FADE IN:
BLACK.
A LOW, METALLIC HUM.
Not loud.
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 -
Ignition in the Dark
INT. BUILDING 771 — PLUTONIUM RECOVERY AND FABRICATION —
NIGHT
Fluorescent lights BUZZ. harsh, unforgiving.
A corridor of INTERCONNECTED GLOVE BOXES stretches into
infinity.
Plexiglass windows.
Rubber gloves hang limp.
Sealed.
Sterile.
Inside one glove box --
PLUTONIUM SHAVINGS.
Dull. Silvery. Almost weightless.
A TECHNICIAN (30s) works inside the box.
Face erased behind a respirator.
Careful. Rehearsed. Mechanical.
The Technician wipes condensation from the inside of the
respirator.
A breath fogs. Clears.
He adjusts the shavings with metal tools.
The air inside the glove box tightens.
Not heat. Pressure.
The room holds its breath.
A TINY SHIFT.
Barely perceptible.
A FLICKER.
Not a spark.
Just -- IGNITION.
The plutonium BLOOMS INTO FLAME -- white-hot, violent, alive.
The Technician FREEZES.
INSIDE THE GLOVE BOX
Fire races across the shavings -- LICKING rubber gloves,
MELTING plexiglass.
The plexiglass WARPS.
The fire FINDS THE SEAMS.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Inferno at Building 771
INT. BUILDING 771 — SECONDS LATER
ALARMS SHRIEK -- piercing, panicked.
Technicians scatter down the corridor.
A SUPERVISOR lunges for a wall phone, voice tight but
trained.
SUPERVISOR
Fire in seven-seven-one. Glove box
ignition.
He listens.
His face drains.
Behind him --
The fire JUMPS.
One glove box to the next.
The interconnected system turns against itself -- a CHAIN
REACTION.
The fire isn’t spreading.
It’s traveling.
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
Exhaust stacks rise into the dark Colorado sky.
Smoke pours out.
Invisible.
INT. CONTROL ROOM — SAME
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FIREFIGHTERS rush in -- primitive protective gear, outdated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 -- chemical
indifference.
A COMMANDER watches the flames advance.
EXT. ROCKY FLATS — CONTINUOUS
Smoke drifts outward -- carried by the wind.
Not rushing.
Patient.
Toward the faint glow of DENVER on the horizon.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
A Quiet Prelude
EXT. SUBURBAN DENVER — SAME
Quiet neighborhoods.
Sprinklers ticking on manicured lawns.
Backyard windows open to the cool air.
Children’s bikes left in driveways.
Laundry sways gently on clotheslines.
The same wind moves through the trees.
Invisible.
Unnoticed.
CUT TO:
BLACK.
Silence.
Then --
A LOW, STEADY HUM.
Controlled.
SUPER: JUNE 6, 1989
CUT TO:
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
Morning Routine at Rocky Flats
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.
No urgency.
An AMERICAN FLAG snaps crisply in the morning wind.
Another flag beneath it -- DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY.
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.
Street clothes off.
Uniforms on.
Coveralls zipped tight.
Boots laced.
Dosimeters clipped to belts.
Routine.
One WORKER pauses, adjusts his respirator, then continues.
No one speaks.
INT. HALLWAY — BUILDING 771 — CONTINUOUS
Bright. Sterile. 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.
Contained.
Controlled.
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.
Everything within limits.
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.
Unremarkable.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Approaching the Gate
INT. SEDAN — PERIMETER ROAD — MORNING
A sedan rolls toward the security gate.
Chain-link. Cameras. Warning signs.
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, sits
rigid. Folder on her lap.
She adjusts it.
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. Doesn’t argue.
JACK
Then we pivot.
Linda looks ahead.
Jack eases off the gas. Buys them a second.
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. Now that’s a
name of destiny. Just think about
that horse. I’ll do the talking.
He taps the wheel once.
Grounding.
JACK (CONT’D)
Like we rehearsed.
She nods. Once.
