In-Sight Creations
Digital Angels
Screenplay
CHARACTERS:
Wilson – Secretary of Defensefor the USA. Mid ffties. Head of the Digital Angels Program. He is Johnson’s Boss. Wilson is an alien but looks human.
Johnson – Military General. Mid forties. Works for Wilson. Married to
Helen. Daughter is Meg.
Chris - Mid thirties. From the future 3055. Does not know other characters but is aware of Wilson.
HELEN - Late thirties. Married to Johnson. Mother of Meg
MEG - Daughter of Johnson and Helen. Aged around six.
SETTING:
Screenplay is set in Nebraska, USA. It begins in the Nebraska Strategic Command Centre then moves location to Johnson’s home. Johnson’s home is in an affluent location. A detached house with front lawn.
There are also scenes shown on the Nebraska Command Centre’s monitor screen of the future which are located in Washington DC.
Time:
The Short film takes place over one day and throughout the night.
Present scenes are in Nebraska and take place in 2020.
Scenes on the Nebraska Command Centre monitor screen are from a future version of Washington DC and take place in 3055.
INT. CORRIDOR OF NEBRASKA STRATEGIC COMMAND CENTRE - MORNING
It’s the year 2020.
Secretary of Defense, Jack Wilson, mid-fifties. Balding head and large frame, strides down the corridor.
Oncoming people dodge out of his way.
Several soldiers fall in behind Secretary Wilson. They are alert.
INT. NEBRASKA STRATEGIC COMMAND CENTRE – MORNING
Secretary Wilson enters the main Command Centre.
Soldiers move to strategic points around the Command Centre.
The Command Centre is alive with activity.
Tech men work at advanced computer stations and other technical equipment.
There is a low hum of electricity.
False lighting, no windows.
A large monitor screen in b.g. covers an entire wall.
Centre of Command Centre drops down two steps to a lower circular level.
On lower level sits a mechanical looking device. It is a time portal.
Two Tech men with tools are fine-tuning the time portal.
General Johnson, mid-forties, lean with dark hair, is scrutinizing Tech men’s labour.
WILSON
Is it ready?
JOHNSON
Yes Sir.
Johnson climbs up two steps from lower level moves towards Wilson.
WILSON
Have we got any idea what they’re
sending through?
JOHNSON
No Sir. It just lit up
(looks at watch)
twenty minutes ago, so it
shouldn’t be long.
WILSON
Have we synced with the portal?
JOHNSON
Not yet Sir. We were waiting for you.
WILSON
Right, let’s make this happen.
Open the portal.
Two Tech Men working on the time portal vacate the area.
Tech men at work stations activate the portal.
The portal lights up.
Whirring and mechanical sounds in b.g.
In the centre of the portal a circular disc at its base begins to rotate with speed.
A bright light illumines from the centre of the disc. The light arcs and disappears.
A VHS video tape has physically manifests upon the disc.
WILSON (raised voice)
What the hell?
JOHNSON
Looks like an old VHS Sir.
Johnson goes to retrieve the VHS.
A Tech Man is using a hand scanner waving it over the VHS.
Johnson approaches.
TECH MAN (To Johnson)
All clear Sir.
Johnson picks up the VHS and returns it to Wilson.
Wilson takes the VHS and holds it up.
WILSON
Get me something I can play this on?
A Tech man rushes out the Command Centre.
WILSON (CONT’D)
Everyone out.
Johnson goes to leave.
WILSON (CONT’D)
Not you Johnson.
The Command Centre is now empty bar Wilson and Johnson.
They wait.
Wilson examines the VHS.
JOHNSON
What do you think it is?
WILSON
(Frowns)
Haven’t a clue. I was expecting something a bit more... technical.
A Tech Man rushes into the Command Centre. He sets up the VHS recorder.
TECH GUY (To Wilson)
Will that be all Sir?
WILSON
Tell Sergeant Lavendish to station
two men on the door.
No one comes in.
TECH GUY
Yes Sir.
Tech guy exits.
Wilson places VHS into the recorder and switches it on.
WILSON
Let’s see what we got here.
INT. NEBRASKA STRATEGIC COMMAND CENTRE MONITOR – MORNING
A blue screen appears on the monitor, flickers.
A man’s torso fills the monitor. The camera zoom is adjusted. The man retreats from the camera. He sits down on the edge of a table facing the camera.
He is Chris, mid-thirties. Old jeans and T-shirt. Looks rugged and tired.
