EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – NIGHT
A dirt canal cuts through the land -- not straight, but
curving, patient.
Dry.
No water.
No sound.
We drift slowly along the canal bed.
The soil is cracked and pale, holding the faint impression of
where water once argued its way through.
Towering Cottonwood trees line both sides -- ancient, thick-
trunked, their branches arching overhead like ribs.
Above the canal:
-- Backyards trimmed into obedience
-- Jogging paths groomed smooth and safe
-- Sprinklers clicking on in perfect, mechanical intervals
Water exists.
It just doesn’t come here anymore.
The canal slips onward beneath the neighborhoods,
disappearing into shadow -- a quiet passageway where nothing
flows.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Predator in the Night
EXT. BACKYARD – NIGHT
A vast, manicured backyard stretches into darkness -- too
big, too quiet.
Perfect grass. Trimmed hedges. A stone patio glows under a
porch light.
At the back door sits an AGED COCKER SPANIEL, cloudy-eyed,
ribs faintly visible beneath thinning fur.
The dog WHIMPERS -- a small, tired sound -- and scratches
once at the glass.
No response.
The dog settles back onto its haunches, ears twitching at
something it can’t see.
The night presses in.
Beyond the pool of porch light, the yard dissolves into
shadow.
The edge of the property blurs into a wall of trees and brush
-- untamed, breathing darkness.
The dog tilts its head.
A faint sound -- a shift in the grass.
The cocker spaniel stiffens. Its tail tucks low. A low,
uncertain WHINE escapes its throat.
Behind the dog, at the far edge of the yard --
A SHADOW slips free from the darkness.
At first, it barely moves. Just a suggestion. A distortion in
the night.
The dog slowly turns -- legs trembling.
The shadow grows taller. Wider.
A faint glint catches the porch light --
TWO RED EYES.
Unblinking. Assessing.
The dog lets out a soft, pleading CRY.
The shadow closes in, swallowing the dog’s small body in
darkness.
A LOW, PRIMAL SNARL ripples through the yard -- not loud, not
rushed -- a warning meant only for its prey.
The shape lowers.
Muscle rolls beneath fur as the creature steps into the edge
of the light --
A MASSIVE MOUNTAIN LION, scarred and powerful, teeth bared,
breath slow and steady.
A heartbeat of stillness.
Then --
The mountain lion EXPLODES FORWARD, a blur of muscle and
teeth --
SMASH TO BLACK.
A short, wrenching SQUEAL cuts through the night.
Then --
Only the faint CREAK of the backyard trees... and the porch
light humming, indifferent.
Genres:
["Thriller","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Morning Echoes
INT. KITCHEN – MORNING
Early light slips through half-open blinds, striping the
kitchen in pale gold.
The house is old. Lived-in.
MATT LOCKWOOD (40s) stands at the stove in a faded T-shirt,
barefoot, sleeves pushed up -- military tattoos worn soft by
time.
He cracks eggs into a pan.
SIZZLE.
Coffee BREWS.
Toast POPS.
This is a man who keeps things moving.
At the table, SEAN LOCKWOOD (13) slouches in a hoodie, hair
wild, eyes half-open.
Scrolling. Pretending not to be awake.
Slow, shuffling footsteps from the hall.
BRUCE LOCKWOOD (70s) appears in the doorway, flannel buttoned
wrong, pajama pants rumpled.
He stops -- unsure where he is.
Matt notices instantly.
MATT
Morning, Dad.
Bruce squints. Takes in the room.
BRUCE
...Morning.
A beat. He scans again.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You cooking?
Matt smiles. Gentle.
MATT
Yeah.
Bruce nods. That helps.
Sean looks up.
SEAN
Good eggs or burnt ones?
MATT
Burnt builds character.
Sean smirks.
Bruce eases into a chair, hands resting on the table like
anchors.
He watches Matt cook.
BRUCE
Your mother used to make them like
that.
Matt doesn’t look at him.
MATT
I remember.
Silence. Full, not awkward.
Matt plates the eggs. Slides one to Bruce, one to Sean.
Bruce studies his plate.
BRUCE
You didn’t have to.
MATT
I wanted to.
Bruce nods. Accepts that.
They eat.
Sean pokes at his eggs.
SEAN
We’re out of hot sauce.
MATT
We’ll survive, Sean.
Bruce looks up suddenly.
BRUCE
Sean?
SEAN
Hey, Grandpa.
Bruce studies him -- then recognition flickers.
BRUCE
Right. Sean.
Relief crosses his face too quickly.
Bruce lifts his fork. His hand trembles.
Matt notices. Looks away.
A few quiet bites.
Then Bruce pauses.
Listens.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You hear that?
Matt stops.
MATT
Hear what?
Bruce tilts his head, eyes distant but focused.
BRUCE
The canal.
MATT
The canal is bone dry, Dad.
BRUCE
It used to sound like it was
breathing.
Sean glances toward the window.
SEAN
Why do they call it the High Line
Canal?
Bruce smiles faintly. This one sticks.
Matt looks at him now.
BRUCE
Because they run above everything
else. They’re built along the spine
of the land -- just high enough to
decide where the water goes.
Sean leans in.
SEAN
So... it chooses.
Bruce nods.
BRUCE
Gravity does the work. But only
after someone tells it where to
start.
(beat)
You shut it at the top --
everything below dries out.
Sean considers that.
Bruce meets Matt’s eyes. Clear for a moment.
Sean takes another bite.
SEAN
These are actually good.
Matt exhales -- almost a laugh.
MATT
High praise.
Bruce eats. Smiles.
For just a moment -- the house holds.
Matt gathers the plates, crosses to the sink.
As he turns on the faucet --
For just a moment, before the water hits the basin --
A faint, hollow RUSH drifts in through the open window.
Not wind.
Not traffic.
Something deeper.
Matt pauses.
Listens.
The sound is already gone.
He turns the faucet off.
Genres:
["Drama","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
A Disturbing Call
INT. COLORADO PARKS AND WILDLIFE – SATELLITE OFFICE – DAY
A small, utilitarian office.
Matt sits alone at a metal desk near a window that looks out
on scrubland and distant cottonwoods.
A folded newspaper lies open in front of him.
His eyes drift, unfocused -- then stop.
A headline catches:
“SECOND ROBBERY REPORTED IN CHERRY HILLS — POLICE STILL HAVE
NO LEADS”
Matt exhales through his nose. Almost a laugh.
He folds the paper once and sets it aside -- like something
he doesn’t want touching his hands anymore.
Matt leans back in his chair. The faint CREAK echoes in the
quiet office.
He glances at a corkboard on the wall --
Maps of the canal system. Handwritten notes. Red pushpins
clustered tighter than they should be.
Matt studies it.
The DESK PHONE RINGS.
Sharp. Startling.
Matt picks up.
MATT
Parks and Wildlife. Officer
Lockwood.
A beat. Static on the line. Wind.
An older woman’s voice pushes through -- thin, shaken, trying
very hard to stay polite.
CAROLINE (V.O.)
Hello? Yes -- hi. I’m not sure
I’ve got the right number. I was
told to call Parks and Wildlife.
Matt straightens slightly.
MATT
You do. What seems to be the
problem, ma’am?
Another beat. A breath being gathered.
CAROLINE (V.O)
It’s my dog, Betsy. She’s -- she’s
gone.
Matt closes his eyes -- just for a second.
MATT
Okay. Tell me what happened.
Her voice trembles now, despite her effort to sound composed.
CAROLINE (V.O.)
This morning I found her in the
backyard.
A pause. Something unspoken hangs in the silence.
CAROLINE (V.O.)
What was left of her.
Matt’s jaw tightens.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Unearthed Secrets
EXT. BACKYARD – DAY
A pristine backyard under clear Colorado sunlight.
White patio furniture. A bird feeder swaying gently in the
breeze.
Wind chimes CLICK softly, cheerful and out of place.
Matt steps through the open side gate and stops.
Doesn’t move forward yet.
Just looks.
The grass near the back fence is disturbed -- not torn up,
not chaotic.
Pressed flat.
As if something heavy waited there.
CAROLINE VOLKER (80s) stands near the patio door, wrapped in
a cardigan despite the warmth.
She clutches a coffee mug with both hands like it might
shatter.
CAROLINE
Thank you for coming so quickly.
Matt nods, eyes never leaving the yard.
MATT
Where did you find him?
Caroline points.
Near the hedgerow -- where manicured lawn gives way to
something less controlled.
Matt approaches slowly. Deliberate. Each step measured.
The smell hits first.
Something coppery. Animal. Feral.
At the edge of the hedges lies what remains of the COCKER
SPANIEL.
Or rather -- parts of it.
Matt crouches.
The body hasn’t been dragged.
It’s been worked.
The ribcage is exposed -- cleanly.
Matt studies the ground around it.
Coyotes leave chaos.
This is... orderly.
His eyes move to the grass beyond the body...
TRACKS.
Matt pulls a small ruler from his pocket and measures the
print without ceremony.
He exhales slowly.
Matt doesn’t answer immediately.
He rises and walks the perimeter of the yard.
The canal corridor looms just past the property line -- dry,
overgrown, quiet.
Matt looks back at the yard. At the hedges. At the canal
beyond.
A long silence.
Somewhere far off -- a bird SCREECHES and takes flight.
Matt straightens, resolve settling in.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Tracks of Mystery
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – DAY
The dry canal -- a scar cutting through the landscape.
No water. No movement.
On either side -- backyards give way to brush, cottonwoods,
and scrub. Civilization thinning out by the footstep.
Matt climbs down into the canal bed -- moves forward slowly,
scanning the ground...
Near the base of the canal wall --
TRACKS.
Large. Deliberate.
Mountain lion.
Not just one set -- SEVERAL.