LINDA
I’m ready. Let’s finish it.
Her grip loosens.
She rubs her thumb against her fingers unconsciously.
The sedan rolls to a stop.
A steel gate. Chain-link.
Cameras pivot with quiet precision.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
Checkpoint Tension
EXT. ROCKY FLATS PLANT — SECURITY CHECKPOINT — CONTINUOUS
A SECURITY GUARD (30s), sharp-eyed, not bored, steps forward.
Hand near his radio -- not aggressive. Alert.
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 longer than expected.
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.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
That’s odd.
Jack glances -- just a flicker -- at the frozen screen.
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.
A small beat.
The guard doesn’t smile.
Linda exhales slowly. Controlled.
SECURITY GUARD
That’s not usually how this works.
Jack nods -- conceding the point.
JACK
An eco-terrorist group has been
targeting Western energy
facilities.
(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.
SECURITY GUARD
We had a protest here last spring.
Linda shifts -- barely -- clocking Jack’s pause.
Jack adjusts -- subtly.
JACK
Then you know why we’re here.
The guard studies him. Really studies him.
Silence stretches.
Wind rattles the chain-link.
The guard keys his radio -- but doesn’t speak yet.
SECURITY GUARD
What agency did you say again?
JACK
FBI. EPA joint. Routine safety
briefing.
The guard tilts his head.
SECURITY GUARD
If Control says no, you turn
around.
For the first time, Jack doesn’t fill the silence.
Linda watches this -- sharp now.
The guard finally speaks into the radio.
SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
(into radio)
Control, I’ve got two plainclothes
at Gate One.
(pauses)
Yeah. 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 get visitor badges.
Escorted. Limited access.
The guard steps back. Signals the gate.
It SLIDES OPEN.
As the car rolls forward --
Linda finally exhales.
She glances at Jack.
Quiet. Direct.
LINDA
You didn’t expect that.
Jack keeps his eyes forward.
JACK
No.
A beat.
JACK (CONT’D)
They let it work.
Linda studies him.
The gate closes behind them.
INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING — MORNING
Jack and Linda walk the polished corridors.
Linda inhales lightly.
Almost imperceptible.
Badged EMPLOYEES glance up -- curious, but not alarmed.
This place is used to authority.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
Tension in the Conference Room
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM — LATER
Spotless.
Corporate immaculate.
Air-conditioned into submission.
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.
Half a second each.
A smile that never reaches his eyes.
Tom sits at the head of the table. Automatically.
Reaches for the coffee.
Doesn’t drink.
Slides it aside.
A faint tremor in his hand.
Gone.
TOM
Tom Haskell. Rockwell
International. We operate the
facility. DOE oversees.
(beat)
Important distinction.
Jack writes:
ROCKWELL OPERATES / DOE OVERSEES
Underline.
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.
A look around the room.
TOM (CONT’D)
This feels... informal.
Jack pulls the chair out. Doesn’t sit yet.
JACK
Didn’t want the paperwork slowing
you down.
Tom studies him.
Not aggressive. Not friendly.
Tom leans back. Arms folded.
TOM
A memo would’ve handled it.
LINDA
We’re just observing.
TOM
Good.
The HVAC hums.
Jack finally sits.
Opens the legal pad again.
Writes the time.
09:13
Tom notices.
TOM (CONT’D)
Taking notes already?
Jack doesn’t look up.
JACK
Timestamps.
(beat)
Helps.
Tom shifts slightly.
TOM
So what exactly are you hoping to
see?
Linda answers, precise.
LINDA
Chain of custody. Airflow. Storage.
Standard readiness.
Tom watches her 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
Nothing urgent.
Jack writes:
HASKELL — INSIDE / OUTSIDE
Underlines twice.
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.
Tears the page out cleanly.
Folds it once.
Into his jacket pocket.
Evidence.
JACK
Appreciate the cooperation.
Tom clocks that word.
He heads for the door.
Already done with them.
They follow Tom out.
