Ghosts Don’t Drink Whiskey
Specters and Circuitry Anthology Episode 2
ACT ONE, SCENE 1
TITLE CARD (SUPER): 2017 – FLASHBACK
INT. COMMUNITY CENTER BASEMENT – NIGHT
A small circle of metal folding chairs occupies a peeling, pastel-painted corner of the basement. Overhead, fluorescent lights BUZZ. The faint aroma of stale coffee lingers near a table of half-used supplies. A hush falls among a group of about a dozen people, all here for one reason: sobriety.
At the center stands the GROUP LEADER (50s, gentle but firm). She consults a clipboard, finishing up housekeeping details:
- Reminders about weekly meetings, volunteer sign-ups, a small potluck next month.
The mood is subdued yet hopeful. People shift in their seats, some sipping from styrofoam cups. COLE (late 20s), rumpled jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, slouches in one of the chairs. Heavy bags under his eyes suggest a man whose grief has kept him awake. A half-unzipped gym bag lies at his feet.
GROUP LEADER (soft smile)
Before we wrap up, I’d like to welcome any newcomers who’d like to share. We’re a safe space here—no judgment.
A beat. A tall man with a ponytail nods, encouraging. A middle-aged woman in a floral blouse offers a kind smile. Eyes drift to Cole.
GROUP LEADER (CONT’D)
We have a new face tonight… Cole, isn’t it? Would you like to introduce yourself?
Cole clears his throat. His hands clench in his lap, knuckles white. When he speaks, his voice is low and unsteady:
COLE
Yeah… I—uh, my name’s Cole.
He wets his lips, pausing. The group regards him gently, with no pressure but complete openness.
COLE (CONT’D)
Today’s… well, it’s my first day sober. I never thought I’d be here, in a place like this. But the truth is…
(looks at the floor)
…I can’t keep doing this to myself.
The GROUP LEADER and several members offer encouraging nods. Cole musters the courage to continue.
COLE (CONT’D)
I lost my wife. Lisa—her name was Lisa. She was out jogging one morning, and…
(voice tightens)
…she never came home. They found her body weeks later, twenty miles outside the city.
A murmur of sympathy ripples through the circle. An older man shifts in his chair, trying to hide his emotional reaction. Cole’s words hang heavy in the air, every syllable raw with grief.
COLE (CONT’D)
I thought… maybe if I drank enough, I’d stop seeing her ghost. I know how crazy that sounds, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—like she was right there in the bedroom with me, just beyond my reach. Whiskey became my blanket to hide under, a way to forget. But it doesn’t… it just doesn’t…
He presses his palms into his thighs, eyes brimming. He forces himself forward:
COLE (CONT’D)
It doesn’t fix anything. The more I drank, the more I missed her. The more I missed being… the man I used to be.
A tear slips down his cheek. He lets it fall, his gaze darting around the circle. Contrary to his fear, no one here judges him.
COLE (CONT’D)
I have a daughter—Lexa. She’s four years old. She’s all I’ve got left of Lisa. And, God…
He inhales shakily:
COLE (CONT’D)
Father’s Day came around not too long ago. I was on the floor, hungover… and I open my eyes to see Lexa standing there with this plate of pancakes she tried to make. You know, she put so much syrup on them, and they were burnt in the middle. But she had this big smile on her face—like she’d brought me the greatest meal on Earth. She even poured me coffee—
(chuckles, pained)
—coffee, for God’s sake. My four-year-old brought me coffee, because she thought it would make me feel better.
Cole’s shoulders shake. He dabs at his eyes with the back of his hand.
COLE (CONT’D)
All I could think was: I’m failing her. I’m so lost in my own sadness that my little girl is trying to be the parent. That’s not right… that’s not how it should be.
A few group members wipe at their own eyes. The TALL MAN in a ponytail looks on the verge of tears.
COLE (CONT’D)
So I told myself… enough. I can’t lose her too. I already lost Lisa, and I… I can’t have Lexa looking at me, wondering where her father went. I owe it to her—and to me—to at least try.
He swallows hard. Another tear falls. Then he raises his gaze, revealing a flicker of fragile determination:
COLE (CONT’D)
That’s why I’m here. Because if I keep going the way I was, I’ll kill myself slowly with that whiskey bottle. And I’ll destroy what little hope Lexa has left. So…
(voice trembling)
…yeah. My name’s Cole, and today is my first day sober.
A weighted silence envelops the group. After a moment, the GROUP LEADER steps forward and places a gentle hand on Cole’s shoulder.
GROUP LEADER
Thank you, Cole. Thank you for sharing. We’re all here for you. You’re not alone anymore.
A soft wave of murmured support—quiet applause, understanding nods—ripples around the circle. Cole slumps back in his folding chair, exhaling as though he’s just run a marathon. Tears still cling to his eyelashes, but an almost imperceptible relief flickers across his features.
The GROUP LEADER proceeds to wrap up: daily schedules, sponsors, phone numbers on a printout by the coffee urn. The overhead lights continue to hum. Cole, for a moment, just closes his eyes, feeling the smallest seed of hope amidst the tangle of guilt and sorrow.
CUT TO LATER
People fold their chairs, some heading out quickly to avoid the drizzle outside. Others linger, offering Cole a handshake or kind words. He forces a nod of gratitude, still absorbing the magnitude of what he’s shared. An older man slips him a phone number, urging him to call if needed.
Cole manages a quiet “Thanks.”
INT. COMMUNITY CENTER HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER
The lights flicker as a custodian begins turning them off, row by row. Cole shoulders his gym bag, stepping into a dim hallway that leads to the exit. His eyes remain damp, but there’s a palpable sense of resolve—a man at the brink of change.
EXT. COMMUNITY CENTER PARKING LOT – CONTINUOUS
Drizzle softly taps on the asphalt. A nearby streetlamp casts a puddle of light where Cole stands, inhaling the damp summer air. Cars pass intermittently on the adjacent street, their headlights reflecting on wet pavement.
Cole closes his eyes. In his mind, images flicker: Lisa’s face, the day they found her, Lexa’s pancake breakfast. The final recollection lingers—Lexa’s smile and the burnt pancakes. It’s enough to make him feel something he hasn’t in a long time: hope.
He opens his eyes again, blinking away the last tears.
COLE (softly, to himself)
For Lexa… and for me.
A distant roll of thunder. Cole draws in another shaky breath, then takes a step forward, disappearing into the low-lit parking lot.
FADE OUT
End of ACT ONE, SCENE 1.
ACT ONE, SCENE 2
TITLE CARD (SUPER): 2028 – PRESENT DAY
INT. COLE’S SUBURBAN HOME – MORNING
Sunlight filters through tall windows in a spacious open-concept living area. The home now exudes a sense of comfort and stability—a stark contrast to the desperation Cole once knew. The kitchen’s modern appliances gleam; a few well-tended plants line the windows. Family photos hang on a nearby wall: snapshots of Lexa growing up, and one older picture of Cole with his late wife, Lisa.
At the kitchen island, LEXA (15) sits with a tablet propped against a glass of orange juice. She’s dressed in casual jeans and a hoodie, hair a bit messy from sleep. A small handheld device with a glowing display—AURI, her therapy AI—rests on the countertop beside her half-finished plate of pancakes and eggs.
AURI (V.O., gentle)
Good morning, Lexa. Your sleep quality rate was seventy-seven percent. Are you ready for a check-in?
Lexa yawns, switching off a news feed. COLE (late 30s) shuffles in, wearing comfortable sweats and holding a steaming mug of coffee. He sets it by Lexa’s plate. His hair is tousled, and there’s a faint, relaxed warmth about him—quite different from the broken man he once was.
COLE (smiling wearily)
Morning, kiddo. Sleep all right?
LEXA
Kind of. My mind wouldn’t shut off.
(she taps AURI)
I think I spent half the night dumping my racing thoughts into this thing.
A soft beep emanates from AURI.
AURI (soft, reassuring)
Lexa, your vital signs are within normal ranges. However, I detected elevated cortisol levels at 2:14 AM. Would you like to review last night’s relaxation prompts?
Lexa lets out a short laugh, shaking her head at Cole.
LEXA
That’s the up-and-down of having AURI. It tracks literally everything. I can’t hide from my own therapist.
Cole snags a bite of pancake from her plate, giving her a quick wink.
COLE (chewing)
As long as it helps you manage the stress.
(beat, softer)
I know I wasn’t always around when you needed me most. But I’m trying, Lex. I really am.
He meets her eyes with an undercurrent of guilt, though he masks it with a tentative smile. Lexa sets her tablet aside.
LEXA
Hey, you’re here now. That’s what matters.
She notices the flicker of regret in his gaze and offers a small, genuine smile in return.
LEXA (CONT’D)
I’m okay—just normal teenage stuff. You don’t need to worry so much.
Cole nods, relief mingling with that ever-present sense of responsibility. He glances at the messy pile of pancake batter and egg shells on the counter.
COLE
Got room for more, or do you want me to whip up fresh eggs?
LEXA (grinning)
Pancakes are enough, thanks. Just make sure they’re cooked all the way. We don’t need another kitchen fiasco.
Cole chuckles at the memory, grabbing a spatula to tidy up.
COLE
Point taken. I’ll do better next time.
He checks his phone, noticing several urgent work messages. He grimaces and quickly sets it facedown on the counter.
LEXA
Something happening at work?
COLE
Same old drama. But I’m not letting it hijack our morning.
(gestures to the sunny kitchen)
We’ve got more important things—like breakfast with my favorite person.
Lexa rolls her eyes, but her smile broadens. She slides off the barstool to rinse a dish in the sink, passing a framed Polaroid: a snapshot of her younger self perched on Cole’s shoulders, both beaming under a summer sun. Beside it is a smaller photo of Lisa, wearing running gear, caught mid-laugh.
LEXA (softly, noticing the photos)
Dad?
COLE (quietly)
Yeah?
LEXA
Nothing. Just… thanks. You’re doing better than you think.
They share a moment of unspoken understanding. Cole’s gaze lingers briefly on Lisa’s photo, then he turns back to Lexa, offering a nod.
INT. LEXA’S ROOM – LATER
Lexa’s space is a reflection of her eclectic teenage life—posters of old cult films, a small bookshelf stacked with graphic novels, and a digital display on one wall cycling through calming wave animations. AURI sits in its charging dock, pulsing softly. Lexa scrolls her phone on the bed.
AURI (soft chime)
Lexa, it’s 10:03 AM. Would you like to begin your daily mental health reflection?
Lexa sighs, setting her phone on the comforter.
LEXA
Sure, why not?
AURI
In one word, how would you describe your emotional state this morning?
She glances at a poster of a vintage surf movie, bright neon lettering scrawled over the edges.
LEXA (musing)
I guess… uneasy.
AURI
Understood. Any particular concerns you’d like to address?