His right arm is amputated from the elbow.
He hesitates as if not knowing where to start.
CHRIS
If you’re watching this then my calculations have been correct.
My name is Chris. If Defense Secretary Wilson hasn’t been got to already I need you to get an urgent message to him.
WILSON (To Johnson)
Is this a joke? One guy. Where’s their Command Centre?
Johnson shrugs.
CHRIS
You’re probably wondering if this is some kind of prank. I can assure you, it’s not.
I’m guessing it’s around 2015 give or take a few.
In 2020 the United World Embassy is going to approve a program called Digital Angels. You have to stop it.
You may have heard of it all ready.
Chris holds up a microchip for the camera. He turns it around.
CHRIS (CONT’D)
Digital Angels, that’s what they called them.
I’m told it was voluntary at first. Precautionary measures, microchip implants with GPS tracking.
Chris holds up his amputated arm.
CHRIS (CONT’D)
Bloody thing was entrenched in the bone.
Chris attaches a prosthetic arm.
CHRIS (CONT’D)
Secretary Jack Wilson he’s from the United World Embassy.
Johnson looks at Wilson.
CHRIS (CONT’D)
You need to get this message to him.
Make him see.
Chris stands up. He flicks on a torch that’s attached to the shoulder of his jacket. His torso covers the monitor as he picks up the camera.
The monitor reveals a low ceiling, dark arched corridor.
Chris moves down the corridor.
Torchlight bounces off crumbled stone walls.
Water can be heard dripping.
Chris’s footsteps are heard swishing through water.
Chris proceeds down the long corridor.
Chris stops. Waits.
A whirring sound can be heard then dissipates.
Chris moves forward.
He reaches an old iron door.
Using his body pushes it open.
CHRIS (O.S. )
Welcome to 3055.
Dilapidated buildings line a suburban street.
Rusted out cars, scattered, left abandoned.
Red tinged sky gives the appearance of daylight.
The air is dusty and settled dust covers everything.
Litter and debris is lying on the road and sidewalks.
Various slothful men are stood or sitting in the street in torn worn out clothes. They are dazed with vacant stares. Some raise their arms like stoned hippies in slow motion.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
It gets hot now. 30 degrees is a breeze here. I think they changed the ozone somehow. They prefer it warm.
Chris begins to walk down the street.
The slothful men continue to ignore him.
CHRIS (O.S.CONT’D)
It started with the propaganda wars,Syria.
Everybody was afraid of everybody. Implants became compulsory.
There were a few extremists who preached mark of the beast but no one wanted terrorists.
Chris moves around a slothful man stood in the middle of the sidewalk. He continues walking down the street.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
It must have seemed like a good deal.
Technology advanced.
Soon the Digital Angels were wired into the central nervous system.
That’s when it really started. Sickness became obsolete.
All the information you could ever need accessed in a Nano second.
(Disgusted)
Look at them now.
The slothful men around the street look up.
A man in silver/grey futuristic uniform further up the road crosses the street and stops. He’s a Software Application Dealer (App dealer).
The slothful men lift up their heads, turn towards the App Dealer, pick up their slothful paces and meander towards him.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
It wasn’t long before we didn’t need to eat.
It was a gamer’s paradise, virtual 3D
wired straight to the brain.
Drug dealers became App dealers. We didn’t need anything else.
But then it all changed.
Women became sterile and later there
were no women, just men.
The slothful men surround the App Dealer. Eager to score the latest app.
The App Dealer takes out a device from his pocket and begins to scan it over their right arms.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
Society began to break down.
No one did anything!
And then they came.
I heard in your time there had been speculation. Nuts scouring the web, looking for signs.
Lizard eyes. God if only they knew how close they were.
An overhead whirring sound is heard.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
(Rushed)
Tell Secretary Wilson he’s got to stop the Digital Angel Program before it’s too late.
The monitor Screen flickers and goes off.
INT. NEBRASKA STRATEGIC COMMAND CENTRE – MORNING
Johnson rubs the front of his forehead.
JOHNSON
(Shocked)
What the hell. Wilson, we need to tell the President.
WILSON
Not yet.
JOHNSON
But...
WILSON
(Stern voice)
I said, not yet.
JOHNSON
But it’s not going live til tomorrow.
WILSON
Just do your job General. Leave the rest to me.
Johnson stands facing Wilson looking defiant.
Wilson moves towards VHS recorder and reaches to press eject but the monitor screen comes back on.