The untouched coffee sits cooling behind them.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Tremors of Authority
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.
Not at the sound -- at the ground.
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
10 -
Breach of Authority
EXT. PERIMETER ROAD — CONTINUOUS
Over a shallow rise --
A CONVOY appears.
Unmarked sedans. SUVs. Vans.
Too many.
Too coordinated.
EXT. ADMIN BUILDING — CONTINUOUS
Tom’s jaw tightens.
TOM
You said you were here for a safety
briefing.
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
11 -
The Inevitable Confrontation
EXT. COURTYARD — CONTINUOUS
Vehicles flood in.
Doors open in unison.
FBI AGENTS step out -- armed, calm, surgical.
No rush.
Inevitable.
Linda watches Tom now.
He’s running calculations.
Losing ground.
LINDA
Mr. Haskell.
She opens her folder.
Removes a document.
Hands it to him.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Federal search warrant.
Tom doesn’t take it at first.
Then he does.
Reads the header.
Reads the signature.
His face hardens -- not fear. Anger.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
The Inevitable Confrontation
EXT. COURTYARD — CONTINUOUS
Agents fan out with precision.
A machine locking into place.
Tom watches his world get sectioned off.
Tom turns to Linda.
TOM
You think this ends here?
Linda doesn’t blink.
LINDA
It starts here.
Tom’s eyes slide back to Jack.
TOM
You lied to my face.
JACK
I slowed you down, Tom.
A beat.
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.
Already working.
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. Carefully.
TOM
Then let’s get this over with.
Jack nods.
They move.
The mountains watch.
EXT. ROOF — SAME
Exhaust stacks rise into the sky.
Smokeless.
Quiet.
A flag flaps.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Controlled Reassurance
INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING — RESTROOM — DAY
A private restroom.
Corporate clean.
Muted lighting. No windows.
Tom Haskell stands alone at the sink.
He washes his hands carefully.
He coughs.
Not loud. Controlled. Like he’s swallowing it back.
In the mirror, his reflection is steady.
His PHONE BUZZES on the marble counter.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Lets it buzz once more.
Then picks it up.
TOM
(into phone)
Yes.
A MAN’S VOICE. Older. Calm.
Legal muscle without bluster.
VOICE (V.O.)
They’re in. Much deeper than
anticipated.
Tom watches himself in the mirror as he listens.
TOM
This was always on the table.
VOICE (V.O.)
What are they gonna find in the
plenums?
A fraction of a beat.
It lands -- but Tom doesn’t show it.
TOM
They’ll find what the system
retained.
VOICE (V.O.)
That raises exposure questions.
Tom reaches into his jacket.
Removes a folded document.
He unfolds it on the counter.
We don’t see it yet.
TOM
No. It raises documentation
questions.
He smooths the paper flat.
VOICE (V.O.)
DOJ is concerned about precedent.
Tom almost smiles.
TOM
Precedent only matters if it’s
acknowledged.
VOICE (V.O.)
What about Building seven-seven-
one?
Tom glances at the mirror again.
TOM
Seven-seven-one is clean.
The voice hesitates.
VOICE (V.O.)
Tom --
TOM
-- on paper.
Tom folds the document again.
Puts it back in his pocket.
TOM (CONT’D)
Everything that required discretion
was centralized years ago.
The voice understands now.
VOICE (V.O.)
Public Affairs is asking how to
frame this.
Tom considers.
TOM
Maintenance anomalies. Legacy
operations. No immediate threat.
The language rolls off him. Practiced.
TOM (CONT’D)
And emphasize cooperation.
Tom hangs the towel neatly.
Perfectly aligned.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Uncovering the Truth at Rocky Flats
EXT. SOLAR EVAPORATION PONDS — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A flat expanse of shallow ponds stretches toward the horizon
-- dull, chemical blue beneath a bleached Colorado sun.
The surface doesn’t ripple.
Nothing lives here.
Cracked earth rings the ponds. Salt blooms.
