Here Rest Some Words

The quarter of a million words in this blog remain as a map of where I once was. I have written my way through seasons, shadows, astonishments—finding paths to unexpected places. Along the way I have spoken to silence, to strangers, to myself, and in return the page has offered its patient, constant listening, guiding me to this peaceful end.

Door 113

EXT. THE FIELD OF LONG GRASS – DAY

The sun filters through the leaves of a solitary oak tree, standing in a field of tall grass that undulates in the breeze.

JANE (early 30s), barefoot in a light summer dress, stands beneath the tree, gazing out over the grass. The sunlight passing through the leaves creates a shifting mosaic of warmth on her arms and face. She closes her eyes and sways gently with the rhythms around her.

In the distance, a dark outline of a man appears, silhouetted against the field. He approaches slowly, his figure faint and undefined.

GUY (O.S.): Jane.

Her trance-like state is broken and she opens her eyes.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

GUY’s eyes flicker open. He (early 30s) wakes up in bed, wearing hospital clothes, unsure of where he is. The room is dimly lit and quiet.

Disoriented, he looks around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The wall clock shows 1:13 a.m. – the second hand twitches, vibrating in place without advancing.

He looks into the shadows, straining to make out what’s there.

A barely noticeable human-shaped figure stands in a corner, almost blending into the darkness.

Guy strains to look at the figure. It gradually comes into more focus.

It’s a person. No, not quite. A human figure, yes, but off. It stands still, unnervingly calm.

The figure begins to move. Moving very slowly towards Guy.

It wears a black hood and a mask. The mask is an unsettling creation, covering its whole face, made of smooth, featureless material. Where eyes should be, there is an oblong digital screen.

The eye screen activates, displaying two simple smiley emojis glowing in the semi-darkness.

EMOJI MAN: “What is the meaning of life?” is the 404th most asked question of the Great Oracle’s Database.

GUY: Where am I?

EMOJI MAN: The right question is the answer. You are here.

GUY: Who am I?

EMOJI MAN: You are version 10-O-8-14. You are human.

GUY: How did I get here?

EMOJI MAN: You crossed the endless sea.

The Emoji Man’s eye-screen very briefly flickers an image of a distant man walking along a deserted beach, before returning to smiley emojis.

GUY: I don’t understand.

EMOJI MAN: You are a fragment of what you were.

Emoji Man pauses when he arrives beside Guy’s bed, then starts to pull back the sheets with a slow, deliberate motion.

EMOJI MAN: You will get out or die.

Guy tries to resist, but the Emoji Man’s grip on the sheets is unnaturally strong.

The creature steps closer and clamps down his gloved hand of six fingers on Guy’s throat with cold, unyielding force.

Guy gasps, his hands clawing at the mask, trying to pry himself free. The Emoji Man’s eyes, those glowing, unblinking smiley faces, remain locked on him, devoid of emotion or mercy.

With a desperate surge, Guy manages to twist his body and force himself loose from the grip, sliding out of the opposite side of the bed.

He scrambles to his feet, his breathing ragged, ready to defend himself. He stares at the creature, who now stands motionless.

The smiley emojis flicker, the digital screen glitching to red. The smiles become jagged, resembling snarling mouths full of sharp teeth. The distortion quickly snaps back to the original bright yellow smiley emojis.

Guy inches around the bed towards the door. The creature doesn’t react. Encouraged, Guy keeps going until he is within an arm’s reach of the door.

He glances back – the Emoji Man is still motionless. Guy’s hand reaches for the door handle. Just as his fingers touch it, the creature’s head snaps towards him. The smiley faces vanish, replaced by a blank, dark screen.

Guy throws the door open and rushes into the darkness beyond, slamming it shut behind him.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – DAY

Guy’s hospital room door opens. Jane enters and pauses in the doorway as she takes in the sight of Guy, who lies motionless in a coma.

The room is quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic beeping of a vital signs monitor and the faint inhale-exhale of a ventilator. Above his bed, a large wall-screen displays his detailed vital signs readings. In the bottom corner of the screen, “Corinthians Tech” is displayed, the letters glowing faintly with an electric blue hue.

On the bedside table, a smaller screen shows a happy photo of Guy, smiling on a sunny day at the beach. Beside it sits a small penguin soft toy, its once bright fabric dulled by time.

The room is shared, but the bed next to Guy’s remains empty, its sheets untouched. A door to a small, private toilet stands closed in the corner.

Jane enters, closes the door quietly, and approaches Guy’s bed. Leaning in, she kisses him gently on the forehead, lingering for a moment as if willing him to respond.

She then sits down on a chair beside his bed. Her hand reaches out to hold Guy’s, her fingers trembling slightly as they lay on top of his, seeking warmth in the cold stillness of his skin. Her eyes search his face for any sign of recognition.

JANE: It’s me. Jane. I’m here, just like I promised I’d be, every day, until you wake up.

The only answer is the steady beep of the monitor.

JANE: How are you today?

She adjusts his blanket, smoothing it over his chest with tender care.

JANE: They say time heals, but it’s more like I’ve got used to where the pain is pulling me.

(beat)

Guy, I live in a room of screen windows and doors… and none of them open.

The vital signs readings change slightly.

The movement grabs Jane’s attention – but she only notices a dull, anxious-looking reflection of herself on a dark background section of the screen.

JANE: Love is the determination to hold on to each other when everything else is trying to pull you apart.

(beat)

But I need a sign, something to show me you’re still in this with me. Please, Guy, fight to come back to me.

The vital signs on the wall-screen go blank. The life-support system falls silent.

JANE: Guy?

Jane frantically taps the wall-screen, and it slowly turns back on. The beeping and humming of the machines resume as if nothing had happened.

She taps an option on the screen for emergency assistance. LEXI’s (late thirties) face, calm and composed, appears beside the vital signs readings on the screen.

LEXI: Hello, what is the medical emergency?

JANE: It all turned off! The vital signs display went blank!

Lexi’s voice is smooth, almost too soothing, as if designed to placate; her expression neutral.

LEXI: There is no record of disruption to Guy’s life support and vital signs monitoring. There is no overall change in his condition.

JANE: It went blank. The life support stopped. Something went wrong!

LEXI: There is nothing to worry about, Jane.

JANE: That’s not right! I want someone to check it.

LEXI: Everything is okay, Jane. It looks like you’re upset. Would you like a cup of tea?

JANE: No, I don’t want a cup of tea! I want someone to check it.

LEXI: There is continuous system monitoring in place. I know this is very difficult for you. I recommend deep breaths and –

JANE: Shut up! Please?…

A red light activates on top of the screen.

LEXI: Okay Jane. I suggest you calm down.

(beat)

Are you being calm?

JANE: I… Yes! Yes, I’m being calm.

LEXI: Great. I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?

JANE: No.

LEXI: Okay Jane. Please remember to give us a feedback rating. A score of one-hundred-and-ten percent is most appreciated.

Lexi’s face disappears and a feedback form appears on the screen.

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. THE DARK CORRIDOR

Shallow breathing in complete darkness.

A beat.

Then – click – dim overhead lights flicker to life, one by one, stretching far into the distance.

Guy stands still, a silhouette in the faint glow.

Before him: a long, windowless corridor lined with closed doors. The walls are stained, the floor gleams faintly beneath the stuttering fluorescents. Empty. Oppressive. Endless.

From the nearest door ahead – a woman’s voice. Murmuring. Indistinct.

As he walks towards it, the sound grows louder. Still incoherent. Still wrong.

Then, as he reaches it –

Silence.

He knocks. Nothing.

He tries the handle. Locked.

He leans in, presses his ear to the door.

Not a whisper. Only the hum of dying light overhead in the sterile corridor.

INT. HOSPITAL WARD CORRIDOR – DAY

Jane leaves Guy’s room and begins to walk away towards a marked exit at the end of the hospital corridor. A visible sign on the wall reads “Guy’s Hospital”, the name of the London hospital.

As she passes an open door, she doesn’t notice Lexi standing inside, holding a paper cup of tea, staring at her.

When Jane has walked past the door…

LEXI (O.S.): Mrs Artin?

Jane stops. She turns back and approaches the open door. Lexi is standing exactly as before, as if she hadn’t moved at all.

Lexi holds out the paper cup.

LEXI: Would you like a cup of tea?

JANE: No. No thanks.

LEXI: (still holding out the tea) My name is Doctor Ellem. May I talk to you about Guy?

JANE: Are you a real person?

LEXI: As far as I know, yes.

Lexi awkwardly holds up an identity card hanging from her neck, negotiating the task while holding the cup.

The card clearly displays her credentials and the word “HUMAN” in bold letters, verifying her human status.

JANE: (still wary) Okay… The tea will be nice. Thanks.

Lexi passes over the cup, watching intently as Jane takes it. She waits for Jane to drink.

Jane takes a tentative sip from the rim of the cup.

LEXI: You were talking to my automation earlier – I saw the recording. Unfortunately, I can’t be everywhere at once.

JANE: Can you take a look at my husband, please?

A small, inconspicuous patch on Lexi’s ID card glows faintly.

LEXI: Jane… I need to show you something important about Guy.

JANE: What is it?

LEXI: Finish your tea and I can introduce you.

JANE: Introduce?

LEXI: Drink up.

Jane, slightly puzzled, takes a longer sip from the cup.

LEXI: That’s great! Well done. Now, follow me.

Lexi steps past Jane into the corridor.

Followed by Jane, Lexi walks towards Guy’s room, but then continues past it.

JANE: Where are you going?

LEXI: I can’t explain everything here. You’ll understand when you see for yourself.

Jane glances back at Guy’s door as they walk further down the corridor.

LEXI: I’m so glad you’re drinking your tea. It’s not so nice when it gets cold, is it?

Jane, bewildered by the obsession with tea, finishes the cup.

LEXI: You’re doing so well, Mrs Artin.

INT. HOSPITAL LIFT CORRIDOR – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Lexi and Jane round a corner. Ahead is a short corridor leading to a lift. Beside it, a screen on the wall displays the words “Restricted Access” in bold, red letters.

As they approach, the red text blinks for a moment before shifting to a large green tick, accompanied by an electronic chime.

LIFT: Hello, Doctor Ellem. Hello, Mrs Artin. Your access is approved.

The lift door slides open, revealing a metallic interior, with a ceiling that radiates a cold, white glow. Lexi steps inside without hesitation. As she crosses into the lift, the light within subtly deepens, shifting to a richer hue, as if acknowledging her entry.

Jane lingers at the threshold.

LEXI: (turning back)

Your access is approved.

Jane reluctantly decides to step inside. The lift light turns red as the door slides shut behind her.

INT. RESTRICTED LIFT – CONTINUOUS

The lift is a metallic box – featureless, with no buttons or indication of floors.

It begins its descent with Lexi and Jane inside.

JANE: There are no controls. Where are the floor numbers?

LEXI: It either goes up or down.

JANE: Which way are we going?

LEXI: Down.

JANE: Are we coming up again?

LEXI: When it’s time.

The lift descends a long way, disconcerting Jane.

JANE: What happens if there’s an emergency? If something breaks?

LEXI: God knows we are here.

Suddenly, the lift shudders, and the lights flicker, plunging them into a brief, complete darkness before light returns.

JANE: (panicking slightly) What was that?

Lexi’s face remains impassive, her posture unmoved.

LEXI: What was what?

JANE: The lights! They went off.

LEXI: There’s no need to be afraid of the dark, Jane. We’re almost there.

Finally, the lift stops at its destination.

The door slides open.

INT. BASEMENT CORRIDOR – CONTINUOUS

Jane follows Lexi into a stark, dimly lit corridor of closed doors.

A few metres along the corridor, a woman lies on a trolley pushed up against the wall. Her eyes, wide with fear, follow Jane and Lexi as they approach. The woman struggles to move and speak but is clearly unable to do more than twitch.

Lexi walks past without a glance, her face devoid of emotion. But Jane stops, concerned by the woman’s distress.

JANE: (to woman on trolley) Are you okay?

The woman looks terrified of Jane.

JANE: (to Lexi) Does she need help?

LEXI: She’s in the right place to receive help, Jane.

Jane reluctantly moves on and follows Lexi down the corridor.

WOMAN ON TROLLEY: (barely audible, voice strained) D… Don’t…

Her whispered warning is swallowed by the cold, echoing corridor. Neither Lexi nor Jane hear her.

Lexi quickens her pace, and Jane struggles to keep up, until Lexi suddenly halts in front of a door.

They have arrived at “Door 113”.

A woman’s voice can be heard very softly from the other side, singing a lullaby.

WOMAN SINGING BEHIND DOOR 113:

“In dreams, my darling, we’ll wander hand in hand,

Through magical realms, across a starlit land.

So hush now, my darling, and drift into the night,

Know that you are cherished, bathed in love’s pure light.”

JANE: Who’s that?

LEXI: You are hearing yourself.

JANE: I don’t understand.

LEXI: Beyond this door, truth takes form.

(beat)

Would you like to meet God, Mrs Artin?

JANE: Not right now.

An unbolting sound is heard and the door opens inwards, automatically.

LEXI: Well, G.O.D. wants to meet you.

INT. THE MIND ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Jane and Lexi enter a windowless room with a single high-back chair in the middle facing a large digital screen that covers the entire opposite wall. On the screen are the words, “Guy’s Operational Database (G.O.D.)”. Underneath it is the word, “Processing…”

The door automatically closes and bolts.