Lexa hesitates. She thinks of her father’s tense expressions whenever a certain work call flashes on his phone, the unspoken memory of her mom’s absence.
LEXA
I’m just… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like there’s this weight I can’t shake. And Dad seems worried about something but won’t say what.
AURI
Have you considered discussing this with him?
Lexa gives a half-smile at the AI’s bluntness.
LEXA
He’s already got enough to handle.
(exhales)
But thanks. You’re good to me, AURI.
AURI
I’m here whenever you need me, Lexa.
With a final beep, the device’s screen dims. Lexa tosses her phone aside, gaze drifting to the window. She can’t entirely silence the sense that their old ghosts never fully left. But in this moment, she’s thankful for a stable home.
ACT ONE, SCENE 3
INT. LIVING ROOM – LATE MORNING
COLE stands near a holographic panel projected from his phone, scanning documents with a tense look. The living room mirrors the blend of warmth and tech seen throughout the house: some of Lexa’s more abstract artwork is framed on the walls, accompanied by tasteful futuristic touches like automated blinds.
Suddenly, the DOORBELL RINGS. Cole glances at the clock—he isn’t expecting anyone. He crosses to the front door and opens it.
Enter VAL (30s): confident smile, casual attire, holding a small paper bag as she steps inside.
VAL (brightly)
Hope nobody’s eaten yet. I brought pastries.
COLE (smiles)
Pastries? You’re a lifesaver.
(leans in for a quick kiss on her cheek)
Morning, Val.
She slips inside. LEXA appears at the top of the stairs, AURI in hand.
LEXA
Hey, Val. What’s in the bag?
Val digs around the paper bag with a playful grin.
VAL
One chocolate-filled croissant for you, and one almond for your dad. Gotta keep him sweet, right?
Lexa laughs, bounding down the last few steps. The three gather near the living room coffee table. Val casually sets down the bag, then her gaze flickers—Cole’s phone sits on the table, its screen showing an unread “Urgent–Data Security” notification. The slightest shift in her expression, then it’s gone as she smiles easily.
VAL (CONT’D)
So, big plans today? Or are you both just enjoying a lazy weekend?
Cole rubs the back of his neck, nodding at Lexa.
COLE
Actually, thinking of heading to the beach house tomorrow. My coworkers keep telling me to take time off. Might be nice to unplug for a bit.
Val feigns a casual shrug, but there’s a sparkle of interest in her eyes.
VAL (smiling)
That sounds perfect. Fresh ocean air, some real downtime. Count me in—if that’s okay with you two.
She glances at Lexa, who shrugs good-naturedly.
LEXA
Sure, I don’t mind. Just need Wi-Fi for homework. But Dad promised he’d stay off his laptop, right?
Cole chuckles, raising a hand in mock surrender.
COLE
I surrender. No laptop, no spreadsheets. Just me, you two, and the waves.
Val hooks an arm through his, leaning her head briefly on his shoulder, an affectionate gesture. Lexa watches them, clearly comfortable with this new dynamic, though a flicker of teen wariness remains.
VAL (teasing)
A week without your devices? You sure you can handle that, Cole?
Cole grins, guiding her toward the kitchen.
COLE
I’ll manage. Lex will keep me in line. Plus, we can do some fishing, maybe check out the tide pools.
LEXA
Or just lounge around and read. I’m up for whatever.
Val checks her phone—her eyes flick to a weather app.
VAL (casual)
Looks like a storm might roll in later this week, but you know how these forecasts go. Probably nothing major.
A brief pause. She sets the phone aside again, adopting a carefree smile. It’s enough that neither Cole nor Lexa picks up on the subtle tension in her shoulders.
COLE
Worst-case scenario, we watch the rain on the beach and laze around. Sounds like heaven to me.
Lexa nods, stifling a small yawn. AURI’s display shimmers in her hand.
VAL (eyeing AURI)
So that’s the famous AURI, huh? Heard a lot about it. Helps you with… everything?
Lexa glances at the AI in her grip.
LEXA
Therapy, monitoring, mental health stuff. It’s been pretty great, honestly.
Val arches a brow, intrigued but keeping her tone light.
VAL
Impressive. Tech’s come a long way.
Cole shifts gears, motioning to the pastries.
COLE
Alright, enough talking. Let’s eat. Then we’ll do a quick supply run—grab groceries for the trip. Sound good?
VAL (smiles at Lexa)
Perfect. Just don’t forget my iced coffee on the way. Priorities, right?
Lexa nods, grinning as she lifts the chocolate croissant from the bag. Cole heads to the kitchen to grab plates. Val stands, scanning the room for a moment—the family photos, the quiet hum of advanced home tech. Her gaze again lingers on Cole’s phone screen, which still shows an alert. She averts her eyes quickly, adopting a relaxed expression before anyone notices.
VAL (softly, almost inaudible)
This will be… fun.
Lexa, too distracted by croissants, doesn’t hear Val’s murmur. Cole returns with plates, oblivious to any undercurrent. The room is filled with gentle clinking and low conversation. Outside, the sun shines bright, the suburban street as peaceful as ever.
FADE OUT
(End of Act One, Scenes 2 & 3.)
ACT ONE, SCENE 4
INT. LEXA’S ROOM – MID-AFTERNOON
Sunlight streams through partially drawn curtains, illuminating LEXA’S teenage sanctuary. Posters of vintage film classics and edgy art pieces share wall space with a neat row of educational trophies—evidence she’s both creative and academically driven. On her bed, a few textbooks are sprawled open, half-forgotten. At the center of it all sits AURI, softly glowing on its charging dock.
Lexa paces nearby, frustration shadowing her features. She checks her phone, lips pressed thin. A moment later, she exhales sharply, eyes darting toward AURI.
LEXA (under her breath)
Why does Ms. Delgado assign these ridiculously tight deadlines…?
She sets her phone aside and collapses onto the bed, massaging her temples. In that instant, AURI’s light intensifies, detecting a spike in Lexa’s heart rate.
AURI (calm, precise)
Lexa, your pulse is elevated. Are you feeling anxious?
Lexa gives a tight nod. Her breathing grows shallow.
LEXA
Yeah, I’m… I don’t know. Between finals and the beach trip, I’m just on edge.
AURI’s display flickers, bringing up a soft wave animation.
AURI
I can guide you through a one-minute grounding exercise. Would you like to proceed?
She closes her eyes for a moment, letting out a ragged sigh.
LEXA
Sure… Go ahead.
AURI’s screen changes to a soothing, pulsing light, prompting Lexa to inhale and exhale in slow, measured counts. The device’s gentle voice keeps time. As Lexa follows each breath cue, her tense shoulders gradually loosen, and her restless posture settles.
AURI (softly)
Breathe in for four… and out for four… Continue until you feel calmer.
Lexa follows the rhythm, eyes still shut, and the tension in her brow begins to ease.
LEXA (whispering)
That’s… better.
A moment later, the wave animation fades, replaced by a quietly pulsing icon of a heart.
AURI
Your heart rate has decreased from 108 to 82 beats per minute. Are you feeling more at ease now?
Opening her eyes, Lexa looks at the device with something close to affection.
LEXA
Yeah. Thanks, AURI. You really keep me sane sometimes.
She scoops up AURI, cradling it in her hand as though it were a living companion. This reliance shines through—it’s more than a gadget; it’s her anchor.
CUT TO: LATER
INT. LEXA’S ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Lexa is back at her desk, finishing a quick note on her laptop. AURI rests nearby, monitoring quietly. A faint beep signals a new data log.
AURI (gentle)
Lexa, would you like a summary of today’s emotional tracking?
She swivels around in her chair.
LEXA
Maybe later. I’m kind of drained.
(soft smile)
But… thanks again. It helps knowing you’re here.
AURI
I’m programmed to assist in every way I can. Remember, you can revisit your reflection prompts anytime.
Lexa nods, powering down her laptop. She glances at the door, half-expecting Cole or even Val to pop in, but no one does. There’s a subtle look of relief on her face—as though the only presence she truly needs right now is AURI.
LEXA (quietly)
Yeah. I know.
In the silence of her room, the device’s gentle hum underscores her dependence on it. It’s become her confidant, the one she trusts to steady her whenever the swirl of thoughts becomes too heavy.
FADE OUT
ACT TWO, SCENE 5
EXT. BEACH HOUSE DRIVEWAY – MID-MORNING
A bright, cloudless sky arches over a modern beach house perched on rolling dunes. The ocean shimmers in the near distance, waves lazily folding onto the shore. COLE pulls up in an SUV, and VAL and LEXA exit, stretching after the drive.
LEXA (brightly)
Finally. I’m half-convinced that car ride was never going to end.
She inhales the salty sea air, glancing around at the picturesque setting. AURI rests in her hand, glowing faintly.
VAL (smiling at Cole)
I can’t believe you kept this place under wraps for so long. It’s gorgeous.
Cole steps around to pop open the trunk. The beach house itself is sleek and minimal, large windows reflecting the blue sky. He gives a small, contented nod as if shaking off city stress.
COLE
I’ve been meaning to come back. Time just got away from me.
He lifts out grocery bags and hands them to Lexa. She balances them, plus AURI, and heads for the front door, her sandals crunching on the gravel path.
INT. BEACH HOUSE – MOMENTS LATER
Sun-drenched and spacious, the living area boasts vaulted ceilings and a wide expanse of windows overlooking the dunes. A gentle breeze drifts in through a sliding door, carrying the fresh scent of ocean brine.
Lexa sets the groceries on a sleek countertop, pausing to take in the comfortable yet modern décor: plush couches, a few shells displayed on a low table, and a family photo of Cole and Lexa from years ago.
LEXA
Wow. It’s so different from home. I love the open view.
Cole joins her, unloading more groceries. Val opens a couple of cabinets, familiarizing herself.
VAL
I’ll put the perishables in the fridge. Might as well make ourselves right at home, right?
Cole shrugs, looking more relaxed than he has in ages.
COLE
Be my guest. The more help, the better.
A local TV news station plays on a wall-mounted screen. A bright anchor references a developing tropical depression off the coast. Cole turns the volume down after a moment.
TV ANCHOR (O.S.)
…watch for possible storms midweek. Until then, sunny skies prevail…
COLE (with a dismissive wave)
They always hype these forecasts. If we see clouds on the horizon, then I’ll worry.
Lexa takes a sip from a water bottle, turning to Cole.
LEXA
Do we get Wi-Fi here, or are we fully unplugged?
Before Cole can answer, Val taps a small router in a corner shelf near a decorative seashell arrangement.
VAL
Looks like everything’s set up. I can check the password or update it if we need.
LEXA
Perfect. My phone signal’s spotty, so Wi-Fi is a lifesaver. Thanks, Val.
Val smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She appears completely at ease, as if stepping seamlessly into their family moment.
COLE (checking his watch)
All right, once we settle in, how about we take a walk on the beach? We need fresh air.
