THE RAID
A Limited Series
"Room 141"
Written by
Dane Hooks
Inspired by True Events [email protected]
FADE IN:
BLACK.
A LOW, METALLIC HUM.
Ventilation.
SUPER: BASED ON TRUE EVENTS
Relentless.
Like breathing through clenched teeth.
SUPER: ROCKY FLATS PLANT, COLORADO -- SEPTEMBER 11, 1957
CUT TO:
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Inferno at Rocky Flats
INT. BUILDING 771 — PLUTONIUM RECOVERY AND FABRICATION —
NIGHT
Fluorescent lights BUZZ overhead.
A corridor of interconnected glove boxes stretches forever.
Plexiglass windows. Rubber gloves hang limp.
Inside one glove box -- plutonium shavings.
Dull. Silvery. Weightless.
A TECHNICIAN (30s) works inside the box, his face erased
behind a respirator.
A breath fogs -- then clears.
He nudges the shavings with steel tools.
Then --
A FLICKER.
Not a spark. IGNITION.
The plutonium blooms white-hot.
The Technician freezes.
INSIDE THE GLOVE BOX
Fire races across the shavings -- licking rubber gloves,
melting plexiglass.
The fire FINDS THE SEAMS.
INT. BUILDING 771 — SECONDS LATER
ALARMS SHRIEK.
Technicians scatter down the corridor.
A SUPERVISOR lunges for a wall phone.
SUPERVISOR
Fire in seven-seven-one. Glove box
ignition.
Behind him --
The fire JUMPS.
One glove box to the next.
The interconnected system turns against itself -- a chain
reaction.
INT. PLENUM CHAMBER — CONTINUOUS
Rows of HEPA FILTERS line the walls -- dense, expensive,
absolute.
Smoke surges in.
The first filter blackens -- then IGNITES.
Another goes.
Then another.
A domino effect of failure.
EXT. BUILDING 771 — CONTINUOUS
Rising behind Building 771 --
A single smokestack.
160 feet of poured concrete rising into the dark Colorado
sky.
Smoke pours out.
INT. CONTROL ROOM — SECONDS LATER
Needles SPIKE.
Red lights FLASH.
An ENGINEER stares at the board -- realization creeping in.
ENGINEER
Airflow’s collapsing --
The metallic HUM stutters. Falters. Then Stops.
Silence crashes down.
A wall clock TICKS loudly.
10:40 PM.
INT. BUILDING 771 — MOMENTS LATER
FIREFIGHTERS rush in -- primitive protective gear, outdated
masks.
They blast carbon dioxide extinguishers.
White clouds flood the corridor.
The fire burns through the suppressant.
A COMMANDER watches the flames advance.
EXT. ROCKY FLATS — CONTINUOUS
Smoke drifts outward -- carried by the wind.
Toward the faint glow of Denver on the horizon.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Routine at Rocky Flats
EXT. SUBURBAN DENVER — SAME
Quiet neighborhoods.
Sprinklers tick on manicured lawns.
Laundry sways gently on clotheslines.
The same wind moves through the trees.
CUT TO:
BLACK.
Silence.
Then --
A LOW, STEADY HUM.
Controlled.
SUPER: JUNE 6, 1989
CUT TO:
EXT. ROCKY FLATS PLANT — MORNING
First light creeps over the Front Range.
A vast, immaculate NUCLEAR WEAPONS FACILITY emerges from the
dark -- low buildings, clean lines, wide security perimeters.
An American flag snaps crisply in the morning wind.
Another flag beneath it -- Department of Energy.
Beyond the buildings --
A 160-foot smokestack.
Concrete. Narrow. A vertical line cutting the sky
At the base --
PLUTONIUM INCINERATOR - EXHAUST.
The stack doesn’t smoke. It HUMS.
EXT. SECURITY CHECKPOINT — CONTINUOUS
A GUARD checks IDs with practiced efficiency.
Badges are scanned. Gates slide open.
A digital sign flashes --
“SECURITY LEVEL: NORMAL”
Cars roll through one by one.
INT. LOCKER ROOM — SAME
Workers change in silence.
Coveralls are zipped tight. Boots laced.
Dosimeters are clipped to belts.
One WORKER pauses, adjusts his respirator, then continues.
INT. HALLWAY — BUILDING 771 — CONTINUOUS
Bright. Immaculate.
The same long corridors as 1957 -- but scrubbed of memory.
A FLOOR BUFFER glides past, erasing footprints as soon as
they appear.
INT. GLOVE BOX ROOM — CONTINUOUS
Rows of interconnected glove boxes.
Plexiglas windows pristine.
Rubber gloves neatly arranged.
Inside -- metal components, tools, shavings.
A TECHNICIAN works with quiet precision.
The dosimeter on his chest CLICKS once.
INT. CONTROL ROOM — CONTINUOUS
Monitors glow softly.
Airflow charts. Pressure readouts.
Radiation levels -- green across the board.
A SUPERVISOR sips coffee, relaxed.
Genres:
["Drama","Historical"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
Approaching Tension
EXT. ROCKY FLATS — SAME
The facility hums beneath the rising sun.
Beyond the fence --
Open land.
Rolling grass.
Distant neighborhoods just beginning to wake.
The wind moves gently across it all.
INT. SEDAN — PERIMETER ROAD — MORNING
A sedan rolls toward the security gate.
The driver -- JACK MORROW (40s) -- wears khakis, a
windbreaker, and an expression that never gives anything
away.
In the passenger seat, LINDA PARK (30s), composed and rigid.
Folder on her lap.
The sedan rolls past a weather-beaten government sign half-
swallowed by weeds.
WHITE. SUN-FADED.
Block letters:
WARNING
RESTRICTED AREA
USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED
Jack’s eyes flick to it.
His thumb taps the steering wheel twice. A nervous habit.
Linda adjusts the folder. Then again.
Jack notices.
JACK
You good?
LINDA
Yeah.
The checkpoint grows closer.
Linda exhales -- controlled, not quite steady.
JACK
What is it?
A beat.
LINDA
What if they don’t buy it?
Jack nods.
JACK
They will. I got this.
Linda looks ahead.
Jack eases off the gas. Buys a beat.
JACK (CONT’D)
When you were little -- what did
you want to be?
Linda pauses.
LINDA
I wanted to be a rodeo queen and
ride a horse named... Starburst
Thunder.
JACK
Starburst Thunder. Just think about
that horse. I’ll do the talking.