The pads are clearly defined, pressed deep despite the dry
surface.
The animals carried weight. Confidence.
Matt crouches -- studies them, then rubs his shoulder.
Matt follows the tracks.
Ten feet ahead --
Another set of impressions intersects them.
BOOT PRINTS.
Human.
Heavy tread. Work boots. Deep heel marks.
Matt’s brow furrows.
Man and predator moving in the same direction.
Matt straightens and looks down the canal corridor.
Then continues.
He spots something near the canal wall -- a faint glint half-
buried in dust and weeds.
He kneels.
Carefully brushes away grit --
A gold earring, bent, the clasp torn loose.
Matt holds it between his fingers.
Expensive. Tasteful. Not costume.
He scans the area.
No signs of struggle.
Just... dropped.
He slips it into his pocket and looks back down at the
ground.
The mountain lion tracks continue.
So do the boot prints.
They disappear together around a bend in the canal where
brush thickens -- shadows deepen.
His gaze drifts --
The world SHIFTS.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
A Day of Adventure
EXT. MITCHELL HOUSE – DAY (FLASHBACK)
A modest, sun-warmed house.
Rose-yellow brick. Red asphalt shingles.
The canal churns through backyards thick with brush and tall
grass -- nature still winning.
The ROCKY MOUNTAINS loom -- closer. Wilder. Untouched.
YOUNG MATT (13) bursts out the back door, unstoppable energy.
ARTIE, a young German Shepherd, barrels after him.
On the patio:
CLARA MITCHELL (30s), hands deep in dirt, waters lilacs.
BRUCE, younger, solid -- a man who believes the world behaves
if you respect it.
MATT
I’m taking Artie for a run on the
canal.
CLARA
Alright. Just be careful.
Bruce looks up from his book. Hesitates.
Matt is already backing away, grinning.
MATT
I know, I know. I’ll be careful. I
promise.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Echoes of Survival
EXT. CANAL TRAIL – DAY
A dirt track hugging the rushing water.
Matt and Artie jog past a red barn.
Past acres of scraped land.
A massive wooden sign looms:
“COMING SOON – CHERRY RIDGE - A DIVISION OF CHERRY HILLS”
Matt slows, catching his breath.
Artie suddenly pulls hard.
EXT. WILDERNESS – CONTINUOUS
Artie drags Matt off the trail.
MATT
Artie! Get back on the trail!
Too late.
Artie stops.
Sniffs.
The world goes DEAD QUIET.
No water.
No birds.
No wind.
Matt feels it before he sees it.
Behind him --
A MASSIVE MOUNTAIN LION steps from the brush.
Ten feet back.
Silent.
Its body of muscle and tawny fur fills the space like
something summoned.
The animal’s RED EYES lock onto Matt.
Matt turns -- looks down at Artie.
Don’t bark.
Artie’s body trembles.
Then --
BARK.
The lion DROPS LOW.
Muscle coils. Rear legs pumping.
A guttural SNARL tears through the silence.
Then --
The lion HITS.
Matt goes down hard, the air ripped from his lungs.
Claws. Teeth. Weight.
The world becomes FUR AND BLOOD AND NOISE.
Matt struggles beneath it -- hands shaking, vision blurring.
The lion swipes --
A claw TEARS INTO MATT’S SHOULDER.
Blood sprays.
Artie lunges, teeth grazing the lion’s haunch.
The lion turns on him.
MATT (CONT’D)
Artie!
Artie circles -- low, desperate --
Then LEAPS, jaws clamping onto the lion’s foot.
The lion ROARS.
Matt scrambles up --
Grabs a thick branch --
WHAM.
The lion stumbles back.
Matt and Artie RUN.
EXT. CANAL TRAIL – DAY
They burst onto the trail.
Matt stumbles.
Falls.
The world spins.
Blood pools beneath him.
Artie barks -- frantic, protective -- standing over Matt.
END FLASHBACK
EXT. CANAL – DAY (BACK TO PRESENT)
Matt snaps back.
He’s breathing hard.
The canal is dry again.
Silent.
Matt touches the scar on his shoulder.
Stands there for a long moment.
Then turns and heads back the way he came.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Tension in the Bullpen
INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT – BULLPEN – DAY
Glass walls. Framed commendations. A coffee machine hums.
OFFICER KATE LEMON (30s) stands at a whiteboard, mid-
conversation with a UNIFORMED OFFICER, jotting notes with
practiced efficiency.
She’s sharp. Grounded. A cop who believes in order because
chaos takes too much energy.
Matt appears at the edge of the bullpen.
Kate clocks him immediately.
OFFICER LEMON
(to officer)
Hold that thought.
She caps the marker and turns.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
You look like you crawled out of a
ditch.
MATT
Close.
Kate gestures him toward her desk. They sit.
Matt doesn’t waste time.
MATT (CONT’D)
I just came from a wildlife call.
Backyard off Devonshire.
Kate leans back, folds her arms.
OFFICER LEMON
Coyotes again?
Matt shakes his head.
MATT
Mountain lion.
That lands -- but Officer Lemon keeps her face neutral.
Matt reaches into his pocket.
Sets down a small, bent gold earring between them.
Officer Lemon looks at it. Doesn’t touch it yet.
OFFICER LEMON
What am I looking at?
MATT
Found it in the canal corridor.
Same stretch where we’ve had the
last two burglaries.
Officer Lemon finally picks it up. Turns it over.
Professional curiosity sharpens.
OFFICER LEMON
You’re saying a mountain lion is
robbing houses?
Matt doesn’t smile.
MATT
I’m saying it wasn’t alone.
Officer Lemon studies him now.
OFFICER LEMON
You have boot prints?
MATT
Fresh. Same direction as the lion
tracks.
Officer Lemon sets the earring down slowly.
OFFICER LEMON
Okay. That’s... unusual.
Matt presses.
MATT
We need to close the canal trail.
Immediately.
Kate exhales -- not annoyed, but weary.
OFFICER LEMON
Matt, that trail is used by half
the town. Runners. Kids. Commuters.
You can’t shut it down on a hunch.
MATT
This isn’t a hunch.
OFFICER LEMON
It’s not a homicide. And right now,
I don’t have a crime scene I can
sell upstairs.
Matt leans forward.
MATT
You will.
Officer Lemon holds his gaze.
OFFICER LEMON
Even if I agreed with you -- which
I don’t -- that call isn’t mine.
(beat)
If you want that trail closed,
you’ll need sign-off from the
Mayor.
Matt nods once. Expected.
MATT
Where can I find him?
Officer Lemon stands, already grabbing her jacket.
OFFICER LEMON
Right now? Smiling for cameras.
She heads toward the exit. Matt follows.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Ribbon-cutting ceremony. New
library on Maple.
They stop at the door.
Officer Lemon turns back to Matt.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Just so we’re clear -- if you walk
into that event talking about
predators and shut-downs, he’s
going to hear panic, not
prevention.
Matt nods.
MATT
I’m used to that.
Officer Lemon studies him a moment longer.
OFFICER LEMON
I’m going to run that earring
through our stolen property
database -- see what comes back.
Matt exits.
Officer Lemon watches him go -- uneasy.
Genres:
["Crime","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Tension at the Ribbon-Cutting
EXT. LIBRARY – DAY
Blue sky. Clean air. A brand-new brick-and-glass library
gleams in the sun like a monument to good intentions.
A yellow ribbon stretches across the front steps.
A small CROWD gathers -- donors, city council members,
developers, local press. Smiling faces. Polite applause.
At the center of it all:
MAYOR REYNOLDS (50s) -- silver-haired, immaculately dressed,
every inch a man who believes progress is fragile and must be
protected.
A PODIUM. MICROPHONES.
Matt stands at the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning.
He spots the mayor immediately.
And the mayor spots him.
A flicker of recognition. A pause. Then the mayor smiles --
the kind that doesn’t invite conversation, only postpones it.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
(over mic)
-- another proud moment for Cherry
Hills. A place where our children
can learn, grow, and feel safe.
Polite applause.
Matt steps forward as the mayor finishes.
The mayor steps away from the podium, scissors in hand,
photographers closing in.
Matt intercepts him just before the ribbon is cut.
MATT
Mayor Reynolds.
The mayor turns -- already annoyed, already calculating.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Officer Mitchell. This isn’t
exactly the setting for --
MATT
We need to close the High Line
Canal.
The words land wrong. Too blunt. Too soon.
The mayor’s smile freezes -- then resets.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Today is about celebration.
He gestures toward the ribbon, the cameras.
MAYOR REYNOLDS (CONT’D)
Not fear.
Matt lowers his voice.
MATT
I’ve got confirmed mountain lion
activity inside residential yards.
Not sightings. Kills.
The mayor’s eyes flick -- not to Matt, but to the nearby
REPORTERS.
Then --
The Mayor’s gaze shifts.
Just past Matt, near the steps, stands GLOVER THOMPSON (50s).
Immaculate. Relaxed.
He watches the Mayor. His eyes don’t flicker. Don’t blink.
Not curious -- evaluative.
The Mayor clocks it. His shoulders stiffen. His smile
tightens by a fraction.
He steps closer, intimate now.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
We’ve coexisted with wildlife here
for decades.
MATT
This isn’t coexistence.
The mayor exhales slowly.
The MAYOR’S AIDE clears his throat nearby.
MAYOR’S AIDE
Sir, we’re ready.
The mayor nods -- then looks back at Matt.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
I expect this to be handled
quietly. However that needs to
happen.
The mayor studies Matt -- the certainty.
For just a moment, the mask slips.
Then the cameras CLICK.
The mayor turns, all charm again.
MAYOR REYNOLDS (CONT’D)
Let’s give the people what they
came for.
He raises the scissors.