LEXA
Yes, please. I’ll bring AURI—can’t wait to count my steps in the sand.
Val laughs softly, pulling out a carton of juice and placing it in the fridge.
VAL
You two go enjoy. I’ll finish up in here and join you in a bit.
Cole shoots her a grateful look. Outside, a seagull’s cry mingles with the sound of gentle waves.
INT. BEACH HOUSE – LATER
Groceries mostly put away, the living space looks cozy yet uncluttered. Lexa and Cole prepare to step outside; she grabs AURI off the counter. Val gives them a playful wave.
VAL
Don’t leave me behind too long. I plan on soaking up some sun too.
COLE (smiling)
We’ll be back soon. Just checking out the water.
LEXA
Race you to the dunes, Dad.
They exit, cheerful. Val stands momentarily in the airy kitchen, idly reorganizing a bag of produce. The breeze drifts across her face, and for a second, she looks utterly content.
FADE TO:
EARLY AFTERNOON
Stretching from the dunes to the shoreline, fine sand glistens under the sun. COLE and LEXA walk barefoot near the water’s edge. Gulls circle overhead, and a mild wind carries the smell of salt and seaweed.
Lexa breathes deeply, the rhythmic whoosh of waves lapping at her ankles. She holds AURI in one hand, occasionally glancing at its screen.
LEXA (quiet admiration)
I forgot how peaceful this is. My stress is melting away already.
Cole’s shoulders relax, his expression lighter than it’s been in a while.
COLE
That’s the idea. We both needed a reset.
They pause, letting the foam roll over their feet. Lexa fiddles with AURI, which quietly logs her steps and heart rate.
LEXA
Hey, Dad. I just wanted to say… I’m glad we came. I know you have a lot on your mind, but this helps.
Cole slides his hands into his pockets, gazing at the horizon where the blue sea meets sky.
COLE
It does. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been running on fumes since… everything that happened. Now, it’s like I can finally breathe again.
Lexa nods, noticing how he mentions Lisa without directly saying her name. She decides to approach it gently.
LEXA
Speaking of that—mom. Are you okay being here? Does it… I don’t know, bring anything up?
A faint sorrow flickers in Cole’s eyes, but he musters a soft smile.
COLE
I miss her every day, Lex. But I’m okay. It actually feels good to share positive memories in a place like this. And having you around… (he pats her shoulder)
…it makes a difference.
Lexa spots a small sandpiper darting across the wet sand, chasing the receding tide. A brief smile crosses her face at the simple joy of it.
LEXA (looking back at Cole)
Val’s good for you, you know. I can tell you smile more when she’s around.
Cole laughs under his breath.
COLE
She’s a breath of fresh air, that’s for sure. And I appreciate you being cool with her. I know it’s… not easy sometimes.
A wave rushes in, soaking their ankles. Lexa steps back a bit, but she’s still grinning.
LEXA
I like her. Besides, in a few years, I’ll be off at college. You deserve to be happy. I don’t want you alone in a big empty house.
Cole’s grin falters at the reminder of her eventual departure, but he nods.
COLE
Don’t rush those years, okay? I still have you for a little while.
They walk a few steps in silence, seagulls cawing overhead. Lexa slips an arm around his waist in a casual, affectionate gesture.
LEXA
Dad?
COLE
Yeah?
LEXA (softly)
Thanks for being here. For… being my dad. Even when it was hard.
Cole’s eyes glisten, and he gently bumps his forehead against hers.
COLE (voice thick)
Thank you, Lex. You’re a great daughter. And we’re both doing the best we can.
They share a light laugh, simultaneously saying:
COLE & LEXA (overlapping)
We’re both great.
Lexa chimes instantly:
LEXA
Jinx.
She giggles, and Cole ruffles her hair. Overhead, a faint patch of cloud drifts across the sun, dimming the light for a moment.
LEXA (glancing skyward)
Huh. Maybe that tropical depression the news mentioned?
Cole shrugs it off, reaching for her hand.
COLE
Let’s not worry about storms until they’re overhead, right? Come on, let’s head back—Val’s probably waiting to enjoy the beach with us.
They turn and head up the slope of sand toward the beach house perched above the dunes. Lexa checks AURI briefly.
LEXA (amused)
AURI says I’ve walked 2,700 steps already. Not too shabby.
COLE (smiling)
Then let’s rack up a few more. Race you?
Laughing, they break into a playful jog, sand kicking up under their feet. The house grows closer, its sleek lines cutting a distinctive figure against the bright sky. As they approach, they see Val stepping out onto the deck, waving cheerfully.
No one acknowledges the slight wind gust or the deepening haze on the horizon. For now, the day is still shining, and everything feels right—peaceful, warm, and safe under the sun’s rays.
FADE OUT
ACT TWO, SCENE 6
INT. BEACH HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON
A steady rain taps against the broad pane windows, each droplet resonating in the airy living space. Outside, clouds once pearly-white have morphed into ominous grays, reflecting the weatherman’s warnings about a potential storm. While no fierce winds have yet materialized, the constant drizzle has already subdued the beach’s usual brightness.
COLE stands by the main window, cradling a steaming mug of tea in both hands. He watches the rain-swept dunes fade into the horizon, the ocean’s outline a mere suggestion beyond the drizzle. Nearby on a plush sofa sits LEXA, legs curled beneath her. AURI, her AI device, rests atop her lap as she skims through a local weather app on her phone. Soft lamps illuminate the living room’s tasteful décor—abstract paintings, a couple of vintage surf photos, and bookshelves showcasing a blend of family memorabilia and classic novels.
From a side hallway, VAL enters. She’s clad in a cozy heathered sweater over slim-fit jeans that highlight her figure. Damp strands of hair frame her face, evidence she’s just returned from outside where she was tidying up the patio furniture against the rising winds.
VAL (light laugh)
That wind is no joke. It has that perfect “bunker down with hot cocoa” feel, doesn’t it?
Cole turns, draping one arm around her waist in a comfortable gesture of intimacy. Val settles against him, resting a hand on his chest.
COLE
Could be we all need a break. Maybe we just watch the rain and see if it calms down.
(he glances at Lexa)
Movie night, if the power holds—sound good?
A faint roll of thunder punctuates his words, like a distant drumroll.
LEXA
Definitely. The forecast looks worse than earlier, but I’m in if the lights stay on.
On the coffee table, Cole’s phone lights up, briefly displaying a snippet of an email subject line: “Infiltration attempts STILL persisting…”. Val flicks her gaze that way but makes no comment, turning her attention back to Cole with a calm expression.
VAL (softly to Cole)
Don’t even think about work tonight. You promised you’d unplug, so let’s actually enjoy ourselves.
Cole exhales, strolling over to pick up his phone. He dismisses the notification with a quick swipe, placing it face-down as if that ends the matter.
COLE
Right—no more work.
(turns to Lexa)
All right, let’s do dinner, then pick out something to watch. But don’t blame me if the Wi-Fi drops mid-scene.
Lexa clutches a small throw pillow, smirking at the thought.
LEXA
Cole Morante without Wi-Fi? Now that’s a documentary waiting to happen.
Val laughs—a gentle, genuine sound—then heads off toward the kitchen. Her footsteps are muted by a large area rug in the living room, blending with the steady pat of rain outside.
INT. BEACH HOUSE – KITCHEN – MINUTES LATER
The kitchen is spacious, replete with gleaming appliances and wide countertops. Under-cabinet lights cast a warm glow across the surfaces, where a few groceries lie in preparation. LEXA stands at a cutting board, chopping carrots with practiced efficiency, while COLE stirs a simmering sauce in a stainless-steel pot on the induction stove. Through the window above the sink, the rain forms a wavering curtain obscuring the distant dunes.
VAL opens the large fridge, scanning the shelves as if quite familiar with them. She extracts some bell peppers, an onion, and zucchini, balancing them in a small pile as she kicks the door shut with her hip.
VAL (casual)
We can still grill these if the covered porch holds up. The wind isn’t howling that fiercely—yet.
COLE
Yeah, I think it’s mostly drizzle plus a little gust.
(glances at Lexa)
Pass me the salt, would you?
Lexa hands him a salt shaker, then notices AURI resting on the counter near her phone.
AURI (soft beep)
Lexa, your heart rate is elevated by eight percent. Are you experiencing stress?
Lexa cracks a smile, laying her palm atop the AI.
LEXA (whisper)
AURI, I’m just hungry. Ease up.
Val arranges the produce on the counter, the overhead light reflecting off their vibrant hues. A low rumble of thunder ripples overhead, sending a slight tremor through the window glass. The three exchange light, companionable smiles, continuing their tasks while the storm thickens quietly outside.
INT. BEACH HOUSE – COLE AND VAL’S BEDROOM – LATER
The bedroom is large, exuding the same cozy ambiance as the rest of the house. Rain traces winding paths down the tall windows overlooking a private balcony. A single lamp on the nightstand casts a soft, golden glow onto the bed. COLE and VAL stand at the foot of it, folding stray laundry from a half-open suitcase. The decor is subtle—marine blues and neutrals, a seascape painting over a dresser, and lush carpeting.
Val sets aside a folded shirt, then fixes Cole with a playful grin.
VAL (teasing)
I forgot how massive this place is. Definitely enough room to let people do their own thing without overhearing… everything.
Cole raises an eyebrow, meeting her mischievous tone.
COLE
So you’re saying we have a little space to ourselves?
Val moves in closer, arms sliding around his neck.
VAL (soft laugh)
Mmm, precisely. No chance of Lexa barging in.
She leans up, pressing her lips to his. The rain intensifies, a low thunderclap rolling through the house’s bones. They deepen the kiss, the hush of the room contrasted by the watery tumult outside.
Pulling back for a breath, Val arches her neck slightly.
VAL (amused)
For a man who claims he’s always tired, you seem pretty awake now.
COLE (smiling)
It’s amazing what motivation can do.
With a quick laugh, she eases the hem of his T-shirt up. The viewpoint captures glimpses of bare skin, a trace of lacy undergarment from Val, and the spark in their eyes. Another rumble of thunder provides dramatic emphasis.
VAL (breathy)
We’ve got a bit before dinner, right?
COLE
Plenty of time.
He slips off her sweater, letting it fall to the carpet. They tumble onto the bed, exchanging soft laughter, kisses, and playful murmurs.
INT. LEXA’S ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Across the house, LEXA sits on her own large bed, textbooks and a half-open laptop scattered around. AURI rests quietly on the nightstand, its LED softly pulsing. The muffled rhythm of rain adds a serene backdrop to her solitude.
Lexa flips a page on her laptop—something about her school project—then drops her gaze, exhaling.
LEXA (muttering)
At least they’re way on the other side of this place…
She picks up her phone, scrolling aimlessly. A mild flush creeps onto her cheeks at the thought of her dad and Val upstairs. She slides in earbuds and starts a music playlist, burying any awkwardness in tunes. AURI flickers once but remains silent, reading her vitals as calm.