He taps the wheel once.
JACK (CONT’D)
Like we rehearsed.
She nods.
LINDA
I’m ready.
Her grip loosens.
She rubs her thumb against her fingers unconsciously.
The sedan rolls to a stop.
A steel gate. Chain-link.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Navigating Suspicion
EXT. ROCKY FLATS PLANT — SECURITY CHECKPOINT — CONTINUOUS
A SECURITY GUARD (30s), sharp-eyed, not bored, steps forward.
Jack doesn’t look at the guard.
He looks past him.
He clocks the camera dome above the gate. Another on the far
pole, overlapping -- no blind spot
Jack notes all of it. Files it away.
Then -- easy smile.
Window down.
JACK
Mornin.
SECURITY GUARD
Morning. IDs.
Jack reaches into his jacket for his wallet.
Flips it open.
Inside -- credentials. Federal seal.
Behind them --
An OLD PHOTO.
Creased. Soft at the edges.
A MAN in grease-stained coveralls. Shop floor behind him.
Lunch pail at his boots. Smiling like he didn’t know better.
Jack’s thumb pauses on it.
Then he flips past it. Shuts the wallet.
Jack hands over credentials through the window -- smooth,
practiced.
The guard studies them.
Jack keeps his expression neutral.
Linda sits rigid beside him, folder tight against her chest.
The guard scans the credentials.
A BEEP.
Then -- nothing.
The guard frowns. Taps the device. Scans again.
Another BEEP.
Still nothing.
The guard looks up now. Really looks at Jack.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
You’re not in the system.
Jack doesn’t rush.
JACK
We weren’t pre-cleared.
SECURITY GUARD
That’s not usually how this works.
Jack nods -- conceding the point.
JACK
We’re here for a classified safety
briefing.
(beat)
We were advised not to pre-log.
The guard processes that.
He glances past the car -- at the fence line. The cameras.
The empty perimeter road.
Linda shifts -- barely -- clocking Jack’s pause.
Jack adjusts -- subtly.
The guard studies them.
Silence stretches.
Wind rattles the chain-link.
The guard keys his radio -- but doesn’t speak yet.
SECURITY GUARD
What agency?
JACK
FBI. EPA joint.
The guard tilts his head.
SECURITY GUARD
If control says no, you turn
around.
For the first time, Jack doesn’t fill the silence.
The guard finally speaks into the radio.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
(into radio)
Control, I’ve got two plainclothes
at Gate One. FBI and EPA.
(pauses)
Yeah. Something about a safety
briefing. Credentials check clean.
Not pre-cleared.
Jack exhales slowly -- controlled.
The guard listens. Nods once.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
(into radio)
Understood.
He hangs up. Looks at Jack.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
You’ll need visitor badges and
escorts.
The guard steps back. Signals the gate.
It slides open.
As the car rolls forward --
Linda finally exhales.
She glances at Jack.
LINDA
The EPA has tried to enter Rocky
Flats for over thirty years without
success.
Jack keeps his eyes forward.
JACK
They let it work.
Linda studies him.
The gate closes behind them.
EXT. ADMIN PARKING LOT — DAY
Jack reverses into a parking spot.
Straightens the wheels.
Engine off.
Already pointed toward the exit.
Linda notices. Says nothing.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Tension in the Conference Room
INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING — MORNING
Jack and Linda walk the polished corridors led by a DOE
ESCORT.
Badged EMPLOYEES glance up -- curious, but not alarmed.
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM — MORNING
Spotless. Corporate immaculate.
Three coffees sit waiting.
Untouched.
Jack stands at the table.
Legal pad out. Government pen.
He writes:
09:12 — CONF. RM — HASKELL
Underlines it hard enough to dent the page.
Linda stands beside him. Folder tucked tight to her ribs.
The door opens.
TOM HASKELL (50s) enters like the building adjusts around
him.
Gold watch. Thick neck. Quiet ownership.
He clocks Jack. Then Linda.
Tom sits at the head of the table. Reaches for the coffee --
slides it aside.
A faint tremor in his hand.
TOM
Tom Haskell. Rockwell
International. We operate the
facility. DOE oversees.
Important distinction.
Jack writes:
ROCKWELL OPERATES / DOE OVERSEES
Underlines. Closes the legal pad. Calm.
JACK
Agent Jack Morrow. FBI.
LINDA
Linda Park. EPA.
Tom’s eyes linger on Linda a fraction too long.
Assessment. Dismissal.
TOM
You usually call ahead.
Jack pulls the chair out. Doesn’t sit yet.
His eyes track --
Door. Window. Distance to each.
Then he takes his chair. Back to the wall.
JACK
We’re here for safety briefing
regarding a credible threat. An eco-
terrorist group has been targeting
energy facilities, and we want to
make sure this facility is
prepared.
Tom studies him. Then leans back. Arms folded.
TOM
What’s the EPA got to do with this?
LINDA
Just observing.
TOM
Good.
Jack opens the legal pad again.
Writes the time.
09:13
Tom notices. Shifts slightly.
TOM (CONT’D)
So what exactly are you hoping to
see?
JACK
Chain of custody. Airflow. Standard
readiness.
Tom watches him like she just asked for his bank password.
TOM
You worried about something outside
my fences...
He leans forward.
TOM (CONT’D)
...or inside them?
Jack finally looks up. Still. Measured.
JACK
We’re just following orders. Not
trying to jam you up here, Tom.
Tom smiles.
TOM
That’s an answer.
(beat)
Just not the one I asked for.
Silence stretches.
Tom stands first. Decision made.
TOM (CONT’D)
You get a walk-through. Limited
areas. My rules.
A pleasant smile.
Jack closes the pad.
JACK
Thanks.
Tom heads for the door.
Jack and Linda follow.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Uneasy Beginnings
EXT. PARKING LOT — SAME
From a distance, UNMARKED VEHICLES begin arriving.
One by one.
They park calmly.
EXT. ROCKY FLATS PLANT — ADMINISTRATION BUILDING — MOMENTS
LATER
A postcard Colorado morning.
Blue sky. Harmless clouds.
Jack and Linda step out with Tom.
Tom moves fast, already reclaiming ground.
TOM
We’ll start you in the west wing.
Glove box operations are
restricted. Classified process
protections.
A LOW RUMBLE.
Distant. Mechanical. Wrong.
Tom pauses.
A faint tremor travels up through the concrete into his
shoes.
