14/04/2017

Perish Part III


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INT. TRAINING HALL

Over the next following days, Iron demonstrates maneuvers with his 'gun' that the men must precisely replicate.

Soon they're rolling around on the floor, dodging bullets and generally looking like a bunch of loonies.

Nonetheless, each and every man takes the training seriously, lost in pure momentum.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - NIGHT

Jim sits on his bed, dressed to sleep, rubbing his back.

RIP

Seventeen to three, man. You should kill yourself.

Jim puts his finger to his head and whispers a pow.

RIP

(laughing)

Maybe you'll do better tomorrow, eh?

Jim nods. Rip slaps his shoulder then gets up on his bunk.

The lights dim and Jim lays back in bed.

He closes his eyes.

INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

Jim stands before the blue telephone.

Thumb circling his forefinger at his side, he bites his lip, fidgeting in his boots until unrest has him reach out to the handset and put the receiver to his ear.

He covers the transmitter, eyes closed, starting to fidget again.

Jim takes a breath and dials a number.

It calls...

... and calls...

... and--

Someone picks up.

An ear piercing whistle screams through the receiver.

Jim drops the phone.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - MORNING

Jim jolts awake, stood to attention with Iron walking past.

IRON

Salute.

(everyone does)

C and I in ten. Elvish Liquor in five. Get dressed.

Jim turns to get dressed.

INT. TRAINING HALL - DAY

The men 'shoot' at each other. Iron screams DIE! and men fall.

Aggression swells as the men put all their learnt maneuvers into practice, no longer prancing on horses.

All wear thin blue jackets and gloves that flash red when they're 'shot' at.

INT. TRAINING HALL - DAY

The men are sent running laps around the hall.

Iron stands in the middle watching them go, motivating them to either push harder or commit suicide when he's not looking.

INT. GYM - DAY

Rigorous exercise: push ups, squats, burpees, sit ups, planks, crunches, bursts of slow and fast running on the spot, rope climbing, box jumping, chin ups, skipping, more push ups, more sit ups, more crunches, lactic acid pulsing, breath pounding, blood surging, sweat cascading...

Iron oversees all with insatiable command.

EXT. COURTYARD - DAY

The men march in their suits, a relatively relaxing exercise, so Iron is especially harsh, criticizing every minute fault and screaming as much as he possibly can.

INT. ASSEMBLY HALL

Spit lectures on recon tactics, field skills and survival techniques.

EXT. TRAINING CIRCUITS - DAY

The men run for miles on end.

EXT. COURTYARD

Squads traverse huge obstacle courses out in the field, climbing, running, falling, swinging, hanging...

All of it to escape the relentless team leaders.

INT. TRAINING HALL

More crippling Death Training.

The men are all in tears, but Iron remains firm.

INT. TRAINING HALL - DAY

More C and I, endless games, endless BANGs, endless falls, fake deaths, flashes of red and restarts...

INT. RECREATION HALL - DAY

Jim and Rip sit on a bench watching the rest of their team play a needlessly aggressive game of dodgeball. Jim has grown a little stronger, Rip a little skinnier over the passing weeks.

JIM

Hey, Rip?

RIP

Uh-huh.

JIM

You got a real name?

RIP

(confused)

Yeah.

JIM

Would you tell me it?

RIP

I'm not sure, man.

JIM

It was all that bad then?

Rip nods, yes.

They sit in silence a moment.

RIP

Go on then, where you from?

JIM

An old dusty place. Nothing that matters though, don't worry.

RIP

(chuckles)

Not worrying.

Silence again.

JIM

What do you think about reinvention?

RIP

Reinventing oneself?

JIM

Yeah.

RIP

People don't change, man.

JIM

Do you really believe that?

RIP

Do you?

JIM

Yes, people change. We change with every second that passes.

RIP

Only physically though.

JIM

What are you talking about?

RIP

Like, with each breath we get closer to death. That kind of thing.

JIM

No, you're talking about fate.

RIP

Am I?

JIM

Yeah.

RIP

I don't think so.

JIM

I'm asking about the self.

RIP

The self?

JIM

What? Don't you not know what it is?

RIP

Do you?

JIM

What is this? Are you too scared to answer--

RIP

No, I mean, there is no definitive answer. Right? The self is just an idea, it's not a real thing, man.

JIM

Of course it is. The self is the mind, it's--

RIP

Now you're talking about religion.

JIM

No, I'm not. I didn't mention souls.

RIP

I think you're questioning fate, man.

JIM

No, I'm--

RIP

All I'm saying is--

BANG

A dodgeball smashes Jim straight in the teeth.

