EXT.
SPACE, EARTH'S ORBIT
The
space station Olympus looks down on Britain.
INT.
OLYMPUS BOARDROOM
Nine
well-fed suits sit around a
huge
oak table in a high room adorned with tapestries and priceless
artwork. At the end of the table stands CHAIRMAN LOCK, about fifty
years old, immaculately dressed with a head of slick white hair and a
prominent chin.
LOCK
...and
so
it
is of vital importance that we double the strength of the militia at
the Birmingham facility.
The
suits nod at each other and MURMUR in agreement, Lock turns to the
enormous window overlooking the earth. The suits talk amongst
themselves, some tap away at their phones
before
shaking hands with their peers and getting up to leave. MISS HOWARD
opens the double doors, she is twenty-one with long chestnut hair,
big brown eyes and fake breasts, she is wearing a tight blouse,
pencil skirt and black high heels. The suits file out. Miss Howard
closes the door behind them.
MISS
HOWARD
Mr
Chairman your
5'o'clock is here
LOCK
All
in one piece I hope?
MISS
HOWARD
An
impressive specimen sir.
Lock
takes a very large cigar from his top pocket, wearing an opulent ring
on the middle finger of his right hand. Miss Howard produces a gold
zippo from between her breasts. She lights the cigar, Lock never
taking his eyes from her face.
LOCK
He'll
do. Show him into the VIP lounge. I'll be down shortly.
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