BLACK OUT.
A profound silence descends. Nothing. No sound, no motion.
Then... a faint creak. The sound of a door opening. It’s subtle
but sharp in the dead stillness. The door shifts slowly on its
hinges, the noise cutting through the air like a whisper from
another time.
Heavy, deliberate, HIS boots pressing against the cold, worn
floor. Each step echoes with an unnerving clarity, as if the
world around him has become a hollow chamber, amplifying every
movement. The air is dense, suffocating, as if even the
atmosphere is waiting for something to happen.
A breath escapes from him—short, shallow. His lungs struggle,
his chest rises and falls in rapid succession. He tries to
steady himself, but the weight of the silence presses harder,
each gasp ringing louder in the void. The darkness seems to
press in around him, suffocating the light.
ANGLE ON:
A faint glimmer of LIGHT in the far corner of the room.
At first, it’s barely noticeable—a flicker, like the first rays
of dawn.
The light slowly begins to grow, a bright glow that intensifies
with each passing second, creeping & expanding. The growing
brightness brushes through his face, revealing his glittering
eyes and slowly half of his face.
His eyes strain, squinting against the brightness, his face
tight with discomfort. He shields his as the room begins to feel
like it’s bending, warping under the pressure of the growing
glow, as if reality itself is unraveling.
His body tenses. His heart races. The light expands, swallowing
the whole room, until it’s all he can see—everything else, a
void, dissolves.
The light explodes, an overwhelming burst that engulfs
everything.
CUT TO:
EXT. GHOSTED TOWN – EVENING
A barren landscape stretches out before him, the sun a harsh,
unforgiving presence in the sky. The man trudges through the
center of the ghost town, the soles of his boots kicking up
clouds of dust with each step. Empty streets and the skeletal
remains of buildings loom around him. Rusted cars sit abandoned
in place, their windows shattered, forgotten by time.
The air is thick with the scent of decay, the dead silence
broken only by the distant howling of a dust storm on the
horizon. The wind stirs, whipping the sand and dirt in swirling
gusts, making the town feel alive in a chaotic, threatening way.
He pauses, wiping sweat from his brow, the oppressive heat (even
though it is time for sunset) of the day stinging his skin
Then, just beyond the horizon, the soft rumble of distant voices
cuts through the wind. At first, it's faint—like a murmur, but it
grows louder, more distinct, a low hum of activity in the
otherwise dead town. The man stops in his tracks, his posture
stiffening. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for any sign of
movement.
He squints through the scene, trying to make out the source of
the noise. Is it the wind? Or are there people out there—
survivors, scavengers, perhaps?