IRON

Recreation is not for gossip! It is not for chatting! It is for personal pleasure! And your personal pleasure is your fellow man's personal pain!

Iron throws another dodgeball...

BAM

... right in Jim's face again.

IRON

Get up!

Jim stands.

IRON

Gimmie that.

Iron takes a dodgeball from a nearby man and throws it at Rip who is still sat down.

IRON

If you two retarded, anal-wenching, prostitutes don't get into the game and knock someone's teeth out in the next three seconds, I'm going to shove you up each other asses until you simply are no more!

Jim and Rip run to pick up a dodgeball and get involved in the game, men laughing at them, directing fire their way.

INT. TOILETS - LATER

Jim sits, trousers around his ankles, tapping his knees. Someone in the stall next to his flushes, exits and starts washing their hands.

RIP (O.S)

Yo.

JIM

Yeah.

Jim pulls his trousers on and goes for the door. He catches himself and flushes the toilet - nothing but water swirling down the pipe.

He leaves the stall and starts washing his hands.

RIP

I never thought my ass could be trained. Three minutes every time, no matter the weather.

Jim just smiles as he washes his hands.

A burst of laughter is drowned out by another toilet flushing. Muffin comes out smiling.

MUFFIN

Whatever the weather. That's funny, man. Fucking dickheads.

He leaves without washing his hands, leaving Rip slightly impressed with himself.

Jim can only smirk.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - NIGHT

Jim lies in bed trying to sleep.

From silence surges forth a rising cacophony...

He tosses and turns trying to ignore the barrage of screams and shouts from the endless sessions of C and I.

He covers his head with the pillow but the noise only gets louder, from underneath it all a high pitched whistling rises.

Jim start to scream inaudibly...

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - MORNING

Jim's POV:

Iron is right in our face, mad as hell.

We look left and right to see bemused men.

Silence...

All of a sudden screams cut in.

Jim yells in Iron's face.

BOOM

Iron slaps him in the side of the head, knocking him to the floor.

Jim has a second awakening looking up at Iron.

IRON

What the fuck is wrong with you!? Get to your feet!

Jim gets up and looks around, embarrassed.

IRON

What was that?

Jim doesn't know where to look.

IRON

What was that?

Jim shakes his head.

Iron grabs him by the ears and forces him back between two bunks and up against the wall. He refuses to let go of his ears as he writhes.

IRON

You wanna scream?

Jim shakes his head, no.

IRON

Yes, you do.

Jim shakes his head, no.

IRON

Bullshit! Don't fucking lie to me. Scream again.

Jim shakes his head, no.

IRON

AAAAARRGG!! Scream, pussy.

Jim shakes his head, no.

Iron knocks Jim's head against the wall repeatedly.

BAM

BAM

IRON

Do it!

BAM

Jim is hesitant...

IRON

Do it!

BAM

IRON

Do it!

JIM

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Silence...

A smile creeps across Iron's face.

IRON

Gee fuckin' wiz, boy! Gimme some fucking more!

JIM

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! You fucking psycho!

IRON

I fucking love it. Catharsis!

SMACK

A light slap to the face and Iron lets go of his ears.

IRON

Now, get back in line. That's enough catharsis for you.

Jim scurries to get into line, utterly mortified, on the brink of tears.

IRON

Any of you other fairy cakes need to get something out?

Nobody says anything. They just look to Jim in silent mockery as he tries to sniffle away all emotion.

IRON

Before you do, just let me know. That way I can tell you to brush your teeth first. Christ, goddammit! Salute!

(the men do)

Iron starts pacing the aisle again.

IRON

Lucky for you, there's no C and I today. Can anybody tell me why?

No one's got an answer.

IRON

Paramecium. Where are you? I like the sound of your voice.

Paramecium steps forward.

IRON

What day is it today?

PARAMECIUM

The fifteenth.

IRON

Great. And do you know what that means?

PARAMECIUM

That we've all been here at Perish for a month.

IRON

Indeed. Care to elaborate?

PARAMECIUM

On what, Iron?

IRON

Well, you know what they say. Too much of a good thing. Get back in line.

(he does)

Exit bay in ten. Elvish Liquor in five. Move it.

The men start getting dressed.

Jim keeps his eyes on the ground as he pulls his clothes on as quick as possible. Rip stands by his back, getting changed, not sure what to say.

Dressed, Jim just leans against his bunk, head resting on his hands that grip the mattress. Rip pats his shoulder, an awkward attempt toward silent comforting.

