Where the Iron Snakes Sleep
A late-night tram ride takes an impossible turn when Ramon discovers the city's public transport runs on something much older and more dangerous than electricity.
TITLE: WHERE THE IRON SNAKES SLEEP
[SCENE START]
INT. TRAM - NIGHT
SOUND of heavy, groaning brakes
The interior of a city tram. Worn, graffiti-scarred seats under the sickly yellow-green of flickering fluorescent lights. The last tram of the night. And it is empty.
RAMON (20s), an architecture student, lifts his head from the cool glass of a window. A smudge of condensation marks where his forehead rested. His eyes are bleary with exhaustion.
He blinks, trying to place the view outside.
ANGLE ON THE RAIN-STREAKED WINDOW
Towering, soot-stained warehouses with shattered, vacant windows slide past. Not the familiar grimy brick of his neighborhood. This is the end of the line. Or somewhere worse.
Ramon pushes himself up, his heavy bag of textbooks slumping against his leg. He grabs a pole for balance as the tram sways.
He looks to the front of the carriage.
HIS POV - THE DRIVER'S BOOTH
A SILHOUETTED DRIVER sits perfectly still, a dark shape against the night.
Ramon clears his throat.
RAMON
> This isn't my stop.
The words are small, swallowed by the noise of the tram. He moves down the aisle, his unease growing.
RAMON
> Hey! I think you missed my stop. King Street?
No response. The tram doesn't slow. Instead, it picks up speed, wheels SCREECHING on a sharp, unscheduled turn. Ramon stumbles, catching a pole.
He strides towards the driver's cabin, annoyance hardening into fear.
RAMON
> Hey! Did you hear me?
He reaches the booth and raps his knuckles on the glass.
CLOSE ON THE DRIVER
A motionless figure. Hands on the controls. Eyes fixed forward. He wears the old, dark green city transit uniform, phased out years ago. The deep shadow of his cap obscures his face entirely.
Ramon knocks again, harder. Nothing.
Through the wide front window, something catches Ramon's eye. The tracks ahead.
HIS POV - THE TRACKS
They gleam. Not with reflected light. They are emitting their own soft, PULSING BLUE LUMINESCENCE. The light flows along the steel rails like water in a channel.
Ramon stares, mesmerized. The tram is moving much too fast now, rattling violently. The warehouses outside are a blur.
The blue light from the tracks grows brighter, casting shifting, hypnotic patterns on the driver's rigid back.
RAMON
>>(shouting)
> Stop the tram!
Panic in his voice. He rattles the locked door to the booth. He slams his fist against the glass. A pointless, desperate act. The driver doesn't flinch.
Ahead, the glowing track converges into the gaping mouth of an old tram depot, a cavernous brick building left to decay.
Deep inside the depot, a corresponding blue light pulses. A beacon. A vortex.
Ramon turns, frantically scanning the carriage. Emergency brake? A window to smash? The tram is a sealed metal box, carrying him into the heart of that strange blue light.
He scrambles back through the empty carriage, his bag thumping against the seats. He slams his shoulder against a reinforced window. It barely shudders.
SOUND of the rhythmic clatter of wheels is gone, replaced by a HIGH-PITCHED, BONE-RESONATING HUM. The air grows thick, charged with static. The hairs on Ramon's arms stand on end.
He looks back out the front. They are almost at the depot.
He can see inside now. The tracks don't stop. They spiral downwards into the ground, a glowing vortex of impossible energy. A nexus.
Ramon spots a manual track switch just ahead of the depot entrance, rusted and overgrown with weeds. It could divert the tram onto a dead-end siding. His only chance.
He finds the emergency door release, a lever under a small panel marked "EMERGENCY". He wrenches it open.
The hydraulic doors HISS, fighting the speed and the strange energy, but they grind open a few feet.
SOUND of the HUM is deafening now, mixed with the ROAR of the wind.
Ramon doesn't think. He jumps.
EXT. TRAM SIDINGS - CONTINUOUS
Ramon hits the ground HARD. He tumbles through gravel and sharp weeds, his shoulder screaming in protest.
He rolls to a stop, gasping for air, face scraped and bleeding.
He looks up.
The tram, HIS tram, flies past the junction. It's too late.
It enters the depot. For a moment, it connects with the energy vortex, becoming part of the circuit. The entire vehicle GLOWS with that impossible blue light.
Then, with a sound like TEARING REALITY, it derails.
The connection breaks. The tram, a vessel of stolen power, slams into a central pillar of the depot.
The explosion is not fire and shrapnel.
It is LIGHT and SILENCE.
A wave of PURE WHITE ENERGY erupts outwards. Silent. Absolute.
Ramon throws an arm over his eyes, but the light passes right through it. It's not just light; it's information, sensation, a raw blast of something ancient. He feels the entire city's grid—the electrical lines, the water mains, the fiber optic cables—as if they were his own nervous system.
He feels them all flicker and die.
The wave passes.
Darkness slams back in. Total and profound. Every light in the city, as far as the eye can see, is out.
The hum is gone. The glowing tracks are just dull, inert steel.
The silence is heavier than the noise ever was.
EXT. TRAM DEPOT WRECKAGE - MOMENTS LATER
Ramon pushes himself up, body aching. The depot is a ruin of twisted metal and shattered brick. A column of dust coils into the starless night sky.
He stumbles away from the wreck, his mind reeling.
His footsteps CRUNCH on the gravel.
He freezes.
It isn't just his footsteps.
SOUND of a slow, heavy SCRAPING. Metal on concrete.
He peers into the oppressive darkness, his eyes struggling to adjust.
A shape pulls itself free from the mangled tram.
It is long. Metallic. Segmented like an insect. It moves with an unnatural, serpentine fluidity.