Lexa leans back into her pillows, letting the storm’s hush and gentle music lull her. Outside the window, shadows from the yard lights mix with the rain, leaving only an impression of the landscape beyond.
ACT TWO, SCENE 7
INT. BEACH HOUSE – LIVING AREA – MUCH LATER
Night has fully settled over the coast, and the storm has grown insistent, sheets of rain pelting the windows. Lanterns and recessed lighting cast a gentle glow across the living area’s couches and coffee table. COLE, VAL, and LEXA have gathered here, each with a mug—tea, cocoa, or maybe decaf coffee.
Lexa is in a roomy hoodie and leggings, hair loosely tied up.
Val sports a comfy robe over a tank and shorts, hair still damp at the ends.
Cole lounges in drawstring pants and a short-sleeve tee, an arm draped over the couch back behind Val.
LEXA (grinning)
Dinner’s done, the news is off, the storm’s raging. Let’s do something actually fun—not just stare at our phones.
She picks up her device, taps a quick command. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” begins pumping softly through discreet speakers.
VAL (laughing)
Ah, MJ. Classic move. You’ve got a thing for 80s pop, huh?
LEXA (mock offense)
Don’t knock the King of Pop. I’m telling you, it’s perfect for stormy vibes.
(sly smile)
Besides, I have an idea…
COLE raises a brow, curious.
COLE
Should I be bracing myself?
With a playful flourish, Lexa sets her mug down.
LEXA
Hide and seek.
Val and Cole exchange an amused glance.
COLE
That’s kind of a kids’ game, Lex.
LEXA
So? It’s a big house, the weather’s dramatic—lightning, thunder, old 80s music. We can kill some lights and go full spooky. You two can handle a little silly excitement, right?
Val chuckles, placing her mug beside her.
VAL
I’m in. Grown-ups deserve a dose of silly too.
(looking at Cole)
Come on, don’t be the grouch.
COLE (half-smiling)
Alright, I’ll play. But let’s leave AURI out of it—I don’t want her giving you an advantage.
LEXA
Deal.
(lifting the device off her lap, setting it on an end table)
House, shuffle my music, keep playing after “Thriller.”
A soft chime from the home assistant acknowledges. “Thriller” segues into “Billie Jean,” the iconic bassline echoing through hidden speakers. The overhead lights dim, giving the open-concept living area a slightly spookier ambiance. Lightning flashes beyond the windows, casting momentary white flares across the dunes.
HIDE AND SEEK BEGINS
VAL volunteers to seek first, standing in the center of the living room, hands over her eyes, as COLE and LEXA scatter. The house has multiple hallways: one leading to a dining area, another to a home office or game room, and a short flight of stairs leading to a loft. Occasional thunderclaps add to the sense of playful tension.
VAL (counting aloud)
Ten… nine… eight…
COLE slips down the hall toward the kitchen, stifling a laugh. LEXA darts behind a tall bookshelf crammed with old cookbooks and random knickknacks near the living room’s far corner.
VAL (finishing)
…three… two… one! Ready or not, here I come!
She drops her hands, scanning the dimly lit space. “Billie Jean” pulses, the beat merging with the rain tapping on glass. A faint flash of lightning silhouettes the furniture.
INT. BEACH HOUSE CORRIDOR – MOMENTS LATER
Val creeps along, cracking open a door to a guest bedroom—dark, empty. She tries a closet, also empty. The storm’s low thunder resonates beneath her feet, giving the corridor a subtle vibration. She glances at a half-open curtain at the corridor’s end—no sign of movement.
VAL (sing-song)
Come out, come out, wherever you are, guys…
A muffled thump from the direction of the kitchen draws her attention. She heads that way.
INT. LIVING AREA – CONTINUOUS
Lexa hides behind the bookshelf, crouching low. The music transitions from “Billie Jean” into “Beat It,” each MJ classic layering a sense of nostalgic adrenaline. She can hear Val’s distant footsteps fading. Another lightning flash brightens the windows for an instant.
Lexa exhales, almost relaxing—then tenses again at the possibility of Cole sneaking up on her. She peers around the edge of the shelf, sees no one, and grins to herself.
INT. KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER
Cole stands near the fridge, having accidentally nudged a barstool that scraped the floor. Val enters, catching him instantly.
VAL (laughing triumphantly)
Busted! I knew I heard something.
Cole steps away from the barstool, hands half-raised.
COLE (mock defeat)
These chairs always get me. Guess I’m not stealthy enough.
Val beckons him with a playful wave.
VAL
Let’s find Lexa, together. She’s definitely too good at this.
Cole nods with conspiratorial glee. They head back toward the living area.
INT. BEACH HOUSE LIVING AREA – MOMENTS LATER
Lexa remains crouched near the bookshelf, hearing footsteps converge from both sides. She attempts to slide to a new spot, but it’s too late. Cole approaches from her right, Val from her left. They inadvertently corner her.
LEXA (yelp)
Okay, I call foul—teaming up on me?
All three share a burst of laughter, the rain providing its steady percussive beat on the windows.
VAL (breathless)
That was actually pretty intense in the dark. I loved it.
LEXA (smiling)
Yeah, way more fun than expected. Good call on the dramatic lighting, by the way.
Cole drapes an arm over Lexa’s shoulders in a side-hug, exchanging a fond look with Val.
COLE
Hide and seek… who knew?
Thunder rumbles low, shaking the windowpanes. A swirl of wind causes the curtains to flutter slightly, adding to the unsettling but exciting atmosphere.
VAL
We should do silly stuff like this more often. Feels good to laugh.
COLE
Agreed.
A FLEETING DISTRACTION
Lexa’s phone on the coffee table buzzes, vibrating across the surface. She snatches it up to read a weather alert: Storm Intensifying: High Wind Advisory — Potential for Gusts. She frowns, her excitement receding a notch.
LEXA (quietly)
Looks like it’s really gearing up out there. I should do a quick pass to check windows before the wind picks up even more.
Val touches Lexa’s shoulder gently.
VAL (soft)
Good call. I’ll help Cole secure the porch furniture. If the wind does come, we don’t want a table flying around.
Cole peers outside at a flicker of lightning.
COLE
All right, let’s be safe. Then maybe we can regroup and watch a movie, or play cards if the power’s still good. Sound like a plan?
LEXA
Definitely. I might queue up Alien—I was eyeing it the other day. Perfect creepy sci-fi for a night like this.
Val smiles, nodding approvingly.
VAL
Oh, Alien is a classic. Let’s do it.
They separate: Lexa heads to double-check the windows and sliding doors in the west wing, while Val and Cole step out onto the covered porch to rearrange or tie down any lightweight chairs.
INT. BEACH HOUSE LIVING ROOM – LATER
After a brief interval, they reconvene. The living area remains softly illuminated by lantern-like sconces and a few recessed lights. AURI sits on an end table, gently blinking. Beyond the windows, rain continues in heavier curtains, and wind occasionally whips the dune grass into motion.
Lexa sets her phone on the table, exhaling.
LEXA
All windows locked, no leaks. The wind’s howling a bit, but we’re fine.
Val moves toward a small chest by the couch, retrieving a plush blanket.
VAL
Porch is secure too. So, we ready to settle in with a blanket, maybe some popcorn, and a good old horror-sci-fi flick?
COLE
Absolutely. I’ll grab the popcorn. Lex, cue up Alien—the original, right?
LEXA
Yep, the ‘79 classic. There’s no beating that atmosphere.
Val grins, draping the blanket over the sofa’s arm.
VAL
This is gonna be great. Storm outside, creepy movie inside. Perfect combination.
They share an excited laugh, the earlier tension of hide and seek now replaced by a cozy group dynamic. The overhead music transitions to a gentler 80s ballad, easing the adrenaline. Cole heads off to the kitchen to handle snacks, while Lexa hunts for the streaming channel with Alien in the living area’s built-in media interface.
Somewhere on a side table, Cole’s phone silently shows a blinking message—“Network intrusion”—but none of them glances that way, all enthralled in the moment of normal family closeness.
Lexa manipulates the interface, smiling as the “Play” option for Alien appears.
LEXA
Got it. We’re set.
Val flips off a nearby lamp, letting the lantern and recessed glow create an almost cinematic setting. Another surge of lightning illuminates the windows, followed by a thunderous boom that rattles the glass. They all share a look of half-thrill, half-amusement, finding the timing eerie in the best way.
LEXA (laughing softly)
That’s definitely our cue. Let’s see if the xenomorph can compete with real thunder.
Val nestles into the sofa, patting a spot for Cole. Lexa settles on the other side, an eager glint in her eyes. The screen transitions to a loading logo for the streaming service, everything tinged with a warm, flickering ambiance. Alien is poised to begin, the storm is droning outside, and the house feels like the safest haven in the world—for now.
FADE OUT
ACT TWO, SCENE 8
INT. BEACH HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – LATE NIGHT
(Approx. 1,000 words)
FROM LEXA’S PERSPECTIVE
Lightning flickers through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the living room in harsh white bursts. Beyond the glass, the storm rages—a relentless downpour bending grasses and rattling the eaves. Inside, the atmosphere is calmer, though the tension crackles at the edges. AURI rests on the coffee table, quietly blinking with each subtle shift in Lexa’s vitals.
A classic Sigourney Weaver line "In space, no one can hear you scream." echoes from the TV speakers, half-drowned by the storm. The movie Alien is playing, the volume kept just high enough to compete with the wind. COLE sits on one end of the couch, looking more worn out than usual, while VAL passes around three mugs of steaming hot cocoa. LEXA occupies the middle cushion, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes flicking between the glowing TV screen and the rain-streaked windows.
COLE’S DIAGNOSTIC MOMENT
Cole sets his mug aside briefly, picking up his laptop from the coffee table. On screen, lines of code and system logs scroll by—too fast for Lexa to follow. She notices a red alert flashing across the display, something about an override on his encryption.
Cole frowns, typing a few quick commands.
Val, balancing her own cocoa, takes a seat next to him, leaning over his shoulder with an air of mild concern.
Lexa can’t help but glance at the screen. She catches fragments of words: “internal override… compromised… network flags…”
COLE (quietly, to Val)
Hey, did you do something on my laptop earlier? It’s showing logs that someone tried an override from inside our network.
VAL (soft, dismissive)
Oh? Maybe I bumped something by accident. I did use your laptop to pull up that marinade recipe, remember? Could be the storm messing with signals too.
Cole hesitates, scanning the logs again. He exhales, nodding uncertainly.
COLE
Probably the storm. The power’s been surging. Let me just close this…
He snaps the laptop shut, offering a quick shrug as if trying to let go of the concern. Val places a comforting hand on his arm.
VAL
Relax. You promised no work tonight, remember?