TOM (CONT’D)
...what the fuck do we have here?
Jack keeps his eyes forward.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Breach of Protocol
EXT. PERIMETER ROAD — CONTINUOUS
Over a shallow rise --
A CONVOY appears.
Unmarked sedans. SUVs. Vans.
EXT. ADMIN BUILDING — CONTINUOUS
Tom’s jaw tightens.
TOM
What the hell is going on?
JACK
We lied. Sorry, Tom.
The convoy draws closer.
Tom steps into Jack’s path.
TOM
You don’t flood a classified site
without authorization.
JACK
Authorization arrived with us.
Tom takes a short breath... steels himself.
EXT. SECURITY CHECKPOINT — CONTINUOUS
The convoy reaches the gate.
GUARDS stiffen. Hands hover near radios.
Jack raises a hand -- already past them.
JACK
Open it.
The guards look to Tom.
He hesitates -- just long enough to register the loss of
control.
The gates SLIDE OPEN.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
The Beginning of the End
EXT. COURTYARD — CONTINUOUS
Vehicles flood in. Doors open in unison.
FBI AGENTS step out -- armed, calm, surgical.
Linda watches Tom now.
He’s running calculations.
Losing ground.
LINDA
Mr. Haskell.
She opens her folder and removes a document.
Hands it to him.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Federal search warrant.
Tom grabs the document. Reads the header, the signature.
His face hardens -- not fear. Anger.
Agents fan out with precision like a machine locking into
place.
One AGENT photographs the building sign.
Another photographs the clock above the entrance.
Time becomes evidence.
A TECH snaps on blue gloves. Opens an evidence kit.
Tamper seals. Sample bags. Labels.
Yellow tape stretches across the lobby doors.
DOE EMPLOYEES gather in small clusters.
Watching their workplace turn into a crime scene.
Radios crackle --
AGENT (V.O.)
Perimeter secure.
AGENT (V.O.)
Admin wing locked.
This isn’t a bluff anymore. It’s history.
Tom watches his world get sectioned off. Turns to Linda.
TOM
You think this ends here?
Linda doesn’t blink.
LINDA
We’re just getting started.
Tom studies her. Then looks to Jack.
TOM
You lied.
JACK
I delayed you.
TOM
That’s obstruction.
JACK
No. That’s strategy.
Tom exhales. Controlled. Furious.
TOM
That warrant sets things in motion
that can’t be reversed.
Jack gestures to the courtyard -- agents everywhere.
JACK
That’s why there are eighty of us.
Tom finally understands --
This isn’t leverage.
It’s a verdict.
He folds the warrant once. Precise.
EXT. ROOF — SAME
Exhaust stacks rise into the sky.
Smokeless.
Quiet.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Controlled Reassurances
INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING — TOM HASKELL’S OFFICE — DAY
A corner office. Corporate beige. Wood paneling.
Light slices the room into neat, controlled lines.
Tom Haskell sits behind the desk.
Jacket off. Sleeves crisp.
He coughs. Small. Contained.
Swallowed back like a secret.
Tom opens a desk drawer.
Inside: A small FIELD NOTEBOOK.
Bird sketches. Dates.
“Red-tailed hawk — north fence — 7:12 AM”
A soft smile.
Then --
The landline RINGS.
Sharp. Mechanical. Old-school.
He lets it ring twice. Three times. Then lifts the receiver.
TOM
Yes.
A MAN’S VOICE. Older. Calm.
VOICE (V.O.)
They’re in. Much deeper than
anticipated.
Tom stares through the blinds at the parking lot below.
Government sedans.
TOM
That was always the trajectory.
VOICE (V.O.)
What are they going to find, Tom?
A beat.
Tom opens a drawer.
Inside: perfectly organized folders. Tabs color-coded.
He runs a finger along them.
TOM
They’ll find what the system
retained.
VOICE (V.O.)
That creates exposure.
TOM
No.
(precise)
It creates documentation.
The difference lands.
VOICE (V.O.)
DOJ is worried about precedent.
Tom almost smiles.
TOM
Precedent only matters if someone
admits it happened.
A faint wheeze in his chest. He ignores it.
VOICE (V.O.)
We’re concerned about Building
Seven-Seven-One.
Tom’s eyes flick to a banker’s box in the corner.
Typed label:
771 — ARCHIVE
Untouched. Pristine.
TOM
Seven-Seven-One is clean.
A hesitation.
VOICE (V.O.)
Tom --
TOM
-- on paper.
He straightens a stack of files. Perfectly square.
TOM (CONT’D)
Everything requiring discretion was
centralized years ago.
VOICE (V.O.)
Public Affairs wants language.
Tom doesn’t miss a beat.
TOM
Maintenance irregularities. Legacy
operations. No measurable risk to
the public.
A beat.
TOM (CONT’D)
And emphasize cooperation.
He places the receiver back in the cradle.
Another small cough.
He presses a handkerchief to his mouth.
A faint rust stain.
He folds it away like nothing happened.
Tom looks out the window. Unbothered.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Toxic Discovery at Rocky Flats
EXT. SOLAR EVAPORATION PONDS — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A shallow grid of ponds stretches to the horizon.
Chemical blue. Flat as glass.
At the far edge --
Concrete blocks stacked in long, uneven rows.
Coffin-sized. Aging. Slumped.
A tarp half-covers them.
The wind lifts it --
SLAP.
Fractures. Cavities. Missing corners. Like bones under skin.
Jack and Linda approach with a DOE WORKER (50s). Sunburned.
Defensive smile.
Two FBI agents hang back, uneasy in the open.
DOE WORKER
Legacy containment. Pondcrete.
Low-level. Fully remediated.
Linda kneels at the nearest block and presses a gloved finger
into a crack.
The concrete collapses.
Dry. Crumbly. Like stale bread.
Gray dust coats her glove.
She studies it.
LINDA
When were these poured?
DOE WORKER
Late seventies. Early eighties.
Temporary solution.
Jack watches the tarp lift again.
More rows beneath. Worse.
JACK
Who runs this operation?
DOE WORKER
Tom Haskell. The Warden of the
Waste.
Linda opens her kit. Removes a handheld ALPHA PROBE.
The DOE Worker stiffens.
The probe passes over the surface.
Click.
Click.
Click-Click-Click.
She presses it into a fracture.
The clicks spike -- frantic.
She checks the readout. Calm.
DOE WORKER (CONT’D)
It’s bound in concrete.
Immobilized.
