MONDAY 24 2045 – OUTSIDE NEW BIRMINGHAM
EXT. DAWN. ROAD TO THE FACTORY
A
grey armored bus splashes through a muddy pothole.
INT.
BUS
TERRY,
early forties, tall with cropped black hair and broad shoulders,
is trying to sleep,
his head vibrating on the
dirty window. It is raining outside, the clock at the front of the
bus says 4:00 am. Men in greasy overalls and long dirty coats are
smoking or sleeping, one man is violently COUGHING,
an empty can rolls over the dim floor lights to the back of the bus.
Torn posters warning the populace to be watchful of terrorist
activity hang between the
windows, illuminated by bursts
of light from the GUNFIRE from
outside. TERRY opens
his eyes and wearily turns his head to look out of the window.
EXT.
Shadowy
figures in the woods at the side of the road are SHOOTING
bound
prisoners. More figures are tossing the bodies onto a large fire.
INT.
TERRY
looks
down the bus, no one is paying any
attention.
The armed guard
standing
at the front peers through the window at the scene and grins. TERRY
looks
outside as the countryside rumbles pass. A SCREAM followed by a
GUNSHOT echoes
in the distance as the bus comes to a check point and the door HISSES
open. Soldiers are sitting in a hut at the side of the road, smoking
and drinking coffee, one comes out and gets on the bus. He nods at
the guard, the barrier is raised. The bus drives on through the rain,
the soldiers inside the hut raising their mugs in mock salute.
EXT.
Countryside
gives way to chemically polluted wasteland, the sunrise distorted
orange and purple. Sleek dropships are
landing on the roofs of the industrial metropolis in the distance,
the sun rising behind it. The bus rumbles along a dyke towards the
factory. It pulls up at a barbed wire gate, flanked by two concrete
watchtowers. At the top of each watchtower are soldiers with
high-powered rifles. The men below step off the bus and line up,
stretching and smoking. The chlorine smog hanging in the air sets off
several men COUGHING. The gate SCREECHES open.
ARMED
GUARD
Forward citizens!
The line of workers shuffle past a large scanner into the compound. Each person puts his hand in the machine and gets the blue barcoded chip under the skin of their hand scanned. Two fat greasy security guards sit watching the workers and a monitor displaying pictures and information of each one.