Matt steps back as the ribbon is CUT.
Applause ERUPTS.
Flashbulbs POP.
The ribbon falls to the ground -- bright, severed.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Silent Pursuit
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL TRAIL – DAY
The ROCKY MOUNTAIN RANGE looms in the distance -- jagged,
indifferent.
Closer in --
The High Line Canal runs parallel to the trail.
Dry.
Silent.
CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
FOOTSTEPS -- steady, rhythmic.
A YOUNG WOMAN (20s), athletic, jogs alone along the
recreation trail.
Earbuds in. Hood up. Focused.
She runs deeper.
The cottonwoods lean in tighter.
THROUGH THE TREES
A faint RUSTLE.
Behind a veil of mist and shadow --
Something large shifts position.
Purposeful.
BACK TO JOGGER
She slows slightly. Shoulders tense.
The trees around her exhale -- a soft, collective rustle,
like lungs filling.
She quickens her pace.
THROUGH THE TREES
Her movement fractures through the trunks -- flashes of
color, motion, breath.
The canal below mirrors her path perfectly.
A parallel line.
Unseen.
A LOW GROWL vibrates the air.
Deep. Resonant. Felt more than heard.
BACK TO JOGGER
She stops.
Pulls out one earbud.
Silence.
Her jaw tightens. Eyes scan.
Pulls out the second earbud --
The world rushes back in.
Wind in leaves.
A distant birdcall.
Her breathing.
Then --
Nothing.
She exhales. Laughs softly. Shaky.
Turns to go --
SNAP.
A branch behind her jerks violently, recoiling from pressure.
She spins.
Sound DROPS AWAY.
The canal, the trees, the trail -- all holding their breath.
She takes a step back.
WHAM!
A MASSIVE SHAPE erupts from the cottonwoods in a blur of
CLAWS AND FANGS.
The impact is violent, surgical -- like a wave hitting the
shore and pulling back just as fast.
She slams to the ground.
A scream rips out of her -- cut short as she’s dragged
sideways, down, off the trail.
Into shadow.
Into the canal corridor.
Then --
Silence.
Stillness.
The trail lies empty.
A single RUNNING SHOE, blood-slick and twisted, rests at the
edge of the path.
Laces still tied.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Tensions in the Kitchen
EXT. MITCHELL HOUSE – KITCHEN – NIGHT
Matt enters with a pizza box, cardboard bowed from heat.
He sets it on the old kitchen table.
Sean is already there, hoodie cinched tight, restless.
Bruce lowers himself into a chair opposite Sean -- careful,
deliberate, like gravity can’t be trusted.
Matt opens the box.
Pepperoni. Steam rises.
He hands Bruce a slice.
Bruce takes it with both hands.
BRUCE
Smells right.
Matt sits.
MATT
Simple felt safer.
Bruce nods.
Sean grabs two slices.
SEAN
You’re late.
MATT
Traffic.
They eat.
Not awkward. Just quiet.
Bruce chews slowly, eyes drifting to the dark kitchen window -
- the backyard swallowed in shadow.
SEAN
So what’d the mayor say?
Matt takes a bite. Thinks.
MATT
He said no.
SEAN
Figures.
MATT
Said we shouldn’t panic people.
Bruce frowns, still watching the yard.
BRUCE
People should panic sometimes.
Matt looks at him.
MATT
Yeah?
BRUCE
Keeps you from pretending you’re
safe.
A beat.
SEAN
So can I ride the canal tomorrow or
not?
Matt sets his slice down.
MATT
No.
Immediate.
SEAN
Dad --
MATT
No.
SEAN
Everyone rides it. It’s the fastest
way to Kevin’s.
MATT
Everyone isn’t you.
Sean pushes back, chair scraping.
SEAN
You don’t get to just --
MATT
-- Keep you alive. That part’s
mine.
Sean falters.
SEAN
You don’t trust me.
Matt exhales.
MATT
I don’t trust what’s moving through
there.
Bruce sets his pizza down.
Looks at Matt -- clear, intent.
BRUCE
Something learned the water.
Silence.
SEAN
What does that mean?
Bruce blinks. The certainty slips.
BRUCE
I... I don’t know.
He rubs his temples.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
I keep losing pieces.
Matt reaches across, steadies his hand.
MATT
Breathe.
Bruce does -- but his eyes stay sharp.
Matt closes the pizza box.
MATT (CONT’D)
Sean. Homework.
Sean hesitates, then heads down the hall.
Matt and Bruce remain.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
From Frustration to Wonder
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Matt gets into bed and turns off the light on his bedside
table.
EXT. ROOFTOP – DAY (DREAM SEQUENCE)
Sixteen-year-old MATT sits in a rusted metal lawn chair, legs
dangling dangerously close to the edge.
In his hands: a BB GUN, old and dented.
Aluminum cans line the ledge.
Matt aims.
CLICK.
Nothing.
Matt frowns.
MATT
Aw, crap --
The SKY FLICKERS.
Not clouds rolling in --
A hard, violent jump cut to charcoal gray.
A THUNDERCLAP splits the air.
Rain erupts all at once -- sideways, needle-sharp, soaking
Matt instantly.
The rooftop GROANS beneath him, metal SCREAMING as wind whips
loose debris into the air.
Matt grips the chair, breath hitching.
Matt slowly rises and peers over the roof’s edge --
Below him now:
The CANAL, impossibly wide.
No longer dry.
A roaring, churning mass of black water surges below, swollen
and furious.
Matt’s fear softens into wonder.
A smile creeps across his face.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
The Ominous Drift
EXT. CANAL – DAY
Matt floats atop the inner tube, drifting fast.
Too fast.
The canal walls blur as water races beneath him, pulling him
forward with violent intent.
Artie paddles behind, struggling to keep up.
Matt laughs -- breathless, exhilarated.
A LOW GROWL rumbles beneath the sound of rushing water.
Matt’s smile fades.
The current suddenly SLOWS.
The canal narrows.
Cottonwoods loom overhead, their branches twisted, claw-like,
blotting out the sky.
The inner tube spins.
Matt’s gaze drifts toward the bank --
A massive COTTONWOOD TREE.
Its trunk split open by rot.
A BLACK HOLLOW, impossibly deep.
The growl comes again.
Closer.
From inside the tree --
TWO PIERCING RED EYES SNAP OPEN.
Unblinking.
Watching.
Artie WHINES.
The water surges --
Dragging Matt straight toward the hollow.
The growl deepens into something wet and hungry --
END DREAM SEQUENCE
CUT HARD TO:
Genres:
["Thriller","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Haunted Reflections
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT (BACK TO PRESENT)
Matt bolts upright, drenched in sweat.
He steps over to the window and peaks through the slats of
the blinds. Only darkness meets his gaze.
Matt looks down at a box full of pictures and memorabilia.
He picks up a framed NAVY SEAL TRIDENT with a folded American
flag behind it.
Matt stares at the trident, lost in thought.
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Matt turns on the light and looks at his own tired
reflection.
Doesn’t much like what he sees -- a deep scar of claw marks
streaked across his shoulder.
His torso and arms are peppered with various military
tattoos, but they still can’t mask the injury.
He rubs his fingers over it.
Four or five prescription bottles dot the ledge of the
bathroom sink.
He picks a bottle up, takes out a pill, and pops it.
Matt sighs -- turns off the light.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Morning Disconnect
INT. KITCHEN – MORNING
Early light filters through the blinds, pale and brittle.
Matt stands at the sink, half-awake, haunted.
He turns the faucet.
Water pours into a glass.
He stops it halfway.
Watches the water settle. Still. Clear.
Matt lifts the glass -- weighs it in his hand.
Something about it doesn’t sit right.
He looks out the window.
The backyard lies quiet.
Beyond it -- the canal.
Dry. Cracked. Empty.
A concrete wound cutting through the earth.
Matt turns back to the sink.
Opens the faucet again.
The water climbs -- higher, higher -- until the glass is
full, trembling at the edge of overflow.
He shuts it off.
Studies the surface tension. One wrong move and it spills.
Matt sets the glass down carefully.
A beat.
He picks up the newspaper from the counter and carries it to
the table.
As he sits, Sean shuffles in, hair a mess, still wearing
yesterday’s hoodie.
Sean grabs a bowl, pours cereal. Too much.
Milk follows -- flooding the bowl until it laps over the rim
and spills onto the counter.
Sean barely notices.
MATT
Morning.
SEAN
Hey.
Sean wipes the milk with his sleeve, brings the bowl to the
table, starts eating.
Crunch. Slurp.
Matt opens the paper.
Then stops.
Matt folds the paper -- slow, deliberate -- and slides it
toward Sean.
The headline faces him:
“CHARITY GALA HONORING GLOVER THOMPSON TO BE HELD AT THE
BUELL THEATRE THIS FRIDAY.”
Sean barely looks up.
Matt’s eyes drift back to the window.
To the canal.
Then looks down at his full glass of water.
At the untouched cereal milk spreading across the table.
Then -- realization clicks.
Not sudden.
Not loud.
Cold.
MATT
(low, to himself)
They go where the water doesn’t.
Sean looks up now.
SEAN
What?
Matt doesn’t answer.
His gaze locks onto the dry canal outside.
A place where nothing flows.
Matt stands.
The chair legs scrape sharply against the floor.
SEAN (CONT’D)
Dad?
Matt grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.
The glass of water trembles -- then finally spills, a thin
stream sliding across the table and dripping onto the floor.
Matt doesn’t notice.
He’s already moving.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Reflections on Abundance
EXT. DENVER WATER COMPANY – DAY
A Romanesque rotunda, all pale stone and civic pride.
At its center: a fountain -- water spilling endlessly,
indifferent to scarcity.
Matt stands beside it, still, watching the water cycle back
into itself.
