claustrophobic space.
Lee in a black rubber apron, scalpel in hand, stands over a
cold steel table with a partially eviscerated dead man on
top. Chest plate propped at his feet like a rack of ribs.
Ray stands next to Lee, facing away. His white afro glows
blue. Lee tosses a kidney into a plastic bin. Without
looking, Ray reaches in, takes it. CHOP CHOP CHOP — organ
slices.
John stands with arms crossed and jaw tight, trying not to
look away. The other body — still wrapped — crowds his tiny
space. Sounds of evisceration. The iron smell of blood and
tissue.
LEE (CONT’D)
Mitochondria is the only organelle
with its own DNA. Fun fact nobody
knows — mito DNA is older than the
planet.
THWACK — a lung slaps the table. Flounders like a fish out of
water.
LEE (CONT’D)
That's why it stays while the rest
drifts away. Mito is...
Lee blinks twice, hard. Freezes. Bloody hands. Blank face.
Mid-sentence. Ray doesn't look up. John stares. Five seconds.
Ten.
RAY
...forever.
LEE
...forever.
Lee resumes without acknowledgment.
LEE (CONT’D)
These two —
(re: bodies)
— are third cousins. Found them on
Ancestry.com. Gotta get the best
match and work down the family
tree.
THWACK — pancreas bounces on the table. Ray snatches it.
SQUISH — into the bin.
John tracks a dark rivulet crossing the concrete toward his
shoe. He steps back.
Lee's hands go back in — SQUISH SQUISH RIP — yanks out the
liver - DRIP DRIP -
LEE (CONT’D)
Ray. What's liver thing the
Hannibal guys says?
RAY
(without hesitation or
emotion)
I ate his liver with some fava
beans and a nice chianti.
LEE
Ray knows all the movie lines.
Hands back in — RIP —
LEE (CONT’D)
Here it comes. A buffet of
mitochondria.
Lee pulls out the heart. Holds it on both palms toward John —
an offering. Eyes locked on John. Frozen open smile. Yellow
teeth. Heart on his palms. Ray glances back. Checks watch.
Fifteen seconds in the heart-holding pose. Something hits
Lee's play button.
LEE (CONT’D)
The heart.
John's face relaxes — past horror, past confidence — into
something that looks most like surrender. He no longer pities
Ray or Lee. He pities himself.
WHIRRRR — a blender. Ray pours the contents into a glass.
Gray. Chunky. Disgusting. Holds it out to John. A long pause.
John takes it. Studies it. Looks at Ray. One more look at the
glass. He drinks.
His face says everything and reveals nothing.
Behind him, Lee blinks twice and goes still again — arm
raised, staring at nothing.
Genres:
["Thriller","Horror","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Confrontation and Sacrifice
INT. JOHN'S CENTCOM — DAY
John at the console. French on screen. Behind her — a chimp
in a chair with wires on its head. She straightens the
camera.
FRENCH
What's up?
JOHN
Get ready.
FRENCH
What — like Today? Now?
JOHN
Yes. It’s go time.
FRENCH
Umm. Okay. I'll just send Enos
through and — shit. Okay.
She points at the chimp. She does not look confident.
JOHN
You can do this, French. You're the
smartest person on the planet. I
know you can.
She blushes. Smiles.
FRENCH
Well, duh. Everyone knows that.
Still awkward a moment. Then she pulls it together.
FRENCH (CONT’D)
Alright.
JOHN
Alright.
French holds his look — it's love. John smiles back. One
moment that holds a deep bond. History. Ends call - a breath.
Then he goes absolutely ape shit.
Throws a computer at the floor — CRASH — parts scatter.
Motherboards — CRUNCH — under his heel. RAM chips — CRACK —
pulverized.
SMASH CUT:
Hard drives spin and spark in a microwave. Smoke.
John runs from the kitchen back to CENTCOM. An open safe.
Inside: a PHONE, USB DRIVE, a gun that makes Bashmu look
modest, a FOLDED PLASTIC SHEET, and a SHINY BLACK PEBBLE.
He takes everything out. Puts all personal effects into the
safe. Places the pebble on his palm — it hovers an inch above
his hand, glows blue. He plucks it from mid-air. Returns it
to the safe. Closes the door.