Men dress at a more leisurely pace, taking their time to quietly mock Jim and gossip amongst themselves, the room quickly filled with an indifferent buzz.

INT. EXIT BAY - MORNING

The men stand before Iron and the doors again as they open up.

Jim's recomposed. Rip knocks shoulders with him to exchange a subtle nod of reassurance.

Meanwhile, Iron paces...

IRON

Oh, what I'd do for some Also Sprach right now.

The doors, risen, click into place. Humming the tune of Also Sprach Zarathustra (the one from 2001: A Space Odyssey), Iron approaches the glass.

He slowly reaches out with the tip of his finger, his hum ringing through opening lips, getting louder, louder...

And with a DA-DA he...

BEEP

... touches the glass, letting a breeze flow past him, inhaling the opiate gust.

He spins to face the men.

The men watch him, no suits on, almost used to his psychotic nature by now.

IRON

Fucking awe-inspiring. Androdgena has accepted you. Pan.

Pan steps forward.

IRON

Do you have any words to say?

Pan shakes his head.

IRON

Nothing?

PAN

Thank you... Androdgena?

IRON

Very polite. Muffin.

Muffin steps forward, the only person wearing a suit.

Iron starts humming Also Sprach again.

Iron gets close to the DA-DA again and gestures for Muffin to take his helmet off.

He does, Iron holding his breath, gesturing like a composer...

Muffin takes a deep breath...

IRON

DA-DA!

No puke.

Iron spins in circle playing the air as if drums, going BOM-BOM BOM-BOM over and over.

EXT. COURTYARD - MORNING

IRON

Ok! Double file. Collect your weapons.

The men file towards Iron's desk to pick up a grey boy and fan back out into a straight line before him.

Iron picks up the last box, opens it, carefully takes the glove out and puts it on.

He turns around to face the 6 foot wall of sand bags with targets of varying sizes painted on.

The men are glued, almost quivering with anticipation...

He aims, the red band on the wrist and the red finger tip glowing blue...

... and mouths the word, POW...

... ZIP...

... PFFT.

One of the smaller targets pop open, silver powder seeping to the ground.

Silence...

Faces slowly drop.

IRON

Not very exciting, is it?

The men squint on at the anti-climax.

IRON

We used to demonstrate on pigs, but it's just too messy. Anyhow. Men, there is nothing worth teaching about this weapon. It's very simple, aim and mean to shoot. The glove will then do so - neural networking and such. We've been over this. Line up!

The men line up in front of the wall, take a knee and place the boxes on the ground.

IRON

Wrap up warm, kids.

The men open their boxes, put on the gloves and stand.

Iron paces behind them.

IRON

Ok.

The men aim, finger tips and wrists aglow.

IRON

Let loose.

Jim mouths the word BANG and hits near the centre of a larger target.

IRON

Always first to shoot your load, Jim.

Rip shoots next...

PFFT

... hitting the same target as Jim, but closer to the middle.

A smug nod then all the men start shooting, silver powder starts pouring.

INT. TRAINING HALL - DAY

Mantra and Iron stand facing a group of both their men, all of them chatting. Before them is a table with 4 boxes on - two large and black, two grey.

MANTRA

Ok! Quiet!

Silence.

Iron steps forward.

IRON

All right. Any idiot can kill with firearms. It's weak and it's pathetic. All you men have to fight--

MANTRA

Ahhhh, fuck the speech!

Mantra grabs the neck of Iron's shirt and...

BAM

... slams his head down the table, boxes thrown askew.

One of the black boxes falls on Iron, the other is picked up by Mantra.

Mantra pops the lid off, producing a four foot samurai sword.

He bellows, bringing it screaming down on Iron....

CLANG

... met by the glisten of a blade with metallic reverberation.

The swords grind against one another, Iron rising to his knees, teeth grit, eyes livened...

Iron's blade gives as he slips right, foot rising...

CLANG

... Mantra's sword hitting the ground...

BOOM

... Iron's foot driving into his gut.

He reels away.

Iron rolls to his feet.

Mantra swoops his sword up and is about to charge when...

IRON

Hold!

Mantra stops and relaxes, leaning against the sword.

The men can only stare in disbelief...

IRON

Let's do this properly.

Iron throws a grey box to Mantra. He then kicks open the second and puts on the glove.

The woollen grip sets the swords ablaze with luminescent fizz, Iron's sword purple, Mantra's red.

The men's faces say it all: 'Ooooooo...'

IRON

Swap?

Mantra nods.

The dulled blades slice across the hall, re-lit when caught, the two team leaders instantaneously releasing throat-torn war cries, charging across the floorboards.