Above him, carved into the ceiling:
“AND MEN SHALL FASHION GLACIERS INTO GREENNESS AND HARVEST
APRIL RIVERS IN THE AUTUMN.”
Matt squints at the words.
A YOUNG ASSISTANT (20s), polished and pleasant, approaches.
ASSISTANT
Good morning, Officer Lockwood. Mr.
Dent can see you now.
Matt gives the fountain one last look -- the excess -- then
follows.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Tension in the Office
INT. OFFICE – DAY
The Rocky Mountains sit perfectly framed in the windows --
less like nature, more like branding.
WALTER DENT (50s) -- silver-haired, composed, expensive in a
way that never announces itself -- sits behind an immaculate
desk.
Nothing personal.
Nothing unnecessary.
Across from him, Matt sits rigid. Still. Like a man holding
pressure in his chest.
Walter smiles -- not warm, not cold.
Professional.
WALTER
How can I help you, Officer?
Matt doesn’t smile back.
MATT
I’m looking into animal activity
along the High Line Canal.
I’m trying to understand why it’s dry.
Walter studies him -- already measuring how much truth is
worth spending.
WALTER
Of course.
He stands. Moves to a sleek water dispenser.
The sound of water filling a glass is loud in the quiet
office.
He fills it all the way to the rim.
Doesn’t spill a drop.
WALTER (CONT’D)
The drought’s given us flexibility.
He takes a long, deliberate drink.
Matt watches the water go down.
Walter sets the glass down.
WALTER (CONT’D)
Empty corridors are easier to
manage than flowing ones.
Matt lets that sit.
MATT
Funny thing about droughts.
Walter looks at him.
MATT (CONT’D)
Predators don’t wait them out.
A flicker -- gone almost instantly.
WALTER
My mandate is conservation.
Matt nods, unconvinced.
MATT
I thought the canal pulled directly
from the Platte.
WALTER
It does. When it can.
A small shrug. Practiced.
WALTER (CONT’D)
Right now, the river’s too low.
Matt leans forward.
Not aggressive.
Intent.
MATT
The canal’s become a corridor. No
water. No witnesses.
Walter listens. Gives nothing.
MATT (CONT’D)
Whatever’s killing pets --
Whatever’s breaking into homes --
Matt holds his gaze.
MATT (CONT’D)
It’s using the canal to move
unseen.
Walter folds his hands.
The smile thins -- barely.
WALTER
Once we get sufficient rainfall,
the canal will flow again. There’ll
be no need to open the Platte
headgate.
A pause.
WALTER (CONT’D)
Until then... nature adapts.
That lands.
Matt absorbs it.
Then --
BUZZ.
His phone vibrates on the desk.
Matt checks it.
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
Matt... we’ve got a situation.
Matt straightens.
MATT
Where?
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
Jogger went missing off the canal
trail near Dayton. Looks like a
mountain lion attack.
Matt closes his eyes.
Just for a second.
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
But we haven’t found the body.
Matt stands.
MATT
I’m on my way.
He ends the call.
Walter watches him now -- interested.
WALTER
Everything alright?
Matt heads for the door.
MATT
Someone just vanished on the High
Line rec trail.
Walter doesn’t stand.
WALTER
I’m sorry to hear that.
Matt stops.
Turns back.
MATT
It doesn’t just fill space.
A beat.
MATT (CONT’D)
It changes behavior.
Walter says nothing.
Matt exits.
Walter remains alone in the glass office.
The mountains loom beyond the windows -- silent, patient.
On the desk --
The untouched glass of water sweats, spilling slowly across
the immaculate surface.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Silent Surveillance
EXT. DENVER WATER PARKING LOT – DAY
The Denver Water Building looms -- glass, steel, reflective.
Matt exits, phone in hand, jaw tight.
He heads for his CPW truck, its green insignia a lone note of
color.
As Matt walks --
We drift away from him.
Across the lot.
Glover sits inside a black Mercedes at the far edge.
Engine off.
Window down.
Still.
Glover watches.
Not curious.
Not alert.
Patient.
Matt unlocks his truck and opens the door -- then glances
back toward the building.
Glover shifts.
Just enough light catches his face.
Weathered. Focused. Eyes locked.
Matt gets into the truck.
Closes the door.
The engine turns over.
As Matt pulls out --
Glover finally moves.
Lets his arm rest on the door.
Watches Matt leave.
INT. MERCEDES - CONTINUOUS
On Glover’s dashboard --
A FOLDED MAP OF THE HIGH LINE CANAL.
Hand-marked in red.
Paths that don’t follow roads.
A faint smile touches his mouth.
Gone as quickly as it appears.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
The Disappearance on the Trail
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL TRAIL – DAY
Blue sky. Clean light.
A day meant for joggers.
There are none.
Police tape flutters between cottonwoods -- obscene against
the calm.
A few squad cars sit off the trail. Engines cold. Lights
dark.
Matt’s truck rolls up.
He steps out.
Doesn’t rush.
He ducks under the tape.
Ahead, Officer Lemon stands with two UNIFORMS.
No one speaks.
Matt follows their gaze.
The trail bends -- where the canal slips into brush and
shadow.
Matt walks.
Stops.
At the trail’s edge --
A RUNNING SHOE.
Blood-darkened. Twisted wrong.
Matt crouches.
No drag marks.
No struggle.
Just absence -- as if the runner stepped off the world.
Matt straightens.
Looks down into the canal.
Dry. Cracked.
At the base --
TRACKS.
Large. Clean.
Mountain lion.
They parallel the trail... then angle inward.
Halfway down the canal --
A glint.
Matt climbs down.
Kneels.
An EARBUD.
He looks up.
The canal curves ahead -- blind.
Perfect cover.
Matt stands alone in the trench.
He looks back.
Officer Lemon watches -- pale, waiting.
Matt climbs out.
Meets her eyes.
He moves past her, farther down the trail.
The uniforms exchange looks.
Matt stops again.
There -- where canal meets neighborhood --
A SMEAR OF BLOOD.
Pressed into dirt.
Not dragged.
Placed.
Matt exhales.
This wasn’t a chase.
This was a pickup.
He turns back to Lemon.
Their eyes lock.
OFFICER LEMON
(quiet)
No body.
MATT
Not here.
Matt looks down the canal -- then moves on.
Behind him, the shoe stays.
Genres:
["Mystery","Crime","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
The Discovery
EXT. CANAL CORRIDOR / BRUSH LINE – DAY
The canal tightens.
Matt moves along the edge.
Lemon follows a few steps back.
The air feels heavier.
Matt stops.
Kneels.
Flattened grass.
Pressed, not torn.
A scrape in the dirt.
Dragged.
Matt follows it.
Ten feet ahead -- half-hidden --
A HUMAN HAND.
Palm-up. Still.
Officer Lemon freezes.
The uniforms stop.
Matt approaches.
The jogger lies tucked into the brush.
Intact.
Chest collapsed inward.
Neck broken clean.
Efficient.
Matt crouches.
Studies.
Lemon steps closer -- stops.
OFFICER LEMON
Oh my god...
Matt’s eyes drop to the ground.
Tracks again.
Clear.
But wrong.
They don’t circle.
Don’t hesitate.
They point one way.
Matt stands.
Follows them with his eyes.
Away from houses.
Toward open land.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Where are they coming from?
Matt studies the horizon -- scrubland thinning into something
older.
She waits.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Matt.
He lowers his hand.
MATT
Best guess, the Rocky Mountain
Arsenal Wildlife Refuge.
He looks back at the tracks.
A beat.
OFFICER LEMON
So why now?
Matt looks at the dry canal.
MATT
Because we cut off the water.
It lands.
OFFICER LEMON
And they followed it.
Matt nods.
MATT
Water teaches movement. So does its
absence.
He looks back at the jogger.
Wind moves through tall grass.
The tracks continue onward.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Silent Resolution
INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT – NIGHT
After hours.
The bullpen is dark -- only emergency lights and the low hum
of servers breathing behind the walls.
Officer Lemon stands at a terminal.
On-screen:
A DROP-DOWN MENU.
CLASSIFICATION:
Options scroll past:
-- Animal incident
-- Undetermined
-- Accidental exposure
-- Potential facilitation
Her cursor stops.
Hovers.
A beat.
She clicks.
A SYSTEM WARNING fills the screen:
SUPERVISORY REVIEW REQUIRED
Lemon exhales -- not frustration.
Recognition.
She clicks CONFIRM.
The screen processes.
Then:
FILED — 23:47
A clean, unforgiving time stamp.
Lemon steps back from the terminal.
She doesn’t smile.
Doesn’t flinch.
This isn’t relief.
This is completion.
Genres:
["Crime","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Shared Battles
INT. ROCKY MOUNTAIN ARSENAL FIELD OFFICE – DAY
A modest office dressed up to feel official.
Government-issue furniture. Fluorescent hum. No windows.
RUSS MCCARTHY (50s) sits behind his desk -- thick neck, heavy
hands, posture of someone who’s been told when to use force
and when to wait.
Matt stands across from him. Doesn’t sit yet.
MATT
Appreciate you making the time,
Russ.
Russ studies him. Doesn’t invite him to sit.
RUSS
I heard about the jogger.
A beat.
RUSS (CONT’D)
Cherry Hills isn’t my jurisdiction.
Matt glances past Russ -- to the wall.
Navy commendations. Bronze stars. A folded flag.
Matt nods once.
MATT
Navy man.
Russ clocks the look.
RUSS
Three tours.
Matt finally sits.
MATT
Same.
Russ leans back now. Recalculating.
RUSS
Where’d they break you?
MATT
They didn’t.
Russ almost smiles.
Almost.
Then exhales through his nose.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Journey Through Forgotten Lands
INT. RUSS’S TRUCK – DAY
A government pickup held together by habit and paperwork.