Three seconds — a deafening THRUMMMM from inside the safe.
Three more — DING-DONG.
John peeks out the window. A woman at the door.
He opens flannel - checks Bashmu - opens the door —
His wife. Sara. But not quite. White leaking through makeup
in the daylight. Her eyes are blue — too blue.
John doesn't catch any of it. He opens the door and pulls her
into a tight hug. Face buried in her hair, eyes closed,
serene.
His eyes open slowly. He takes in the smell. His face
tightens. He releases her.
SARA
(tone flat, rhythmic,
rote)
Hello. Come with me, John. We need
to go.
He hesitates. She takes his hand, leads him outside.
Halfway to the curb — a van parked 30 feet away — he regains
himself.
JOHN
Wait. Where are we going?
SARA
No time to explain. Come on.
He stops. Disengages.
JOHN
Sara — tell me what's happening.
SARA
I'm back. I'm here.
John catches the tone. Something wrong with the rhythm.
JOHN
Fruity Pebbles.
SARA
What?
JOHN
You heard me. Fruity Pebbles.
SARA
I don't... understand. It's
dangerous here. Let's go.
John holds his ground.
JOHN
Sara would know what that means.
You're not Sara. You're a clone.
Her demeanor flattens. Robotic.
SARA
Correct. My umbra in a clone
vessel. Ambrose the Divine wants to
speak with you.
John chuckles.
JOHN
Ambrose the Divine. Listen to
yourself. You're brainwashed. Do
you know what they did to you?
QUICK CUT:
A conveyor belt — incubators, un-animated clones in the
viewports. A SCIENTIST in a white coat approaches with a
device — a 4-inch rod with a sharp point. She rams it into
the clone's temple. Pulls it out. Cauterizes the wound.
Smoke. The clone comes to life.
END QUICK CUT
JOHN (CONT’D)
They use a gelding rod.
A wrinkle in her cheek. A flash of panic. One beat — then
flat.
JOHN (CONT’D)
I see you in there. Beth — Beth is
almost twenty. She's in a band. You
can see her play tonight. She's
amazing.
Sara's face is fighting. Surfacing.
John moves closer.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Yes. Stay with me. Stay with Beth.
We need you.
He holds out his hand. Her hand reaches for his — trembling.
He grabs it. Pulls her into a hug. She rests her head on his
shoulder.
JOHN (CONT’D)
(quiet)
I can help you. I've been working
on something — for you. We can fix
this.
In the periphery — eight COMMANDOS, decked out in black, AR
15s on side, march from 30 yards. SCREECH — tires, off
camera.
John disengages but keeps her hand. Sara looks at him, then
at the commandos. The clone veneer snaps back. She frees her
hand. Stares at John — flat, blank.
CLONE SARA
This is for the best, John. Ambrose
will help us all. Follow me.
She turns and walks toward the van. Signals the commandos to
hold.
John watches her go. Something in him deflates. He takes a
step toward the van.
THEN — BANG BANG — commandos open fire. Return fire off-
screen. Bullets WHIZ.
JOHN
No!!!
KEMP appears — snatches John by the collar and hauls his ass
inside. ZAZ and CADE — still in cowboy hats — return fire and
follow through the door. It slams.
They move to the back of the house for cover.
BAM — THUD — front door hits the ground. THUD THUD — boots
over smashed wood.
John checks his gun. Pulls the plastic sheet from his pocket.
Shakes it out — a poncho. He pulls it on. Kemp watches with a
'what the actual fuck' look.
KEMP
Expecting rain?
JOHN
What? No.
KEMP
Then what the fuck is that?
JOHN
French designed it. It's an Umbra-
Buster-Proof-Vest.
Zaz and Cade flank them. It gets quiet. A waiting game.
KEMP
It looks like a cheap camping
poncho, Enki.
John doesn't flinch at the name. Like it is his name. It is.
JOHN
Hey. French made it. She's
brilliant. Kind of like you, Zaz.
KEMP
Did she name it? Because that is a
fucking horrible name.
JOHN
I named it. It does what it says.
Zaz leans over. Studies the vest closely. He's arrived at a
verdict.