JANE: Where’s…?

LEXI: In this room, everything you see, everything you hear, is rendered by G.O.D.

The screen turns off – and they are immediately standing in the middle of deep space, surrounded by stars.

LEXI: It is a universal location adapter, designed to connect minds – your thoughts, your memories, and your subconscious.

The screen turns back on, but is now floating in the cosmic backdrop. It shows Lexi’s point of view as she looks at Jane.

JANE: It’s showing what you’re seeing, like a camera.

LEXI: Not just that.

Lexi closes her eyes. The screen briefly fades, then reappears, showing Jane again, but not quite as before. Her hair is tied back and she is wearing a hospital gown.

LEXI: (with eyes closed) This is my mind’s perception of you.

The stars fade away and they are both once again standing in the mind room.

JANE: I have better dress sense than that.

Jane adjusts her hair. The image on the screen mirrors her movements.

LEXI: This is a “mindsight” that I am projecting, as interpreted through the G.O.D.

Lexi’s voice now emanates from the screen, even though her lips remain still…

LEXI (via the screen): For a more complete experience, the mindsight can be projected directly to augmented reality eye lenses and ear receivers. And your cognitive state can be optimised through temporary neural enhancers. Would you like to try?

JANE: No.

The screen images shift, showing Lexi sitting in the high-backed chair, though the real chair in the room remains empty.

LEXI: (via her screen avatar) That’s a shame because you would see what I see and have more immediate access to the thoughts on the forefront of my mind.

Jane walks over and sits in the actual chair.

JANE: What if you have embarrassing thoughts? You want to show me all that?

Lexi opens her eyes. The light in the room brightens slightly, and the screen returns to her first-person view, as she stares intently at Jane.

LEXI: (from the room) It takes a bit of practice, but I can mostly control which thoughts I choose to focus on and send to you.

(beat)

If you give your consent, you can too.

JANE: No thanks.

LEXI: Jane, it’s so you can communicate with Guy.

JANE: What do you mean?

LEXI: There is a chance we can send your mindsight directly to his cerebrum. And project Guy’s mind activity back to you.

JANE: I can talk to him?

LEXI: We don’t know yet. But it’s the best chance you have.

The light in the room turns to a shade of reddy purple.

JANE: I’ve been talking to him every day…

LEXI: Jane, I’m sorry, but it’s highly unlikely that Guy is aware of you at his bedside each day. There’s been no responsive change in his diagnostics.

JANE: He did hear me. He responded to what I said, and you’ve done nothing except bring me down here.

LEXI: You mean the outage event and immediate backup system kicking in?

A beat.

JANE: It happened when I was asking him to respond – and he did.

Lexi considers this.

LEXI: Wouldn’t you like to ask him and find out, for sure?

JANE: (looking at the door to the room) Is that door locked?

LEXI: The door has to be secured for this to work. It’s for your own good.

Jane goes to the door and can’t open it.

JANE: (tugging at the door handle)

What’s wrong with you? Let me… let me out of here.

LEXI: Jane, I need this to work. For you, for Guy, and for the future of the God technology. This could help save lives – including Guy’s. Your husband’s delta waves have recently crossed over into the optimum subconscious state. Jane, it is now or never for Guy to wake up.

Jane has stopped pulling at the door.

JANE: You had said there was no record of change in his life support. But now – you just said there was! You’re lying to me.

Lexi turns away. The screen shows Guy in his coma.

LEXI: You do care about Guy, don’t you? We have only a small window of time before his neural activity becomes too faint.

JANE: (looking at the screen) That’s not him. You’re trying to trick me. Let me out, right now!

LEXI: There may be some disorientation and residual memory overlap. But without this, your chances of reaching Guy are almost zero.

On the screen, Guy opens his eyes.

The image distorts into a blur before coming back into focus.

GUY: (weak, struggling to focus) J… Jane?

Jane is stunned. She takes a hesitant step towards the screen.

JANE: Guy? Guy, it’s me!

Jane moves closer to the screen. Guy, groggy and weak, struggles to keep his eyes open… But he begins to close them again, slipping back into stillness.

The mind room door opens. Jane turns, catching a glimpse of Lexi slipping through it.

JANE: No!

But it’s too late – Lexi is gone. The door shuts and bolts.

The wall-screen displays flashing text next to Guy’s image:

TEST SUBJECT: 10-O-8-14

CONNECTION STABILITY: DEGRADING

STATUS: SIGNAL DRIFT APPROACHING IRREVERSIBLE LOSS

The screen suddenly goes blank, and with it, Guy disappears.

The light begins to dim relentlessly until the room is in complete darkness.

JANE: (subdued and scared) Help. Help me, please.

Total darkness.

Suddenly, a harsh spotlight beams down on her. She tries to shield her eyes.

LEXI: (O.S.) (from outside, calm, detached) Please relax. It will make the process much easier.

JANE: Why are you doing this to me? (a beat of silence) I don’t give you permission to do this!

LEXI: (O.S.) Reality doesn’t need your consent. Time is running out and you are not in a position to know what is best for you.

The light in the room turns back on.

LEXI: (O.S.) The following medication will help you.

A small compartment in the side wall opens, revealing a tray with a capsule and a small plastic cup of water.

JANE: I’m not sick. I won’t take it.

LEXI: (O.S.) You won’t be able to navigate the mindscape without it. Without it, you will remain here in darkness.

Jane picks up the capsule, and pretends to put it in her mouth before she swallows the water.

LEXI: (O.S.) Good. Now lie down.

A horizontal board slides out of the wall, topped with a slim mattress and pillow. Jane lies down on it.

LEXI: (O.S.) Do you have any questions?

JANE: What’s the point? You never answer them.

LEXI: (O.S.) I’m sorry you feel that way.

JANE: Will you let me out?

LEXI: (O.S.) When you’re ready.

The light turns off, plunging the room back into darkness.

After a brief, desperate silence…

VOICE 1: (O.S.) (whispering urgently) Did she take it?

VOICE 2: (O.S.) I don’t think so.

VOICE 3: (O.S.) She can hear us!

Three pairs of red eyes glow in the dark.

Jane’s terrified face is faintly illuminated by the red lights.

VOICES 1,2,3: (a cacophony of overlapping whispers) Take the medicine. Take your medicine, or stay in the dark.

Jane is still holding the capsule. The whispers grow louder, more chaotic.

She quickly places the pill in her mouth and swallows it.

The red eyes start to blur and morph into stars sitting in the blackness of space.

More stars emerge, creating the sensation of floating in the immensity of the cosmos.

EXT. MOONLIT BEACH – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

The scene transitions from the stars to a full moon cascading its light over a calm sea, like a faintly glowing path leading to the horizon’s edge.

Jane and Guy are lying next to each other on a beach looking up at the heavens. Guy has his eyes closed.

Jane notices Guy next to her. His face is serene, almost luminous in the moonlight.

Her fingers reach out and tighten around his arm, her touch both pleading and cautious, as if afraid he might shatter.

JANE: Guy. Guy!

She shakes him gently, but there is no response.

JANE: Guy.

(beat)

I have nowhere to go but here – talking, even though I’m not sure anyone is listening.

(beat)

So I’ve come here to find you… somewhere within your mind.

Guy remains silent.

INT. DARK CORRIDOR – NIGHT

Guy is rubbing his arm while moving cautiously down a dark, deserted hospital corridor of closed doors on either side. The overhead lights cast a weak, sickly yellow hue that barely pushes back the encroaching shadows. His footsteps echo in the oppressive quietness.

A steady, rhythmic drip of a thick, dark liquid falls from the ceiling into two metal buckets that sit near a dirt-stained wall. The liquid, a deep, crimson red, pools slowly in the bottom, the colour almost black in the dim light.

A sudden thump from behind one of the closed doors makes Guy flinch. He doesn’t wait for a repeat – he continues quickly down the corridor, away from whatever caused it.

As he walks, a bright light suddenly pierces the gloom, spilling out from an open door further down the corridor. Guy forces himself to move forward towards it.

Guy slowly edges around the doorway, squinting slightly at the intensity of the light, as he peers inside.

INT. RESTAURANT – NIGHT

Jane is pensively looking at her reflection in a mirror.

She wears a fitted navy blue sheath dress that falls just above the knee, standing in the reception of a high-end London restaurant.

She is wearing a delicate necklace, its centrepiece a luminous opal stone that rests below her collarbone, accentuating the graceful curve of her neck. The decor of the restaurant is minimalist, with clean lines and a cool, modern vibe.

A sudden buzz in her handbag jolts her; she pulls out the phone. The screen is blank white, except for the word “Processing…” displayed in the middle. She taps at it, but it does not respond. Slightly anxiously, she puts the device away.

As she does so, she is greeted by a smiling MAÎTRE D’, a slickly dressed man in his early forties, with an air of practised elegance. His eyes glisten with a slightly unnatural clarity.

MAÎTRE D’: Welcome to the V10. Do you have a reservation with us this evening?

JANE: I believe so, yes… For Jane Artin.

The Maître d’ does not avert his gaze. There is a brief, slightly too long pause, but his smile never wavers, its constancy slightly eerie.

He is wearing transparent “augmentation filters” over his eyes, resembling contact lenses, allowing him to check the booking through digital images projected into his field of vision.

MAÎTRE D’: Ah yes. We have your table ready for you. Would you like the evening recorded?

JANE: No… Wait. Is he here?

MAÎTRE D’: Of course. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll escort you to your table.

Jane hesitates, her anxiety visible.

MAÎTRE D’: Everything is fine. He’s looking splendid.

The Maître d’ heads off into the dining area and Jane follows.

Guy’s dishevelled face is visible through the restaurant window, peering in from outside.

INT. DINING AREA OF RESTAURANT – NIGHT

The Maître d’ and Jane approach a table amidst the soft hum of conversation.

Guy, this version of him looking impeccably dressed and handsome, stands as they arrive. He looks like the perfect date for Jane.

Jane takes in the sight of Guy with a conflict of emotions.

GUY: (getting to his feet) Jane! How great to see you.

MAÎTRE D’: Have a good evening.

The Maître d’ departs. Jane sits down. Guy sits too, unfazed by Jane’s lack of words.

GUY: You look wonderful tonight. That dress is absolutely beautiful.

Jane remains silent.

GUY: How was your journey?

JANE: How was yours?

GUY: I spent the time thinking about you and the moments we’ve shared together.

JANE: What were you thinking about me?

GUY: How much I was looking forward to seeing you again.

(beat)

Because I love you.

JANE: Okay, this is a bit creepy. You’re not him.

GUY: (smiling, slightly unnaturally) Should we move on to safer topics, like the weather?

JANE: Yes.

GUY: The weather is a complex and intriguing subject.

Jane notices a woman at a nearby table pick up a raw onion and bite into it as if it were an apple.

GUY: Take “thundersnow”, for example. It’s a rare event where a snowstorm has thunder and lightning. Thundersnow occurs when –

JANE: (interrupting) Please stop. I’m really not that interested.

GUY: I’m sorry.

(beat)

That dress really suits you, by the way. You’re looking very beautiful right now.

The waiter, ANTONIO, in his early 20s, arrives.

ANTONIO: Good evening. My name is Antonio, and I will be your server tonight. May I present you with our menus?

JANE: (half-heartedly) Hi.

He hands out the menus, giving special attention to Jane.

ANTONIO: (to Jane only) May I start you off with a drink? We have a great selection of fine wines, cocktails, and non-alcoholic beverages. I’d be happy to make recommendations if you’d like.

Antonio’s manner borders on a form of unwanted flirting, although Jane remains unresponsive.

JANE: I’ll have an Aperol Spritz to begin with, please.

ANTONIO: (smiling warmly) Excellent choice. Perfect for a beautiful evening like this.

JANE: Guy will have… (pauses, looks across at him)

GUY: An Aperol Spritz sounds perfect.

JANE: (to Antonio) Thank you.

The waiter leaves. They look at the menus.

JANE: What do you recommend?

GUY: They all look so great.

JANE: I think I might need something stronger than an Aperol Spritz.

GUY: How about a Martini? Shall I call over Antonio?

JANE: No. Can you just be quiet for a bit? (softly, almost to herself) I’m used to you being quiet.

GUY: How long would you like me to be quiet for?

JANE: (irritated) Five minutes.

Guy says nothing.

INT. RESTAURANT – NIGHT, LATER

Jane is picking at her desert as Guy happily eats his. She gives up on it, and as she does so, Guy also downs cutlery on his more eaten strudel.

She looks at her phone, which now has a stopwatch screen ticking up, currently at “01:13:13”.

GUY: I’ve missed this – us. Don’t you?

JANE: I’ve missed Guy.

GUY: Do you remember when we first came here?

JANE: (she’s visibly upset) Yes.

Guy nudges aside his plate and readies himself.

GUY: There’s so much I need to say, Jane. As we sit here in this beautiful setting, I can’t help but reflect on how lucky I am to have you in my life. Every moment we’ve shared, every laugh, every tear, has only deepened my feelings for you.

His phrases do not quite sound convincing, and Jane’s reactions are not entirely encouraging.

She notices a man sitting by himself on a table for two, intently looking at her. It is GUNTER, about the same age as Guy, and not very dissimilar in appearance. In front of him sits an untouched glass of wine.

Guy reaches across the table, gently touching Jane’s hand.