It cuts through open prairie -- wind rippling the grass in
long, anxious waves.
Russ, steady hands, drives.
Matt watches the land slide past.
RUSS
You ever been out here?
MATT
Driven past it.
RUSS
Most people do.
(beat)
That’s not an accident.
They pass a rusted structure half-swallowed by weeds.
Matt clocks it.
MATT
Used to be something.
RUSS
Out here. Everything did.
The truck bumps over rough ground.
Russ keeps his eyes on the road.
Ahead -- a military checkpoint.
Russ slows, rolls down the window.
A SOLDIER steps up.
RUSS (CONT’D)
McCarthy. Game Warden.
Matt flashes his badge.
The soldier studies them, then waves them through.
As they pass, Matt notices the fencing beyond --
Old. New. Then old again.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
The Silent Refuge
EXT. WILDLIFE REFUGE – DAY
Matt and Russ stand beside the truck.
The quiet presses in.
No birds.
No insects.
The land feels abandoned -- not dead, just emptied.
Matt closes his eyes.
Listens.
Nothing.
MATT
I don’t hear anything.
And I don’t see anything alive.
Russ nods, unsurprised.
RUSS
That’s the part that should bother
you.
Matt scans the tree line. The tall grass. The distant hills.
MATT
Where’d it all go?
Russ crouches. Scoops a handful of dirt.
Lets it sift slowly through his fingers.
When he stands --
RUSS
Toward food.
Water.
A beat.
RUSS (CONT’D)
People.
Matt exhales.
MATT
And predators followed.
RUSS
They always do.
Matt glances back at the truck. The empty road beyond it.
MATT
So why shut off the canal?
Russ doesn’t answer right away.
He studies the land like a chessboard -- measuring moves that
haven’t happened yet.
RUSS
Water makes land expensive.
Matt turns.
RUSS (CONT’D)
No water -- values drop.
Fast.
The implication lands.
MATT
Someone buying?
Russ nods.
RUSS
Tracking it six months.
Matt waits.
RUSS (CONT’D)
Same buyer. Adjacent parcels.
Always hugging the dry canal.
A beat.
MATT
Who?
Russ meets his eyes.
RUSS
Glover Thompson.
The name settles into the quiet.
Matt straightens.
MATT
Appreciate the tour.
Russ turns back toward the truck.
Behind them, the refuge rolls on.
Empty.
Watchful.
Patient.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Bureaucratic Compromise
INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT – CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY
A small conference room. Neutral.
No nameplates. No windows.
Officer Lemon sits at the table with a thin case folder in
front of her.
Closed.
Across from her:
CAPTAIN RUIZ (50s) -- composed, tired in a way that suggests
he’s been here before.
A CITY ATTORNEY (40s) -- suit, polite, already disengaged.
No hostility.
That’s the point.
The City Attorney slides a revised report across the table.
It stops directly in front of Officer Lemon.
CITY ATTORNEY
We’ve made a few clarifying edits.
Lemon doesn’t open it yet.
OFFICER LEMON
Clarifying what?
The attorney gives a practiced smile.
CITY ATTORNEY
Scope.
Lemon opens the folder.
We don’t see the full report -- only select lines, now
redacted, rephrased:
“Non-random predation” now! “animal activity.”
“Deliberate corridor” now “area of occurrence.”
Officer Lemon reads.
Slow.
Her jaw tightens -- just slightly.
A beat.
Captain Ruiz chooses his words carefully.
CAPTAIN RUIZ
Kate -- nobody’s saying you’re
wrong.
That lands harder than denial.
CAPTAIN RUIZ (CONT’D)
We’re saying this isn’t the place
to be right.
Silence.
The hum of the building fills it -- HVAC, distant phones,
institutional breathing.
Lemon closes the folder.
Doesn’t push it back.
Lemon nods once.
Captain Ruiz watches her -- something like regret flickering,
quickly buried.
CAPTAIN RUIZ (CONT’D)
I’m pulling you off the canal-
related incidents.
Not punitive.
Administrative.
CAPTAIN RUIZ (CONT’D)
Temporary reassignment.
Lemon stands.
Picks up her jacket.
OFFICER LEMON
To where?
CAPTAIN RUIZ
Property crimes. East side.
Officer Lemon considers that.
A downgrade.
A quiet one.
She nods, stands, opens the door.
Stops.
Turns back.
OFFICER LEMON
For the record -- the language
wasn’t the problem.
No one responds.
She leaves.
The door clicks shut.
Captain Ruiz exhales.
The City Attorney checks his watch.
CITY ATTORNEY
I’ll let the Mayor know this has
been handled.
Ruiz nods.
They sit in silence.
The revised report rests on the table -- neat, compliant,
empty.
Genres:
["Crime","Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
The Vanishing at Dusk
EXT. CITY DOG PARK – DUSK
Golden light bleeds out of the sky.
A fenced DOG PARK hums with end-of-day routine -- leashes
unclipped, owners half-watching phones while dogs sprint and
circle.
Normal. Familiar. Safe.
Beyond the fence, the HIGH LINE CANAL runs lower than the
park -- dry, quiet, hidden by reeds and cottonwoods.
A RULES SIGN near the gate:
“LEASH YOUR DOGS AT ALL TIMES. NO TRESPASSING BEYOND FENCE.”
A WOMAN (40s) kneels, unclipping her RETRIEVER’S leash.
The dog bolts joyfully into the open space.
Nearby, a TEEN GIRL throws a tennis ball.
A MAN refills a bowl at the spigot.
Laughter. Barking. Easy chaos.
The retriever skids to a stop near the far fence -- nose
twitching.
Sniffs.
The woman whistles.
WOMAN
Buddy!
The dog doesn’t respond.
He moves closer to the fence line where weeds press through
chain-link -- the boundary blurring into wild growth.
The canal below is unseen from here.
The retriever’s tail slows.
Ears lift.
A LOW RUMBLE passes through the ground -- so faint no one
hears it.
The dogs go quiet.
One by one.
Owners don’t notice at first.
The retriever presses his nose to the fence.
Sniffs again.
Then --
The fence RATTLES once.
Not violently.
Like something brushed past it.
The retriever steps back.
Confused.
Behind the fence -- tall reeds sway, though there’s no wind.
A woman LAUGHS at something on her phone.
The retriever barks once.
Sharp. Alarmed.
The woman looks up.
WOMAN (CONT’D)
Buddy?
The dog darts back toward the fence.
Then --
A sudden SNAP of metal.
The chain-link flexes inward for a split second.
The retriever disappears downward, out of sight.
Not yanked.
Not dragged.
Just... gone.
The fence settles back into place.
A leash clinks against the ground.
Silence spreads -- uneven, uncertain.
The woman stares at the empty patch of dirt.
WOMAN (CONT’D)
Buddy?
She jogs over.
Peers through the fence.
Only weeds. Shadow. Dry earth sloping away.
No blood.
No sound.
Just the canal corridor below, curving out of sight.
Another dog whines.
The woman grabs the fence, shakes it.
WOMAN (CONT’D)
Hey -- hey!
Someone looks up now.
A man approaches.
MAN
What’s wrong?
She can’t answer.
She’s staring at the leash on the ground.
Still warm from her hand.
Below the park --
Something moves through reeds.
Unseen.
Efficient.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Uncovering the Truth
INT. CPW OFFICE – NIGHT
After hours.
The office HUM is louder without voices.
Matt sits alone at his desk, lit by the glow of a computer
monitor.
He scrolls through an old INCIDENT DATABASE -- see-through
graphics, lagging load times.
Underfunded. Forgotten.
He clicks a file.
CASE #: 17-441B
STATUS: CLOSED
CAUSE: ACCIDENTAL FALL / EXPOSURE
A PHOTO loads.
A BODY at the base of a canal embankment.
Matt leans in.
Zooms.
The neck.
Crushed inward.
Not a clean break.
Another click.
The shoulder -- deep puncture wounds.
Too wide.
Too precise.
Matt’s jaw tightens.
He opens the CORONER’S NOTE.
“Trauma inconsistent with fall alone.”
A yellow highlight blinks beneath it.
REVIEW OVERRIDDEN.
A digital signature.
CITY–COUNTY JOINT REVIEW.
Matt scrolls.
LOCATION: HIGH LINE CANAL — SERVICE ACCESS (UNMARKED)
Matt freezes.
Clicks the PROPERTY RECORD ATTACHMENT.
Parcel number.
Recently transferred.
An LLC NAME loads.
Matt doesn’t read it.
He already knows.
He closes the file.
The office HUM fills the space again.
Around him -- maps everywhere.
Topographicals taped to walls.
Property records pinned and re-pinned.
Incident photos curling at the corners.
Matt stands, exhausted, staring at the chaos.
Nothing fits.
He rubs his face.
Sits.
Opens another file.
A PROPERTY ACQUISITION MAP fills the screen --
red outlines, dates, LLCs.
Matt stands again.
Steps closer.
Begins pinning...
At first -- random.
Then he steps back.
A shape emerges.
A cluster.
Matt’s breath catches.
He pulls another map --
THE HIGH LINE CANAL.
Overlays it.
The pins line up perfectly.
Not centered.
Guided.
Matt grabs a marker.
Draws a line.
It bends.
Narrows.
Toward one place.
He zooms digitally.
Labels fade in:
ARSENAL LAND HOLDINGS — PENDING REZONING
He scrolls.
The owner name appears.
Again.
And again.
Same shell company.
Same signature.
Matt whispers it.
MATT
Glover Thompson.
A beat.
Matt drops into his chair.
His phone BUZZES.
He ignores it.
Zooms tighter.
Future parcels.
Proposed developments.
At the center --
A massive empty stretch of land.