LINDA
Concrete doesn’t stop alpha
emitters.
Linda points to the dirt beneath the stack.
Dark. Damp. Wrong.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Runoff goes where?
A beat.
DOE WORKER
That’s... not my area.
Jack steps closer.
JACK
It’s in the groundwater. Jesus.
The wind kicks up.
The tarp lifts higher --
Dozens more broken blocks exposed. Rotting teeth.
Linda lowers the probe to the soil.
Click.
Click.
Click-Click-Click.
Steady now. Certain.
She stands.
LINDA
Migration.
The word lands heavy.
Jack looks past the fence at a thin line of cottonwoods
tracing a drainage slope.
Downhill. Toward neighborhoods.
JACK
You’re storing radioactive waste
outside. Unlined. Under plastic.
DOE WORKER
They’re temporary.
Jack doesn’t look at him.
JACK
How many?
DOE WORKER
...about fifteen thousand.
The number hangs there.
The wind moves gray dust between them.
Linda holds up the vial.
The probe CHATTERS loudly.
LINDA
This isn’t low-level.
(beat)
It’s hot.
Jack writes in his pad:
15:42 — elevated — drainage > neighborhoods
Underlines neighborhoods hard enough to scar the page.
Wind gusts again.
Dust lifts from the cracks.
Jack looks down.
Gray residue settles on his shoes.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Reflections of Ignorance
EXT. STANLEY LAKE — DAY
Still water.
Glass-smooth. Quiet. Reflecting low clouds and distant
foothills.
A thin drainage channel snakes through the dry grass --
barely noticeable -- just a meandering scar in the landscape.
It widens. Deepens.
Merges with a narrow stream carrying gray sediment
downstream.
A pair of cyclists rest by the shoreline.
A dog laps water near their feet.
Unaware.
In the distance -- across the lake --
Rocky Flats is barely visible.
Just a shape behind the trees.
Out of focus.
Out of mind.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Uncertainty in the Exam Room
INT. EXAM ROOM — DAY
A small, clean exam room. Fluorescent lights. Neutral walls.
JESSICA REYNOLDS (30s) sits on the exam table. Athletic
build. Calm. No visible illness. Running shoes at her feet.
DR. AMY BRADEN (50s), pulmonary specialist, reviews a chart.
Thoughtful. Careful with her words.
She listens to Jessica’s lungs through a stethoscope.
Silence except for breathing.
DR. BRADEN
(inhaling with her)
Again.
She does. Strong breath. No wheeze.
Dr. Braden moves the stethoscope. Listens longer than
expected.
DR. BRADEN (CONT’D)
Do you smoke?
JESSICA
Never have.
DR. BRADEN
Any secondhand exposure?
Jessica shakes her head.
JESSICA
I run half-marathons. I teach yoga.
(smiles, uneasy)
I’m boring.
Dr. Braden doesn’t smile back.
She steps away, makes a note.
DR. BRADEN
Any occupational exposure?
Chemicals, metals, manufacturing?
JESSICA
No. I work from home.
A pause.
Dr. Braden flips the chart closed. Looks at her now.
DR. BRADEN
Where do you live?
JESSICA
Arvada. Near a greenbelt.
Why?
She hesitates. Chooses the question carefully.
DR. BRADEN
How close are you to Rocky Flats?
Jessica’s expression changes. Just a notch.
JESSICA
Five miles. Maybe six.
DR. BRADEN
I want to run a few more tests.
JESSICA
Is something wrong?
She meets her eyes -- honest, but restrained.
DR. BRADEN
There’s something I don’t
understand yet.
Jessica watches her, trying to read her face.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Silent Emergency
INT. BUILDING 771 – PLUTONIUM RECOVERY – DAY
The HUM never stops.
Linda, lab coat crisp, clipboard tucked under her arm, walks
the glove-box corridor. Focused. Methodical.
Ahead of her --
A TECHNICIAN (40s), sweat soaking through his collar, fumbles
with the rubber gloves inside a sealed box.
The technician blinks. Disoriented.
He presses his palm against the plexiglass. Leaves a SMEAR.
Linda slows. Watches.
TECHNICIAN
(low, to himself)
Something’s wrong.
His knees buckle.
He collapses hard -- the sound swallowed by ventilation.
The HUM continues. No alarm. Then movement.
Two SUPERVISORS appear almost instantly.
One kneels beside the technician.
SUPERVISOR #1
(quiet, controlled)
Don’t touch him.
The technician is conscious -- barely.
His lips tremble.
TECHNICIAN
I can taste metal.
The supervisor snaps on gloves.
A look passes between them. Afraid -- but practiced.
The technician starts vomiting.
Dark. Thick. Wrong.
The supervisor doesn’t react.
Linda freezes.
Half breath in. Doesn’t finish it.
Her chest doesn’t rise.
She rubs her thumb against her fingers.
Then forces a slow exhale.
Two SECURITY MEN appear with an unmarked gurney.
As they lift the technician onto the gurney, his sleeve rides
up.
Linda sees it --
A RASH blooming across his forearm.
Angry. Purple-red. Spreading.
The gurney rolls past her.
The technician locks eyes with Linda.
Security moves fast.
The gurney disappears through a service door marked
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
It SLAMS shut.
The HUM fills the space again.
Linda stands alone in the corridor.
Her clipboard slips from her fingers.
Papers scatter across the floor.
No one helps her pick them up.
The supervisor walks away.
Linda crouches, gathering her papers with shaking hands.
One page is stained.
Not blood.
VOMIT.
She freezes.
Looks down at it.
Then --
She folds the page and slips it into her coat pocket.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Reflections of Anxiety
INT. BUILDING 771 — WOMEN’S RESTROOM — DAY
Fluorescent lights HUM. Too bright. Too clean.
Linda enters alone. Locks the door. Sets her clipboard down
with careful precision.
She turns on the sink. Water runs.
She washes her hands. Slow. Methodical.
Soap. Rinse. Again.
Soap. Rinse. Again.
The skin reddens. She keeps scrubbing like something might
come off.
She studies her hands.
Checks beneath her nails. Her wrist. Her forearm.
Her breath shortens. She grips the sink. Counts silently.
One. Two. Three.
She stares at herself in the mirror.
Composed. Professional.
Like nothing touched her.
She shuts off the water. Dries her hands.
Back to work.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Revealing Contamination
INT. BUILDING 771 - PLENUM ACCESS — DAY
A massive industrial chamber.