Both Wilson and Johnson continue watching.
INT. NEBRASKA COMMAND CENTRE MONITOR– MORNING
Elevated position looking down over Washington
The sky is dark red.
Everything natural is singed by the sun. Dying or dead already.
CHRIS (O.S.)
Had to switch off. Drones!
It’s not safe up here during the day,
too exposed, but you need to see this.
Distant image of The White House. Brilliant white walls illuminated by lights on high wire fencing.
Hundreds of slothful men are scattered outside the fence, stood aimlessly.
Soldiers patrol the White House grounds and the fence perimeter.
CHRIS (O.S. CONT’D)
Slaves.
I’m not sure they’re really human anymore.
They monitor the population.
Track down Off Gridders like me.
By now you must be wondering why they
keep us alive.
No one knows.
Chris turns camera on himself.
CHRIS
You have to get this to Secretary Wilson. Digital Angels, it’s his thing.
He can stop this.
Make him see.
The screen goes black on the monitor.
Wilson retrieves the VHS out of the recorder.
He picks up a file from the counter and places the VHS inside.
WILSON
About your business Johnson.
JOHNSON
What? You’re gonna act like none of
this happened?
WILSON
But it hasn’t. First we need to be
sure this is legit. I’ll take care
of it.
JOHNSON
(obeying orders)
Yes Sir.
Johnson watches as Wilson leaves the command centre.
EXT. FRONT GARDEN – DAY
Johnson pulls up and parks his Ford Sedan on the driveway.
Thoughtful, he watches his young daughter, Meg, around six, playing sand castles in a sandpit on the front porch.
Megs spots him and runs down the path to greet him.
MEG
Daddy, Daddy you’re back.
Johnson gets out of car and lifts his young daughter in his arms. He walks up to the house. He glances back.
A black car has parked across the street.
He carries her into the house.
INT. DINING ROOM/KITCHEN – LATE EVENING
Johnson and his wife Helen, late-thirties, pretty, clear the dining table dishes.
Elvis Perkins in Dearland – Chains Chains Chains is playing on the radio.
HELEN
You’ve been quiet. Is everything ok?
JOHNSON
Yeh. It’s just work. I’ll be fine.
Johnson walks over to the door and turns back towards Helen.
JOHNSON (CONT’D)
Are you alright finishing up?
I just need to sort some work stuff.
HELEN
Sure but don’t be too late. We have to be at the implant station by nine.
JOHNSON
Can we not go? Can we just leave it a few days?
HELEN
Why?
JOHNSON
I just want to see how it goes before we take Meg.
Just in case there’s trouble down there.
HELEN
Is that likely?
JOHNSON
It’s possible. There’s protesters hanging around.
Johnson walks back and kisses Helen on the head.
JOHNSON (CONT’D)
It will blow over before long.
He then exits the room.
INT. STUDY – LATE EVENING.
Johnson’s study is filled with box files, large book cases and a desk. There are military and fishing photos on the walls.
Johnson switches a lamp on the desk off. The room is dark. A small slither of light filters from under the door.
Johnson goes over to the window.
EXT. STREET – LATE EVENING.
Black car parked across the street. Two seated shadows are outlined backlit from the streetlights coming on.
A person walks their dog across the street and up the road.
There is light rain.
INT. STUDY – LATE EVENING.
Johnson sits at his desk and flicks on the computer.
He logs into secure defence intranet and begins to search security files linked to Roswell and other alien related files. Most files indicate no security clearance, others accessed are blacked out.
He then watches various TV clips of Secretary Wilson giving TV interviews about Digital Angels.
Johnson uploads clips of Secretary Wilson to video editing software. He manipulates the clips, repeatedly slowing them down, rewinding and pausing them on Secretary Wilson’s face.
JOHNSON (to himself)
(Laughs)
This is ridiculous.
Johnson returns to the window.
EXT. STREET – JUST BEFORE DAWN
Empty spot where the black car had been.
Street lights still lit.
Thick rain bounces of the road.
INT. STUDY – DAWN
Relieved, Johnson turns. He goes back to the computer.
Johnson resumes screening video clips of Secretary Wilson.
He pauses the screen.
Secretary Wilson’s eyes, mid blink, look like yellow lizard eyes.
Johnson stands up. Shocked. He leans over the desk staring at the screen.
A red laser light shines across the room. Johnson spots it in the reflection on the monitor. He turns.
There is a snapping sound.
Johnson is shot and drops to the floor.
THE END