At the far edge --
HUNDREDS OF CONCRETE BLOCKS, stacked in uneven rows.
PONDCRETE.
Gray. Pitted. Failing.
Each block roughly coffin-sized -- radioactive sludge mixed
with concrete, hardened just enough to pretend it’s stable.
A massive TARP lies draped over the stacks.
Not secured.
The wind catches it.
The tarp FLAPS, lifts, SLAPS back down -- briefly revealing
fractures. Cavities. Missing chunks.
Jack and Linda approach, escorted by a DOE WORKER (50s) --
sunburned, defensive, already rehearsing denial.
Two FBI AGENTS hang back, uneasy, eyes scanning the open
land.
The DOE Worker gestures broadly -- a practiced motion.
DOE WORKER
Legacy containment. Pondcrete. Low-
level material. Fully remediated.
Linda crouches at the edge of the nearest stack.
She presses a gloved finger against a crack.
The concrete gives.
CRUMBLES like stale bread.
Her glove comes away dusted gray.
Linda studies it.
LINDA
When were these poured?
DOE WORKER
Late seventies. Early eighties.
They were never intended to be
permanent.
Jack’s attention is on the tarp.
The wind lifts it again -- exposing DOZENS MORE BLOCKS
beneath. Worse than the first row.
JACK
Who’s in charge of solar pond
operations?
The DOE Worker forces a smile.
DOE WORKER
Tom Haskell. We call him the Warden
of the Waste around here.
Linda rises slowly.
She opens her case.
Removes a HANDHELD ALPHA SCINTILLATION PROBE.
The DOE Worker stiffens -- just a notch.
Linda passes the probe over the surface of a block.
A soft CLICK.
Then another.
The clicks begin to CLUSTER.
Linda kneels.
She presses the probe directly into a fracture where the
concrete has split.
The clicking ACCELERATES.
She tilts the probe.
The readout climbs.
Linda doesn’t react. Jack clocks the shift in her breathing.
The DOE Worker shifts his weight.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Unspoken Concerns
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)
You don’t smoke?
JESSICA
Never have.
DR. BRADEN
Secondhand exposure?
She 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
16 -
Unveiling the Hazard
EXT. SOLAR EVAPORATION PONDS — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
Linda scrapes loose material from the crack with a sterile
swab.
Gray dust.
She seals it in a vial.
Passes the probe over the sample.
The clicking SPIKES -- sharp, insistent.
The DOE Worker steps forward.
Linda looks up at him now.
Calm. Exact.
LINDA
Concrete doesn’t stop alpha
emitters.
A beat.
The DOE Worker blinks -- processing something he didn’t
expect to hear.
Linda points to the dirt beneath the stacks.
Darkened. Damp, despite the sun.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Where does the runoff go?
The DOE Worker hesitates.
DOE WORKER
That’s beyond my purview.
Jack steps in.
JACK
It’s not contained. Could already
be in the groundwater.
The wind strengthens.
The tarp LIFTS HARDER now -- exposing more broken blocks
beneath, like bones under a shallow grave.
Linda stands.
She lowers the probe to the soil at the base of the stack.
A CLICK.
Then another.
Then a rhythm.
She straightens.
LINDA
That’s migration.
The DOE Worker’s jaw tightens.
Jack looks past him.
Beyond the ponds.
Beyond the fence.
A thin line of COTTONWOODS marks a drainage channel sloping
downhill -- aimed at neighborhoods miles away.
JACK
You’re storing radioactive waste
outdoors. Unlined. Covered by
plastic.
The DOE Worker bristles.
DOE WORKER
These are temporary storage units.
Jack turns back to him.
Voice even. Cold.
JACK
How many are there?
DOE WORKER
About fifteen thousand, five
hundred and change.
Jack lets the number hang in the air.
The wind carries dust between them.
JACK
That’s uncontrolled release.
Linda looks at the blocks.
The dust.
The tarp lifting again.
LINDA
This isn’t low-level.
She raises the vial.
