The Unnaturally Clear Call
A strangely perfect loon call sets an unsettling tone for a community meeting. Young storytellers and artists in Northwestern Ontario gather to discuss the disruptive, yet potentially empowering, role of AI in shaping their narratives and identities.
EXT. LAKESIDE PATH - DUSK
Worn running shoes scuff against loose gravel. Dust puffs up, clinging to the cuffs of SIDNEY’s (20s, anxious, introspective) denim shorts.
The humid, late-July air hangs thick, smelling of pine resin and the faint, metallic tang of the lake.
SOUND of a buzzing fly
Sidney swats idly at their ear, missing. They sigh, continuing down the path with a clear reluctance.
Then, a SOUND cuts through the air -- a loon's call.
It echoes across the still, dark water. But it's impossibly clear. Clinical. Each note precisely pitched, the tremolo exact, the resonance flawless.
Sidney stops, one foot half-lifted. They squint out across the water. The setting sun is a fiery smear on the horizon, painting clouds in bruised purples and oranges.
Nothing. No ripple. No distant bird. Just a thick, expectant silence.
A shiver traces a path down Sidney’s spine. They shake their head, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor. Must be tired.
They continue walking.
INT. COMMUNITY CENTRE - NIGHT
A squat, cedar-sided building. The main common room hums with low energy. Old wooden tables are pushed into a rough square. Soft light from floor lamps replaces the harsh overhead fluorescents.
SOUND of an old air conditioning unit rattling intermittently
Sidney enters, rubbing the damp back of their neck. The room is mostly full.
CASSIE (20s), hair a startling electric blue, paint-splattered overalls, is perched on a table, swinging her legs. Her large, silver thunderbird earrings glint. She gestures with a half-eaten granola bar towards JESSIE (30s, pragmatic, hopeful), who meticulously arranges a stack of handouts.
Across from them, MARIA (30s, quiet, intellectual) sketches in a small notebook, brow furrowed. She looks up as Sidney enters, offering a small, tired smile.
CASSIE
> Sidney, finally. Thought you got lost in the wilderness, or, you know, just forgot entirely.
> (grinning)
> Thought you got lost in the wilderness, or, you know, just forgot entirely.
Sidney offers a weak smile, sliding into an empty chair next to Maria. The wood CREAKS. The chair feels too small. They shift, uncomfortable.
SIDNEY
> (mumbling)
> Just… admiring the sunset.
CASSIE
> Sunset or thinking up some new, super-deep documentary idea about the existential dread of gravel paths?
Crumbs scatter from her granola bar as she takes a bite.
SIDNEY
> Something like that. Actually, I heard a loon call on the way down. Weirdly perfect.
Maria looks up from her sketch.
MARIA
> Perfect? How so?
SIDNEY
> Like… digital. Like someone had cleaned up the track, removed all the noise. Just… a little too flawless for reality.
A flush creeps up Sidney’s neck.
CASSIE
> (snorting)
> Probably just a really talented loon, Sidney. Or you’re overthinking again. It’s what you do.
She winks. Jessie clears his throat, tapping his stack of papers.
JESSIE
> Alright, everyone. Thanks for making it out. We’ve got a lot to chew on.
> (beat)
> So, the last time we met, back in winter of 2025, we were just starting to grapple with the implications of all these new AI tools. The conversations then were… tense. A lot of uncertainty, a lot of valid concerns about disruption, about what it means to be an artist when a machine can spit out something that looks just as good, or even better, in seconds.
Maria pushes her spectacles up her nose.
MARIA
> The 'great replacement' fear, essentially. And it wasn’t unfounded. Many smaller studios, independent artists... they really felt the squeeze.
CASSIE
> 'Squeeze' is putting it mildly. My friend, Dev, he lost that mural commission for the new café downtown. They just… used an AI generator. Said it was 'faster' and 'fit the aesthetic' better. Less 'human error,' whatever that means.
Her earlier cheeriness is gone. Her voice has a sharp, bitter edge. She picks at a loose thread on her overall straps.
CASSIE (CONT'D)
> He’d spent weeks on those concepts. Weeks.
A knot tightens in Sidney’s stomach. They run a hand over their short hair.