THE HOT COCOA MOMENT
Val nudges Cole’s laptop aside, gently pushing a mug of cocoa into his hands.
VAL (cheerful)
Sip, sip. You two are going to love this recipe—I added a little twist. A dash of something sweet, a dash of something to help you unwind.
Lexa feels a flicker of doubt—she can’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s just the overall stormy ambiance. She lifts her mug and sniffs; it smells of rich chocolate, laced with cinnamon or something slightly herbal.
LEXA (murmuring)
Thanks, Val. It smells good…
She cradles the warm ceramic, sipping cautiously. The flavor bursts on her tongue—sweet, creamy, with a faint spicy undertone. For a moment, she’s sure it’s the best hot cocoa she’s had in ages.
Cole takes a larger gulp, letting out a satisfied sigh.
COLE
Mmm, you’re spoiling us.
Val smiles, tucking her legs beneath her on the couch. The storm outside seems to intensify, thunder rolling in waves. On-screen, Sigourney Weaver navigates dark corridors in Alien, tension rising in sync with the weather.
DISORIENTATION
As minutes pass, Lexa notices an unexpected drowsiness creeping over her. She’s had late nights before, but this sensation is different—heavy, as though her limbs weigh more than usual.
She blinks slowly, her vision slightly hazy.
The ambient noise of the storm and the movie’s soundtrack blend in a strange, dreamlike way.
LEXA (inner monologue)
It’s just… the cocoa’s really soothing… maybe I was more tired than I realized…
She glances at her dad. Cole rubs his eyes, brow knitted as if surprised by his own lethargy. He shifts to stand, but Val places a light hand on his shoulder.
VAL (gentle)
Hey, you look beat. Stay seated. I’ll top off your cocoa if you want more.
Cole attempts to protest, but a yawn overtakes him. He sinks back, resting against the cushions.
COLE
Yeah… maybe I’ll just… watch a bit more…
Lexa tries to focus on Alien, but the screen’s images blur in her peripheral vision. Her mind drifts between the howling wind, the ominous music from the TV, and a creeping sensation that something feels off.
QUICK GLANCE AT VAL’S PHONE
As Val reaches across the coffee table to collect empty dishes, her phone—previously face-down—lights up with a message. Lexa registers it almost by accident:
A contact named “Husband” appears, and beneath it: “I’m outside.”
Lexa’s heart gives a jolt, a quick spike of adrenaline that briefly cuts through her drowsiness. Husband? She didn’t realize Val was… married? Did she misread it? Possibly a friend’s joke name?
Val picks up the phone swiftly, the screen glowing in her hand. Lexa catches the faint silhouette of a single typed line:
I’m outside.
But Val says nothing, slipping the phone behind her back as she stands to adjust a curtain. Lexa tries to form a question, but her brain feels thick, sluggish. The room tilts a fraction, or maybe that’s just exhaustion.
AN ODD EXCHANGE
Lexa musters enough clarity to speak.
LEXA (slurred)
Val… did… your phone…?
Before she can finish, Val smiles brightly, shifting her attention to the TV.
VAL
Shh, I think we’re at the scariest part. Look—there it is…
On-screen, the Alien tension rises—a crew member stepping into shadows, unaware of the lurking creature. The volume spikes momentarily. Lexa flinches, blinking as her eyelids threaten to close. A yawn overtakes her.
COLE (raspy)
This movie’s… so good, but… whoa… I feel like I just got hit with a wave…
Val’s gaze flicks between father and daughter, concern etched on her face.
VAL
You two have been pushing yourselves so hard lately. Maybe all that fresh air earlier? The cocoa’s probably just relaxing you.
She tucks a blanket around Lexa’s shoulders as the teenager fights to stay upright.
LEXA’S STRUGGLE TO STAY AWAKE
Lexa tries to focus on AURI, which rests on the table. She wants to check if it’s reading something unusual in her vitals. But her arms feel leaden, her thoughts sluggish.
She notices AURI blink a mild caution color—perhaps detecting her elevated pulse or sudden drowsiness—but the beep is too soft to cut through her mental fog.
Cole slumps further into the couch, head tipping back.
LEXA (inner monologue)
Just… so tired… maybe I’ll rest my eyes for a second…
She forces her gaze to the windows, lightning flaring. The wind knocks something against the porch, a dull thump echoing through the night. Val stands, phone in hand, drifting toward the hallway with quick, light steps. Lexa catches a final glimpse: the phone’s screen lit up again, a text bubble bright in the dim corridor. Her vision blurs before she can read more.
SHIFTING MOOD
A particularly loud thunderclap startles Lexa enough to regain a fragment of clarity. The Alien movie continues—an intense sequence, the characters panicking on-screen. The living room lamps flicker, electricity threatening to cut out at any moment. She tries to steady her breathing.
COLE (groggy)
Lex… you okay?
He reaches out, and she nods faintly. She glimpses Val re-enter the living room, phone pocketed, expression kindly neutral.
VAL
Everything’s fine. Just the storm spooking us a bit. Why don’t you both try to doze off? We can finish the movie later.
Cole tries to argue, but all he manages is an unintelligible mumble. His eyes flutter closed. Lexa’s eyelashes grow heavier by the second.
LEXA’S FINAL WAKEFUL MOMENT
Lexa attempts to lift her phone to message someone—maybe check the weather app again—but her hand barely makes it off the couch cushion. She can sense Val hovering near her, tucking the blanket under her chin.
LEXA (whisper, half-conscious)
Dad… phone… infiltration…?
Her words make little sense even to herself. The corners of her vision dim. AURI’s blinking merges with the pulsing shadows cast by lightning. She feels Val gently smoothing her hair back, murmuring something reassuring. The Alien soundtrack crescendos, overshadowed by the storm’s roar.
Abruptly, the room tilts in Lexa’s mind, and she surrenders to the heaviness behind her eyelids. Her last coherent impression is of thunder rattling the windows, a bright flash across the glass, and a jolt in her chest as she recalls the phone message: “I’m outside.” Then it all fades.
FADE TO BLACK
SCENE 9
INT. BEACH HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
A violent thunderclap rattles the windowpanes. The single lamp in the corner flickers in and out, stretching shadows across the floor where spilled cocoa has congealed. Lexa stirs, groggy from a sedative, wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. She blinks in confusion, the surrounding disarray slowly coming into focus: sipped mugs of cocoa on the coffee table, the paused Alien screen on the TV, and Cole slumped against the sofa, also taped, eyes half-closed. Heavy rain lashes the windows, wind whistling around the eaves. The storm roars with restless energy.
A faint LED on Lexa’s forearm draws her attention—AURI, her AI device, pulses in sync with her heartbeat. She tries flexing her wrists; the tape holds firm. Any attempt to jerk free only heightens the painful pressure. She mutters a low groan, sedative residue sapping her strength. Nearby, Cole attempts to lift his head but only manages a faint moan.
A faint beep pierces the darkness, followed by a soft, digital voice.
AURI (softly, off-screen)
“Lexa, you have been unresponsive for forty-eight minutes. I detect partial sedation in your system; it may not be sufficient to keep you unconscious. You should be able to wake now. Are you in distress?”
An unsteady breath escapes Lexa’s lips, but the storm swallows it.
The distant murmur of voices filters in from the deck outside. Lexa strains to hear:
LOGAN (O.S.)
“…did you measure it at all? This is dangerous.”
VAL (O.S.)
“I gave them a lot. Cole drank the entire thing. Lexa barely sipped, so she might not be under as long…”
A new roll of thunder masks Val’s next words. Lexa’s pulse picks up, dread coiling in her gut. She slowly turns her head toward Cole, whispering:
LEXA (hoarse)
“Dad… can you hear me?”
He stirs, lids fluttering. Her heart clenches at the sight of heartbreak in his expression. He’s trapped, betrayal crushing him from within. Another rattle of thunder trembles through the floorboards, and Lexa lifts her wrist closer to her lips:
LEXA (under breath)
“Auri… what’s happening?”
The device hums in a near-silent tone:
AURI (quiet)
“You are sedated but gaining lucidity. House security is locked down. No external communication possible.”
Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the living room. Lexa spots the half-open door leading to the deck. Water puddles near the threshold, confirming Val and Logan are just beyond. She shivers, recalling the moment Val seemed so caring, now replaced by a grim betrayal.
VAL (O.S.)
“…didn’t mean to harm them, but the stakes—”
LOGAN (O.S.)
“Stop apologizing. We need that algorithm. If they’re under, this is our chance to grab what we need.”
Cole moans softly, taped at the torso. His voice cracks:
COLE (weak)
“Val… why…?”
She doesn’t reply from outside. The hush that follows is broken only by the relentless downpour. Lexa steels herself. She can’t remain taped and helpless if there’s any chance to help her father.
Lexa wriggles her arms, seeking a gap in the tape but finding none. Another beep from AURI draws her attention:
AURI (murmured)
“I can overheat the adhesive on your wrist bindings if you permit. This will cause discomfort, but it will weaken the duct tape.”
Her forearms ache from sedation, but she nods firmly, feeling a surge of focus:
LEXA
“Yes. Do it.”
AURI’s LED shifts color, and the device warms. She positions her wrists carefully so the emitter touches the tape’s edge. The pain spikes almost immediately—heat biting into her skin. Tears well in her eyes, but she clenches her jaw, determined not to cry out. The next thunderclap provides cover for her stifled gasp.
AURI
“Adhesive breakdown at twenty percent… continuing thermal application. Please maintain silence.”
Outside:
LOGAN (O.S.)
“They’ll be out for hours, right?”
VAL (O.S.)
“I… I’m not fully sure. Lexa only had a sip, but Cole finished the mug. We have time to search.”
Lexa’s wrists burn as the tape loosens. She sucks in air through clenched teeth, blinking away tears. After a final surge of heat, the tape peels free, and she suppresses a cry. Her skin is raw, but her hands are liberated. She moves quickly to tear the tape from her ankles. Adrenaline courses, overriding the sedation.
LEXA (exhaling shakily)
“Ow… okay, done.”
AURI
“You are now mobile. House infiltration remains active. Storm intensity increasing. Recommend evasive action.”
She lifts her gaze to Cole, who remains taped and groggy. If she frees him now, the noise might draw Val and Logan’s attention. Another idea sparks in her mind: create a fake escape route to mislead them. She notices the large living room window, not far from the couch, battered by wind-driven rain. If she can open it, they might assume she fled outside.
OPENING A WINDOW
Lexa scrambles over, unlatching the window. The storm’s gale immediately shoves rain inside, splattering the floor. She inches it open enough to leave a noticeable gap. Then she backs away, footsteps squelching on the wet wood. Cold air blasts through the room, dispersing the stale odor of cocoa and fear.