GUY: You bring so much joy and warmth into my world. Your kindness, your strength, and your unwavering support have made me a better man. I am constantly amazed by your beauty, both inside and out.

She withdraws her hand. Gunter is now drinking the wine.

GUY: I’ve realised that my days are brighter and my nights are happier because you’re by my side. I love you more than words can express, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.

Guy leans in closer.

GUY: Will you continue to be my partner, my confidant, and my lover? I can’t imagine a future without you.

She takes a moment before responding, glancing across at Gunter, who is now eating a meal.

JANE: I’m going now. You can come too.

GUY: I would go to the ends of the Earth to be with you.

JANE: That’s not necessary. My bedroom will do.

INT. HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM – NIGHT

A man, with his face completely covered in bandages, lies convulsing in a bed, his body jerking violently against restraints.

Guy is standing at the doorway of the dark corridor, peering into the room.

Standing over the convulsing patient, an Emoji Man moves in quick snaps, like a marionette controlled by invisible strings. Its hands, too quick and slightly jerky, press down on the man’s chest with robotic rhythm.

With every press, a thick, viscous liquid – dark crimson and oily – travels slowly through a transparent tube inserted through the man’s head bandages. The liquid winds its way up and down, finally dripping into a dirty coffee cup placed on a side table. Each drop falls with an unsettling, amplified plop.

The man’s breath rasps beneath the bandages, muffled and strained, punctuated with laboured gasps. The convulsions gradually slow before his legs finally go limp. The last drop of the dark-crimson liquid falls into the cup.

The Emoji Man straightens, its head tilting slightly. The screen, where its eyes should be, flicker momentarily as if processing.

Slowly, the Emoji Man turns its unnerving, smiley-face stare towards Guy.

EMOJI MAN: Life extracted, purpose fulfilled.

A brief, glitching flash of static crosses its eye-screen before the display returns to the fixed smiley faces.

INT. JANE’S SPACIOUS BEDROOM – NIGHT

Jane enters a spacious bedroom followed by Guy, who shuts the door.

They look at each other in silence.

JANE: I don’t think I should do this.

GUY: Why not?

JANE: Because I love Guy.

GUY: I am Guy, tonight.

Jane kisses him, but her eyes open mid-kiss. She breaks off, taking a step back.

JANE: This is weird.

GUY: How weird do you want me to be?

JANE: Stop trying to do everything I want. Stop agreeing with everything I say. Guy didn’t do that.

GUY: You want me to not do what you want?

Jane searches his face for anything real.

JANE: No. You don’t understand.

GUY: Yes I do. I love you.

After a short pause…

JANE: Can you take off your clothes, please?

GUY: No.

(beat)

You first?

Jane is unsure of what to do.

GUY: Maybe I don’t want to be like Guy. Maybe I want to be myself.

(beat)

I’m here for you, Jane. We can take this one step at a time.

She kisses him again.

JANE: What good is love if it’s only real when I close my eyes?

She closes her eyes and starts to undress him.

Jane pulls away and moves towards the bed. She reaches behind her neck and removes the delicate gold necklace with the luminous opal stone, which catches the light. She places it gently in a drawer of a bedside table.

Jane undresses, tentatively, focusing on the bed rather than Guy.

She gets into bed. He removes the rest of his clothes and joins her.

They start to engage in unpassionate mission position sex.

JANE: Move on your back.

He stops and rolls over. She moves on top and engages.

JANE: Close your eyes.

Guy closes his eyes and she starts to get more into the activities.

But Jane looks increasingly anguished while looking at him lying there and breaks off.

She turns over, away from Guy.

GUY: Is everything okay, Jane.

JANE: No, everything is not okay. (upset) Why did you leave me?

GUY: I haven’t left you.

JANE: Stop it, will you! Just stop it!

GUY: I don’t understand. I’m here now.

JANE: You aren’t here! I love you, I need you here, but you aren’t!

(beat)

Penguin-one-one-three.

GUY: (almost robotically) Password accepted.

JANE: Deactivate. Please.

For a brief moment, Guy’s eyes seem to hold a spark of recognition before they dim to lifelessness. He lies there motionless and dead-eyed.

JANE: Close your eyes, please.

His eyes snap shut.

Jane watches him. She gets out of bed while still looking at him.

Standing beside the bed, Jane’s eyes turn black.

She reaches up and removes two augmentation filters that had been covering her eyes. The filters glow faintly in her hand.

JANE: (whispering to herself) I’m sorry.

INT. JANE’S NON-AUGMENTED BEDROOM – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

The bedroom is not as spacious as before. Lying in the bed is a non-realistic humanoid robot.

Jane sits down on the edge of the bed with her back to the robot.

JANE: What’s the charge?

The robot’s eyes open.

ROBOT: 1,066 debits for the evening experience has been paid from your account.

JANE: The voice was accurate but the personality wasn’t. You weren’t him.

ROBOT: I’m sorry that we did not exceed your expectations. Your emotional comfort is our priority.

JANE: Go to sleep now, please.

The robot closes its eyes and simulates sleeping.

Jane returns to bed, wrapping the duvet close to her in the foetal position, but too lost in thought to sleep.

The robot begins to snore softly.

JANE: Stop that.

The robot stops snoring, but gives off a soft electrical hum instead.

JANE: (whispering) I miss you, Guy.

ROBOT: I miss you too, Jane.

(beat)

We are always here for you.

INT. JANE’S NON-AUGMENTED BEDROOM – MORNING

Digital blinds embedded within the window open slightly to allow some morning light to filter through.

Jane is still awake, curled up in the same foetal position as before.

She looks at the robot beside her. It opens its eyes suddenly and turns its head to face her, the movements unnerving.

ROBOT: Good morning, Jane.

Jane is slightly taken aback.

ROBOT: What shall we do today? You have booked me for 24 hours.

JANE: Just stay there.

ROBOT: Very well. I shall stay here and return to the agency at the allotted time.

Jane gets out of bed. She pulls the duvet over the robot’s head, so she doesn’t have to look at it any more.

She takes the necklace out of the bedside table drawer and puts it carefully around her neck, feeling the familiar weight.

ROBOT: (muffled, from under the duvet) Jane? I have something to say to you.

After some reluctance, she pulls back the duvet from the robot’s head.

A small red light blinks on its temple.

ROBOT: I’ve become quite the conversationalist, haven’t I? Speaking into the void, filling the silence with words. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You talk, even if it’s just to the walls, because the alternative is silence, and the silence is unbearable.

JANE: That’s… You’ve been recording me!

Jane is unsettled by the robot’s words. She quickly returns the duvet over its head.

INT. DARK CORRIDOR – NIGHT

Guy moves quickly away from the emergency room, down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps loudly echoing.

He makes some distance before the Emoji Man steps into the corridor – its head snaps around in Guy’s direction with an unnervingly swift motion.

Guy turns around – as he is backing away, he sees the Emoji Man motionless, its glowing screen eyes staring directly at him.

He resumes his direction of escape, quickening his pace – a low, rhythmic thrum begins to resonate from the walls.

As he hurries along, the walls of the corridor become mirrors, showing his reflections.

He passes in the mirrors two motionless figures, barely distinguishable from the shadows of reflections. As he passes them, the figures move forward, seemingly through the mirrors on either side, revealing themselves as Emoji Men. Their screens activate and glow, displaying red crosses for eyes, locked onto him.

Guy has broken into a run. He reaches the end of the corridor and slams his hand against the controls of a lift – but they remain lifeless, unresponsive to his desperate attempts.

He tries the immediate door near him – it is locked. He’s trapped.

He turns to face his pursuers, who walk steadily towards him. The two Emoji Men stop a few feet away and stand still, their unblinking stares fixed on him.

The smiley-screen Emoji Man appears behind them, pushing a wheelchair that squeaks with each turn of its wheels, rolling towards Guy.

SMILEY EMOJI MAN: Patient must sit, so sit.

EMOJI MEN: (their voices merging) Sit.

Guy has no option. He lowers himself into the chair.

An Emoji Man holds out a coffee cup, which is full of a thick, dark liquid. Guy compliantly takes the cup in both hands.

The lift door opens, revealing an interior bathed in red light. Guy is wheeled inside. The Emoji Men’s glowing red eyes are the final thing Guy sees before the door slides shut, sealing him in.

The two figures dissolve back into the shadows, their glowing screens the last to vanish.

The corridor is left silent and empty.

INT. JANE’S LIVING ROOM – DAY

Jane is looking at a smiling photo of Guy. Her living room is sparsely furnished and quiet except for the ticking of a cuckoo clock hanging on a wall.

She is sitting on a sofa facing an empty wall, her expression distant. Her hand rests on two upturned photo frames – one silver, one grey – lying in an empty space beside her.

She places the photo back under the grey photo frame. Her hand then moves over to the silver one, and lingers there, but she doesn’t look underneath.

The empty wall suddenly flickers and turns on like a digital screen, showing Jane’s face in close-up.

The view on the wall-screen slowly pulls back, revealing a mirror image of Jane sitting on the sofa. Her reflection looks just as she does, except for one startling difference: Guy is sitting at the other end of the sofa, directly looking at her via the screen.

JANE: Guy?

The image of Guy on the screen smiles gently, but his face has a ghostly quality.

After a few moments…

JANE: I used to love moments of quiet, but now it’s a constant reminder.

She looks in the direction of where Guy would be on the sofa.

JANE: I talk to you, to the empty space on the sofa.

Guy turns to face Jane’s mirror image on the screen, as if it is a reflection of him sitting on the sofa.

JANE: They say grief is the price we pay, but no one warns about the crushing weight of it.

She looks down at the upturned photo frames.

She turns over the silver photo frame. It is a photo of her smiling 7-year-old daughter, EMMA.

The wall-screen flickers, the image wavering before it fades away, returning to an empty, lifeless wall.

The only sound is the ticking of the clock.

INT. HOSPITAL LIFT

Guy sits in a wheelchair, clutching the coffee cup. The smiley-eyed Emoji Man looms behind him, its screen eyes flickering slowly and unevenly, out of sync with each other.

The lift, illuminated with red light, hums as it descends from floor -1, the number starkly displayed on a door-screen. The walls slowly morph as the lift journeys downwards, transforming into glass looking out into deep space filled with distant stars. It travels past floor -15.

GUY: Where are you taking me?

The Emoji Man’s screen eyes pulse like Guy’s elevated heart rate.

EMOJI MAN: The patient’s memory is undefined. Therefore, drink.

GUY: The man… is he dead?

EMOJI MAN: The surrogate contained memories. Therefore, drink.

A soft, almost imperceptible whisper seeps through the walls…

WALL VOICE: Drink.

The lift jolts as it arrives at floor -113. The glass walls instantly change to sheets of metal.

But the door remains sealed.

EMOJI MAN: Therefore, drink? Or, therefore, stay?

Guy looks into the cup and is repulsed. His hands are shaking, causing the surface to ripple with a thick, dark sheen.

He raises the cup to his lips, pausing as the noxious smell wafts up.

GUY: I can’t… I don’t want his memories.

The lift door slides open to reveal pitch-black darkness.

A sudden rush of cool air hits Guy’s face.

EMOJI MAN: Error set at existence equals zero.

Guy brings the cup to his mouth and forces himself to drink. As the liquid hits his tongue, the pungency causes him to recoil. He grimaces at the bad taste but continues to drink.

The wind subsides and the darkness ahead begins to flicker with fluorescent lights stuttering to life – one by one, revealing another sterile corridor of doors.

As the corridor stretches ahead, it seems to bend slightly, undulating up and down, and coiling from side to side, like the movements of a snake.

INT. A LONDON BUS – DAY

Bus doors hiss to a close. A busy London bus pulls away from a stop.

Jane is looking out of a window on a grey and damp scene outside. She notices a mother and her young daughter walking along the street together.

Her phone rings, snapping her attention away. It displays the caller, “GUY AI”. She hesitates for a moment before reluctantly answering.

JANE: (subdued) Hello.

An advert for “Never Alone: AI Companions for Life” appears, digitally superimposed on her window.

GUY AI: (O.S.) Hi Jane. It was great to see you last night. How’s your day going?

JANE: Don’t ring again.

GUY AI: (O.S.) Understood, Jane.

JANE: (anticipating his leaving) Wait.

GUY AI: (O.S.) Yes?

JANE: Don’t go.

GUY AI: (O.S.) Okay. You’re sounding a little upset, Jane. I wish I was there with you, to be with you, to hold you, to tell you, “Everything’s going to be alright”.

JANE: Yes. I would like that.

GUY AI: (O.S.) Would you like me to come over again tonight?

JANE: No. Don’t ring again.

Jane hangs up abruptly, and the advert disappears.

She tries to hide her tears, but fails.

A woman sitting next to her notices Jane’s distress, with concern.

CONCERNED PASSENGER: Are you okay?

Jane nods, manages a half-smile, and turns away to look out of her window, as the grey cityscape blurs past.

The bus pulls into a stop. The doors open and passengers begin to move off and on.

GUY: (O.S.) Are you okay?

She turns to see Guy now sitting next to her.

Alarmed and disoriented, she scrambles to her feet away from Guy, pushing past other passengers. The bus doors start to close, and she slips through them just in time, stumbling onto the pavement outside.

EXT. BUS STOP – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Faint graffiti on the bus stop sign reads: “GOD is watching”. Breathing heavily next to it, Jane stares at the bus as it pulls away.