JESSIE
> And that’s precisely why we’re here tonight. To move beyond the initial shock and frustration. To explore how we, as a self-determining community of storytellers and artists, can choose our own path. How we can adopt, adapt, and develop our *own* tools and approaches.
He gestures to the handouts.
JESSIE (CONT'D)
> I’ve got some resources here from the 'Indigenous Digital Futures Initiative' and some grant opportunities...
CASSIE
> (scoffing)
> But how? How do you 'adapt' when the fundamental definition of creation is being warped? When 'authentic' is becoming a niche, not a standard?
She looks around the circle, searching. Sidney nods, the same questions gnawing at them.
MARIA
> It’s not about competing directly with the machine in terms of raw output or speed.
> (beat)
> It’s about re-defining value. And it’s about control. Who owns the tools? Who controls the narratives? We talked last winter about communities having the tools to tell their *own* stories.
She looks directly at Sidney.
SIDNEY
> But if the tools are all developed by big tech, far away… how do we make them *ours*? How do we ensure they don't just amplify existing biases?
The memory of the perfect loon call flickers in their mind.
JESSIE
> (leaning forward)
> That’s the core of it, Sidney. It's about agency. Imagine a community member using an AI tool, not to generate a generic story, but to *enhance* their unique voice. To transcribe oral histories, or to create high-quality animated visuals for traditional tales that are *authentically* directed by them. Not a machine replacing the storyteller, but acting as an assistant. A powerful, accessible assistant.
Cassie chews on her lower lip, considering.
CASSIE
> So, like… I could use it to help me quickly generate a hundred different colour palettes for a mural, so I can spend more time actually painting?
MARIA
> Exactly. Or to generate initial concept art, based on your own sketches, to present to clients. The creative decision-making remains entirely yours. The *intent* and the *final polish* remain uniquely human. The AI becomes a sophisticated brush, not the artist.
A light goes on in Sidney’s eyes. They think of the endless hours sifting through archival footage, the laborious process of syncing audio.
SIDNEY
> But the ethical concerns. Deepfakes, misinformation, the erosion of trust… if AI can generate anything, how do we distinguish truth from fabrication in our stories?
JESSIE
> That's where the 'Journalistic' aspect comes in. Part of our initiative needs to focus on digital literacy. Not just how to *use* the tools, but how to *critically evaluate* the output. How to ethically attribute and disclose its use.
He pushes a handout across the table towards Sidney.
CLOSE ON the handout. Title: "Verifying Digital Authenticity: A Community Toolkit."
Sidney picks it up. The paper is rough. They scan the bullet points: "Provenance tracking," "Metadata analysis," "AI detection tools..." It feels concrete. A roadmap.
The conversation swells. Maria discusses the need for local data sets, to train AI models on community-specific stories, images, and sounds.
MARIA
> Imagine an AI that could help us reconstruct the soundscape of this lake as it was a hundred years ago, based on historical records. Not a *perfect* loon call, but one that’s historically *accurate* to this specific ecosystem. An AI trained on local flora and fauna calls, local wind patterns...
Her eyes gleam with intellectual excitement.
MARIA (CONT'D)
> That's how we use it to construct and communicate our own identities. It becomes a tool for preserving and re-animating our unique past.
Jessie passes around a plate of store-bought cookies. Sidney takes one. The chocolate chips are slightly melted.
JESSIE
> It's about empowering the local voice. Ensuring that the stories that truly matter to us, the narratives that define *who we are* here, get told, and get heard.
Cassie turns a cookie over in her fingers.
CASSIE
> So, it’s not about the machines taking over... it’s about us taking over the machines. Making them work for us. Making them speak *our* language.
She looks at Sidney. A spark of possibility in her eyes. Sidney nods, a genuine smile finally touching their lips.
SIDNEY
> Yeah. That makes sense.
The feeling of dread has receded, replaced by a tentative sense of purpose.
EXT. LAKESIDE PATH - LATER
Sidney walks back up the gravel path. The moon is a thin sliver. The air has cooled.
SOUND of leaves rustling, the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Real, imperfect, familiar.
Sidney’s footsteps are softer, more deliberate. They reach into their pocket, fingers closing around the crinkled handout.
The fear still lingers, a faint hum. But it's no longer the dominant chord.