ZAZ
(serious)
It's like a garbage bag, Enki. You
are wearing a garbage bag.
Cade injects himself, tips his cowboy hat.
CADE
Howdy, partner.
John shakes his head. Finally cracks a smile.
JOHN
Still an eight-year-old in a man's
body.
Kemp nods. Flanking gesture. They go.
O.C. — BANG — BANG —
Around the corner. The Kitchen, closed quarters - shots fly -
Zaz fires to left - Freeze on commando who has Zaz dead to
rights - then - a blur - BAM -
Kemp drops the last commando.
KEMP
Clear.
He turns and his face - shock then anger
On the floor... John bleeding out.
KEMP (CONT’D)
What the fuck, Enki? The poncho
isn't bulletproof. Yampy fucka.
You're supposed to wear a
bulletproof vest underneath it.
Let's get you to a hospital.
JOHN
No. Not part of the plan.
KEMP
You and your fucking plans. Great
plan - die on the kitchen floor eh?
JOHN
I have The Bleed, I'm dying anyway.
But...
He smiles. Coughs. Makes eye contact. Zaz - shame on his
face.
ZAZ
You took that bullet for me. Stupid
arse. You are worth ten of me.
JOHN
Zaz shut it. Have faith. I'm going
to blow your minds.
He laughs, then grimaces.
JOHN (CONT’D)
Not much time. Listen. Big City
Pawn Shop. Couple of hours. Be
there. You're going to like this
one, brother. I have so much to
show you...
John closes his eyes. Drifts off.
His green, wispy UMBRA flickers — phases in and out — as it
eases up through his chest. It rises. Hovers near Kemp for a
moment — as if looking at him.
Then it darts up through the ceiling. Gone.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Sci-Fi"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Echoes of the Past
INT. BLACK VAN — CONTINUOUS
Clone Sara drives. Face flat. Eyes ahead.
Something processes. She looks out at the passing city. A
glint of something in her eye.
MEMORY HIT:
Blurry, desaturated — John and Sara in their old kitchen.
Sara is very pregnant, eating Fruity Pebbles by the handful.
John snatches the box. She goes after him. He throws a
handful at her. She laughs. Throws some back. She drops the
box and they kiss.
END MEMORY HIT
A tear runs down Sara's cheek.
She picks up her phone. Finds Beth's social media page.
Close on screen — Beth holding her guitar front and center,
four dudes arranged behind her. A cool logo: IRA DEI. The I's
are scythes. Very metal. Beth: wild dark hair, eyeliner, a
touch of goth and a load of heavy metal.
Dudes behind her are window dressing.
Sara clocks the showtime: PLAYING AT THE HAMMER — SATURDAY —
8PM. She swipes. The time reads 4:00 PM.
Her face steels.
SMASH CUT TO:
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Sci-Fi"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Mission Assignment
INT. UNDERGROUND BUNKER — EARLIER
The same carved rock. The same overwhelming scale.
Ambrose reclines on the leather couch — phone in hand, face
lit by its glow. Unhurried.
In the background, the holographic Earth rotates on its
endless loop. The wormhole bores through it. Planet comes
apart. Resets. Wallpaper.
CLONE SARA stands before him. Still. Waiting.
Ambrose doesn't look up from his phone.
AMBROSE
(to phone, RP British)
Bollocks. Every. Single. Time.
He sets the phone down. Looks at Clone Sara for the first
time. Almost bored.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
I need something retrieved.
He holds her gaze.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
John Jones.
She says nothing. Eyes flat. Awaiting.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
And be a dear — don't damage him.
He is rather irreplaceable.
He picks up his phone. Back to his game.
Clone Sara turns and leaves without a word.
Ambrose watches her go. Something ancient moves behind his
eyes. He glances at the hologram — the planet splitting open
on its quiet, eternal loop.
AMBROSE (CONT’D)
(to himself, quietly)
Ira dei.
BACK TO SCENE
INT. BLACK VAN — CONTINUOUS
Clone Sara. Eyes ahead. The mission locked in.
On the seat beside her — her phone. Beth's band page still
glowing on the screen. 8PM. THE HAMMER.
She drives.