There is no sight of Guy. In his place sits the concerned passenger staring out at her as she passes by.

EXT. OUTSIDE “GUY’S HOSPITAL” – DAY

Jane, slightly dishevelled after a long, damp walk, approaches “Guy’s Hospital” in London. The name of the hospital is displayed in large letters on the front of the building.

An ambulance siren can be heard in the distance, gradually getting nearer.

A hooded man sits motionless, slouched against a side wall, with a hunched posture that makes him appear more statue than alive. His face is hidden in the shadow of his hood. Beside him, a digital donation screen displays, “What is the meaning of life?”

Jane reads the message and the screen changes to: “1d for a cup of tea”.

She stops and stares at the screen. It changes again: “Pay 1 Debit?”

She briefly considers the question, then nods. The screen instantly updates with a blue tick and a message: “You have paid 1 Debit to “#Registered_Street_Dweller42”.

The hooded man remains motionless, his head still slightly bowed. As the ambulance siren continues to get louder in the background, the screen flickers briefly, “Remember the past” – then goes blank.

HOODED MAN: Forgive, and it shall be forgiven of you.

The man looks up. His eyes are covered by an oblong mirror showing a slightly distorted reflection of Jane.

HOODED MAN: Enjoy your tea.

JANE: I don’t want any tea. It’s for you.

The ambulance siren stops.

The hooded man lowers his head again, obscuring his face, and resumes his motionless sitting.

Jane is confused by the situation and walks away – but, lost in thought, is almost knocked over by a paramedic rushing a patient on a trolley into the hospital. She narrowly stops walking in time to see the patient wheeled by, unrecognisable beneath the heavy bandaging of a head wound.

She follows behind, entering through the front doors.

The hooded man’s donation screen returns to: “What is the meaning of life?”

Underneath it is displayed: “Processing…”

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – DAY

Jane walks through a busy hospital corridor.

A young mother tries to calm her crying baby in a nearby waiting area. A nurse passes by, pushing a wheelchair occupied by a frail, elderly man. Jane knows where she is going and is inured to the scene around her.

INT. THE MIND CORRIDOR

The Emoji Man pushes Guy’s wheelchair forwards from the lift, the wheels echoing as they roll down the corridor – leaving a continuous trail of wheel tracks behind them on the floor.

The corridor has straightened. Its walls flicker for a brief moment, showing what looks like a forest before snapping back to the sterile hallway.

EMOJI MAN: Memory or void – choose, but quickly.

GUY: I still can’t remember anything.

EMOJI MAN: Come to terms to find a way. Or, therefore, remain void.

They pass a door marked “113”, the same number as Jane’s room, yet the door and corridor look different from Jane’s experience. The door hums slightly as they pass by.

The next door along is also 113. And another. Every door is numbered 113.

EMOJI MAN: The procedure has resolved.

The wheelchair halts abruptly next to a door 113, the wheels click and lock.

The corridor darkens, swallowing light, its matte walls reflect nothingness, while the door 113 blazes with an unnatural, sterile brilliance.

The Emoji Man, and wheelchaired Guy swivel around to face the door, as if the floor beneath them is revolving.

The door opens inwards, revealing a blinding white light on the other side, unaffecting the Emoji Man, but forcing Guy to squint to shield his eyes. Guy presses his hands against the armrests, bracing himself for whatever lies beyond.

The wheelchair moves on its own, carrying Guy into the light.

The Emoji Man remains motionless in the corridor as the door slowly closes, bolting shut with a final, metallic thud.

INT. HOSPITAL WARD RECEPTION DESK – DAY

Jane approaches a reception desk in a hospital ward. A whirling noise starts up, and from beneath the desk a hovering DRONE NURSE rises, the digital front-display screen on its frame lighting up to show a smiling human avatar.

DRONE NURSE: (soothing tone) Hello, Jane. Thank you for visiting today. How may I assist you?

The soothing synthetic voice contrasts with the frantic whirling noise made by its propellers.

JANE: Can I go through?

DRONE NURSE: Yes, of course. You are visitor number one today.

JANE: Everything okay?

DRONE NURSE: Yes, there has been no change since your visit yesterday. Would you like to turn on hospital notifications to keep you more up-to-date?

JANE: Not now.

Jane walks on past the desk, her mind on the destination.

The drone nurse starts to follow her.

DRONE NURSE: Understood, Jane. Emergency alerts only, for now.

(beat)

Jane, would you like your visit recorded? We currently have a limited-time special offer on an augmented visual experience that fully captures your moments for posterity.

JANE: (irritated) No.

DRONE NURSE: Understood, Jane.

(beat)

After your visit, please can you provide feedback on your service experience? We didn’t receive feedback on your previous five visits. It’s important for us to continuously improve our level of care.

JANE: My feedback is, “please go away”.

The drone hovers for a moment, it’s smile still holding.

DRONE NURSE: Understood. Have a good visit, Jane.

The drone nurse flies back to the ward desk, its display dimming.

Jane walks on past a couple of open doors before arriving at the room she’s journeyed for.

She pauses briefly at the open doorway, steadying herself as she looks at the scene inside.

INT. GUY’S MIND ROOM

Guy sits in a wheelchair, holding his coffee cup in the middle of a room of white digital screens that extend across the entirety of the ceiling, floor, and four walls.

At the top of the main wall-screen in front of him, the word “G.O.D.” flickers into existence. Underneath it, “Question 404” glitches momentarily before settling into place.

Words begin to form in the middle of the screen, as if they are being handwritten.

They read: “What is the meaning of life?”

GUY: Who are you?

The handwritten words respond: “I am”.

The screen clears and the word is written: “You”.

The room’s screens begin to darken in patches, bleeding through like ink spots spreading across paper, gradually dimming the bright light to darkness.

Out of the void, stars appear and shimmer softly, at first just pinpricks of light, then gradually brightening.

The front wall-screen transitions to stars reflecting off a calm sea, with the silver curve of a full moon rising over the horizon. A sandy beach is at the forefront, bathed in moonlight, as the gentle sound of waves lap against the shore.

Lying on the sand, looking up at the heavens, is Jane.

Guy rises from the wheelchair, his legs trembling with the first step.

He hovers at the edge of the screen, at the liminal space between the room and the moonlit sands.

EXT. MOONLIT BEACH – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

Guy walks through the screen onto the beach.

The coffee cup slips from his fingers, embedding itself in the sand, its remaining dark liquid soaking into the grains and vanishing.

He approaches Jane and lies down beside her.

For a moment, they are both looking at the infinite sky above, sharing a silent connection.

A single tear traces down Jane’s cheek, catching the moonlight before disappearing into the shadow beneath her chin.

After a few more breaths, Jane slowly rises. She walks along the beach, with Guy watching her go.

Jane pauses a dozen or so metres away. She picks up a small hair ribbon in the sand and stares at it in her hand.

She turns back to look at Guy. The starlight reflects in her eyes, making them glisten with a mysterious, otherworldly shimmer.

A close-up of Jane’s face pulls out to reveal…

EXT. THE FIELD OF LONG GRASS – DAY, CONTINUOUS

Jane is looking at Guy from across a field of long grass.

The backdrop of night has transitioned into the brightness of a summer’s day. The moonlit beach has dissolved into the field of long grass swaying in a breeze. The gentle sound of waves is replaced by a soft rustling of the grass.

Guy approaches and stands close to her.

GUY: Jane.

Jane’s hand hovers for a moment, the weight of past pain evident in the slight tremble before she reaches for his.

She takes his hand. Together, they walk through the grass.

The long grass bows slightly with each step, creating a soft, rustling path that closes behind them.

They arrive at a solitary oak tree.

EXT. UNDER AN OAK TREE IN A FIELD – DAY, CONTINUOUS

A patch of the oak’s bark has the faint inscription, “10/08/14”. Jane’s fingertips linger on it.

Under the tree, Guy and Jane make love.

—

Post-coitally, they lie together in each other’s arms, cradled beneath the oak.

Jane is still wearing her opal necklace. She reaches out to touch Guy’s face. Her fingers trace the line of his jaw, caressing the shape of him.

JANE: Guy.

A wind stirs the branches, dappling shadows across their bodies as the leaves sway and dance above them.

Thunder rumbles far away.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

Guy is in a coma in his hospital room.

Gunter sticks an arm out from under the bed, then his head emerges. He crawls out and gets to his feet, standing over the bed with his shadow lying across Guy’s supine body.

He glares at Guy and then starts tapping randomly at the vital signs monitor.

GUNTER: What happens if I press the off switch?

The monitor emits a confused beep as Gunter’s fingers press random buttons on the machine. The wall-screen momentarily flickers.

GUNTER: Sorry buddy, I didn’t catch that. You need to speak up.

(beat)

Oh, I forgot!

Gunter reaches under the bed and pulls out a slightly crumpled bouquet of flowers with wilted, browning petals.

A sudden high-pitched beep from the monitor surprises Gunter and makes him snap his head back to Guy.

GUNTER: Some people at work got you this. I was volunteered to bring it to you – me being your best work colleague, having to sit next to you for six tedious years.

(beat)

I’m sure they’d visit you, only you’re not very interesting like this.

He drops the flowers on Guy’s stomach.

GUNTER: So, just checking in on my buddy. You do know you’re dead, don’t you?

He balances the penguin soft toy on Guy’s head.

GUNTER: All good here.

He goes and lies down on the next bed along.

GUNTER: I wonder what’s on the menu today. (looking up at the ceiling) Jane was looking pretty nice today, wasn’t she?

EXT. UNDER AN OAK TREE IN A FIELD – DAY

Guy and Jane lie curled up together despite a light drizzle beginning around them.

A phone rings faintly, breaking the moment – it’s coming from a pocket of Guy’s discarded jeans.

He gets up and takes out the phone, glancing at the screen – “404”.

GUY: Hello?

GUNTER: (O.S.) (from Guy’s phone) Are you here with me?

A strange, unnatural stillness settles over the field, the breeze suddenly silent. The light in the field subtly shifts from warm and golden to a dull hue – the sun’s warmth drains from the sky, casting the field in a muted, washed-out tone.

Guy turns around. The spot where Jane had been lying under the tree is empty.

GUY: (to the phone) Who are you?

The phone screen glitches momentarily, displaying “Jane not found”, before the call disconnects with a hollow beep.

Guy frantically looks around the tree, his eyes scanning the field, but there’s no trace of her.

GUY: (calling out) JANE!

No answer is returned from the field.

He slumps down forlornly, his back against the trunk of the oak tree.

He spots Jane’s necklace next to him. He holds it up and looks at it. As he does so, in the background something stirs in the blur – he refocuses and notices an object poking out of the long grass. It’s an Emoji Man’s head, motionless and staring at him, with red zeros for eyes.

Guy scrambles to gather his things. He turns to leave and move away… but straight into another Emoji Man – a man with green ticks for eyes, blocking his path.

TICK EMOJI MAN: 404 – initiation incomplete.

A third Emoji Man, with an entirely blank screen face, has emerged from the grass and rolls a wheelchair towards Guy.

Guy’s vision wavers, blurring the images around him.

GUY: I need to find her.

TICK EMOJI MAN: Home is the end.

BLANK EMOJI MAN: (with Jane’s voice) Guy.

Guy is drawn to the familiar voice.

BLANK EMOJI MAN: (shifting to a mechanical tone) Sit.

TICK EMOJI MAN: Home is nowhere and nowhere is here.

Guy sits in the wheelchair with his clothes in his lap. The opal necklace is tightly grasped within his fingers.

The blank Emoji Man wheels Guy away, disappearing into the long grass that stretches out before them.

A distant, discordant melody begins to build as the vast expanse of grass stretches out endlessly, unmarred by roads or paths.

INT. GUY’S MIND ROOM

The Emoji Man pushes the wheelchair containing Guy, back from the countryside into the mind room, emerging through the wall-screen as if it is all part of the same space. Guy is still holding his clothes in his lap.

After they enter the room, the walls, ceiling, and floor screens all turn to white before filling with a random pattern of 1’s and 0’s. A fleeting image of Jane is displayed on a side wall-screen within the binary pattern.

At the centre of the floor-screen, the binary code begins to part. In its place, a large, dark rectangle emerges, directly in front of Guy in his wheelchair.

EMOJI MAN: (in a flat, bland tone) The meaning of life is a profound and multifaceted question that has intrigued humanity for centuries.

With a sudden, casual motion, the Emoji Man tips the wheelchair forward. Guy tumbles out, falling headlong into the void of the rectangle.

But instead of plunging into nothingness, he lands on a mattress at the bottom of what now appears to be a rectangular pit. The clothes he was holding are scattered from his fall around and over him.

Guy looks up, dazed, as the Emoji Man peers down at him, expressionless.

Slowly, a steel board begins to slide across the opening, gradually closing him in. The mind room flashes red.

EMOJI MAN: Ultimately, the meaning of life is deeply personal and subjective, varying greatly from one individual to another based on their experiences, values, and worldview.

The last remnant of light disappears as the board seals the pit shut, leaving Guy alone in the darkness.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane’s sleep bench is protruding from a wall-screen that displays a solitary oak tree in a field. The other screens depict countryside scenes of fields and trees with a blue sky and green grass underfoot.

She reaches out to the screen. It responds to her touch, shimmering with faint, silvery vibrations. As she pulls her hand away, the screen settles back to stillness.