Iron drops to his knees, sliding forward, sword biting towards the Mantra's screeching skid...

CLANG

... welcomed by a rising blaze of purple light.

Spinning back into a rising defense, Iron parries Mantra's vindictive hammering...

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

... the blazon blades sizzle a light show until, slipping to the left when an opening arises, Iron's crimson bolt swings for Mantra's wrists.

Too quick, the scarlet blade arcs through nothing but air, Mantra's reeling hands having released the sword leaving him open to a...

BAM

... devastating blow to the chest, the jagged hilt of Iron's sword driving all the wind out of Mantra's sails as he tumbles away.

Rolling to a back-tracking stagger, Mantra looks up to the blaze of purple hurtling revolutions.

Iron also locks onto the falling sword.

Mantra charges.

Iron lunges, spinning mid-air, the crimson sizzle glissading a sharp 360...

CLANG

... battering Mantra's sword straight at him.

Mantra throws himself forward into an evasive roll, the hurtling light bolting over him, and up into a flying drop kick...

BOOM

... his boots planting footprints against Iron's lungs.

He flails, the two falling away from each other, haphazard.

Mantra scrambles for his sword.

Iron regains his composure.

They rise into a slow approach, trudging circles around each other...

... mouths drooped into dry gawps, lights glistening from transfixed stares, the men track the fight with frozen unnerve...

... the swords lunge for battle, welcoming an orchestrated symphony of clangour and thumping resonance as the team leaders bellow unrelenting skill masquerading as choreographed malice.

The burning lights continue to ring a searing cacophony until--

SWIISHHHH

--Mantra ducks, his sword slicing past Iron's purple hilt, grazing the woollen thumb and severing the banded wrists.

Glove cleaved, Iron's sword dwindles its grey metallic shade--

SLASH

--chopped in half with a final violet tear.

The snipped tip slides to a stop by the men's feet.

Silence...

Their eyes pan up to Iron.

He stands, still willing to fight with the stub, but Mantra just laughs, dropping his guard.

Iron turns back to the men.

Silence...

IRON

Well, now... we're old men and I bet that impressed you.

Some of the men grumble.

IRON

Oh, I'm sorry, one of you want to fight? Who the fuck will it will it be?

Nobody says anything.

IRON

Just as I thought.

Iron drops then kicks the stub toward Mantra, he picks it up. Moving on:

IRON

One of the greatest things about movies, specifically sci-fi movies, is that they inspire new technology. Getting this good with Lucifer...

He points towards the sword Mantra waves over his head.

IRON

... would take time--time we all don't have. So, stop me if you've heard this one, but we hook you up to a machine that trains you in your sleep. Don't worry there's no direct need to bore holes in your heads and stick needles in them. That's why we only do it to a quarter of you. Pan, you're part of that quarter.

Pan's not phased and so just shrugs it off. Iron's not impressed, he strolls over.

IRON

Maybe I was joking, but maybe I will bore a cunt into the back of your head. The only needle going in there though will be your own dick, so that's one less thing for you to worry about.

Men chuckle. Pan holds his hands up in submission.

IRON

Put your hands down. What the fuck do you think you're going to do? I don't need to see the prick marks that stand as evidence for your persistence for self-gratification. Wendy!

He stops laughing.

WENDY

Yes.

IRON

Open your mouth!

WENDY

What?

IRON

Open you mouth you cock sucking penguin!

Wendy opens his mouth. Iron marches up to him and inspects.

IRON

Say ahhhh.

WENDY

Ahhhhh?

IRON

Zeus, oh dear lord, I fucking knew it. By Poseidon's foreskin I fucking knew!

WENDY

What?

IRON

You let him do it again, didn't you!?

WENDY

What?

IRON

You let Pan do the unholiest of unholies. You let him put his dick in your mouth!

Wendy shakes his head, his mouth still open.

IRON

Yes, you did and sucked on it like it were a bubble fresh air between the ass cheeks of a fat man smothering you to death. And I bet you know that situation too. I bet face sitting gets you off, you masochistic trollop. I see the pricks. Pan, you bastard! Fuckin' treat her right.

Wendy is still shaking his head. Iron slaps his mouth shut.

IRON

Don't you shake your head at me you dirty, dick gobbling, cock vender.

Mantra lets out a giggle behind him.

IRON

Well, I'm glad someone finds me funny. Maybe I'll quit this shit and become a comedian. I hear the pussy and the pay are better.

MANTRA

Iron, can we go on?

IRON

Well, of course I can. You just keep a hold of your balls.