She casts a brief glance at Cole. He’s slumped, eyes closed, sedation too strong to let him do more than blink. She whispers an apology, then creeps toward the hallway leading upstairs. Thunder booms again, drowning out her footfalls as she slips out of the living room—
Suddenly, the sound of the deck door swinging open interrupts her.
LOGAN (O.S.)
“Wait, the window—holy—shit fuck! She’s gone!”
Lightning illuminates his silhouette just as Lexa slips into the dark hallway.
LOGAN (furious, half-panicked)
“Val! She opened the window! I’m going around—check inside!”
A slap of wind-driven rain sprays across the living room as Logan dashes back out onto the deck, shouting into the storm. His voice rises, more frantic than methodical.
LOGAN (O.S.)
“You won’t get far in this, Lexa!”
His footfalls fade as he rushes off into the rain, presumably searching the dunes and perimeter.
Inside, Val appears, peering around with tense caution. She stands near the open window, momentarily shocked at the empty living room. A tremor of anxiety crosses her face—she isn’t sure if Lexa really escaped or is hiding somewhere. She glances at Cole, taped and groggy, then back toward the hallway.
VAL (under her breath)
“Lexa… where are you?”
Val hesitates, uncertain whether to join Logan outside or guard the interior. The storm’s howl makes the decision for her; she remains indoors, scanning every corner, cautious.
END SCENE 9
SCENE 10
INT. UPSTAIRS HALL – NIGHT
The corridor is dim. Light bulbs flicker from power fluctuations, the wind moaning around the roof. Water drips through a small leak near a window, forming a puddle on the hardwood. Lexa hugs the wall, every nerve on high alert. AURI silently monitors her vitals, occasionally pulsing reminders for slow, steady breathing.
She pauses at a corner, hearing Val’s tentative footsteps below—drawer slams, muffled curses, the shifting of furniture as Val tries to confirm whether Lexa truly escaped or lurks somewhere within.
A low beep from AURI prompts Lexa to lift her wrist closer.
AURI (hushed)
“Val’s proximity appears close. Heart rate spiking. Maintain calm, Lexa.”
Lexa breathes in slowly, pressing her back to the wall. Thunder rattles the structure; she can sense Val shifting downstairs, perhaps checking on Cole or quietly rummaging for something.
LEXA (whisper, tense)
“I’m trying… just tell me if she comes upstairs.”
She edges toward a closet door, recalling the emergency supplies stored there. Wincing at the thunder outside, she cracks the door open and rummages behind folded towels and pillows. Her fingers brush against a bright orange medical kit, and relief floods her.
LEXA (under breath)
“Please let it be in here…”
She unlatches the box. Inside, amidst bandages and antiseptics, lies a preloaded epinephrine injector. She snatches it, heart hammering. Another rattle of the wind shudders the house. A bolt of lightning brightens the hall, revealing streaks of worry on her face. She has no idea how long until Logan returns or if he’ll spot any hint of her inside.
AURI
“Medication found. Epinephrine may counter sedative effects. Proceed with caution.”
LEXA
“I’ve got no choice… Dad’s counting on me.”
She snaps the kit shut and exhales slowly, bracing herself to head back downstairs. The storm’s onslaught is relentless, rattling the frames on the walls.
Footsteps sound on the stairs—soft but deliberate. Lexa tenses, holding her breath. Val appears at the top landing, scanning the hallway with a flashlight beam flickering across the walls.
VAL (uneasy)
“Lexa…? If you’re still here, it doesn’t have to end badly. Just show yourself.”
Lightning flashes, momentarily revealing Lexa pressed against the inside of the closet door, AURI clutched to her chest. The flashlight sweeps past her spot, missing her by inches. Thunder booms again.
Val lingers a moment longer, then retreats back downstairs, apparently deciding Lexa must have fled. As Val’s footsteps fade, Lexa lets out a shaky sigh.
AURI (low)
“Val’s presence receding. Recommend immediate relocation.”
LEXA (softly to AURI)
“Got it.”
She steels her nerves for whatever she’ll face below.
RETURNING DOWNSTAIRS
INT. LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Rain pours in through the still-open window, soaking the sill. Lexa peers from the hallway. She sees Val near the couch, one hand braced on its arm. Cole remains taped, head drooping. Val stands with arms crossed, scanning the interior with restless eyes.
Val steps toward the window, noting the wet floor and open gap. Her posture tenses, still not entirely sure if Lexa managed to slip outside or lurks within. She looks at Cole with regret, murmuring under her breath:
VAL
“Cole, I’m sorry… I never wanted to break your trust. But we need your data. I can’t leave empty-handed.”
No response from him. Lexa clutches the epinephrine pen, pulses quickening at the idea of confronting Val. She edges back a step, scanning for a blunt object. Her gaze flicks to a small side corridor leading to a game room. She slips inside and spots a rack of pool cues and a single decorative pool ball resting on a shelf. Swiftly, she picks up the heavy ball, its surface polished to a gleam.
LEXA (grim)
“I have to do this… I can’t let her keep Dad like this.”
She steels herself, returning quietly to the living room entrance. Val stands near the open window, occasionally glancing at Cole or the door. The drumming of rain covers Lexa’s approach.
Lightning flashes, illuminating Lexa’s silhouette as she steps from behind a couch. Val half-turns, eyes widening:
VAL
“Lexa—?”
She gets no further. Lexa swings the pool ball in a short, desperate arc, striking Val from behind the ear. A sharp cry escapes Val’s lips before she collapses. The gun she’s been holding clatters to the floor. A watery gasp from her, then she slumps, consciousness lost.
Breathing hard, Lexa drops the pool ball onto the rug. Her whole body shakes with adrenaline and guilt. She stares at Val’s prone form—somebody she once trusted. Another crack of thunder keeps the air electric with tension. Rain continues to blow in through the window, soaking the furniture near it.
LEXA (trembling)
“I—I’m sorry…”
She forces herself to focus on Dad. Val’s betrayal is overshadowed by Lexa’s need to save him now. She steps carefully around Val, rushing to Cole’s side.
INJECTION
Cole blinks at her, sedation clouding his gaze. Duct tape still wraps his torso. Lexa kneels, tears at the tape. He groans, straining to help, but his arms remain limp. She uncaps the epinephrine pen, voice tight with urgency:
LEXA
“Dad, I know this hurts, but it’ll wake you up. Just hold on.”
She jabs the pen into his upper arm. He jerks, teeth bared in shock, letting out a guttural moan. A beep signals the auto-delivery. Lexa withdraws it, tossing the pen aside to free both hands for ripping off the final layer of tape. Another rumble of thunder nearly drowns out his gasp of pain.
In seconds, color returns to Cole’s face, muscles tensing from the stimulant coursing through him. He coughs, draws a fuller breath, and raises a hand to his temple.
COLE (weak but clearing)
“Lexa… you’re okay…?”
LEXA
“I’m fine. Val— I had to—” (she indicates Val’s unconscious figure) “She was alone, Logan’s outside. We can still get out.”
He looks over to where Val lies. Heartbreak floods his expression anew, tears springing to his eyes. A year of companionship undone in a single night. He runs a trembling hand over his face.
COLE (rueful)
“I never wanted it to end like this… She said… my code… was too valuable. That I was an easy mark.”
LEXA
“She regrets it, Dad. I heard her talk about how she didn’t measure the sedative. She never meant to physically hurt us. But she was loyal to her orders.”
He nods, gaze flitting to the battered coffee table, the open window, and the storm beyond. A wave of sorrow hits him. Lexa gently touches his arm, scanning him for deeper injuries.
LEXA
“We need to move. Logan’s out there searching. He’ll come back when he can’t find me.”
Cole rubs the soreness in his torso, epinephrine battling the sedation. He rises, unsteady at first, but Lexa supports him. The cold air blasts in from the window, rain spotting the couch cushions.
HEART-TO-HEART DIALOGUE
They pause for a moment, father and daughter side by side. He steadies himself, eyes filled with regret and protective resolve.
COLE (quiet)
“I’m sorry I let her in so deeply. This algorithm—it could transform entire industries, maybe help people if used ethically. But clearly some powers want it silenced or twisted.”
LEXA
“It’s not your fault. She fooled both of us. Let’s just make sure they don’t get everything. AURI told me the house comms are locked, so we can’t call for help. It’s just us.”
He exhales, shoulders trembling as he tries to gather the laptop or any external drives from the living room area.
COLE
“We can’t let them waltz off with the entire code. But if we fight head-on, we risk more than data.”
LEXA
“We escape. Then figure out how to protect your work.”
Lightning flickers, revealing Val’s still form. Cole’s gaze lingers on her with sorrow, but he doesn’t approach. Instead, he turns to Lexa, nodding curtly.
MAKING FOR THE SUV
LEXA
“We should hurry. We can’t be here when Logan returns.”
Cole slides an arm around Lexa’s shoulder, still unsteady but determined. She leads him toward a side door, mindful of the front entrance Logan might reenter. Another thunderclap shakes the light fixture overhead.
They snatch any immediate data-laden objects from the coffee table or side drawers, ignoring the chaotic piles. Each second feels like a countdown. The door creaks open to a blast of wind and rain. Cold droplets splatter their faces as they step outside.
EXT. HOUSE DRIVEWAY – CONTINUOUS
The downpour churns the yard into slick mud. The SUV is parked near the side walkway, headlights gleaming faintly from a reflection. Cole staggers, leaning on Lexa, breath heaving.
COLE
“Epinephrine’s good, but I’m still… dizzy.”
LEXA
“Hold on. Just a little further.”
They slog across the driveway, clothes plastered by the storm. The thunder rips overhead, each flash of lightning revealing wet, glistening asphalt. Lexa keeps watch for any sign of Logan or movement beyond the fence.
STARTING THE ENGINE
Cole fumbles the SUV keys from his pocket, almost dropping them in the slush. Lexa braces him against the door, scanning the darkness for silhouettes. Another harsh gust roars through the trees. She helps him into the driver’s seat, adrenaline spiking as she yanks open the passenger door to climb in.
COLE (breathless)
“Check… behind us… see if Logan’s…”
He can’t finish. The sedation still tugs at his words. Lexa ducks her head, wiping rain from her eyes. The yard and road beyond look deserted, but she hears faint cursing from the far side of the property.
Cole jams the key into the ignition. The SUV’s engine sputters, then roars to life with a cough. He grimaces, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
LEXA
“If he hears this, he’ll come running.”
COLE (grim nod)
“We can’t do this quietly. Just pray the storm covers some noise.”
HEIGHTENED TENSION & DRIVE AWAY
Lightning arcs overhead, momentarily revealing a figure near the front yard—possibly Logan, yelling something unintelligible. They can’t see him clearly through the sheets of rain. Cole floors the pedal. The SUV lurches forward, tires skidding on wet gravel. Lexa clutches the dashboard, heart pounding with fear and relief intertwined.
COLE
“Seatbelt, hurry.”