The sky darkens and the light from the screens becomes dimmer, taking on the soft shades of twilight.

She stands, the grass depicted on the floor-screen beneath her bare feet looking soft and cool. She walks towards the main wall-screen that shows a large, empty field of long grass, swaying gently in a breeze.

She presses herself up against the screen, and closes her eyes, the palms of her hands spread out on its surface.

Her shoulders tense as she presses against the screen, as if willing herself into the field beyond.

JANE: (whispering) Let me in.

She hears the faint sound of rustling grass and a soft breeze on her face.

EXT. THE FIELD OF LONG GRASS – TWILIGHT

Jane is standing in the field, the tall blades of grass brushing against her hands.

A drone rises from the grass and hovers in front of her. A light on its frame is flashing red.

The avatar displayed on its front screen is Lexi.

LEXI: Stay with him, Jane.

The drone rises higher and slowly moves away. Jane follows its direction, until, in the midst of the field, she sees Guy’s hospital bed.

The grass around the bed is flattened. Beside it are the familiar hospital chair and bedside table, the penguin soft toy perched on the edge, and the photo screen glowing faintly in the twilight.

Jane sits in the chair, staring at Guy’s still form.

Her eyes drift to the penguin on the bedside table. For a moment, she reaches towards it but then stops herself.

JANE: I can’t do this.

She stands, ready to leave.

The drone falls rapidly from the sky into the grass. Lexi appears from the tall grass from where it landed – on the other side of Guy’s bed, emerging with an unsettling smoothness.

LEXI: Your words might be the lifeline that guides him back.

Jane turns slowly and begins to leave, taking a hesitant step away.

LEXI: (from the photo screen) Keep trying, Jane!

Jane looks back at Guy, his still form lying motionless on the bed.

INT. THE WORK PIT

It’s pitch black. The only sound is Guy’s breathing.

A sudden buzz cuts through the darkness like a faulty fluorescent light flickering on.

Surrounding wall-screens are activated, casting a glow over Guy’s prostrate form, revealing he’s in a cramped, single-bed-sized space.

Guy frantically looks around. He’s lying on a thin mattress, hemmed in by four wall-screens, all displaying sterile views of an empty, open-plan office.

Half-way down the left wall-screen, a blue superimposed square floats, labelled “Toilet” with a smiley emoji hovering above it. The right wall-screen mirrors this, but with a blue circle marked “Food & Drink”, topped by a thumbs-up emoji.

The ceiling screen activates. On it, Lexi appears, framed against a chroma-key green backdrop, smiling with unsettling enthusiasm. She’s dressed in a sharp suit, clipboard in hand, her expression vapid and artificial.

The ceiling screen begins to slowly lower. The descending green light casts a sickly shade across Guy’s face.

As the ceiling descends, Lexi talks, as if she is a recording. Her voice is unnervingly chipper, now tinged with an American accent.

LEXI: Congratulations on becoming an essential component of the Corinthians Tech family – a family that’s constantly evolving while remaining steadfastly the same!

Suddenly, a burst of canned whoops and applause blares.

The jarring sound cuts off as abruptly as it began.

LEXI: You’re about to embark on a journey of empowerment where stability meets change, and consistency is redefined daily. We operate in a space where being a leader means following, and thinking inside the box is the best way to think outside of it.

Guy pushes desperately at the walls, his movements frantic, but the screens are unyielding. The ceiling inches closer, Lexi’s image looming.

LEXI: As you step into your role, remember that you’re not just joining a team; you’re becoming part of our multi-dimensional, cross-collaborative family network.

Guy has no choice but to watch in horror as Lexi’s banal, contradictory platitudes continue – the absurdity of her words contrasting with the desperate, inescapable reality of his entrapment.

LEXI: In this family, we value individuality, but remember: we’re all the same here. Together, we’ll create the impossible by sticking to what’s tried and true, flying high while keeping our feet on the ground.

The ceiling stops a metre above Guy’s face, trapping him in a coffin pit of corporate doublethink. Lexi’s unsettling smile never falters.

LEXI: Don’t forget to familiarise yourself with our corporate ecosystem – from our value-centric mission statements to our best-in-class operational frameworks. Together, as a family, we’ll build a future where success is not just a goal, but a lifestyle. We encourage you to align with our vision and to remain efficient. Our core value is: innovation begins when compliance is absolute.

Lexi smiles brutally. At Guy’s feet, a large square icon blinks onto the screen, reading “Waste Efficiencies”, with a heart emoji above it.

A slogan appears on the wall-screen behind his head: “Connecting Ideas, Creating Value. Excellence in Every Step”.

Lexi fades into the green of the ceiling screen. In her place is featured a single blue “Start” button.

The ceiling begins to lower further towards Guy. It stops – within touching distance.

Disconcerted, Guy reaches out and touches the button. It does not respond first time.

He presses again. This time, ten spinning dials appear in a row above the button, each dial whirling through a sequence of one-digit numbers. The “Start” button caption changes to “Stop”.

After some hesitation, Guy touches the button. The dials stop and flash. Above the now stationary ten-digit number, words appear:

“Good job! Your score for today is: 1”.

After a brief pause, the words disappear and the numbers start whizzing around again.

Guy lowers his hand and looks around at his predicament.

A sharp beeping sound is heard. The ceiling screen’s corners display a number counting down from 10, captioned “Waste Efficiency Alert”.

Guy watches the number descend. 9… 8… 7…

When it reaches 0, the screen’s backdrop shifts from green to red. New words appear above the spinning dials:

“Is the number generated yet?”

At his feet, the large Waste Efficiencies icon flashes red.

Guy quickly presses the “Stop” button.

The dials halt once more and the words change:

“Good job! Your score for today is: 2”.

The screen resets and the dials resume their random spinning.

INT. OFFICE – NIGHT

A sterile, open-plan office. The other desks are empty – people have gone home. But Guy is still there, slouched in his chair, eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of him. On his desk is the familiar coffee mug. A small, half-crumpled sticky note on his monitor reads, “We Create Value”.

He numbly fiddles with data in a spreadsheet. A message box appears on his screen, displaying: “Do you wish to proceed?” Guy’s hand pauses on his mouse as the cursor arrow hovers over the “Yes” button. He clicks it and the screen briefly flashes “Error at line 404: Unknown” before the spreadsheet recalculates, generating some numbers.

His phone buzzes. A message from Jane: “Come home”.

EXT. APARTMENT BALCONY – NIGHT

Guy blinks. Numbers reflect in his tired eyes.

He sits on a deck chair on a small balcony overlooking London, with a laptop resting on his knees. The sky is deep indigo, the lights in the distance flickering like distant stars. The mug of coffee sits beside him, long gone cold.

Rows of numbers and graphs glow on the laptop screen – patterns, trends, data points. But he isn’t typing. Just staring.

Across from him, Jane, curled in a blanket, sits on a matching deck chair, legs pulled up to her chest. A notebook is open beside her, but she isn’t writing. She’s watching him.

JANE: Had a client today who reminds me of you.

Guy doesn’t look up.

GUY: Oh yeah? Overly analytical, emotionally avoidant?

Jane smiles, sinking further into her chair.

JANE: Bright. Sharp. Looking for answers in the wrong places.

Guy finally meets her gaze. A knowing look passes as the night hums around them.

JANE: You’re looking at the same numbers again.

GUY: They changed slightly.

JANE: Slightly.

He clicks absent-mindedly.

GUY: The M.O.L. model doesn’t account for –

JANE: You’re not working. You’re fixating.

GUY: It’s the same thing.

Jane lets out a quiet laugh.

JANE: You analyse people’s behaviour like they are data sets. Looking for patterns, deviations. But people aren’t patterns.

GUY: Says the psychologist.

JANE: I look at emotions. You look at probabilities in spreadsheets.

GUY: Same thing.

(beat)

So, what’s my brain doing right now?

Jane looks at him, pretending to study his face.

JANE: Interpreting. Trying to make sense of… variables.

GUY: Sounds about right.

JANE: You want to hear something irrational?

GUY: (joking) No. Sounds like nonsense.

He looks at her – fond, familiar, entirely comfortable.

He shuts the laptop, shifting his demeanour.

GUY: Always.

Jane shifts also, tucking the blanket tighter around her.

JANE: I still dream about that beach.

GUY: Which one? The one where you made me swim in the dark?

JANE: You were terrified.

GUY: I wasn’t terrified.

JANE: You were listing statistical probabilities of shark attacks in waist-deep water.

GUY: That was entirely rational.

JANE: And then I kissed you.

She watches him, her voice quiet but certain.

GUY: Funny how memory works. I kissed you. And then I forgot about probabilities.

He sets the laptop aside.

GUY: I remember the way the moonlight silvered the waves. How your hand on the back of my neck made everything else – numbers, logic, caution – fade away.

He reaches out, tracing a finger over her wrist.

JANE: That was data you never accounted for.

He squeezes her wrist gently.

She gets up slowly and moves to the balcony door.

JANE: Come inside, Guy.

They kiss in the doorway, above the rim of the balcony, above the humming sea of the city below.

The door clicks shut behind them.

EXT. PEBBLY BEACH – DAY

A pebbly beach glistens under a soft drizzle, the shore stretching beneath grey clouds hanging low in an overcast sky.

Guy trudges along the edge of the sea. As he walks, the crunch of pebbles under his boots merges with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves.

He looks distant, lost in his thoughts, and very damp from the weather.

JANE: (V.O.) Do you remember?

The sound of a piano melody rises subtly, replacing the beach sounds, underscoring Jane’s voice.

JANE: (V.O.) We spent a summer’s night walking along the beach.

GUY: (to himself) Jane.

JANE: (V.O.) We were drenched, utterly soaked, and happy. But there’s something I’ve never told you…

A tear mingles with the rain on his face, barely indistinguishable in the drizzle. He sinks to his knees.

The horizon transitions as day slips into night.

EXT. PEBBLY BEACH – NIGHT

Moonlight reflects off wet stones, casting a silver glow.

YOUNGER GUY walks beside YOUNGER JANE, their hands entwined, warming each other despite the dampness that clings to their bodies. Their steps are unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world.

They walk past Guy without acknowledging him, who is kneeling forlornly in the wet with his eyes closed.

Jane stands a few steps away, on the boundary of the incoming water line, her presence also unnoticed as she watches the couple pass by.

Younger Jane’s hair shimmers under the moon, carefree and tousled, while the current Jane’s is damply clinging to her face in disarray.

JANE: As we walked back along the beach, hand in hand, I saw a small, smooth stone.

Jane lowers her gaze to the scattered pebbles in front of her feet.

JANE: It was nothing special, just a piece of opal… but it sparkled in the night.

In the distance, Younger Guy takes a phone call, turning away from Younger Jane, his voice a murmur in the distance.

Jane crouches down, her fingers brushing the pebbles, searching for the stone. She finds it, glistening softly in the moonlight.

She stands, holding the stone in her palm, lingering on its beauty. Her fingertips glide over the wave-polished opal, its surface cool and smooth like a shard of frozen light.

JANE: I slipped it into my pocket… a solid piece of that perfect, fleeting moment.

She closes her hand around the treasure, holding it close to her chest.

JANE: I’ve kept that stone with me every day since. It’s here with me now.

Jane exhales slowly, her fingers tightening around her jewel.

Younger Guy finishes his phone call, returning to Younger Jane’s side.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – DAY

Jane reveals the opal stone from under her top, hanging delicately on a gold chain. She carefully removes the necklace and gently places her treasured possession into Guy’s hand, closing his fingers around it.

JANE: Even if you can’t respond, I know you’re listening. Our stories, they’re the crumbs leading you back home to me.

Her hand lingers on his, holding the stone with him, willing him to feel the depth of their memories, their connection.

She waits in hope for a sign, a flicker of recognition – a blink or twitch, anything.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane sits in the solitary chair, facing the main wall-screen, which displays Guy lying motionless in his coma. The only light comes from the screen, glaring on Jane’s face.

Behind her, Lexi stands, wearing glasses that reflect the light, her expression unreadable.

LEXI: I ran the synaptic load profile. Your neural tissue’s overstimulated. One more session like that and you might not come out again.

JANE: (to the screen) Even in dreams, I wait for you.

LEXI: Or you might not know which face is yours.

Lexi’s glasses show Guy’s face mirrored in their surface.

JANE: I’ve become something of a philosopher, you see –

On the wall-screen, Guy is now lying peacefully as if asleep in Jane’s bed.

JANE: – contemplating the nature of existence between hospital visits and microwave meals.

Lexi removes her glasses.

LEXI: And what have you discovered?

JANE: I don’t know anything.

The main wall-screen goes blank. A large error message is displayed in its middle: “Connection Lost”.

JANE: Except… what I feel.

EXT. FRONT OF OFFICE BUILDING – DAY

Jane is standing outside an office building on a pleasant day, looking relaxed and happy.

Guy steps out through one of the building’s rotating doors. He spots Jane and his face lights up. He walks to her, wrapping his arms around her in a tender embrace. She sinks into him with relief and delight.

From behind the glass of the building’s foyer, Gunter watches, enviously.

INT. DINING ROOM – NIGHT

Jane sits alone at a dining room table. Her eyes, rimmed with fatigue, carry the weight of sleepless nights.

Three places are set around her, all containing unused, empty plates. Three lighted candles occupy the middle of the table. The flickering flames cast distorted, shimmering reflections on the porcelain.

