A Script for The Static Dream and the Scrap of Paper

FADE IN:

**SCENE 1**

**INT. THE STATIC DREAM - CONTINUOUS**

An impossible, featureless space. Grey walls stretch into infinity. The floor is polished, perfect obsidian.

A low, electric HUM vibrates, a sound felt in the bones, not the ears.

JAMES (20s, gaunt, haunted) stands in the center. His reflection is a distortion, a shifting collection of data points struggling to cohere.

Shadowy FIGURES flicker at the periphery. They are not people. They are corrupted data, glitching projections. One turns, its face a blur of featureless skin that suddenly resolves into a PIXELATED MESS.

A VOICE, a modulated, inhuman DRONE, seeps from the walls. It is not language, but the intent is clear: CONTROL. ORDER. COMPLIANCE.

The cold is absolute. It hollows James out. He tries to scream, but his mouth is sealed. He tries to run, but his limbs are weighted with invisible anchors. His chest aches with the monumental effort of a single breath. Pure, helpless terror.

Suddenly, a CRACK appears in the obsidian floor. A hairline fracture. Then another, and another. The perfect surface splinters.

From the cracks, a darker, richer BLACK seeps through, like ancient soil. A new sound emerges. A wet DRIP. A soft SIGH.

James’s reflection warps into a grotesque rictus of panic.

**INT. JAMES'S ROOM - NIGHT**

James’s eyes SNAP OPEN.

He GASPS, a plume of white vapor erupting in the freezing air.

The ceiling above him is stained plaster, patched and flaking. The only sound is the low WHINE of an antiquated heating unit. This is real.

He pushes himself up, a thin, threadbare blanket sliding off his aching body. The room is tiny, a closet built from cheap, grey duraplast. The mattress is a lumpy disgrace.

Outside a frosted window, heavy snow falls, burying the brutalist concrete blocks of the city in another layer of sterile white. The sky is the color of old ash.

James’s hands tremble as he reaches for his DATA SLATE on a rickety bedside table. The screen is scratched, the casing cracked. He powers it on.

The sterile interface flickers to life: Daily Directives, Ration Updates, Energy Reports.

He navigates to the archive section, his fingers stiff with cold. He types:

`Pre-Collapse History`

The screen flashes, glowing an angry RED.

`Access Denied. Query outside permitted parameters.`

Of course. A familiar, chilling dead end. His throat tightens.

A sharp rumble from his stomach. He slides out of bed, his bare feet recoiling from the icy floorboards. He needs to move, to shake the dread.

His eyes land on a loose brick in the wall, just above a worn-out footlocker. A tiny flaw in the uniform surface. An anomaly.

He runs his frozen fingers over its coarse texture. It gives slightly.

Carefully, he works his nails into the gap, prying. A puff of stale dust escapes. The brick comes free with a soft CLICK, revealing a small, dark recess.

He reaches inside. His fingers brush against cold grit, then… something else. Thin. Crinkled.

He pulls it out. A single, yellowed SCRAP OF PAPER, folded multiple times. It feels alien, rough and warm in his hand. Forbidden.

His heart hammers against his ribs. He unfolds it slowly, his breath held.

It’s a hand-drawn symbol: three interlocking, jagged loops, with a single, sharp line cutting through the center.

Below it, scrawled in faded ink, a few fragmented words:

`…not forgotten… beyond the static… find… the…`

His breath hitches. This is real. A whisper from a forgotten time. A mix of raw fear and a dangerous, unfamiliar excitement floods his face.

He quickly refolds the paper, tucks it deep into the inner pocket of his patched coat, and clicks the brick back into place.

A secret. A purpose. He has to show Beth.

**SCENE 2**

**EXT. SECTOR 7 FOOD DISTRIBUTION - DAY**

A biting wind whips through the concrete canyons of the city.

A long, shuffling line of citizens, grey and hunched, snakes around the block, waiting for their rations of synthetic protein paste.