The wind picks up, carrying the clean, cool smell of the lake. Sidney inhales deeply.
The path ahead is dark, but not empty. They take a step, choosing where to place their foot.
Worn running shoes scuff against loose gravel. Dust puffs up, clinging to the cuffs of SIDNEY’s (20s, anxious, introspective) denim shorts.
The humid, late-July air hangs thick, smelling of pine resin and the faint, metallic tang of the lake.
SOUND of a buzzing fly
Sidney swats idly at their ear, missing. They sigh, continuing down the path with a clear reluctance.
Then, a SOUND cuts through the air -- a loon's call.
It echoes across the still, dark water. But it's impossibly clear. Clinical. Each note precisely pitched, the tremolo exact, the resonance flawless.
Sidney stops, one foot half-lifted. They squint out across the water. The setting sun is a fiery smear on the horizon, painting clouds in bruised purples and oranges.
Nothing. No ripple. No distant bird. Just a thick, expectant silence.
A shiver traces a path down Sidney’s spine. They shake their head, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor. Must be tired.
They continue walking.
INT. COMMUNITY CENTRE - NIGHT
A squat, cedar-sided building. The main common room hums with low energy. Old wooden tables are pushed into a rough square. Soft light from floor lamps replaces the harsh overhead fluorescents.
SOUND of an old air conditioning unit rattling intermittently
Sidney enters, rubbing the damp back of their neck. The room is mostly full.
CASSIE (20s), hair a startling electric blue, paint-splattered overalls, is perched on a table, swinging her legs. Her large, silver thunderbird earrings glint. She gestures with a half-eaten granola bar towards JESSIE (30s, pragmatic, hopeful), who meticulously arranges a stack of handouts.
Across from them, MARIA (30s, quiet, intellectual) sketches in a small notebook, brow furrowed. She looks up as Sidney enters, offering a small, tired smile.
CASSIE
> Sidney, finally. Thought you got lost in the wilderness, or, you know, just forgot entirely.
> (grinning)
> Thought you got lost in the wilderness, or, you know, just forgot entirely.
Sidney offers a weak smile, sliding into an empty chair next to Maria. The wood CREAKS. The chair feels too small. They shift, uncomfortable.
SIDNEY
> (mumbling)
> Just… admiring the sunset.
CASSIE
> Sunset or thinking up some new, super-deep documentary idea about the existential dread of gravel paths?
Crumbs scatter from her granola bar as she takes a bite.
SIDNEY
> Something like that. Actually, I heard a loon call on the way down. Weirdly perfect.
Maria looks up from her sketch.
MARIA
> Perfect? How so?
SIDNEY
> Like… digital. Like someone had cleaned up the track, removed all the noise. Just… a little too flawless for reality.
A flush creeps up Sidney’s neck.
CASSIE
> (snorting)
> Probably just a really talented loon, Sidney. Or you’re overthinking again. It’s what you do.
She winks. Jessie clears his throat, tapping his stack of papers.
JESSIE
> Alright, everyone. Thanks for making it out. We’ve got a lot to chew on.
> (beat)
> So, the last time we met, back in winter of 2025, we were just starting to grapple with the implications of all these new AI tools. The conversations then were… tense. A lot of uncertainty, a lot of valid concerns about disruption, about what it means to be an artist when a machine can spit out something that looks just as good, or even better, in seconds.
Maria pushes her spectacles up her nose.
MARIA
> The 'great replacement' fear, essentially. And it wasn’t unfounded. Many smaller studios, independent artists... they really felt the squeeze.
CASSIE
> 'Squeeze' is putting it mildly. My friend, Dev, he lost that mural commission for the new café downtown. They just… used an AI generator. Said it was 'faster' and 'fit the aesthetic' better. Less 'human error,' whatever that means.
Her earlier cheeriness is gone. Her voice has a sharp, bitter edge. She picks at a loose thread on her overall straps.
CASSIE (CONT'D)
> He’d spent weeks on those concepts. Weeks.
A knot tightens in Sidney’s stomach. They run a hand over their short hair.
JESSIE
> And that’s precisely why we’re here tonight. To move beyond the initial shock and frustration. To explore how we, as a self-determining community of storytellers and artists, can choose our own path. How we can adopt, adapt, and develop our *own* tools and approaches.