The probe CHATTERS LOUDLY now.
LINDA (CONT’D)
This is hot.
Jack doesn’t speak.
Writes:
15:42 - Solid reading elevated - Marsh drainage slope >
Neighborhoods
Underlines “neighborhoods.”
JACK
Bag it.
LINDA
It’s not clean.
JACK
The truth rarely is.
The wind gusts harder.
LINDA
This doesn’t wait.
JACK
Let’s be right before we’re loud.
Dust lifts from the cracks.
Jack looks down.
Gray residue settles on his shoes.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Serenity and Shadows
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","Environmental"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
Silent Alarm
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.
His hands TREMBLE.
A beat.
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.
Just silence. 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.
That lands wrong.
The supervisor snaps on gloves. Not the thick kind.
A look passes between them. Calculated. 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 unconsciously.
Like checking for dust that isn’t there.
Then forces a slow exhale.
Two SECURITY MEN appear with a GURNEY. No markings. No EMT
insignia.
The technician tries to sit up. The supervisor presses him
down.
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.
Recognition.
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.
The HUM continues.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
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.
INT. PLENUM CHAMBER — CONTINUOUS
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
20 -
Defiance in the Shadows
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 disposal anymore. It’s
exposure.
Silence on the line -- not technical.
Deliberate.
Linda watches Jack’s face.
FBI LEGAL (V.O.)
Jack, I’m warning you to stay
within the scope of the warrant.
JACK
I am. Containment just doesn’t stop
where you’d like it to.
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.
Jack starts walking again.
JACK
Paper lasts longer than they do.
She studies him.
LINDA
That’s slower.
JACK
It survives.
Linda follows.
The HUM continues.
Uninterrupted.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
Silent Evidence
INT. HOSPITAL OFFICE — DAY
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.
Downwind.
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.
Once to someone in Denver who
stopped returning my calls.
NURSE CARLA
What do they say?
She stares at the data.
DR. BRADEN
That correlation isn’t causation.
That I’m outside my lane.
That 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.
Outside, the wind moves unseen.
NURSE CARLA
What are you going to do?
Dr. Braden closes the laptop. Decisive.
DR. BRADEN
Keep writing it down.
She stands.
The room feels smaller now.
Genres:
["Drama","Medical"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
Tension at Rocky Flats
INT. TEMPORARY COMMAND ROOM — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A windowless room repurposed in a hurry.
Fold-out tables. Too close together.
Maps pinned crooked to a corkboard. Drainage arrows added in
marker.
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.
REBECCA SLOAN (40s) -- The DOJ representative -- polite,
neat, holding a thin binder like a shield.
EVAN MARSH (30s)-- The EVAN(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 nods. Almost encouraging.
REBECCA
“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 need off-site sampling.
Downwind. Soil. Water.
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,
none of this exists.
Linda doesn’t turn.
LINDA
Physics doesn’t recognize property
lines.
Rebecca smiles -- small, professional.
REBECCA
Science is patient.
Jack finally looks up.
JACK
Radiation isn’t.
The EVAN clears his throat.
EVAN
Let’s get through this clean.
You’re on a short list for
Washington, agent.
Jack meets the REBECCA’s eyes.
Holds them.
Doesn’t raise his voice.
JACK
That list moves.
No one moves.
The HUM continues -- steady, relentless -- pushing air
somewhere it shouldn’t go.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Internal Conflict
INT. ADMIN HALLWAY — ROCKY FLATS — DAY
A quieter corridor.
Fluorescent lights buzz.
The HUM persists.
Jack steps away from the command room.
Stops. Pulls out his PHONE. Scrolls.
A contact stops him:
U.S. ATTORNEY — DENVER
His thumb hovers.
Through a glass window, he can see --
Linda inside the command room.
Methodically sealing samples.
Jack lowers the phone.
Doesn’t pocket it yet.
Instead, he pulls the LEGAL PAD from under his arm.
Flips to a page.