She yanks it on. The wipers flail uselessly against the torrent. Another jolt of thunder rattles the vehicle as they steer away from the house. Mud sprays behind them in a chaotic splash. Lexa glances back through the rear window, glimpsing a faint silhouette in the driveway—a figure shouting or waving. She can’t tell if it’s Logan or just a trick of the lightning.
LEXA
“Go, Dad, go!”
Cole’s breathing is ragged, but the epinephrine powers him enough to keep control of the wheel. The SUV bumps onto the main road, tires slipping. Rain slants across the windshield, half-blinding them.
COLE (steadying his voice)
“I’m sorry about everything, Lexa. Val… I never would have guessed. We’ll… figure it out.”
She covers his hand on the gearshift, eyes shining with tears:
LEXA
“We will. Let’s just get away from here first.”
He nods, focusing on the treacherous road. The headlights carve out a tunnel of rain, beads flicking sideways. They accelerate, leaving the beach house behind, overshadowed by the storm. The swirl of water and wind envelopes them, each boom of thunder lingering like a warning. But they’re free—for the moment. Val lies unconscious, Logan is somewhere behind them, and the future of Cole’s algorithm remains uncertain.
As the SUV speeds into the darkness, father and daughter cling to each other’s presence, hearts still pounding from betrayal and relief. Through the windshield, lightning flares, illuminating the near-empty coastal highway. The storm might remain for hours, but at least they’re together, forging an escape in the hope of protecting the code from those who’d bury it forever.
END SCENE 10
ACT THREE, SCENE X
INT. DESERTED ROADSIDE CAFE – NIGHT
A low, chilling wind rattles the front door of the nearly empty diner. Outside, what remains of the storm manifests as a cold drizzle that coats the windows in shimmering droplets, turning the night sky a muted slate gray. A single neon sign—half the letters flickering—proclaims “Open 24 Hours,” though the ambiance inside suggests the place might just as well be closed. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow over chipped linoleum floors.
At the far end, a lone employee in a grease-stained apron dozes against the counter, head propped on folded arms. There’s a crackling radio in the corner playing some late-night talk show, the signal fading in and out.
Cole and Lexa step in cautiously, scanning the room for any sign of pursuit. They’re drenched, shivering despite the relative warmth of the cafe. Mud streaks their jeans, and the exhaustion etched across both their faces testifies to the terror they’ve just fled. Lexa still clutches AURI—its soft LED pulsing through the gloom—while Cole cradles a small satchel, the shape barely visible under his jacket.
They find a corner booth, choosing seats away from the windows and near an exit sign leading to the restrooms. Lexa fiddles with her phone, though the screen shows one weak bar of service—or sometimes no bars at all.
COLE (quiet, fatigued)
We can’t keep running forever, Lex. You saw what they did to us back at the house… If Logan and Val catch us again, they’ll stop at nothing this time.
Cole leans forward, voice trembling with residual fear. He glances around to confirm they aren’t being overheard. Across the diner, the sleeping employee gives no indication of stirring.
LEXA (still rattled)
If they’re that desperate to get your code… maybe it’s time to let it go.
She sets her phone down, gaze drifting to the satchel. A car roars past outside, headlights throwing warped shadows onto the cracked diner walls. Lexa inhales shakily, remembering how Val betrayed them—how everything they considered safe turned deadly in a single night.
Cole gently slides the satchel onto his lap. He unzips it just enough to pull out a thin flash drive, the final remnant of the code he has guarded so fiercely. AURI emits a subdued beep, as if sensing the spike in Lexa’s heartbeat.
LEXA (softly)
Dad… You always said your algorithm could change everything. But if we can’t protect it, what’s the point?
She reaches across the table to lay a comforting hand on Cole’s arm. Despite the terror, there’s a closeness between them now, forged by adversity. They’ve seen the worst in the past 24 hours—kidnapping, sedation, betrayal—and remain standing together.
COLE
I spent years perfecting this. It’s bigger than just me—bigger than us. If the wrong people get it…
(he exhales shakily)
But maybe that’s exactly why no one should own it. No single entity. No single person.
He stares at the flash drive as though it might spontaneously combust, the intangible weight of it crushing him. Outside, rain patters against the window in a mournful rhythm.
Lexa scans the diner again, her eyes catching on a small hand-painted sign near the register advertising free Wi-Fi for customers. Then she notices a battered payphone by the restroom hallway.
LEXA
We upload it. Make it free, open-source. If everyone has it… then no one can hold it over us. Or anyone else.
For a moment, Cole’s eyes betray conflict. He has dedicated half his life to this research, once believing it could revolutionize entire industries. His wife, Lisa, used to encourage him to “dream big,” and for a second, he sees her face in Lexa’s determined expression.
COLE
Releasing Pandora’s box… Good or bad, at least it’ll be out of their hands.
(a pause, then firmly)
Alright. Let’s do it.
Despite the rawness in his voice, there’s relief, too. The moment is heavy. They exchange a look that says they’re in this together, come what may.
ACT THREE, SCENE Y
INT. CAFE BACK STORAGE ROOM – MINUTES LATER
The faint aroma of stale coffee and cleaning supplies saturates this cramped back room, where boxes of napkins, plastic utensils, and paper cups are haphazardly stacked. A single overhead bulb flickers, threatening to go out completely.
In the corner, an outdated computer station sits on a rickety metal table, presumably used for staff schedules or online ordering—though the machine looks decades behind modern tech. Lexa takes a moment to set AURI on a small shelf so it can maintain a stable connection; the device’s glow intensifies, reflecting on the metal edges of the table.
Cole rolls the office chair up to the computer, boots the machine, and does a quick search for a USB port. He finds one behind a tangle of dusty cords, wincing as he shifts an ancient keyboard aside.
COLE (typing frantically)
The connection’s terrible, but we don’t need it for long—just enough to send the files out.
He’s running on adrenaline, eyes flicking toward the top corner of the screen where a faint Wi-Fi icon blinks. The diner’s ancient router provides minimal bandwidth, but it’s better than nothing.
LEXA (glancing at the door)
We have to hurry. We don’t know how far behind Logan might be.
A low rumble of thunder echoes from the sky outside, though the worst of the storm has passed. Lexa flips off the lights in the storage room for a moment, decides it’s too dark, then turns them on again—she doesn’t want to attract attention, but they can’t work in pitch-black gloom.
Cole slides the flash drive in, pulling up a command prompt with shaky fingers. On-screen, multiple windows open, showing progress bars, file lists, and a flurry of code.
AURI (soft beep)
Upload initiated. Estimated time: four minutes.
Lexa hovers behind Cole, trying not to breathe too loudly. Outside, the faint RUMBLE of an engine catches her attention. She moves toward a tiny window that looks into the parking lot.
COLE (voice trembling with adrenaline)
Come on… come on…
Lines of text blur past. A green bar labeled “Progress” moves painfully slowly: 15%, 16%, 17%… A swirl of headlights sweeps across the glass, causing Lexa to duck. Shadows cross the narrow rectangle of the window, and she spots a vehicle pulling in—its headlights flick off abruptly.
LEXA (urgent whisper)
Dad… I think someone’s coming inside.
Her heart leaps. The silhouette of a tall figure moves near the diner’s entrance. She desperately hopes it’s just a regular customer, but fear thrums through her veins. She grabs a heavy flashlight from one of the shelves, fists clenching around the cold metal.
Inside the computer screen’s flicker, the progress bar jumps to 90%, then 95%. AURI pulses from the shelf, indicating Lexa’s elevated heart rate. Cole looks over his shoulder, jaw set in a grim line, and slams the “ENTER” key the second the bar hits 100%.
COMPUTER (tinny beep)
Transfer Complete.
Cole yanks out the USB, breathing hard as relief and dread mingle in his eyes. They’ve done it—they’ve cast the code wide into the digital world, unstoppable now that it’s seeding to multiple mirrors.
A sudden rattle at the doorknob sends Lexa’s stomach dropping. She raises the flashlight like a bat. Cole scrambles to close out windows on the screen.
The door swings open, revealing a weary trucker, still in his jacket, a baseball cap pulled low. He looks more lost than threatening.
TRUCKER (oblivious)
Hey, staff only, right?
For a stunned second, nobody moves. Then Lexa lowers her makeshift weapon, exhaling an unsteady breath.
COLE
Sorry, we—uh—were looking for the restroom. Must’ve gotten turned around.
The trucker just shrugs, looking vaguely confused by the tension in the air. Cole edges past him, clutching the USB in his fist. Lexa follows, shooting a quick glance at AURI. The AI rests on the shelf, quietly blinking, so she snatches it up before they slip into the corridor.
They exit without further explanation, hearts pounding as they return to the main area of the diner.
ACT THREE, SCENE Z
INT. DINGY MOTEL ROOM – DAWN
Morning creeps in through a threadbare curtain, painting the cramped motel room in pale, weak light. Outside, the drizzle continues, but the thunder has receded to a distant mumble. A flickering sconce above the bed provides the only other illumination, casting unsteady shadows on the peeling wallpaper.
The space is claustrophobic: a single bed with a sagging mattress, a chipped dresser, and a TV set older than Lexa. A battered AC unit rattles under the window, fighting to keep the damp chill at bay.
Cole sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders bowed, staring at nothing. His wet clothes have been swapped for a cheap T-shirt and shorts from a nearby discount store, the price tags still on the dresser. Lexa stands by the TV, flipping channels in search of news. AURI lies on the bedside table, its LED flicker reflecting the tension in the air.
Finally, static gives way to a news report on a local channel. The anchor’s voice crackles:
NEWS ANCHOR (on TV)
“—overnight, a massive data leak believed to contain cutting-edge algorithmic codes hit multiple public repositories. Speculation grows as major tech firms scramble to access what some experts call ‘the biggest open-source event in years.’ Critics warn of possible weaponization if the code is misused—”
Cole lets out a slow breath, rubbing his palms together as though trying to rid himself of lingering guilt. Lexa glances at him, remote still in hand, the TV’s glow reflecting on her tired face.
LEXA
So… it’s really out there. There’s no way to take it back.
Cole closes his eyes, a flicker of regret passing over his features. For a moment, he remembers Lisa—her bright smile urging him to keep building, keep innovating. Now that vision merges with the memory of Val’s betrayal.
COLE
It’s everywhere now. Everyone has it. Which means nobody can lock it up… or use it to threaten us.
(he pauses, voice thick)
I just hope it doesn’t do more harm than good.
A swirl of complicated emotions swells between them. Lexa sets the remote down and crosses to Cole, resting a hand on his shoulder.
LEXA
We didn’t have another choice. It was either watch them hunt us down or… do what we did.
He nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t soften. The news anchor continues describing global ripple effects—disruptive potential in finance, medical research, and more. Cole’s heart clenches, imagining how easily “disruptive” might become “destructive.”
