Operation Slush Fund

The target was moving fast, and the snow was turning into a grey, sucking soup that wanted to steal Sam’s boots.

Introduction

This screenplay adaptation of 'Operation Slush Fund' serves as a practical exercise in transmuting internal prose narrative into external cinematic action, a core competency in digital literacy and media production. By stripping away the internal monologue of the protagonist and forcing the narrative to rely solely on visual and auditory cues, we explore how screenwriting demands a rigorous translation of 'feeling' into 'behavior.' This specific script highlights the tension between a child's imaginative overlay and the stark, observable reality of a mundane environment.

The Script

EXT. PARK - DAY

Brown slush explodes under denim knees.

SAM (11), intense eyes framed by a puffy black coat, freezes in the mud. He stares ahead.

Forty yards away, THE TARGET (40s) walks with jerky speed. He wears a beige trench coat and clutches a hard-shell briefcase.

The sun glares down. The air is thick, humid. Steam rises from the melting snow.

LEO (11), wearing a neon green toque that pushes his ears out, crouches behind a cedar bush.

You’re gonna get trench foot.

Sam crawls forward. Mud soaks his shins.

Shut up. And stop breathing so loud. You sound like a pug.

I have a deviated septum. My mom says it’s structural.

The Target doesn’t care about your nose structure. He’s gaining ground.

Sam wipes muddy hands on his coat. Sweat beads on his hairline.

The Target steps over a massive puddle. His knuckles are white on the briefcase handle.

Leo scurries up beside Sam. His boots make a wet SHLUCK-SHLUCK sound.

Who even uses a briefcase anymore?

Someone running codes. Or carrying a biological weapon. Look at the grip. No swinging.

Maybe it’s a sandwich. A really heavy sandwich.

Focus. We have to flank him before he reaches the Bridge of Doom.

Sam darts to a water fountain wrapped in black plastic. He presses his back against it.

BZZZT. BZZZT.

Sam ignores the vibration in his pocket.

Leo waves his hand in a vague, chopping motion.

Movement.

The Target stops. Checks his watch. Looks back.

Sam drops flat. His nose hovers inches from a cigarette butt stained with pink lipstick.

Did he see us?

Leo hides behind an overflowing garbage can.

Negative. He’s looking for his contact.

I want a pizza.

No rations until the objective is secured.

Sam peeks. The Target walks faster now, heading toward the Great Lawn.

EXT. GREAT LAWN - CONTINUOUS

A minefield of grey snowdrifts and fibrous slime.

Sam sprints. His foot punches through the sugary crust into freezing water. SPLASH.

He grimaces but keeps running.

Leo lags behind, arms flailing, heavy backpack bouncing. He slips, catching himself on a bench.

Sam skids to a halt behind a large oak tree.

Contact front!

A WOMAN struggles with three Golden Retrievers on tangled leashes. The dogs bark wildly at a squirrel on a hydro pole.

Obstacle. We’ll be neutralized by slobber.

Leo points. The Target nears the tree line.

The Target is getting away!

We have to go off-road.

Into the brambles? Sam, no. My coat is polyester. It rips if you look at it wrong.

Do you want to save the city or not?

Sam dives into the brush.

EXT. THICKET - CONTINUOUS

Dry sticks whip at Sam’s face. He shields his eyes.

The roar of traffic fades. The only sound is the SCRATCH of twigs on nylon.

Sam stumbles. Grimaces. Keeps moving.

He bursts out the other side. A fresh red scratch marks his cheek.

Leo crashes through a moment later. A dead leaf sticks to his toque.

I think I swallowed a bug. In January. That’s against nature.

Target?

12 o’clock. By the gazebo.

EXT. GAZEBO HILL - CONTINUOUS

A rotting Victorian structure sits atop a slope of dead yellow grass.

The Target sets the briefcase on the railing.

Sam and Leo crawl army-style up the wet slope. Mud coats their fronts.

He’s opening it.

They huddle behind a concrete planter filled with frozen dirt.

The Target clicks the latches. SNAP. SNAP.

He lifts the lid.

Sam stares. Intense focus.

The Target reaches in and pulls out...

A sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

Leo lets out a long EXHALE.

I told you. It’s a sandwich.

The Target unwraps it. Ham. He takes a bite, looking out over the muddy park with a bored expression.

It’s a decoy. The real payload is under the false bottom.