He gestures to the handouts.
JESSIE (CONT'D)
> I’ve got some resources here from the 'Indigenous Digital Futures Initiative' and some grant opportunities...
CASSIE
> (scoffing)
> But how? How do you 'adapt' when the fundamental definition of creation is being warped? When 'authentic' is becoming a niche, not a standard?
She looks around the circle, searching. Sidney nods, the same questions gnawing at them.
MARIA
> It’s not about competing directly with the machine in terms of raw output or speed.
> (beat)
> It’s about re-defining value. And it’s about control. Who owns the tools? Who controls the narratives? We talked last winter about communities having the tools to tell their *own* stories.
She looks directly at Sidney.
SIDNEY
> But if the tools are all developed by big tech, far away… how do we make them *ours*? How do we ensure they don't just amplify existing biases?
The memory of the perfect loon call flickers in their mind.
JESSIE
> (leaning forward)
> That’s the core of it, Sidney. It's about agency. Imagine a community member using an AI tool, not to generate a generic story, but to *enhance* their unique voice. To transcribe oral histories, or to create high-quality animated visuals for traditional tales that are *authentically* directed by them. Not a machine replacing the storyteller, but acting as an assistant. A powerful, accessible assistant.
Cassie chews on her lower lip, considering.
CASSIE
> So, like… I could use it to help me quickly generate a hundred different colour palettes for a mural, so I can spend more time actually painting?
MARIA
> Exactly. Or to generate initial concept art, based on your own sketches, to present to clients. The creative decision-making remains entirely yours. The *intent* and the *final polish* remain uniquely human. The AI becomes a sophisticated brush, not the artist.
A light goes on in Sidney’s eyes. They think of the endless hours sifting through archival footage, the laborious process of syncing audio.
SIDNEY
> But the ethical concerns. Deepfakes, misinformation, the erosion of trust… if AI can generate anything, how do we distinguish truth from fabrication in our stories?
JESSIE
> That's where the 'Journalistic' aspect comes in. Part of our initiative needs to focus on digital literacy. Not just how to *use* the tools, but how to *critically evaluate* the output. How to ethically attribute and disclose its use.
He pushes a handout across the table towards Sidney.
CLOSE ON the handout. Title: "Verifying Digital Authenticity: A Community Toolkit."
Sidney picks it up. The paper is rough. They scan the bullet points: "Provenance tracking," "Metadata analysis," "AI detection tools..." It feels concrete. A roadmap.
The conversation swells. Maria discusses the need for local data sets, to train AI models on community-specific stories, images, and sounds.
MARIA
> Imagine an AI that could help us reconstruct the soundscape of this lake as it was a hundred years ago, based on historical records. Not a *perfect* loon call, but one that’s historically *accurate* to this specific ecosystem. An AI trained on local flora and fauna calls, local wind patterns...
Her eyes gleam with intellectual excitement.
MARIA (CONT'D)
> That's how we use it to construct and communicate our own identities. It becomes a tool for preserving and re-animating our unique past.
Jessie passes around a plate of store-bought cookies. Sidney takes one. The chocolate chips are slightly melted.
JESSIE
> It's about empowering the local voice. Ensuring that the stories that truly matter to us, the narratives that define *who we are* here, get told, and get heard.
Cassie turns a cookie over in her fingers.
CASSIE
> So, it’s not about the machines taking over... it’s about us taking over the machines. Making them work for us. Making them speak *our* language.
She looks at Sidney. A spark of possibility in her eyes. Sidney nods, a genuine smile finally touching their lips.
SIDNEY
> Yeah. That makes sense.
The feeling of dread has receded, replaced by a tentative sense of purpose.
EXT. LAKESIDE PATH - LATER
Sidney walks back up the gravel path. The moon is a thin sliver. The air has cooled.
SOUND of leaves rustling, the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Real, imperfect, familiar.
Sidney’s footsteps are softer, more deliberate. They reach into their pocket, fingers closing around the crinkled handout.
The fear still lingers, a faint hum. But it's no longer the dominant chord.
The wind picks up, carrying the clean, cool smell of the lake. Sidney inhales deeply.
The path ahead is dark, but not empty. They take a step, choosing where to place their foot.