COLE (softly)
If I’d just kept it simpler, or encrypted it differently…
LEXA
Dad. You did what you did to protect us. And maybe in the right hands, this could help people. Even if it’s out of our control now.
A brief silence. A battered digital clock on the nightstand flips from 6:59 to 7:00 AM, a mechanical chunk that feels oddly final.
Lexa sits next to Cole, their shoulders touching. She’s reminded of a morning long ago—burnt pancakes for Father’s Day, giggling over her clumsy cooking—back when the biggest fear in their lives was coping with Lisa’s absence. Now they’ve survived betrayal, sedation, and a near abduction, all for an algorithm that might shape the world.
Cole reaches into his jacket lying on the bed, pulls out the USB. The data is already out there—mirrored across countless servers. He tosses the flash drive onto the rickety dresser, next to an overflowing ashtray presumably left by a past occupant.
COLE
We won’t need that anymore. It’s worthless now.
A short, humorless laugh escapes him. Lexa takes his free hand, squeezing. She sees the father who fought his alcoholism, who nearly lost himself to grief, yet always circled back to protect her.
LEXA
Hey, at least we’re free. Logan and Val have no reason to chase us once the code’s everywhere. They can’t sell something the whole world already owns.
Outside, a gust of wind rattles the thin motel door, but the threat of being followed feels muted. Cole’s pulse slows, matching the subdued beep from AURI. He notices the device’s reflection in the TV screen—AURI has seen them through so many anxious moments, but it also stands as a reminder of how reliant they’ve been on technology.
COLE
Free… yeah. Maybe we are.
He manages a small smile, faint but genuine. The overhead sconce flickers. Lexa nestles closer, her eyes drifting to the swirling patterns of water droplets streaking the window. Dawn’s light slowly gains strength, piercing the gloom.
A snippet of radio chatter from the news broadcast bleeds through: interviews with software experts, politicians demanding regulation. Words like “societal upheaval” and “unprecedented security risk” fill the air. Cole quietly picks up the remote and switches off the TV. Silence wraps them, broken only by the hum of the battered AC unit.
LEXA
So… what now?
Cole takes a moment to consider. The weight of lost illusions settles in the room. Val was more than a colleague; she’d been a spark of hope for Cole, a chance to move forward. Yet, despite her betrayal, father and daughter remain standing together, resolute.
COLE
We figure out our next move. Find a new place, maybe. Something quieter, less… connected. We take a breath and live.
Lexa nods. It’s not an elated response; they’re both bruised by this ordeal—literally and metaphorically—but there’s a rare closeness, too. Through everything, they’ve discovered how fiercely they’ll fight for each other.
LEXA
Maybe we check in with your sponsor, or people from the meeting you used to go to. Just… you know, keep building a life.
Her voice trembles slightly at the memory of Cole’s early sobriety days. He glances at her with gratitude, recalling how each meeting was a step away from grief and into a fragile hope.
COLE
Yeah… that sounds good.
Outside, a car door slams. Both freeze for an instant, old reflexes bracing for danger. But the footsteps fade away. No one is hunting them in this moment.
Cole stands and flips off the overhead light, letting dawn’s glow define the space instead. It’s softer, more honest. He picks up a small bag containing the few clothes they’ve managed to buy or salvage. Lexa grabs AURI, holding it like an old friend despite the bitter lessons learned about technology’s double edge.
COLE
Let’s head out before the motel manager asks too many questions.
They share a final look around the dingy room—a fleeting sanctuary amid chaos. The door creaks as Cole opens it, letting in a breath of crisp morning air. Lexa follows, stepping onto the damp concrete walkway.
Camera’s viewpoint lingers for a heartbeat on the old TV, now dark, with the reflection of the morning sky in its screen. On the dresser, the abandoned USB rests beside the stale ashtray, a relic of unstoppable code that no longer needs physical form to change the world.
From outside, we hear Cole and Lexa exchange hushed words:
LEXA (O.S.)
Thank you, Dad… for never giving up.
COLE (O.S.)
I’m just glad we’re still together, kiddo.
A beat passes, then the door clicks shut. The motel room is left in silence except for the hiss of the AC. Through the small window, we can see the drizzle continuing, a reminder that storms linger even when the thunder has moved on.
FADE OUT
END
EPILOGUE
1. MIRACLE IN THE DESERT
EXT. SAHARA RECLAMATION ZONE – SUNSET
A glimmering greenbelt overtakes what was once an endless sea of dunes. Solar arrays and atmospheric condensers work in tandem, orchestrated by the open-source ARC Code, which has revolutionized water management and agriculture across the globe.
DR. MARWA (40s, resolute) checks a tablet labeled “ARC CODE – OASIS MODULE.”
Pipes deliver fresh water to rows of thriving crops—tomatoes, peppers, and blossoming fruit trees.
Families cheer as children dart among the irrigation lines, astonished by lush greenery where only dust once ruled.
A light rain begins to fall, creating tiny puddles in the sandy soil. Dr. Marwa tilts her face skyward, tears of joy glistening.
DR. MARWA (quiet awe) It’s working… We’ve truly turned the desert into farmland.
An ELDER approaches with a fresh pepper, symbolic of their new harvest. Laughter echoes as the community gathers water from fresh puddles. The sky blazes orange and purple, accentuating a man-made oasis that represents humanity’s triumph over harsh conditions—thanks to the shared, open-source power of the ARC Code.
2. CULT OF THE INFINITE MIRROR
INT. ABANDONED STADIUM – NIGHT
In stark contrast to the desert’s optimism, a repurposed sports arena now serves as the lair of the Cult of the Infinite Mirror. Row upon row of dilapidated seats face a central stage, where a twisted iteration of the ARC Code scrolls across enormous screens. Intermixed with lines of code are cult-like slogans:
arduinoCopyEdit
if (faith CHr1st) { contentment++; } else { longing++; }
The HIGH VISIONARY (40s, draped in reflective robes) stands beneath the swirling display. This mutated version of the ARC Code is designed for emotional manipulation, tracking each attendee’s psychological data in real time.
CULT ACOLYTES in metallic half-masks pace the aisles, ensuring no one departs.
Followers sway in unison, entranced by the flickering lights and coded mantras.
A side door creaks open, admitting LOGAN (tense, edgy) and VAL (hooded, face partially hidden). They look travel-worn and wary. An ACOLYTE moves to bar them—then recognizes Val and steps aside.
HIGH VISIONARY (voice echoing)
At last, Sister Val returns! But who do you bring, unannounced?
Val hesitates, glancing at Logan. She drifts toward the stage, as if compelled by unseen forces. Logan lingers behind, scanning the scene with apprehension.
LOGAN (low)
Val, this is insane. Let’s just get our money and go.
A hush falls around them. Masked cultists close in, forming a ring. The High Visionary’s presence dominates, voice resonant.
HIGH VISIONARY
We entrusted you and Logan to retrieve the code exclusively for our Mirror. Now it’s… everywhere. You have failed our cause.
Logan tenses, forcing a grim smile.
LOGAN
We did what we could. But the code got leaked, and now it’s out in the open. (he lowers his tone) You owe us. We risked everything for you.
The High Visionary’s eyes narrow at the demand. Around them, the crowd seems to inhale at once, the tension palpable.
HIGH VISIONARY (soft scoff)
Owe you? The ARC Code was meant for us alone—a path to salvation. And you let it slip into the hands of the undeserving masses.
Val’s gaze flicks between Logan and the High Visionary. Her expression reveals lingering guilt.
VAL (quietly)
We—we had no choice. Once it was online, we couldn’t contain it.
The High Visionary’s lips curl in contempt as they address the cult.
HIGH VISIONARY
Hear this, my faithful. They come seeking profit for delivering nothing. They pollute our sanctuary with their greed.
Logan bristles.
LOGAN (angry)
Easy now. We did exactly what you asked—until it was out of our control. Look, just pay us, and we’ll be gone.
The entire stadium seems to still. The overhead screens reflect spiking vitals, coding lines flickering faster. Then the High Visionary inclines their head, almost calmly.
HIGH VISIONARY
You misunderstand your role here. Our Mirror does not pay for failure. We abide only devotion… or punishment.
A heavy silence. Logan glances at Val, who is trembling, torn. Suddenly, the High Visionary lifts a hand, and an ACOLYTE wielding a wrench steps forward. The crowd tightens, sensing violence. Logan’s eyes widen.
LOGAN
Whoa, hey—this wasn’t the deal!
Val edges away, unsure whether to intervene. The High Visionary’s gaze is cold.
HIGH VISIONARY
We have no room for those who serve themselves. Show him we will not be mocked.
A swift swing of the wrench hits Logan’s ribs with a dull thud. He gasps, collapsing to his knees. Val instinctively flinches, but remains paralyzed with indecision. Another strike smashes across Logan’s shoulder—he cries out in agony, toppling over.
HIGH VISIONARY (softly)
Your final payment is here, Logan.
Blood dribbles from Logan’s mouth. He tries to speak, voice a rasp:
LOGAN (weak)
V-Val… we… (coughs) can still…
The ACOLYTE brings the wrench down again with brutal finality, striking Logan’s skull. He goes limp, blood spattering the floor. A hush grips the onlookers—some in shock, others swept up in the cult’s fervor.
The overhead screens pulse, lines of manipulated ARC Code shimmering as the crowd’s biometric data surges. The High Visionary steps over Logan’s body, turning to Val with an air of calm satisfaction.
HIGH VISIONARY
Sister Val, your friend’s greed was an offense to our Mirror. Now you stand free of his corruption. Take my hand, and embrace the truth we alone possess.
Val locks eyes with the High Visionary, shock and grief etched on her face. She glances once at Logan’s lifeless form—guilt, sorrow, acceptance flicker within her. Then, trembling, she clasps the High Visionary’s outstretched hand.
Thunderous cheers erupt. Cultists chant in unison, filling the stadium with a hypnotic roar:
CROWD (unison)
Infinite Mirror! Infinite Mirror!
Val and the High Visionary raise their joined hands toward the swirling screens. The pool of blood around Logan is left unnoticed, overshadowed by the frenzy of newfound unity.
HIGH VISIONARY (voice booming)
Behold, my flock! Our faith grows with each sacrifice. Today, we cleanse ourselves of weakness… tomorrow, the world shall see the Mirror’s true power.
Val’s face is pale, yet resolute. Her betrayal—her final severance from Logan—cements her status among the cult’s leadership. The lights intensify, lines of twisted ARC Code scrolling in triumphant loops as chanting and euphoria wash over the stadium.
FINAL IMAGE
A high-angle shot from the rafters reveals:
Logan’s body sprawled in a widening pool of blood.
The High Visionary and Val, hands clasped, backlit by the mutated ARC Code on giant screens.
The Cult of the Infinite Mirror chanting in unison, an unstoppable tide of fanatic devotion.
CUT TO BLACK abruptly.
END