Rows of HEPA FILTER HOUSINGS line the space like tombs.
Each one sealed.
Each one trusted.
The DOE TECHNICIAN opens the first housing.
The filter inside --
BLACKENED.
Coated.
Linda’s Geiger counter SHRIEKS.
She pulls it away instinctively.
Another housing is opened.
Then another. All the same. Blackened. Contaminated.
Jack stares at the filters.
Imagines the airflow.
Linda looks up.
LINDA
Where does the exhaust go?
The technician points -- upward.
INT. CONTROL ROOM - SAME
Monitors glow green.
All systems read NORMAL.
A lie in real time.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Tension in the Corridor
INT. SERVICE CORRIDOR — BUILDING 771 — DAY
A narrow concrete corridor.
Utility lights. Painted pipes.
The HUM is louder here -- closer.
Jack walks fast. Linda beside him.
Two FBI AGENTS trail behind.
Jack keys his radio.
JACK
(into radio)
This is Agent Morrow. I need Legal.
Static.
A beat.
FBI LEGAL (V.O.)
This is Legal.
Jack stops walking.
JACK
This isn’t about disposal anymore.
It’s about exposure.
Silence on the line.
Linda watches Jack’s face.
FBI LEGAL (V.O.)
Jack, I’m warning you to stay
within the scope of the warrant.
JACK
Air moves. So does this.
Jack glances back down the corridor --
An AGENT seals off a stairwell.
Tape stretches. Authority in motion.
FBI LEGAL (V.O.)
Pause further expansion until DOE
coordination is established.
JACK
Understood.
He releases the radio.
Linda watches him -- searching.
LINDA
You’re not going to pause, are you?
Jack starts walking again.
JACK
Paper sticks. People don’t.
She studies him.
LINDA
That’s slower.
JACK
It survives.
Linda follows.
The HUM continues. Uninterrupted.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Contamination and Conflict
INT. TEMPORARY COMMAND ROOM — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A windowless room repurposed in a hurry.
Fold-out tables. Too close together.
A DOE SEAL on the wall. Fresh tape. Slightly off-level.
The HUM is louder here. Ventilation pushed past comfort.
Jack stands at the table with a legal pad.
Linda sits beside a sealed portable case -- sampling gear
locked, labeled, inert but dangerous.
Two FBI AGENTS hold the door. Still. Listening.
Across the table --
MARTIN KESSLER (50s) -- The DOE council -- crisp suit, calm
eyes, practiced empathy.
EVAN MARSH (30s) -- quiet, alert, already composing
headlines.
No one looks rushed.
Jack doesn’t look up.
JACK
We opened plenums. They’re
contaminated. The pondcrete blocks
-- cracked. Leaking.
He writes as he speaks. Not notes -- timestamps.
MARTIN
“Uncontrolled release” carries
statutory exposure.
Jack stops writing.
Writes one word instead:
RELEASE.
Underlines it.
Then underlines it again.
JACK
So does the fallout.
Martin spreads his hands -- conciliatory.
MARTIN
No one’s disputing your concern,
but we need to be precise with our
language.
Evan finally speaks -- voice low, careful.
EVAN
There are communities adjacent to
this site.
Linda looks directly at him.
LINDA
We’re aware.
EVAN
We should avoid speculation that
could create --
LINDA
-- panic?
Martin steps in smoothly.
MARTIN
Confusion.
Jack writes another word:
CONFUSION.
Underlines it. Hard enough to tear the paper.
JACK
We’re going outside the fence.
Dirt. Water. Downwind.
Linda silently squares her sample bags, aligns pens, and
straightens labels -- perfect 90-degree angles.
Martin leans forward, friendly. Almost intimate.
MARTIN
If you move outside the warrant,
anything collected becomes
inadmissible.
Linda doesn’t turn.
LINDA
Physics doesn’t recognize property
lines.
Martin smiles -- small, professional.
MARTIN
Let’s get through this clean.
You’re on a short list for
Washington, agent.
Jack meets Martin’s eyes.
Holds them.
JACK
That list moves.
No one moves.
The HUM continues -- steady, relentless.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Confronting Confusion
INT. ADMIN HALLWAY — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A quieter corridor. Fluorescent lights BUZZ overhead.
Jack steps away from the command room.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
Muffled voices vanish.
He walks toward the end of the corridor and stops at a
window.
Through it -- the parking lot.
His government sedan sits by itself. Plain. Forgettable.
Jack stops. Stares at it.
A long beat.
He pulls his legal pad from under his arm. Flips to a page.
Two words stare back at him. Heavy. Carved into the paper:
RELEASE
CONFUSION
Each underlined hard enough to score the sheet.
He studies them like they belong to someone else.
He lifts his pen. Brings it down through CONFUSION --
The pen doesn’t write. Ink dry.
He presses harder. Nothing.
Jack drags the pen hard across the page --
RIPS the paper.
He looks down.
Gray dust coats the edge of his sleeve. Fine. Almost
invisible.
He rubs it with his thumb. It smears darker. Not dirt.
Something finer.
He wipes it on his pants. It doesn’t really come off.
Then --
A cough. Small. Sharp.
He clamps it down instantly.
Looks around like someone might have heard.
Another cough pushes up. He forces it back. Breath shallow.
His hand goes to his chest without thinking.
For just a second --
Fear. Real fear.
Jack closes his eyes. Forces one slow inhale. Then another.
Professional again.
He looks through the window.
At the sedan.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Media Frenzy
EXT. ADMIN PARKING LOT — CONTINUOUS
Wind skims low across the asphalt.
The facility HUMS behind him.
Jack walks alone across the lot.
Every step feels exposed.
He reaches the sedan. Unlocks it. Gets in.
INT. SEDAN — CONTINUOUS
Mounted beside the dash --
A corded car phone.
He stares at it.
Jack reaches into his jacket and pulls out a worn business
card.
Embossed seal.
U.S. ATTORNEY — DENVER
He rubs his thumb over the numbers.
Thinking.
He picks up the phone.
Dead weight in his palm.
Holds it there.
His throat tightens again -- a cough tries to surface.
He freezes. Panics for half a second. Hand clamped over his
mouth.
He waits. Nothing.
He lowers the phone slowly.
Sets it back in the cradle.
Not yet.
Jack tucks the business card back into his pocket.
Looks at himself in the rearview mirror. Composed.
Then --
A faint THUD-THUD-THUD.
Jack doesn’t react yet.