Genres:
["Action","Thriller","Sci-Fi"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Awakening in Shadows
INT. UNDERGROUND BUNKER — CORRIDOR
Dimly lit, granite covered walls A flickering light pulses
down a corridor. WOOSH — deeper into the bunker. A labyrinth
of tunnels — left, right, left — and through a door into a
dark room.
A line of INCUBATORS. Glass viewports lit from within.
Moving down the line — the first two contain clones of
Ambrose. All with the same cylindrical implant anchored in
the left parietal bone.
The third incubator demands more attention.
Different. Perfect. Radiant. Golden skin, bright topaz eyes —
human in form, but otherworldly in presence. Something
ancient.
Bird's-eye view — the room is massive. Hundreds of occupied
pods. All awaiting animation.
INT. FRENCH'S LAB — DAY
High-tech. Clean. A beautiful snowy mountain landscape
through floor-to-ceiling windows.
An incubator — closer — the foggy viewport — It's John.
Awaiting animation.
French at her console — brain waves and PET scan imagery
on the display. She studies them intently. Whatever she sees,
she does not look worried. She should probably be worried.
END ACT III
ACT IV
Genres:
["Sci-Fi","Thriller","Action"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
Awakening and Alliance
EXT. HOSPITAL — DAY
An UMBRA floats 100 feet above a hospital. Moving toward it.
It darts at a patient's window and passes through.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM — CONTINUOUS
A sick, unconscious young man — JACK SPENCER, 18 — lies in a
hospital bed. Bald. Deep dark circles of death around his
eyes.
The room is full of flowers and cards. Popular kid. Tacked to
the wall above his head: twenty pictures of him playing
baseball.
In one — Jack in a COLORADO ROCKIES UNIFORM, smiling like he
won the lottery. Caption: '2026 MLB DRAFT — JACK SPENCER, SS
— 1ST ROUND PICK — COLORADO ROCKIES.'
Jack opens his eyes. The Umbra hovers above him — HUMMING.
He reaches up. It phases in and out as it enters him. A green
aura.
He convulses. Pinned on his back — eyes wide, head tilted up,
arms held down by nothing visible. Face flat. Contorting.
Then: dark circles disappear. Color rushes back. He sits up —
eyes glow green for a moment — then clear. He looks like the
kid in the pictures again.
He stands. Telemetry cords fall off. BEEP BEEP.
JOHN'S VOICE
(in Jack's head)
Jack — calm down. Lie down. You
have about thirty seconds before
the nurses come in and poke at you.
Jack runs to the bathroom mirror. Back of gown barely covers
his ass. Vibrant, healthy face. He flexes his bicep. Wide
smile.
JOHN'S VOICE (CONT’D)
Now, Jack. Lie down. Act sick.
Jack rushes back, barely in time. Closes his eyes. An
overweight NURSE enters. She clocks the cords on the floor.
NURSE
My sweet boy. Bad dreams?
Jack gives a fake groan. Rolls over. The nurse reconnects
him. Clocks his bicep. Sneaks a squeeze. Walks away.
NURSE (CONT’D)
(to herself, faint)
Oh honey, if you were just a few
years older. Oh my.
Door closes. Jack's eyebrows wrinkle.
JACK
(re: nurse)
Dude. I feel violated.
His body contorts. Face twitches. A different tone.
JOHN
(in Jack's body)
By her or me?
JACK (VOICE)
Ummm. What the fuck is happening?
JOHN
Don't be afraid, Jack.
Body contorts. Jack regains control.
JACK
Are you talking inside my head?
He looks genuinely freaked.
JOHN'S VOICE
It's okay. My name is Enki. I mean
you no harm. In fact — I cured your
cancer.
Jack's body contorts. John/Enki takes over.
ENKI
That's better. Strange little
glitch is all.
Body contorts. Jack's turn.
JACK
Glitch? What the fuck is a glitch?
He looks around. Processing.
JACK (CONT’D)
Hang on. Am I dead? Like — are you
God, testing me? The Heaven Test?
Look — I cheated on Stacey one
time. That's it.
(whispers fast)
And I tried steroids once. Just
once.
(coughs)
I give myself to thee, God — or
whatever. See?
He crosses himself, kisses his finger, points up like Sammy
fucking Sosa.
Quick neck spasm.