Too clean.
Too intentional.
The realization lands:
Clearing land without ever touching it.
Matt exhales --
shaken. Furious.
His phone BUZZES again.
He answers.
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
You still at the office?
Matt stares at the map.
MATT
Yeah.
A beat.
MATT (CONT’D)
I think I know where this ends.
Meet me in ten minutes.
Silence on the line.
Matt looks back to the center of the cluster.
The canal’s spine.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
29 -
A Vision for Cherry Hills
INT. PRIVATE EVENT SPACE – NIGHT
Elegant. Bright.
A DEVELOPER PRESENTATION in full swing.
Champagne flutes. Architectural models. Soft jazz.
A screen reads:
“CHERRY HILLS FUTURE -- COMMUNITY FIRST”
At the podium stands GLOVER THOMPSON.
Calm. Confident. Warm.
A man selling inevitability.
GLOVER
We’re not here to erase nature.
Slides click forward --
Renderings of a sleek SOCCER STADIUM, green space, walking
paths.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
We’re here to integrate with it.
The crowd murmurs approvingly.
A slide appears --
A map of the ARSENAL EDGE.
Highlighted in green.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
This land has been underutilized
for decades. Dry. Isolated. Unsafe.
The word unsafe hangs.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
What we’re proposing is simple --
light, people, visibility.
A safer corridor.
Another click.
Children playing soccer.
Families walking dogs.
Lights glowing at dusk.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
Nature avoids activity. That’s not
a theory -- that’s behavior.
A beat.
Glover smiles.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
When people return, wildlife moves
on.
The investors nod.
He lets that sink in.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
We’re restoring order.
Applause.
Glover clicks to the final slide:
“GROUND BREAKING -- Q1”
GLOVER (CONT’D)
Progress doesn’t wait.
Applause swells.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
30 -
Whispers in the Dark
INT. BAR – NIGHT
Low ceiling. Old wood.
Neon beer signs hum more than they glow -- a tired
electricity.
In a corner booth, Matt sits alone.
Jacket beside him.
A beer untouched.
Across from him, Officer Lemon -- uniform jacket off, sleeves
rolled.
A whiskey.
One clink of ice.
A beat.
OFFICER LEMON
You okay?
Matt considers lying.
Doesn’t.
MATT
I’m trying to figure out which part
I’m allowed to say out loud without
sounding insane.
She studies him. No judgment. Just listening.
OFFICER LEMON
Start with what you think I already
know.
Matt exhales.
MATT
The lion didn’t wander in.
She nods.
OFFICER LEMON
That was my first thought too. The
earring you flagged. First break-
in. Same corridor.
Matt looks up.
MATT
So I’m not crazy?
A faint smile. Gone quickly.
OFFICER LEMON
No, just early.
Matt leans forward now.
MATT
I talked to Denver Water.
That gets her attention.
OFFICER LEMON
Yeah?
MATT
They didn’t deny anything. They
just explained it.
She nods. Once.
OFFICER LEMON
That tracks.
A beat.
She turns her glass slowly. Ice clicks.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
They pulled me off the case today.
MATT
For what?
OFFICER LEMON
Word choice.
Matt looks at her.
MATT
You wrote what happened.
OFFICER LEMON
I wrote what it meant.
She grimaces.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
That shoe we found on the trail --
I can’t get it out of my head.
She takes a sip.
MATT
Predators don’t leave punctuation.
The bar swells -- a pool break cracks sharp.
She leans back.
OFFICER LEMON
You still thinking about shutting
down the canal?
Matt doesn’t answer right away. The neon hums.
MATT
I’m thinking about what happens if
nobody does.
OFFICER LEMON
You keep pushing -- they’ll call
you a problem.
Matt nods.
Already knew that.
MATT
You gonna stop me?
She considers the question.
OFFICER LEMON
I don’t have the authority anymore.
A beat.
MATT
But you know what’s coming.
She nods.
OFFICER LEMON
Yeah.
Silence.
Matt reaches for his beer.
Finally takes a drink.
MATT
Predators follow incentives. So do
people.
She holds his gaze.
Then shrugs -- gentle, practiced.
OFFICER LEMON
Just don’t go getting yourself
killed, okay?
Matt doesn’t blink.
Matt stands.
Grabs his jacket.
MATT
Next one’s on me.
She shakes her head.
She looks at him -- level.
OFFICER LEMON
Deal.
A beat.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Good luck, Matt.
Matt nods.
He turns to go.
She watches him disappear into the bar crowd.
Lemon lifts her glass.
Lets the ice settle.
The neon HUMS.
She doesn’t drink.
The neon HUMS.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
31 -
Night Encounter
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – NIGHT
Moonless.
No ambient city glow here -- just darkness layered on
darkness.
A CHAIN-LINK SERVICE GATE rattles softly.
A pair of gloved hands slip through the fence -- unlatch it
from the inside.
The gate opens just wide enough.
Two MEN emerge from the shadows:
ROBBER #1 (30s) -- lean, alert, carrying a compact duffel.
ROBBER #2 (40s) -- heavier, cautious, scanning constantly.
They move with familiarity. Not rushed. Not sloppy.
They step down into the dry canal bed.
Robber #2 clicks on a SMALL FLASHLIGHT, keeps it angled low.
A narrow cone of light slides across the cracked bed.
Robber #1 checks his watch.
ROBBER #1
Two minutes.
They move.
The canal stretches ahead -- a long artery vanishing into
black.
Robber #2 pauses.
ROBBER #2
(whisper)
You hear that?
They stop.
Listen.
Nothing.
Just the distant, muffled hum of traffic far above -- life
continuing, oblivious.
Robber #1 exhales.
ROBBER #1
Wind in the brush.
They move again -- faster now, tension coiling.
Up ahead, the canal curves slightly -- brush thickens where
concrete gives way to dirt.
The flashlight flickers across TRACKS.
Large.
Round.
Pressed deep despite the dry surface.
Robber #2 stops dead.
Robber #1 kneels, studies them.
Doesn’t need long.
ROBBER #1 (CONT’D)
Mountain lion.
A beat.
They exchange a look -- not panic, but calculation.
Then --
A SOUND.
Not loud.
Not sudden.
A LOW, RESONANT GROWL rolls through the canal -- felt more
than heard.
It comes from ahead.
From the bend.
The flashlight beam trembles.
Robber #1 raises his hand -- freezes him.
The growl stops.
Silence slams back into place.
They listen.
A faint EXHALE -- slow, controlled.
Not hiding.
Waiting.
Robber #1 slowly clicks the flashlight off.
Darkness swallows everything.
They stand motionless, blind.
Another sound --
A SOFT SCRAPE of claw against concrete.
Closer now.
Robber #2’s voice cracks.
ROBBER #2
It knows we’re here.
A SHADOW shifts at the far end of the canal -- barely a
distortion against deeper black.
A glint.
RED EYES.
Not charging.
Assessing.
The lion steps forward just enough for moonlight to catch its
outline --
Massive. Muscle rolling beneath its coat.
The men don’t move.
They don’t run.
The lion tilts its head.
Sniffs.
Human scent.
Oil. Metal. Fear.
Then --
Something else draws its attention.
A sound from above -- a distant car door slam. Voices.
Laughter.
The lion’s ears twitch.
Its body shifts -- tension redirecting.
The shadow turns sideways.
One last look at the men.
Not a threat.
A calculation.
Then the lion melts into the brush -- silent, deliberate --
disappearing up the canal wall where darkness thickens.
Gone.
The canal exhales.
The Robbers stare at where the lion vanished.
ROBBER #1
We’re done.
ROBBER #2
With tonight?
Robber #1 shakes his head.
ROBBER #1
With this place.
They retreat.
Behind them -- fresh BOOT PRINTS appear beside the lion’s
tracks.
Human.
Deliberate.
Following the same path.
Genres:
["Thriller","Crime","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
32 -
Urgent Discovery
INT. MITCHELL HOUSE – NIGHT
The front door OPENS.
Matt steps inside.
Something’s wrong immediately.
No lights on.
No television murmur.
Just silence.
Matt freezes in the doorway, listening.
Nothing.
He closes the door slowly behind him.
The house feels larger than it should.
Matt moves down the hallway, boots soft on wood.
KITCHEN
Empty.
The overhead light is off -- but the counter lamp is on, left
burning.
Matt clocks that.
A PIZZA BOX still sits on the counter from earlier. Cold now.
Untouched.
Matt sets his keys down.
MATT
Sean?
No answer.
He crosses into the LIVING ROOM.
The couch cushions are disturbed -- recently used.
Bruce’s blanket lies folded too neatly at the end of the
couch.
Matt stops.
On the coffee table:
A NOTE.
Folded once. Plain printer paper. Rushed.
Matt picks it up.
Unfolds.
We don’t see the words yet -- just Matt’s face as he reads.
It drains.
Not panic.
Something colder.
He reads it again.
Then we see it:
“MATT - SEAN HAD A PANIC ATTACK. WE’RE AT ST. ANTHONY’S. I
DIDN’T WANT TO WAIT. - DAD”
Matt’s jaw tightens.
MATT (CONT’D)
...shit.
He looks toward the hallway.
Sean’s bedroom door is ajar.
Matt moves fast now.
INT. SEAN’S BEDROOM – CONTINUOUS
The room is empty.
Bed unmade.
Hoodie gone.
Bike helmet missing.
Matt spots something on the desk:
Sean’s PHONE.
Left behind.
Matt grabs it -- exhales sharply.
Too late.
EXT. MITCHELL HOUSE – NIGHT
The front door SLAMS open.
Matt strides to his truck, unlocking it mid-step.
He throws himself into the driver’s seat.
The engine ROARS to life.
As he peels out of the driveway, the porch light flicks off
behind him -- plunging the house back into darkness.
