Part 1

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.