ENKI
I'm sure you're a penitent man. But
no. Very much alive. More alive.
JACK
Huh?
ENKI
You're not dead. And you're not
dying either.
JACK
A dream then. Yeah?
He touches his temples. Migraine.
JACK (CONT’D)
I can see your... memories. How
fucking old are you? Jesus Christ —
like literally — Jesus. What are
you? You're a god. I was right.
ENKI
You are remarkable. I knew it.
JACK
Yeah, I guess I'm pretty amazing.
But like — can you leave now?
Twitch.
ENKI
If all goes to plan — soon.
ENKI (CONT’D)
Jack, I have the answers to
questions you must have. But for
now — relax. Let me take the wheel.
Neck spasm.
Jack ponders. He looks... excited about this proposition.
JACK
Promise?
Twitch.
ENKI
Yes. But you need to help me.
Big twitch.
JACK
Are you trying to push me out? I
felt that.
Contortions.
ENKI
Yeah. You won't shut up. And I'm in
a bit of a hurry.
Twitch.
JACK
Hurry for what?
Tiny twitch.
ENKI
My daughter is in danger. She's at
a bar called The Hammer. Do you
know where it is?
Twitch.
JACK
What? No. I can't even drink yet,
man.
He looks down. Wrinkles his face.
JACK (CONT’D)
Okay, fine. Can't really lie to
you, can I? Yes. I know where The
Hammer is.
ENKI
No time to waste.
Body contorts. Jack looks around. A 'what the fuck' look. He
drops his head on the pillow.
JACK
Waiting for your plan. A good one.
Twitch.
ENKI
Yeah. Uh. Give me a sec.
Twitch.
The room pulls wide. One young man. Alone. In a hospital
gown. Twitching and arguing with himself.
The sound fades. The room goes dark.
JACK
I'm already hearing your plans in
there and honestly... they're shit.
Twitch.
ENKI
Shit? I'm all ears, genius. We're
not making a run for it. No. You
don't have any clothes.
The room goes black.
END ACT IV
TAG
Genres:
["Science Fiction","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Echoes of Desperation
EXT. SPACE
The Moon approaches fast. Orbit — around to its dark side,
which is not dark.
Toward the surface. Artificial structures. Some kind of
installation.
CLOSER — a POWER STATION. Thirty-odd massive solar panel
arrays on thin poles, concave mirrors reflecting light onto
panels.
Three-foot-diameter wires run to a moon-dust-caked hatch.
Through the hatch —
INTO THE MOON
Take a moment.
A city-sized, hollow, translucent, geometrical marvel — a
truncated icosidodecahedron. Silvery glass squares, hexagons,
and decagons joined together into an exquisite shell. Light
glints off glassy surfaces.
INSIDE — landscapes like a Yosemite postcard, framed by the
geometry. The decagons serve as viewports. An ARBORETUM.
Elegant geometry meets Eden.
ABOVE — GRASSY PLAINS — WHOOSH — a 180-degree turn on
ascension — THEN — onto the plain. Artificial gravity.
Grasslands above, forest below, mountains to one side, ocean
to the other. Thousands of square miles.
Horses. Long-legged, elongated muzzles, charging past. Wild
mustangs. This is Eden. Untouched.
An object in the distance — CLOSER — hovering a meter off the
ground. Big. Green. Five meters tall.
IT BEATS LIKE A HEART. IT IS ALIVE.
Close on its fleshy surface — POP — two green hands punch
through, grab and tear.
UTU — M, alien — a green muscular humanoid with cartilaginous
spikes for hair emerges. Amniotic goo oozes down green skin.
His eyes glow yellow.
He walks with purpose. A hatch — he enters a bright-white
futuristic SUBTERRANEAN CORRIDOR.
INT. MOON — CONTROL ROOM — CONTINUOUS
The alien sits at a lone white console. The screen flashes:
49,000,563 MESSAGES.
The alien sighs. His human-like face shows anxiety. He
activates audio.
VOICES
Utu, are you there... Utu, it's
been 4,000 years... We need you
Utu... Utu help... Utu... Utu...
now 18,000 years... Utu... Utu...
Everything goes black.
Echoes of 'Utu... Utu... help us' linger.
END PILOT