He’s eating the payload, Sam.

A huge CROW lands on the railing. CAW.

The Target flinches, dropping a piece of ham.

Asset down. He’s communicating with the avian drone.

Leo stands up. His knees CRACK.

The crow is hungry. I’m hungry.

Abort! Leo, do not engage!

Leo walks up the hill. Sam watches, tense.

Leo stops near the Target.

Hey.

The Target jumps. Pulls the briefcase closer.

<center>TARGET</center>

Hey?

Is that ham?

<center>TARGET</center>

Uh. Yeah. Ham and swiss.

Cool. You got any chips in the case?

<center>TARGET</center>

No chips. Just paperwork.

Boring.

Leo turns and walks back down. He slides behind the planter.

He confirmed it. Paperwork. And ham.

Sam stares at the briefcase. The Target closes it, checking his watch nervously.

He lied. He was defensive. He was protecting the asset.

Sam stands up. He looks at the playground in the distance.

New objective. We need to secure the extraction point. The slide.

Why the slide?

Elevation. Physics. Move out.

EXT. PLAYGROUND - CONTINUOUS

A spiral slide looms over a sea of woodchips floating in meltwater.

Sam stops at the edge of the 'moat.'

Use the stepping stones.

Sam hops across rubber mushroom platforms. One. Two. Three. He lands on the rubber mat.

Go, Leo! The enemy is approaching!

Leo steps onto the first mushroom. He wobbles.

He jumps to the second.

SPLASH.

Leo’s left leg plunges into the water.

Man down!

Sam grabs Leo’s wrist and hauls him onto the mat.

Leo inspects his soaked jeans.

It’s cold. I can feel the toxins.

You’ll survive. We have to reach the summit.

They scramble up the metal ladders.

EXT. PLAYGROUND TOWER - CONTINUOUS

Top of the slide. The park spreads out below.

Sam scans the horizon. The Target is still at the gazebo, eating.

He’s not coming.

He’s waiting for nightfall. Sleeper agent.

Leo kicks his wet heel against the plastic. THUMP. THUMP.

Can we go home now? I have Pizza Pockets.

Sam looks into the dark yellow tunnel of the slide.

Yeah. We can go.

Sam pushes off.

EXT. PLAYGROUND BASE - MOMENTS LATER

Sam shoots out of the slide. THUD.

He stares up at the grey sky. A patch of blue breaks through.

Leo shoots out and lands in a heap.

Ow. My butt.

They lie there, breathing hard.

That was a good mission.

Solid. Next time, let’s track someone with a dog.

Sam sits up. BZZZT.

He checks his phone. INSERT SCREEN: "Bring milk on your way home."

We have to detour. Supply run. The General needs calcium.

That’s enemy territory.

We can handle it.

I better get an extra Pizza Pocket for this.

They stand and march toward the city skyline.

What We Can Learn

Adapting 'Operation Slush Fund' reveals the challenge of preserving a protagonist's internal reality without voiceover. In the prose, Sam's belief in the spy mission is explicitly narrated, but the script must rely on his physical commitment—the way he ignores the cold, his refusal to acknowledge the sandwich as just lunch—to convey his mental state. The adaptation process necessitates replacing internal rationalizations with external actions, such as Sam immediately spotting the slide as a new objective to avoid the crushing weight of boredom. This highlights how screenwriting often requires 'externalizing the internal' to keep the narrative momentum visual and active.

From a technical literacy perspective, this script demonstrates the importance of 'environmental storytelling' and strict observability. The unseasonably warm January day isn't just a backdrop; it's an active participant that affects the characters physically (sweat, slush, wet boots) and thematically (the 'wrongness' of the weather mirroring the boys' fantasy). By encoding these sensory details into action lines—the 'SHLUCK-SHLUCK' of boots, the 'glare' of the sun—the script instructs the production team (sound design, cinematography, wardrobe) on how to build the world, proving that a screenplay is a technical blueprint as much as a story document.

Furthermore, the conversion underscores the discipline of 'pacing through formatting.' The source text uses long, descriptive paragraphs to build atmosphere, but the screenplay breaks these into short, punchy action lines (The 4-Line Rule) to control the reader's eye and mimic the editing rhythm of the final film. This structural change forces the writer to prioritize visual beats over literary description, teaching the crucial skill of economy in visual storytelling where every line of text equates to screen time and budget.