Friday, December 01, 2006

It's A Start...

This is the new pre-title piece. (Would have posted it earlier but I seriously got into watching Boston Legal and forgot about this whole blogging thing).

OVER BLACK: We hear a deep sigh then the soft click as an angle-poise light is switched on.

The cone of light illuminates an OFFICE CUBICLE.

Sat in the swivel chair, EDWARD ROYCE pulls the angle-poise down to the keyboard. Mid-30s, dressed in an expensive suit, the light accentuates his sickly pallor.

He rises up out of the chair, peers over the partition wall to check he has the room to himself.

Forty identical cubicles, divided by wide aisles, fill the available floor space. All are dark save one by the wall.

Royce turns on the computer. As the screen flickers to life he cranes his head forward until his chin touches his chest. His hands grip the desk as he takes a deep breath, then another.

Composed, Royce sits up straight. Eyes closed, his fingers twitch involuntarily, replicating keystrokes without touching the keys.

Finally he jerks his hands up. A smile spreads across his face.


Below the user name SARACEN III the prompt patiently waits for the PASSWORD.

Royce confidently types in a seven-letter password that the computer promptly rejects. Not the result he expects, Royce is taken aback. His forehead wrinkles into a deep frown as he quickly tries again, eliciting the same result.

Out of options, Royce sags in the chair. His head tips forward, jaw muscles twitch.

Royce looks up at the screen. Defeated, he logs off the computer. His head jerks toward the aisle. He fumbles for the angle-poise, quickly turns it off.

In the darkness a faint blue glow PULSES briefly from the cubicle then goes out as

A door opens. A switch is flicked. One strip of ceiling lights blink to life.

DANIEL KEMPER walks down the aisle with measured steps. Late 40s, dressed in a dark suit with thinning grey-flecked hair, he stops midway down the room, swivels on his heel to face a DIFFERENT CUBICLE.

Edward. Here you are.

Royce sits quietly with his head in his hands.

(looking up)
Kemper. I was just resting my eyes.

If you’re ready, we’re about
to begin the next session.


Royce raises his arm to check the time. His wrist is bare with just the impression left by a watchstrap.

He grins, embarrassed.

Old habits.

It’s time.

Royce stands. He wipes sweat from his forehead, runs a hand through his hair.

Well, I wouldn’t want to
keep everyone waiting.

Kemper takes Royce’s jacket from the back of the chair, folds it over his arm.

You won’t.

Kemper steps aside, indicates for Royce to go first.

A HEAVY-SET MAN stands at the end of the aisle. Royce walks towards him. The shirt sticks to his back enough to make out the ugly pattern of welts and contusions.

A couple of paces behind Royce, Kemper stops at the cubicle where Royce tried to access the computer, MOVES the angle-poise light back to its original position.

Heavy-set Man opens the door as Royce approaches.

Ahead of them is a long darkened corridor.

A door at the far end opens. A SILHOUETTED FIGURE stands waiting, arms folded.

Light plays on the wall behind him. From the far room we hear what could be loud moaning, chanting, muted screams. Or a mix of all three.

Royce steps into the corridor, keeps walking. Heavy-set Man follows.

Kemper smiles. He flicks off the lights, closes the door behind him.

The room is plunged into darkness. The growing sounds of pain and pleasure remain.


Does it make you want to know what happens?


At 2:05 pm, Blogger wcdixon said...

Interesting...put me in the mind of The Matrix a bit. Teaser for a tv pilot right? Want feedback? email me.

At 2:20 pm, Blogger Riddley Walker said...

...and then the space monkeys fly in and seven hundred million horsemen in rainbow armour descend upon the evil overlord Blargon 7, while an army of semi-clad Amazonian sex-slaves rampage across the beaches of the Bahamas.

In slow motion.

So you can see everything.


At 7:53 pm, Blogger Good Dog said...


Thanks again for the feedback. It was very helpful.


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