Genres:
["Mystery","Suspense","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
33 -
Anxiety in the Night
INT. HOSPITAL WAITING AREA – NIGHT
Fluorescent light. Too bright. Too clean.
Matt pushes through sliding glass doors, breath still uneven
from the drive.
Matt scans.
Then spots them.
Sean sits rigid in a plastic chair, knees bouncing, hoodie
pulled tight around him like armor.
Beside him, Bruce sits stiff-backed, hands folded in his lap,
eyes locked on nothing.
Matt closes the distance fast.
MATT
Sean.
Sean looks up.
Relief flashes -- then collapses into something shakier.
SEAN
Dad.
Matt crouches in front of him immediately, hands on Sean’s
knees.
MATT
What happened?
Sean opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Bruce clears his throat.
BRUCE
He couldn’t breathe.
Matt looks to Bruce.
MATT
What?
BRUCE
He said his chest hurt. Said the
room was closing in.
Sean nods, embarrassed.
SEAN
I thought I was dying.
A NURSE appears, clipboard tucked under her arm.
NURSE
Sean Mitchell?
Matt stands.
MATT
I’m his father.
She gives him a practiced look -- calm, reassuring.
NURSE
Vitals are stable. No cardiac
issues. Looks like an acute anxiety
episode.
Sean winces at the word.
SEAN
I’m not crazy.
The nurse softens.
She glances at Bruce.
NURSE
We’ll give you a minute.
She steps away.
Matt sits beside Sean now.
Matt exhales.
MATT
Sean. What set it off?
Sean hesitates.
Then --
SEAN
I went back to the canal.
Matt’s stomach drops.
MATT
You promised --
SEAN
I didn’t ride it.
He rushes the words.
SEAN (CONT’D)
I just... I wanted to see.
Matt closes his eyes for a beat.
MATT
See what?
Sean’s voice lowers.
SEAN
If you were right.
Matt opens his eyes.
Sean leans in.
SEAN (CONT’D)
There were people down there.
Matt stiffens.
MATT
People?
Sean nods.
SEAN
Not jogging. Not walking. They had
bags. Flashlights. They were moving
fast.
Matt doesn’t interrupt.
SEAN (CONT’D)
I followed them. Just for a second.
Bruce shifts, uneasy.
BRUCE
Sean --
SEAN
Then it got quiet.
Matt’s jaw tightens.
SEAN (CONT’D)
Like everything stopped at once.
Sean swallows.
SEAN (CONT’D)
And I heard it.
Matt keeps his voice neutral.
MATT
Heard what?
Sean meets his eyes.
SEAN
Breathing. Growling.
Matt’s pulse kicks.
Silence presses in.
Sean’s voice cracks.
SEAN (CONT’D)
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream.
Matt grips his shoulder.
MATT
But it didn’t come after you.
Sean shakes his head.
SEAN
No.
A beat.
Sean’s breath starts to hitch again -- fast, shallow.
Matt immediately grounds him.
MATT
Hey. Look at me.
Sean locks onto Matt.
MATT (CONT’D)
You’re safe. You did the right
thing.
Sean shakes his head.
SEAN
No, I didn’t.
Matt frowns.
SEAN (CONT’D)
I recorded it.
Matt stills.
MATT
Recorded what?
Sean reaches into his hoodie pocket.
Pulls out a small ACTION CAMERA -- scuffed, shaking in his
hand.
SEAN
I thought if I had proof... you’d
make them listen.
Matt stares at the camera.
Bruce looks at it too -- fear and recognition mixing.
BRUCE
Some things don’t like being seen.
Matt slowly takes the camera from Sean.
Feels its weight.
MATT
This stays between us. For now.
Sean nods, exhausted.
A DOCTOR approaches.
DOCTOR
We’re going to keep him for
observation. Just to be safe.
Matt nods.
MATT
Thank you.
The doctor moves on.
Matt looks at Sean -- really looks at him.
Not a kid anymore.
MATT (CONT’D)
You didn’t imagine it.
Sean’s eyes well.
SEAN
I know.
Matt stands.
MATT
Get some rest.
He turns to Bruce.
MATT (CONT’D)
Stay with him.
Bruce nods -- solid, present.
Matt steps back, slipping the camera into his jacket.
EXT. HOSPITAL – PARKING LOT – NIGHT
The automatic doors slide shut behind Matt.
The hospital looms -- fluorescent, indifferent.
Matt stands still for a beat, breathing in cold air like he’s
resurfacing.
He looks down at his hands.
Still shaking.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
34 -
Descent into Isolation
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – ACCESS RAMP – NIGHT
A chain-link gate hangs open.
Bent.
Unlocked.
A faded sign rattles in the wind:
“NO VEHICLE ACCESS.”
Matt’s pickup rolls through anyway.
Headlights drop steeply as the truck descends the concrete
ramp -- leaving the city above.
The sound changes.
Street noise dies.
The tires hit dirt.
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – NIGHT
The truck moves slowly now.
Crawling.
Headlights carve tunnels through dust and dry sediment.
The canal bed stretches ahead -- a long, sunken artery.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
35 -
Into the Darkness
INT. MATT’S TRUCK - NIGHT
Matt drives with both hands on the wheel.
Still shaking -- but controlled.
The truck passes beneath a pedestrian bridge.
Matt doesn’t stop.
The engine HUM echoes off the canal walls.
A radio crackles to life on its own.
DISPATCH VOICE (V.O.)
(unintelligible)
-- canal corridor --
-- wildlife advisory --
Matt reaches out.
Turns it off.
Silence returns.
The truck continues.
Cottonwood roots punch through the canal walls -- breaking it
from the inside.
Their shadows claw across the windshield as he passes.
Matt slows.
Ahead -- the canal curves.
Dark.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
36 -
The Approach
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – HEADGATE FACILITY – NIGHT
The headgate rises out of darkness -- a blunt concrete mass
stitched with rusted steel.
Industrial.
Forgotten.
Still humming faintly, like something not fully asleep.
Floodlights cut hard geometry across railings and warning
placards:
“AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
DANGER: CONTROLLED FLOW.”
Below, the canal lies bone-dry.
No wind.
No water.
A LONE PICKUP rolls in and stops.
The engine clicks as it cools.
Matt steps out.
He stands there for a moment -- listening.
Measuring.
Nothing moves.
He opens the truck bed.
Inside: a DUFFEL -- compact charges, wire, detonator.
Clean. Purpose-built.
Matt shoulders it.
Starts toward the headgate.
Each step deliberate.
This isn’t urgency.
It’s commitment.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
37 -
A Mark of Commitment
EXT. HEADGATE – CONTINUOUS
The ground here is trampled dirt and oil-stained gravel.
Boot prints. Old tire tracks. Years of maintenance layered
over neglect.
Matt slows.
He scans the darkness beyond the lights -- where cottonwoods
close in, roots gripping the canal walls.
He sets the duffel down.
Unzips it.
Not the explosives.
Something else.
Matt steps off the lit concrete, into shadow.
A private moment.
He unzips his fly.
Relieves himself onto the dry canal wall -- matter-of-fact,
unceremonious.
Steam curls briefly in the cold air.
He zips up. Doesn’t look back.
Then --
He reaches into his pocket.
A small UTILITY KNIFE.
He opens it.
Studies his palm.
This is the moment he could stop.
He doesn’t.
Matt presses the blade in -- shallow, controlled.
A sharp breath escapes him.
Blood wells.
Dark against pale skin.
He closes his fist -- opens it again.
Then drags his palm along the concrete edge.
Along the gate’s scarred surface.
Leaving smeared, uneven marks.
Not ritual.
Signal.
He wipes his hand on his jeans.
Wraps it tight with a strip torn from his sleeve.
Only then does he lift the duffel again.
Moves back into the light.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
38 -
The Reckoning at Dawn
EXT. HEADGATE PLATFORM – CONTINUOUS
Matt kneels beside the concrete housing.
Unzips the bag.
Now the explosives.
He works calmly -- practiced, exact.
Each motion economical.
Wire.
Charge.
Set.
The faint HUM of the structure vibrates through his hands.
Then --
A SOUND.
CLAP.
Slow.
Measured.
Another.
CLAP.
Mocking.
Matt freezes.
Doesn’t look up yet.
The applause stops.
Footsteps enter the light.
One set.
Then another.
Then a third.
Three silhouettes resolve from shadow.
MAYOR REYNOLDS.
Tense. Uncomfortable here.
GLOVER THOMPSON.
Relaxed. Almost pleased.
WALTER DENT.
Watching everything.
Glover’s eyes flick briefly to Matt’s wrapped hand.
To the dark smears on the concrete.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Matt finally stands.
Doesn’t bother hiding the detonator in his hand.
MATT
You’re late.
The canal yawns behind them -- dry, open, waiting.
Somewhere beyond the lights --
Something shifts.
Unseen.
Listening.
All three stand above him on the platform.
Unarmed.
Smiling like men who believe they already won.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Matt. This isn’t the way.
Matt rises slowly.
Doesn’t reach for the detonator.
Walter studies the explosives with interest -- not fear.
WALTER
You’re assuming the system wants to
be restored. That it remembers what
it was.
Matt meets his eyes.
MATT
It remembers everything.
Walter smiles -- thin, indulgent.
WALTER
Water doesn’t remember. It responds
to pressure.
Matt glances at the dry canal.
MATT
So do people.
A beat.
The Mayor steps forward now, palms out -- not surrender, not
threat.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Matt... listen to me. If this gate
opens tonight, we lose control of
the narrative.
Matt almost laughs.
MATT
That’s what you’re worried about?
MAYOR REYNOLDS
I’m worried about what comes after.
Federal oversight. Closures.