SUPERVISOR GRASSE (40s, hulking, impassive) patrols the head of the queue, his eyes like tiny black surveillance cameras.

James finds BETH (20s, sharp, cynical) on a derelict metal bench nearby. She’s hunched against the cold, her nose red, a persistent shiver running through her thin frame. She pretends to read propaganda on her data slate, but her eyes dart, observing everything.

James slides onto the bench beside her. The cold seeps through his trousers.

<center>BETH</center>

> (muttering, not looking up)

> Morning, James. Another glorious day in paradise, eh?

She nudges her slate towards him. A headline reads: "Increased Collective Efficiency in Resource Allocation."

<center>JAMES</center>

> (a hushed whisper)

> Something’s up.

Beth finally looks at him, her brown eyes sharp, questioning.

<center>BETH</center>

> What kind of 'up'? Did your heating unit finally blow? Because mine’s been sparking for a week. I swear I’m going to freeze to death and become one of those statues they put in the propaganda posters.

James glances around. No one is paying attention. Grasse is at the far end of the line. He reaches into his coat.

<center>JAMES</center>

> No, not that kind of up. Something else.

He pulls out the folded scrap of paper, keeping it low, and pushes it into her gloved palm.

<center>JAMES</center>

> Look at this.

Her brow furrows. She unfolds it. Her eyes widen. She traces the jagged loops with a fingertip.

<center>BETH</center>

> (voice dropping lower)

> What… where did you find this? This is… old. And hand-drawn. James, this is dangerous. Like, 're-education' dangerous.

<center>JAMES</center>

> Behind a loose brick in my wall. It was hidden. It feels connected to the dreams. The static. Like it's trying to break through.

Beth chews her lip, her eyes scanning the street, a swift, practiced movement.

<center>BETH</center>

> (murmuring the words)

> 'Not forgotten… beyond the static… find…' The Collective makes sure nothing is 'not forgotten.' They control all the memories. Any 'static' is just… noise. Unless…

<center>JAMES</center>

> Unless what?

<center>BETH</center>

> (meeting his gaze)

> Unless it's not noise. Unless it’s a message. A coded message from… who knows when.

<center>JAMES</center>

> What could it mean? The symbol?

<center>BETH</center>

> It’s not just loops, James. It’s… a circuit diagram. Or part of one. A very old one. But it also looks… organic. Like veins, or roots.

A tremor runs through James. Not from the cold.

<center>JAMES</center>

> You think it’s real? That it points to something real?

Beth looks at the paper, then carefully tucks it back into James’s hand. Her eyes flick towards Grasse.

<center>BETH</center>

> It’s real enough to have been hidden. And real enough that if Grasse saw it, we’d both be processing nutrient paste for the rest of our miserable lives. So yes, it’s real. But what it means… that’s a different story.

She shivers, pulling her coat tighter.

<center>BETH</center>

> Look, you can’t just go waving this around. The Collective monitors everything. Every whisper. Even the dreams, probably.

<center>JAMES</center>

> I know. But it’s… something. It feels like a key. Or part of one.

<center>BETH</center>

> A key to what, though? More trouble? We’ve got enough of that already. Just surviving is enough of a challenge.

<center>JAMES</center>

> Maybe. But… what if there’s more? What if there’s something beyond all of this? Beyond the Collective, beyond the snow, beyond the static they feed us?

Beth lets out a long, weary sigh, a plume of white vapor. A flicker of something—curiosity, maybe longing—crosses her face before the cynical mask returns.

<center>BETH</center>

> You’re going to look into this, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. Always looking for trouble.

<center>JAMES</center>

> I have to. Don’t you ever wonder? Truly wonder?

He looks down at his hand, clenching the paper inside his pocket. The weight of it feels less like a burden now, and more like an anchor. The first real thing he’s touched in years.

His gaze is fixed on the horizon, past the shuffling line, past the brutalist towers. He is resolved.

FADE OUT.