Another. Closer.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD
Jack glances up.
A SHADOW sweeps across the building.
Jack opens the door and looks skyward.
A NEWS HELICOPTER banks overhead.
Another helicopter crests the ridge. Then a third.
They circle like vultures.
EXT. PERIMETER ROAD — CONTINUOUS
Two NEWS VANS race the fence line.
Satellite dishes already rising while the vans are still
moving.
Doors fly open.
REPORTERS jump out mid-roll.
Cameramen already filming.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
A Call Under Pressure
INT. ADMIN HALLWAY - ROCKY FLATS — DAY
Tom Haskell -- composed, immaculate -- moves with purpose
down a fluorescent corridor.
He turns a corner --
A lone pay phone, wedged beside a vending machine.
Tom slows. Glances back down the hall. Empty.
He drops in a coin.
TOM HASKELL
(into phone, low)
Yeah. It’s Tom.
A beat as he listens.
He opens his mouth to continue -- then stops.
A cough. Sharp. Dry.
He turns slightly away from the receiver, covers it with his
hand.
Composes himself. Back to smooth.
TOM HASKELL (CONT’D)
You’re going to hear noise today.
FBI. EPA. Lots of jackets. Lots of
drama.
A faint smile -- practiced, reassuring.
TOM HASKELL (CONT’D)
DOE and Rockwell are in compliance.
Always have been. And lets not
forget, this place kept your kids
speaking English.
A pause.
TOM HASKELL (CONT’D)
If you want a quote -- “Routine
oversight mischaracterized as
crisis.”
He hangs up.
For a moment, he just stands there.
Breath shallow. Controlled.
Then -- another COUGH, quieter now, but worse. He grips the
edge of the vending machine until it passes.
Tom straightens his jacket. Puts the mask back on. And walks
on.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Silent Fallout
EXT. DOWNWIND GREENBELT — DAY
A strip of open land caught between worlds.
Dry grass. Cottonwoods. A narrow bike path cuts through.
Beyond it -- subdivisions. Rooftops. Back fences. Swing sets.
Too close.
The ROCKY FLATS PERIMETER sits in the distance -- low
buildings, quiet stacks pretending to be scenery.
Jack and Linda kneel just off the bike path.
Linda snaps on latex gloves.
Unpacks a SOIL CORER.
She drives it into the ground. Resistance.
Then -- give.
She extracts a plug of earth.
Dark. Ordinary. Harmless.
Linda opens a SAMPLE BAG. Reaches in with her dominant hand.
A tremor. Barely there.
She pauses. Looks at it.
Without comment, she switches hands.
Seals the bag.
LABEL: RF-GREEN-01 / DOWNWIND / 16:42
Jack scans the nearby houses.
A woman watering her lawn. A garage door opening.
Linda activates a HANDHELD ALPHA SCINTILLATION PROBE.
A soft BEEP. Baseline calm.
She lowers the probe to the exposed soil.
A CLICK.
Another. Then -- a rhythm.
Linda’s face doesn’t change.
The clicking accelerates.
Linda tilts the probe, studies the readout.
The wind moves the grass.
She walks closer to the bike path. Ten yards. Twenty.
Jack follows her close behind.
Linda kneels with her probe.
The clicking returns -- softer, but unmistakable.
A WOMAN (30s) approaches along the path, walking a medium-
sized dog. She slows.
She is bald. No attempt to disguise it.
The dog sniffs the air near the creek.
The woman watches Jack and Linda for a moment. Curious.
Linda notices her. Holds her gaze.
The woman gives a small nod -- acknowledgment.
She tugs the leash gently and continues down the path.
LINDA
It’s fallout. Carried.
Jack swallows.
JACK
This is past violations.
Linda doesn’t answer right away.
LINDA
This is criminal.
JACK
Crime requires intent.
Linda looks at the houses.
LINDA
Physics doesn’t.
Jack looks past her. At the houses. The lawns.
A GROUP OF KIDS rides by on bikes.
They disappear down the path, toward the neighborhood.
Jack watches them go.
Linda seals the samples. Labels. Initials. Careful.
Methodical. Permanent.
Her pen stops.
Just above the label.
Linda doesn’t move.
The ALPHA PROBE in her other hand still clicks -- steady,
patient.
Jack watches her now.
Linda takes a breath --
Stops halfway in. Holds it.
A second passes. Then another.
Her shoulders rise -- but don’t fall.
The clicking continues.
A cyclist passes on the path behind them. A bell RINGS. Life
moving through.
Linda’s jaw tightens.
Finally --
She exhales. Not a release.
A controlled leak of air -- slow, deliberate.
She blinks once. Re-grips the pen. Finishes the label. Seals
the bag.
The wind moves.
Linda stands. Back straight. Composed again.
Jack looks at her.
She doesn’t look back.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
The Ominous Gap
INT. BUILDING 771 — SUBLEVEL CORRIDOR — NIGHT
Concrete walls. Low ceiling.
The HUM louder here.
An FBI AGENT kneels beside a stack of OLD BLUEPRINTS.
Yellowed. Curling at the edges.
He spreads them out.
Room numbers run cleanly --
138. 139. 140.
Then --
A gap.
The agent frowns. Flips another page. Same gap.
Another. Same.
Someone removed a room.
Not crossed out. Erased.
Down the corridor --
A STEEL DOOR.
Painted over.
No placard. No number. Just bolt heads.
Something lives down here.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Uncovering Patterns
INT. HOSPITAL OFFICE — NIGHT
The hospital has quieted.
Dr. Braden sits alone at her desk, sleeves rolled up.
On-screen: a SPREADSHEET.
Columns:
-- AGE
-- FITNESS LEVEL
-- SMOKING HISTORY
-- DIAGNOSIS
-- ZIP CODE
She enters new data.
JESSICA’s name and face populate.
Diagnosis: ADENOCARCINOMA — LUNG
DR. Braden scrolls.
More names. Healthy.
Non-smokers. Runners. Teachers. Electricians. Stay-at-home
parents.
Diagnoses repeat:
-- LUNG
-- BONE
-- LIVER
She highlights ZIP CODES.
They cluster.
Tight.
She pulls up another window. A REFERENCE ARTICLE.
PLUTONIUM-239 — BIOLOGICAL BEHAVIOR
Highlighted text:
Alpha emitter.
Lodges in lung tissue.
Migrates to bone and liver.
Latency: decades.
Dr. Braden leans back. Rubs her face.