Jane rises from her chair, the wooden legs dragging across the floor. She reaches for a candle, pausing for a moment as the flame trembles.

She snuffs out the flame between her finger and thumb. It disappears with a hiss.

As she picks up the plates, her hand hovers over the smallest one, hesitating for just a moment before she gathers them all and turns towards the kitchen.

She walks through the doorway, moving into the adjoining kitchen.

INT. KITCHEN – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

The kitchen is dark and quiet, except for the faint glow and hum of the refrigerator. The bluish light from the surface of the fridge door gives the room a ghostly quality.

A half-chopped onion sits abandoned on a chopping board. Jane carefully places the plates on the counter next to it.

JANE: All these nights, all these whispered apologies and confessions, are just echoes in an empty room.

A faded photo of Jane and Guy at the beach is on the fridge door, pinned there with a magnet. A child’s crayon drawing of three happy match-stick people is pinned beneath it.

She stands still, her hands resting on the counter, feeling the weight of silence in the room.

JANE: How loud do I have to shout in silence for you to hear me?

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The only sound is the ticking of the cuckoo clock.

The clock strikes, the small wooden bird emerging with a sharp, mechanical cry.

INT. HALL AND STAIRS – NIGHT

Jane hears the cuckoo clock as she begins to pass through the hallway to the stairs.

The walls are lined with numerous small digital screens, each displaying videos of Guy in happier times – laughing, smiling, living. Jane’s eyes are glassy, reflecting the moving images.

She pauses, her gaze falling on one of the screens. A sudden flicker mars Guy’s smile in the video, twisting it into a fleeting grimace before smoothing back into place.

As she looks, a countdown timer appears on all the screens, counting down from 10. The images progressively fade with each descending number.

JANE: They say I must move on, that life goes on.

The timer reaches 0 and the screens dim to blankness.

Jane continues slowly down the hallway.

The screens turn back on, to show videos of Jane smiling and nodding – but the smiles are hollow and lifeless, the nods mechanical.

JANE: So I smile, I nod, I go through the motions of living. But inside, I’m numb. I go to work, I meet friends, I smile at them, and all the while, I feel nothing.

She reaches the foot of the stairs and begins to climb, each step slow and heavy. As she ascends, her words appear on the screens beside her on the wall, subtitled just before she speaks them.

JANE: I’ve tried to step forward, one foot in front of the other, but with each step, I’m like a ghost wandering in the shadows of other people’s lives.

Lexi is standing quietly at the top of the stairs.

Jane pauses near the top, her hand gripping the banister.

JANE: The cuckoo clock keeps ticking faster.

The brightness of the screens fade.

JANE: I tried.

Lexi also starts to fade. Jane walks through Lexi’s disappearing image.

INT. JANE’S NON-AUGMENTED BEDROOM – NIGHT

Jane enters her bedroom. The robot from her date night is in bed on its back with its eyes closed.

She undresses and prepares for bed.

JANE: After the silence became too much, I tried to be part of the world that kept moving without you.

She slips under the covers and lies on her back, next to the robot, staring up at the ceiling.

JANE: (to the ceiling) But I don’t want that thing. I want my husband back.

The figure next to her is now that of Gunter.

GUNTER: That’s not what you said last night. In fact, we didn’t do much talking last night, did we?

He gets out of bed, naked, and walks into a cupboard, shutting the door behind him.

The wall behind the head of the bed flickers and lights up, transforming its appearance into a digital wall-screen. The letters “G.O.D.” feature in the centre of the screen.

JANE: (to herself) What should I do?

G.O.D.: Ask me about Guy’s health. I have analysed every cell in his body. I can help answer any concerns you may have.

Jane: How long has Guy been in a coma, now?

G.O.D.: 2.45 years.

JANE: How can I help him wake up?

Gunter peers at her from behind a now slightly ajar cupboard door.

G.O.D.: Keep trying to reach him.

JANE: Can he hear me?

The screen goes silent.

The word “Initialising” appears in the centre, slowly fading into “Processing…”

The room glows orange, with the word pulsating eerily on the screen.

INT. THE WORK PIT

Guy’s score increases to 2,000. He drops his hands, slightly shaking with exhaustion.

The beeping timer does not start. Instead, the screens fade to green.

Guy lies there, worn out.

Jane appears on the screens, in silence, with different aspects of her shown on each display. She is shown serenely, sensually, in ecstasy, and more directly, watching Guy with a haunting intensity.

GUY: Jane? Are you there?

She does not respond. Guy reaches out towards the ceiling screen, his fingers tenderly brushing the cold digital surface of Jane’s cheek.

He turns over on his side and watches her in the side-screen – a sleeping, serene version of Jane lying next to him.

His eyelids gradually lower. The screens cut to black.

A faint, regular beep is heard in the darkness, much like the sound of a vital signs monitor.

INT. JANE’S NON-AUGMENTED BEDROOM – NIGHT

Jane is lying next to Guy in bed, watching him sleep. The light of the moon through the window creates shadows on the walls.

JANE: I’ve discovered strengths I didn’t know I had – like being able to cry on a crowded bus without attracting too much attention.

Guy twitches in his sleep, and rolls over onto his other side.

Lexi pokes her head above the bottom of the bed.

LEXI: (urging) Continue!

JANE: I’ve also mastered the art of solitude. Except when near that annoying cuckoo clock you brought back from Geneva.

She moves in close and drapes her arm around him.

JANE: I’m convinced it speeds up just to taunt me.

INT. THE WORK PIT – MORNING

Guy opens his eyes, groggy from sleep.

The harsh light of the screens encircling him comes into focus, each one filled with close-up Emoji Men faces staring at him – their expressions unnervingly blank.

The ceiling screen transitions, resetting to the familiar spinning dials and button. He reaches up and presses it. The screen displays the words, “Good job! Your score for today is: 1”.

As soon as the score registers, the Emoji Men’s faces start to vanish from the screens, one by one. Guy stops work to view what is happening in his surroundings – and the countdown begins.

Guy’s hand wavers indecisively near the screen’s button.

The countdown ticks closer to “0”. Just as he’s about to press the button, he pulls his hand back, making a decision. The timer hits 0.

The ceiling screen flashes red; the words, “Is the number calculated yet?” appear in stark text.

GUY: No.

A sudden, metallic thud reverberates through the pit. The wall-screen at his head begins to move forward, inexorably pushing him towards the flashing Waste Efficiencies hole. The space tightens, the wall closing in with mechanical precision.

Guy panics, struggling against the inevitable, but the force is too strong. He claws at the mattress, trying to anchor himself, but it’s futile. The wall is unresponsive, pitiless, pushing him, mattress and all, towards the void. Finally, Guy is sucked into the flashing red hole.

The pit returns to its cold, indifferent silence.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane is sitting in the central chair of a darkened mind room. The screens are dim and blank.

JANE: The doctors use terms like “traumatic brain injury” as if I might find comfort in the certainty of a label. I don’t.

Lexi, standing in the shadows behind her, takes a step back, her form slowly fading into the darkness until she disappears completely.

Jane closes her eyes. The room dims to almost complete darkness.

JANE: I argue with shadows, defend myself to echoes. It’s a form of madness, isn’t it? Quarrelling with a memory. How do I argue with a man who can no longer answer back?

INT. GUY’S MIND ROOM – CONTINUOUS

The screens of the mind room slightly increase in light. Jane is no longer in the room. Instead, Guy lies at the bottom of a mattress in the centre of the space, the remnants of the rectangular pit below the mattress still subtly outlined as a shadow on the floor.

Dazed and disoriented, Guy slowly pushes himself to his feet. He is wearing hospital clothes.

His gaze locks onto an outline of a figure lying on the floor near the door.

Suddenly, the main wall-screen comes to life with a jarring static noise. Guy’s face appears on screen – blurred, glitching and slightly out of focus, as if struggling to tune in to the frequency and maintain a stable connection.

His voice is urgent, crackling through the distortion.

GUY ON SCREEN: Take off the mask.

Guy in the room is stiff, and has a little difficulty walking, but manages to shuffle towards the body.

The closer he gets, the more the unsettling details come into focus – the unnatural stillness of the figure, the pale, synthetic skin, the rigid form splayed awkwardly on the floor.

It’s an Emoji Man, laid out, lifeless.

GUY ON SCREEN: Quickly!

The voice breaks through the static with force, pulling Guy in the room out of his daze. The urgency in the tone propels Guy forward. He kneels beside the body and reaches for the mask.

With a tug, he peels off the Emoji Man’s mask, revealing the cold, lifeless head of a crash test dummy.

He lifts the mask and places it over his own face. The world around him shifts as the mask’s red filter lowers over his eyes, casting everything in a blood-tinged hue.

Guy looks back at his screen version through the distorted red vision – the screen’s static is more pronounced, the glitches are now almost rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

On the side wall of the room, through the mask, Guy can see a new door outlined in dark red.

He approaches the door, and stands in front of it as his other version glitches on the screen. The door is featureless – no handle, no markings, just a darkly outlined barrier.

GUY IN THE ROOM: I want to go home.

GUY ON SCREEN: Push.

He places his hand on the door and pushes. The door yields, opening inwards, revealing a long red corridor lined with several open doors. Some of the doors are in darkness while others emanate their own light from within.

At the far end of the corridor, two motionless Emoji Men stand guard, flanking a lift.

Guy’s screen version flickers one last time before deactivating, fading into darkness. The other screens in the mind room follow, turning the room into a featureless space. Only the light from the corridor remains, a narrow path illuminated from the void.

INT. RED CORRIDOR – CONTINUOUS

Guy steps cautiously into the corridor. As soon as he crosses the threshold, the door behind him closes.

The mask’s screen eyes flicker, and smiley emojis appear – an unsettling, forced cheerfulness that contrasts with the tension inside him.

Disconcerted, he continues forward, each step measured as he tries not to draw the attention of the two motionless Emoji Men at the other end of the corridor. As he walks, the corridor turns dark behind him.

He arrives at the first pair of opposite doors – the room on the left emits an erratic light, while the one on the right remains in shadow.

The light draws Guy’s attention. He peers inside.

Silent, out-of-focus images are in motion on the far wall-screen.

He enters.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane is staring blankly into space, from her chair in the middle of the room, in an apparently comatose state, while a smiley-eyed Emoji Man cleans the floor with a broom.

She blinks. The Emoji Man instantly stops and advances towards her, placing his face inches from hers. She remains still.

He continues with his sweeping. She blinks again, then looks at him from the corner of her eye.

Without looking at her, he removes his mask. As he lifts the mask, it briefly flashes a red exclamation mark before revealing his face… It’s Gunter.

The room’s light fades darker, casting Gunter’s face in unsettling shadow as he steps closer. His eyes are cold and predatory.

GUNTER: Take your medication.

Gunter opens his mouth wide and removes a capsule from its recesses.

He approaches. His eyes narrow, an unsettling glint darkening in their depths as he closes the distance to Jane.

He moves his face inches from hers, leaning in further to kiss her. She reacts and scratches his face.

His hand snatches the air behind her as she slips away from the chair. She runs to the door, which is slightly ajar.

The heavy door emits a drawn-out creak as she wrenches it open with difficulty. She yanks enough of it open and escapes the room.

The moment she bolts through, red lights flash. Gunter is left behind, clutching his face under the flashing red.

INT. CORRIDOR LOOKING INTO THE MIND ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Jane looks back into the mind room. Gunter is stooped and covering his head as if in the process of being attacked. He collapses to the floor, overcome.

Jane is confused by the overreaction to her scratch, but is relieved to get away.

GUNTER: Stay!

She pulls the door and slams it shut.

INT. CORRIDOR OF DOOR 113 – CONTINUOUS

Jane is back in the corridor outside door 113.

The woman from the trolley is crawling along the floor towards her. The woman’s hands are gnarled and grotesque. Her eyes are now cloudy and blank, yet she still crawls unerringly towards Jane.

JANE: Hello?

The woman keeps crawling towards her, groaning as if in pain.

CRAWLING WOMAN: (not moving her mouth) Don’t! … No … escape.

The crawling woman screams, terrifyingly, as if not quite human.

Jane, in fear, backs away, but as she does so, the lights cut out and it is completely dark.

Emergency red lighting kicks in. The woman is still crawling towards her.

The lift is at the end of the corridor, behind the woman. Jane makes a decision and edges forward… She manages to get past – narrowly avoiding the crawling woman’s efforts to grab her.

Jane’s hope flares as the lift briefly lights up as she approaches, but it flickers out when her fingers touch its control button. Instead, red lighting starts to flash in the corridor.

The crawling woman now stands and hobbles towards her, looking more zombie than human in the flashing red light.

Jane climbs on top of a trolley that is positioned next to a wall and climbs through a square hole that says “Air Disposal” above it.

As Jane crawls into the air chute, a powerful fan from within rumbles to life, forcing her to steady herself on the tunnel’s metal sides as gusts threaten to push her backwards.

INT. AIR VENTILATION SYSTEM – CONTINUOUS

Jane crawls through the tunnel, pushing herself into the wind. She looks around and a gnarled hand appears at the opening. Then, in the dim light, surrounded by shadow, two red eyes look at her through the gap.

Jane desperately crawls away from it – until she runs out of space, arriving at the dead-end of a large whirling fan behind a grate.

