THE SCREAMING GREY
SOUND of a low, pervasive HUM. Not a noise, but a pressure.
Darkness. Then, a smear of GREY.
We are RUNNING with JACKIE (12), her face pale and strained. Her legs move like they're made of old wood, heavy and slow.
The world is a monochrome wasteland. Empty, angular buildings jut out like broken puzzles. Above, the sky is a grid of pulsing white lines, a slow, sickening rhythm.
Behind the grid lines, SHAPES move. Darker than the grey, but not quite black. Amorphous. They don't have eyes, but we feel their gaze on Jackie's back. Cold. Heavy. Pushing her.
A tiny, sharp SOUND, like a BROKEN HINGE, cuts through the HUM.
The grid lines FLICKER. For a split second, a face seems to form in the shadows. A memory. Gone.
The HUM swells, becoming a physical wave of pressure. It squeezes the air. Pushes Jackie forward.
Her eyes widen in terror--
--and Jackie GASPS, a small, wet sound.
She’s awake. Curled in a tight ball on a lower bunk, knees jammed against her chest. The chamber is a cramped metal box, lined with tiered bunks. Condensation drips down crisscrossing wires on the ceiling.
The dream's HUM is gone, replaced by the low, tired RUMBLE of air purifiers.
Jackie squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them. The grey of the dream shifts, becomes the real grey of the metal ceiling. She rubs her eyes, trying to get the grit out.
A whisper from the bunk above.
Penny (13), her face pale and her dark hair a tangled mess, peers down. Her voice is raspy.
Jackie pushes herself up, her shoulder POPPING softly.
Penny swings her legs over the side. Her bare feet hit the cold metal floor with a dull THUD. Her toes are red.
She pulls her thin, stiff wool blanket tighter.
Penny drops to the floor, sitting cross-legged beside Jackie's bunk. She wears a patched jumpsuit, three sizes too big. She picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, avoiding Jackie's eyes.
Jackie shakes her head. Her stomach twists.
The word hangs in the stale air. Penny's fingers work faster at the thread.
Her voice cracks on the last word.
Jackie’s blood runs cold. Collections. That means outside.
Penny shrugs, a small, defeated movement.
They sit in silence. The purifiers HUM. A distant scuffle of other kids waking.
Penny pulls her knees to her chest.
Jackie says nothing. She is quiet. They usually forget about her. The knot of dread in her belly tightens.
A sharp, jarring BUZZER echoes.
A line of silent, grey-clad CHILDREN shuffles down a rough concrete corridor. Their breath mists in the cold air.
Jackie and Penny are among them. No one looks awake. Just moving. Clockwork figures.
A boy, FINN (15), stumbles, scraping his hand against the wall. He doesn't cry out. Just pulls his hand back, leaving a small dark smear on the grey concrete. No one looks.
The corridor opens into a vast, echoing space. Long metal tables are bolted to the floor. The children find their designated spots.
Jackie and Penny sit. Across from them, LILY (6), sniffs quietly, her nose red, her small shoulders trembling.
A boxy DRONE with whirring fans moves slowly down the aisle. It stops at each child, depositing a single, grey, slimy NUTRIENT-PASTE CUBE onto their metal plate.
Jackie picks up her cube. It’s cold. She eats slowly, chewing the cardboard-like substance.
A faint, mournful HOWL of wind can be heard, a distant sound from deep within the bunker.
Lily sniffles again, louder.
Lily doesn't answer. Silent tears begin to trace paths through the grime on her cheeks.
The children sit on the cold floor of a dark chamber. The air smells of stale chemicals. At the doorways, two OVERSEERS stand guard, looming figures in dark, utilitarian uniforms. Their faces are unreadable.
A large, cracked SCREEN on the wall flickers to life.
Static resolves into an image of impossible GREEN. Trees. A bright, warm SUN.
Happy people in clean, colorful clothes run on soft grass. A child throws a bright, round BALL.
Penny nudges Jackie.
Jackie squints. The smiles are too wide. The laughter too clear. Fake.
The screen ABRUPTLY shifts. Flashing RED WARNINGS.
Images flash: abstract shapes, blurred movement, the faint outline of something colossal and metallic... then a quick cut to a desolate, snowy landscape. Buildings like broken teeth against a perpetually dim sky.
Their world.
The screen goes dark. Silence descends, heavy and absolute.
Dim lights flicker back on.
A tall FEMALE OVERSEER (40s), her eyes sharp and observing, steps forward. Her voice is flat, emotionless.
A collective, silent shiver runs through the children.
Jackie’s heart pounds against her ribs. Penny’s hand finds her arm, small and clammy.
The Female Overseer reads from a smooth data-pad.
CLOSE ON Jackie's face. Fearful anticipation.
Her name hits like a brand.
CLOSE ON Penny's face. Her eyes widen.
CLOSE ON Lily's face. Her head snaps up.
Lily lets out a small, terrified WHIMPER.
Slowly, woodenly, Jackie, Penny, and Lily get to their feet. The other children stare at the floor, refusing to meet their eyes.
The three girls walk down a long, empty corridor towards a massive, groaning metal door at the far end: PROCESSING BAY GAMMA.
Lily is crying openly now, clutching Penny’s sleeve, her knuckles white. Penny has a hand on her back.
The words sound hollow. Penny looks at Jackie, her own fear plain on her face. She squeezes Jackie’s arm.
Jackie just nods, her throat too tight to speak.
They stop before the huge metal door. It GROANS, a low, hungry sound.
CLOSE ON JACKIE.
She stares at the door, at the cold, grey metal. The HUM from her dream returns, a low vibration she can feel in her bones, bleeding into the real world. The watching shapes, the pulsing grid... they’re waiting for her. On the other side of that door.
Her nightmare is here. And she has to step through it.
FADE TO BLACK.
Share This Script