A soft knock.
NURSE CARLA (40s) steps in, holding a clipboard.
She notices the screen.
NURSE CARLA
That the runner?
She nods.
DR. BRADEN
And five others like her.
This year.
Carla steps closer. Sees the chart.
NURSE CARLA
Jesus.
DR. BRADEN
None of them should have this.
A beat.
NURSE CARLA
You taking it upstairs?
She lets out a breath.
DR. BRADEN
I have.
(beat)
Twice to the hospital board.
Once to the state registry.
NURSE CARLA
What do they say?
She stares at the data.
DR. BRADEN
That correlation isn’t causation.
That I’m outside my lane and I
should be careful with language.
She clicks, adds another data point.
DR. BRADEN (CONT’D)
Funny thing about medicine.
NURSE CARLA
What’s that?
DR. BRADEN
The body doesn’t care who signs the
permits.
Silence.
The spreadsheet fills the screen. Names stacking up.
Dr. Braden closes the laptop. Decisive.
Genres:
["Drama","Medical"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Quiet Routine
INT. SUBURBAN OFFICE PARK — NIGHT
A low, forgettable building.
Two stories. Beige stucco. Dark windows.
The kind of place that processes payroll. Not secrets.
One light on upstairs.
INT. SUITE 214 — CONTINUOUS
A small private office. Off-site.
Just filing cabinets, banker’s boxes, and an industrial
shredder on a folding table
A portable space heater HUMS.
Tom Haskell sits alone in shirtsleeves.
Tie off. Cuffs rolled.
Reading glasses low on his nose. Calm.
He opens a banker’s box.
Label:
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Final Erasure
771 — MAINT. IRREGULARITIES
Inside:
Typed reports. Carbon copies. Handwritten notes.
Old paper. Yellowed edges.
He flips one open.
INSERT — REPORT
“Filter breach — airborne particulate release — est. duration
11 min”
Tom studies it.
Expression unreadable.
The shredder WHIRS to life.
Paper disappears. Turns to white ribbons. Falls into the bin
like snow.
Tom watches until the last corner vanishes.
On the desk beside it --
That same small FIELD NOTEBOOK.
He opens it absentmindedly.
Writes:
“Meadowlark returned.”
Closes it. Back to work.
He coughs.
Sharper this time.
He turns away from the machine.
Handkerchief to mouth.
Holds. Waits.
The shredder bin is full.
White strips pile high.
He powers off the shredder. Unplugs it.
He gathers the paper in a trash bag and carries it to the
door.
Hesitates.
Looks back at the empty filing cabinets.
Perfect. Clean. Nothing ever happened here.
EXT. OFFICE PARK — NIGHT
Tom tosses the bag into a dumpster.
It lands soft. Like snow.
He closes the lid.
Drives off.
The building goes dark.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
Whispers in the Dark
INT. BAR — NIGHT
A narrow, dim bar tucked into an old brick building.
A neon beer sign BUZZES -- not loud, just present.
A few LOCALS nurse drinks. Jack and Linda sit side by side at
the bar.
Two drinks in front of them.
Jack: whiskey, neat.
Linda: a beer she hasn’t touched yet.
They sit in a moment of earned silence.
Linda peels the label on her beer bottle halfway up.
Stops. Smooths it back down.
Presses the edges flat with her thumb. Working out the air
bubbles.
Like sealing evidence.
Jack turns his glass slightly. Watches the light move through
it.
JACK
You handled it clean today.
Linda finally takes a sip.
LINDA
That’s my job.
JACK
Most people flinch when the numbers
stop behaving.
Linda shrugs.
LINDA
Numbers don’t scare me.
Jack looks at her.
JACK
What does?
Linda considers that. Longer than expected.
LINDA
People who already know the truth.
Jack’s thumb rubs the rim of the glass.
LINDA (CONT’D)
You ever notice how quiet it gets
out here at night?
JACK
Colorado quiet.
LINDA
It feels clean.
Jack almost smiles.
JACK
That’s how they trick you.
Linda looks at him.
LINDA
You sound like you’ve lived near
places like this.
A beat.
JACK
Born and raised in Albuquerque.
Then Vegas.
Linda reacts -- just a flicker.
JACK (CONT’D)
Metro. Ten years.
LINDA
Homicide?
JACK
Patrol.
(beat)
You learn fast what gets buried.
LINDA
Albuquerque is close to where this
all started.
Jack nods.
JACK
My dad ran machines. Parts guy.
(beat)
Cancer got him.
LINDA
He ever talk about it?
Jack takes a drink.
JACK
Never.
Linda studies him.
LINDA
I’m sorry.
Jack shrugs -- practiced.
She finally looks down at her beer.
LINDA (CONT’D)
My mother worked night shifts at a
semiconductor plant in San Jose.
Jack raises an eyebrow.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Clean rooms. Bunny suits.
Everything “within tolerance.”
Jack waits.
LINDA (CONT’D)
She miscarried twice before I was
born.
(beat)
Doctor told her it was stress.
They sit with that.
LINDA (CONT’D)
So what happens next?
Jack stares into his glass.
JACK
They slow us down.
LINDA
And we let them?
JACK
We document.
LINDA
That’s not a strategy.
JACK
It is if you want to stay in the
room.
Linda nods.
LINDA
Sometimes the only way to stay in
the room is to blow a hole in the
wall.
Jack’s phone VIBRATES on the bar.
He glances at it. Then answers.
JACK
Agent Morrow.
FBI AGENT (V.O.)
Sir. We found a sealed airlock that
isn’t on any map.
Jack straightens.
LINDA
(quiet)
What?
Jack holds up a finger to Linda.
JACK
Where?
FBI AGENT (V.O.)
Building seven-seven-one. Lower
level.
Jack frowns.
JACK
That area’s been cleared.
A beat.
FBI AGENT (V.O.)
That’s what we thought.
Jack leans forward.
JACK
What did you find?
A pause. Not dramatic. Measured.
FBI AGENT (V.O.)
You’re going to need to see it to
believe it, sir.
Jack’s jaw tightens. He looks at Linda.
JACK
We’re on our way.
He hangs up.
Linda’s already reaching for her jacket.
The neon sign BUZZES.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Evasive Maneuvers
EXT. SECURITY CHECKPOINT — NIGHT
The entrance looks like a county fair.
News vans. Camera lights blast the fence.
Two REPORTERS rehearse lines into mirrors.
A HELICOPTER idles overhead, spotlight skating the ground.