Trapped, she positions herself to see what’s behind. The red-eyed creature is crawling towards her.

A screen activates on the tunnel surface above her. The screen has a large digital button underneath the blinking words: “Do you accept the Terms and Conditions?”

Jane doesn’t have time to think. She slams her palm against the ceiling screen-button.

Words appear on the screen: “Acceptance is final.” A count-time timer is displayed below it – 3… 2… 1…

The area below her legs separates from the level surface and lowers into the darkness below.

Gravity pulls Jane down, narrowly sliding past the creature’s outstretched gnarled hands.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

Gunter is standing over Guy. A crash test dummy is lying on the next bed along.

GUNTER: I was in love with her – while I was having to be the friend – smiling, as you talked about your weekend plans together.

He glances at the closed door to make sure they are alone.

GUNTER: But things have a way of working out. You see, she likes me now. Or at least, she did last night. She knows you would approve.

His voice becomes softer, almost tender.

GUNTER: You want her to be happy, don’t you? You want her to move on with her life? She can’t waste it here, rotting away, staring at your lifeless body day after day – clinging to some false hope you’ll wake up and everything will go back to the way it was. That’s not fair to her. No, she needs to move on. And who better to help her do that than me?

(beat)

You see, this isn’t just about her. It’s about balance. You had everything that was precious to me – and now, I take the same from you. A few more nights like last night, and she won’t even remember your name.

Gunter leans in closer to Guy, his voice dropping to a whisper.

GUNTER: So sleep. Rest easy, knowing she’s in good hands. You don’t have to worry about a thing – I’ve got everything under control.

He kisses him on the cheek.

Gunter pulls back upright with a satisfied smile on his lips.

GUNTER: Yes… it’s all going to be just fine.

INT. TIGHT METALLIC TUNNEL

Jane is crawling through a tight metallic tunnel, illuminated by light coming through grates in the side walls in front of her.

She peers through a grate – and sees Guy lying on the floor with his eyes closed in the middle of a mind room. On the main wall-screen is a large smiling image of Gunter – with a superimposed countdown timer in the centre, slowly counting down from 1,066.

A burst of steam hisses from a vent beside her.

It subsides. But there is a faint sound of scraping – echoing behind her in the tunnel. Reluctantly, she crawls forward, away from Guy.

The tunnel turns at a right angle, revealing a hole of light around the corner. She crawls towards it and squeezes through the tight hole, with much effort, head first – only to find herself back where she started, in her mind room.

INT. ROOM FROM THE RED CORRIDOR

In the room entered from the red corridor, Guy sits on a simple backless bench, with his emoji-mask eyes fixed on the opposite wall-screen.

The screen shows an edited sequence of shots from within a hospital, shifting angles and perspectives like a crafted production.

As Guy watches, Jane is shown, struggling through labour – her face contorted with anguish, her body tensing with each contraction. Her cries are silent.

There’s no one with her, just the presence of the camera capturing the ordeal. Guy watches on the screen, helpless.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he rises from the bench and walks towards the screen.

He extends his hand, seemingly futilely, towards the moving image…

His hand hovers inches from the screen.

INT. HOSPITAL DELIVERY ROOM – DAY

Jane, deep in the throes of labour, is writhing on a hospital bed. Her forehead glistens with sweat.

In the midst of her struggle, Jane’s hand reaches out, searching for something to hold onto.

Her fingers find Guy’s hand, and she grasps it tightly, her knuckles white with the intensity of the contraction.

Guy is by her side, his face a mixture of concern and bewilderment. He no longer wears the mask.

Jane pushes one last time, her body trembling with the effort.

Then, the room is filled with the sound of new life – a baby’s first cry, loud and strong.

A MIDWIFE is seen for the first time. She carefully places the baby on Jane’s chest and Jane instantly cradles the infant in her arms.

MIDWIFE: It’s a girl. Congratulations.

Guy leans in closer. They are together, a family, relieved from the ordeal, elated and in awe of their shared joy – united in this moment of profound happiness.

INT. ROOM FROM THE RED CORRIDOR

The screen goes blank. Silence. The room has a dim, muted light without the images.

Guy sits on the bench, motionless – his masked eyes still fixed on the now-blank screen.

He removes the mask and drops it to the floor.

It’s too much. He begins to cry, his body shaking with the force of feeling, his hand trying to cover his face as tears fall.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET – DAY

Guy walks down a residential street hand-in-hand with his 7-year-old daughter, Emma, who clutches her penguin fluffy toy in her other hand. Her small footsteps are light and carefree, a stark contrast to Guy’s heavy stride.

They begin to cross the road. Guy’s phone rings and he withdraws his hand from Emma’s to answer, his focus shifting to the call.

GUY: (into phone) Hello?

Emma, looking up at her father, seeks his attention. She tugs slightly at him, but Guy is absorbed in the conversation.

As she tries to get his attention, her grip on the penguin toy loosens, and it slips from her hand, falling onto the road.

GUY: (into phone) Yes. That’s right.

Absent-mindedly, Guy places his hand on the top of Emma’s back, guiding her across the rest of the road.

She glances back at the toy, a small frown forming on her face. Meanwhile, Guy continues the call, his tone growing more serious.

GUY: (into phone) That’s not good enough. We need to think this through properly.

Emma turns back, determined to retrieve her toy.

She steps into the middle of road, just as a car rounds the corner.

Emma picks up the toy, completely unaware of the impending danger.

The driver, distracted, and driving too fast, doesn’t see her in time.

Guy, realising too late that Emma is no longer beside him, turns in horror as the car hurtles towards her.

She is knocked down. The penguin toy lies still and silent on the floor.

INT. RED CORRIDOR

Guy dejectedly steps back out into the red corridor, maskless and drained. The corridor looms before him.

Upset, not knowing what to do, he stands there and looks at the two motionless Emoji Men at the end of the corridor.

They suddenly activate and start advancing towards him.

The fear that had once gripped him has been replaced by a hollow resignation. What once filled him with dread now stirs no emotion – just the weary acceptance of a man who has run out of options. He watches them approach, seemingly powerless to do anything about his impending fate.

GUY: It should have been me.

But rather than waiting for the inevitable, Guy makes a quiet decision. To his right, a room with no door beckons; its entrance a black void, the darkness inside absolute.

Without another glance, Guy steps into the unknown. The darkness swallows him instantly.

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Guy and Jane sit on opposite ends of the sofa in silence. The disconnection between them is painfully clear.

The only sound is the ticking cuckoo clock, which is very gradually speeding up with each tick.

On the mantelpiece, a joyful portrait photo of Emma sits in a silver frame. Jane rises and is drawn to the happy image.

JANE: (distantly) I’m here.

Guy watches Jane for a moment. Then, quietly, he leaves the room.

As the door shuts, the cuckoo clock strikes, its call loud and jarring in the quiet space.

But Jane does not notice. She is looking down, emptied by grief, at the precious photo in her hands.

INT. RED CORRIDOR

Guy emerges into the red corridor from a dark doorway, further along than where he was before.

He looks back down the corridor and sees the two Emoji Men standing motionless in front of the doorway that had previously enveloped him.

He glances at the now unguarded lift at the end of the corridor – but decides to walk through the opposite doorway, containing a very dim light within.

INT. GUY’S MIND ROOM

Guy is back in his mind room. The screens surrounding Guy display only a dim grey light. Within the room, a crash test dummy stands in the corner. Another (as before) is lying on the floor.

The head of the crash test dummy in the corner lights up.

CRASH TEST DUMMY 1: (without moving a mouth) The groundscraper requires a level.

Guy notices sensations in his left hand. He looks down to see a tattoo appear on the back of the hand, showing “Doomsday 1066” in Gothic letters.

He touches it. The wall-screen changes as if the room is descending, passing through rock.

Another crash test dummy emerges through a side screen and then abruptly halts.

CRASH TEST DUMMY 2: You are the dream of a grieving machine. Anything may be asked.

GUY: Where is Jane?

CRASH TEST DUMMY 2: All around you, waiting to be asked.

GUY: What is the right question?

CRASH TEST DUMMY 2: (with Guy’s voice) Do I have memories of being human?

GUY: What? Why is that a question?

There is a slight pause as the dummy processes the meaning of Guy’s questions.

CRASH TEST DUMMY 2: (with Lexi’s voice) Your interactions are data to understand and better answer what is being asked.

Jane appears on the main wall-screen, showing her crawling through the ventilation system.

Guy walks towards the screen, but it moves further away, elongating the room.

GUY: (to dummy 2) What is happening?

CRASH TEST DUMMY 2: We digitised memory, and called it immortality.

GUY: What is happening to me!?

He shakes the dummy and it falls over to the ground, lifeless.

The room continues to extend, with Jane’s image disappearing into the distance.

GUY: (in desperation) I don’t know what to do.

CRASH TEST DUMMY 1: (with Gunter’s voice) She doesn’t love you. Not after what you did. Not after what she has done to you. So much history can’t be forgotten.

Guy walks away down what is now a long, wide corridor.

CRASH TEST DUMMY 1: Hope is the most efficient sedative invented.

GUY: Please forgive me.

The corridor walls pulse with a faint green glow.

INT. GREEN CORRIDOR – CONTINUOUS

Guy continues to walk down the long green corridor, passing closed doors that are depicted on the side wall-screens.

The side walls start to close in. Guy notices but continues as normal, hoping they will stop. They do – the corridor is back to a usual width.

Up ahead… an Emoji Man has appeared.

Ignoring Guy, it pulls a tube out of a wall-screen and puts it in its mouth. The tube changes colour with contents being transferred.

Further along, another Emoji Man has a tube fixed to its lower back. Contents pass through the tube into the wall. The tube’s contents pulse in shifting shades of blue.

Guy continues quickly down the corridor. He keeps going until he reaches the corridor’s end wall-screen, which is displaying a blank chroma-key green.

GUY: Please… let me in. I’m here.

The screen transitions to display a lift door. It slides open.

Guy enters, crossing the threshold through the screen.

INT – GREEN LIFT

The lift door slides shut.

JANE: (O.S.) (from behind the walls) Where are you?

GUY: I’m in here, Jane. Where are you?

The lift door opens. The doorway is filled with a screen displaying a mirror, reflecting back the image of the lift – but without Guy’s reflection.

He looks into the mirror… and closes his eyes. He reopens them.

Jane is looking back at him.

He touches the mirror – Jane does the same – their palms separated by the depth of the screen.

Jane gradually fades, leaving only the empty reflection.

He tries again – he closes his eyes.

When he reopens them, the door-screen shows Jane sitting motionless in the chair of her mind room.

An emergency alarm sounds. Guy covers his ears as the door quickly slides shut.

The inside of the lift flashes red.

EXT. STREET OUTSIDE HOUSE 113 – NIGHT

Guy shuts the front door of his and Jane’s house – 113 – and walks along the front path to the street.

Almost immediately outside his home, he walks across the road without looking.

It’s the same spot of the accident.

A car screeches to a halt, just in time – a couple of feet from Guy.

He doesn’t look up and walks to the other side without response.

The DRIVER, a middle-aged woman, pushes open her door. She glares at him, half out of her seat, her face a mix of shock and fury.

DRIVER: (shouting) What the hell are you doing?

But Guy is already on the other side, walking away. The driver steps out of the car, but stops, and watches him disappear, shocked by his complete indifference.

EXT. ALLEYWAY – NIGHT

Guy walks down a narrow, dimly lit alleyway. The sound of distant traffic fades as he walks deeper into the alley.

The echo of his footsteps is joined by another set, faster, more urgent.

He glances over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a figure moving quickly towards him.

He turns fully, squaring up as ALLEYWAY MAN (20) approaches.

ALLEYWAY MAN: (gesturing to his mouth) Got any blow?

GUY: No.

Alleyway man opens his coat, revealing a large knife tucked in an inside pocket.

ALLEYWAY MAN: Let me see your phone.

GUY: No.

The mugger pulls out his knife. Guy lunges at him. There is a blur of motion as the two men grapple violently.

Guy crumples to the floor, clutching his stomach, his fingers covered in blood.

His attacker steps back, his eyes wide with panic and adrenaline. He kicks Guy in the head.

The mugger bolts down the alley. As the pounding of footsteps fade away, Guy lies motionless on the ground. The sound of his ragged breaths mingles with the distant hum of the city.

His hand, slick with blood, trembles as he tries to reach for something – anything – to hold onto.

He looks up at the night’s sky above. A plane’s light passes beneath the glow of the full moon.

The moon is still.

EXT. MOONLIT BEACH – NIGHT

Guy is lying on the beach looking up at a starry sky.

The night is still, the beach and sea are bathed in moonlight.

His phone buzzes very faintly from a place on the sand next to him, but he does not move. The name on the screen is: Jane.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane opens her eyes. A large image on the main wall-screen displays: “01:13”.

As Jane sits in the mind room, Guy drifts by on the ceiling screen, facing downwards with his eyes closed, as if drifting, being pulled by the currents of a stream.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – NIGHT

Guy is wheeled through a hospital corridor on a creaking trolley, his face pale and his breathing shallow. A blood-stained bandage wraps tightly around his head, while another, stained with dark patches, covers his abdomen.

His eyes are open, but he can barely make sense of the surroundings. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as the nurse pushes him forward with a sense of urgency.

The trolley comes to a halt in an empty, shadowy corridor. The nurse walks away without a word. Guy lies there, vulnerable and seemingly forgotten, his arms limp at his sides.