Lawsuits. People asking questions
we can’t answer.
Matt meets his eyes.
MATT
They already asked. You just taught
them to stop.
Silence presses in.
Somewhere below -- a faint shift of gravel.
Walter notices. Looks down.
Nothing there.
Glover waves it off, amused.
He steps closer -- now too close.
GLOVER
You think this ends with water?
Matt looks at him -- steady, unblinking.
MATT
I think it ends with the truth.
Glover’s smile tightens.
Another SOUND rises from below.
LOW.
VIBRATING.
Not loud enough to identify.
Walter stiffens.
WALTER
Did you hear that?
Glover scoffs, but his eyes flick to the dark.
Matt doesn’t look.
MATT
No.
The sound again -- closer now.
A scrape of claw on concrete.
The Mayor backs toward the railing.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
What did you do?
Matt finally looks down into the canal bed.
Dark. Empty.
Waiting.
MATT
I stopped pretending nothing was
down there.
Silence.
Then --
A SHADOW MOVES at the edge of the floodlight.
Heavy.
Measured.
The men freeze.
Matt stays still.
And then -- a MOUNTAIN LION steps into the light.
Massive.
Still.
RED EYES.
No roar.
No threat display.
It studies them.
Glover exhales a sharp laugh -- too loud.
GLOVER
Jesus Christ. It’s just standing
there.
The lion’s head tilts slightly.
Assessing.
Matt doesn’t move.
The Mayor grips the railing -- knuckles white.
Another SOUND rises behind them.
A dull thud.
Walter turns slowly.
At the far end of the canal bed -- another shadow detaches
from darkness.
A SECOND LION.
Moving independently.
Not coordinated.
Not panicked.
Curious.
Walter backs away instinctively.
WALTER
Okay. Okay, we don’t run.
Glover snaps at him.
GLOVER
Don’t tell me when not to --
The first lion takes a step forward.
Claws scrape concrete.
The sound carries.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Matt... do something.
Matt keeps his eyes on the lions.
MATT
I am.
The first lion stops again.
Too close now.
Close enough to see scars along its shoulder.
Old. Healed wrong.
Glover edges backward -- slow, careful.
GLOVER
Easy... easy...
The second lion circles -- not threatening, just widening the
space.
Walter realizes it.
WALTER
They’re not hunting.
Matt nods once.
MATT
They’re deciding.
A beat.
The Mayor’s phone BUZZES in his pocket.
The sound is tiny -- but wrong.
Both lions snap their heads toward him.
The Mayor fumbles, panic overtaking him.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
I -- I didn’t --
Too late.
The first lion advances again.
Now purposeful.
Glover breaks.
He RUNS.
The movement is explosive -- instinctual.
The lion launches in BLUR OF CLAWS AND FANGS.
Impact.
Bone cracks.
Glover hits the platform screaming once -- dragged backward,
over the edge.
Gone.
Silence slams down.
The second lion pivots instantly.
Walter turns to run --
Too slow.
It intercepts him at the stairs.
Just weight. Precision.
Walter disappears beneath muscle and shadow.
The sounds are brief.
Efficient.
Then -- nothing.
The Mayor collapses against the railing, sobbing, legs giving
out.
Alive.
Untouched.
The lions stop.
They lift their heads.
And look at Matt.
He doesn’t run -- doesn’t flinch.
A long beat.
The canal HUMS beneath them -- louder now, almost alive.
One lion blinks slowly.
Then turns away.
The second follows.
They descend back into darkness -- unhurried.
The night closes behind them.
Gone.
The Mayor chokes out a whisper.
MAYOR REYNOLDS (CONT’D)
Why didn’t they --
Matt finally looks at him.
MATT
You didn’t run.
The Mayor breaks completely.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Matt -- wait. We can still contain
this.
Matt stops.
Doesn’t turn right away.
MATT
You don’t get to contain it after
people have already died.
The Mayor swallows.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
You do this, you lose everything.
Matt finally looks at him.
MATT
I know.
The canal yawns open beneath him -- an earthy throat, dry and
waiting.
Matt crouches behind the headgate housing.
In his hand:
A DETONATOR.
Thumb resting just short of the switch.
He doesn’t move.
Matt closes his eyes.
FLASHES -- not memories, but impressions:
-- The jogger’s shoe, placed like punctuation.
-- Bruce at the table, saying “something followed the water”.
-- The Mayor’s smile tightening.
-- Glover’s eyes, patient. Waiting.
BACK TO SCENE.
Matt opens his eyes -- not filled with rage, but with
acceptance.
Matt shifts his grip on the detonator.
Centers it in his palm.
He exhales -- slow, controlled.
A beat.
Then Matt presses the switch.
BOOM!
Concrete SHATTERS.
Metal SCREAMS.
The headgate BLOWS OPEN.
Then --
A ROARING WALL OF WATER EXPLODES through the canal.
Violent. Relentless.
Water crashes down the concrete artery, reclaiming space at
terrifying speed.
The Mayor scrambles back as spray slams the platform.
Matt stands firm.
Watching.
The canal fills.
The sound is deafening.
Alive.
Wild.
Uncontrollable.
Matt turns.
Walks away as alarms begin to wail.
Behind him --
The water surges forward, flooding the corridor.
Erasing tracks.
Erasing secrets.
The canal runs again.
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL – DAWN
Morning light creeps across the canal.
Water rushes through it now -- full, loud, alive.
Foam collects at the edges. Debris spins, then disappears.
Police tape flutters uselessly in the breeze.
Fire trucks. Utility crews.
A helicopter thumps overhead.
The canal is no longer invisible.
EXT. HEADGATE FACILITY – DAWN
Matt sits on the tailgate of his truck.
Hands cuffed in front of him.
Mud on his boots.
Water stains up his jeans.
He looks calm.
Across from him, Mayor Reynolds sits wrapped in a blanket,
face gray, eyes hollow.
A PARAMEDIC checks his vitals.
No one speaks to Matt.
INT. TEMPORARY COMMAND TENT – MORNING
A folding table. Coffee gone cold.
Officer Lemon stands just inside the tent flap.
She watches Matt through the open side -- cuffed, patient.
She turns to the STATE INVESTIGATOR.
OFFICER LEMON
He didn’t run.
The investigator flips through notes.
INVESTIGATOR
He destroyed public infrastructure.
Officer Lemon holds his gaze.
OFFICER LEMON
He restored it.
That gives the investigator pause.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
39 -
Reflections by the Water
EXT. CANAL BANK – LATER
Matt is escorted toward a waiting vehicle.
Sean stands next to Bruce -- sitting in a folding chair --
near the tape line.
Sean’s eyes lock on Matt.
Matt stops.
The escort hesitates, then allows it.
MATT
You okay?
Sean nods.
SEAN
They said the water’s back all the
way to the refuge.
Matt smiles faintly.
MATT
Good.
Sean hesitates.
SEAN
Are they gonna put you in jail?
Matt considers.
MATT
Maybe.
Sean swallows hard.
SEAN
I’m sorry.
Matt shakes his head.
MATT
You saw something real. That’s not
something you apologize for.
Matt crouches by Bruce, careful not to rush the moment.
MATT (CONT’D)
It’s moving again.
Bruce doesn’t respond -- then leans forward slightly.
Listening.
That old instinct.
Bruce watches the water with childlike focus. Not confused --
present in a different way.
Bruce shakes his head, faintly amused.
BRUCE
Water doesn’t care what we want.
It only remembers where it’s been.
He looks up at Matt.
Squints.
Not quite recognition.
But close.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You did the right thing.
Matt swallows.
MATT
Learned it from you.
Bruce smiles -- soft, unburdened.
For the first time, there’s no guilt in it.
BRUCE
No. You learned it because I
didn’t.
A beat.
Bruce turns back to the canal.
The water roars, unstoppable.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
(quiet)
There you are.
Matt freezes.
MATT
Who?
Bruce doesn’t answer.
He’s already somewhere else -- exactly where he’s supposed to
be.
The sun crests the horizon.
Light spills across the water.
Bruce closes his eyes.
Peaceful.
Matt watches him -- terrified for a moment --
Then realizes:
Bruce is smiling.
Not fading.
Resting.
Matt turns back to the canal.
The water rushes forward -- indifferent, ancient, alive.
Then allows himself to be led away.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
40 -
Unanswered Questions
EXT. COURTHOUSE STEPS – DAY (DAYS LATER)
News cameras. Controlled chaos.
A headline scrolls on a phone screen:
“HIGH LINE FLOODING UNDER INVESTIGATION — OFFICIALS DECLINE
COMMENT”
Matt exits the building with his lawyer.
No handcuffs now.
But no smile either.
A REPORTER shouts:
REPORTER
Officer Lockwood -- was it worth
it?
Matt stops.
Turns.
Looks directly into the camera.
MATT
Ask the water.
He walks on.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
41 -
Restoration at Dusk
EXT. ROCKY MOUNTAIN ARSENAL REFUGE – NIGHT
Tall grass bends in the wind.
Water glints in distant channels -- flowing again, imperfect
but present.
A MOUNTAIN LION stands at the edge of a rise.
Watching.
Listening.
It drinks.
Then turns away -- deeper into protected land.
Gone.
EXT. CANAL TRAIL – NIGHT
The trail is reopened.
Lights installed.
New signs posted.
“WILDLIFE ACTIVITY — STAY ALERT.”
Joggers pass.
A family bikes slowly.
Everything looks safe.
Far down the canal, where lights don’t reach --
The water moves.
Quietly.
Persistently.
EXT. CANAL – NIGHT
Water rushes through the darkness.
The canal flows again.
Along its banks, the towering cottonwoods stand still --
ancient sentinels.
Their thick trunks unbending, forming a cathedral of memory
and silence.
FADE OUT.