The guard booth is swallowed in media glow.
INT. SEDAN — CONTINUOUS
Jack exhales through his nose.
JACK
Jesus.
LINDA
They set up camp.
A news camera suddenly swings toward them.
Red tally light ON.
Jack immediately kills the headlights.
Dark again. They sit in silence.
Only the distant WHUP-WHUP-WHUP of blades.
Dash lights low.
Linda watches the vans.
LINDA (CONT’D)
If we go through the gate, we’re on
tape.
Jack nods. Thinking. Counting.
JACK
There’s a service entrance on the
south fence.
EXT. SECURITY CHECKPOINT — SAME
A REPORTER goes live.
REPORTER
(into camera)
-- federal agents refusing to
answer questions about possible
radioactive exposure --
A guard rubs his temples.
No one notices the dark sedan slowly rolling backward.
Disappearing.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
Into the Shadows
EXT. SERVICE ENTRANCE — MOMENTS LATER
They slip the sedan through.
The gate closes behind them.
Far away --
The helicopters thud.
The media glow flickers against the clouds.
INT. SEDAN — CONTINUOUS
They drive without headlights.
Moonlight only.
Buildings slide past like sleeping animals.
The Building 771 structure looms.
Quiet. Featureless.
Just the HUM.
Jack parks in shadow.
Engine off.
They sit there a moment. Listening. Their breathing loud in
the car.
Linda reaches for her gear case. Hands steady. But slower
than usual.
LINDA
They’ll bury it twice as hard
tomorrow.
Jack nods.
JACK
Then we don’t give them tomorrow.
He looks at Building 771.
At the dark bulk of it.
JACK (CONT’D)
We get it tonight.
Linda meets his eyes.
They step out. Close the doors quietly.
The HUM swallows the sound.
They walk toward the entrance.
Two small figures.
Moving toward something the world isn’t supposed to see.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Into the Unknown
INT. BUILDING 771 — LOWER SUBLEVEL — NIGHT
The HUM down here isn’t background anymore. It presses
against the chest.
Jack and Linda stand outside a STEEL AIRLOCK DOOR.
Stenciled lettering, faded but legible:
ROOM 141
Two FBI AGENTS wait nearby, already uneasy.
Against the wall:
TWO MASSIVE YELLOW ANTI-CONTAMINATION SUITS.
Bulky. Industrial. Inhuman.
Jack stares at them.
JACK
These weren’t on the inventory.
FBI AGENT
This room wasn’t on the blueprints
either.
Linda steps toward the suits.
Runs a hand along the thick rubberized material.
LINDA
These are full alpha containment.
A beat.
They start suiting up.
The process is slow. Ritualistic.
Helmets lower. Breathing systems hiss to life.
Jack struggles briefly with a shoulder latch.
Linda helps him -- clumsy, human.
LINDA (CONT’D)
You ever worn one of these?
JACK
Once.
LINDA
How’d it go?
JACK
I quit smoking.
She smiles -- small, real.
The levity dies as the FINAL SEAL LOCKS.
The outside world drops away.
Their breathing fills their helmets.
The FBI AGENT hands Linda a GEIGER COUNTER.
It’s already clicking. Fast.
LINDA
That’s just outside the door.
Jack reaches for the airlock handle.
JACK
Ready?
Linda meets his eyes through layered visors.
LINDA
No.
A beat.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Yes.
Jack pulls the lever.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
Revelation in Room 141
INT. ROOM 141 — CONTINUOUS
The door opens. Light FLOODS out.
Cold. White. Endless.
They freeze.
The Geiger counter ERUPTS.
Then ---
One continuous TONE.
A single, sustained CLICK. Flat. Unbroken.
Linda looks down at the counter.
The needle is BURIED.
Past numbers. Past meaning.
She inhales -- Too fast. Her visor blooms white.
A quick cloud. She blinks it away.
Tries again. Slow. Controlled.
Another breath --
The visor fogs faster now. Thicker.
Her own air trapping her.
She can’t find the rhythm.
Her chest rises. Doesn’t settle.
She swallows. Forces the exhale through her nose.
Counts it out.
One. Two. Three.
The fog slowly clears.
She steadies. Professional again.
Jack takes one step forward -- too fast.
Linda instinctively grabs his arm. Stops him.
ROOM 141 is massive -- larger than the building allows.
The ceiling stretches high, disappearing into haze.
The floor is a grid.
Endless rows of IDENTICAL METAL CYLINDERS -- drum-like
containers, capped, sealed -- arranged with mathematical
precision.
Hundreds. The rows vanish into haze. Perspective collapses.
Lights line the ceiling in perfect intervals, each one
reflected off polished metal walls.
The reflections multiply the space.
Jack steps forward.
His boots CLANG against metal flooring.
The sound echoes -- then dies quickly.
The HUM here is absolute.
Linda moves beside a cylinder.
Each one is stamped with a code.
Not dates. Numbers.
She runs the Geiger counter along the surface.
The tone doesn’t change.
LINDA
It’s all hot.
Jack turns slowly, trying to see an end. There isn’t one.
Linda shakes her head.
Jack walks further in.
Each step reveals more of the same. Repetition as design.
JACK
What is this?
Linda kneels, inspecting a junction between rows.
She finds a recessed channel. A conveyance track, worn
smooth.
Linda stands -- looks around...
LINDA
Accumulation.
She looks back at Jack.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Everything that couldn’t be
accounted for.
Linda stands. A long beat.
LINDA (CONT’D)
They centralized it.
Jack’s helmeted breath grows louder.
JACK
Somebody okayed this.
Jack’s eyes drift down.
Along the conveyance track -- fresh scuff marks.
Fresh. Recent.
Linda lifts the Geiger counter.
The TONE continues.
They stand there. Two figures in yellow suits. Tiny against
the scale.
The counter’s tone fills the room -- a flat line of sound.
Jack keys his radio.
The sound barely penetrates the suit.
JACK (CONT’D)
(to radio)
We’ve located Room One-Four-One.
Static.
JACK (CONT’D)
It’s fully loaded. This goes
federal tonight.
Linda looks back at the rows.
At the repetition. At the intent.
LINDA
This wasn’t negligence.
It was policy.
They stand in silence.
Jack’s breath fogs his visor.
CUT TO BLACK.
The steady TONE continues.
Then -- underneath it -- a LOW, FAMILIAR HUM.
Ventilation.
Constant.
Relentless.