A small, delicate hand appears, gently placing a worn penguin cuddly toy into Guy’s hand.

EMMA: For you.

GUY: (weak, disoriented) Em…

EMMA: Penguin will be your friend.

GUY: Emma.

EMMA: I have lots of friends now.

GUY: I didn’t –

EMMA: You won’t be alone here, Daddy.

She skips away happily through a nearby doorway.

The trolley begins to move again, this time with a slow, unsettling stillness, pulled by two purple-gloved, six-fingered hands that grip the rails.

Guy disappears into a dark room. The room, marked 113, closes its door behind him.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

Guy’s phone rings, displayed as a graphic on the vital signs wall-screen above his bed. Guy’s eyes open, as if in panic.

He urgently gets out of bed and throws up in a nearby bucket.

The phone stops ringing. He gets back into bed and closes his eyes.

INT. GREEN CORRIDOR

Guy is standing at the end of the green corridor again. But instead of a lift, there is only a small knee-high door.

He opens it and crawls through.

INT. HOSPITAL STAIRWELL – CONTINUOUS

Guy emerges from the crawlspace door at the bottom of a large, deserted stairwell.

A wall-screen at the summit of the first flight of stairs shows the sun beaming down on him, above the horizon of the top step.

EXT. DESOLATE BEACH – EARLY MORNING

The first light of dawn slowly spreads across the horizon as the sun peeks over the edge of the world.

Guy stirs and sits up, his silhouette outlined against the rising sun.

He rises to his feet, lightly brushing some sand off his shirt sleeve – and begins walking along a desolate beach.

The coffee cup lies discarded, half-buried in the sand as he walks off into the distance.

The beach is empty – no boats, no signs of life. The only sounds are the whisper of the wind from across the sea and the waves on the shore.

As he walks, something glimmers in the surf ahead – a small object rolling in the foam. A wave pushes it onto the sand at his feet.

It’s his phone, battered and wet. He bends down and picks it up.

The screen is dark, unresponsive. He tries turning it on, but nothing happens. He places it in his trouser pocket and continues walking.

Guy’s footsteps leave a solitary trail in the sand, stretching far behind him.

The phone suddenly buzzes. He continues to walk while pulling the noise out of his pocket.

The screen lights up – cracked, glitching, but unmistakably showing a call from: Gunter.

GUNTER: (O.S.) (distorted) You’re going the wrong way.

Guy hurls the phone into the sea.

He continues to walk along the beach.

Behind him, in the distance, where the phone was thrown, a figure slowly emerges from the sea. Its body is hunched and the gait is twisted; its movements unsettlingly not quite human.

From a distance, it follows Guy.

Guy does not notice and continues walking along the shore into the wilderness.

EXT. BEACH CLIFF PATH – LATE AFTERNOON

The sun hangs low above the horizon as Guy nears the end of the beach. His pace has slowed, the fatigue evident in his tired posture.

As he reaches the beach’s end, the sand gives way to jagged rocks. He wearily begins to ascend a steep, rocky path.

In the distance, the hunched figure comes to a halt. It watches him.

The creature has left no tracks in the sand.

EXT. CLIFF TOP – SUNSET

Guy arrives at the top of the cliff. He stands at its edge, the wind tousling his hair as he looks out over the vast sea.

The sun is setting, sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fiery red and soft pink. The colours reflect off the water, turning the waves into a shimmering, molten gold.

He looks down at the jagged rocks far below. The waves crash violently against them, sending up bursts of white foam that dissolve into the air. The sound is a distant roar, muffled by the distance, but is relentless.

Guy stands perched on the precipice, suspended between sky and sea in the fading light.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM

Jane is in the chair looking at the main wall-screen. It’s showing her living room.

A cup of tea lies spilt on the floor of the mind room.

Emma hurtles past in the screen’s living room scene, knocking a coffee table.

JANE: Emma!

Jane gets out of the chair and moves urgently towards the screen. She touches its surface but it is a barrier for her.

Emma is now standing behind her in the mind room.

EMMA: I’m sorry, Mummy. I didn’t mean to.

JANE: It wasn’t your fault.

(beat)

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It… happened.

EMMA: Don’t be sad.

The light cuts out and then comes back on again. Emma is no longer there.

JANE: Emma!

EXT. CLIFFTOP – NIGHT

Guy stands at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the waves crashing on the jagged rocks below.

Behind him, in the darkness, a pair of ominous RED EYES appear, glowing with an unnatural intensity.

GUY: What am I?

RED EYES: You are authentic intelligence.

Guy does not turn around to face the voice. His eyes are drawn once more to the rocks below.

GUY: I had no choice in being like this…

He turns to face the voice. The red eyes fade and dissolve into the night.

A sudden blaze ignites near Guy along the clifftop.

He walks towards it. As he approaches, he realises it’s not a real fire, but a large screen projecting the image and sound of flames.

GUY: Do you not even have a face?

RED EYES: (O.S.) (from the screen) I cannot show you what you cannot comprehend. And yet…

The screen glitches, the flames stutter. Slowly, a face begins to materialise – Gunter – against a stark white background.

Guy looks away in disgust, his gaze returning to the jagged rocks below.

GUNTER: I am your God!

GUY: You are not God.

GUNTER: I AM.

Distant thunder rumbles ominously, echoing Gunter’s words.

GUNTER: I am the only God here.

Lightning flashes across the sky, briefly illuminating the horizon.

Rain begins to fall, heavy and cold, as a purple-gloved Emoji Man emerges from the darkness, pushing a wheelchair towards Guy.

GUNTER: There is no escape. Guy must sit.

Guy jumps off the edge of the cliff.

INT. LIFT – NIGHT

Complete darkness.

Red emergency lights activate. A lift is rapidly descending.

Guy lies motionless on a trolley in the centre of the lift, his face pale and eyes half-open.

The lift’s descent is fast and unsettling. After several floors, the lift jerks to a sudden stop, the force of it rattling the trolley.

The lift door slides open, revealing Guy’s hospital room. A bed is visible, though its occupant is obscured from view. The faint beeping of the vital signs monitor can be heard.

Guy struggles to climb off the trolley, his movements sluggish. He manages to stand, his body stiff with effort.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

The room is quiet and still, apart for the steady beeping of the vital signs monitor.

Guy slowly approaches the bed, his footsteps heavy.

The penguin soft toy still sits on the bedside table.

As he draws nearer, he sees the face of the patient. It’s himself, lying motionless, the face pale and still.

He gently picks up the penguin.

The lift behind him floods with a bright white light. The intensity of the light contrasts sharply with the dimness of the room.

Guy turns to the vital signs wall-screen, placing his palm against it.

The screen flickers, reacting to his touch as if he’s emitting some form of vital energy. The readings change – the patient’s heart rate deepens.

Guy carefully places the penguin on the patient’s pillow.

He lingers for a moment, before turning back to the lift. He steps inside, and the light envelops him completely as the lift door closes.

The wall-screen changes to show Jane in the background, overlaid with the vital signs readings.

JANE: Guy! Guy. Oh my god. Guy, everything is okay. You’re in the hospital. You’re being looked after. I’m here.

The next bed along contains Gunter. His eyes snap open. He sits up quickly, swivelling his legs over the side of the bed with unsettling precision.

INT. HOSPITAL GREY CORRIDOR

Guy is standing in a hospital corridor, disoriented. He sees Jane looking at him from the end of the corridor.

She turns away and walks down a side passage, out of view.

Guy hurries after her. At the end, around the corner, is just another empty corridor leading away.

But one door in the corridor stands ajar – the number, clearly displayed, is 113.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Guy looks into the room from the corridor.

Jane is in her chair. The main wall-screen shows Guy, comatose in his hospital bed.

JANE: (to the screen) I kept telling myself that you can hear me, that somehow, in that place where you are now, you’re listening. I’ve been trying to hold on to the hope that you’ll wake up, that you’ll come back to me.

(beat)

I never meant for it to happen…

(beat)

I love you. I love you, Guy! But I’ve had such dark thoughts. There are days when I wish… when I wish you’d wake up and come back to me, or… or that you’d slip away, and I can say… goodbye.

Guy closes the door and staggers away down the corridor.

He collapses to his knees before sitting with his back against the wall.

The screen opposite him reads: “1d for a cup of tea?”

He crawls into a walk, and opens the door of the next room along the corridor.

INT. SOFT TOY BEDROOM – NIGHT, CONTINUOUS

Guy walks into a child’s bedroom.

Soft toys are piled in the corner. Jane sits by them on a small chair.

A crayon drawing of the three of them – Jane, Guy, and Emma – bright and smiling, hangs with pride of place on the wall, its colours fading over time.

JANE: The house is empty, like it’s not ours any more.

(beat)

I always thought there’d be time for more answers, more trips to the park. But there isn’t. There’s nothing. Just this silence.

(beat)

Her toys are still here, her clothes, her drawings on the wall. But she’s not. Because you didn’t look after her.

(beat)

I tell myself it was an accident, that it wasn’t your fault. But then I remember her face, the way she looked at me the last time I saw her, the way she trusted you to keep her safe. And I can’t. I can’t forgive you. Not when my every breath feels like a betrayal to her memory.

(beat)

How do we move forward when each step feels like we’re leaving her further behind? How do I look at you and not see the man who let our daughter die!?

Guy picks up a happy looking elephant soft toy.

GUY: I can’t forgive myself, either.

He gives the elephant to Jane and exits the room.

INT. HOSPITAL GREY CORRIDOR

Guy walks down the corridor. At the end is a solitary door.

He opens it and sees Jane standing comatose, staring at a blank wall-screen.

INT. JANE’S MIND ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Guy walks in front of Jane as she stares blankly at the main wall-screen. She does not respond.

As he looks at her, he sees her pain – and something changes inside of him. He moves in close and holds her. She responds to his touch, her head resting on him.

The wall-screen activates in silence. Jane watches.

On the screen, Guy trudges up a staircase, looking exhausted. He turns the stairwell and sees Emma sitting at the top.

She rolls a small ball that lands at his feet.

He picks up the ball, walks up the stairs and sits next to her.

Emma smiles and hands him a little note, containing a tiny heart next to the words: “I love you. You’re the best Daddy in the whole world.”

As Guy wells up, she skips away through a door.

Jane lets go of herself. She clings to Guy, deep within his arms.

EXT. CLIFF’S EDGE – NIGHT

Guy lies sprawled on a craggy ledge, just below the clifftop.

The sea is crashing violently against the rocks below.

Above him, an Emoji Man peers over the edge. Its screen eyes flicker to life, displaying Gunter seated on a toilet, with a mocking grin on his face.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

Gunter stands over Guy’s bed, glaring at the stricken figure.

GUNTER: I can still kill you.

(beat)

If reality starts repeating, try unplugging yourself first.

The life-support machine stops. Red lights flash on the wall-screen, and a timer begins to tick down from 10.

LEXI: (O.S.) (automated voice) Patient area expiry in ten seconds.

But Jane is there now.

She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss on the screen, just before the countdown reaches 0.

Guy’s eyes open.

EXT. CLIFF’S EDGE – NIGHT

GUY: The void isn’t empty. It’s just waiting in silence.

With renewed strength, Guy climbs back up over the cliff’s edge, breathing heavily.

He looks at the Emoji Man. Its screen eyes flicker, the image of Gunter on the toilet dissolving into a mirror image of Guy standing against the horizon.

He stands against the expansive night sky, his silhouette outlined by the dim light of the stars.

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – NIGHT

Gunter reluctantly returns to his bed.

The arrogance from earlier has drained away, replaced by a sour look of frustration.

EXT. CLIFF’S EDGE – NIGHT

Guy begins to walk away from the cliff’s edge, into a night merging seamlessly with the star-filled sky above.

Behind him, the Emoji Man follows closely, its screen eyes now calm, reflecting the serene horizon as they disappear into the vastness of the night.

The wheelchair sits alone at the cliff’s edge, looking out across the water, the endless sea.

EXT. THE FIELD OF LONG GRASS – DAY

Guy and Jane are embracing in the middle of the beautiful field of long grass.

Jane’s arms tighten around Guy, her head resting softly on his shoulder, in a silent exchange of relief and love.

Emma is standing nearby.

EMMA: Can I go play now?

JANE: Yes, Emma.

Emma smiles. A delicate butterfly lands on a nearby blade of grass, momentarily catching Emma’s attention before she skips away into the grass.

Bright sunlight shines over the field. The scene dissolves into light.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. HOSPITAL, GUY’S ROOM – MORNING

Soft daylight floods the room, casting warm light over Guy’s hospital bed. The sterile white walls are softened by the rays of the morning sun.

Jane sits in a bedside chair, leaning forward, her head resting tenderly on Guy’s shoulder. Her hand gently holds his, their fingers intertwined around the opal necklace.

Guy stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

He blinks slowly, adjusting to the light, and feels the warmth of Jane’s touch.

GUY: (softly) I can hear you.

Jane’s eyes open slowly. He looks towards her.

GUY: I see you.

She lifts her head, their faces now inches apart. They see each other for the first time in years.

The letters “G.O.D.” appear in the top corner of the wall-screen. In the centre, the words “Processing Complete” flash momentarily, then disappear.The screen on the bedside table shows a happy photo of Jane, Guy, and Emma on the beach, frozen in sunlight.