It isn't wreckage. It's a piece of the track.
And it is alive.
[SCENE END]
[SCENE START]
INT. TRAM - NIGHT
SOUND of heavy, groaning brakes
The interior of a city tram. Worn, graffiti-scarred seats under the sickly yellow-green of flickering fluorescent lights. The last tram of the night. And it is empty.
RAMON (20s), an architecture student, lifts his head from the cool glass of a window. A smudge of condensation marks where his forehead rested. His eyes are bleary with exhaustion.
He blinks, trying to place the view outside.
ANGLE ON THE RAIN-STREAKED WINDOW
Towering, soot-stained warehouses with shattered, vacant windows slide past. Not the familiar grimy brick of his neighborhood. This is the end of the line. Or somewhere worse.
Ramon pushes himself up, his heavy bag of textbooks slumping against his leg. He grabs a pole for balance as the tram sways.
He looks to the front of the carriage.
HIS POV - THE DRIVER'S BOOTH
A SILHOUETTED DRIVER sits perfectly still, a dark shape against the night.
Ramon clears his throat.
RAMON
> This isn't my stop.
The words are small, swallowed by the noise of the tram. He moves down the aisle, his unease growing.
RAMON
> Hey! I think you missed my stop. King Street?
No response. The tram doesn't slow. Instead, it picks up speed, wheels SCREECHING on a sharp, unscheduled turn. Ramon stumbles, catching a pole.
He strides towards the driver's cabin, annoyance hardening into fear.
RAMON
> Hey! Did you hear me?
He reaches the booth and raps his knuckles on the glass.
CLOSE ON THE DRIVER
A motionless figure. Hands on the controls. Eyes fixed forward. He wears the old, dark green city transit uniform, phased out years ago. The deep shadow of his cap obscures his face entirely.
Ramon knocks again, harder. Nothing.
Through the wide front window, something catches Ramon's eye. The tracks ahead.
HIS POV - THE TRACKS
They gleam. Not with reflected light. They are emitting their own soft, PULSING BLUE LUMINESCENCE. The light flows along the steel rails like water in a channel.
Ramon stares, mesmerized. The tram is moving much too fast now, rattling violently. The warehouses outside are a blur.
The blue light from the tracks grows brighter, casting shifting, hypnotic patterns on the driver's rigid back.
RAMON
>>(shouting)
> Stop the tram!
Panic in his voice. He rattles the locked door to the booth. He slams his fist against the glass. A pointless, desperate act. The driver doesn't flinch.
Ahead, the glowing track converges into the gaping mouth of an old tram depot, a cavernous brick building left to decay.
Deep inside the depot, a corresponding blue light pulses. A beacon. A vortex.
Ramon turns, frantically scanning the carriage. Emergency brake? A window to smash? The tram is a sealed metal box, carrying him into the heart of that strange blue light.
He scrambles back through the empty carriage, his bag thumping against the seats. He slams his shoulder against a reinforced window. It barely shudders.
SOUND of the rhythmic clatter of wheels is gone, replaced by a HIGH-PITCHED, BONE-RESONATING HUM. The air grows thick, charged with static. The hairs on Ramon's arms stand on end.
He looks back out the front. They are almost at the depot.
He can see inside now. The tracks don't stop. They spiral downwards into the ground, a glowing vortex of impossible energy. A nexus.
Ramon spots a manual track switch just ahead of the depot entrance, rusted and overgrown with weeds. It could divert the tram onto a dead-end siding. His only chance.
He finds the emergency door release, a lever under a small panel marked "EMERGENCY". He wrenches it open.
The hydraulic doors HISS, fighting the speed and the strange energy, but they grind open a few feet.
SOUND of the HUM is deafening now, mixed with the ROAR of the wind.
Ramon doesn't think. He jumps.
EXT. TRAM SIDINGS - CONTINUOUS
Ramon hits the ground HARD. He tumbles through gravel and sharp weeds, his shoulder screaming in protest.
He rolls to a stop, gasping for air, face scraped and bleeding.
He looks up.
The tram, HIS tram, flies past the junction. It's too late.
It enters the depot. For a moment, it connects with the energy vortex, becoming part of the circuit. The entire vehicle GLOWS with that impossible blue light.
Then, with a sound like TEARING REALITY, it derails.
The connection breaks. The tram, a vessel of stolen power, slams into a central pillar of the depot.
The explosion is not fire and shrapnel.
It is LIGHT and SILENCE.
A wave of PURE WHITE ENERGY erupts outwards. Silent. Absolute.
Ramon throws an arm over his eyes, but the light passes right through it. It's not just light; it's information, sensation, a raw blast of something ancient. He feels the entire city's grid—the electrical lines, the water mains, the fiber optic cables—as if they were his own nervous system.
He feels them all flicker and die.
The wave passes.
Darkness slams back in. Total and profound. Every light in the city, as far as the eye can see, is out.
The hum is gone. The glowing tracks are just dull, inert steel.
The silence is heavier than the noise ever was.
EXT. TRAM DEPOT WRECKAGE - MOMENTS LATER
Ramon pushes himself up, body aching. The depot is a ruin of twisted metal and shattered brick. A column of dust coils into the starless night sky.
He stumbles away from the wreck, his mind reeling.
His footsteps CRUNCH on the gravel.
He freezes.
It isn't just his footsteps.
SOUND of a slow, heavy SCRAPING. Metal on concrete.
He peers into the oppressive darkness, his eyes struggling to adjust.
A shape pulls itself free from the mangled tram.
It is long. Metallic. Segmented like an insect. It moves with an unnatural, serpentine fluidity.
It isn't wreckage. It's a piece of the track.
And it is alive.
[SCENE END]