Three words stare back at him -- written earlier, heavy-
handed:
RELEASE
CONFUSION
Each one underlined. Hard.
Jack lifts his pen.
Brings it down through CONFUSION --
The pen doesn’t write. The ink is dry.
He presses harder.
Nothing.
He drags the pen across the page HARD, ripping the page.
Jack looks at the pen.
Then at the phone in his other hand.
He locks the phone screen and slides it into his pocket.
Closes the legal pad. Tucks it back under his arm.
An exhale -- not relief.
Calculation.
Jack turns and walks back toward the command room.
The HUM continues.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
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.
The hum of ventilation grows more pronounced.
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.
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.
The machine HUMS, relentless.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Silent Dangers
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 passes it over the sealed jar.
Nothing.
She lowers the probe to the exposed soil.
A CLICK.
Another.
Then -- a rhythm.
Linda’s face doesn’t change.
She takes a second sample.
RF-GREEN-02.
Probes over soil.
The clicking accelerates.
LINDA
(low)
Not background.
Linda tilts the probe, studies the readout.
A beat.
The wind moves the grass.
She walks closer to the bike path. Ten yards. Twenty.
Kneels again.
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.
Jack stands behind her now.
LINDA (CONT’D)
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.
Initials.
Seals the bag.
The probe clicks on.
The wind moves.
Linda stands. Back straight. Composed again.
Jack looks at her.
She doesn’t look back.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Secrets in the Shadows
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 silence for a moment.
Earned.
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.
A BARTENDER wipes the counter nearby, pretending not to
watch.
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. Gray dust still
caught in the grooves of his knuckles.
He notices.
Wipes it off on the napkin.
It smears darker than it should.
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 the trick.
Linda looks at him.
LINDA
You sound like you’ve lived near
places that said that.
A beat.
JACK
Albuquerque.
Linda reacts -- just a flicker.
LINDA
Los Alamos.
Jack nods.
JACK
My dad was a machinist. Not a
scientist. Just... parts.
LINDA
He ever talk about it?
Jack takes a drink.
JACK
Never.
Linda studies him.
JACK (CONT’D)
Cancer took him before anyone said
the word “exposure.”
Linda absorbs that.
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.
A beat.
Jack’s PHONE VIBRATES on the bar.
He glances at it.
Unknown internal extension.
He 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 771. 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.
Unchanged.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
27 -
Entering 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.
Jack looks at her.
JACK
Meaning?
LINDA
Meaning someone expected this to
stay hot forever.
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.
Anxious.
LINDA
That’s just outside the door.
Jack nods.
He 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","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
28 -
Room 141: The Accumulation
INT. ROOM 141 — CONTINUOUS
The door opens.
Light FLOODS out.
Cold. White. Endless.
They freeze.
The Geiger counter goes berserk -- a violent, erratic STORM
of clicks.
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.
Recycling.
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.
LINDA
(through helmet, quiet)
That’s saturation.
Jack takes one step forward -- too fast.
Linda instinctively grabs his arm. Stops him.
ROOM 141 is massive -- far larger than the building footprint
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.
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.
Not machinery.
Not ventilation.
Something deeper.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Oh God.
She 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 (CONT’D)
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 him.
LINDA (CONT’D)
Everything that couldn’t be
accounted for.
Jack processes that.
She stands.
A long beat.
LINDA (CONT’D)
They centralized it.
Jack’s helmeted breath grows louder.
JACK
Someone signed off on this.
Jack’s eyes drift down.
Along the conveyance track -- fresh scuff marks.
Not dust-covered. Fresh. Recent.
Linda lifts the Geiger counter.
The steady 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.
Linda looks back at the rows.
At the repetition.
At the intent.
LINDA
This wasn’t negligence. It was
policy.
They stand in silence.
The HUM.
Jack’s breath fogs his visor.
CUT TO BLACK.
The steady TONE continues.
Then -- underneath it -- a LOW, FAMILIAR HUM.
Ventilation.
Constant.
Relentless.