MANTRA

All right.

IRON

Thank you kindly.

(back to the men:)

Nine days out of ten you will be in The Gorge whilst you sleep to train. You will all dream in war, battle and blood until that's all your subconscious knows and wants. We have general assembly in sixty. But before that, C and I. My boys are the cowboys. Mantra, yours are the indians.

The men split to their sides.

INT. ASSEMBLY HALL - LATER

Spit lectures the men on how to use the goggles that put them in The Gorge:

SPIT

The Gorge is not programmed into the goggles directly. It must bind to the idiosyncrasies of your brain structure. That means it should be different for all of you, but make no mistake, you will meet Maybell. Training sessions start out on auto-pilot. You're gonna feel like Bruce Lee, but you ain't. The training program has a negative feedback loop...

Imagination is splattered across the riveted gaze of men as they listen.

Jim looks on from the back, distant, mind adrift.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - LATER

The men enter and stand by their bunks.

IRON

All right. You will find your equipment in your foot lockers. Get them on, get to bed. Goodnight.

Iron leaves.

All disciplinary rigidity leaves the room as the men quietly converse, getting out the goggles with thick lenses.

Jim puts his on and looks around.

JIM

Fuck me.

He takes them off, rubbing his eyes.

Rip, with his on, looks around trying to adjust himself, stumbling haphazardly. A few bunks down Paramecium gets ready for bed, singing a tune as always.

Rip huffs. Jim half-laughs, not understanding his contempt.

Taking the goggles off, snapping back his sheets, Rip seethes in silence before:

RIP

Would you shut the fuck up?

Paramecium takes no notice.

RIP

Hey!

JIM

Rip -

RIP

Every fucking day! Shut the fuck up, man.

Paramecium lies back on his bed, still singing.

RIP

This motherfucking -

From a few bunks back:

JUELS

Hey, why don't you shut the fuck up?

Rip flips him off.

JIM

Just calm.

Juels turns to Pan and inaudibly mocks the two.

Paramecium sings louder, men in surrounding bunks join.

RIP

(to Jim)

These fucking assholes.

Jim just shrugs.

PARAMECIUM

(still singing)

Rip, why don't you suck my dick and then go fuck yourself?

RIP

Me?

PARAMECIUM

Yeah you, faggot.

Rip dismisses him and gets into bed. The room erupts with taunts.

JUELS

(to Pan, so Rip can hear)

Jim'll fix it. He'll finger him later, don't worry.

PAN

Yeah, as he sleeps, the little bitch.

RIP

Hey, what's your problem, man!?

JUELS

What did I say!?

Rip sits up.

RIP

Fuck all you assholes!

The men jeer. Lolita, who is next to Pan, shouts:

LOLITA

Fuck you, fat body!

RIP

(getting off the bed)

No, come on!

PARAMECIUM

What the fuck do you want, puss-fuck?

RIP

I want your fucking guts!

The men cheer.

JUELS

(to Paramecium)

I'd stay away from that, man.

One of the men by Paramecium's bed, Megatron, speaks up:

MEGATRON

How about you shut the fuck up?

JUELS

Who the fuck is that!?

PARAMECIUM

Fuck all of you, I want this cunt.

RIP

Yeah?

Paramecium stands, as do the men around him, all of them wanting a fight.

JUELS

(to Pan, about Megatron)

And this asshole stands.

MEGATRON

Fuck you!

JUELS

I'll take you.

MEGATRON

Oh, yeah!?

JUELS

Damn straight.

MEGATRON

Oh, yeah!?

JUELS

Yeah? You want to talk or die, motherfucker? 'Cause I'll fucking kill you.

MEGATRON

Oh, yeah!?

JUELS

This fucking pussy don't wanna fight! He wants to talk!

MEGATRON

Oh, yeah!?

Getting away with the Clark Gable imitation, holding onto his bunk:

JUELS

You got me. Yeah!

The men laugh.

MEGATRON

Fuck you!

Megatron charges.

Juels runs at Megatron.

Rip runs at Paramecium.

Lolita and Pan spring into action.

Men run at anyone opposing them.

Immediately the room is in uproar, beds thrown around, footlockers emptied as the men kick, punch, bite, poke, throw, grab, scream, shout and curse.

Jim backs through the chaos and to his bunk.

Iron appears in the doorway. He looks on, somewhat impressed.

Gradually, the men realise he stands watching and come to a stop, tapping their fighting partners so they realise.

Soon all that's left is Paramecium and Rip rolling across the floor.

MAN (O.S)

Get those assholes up.

A few men pull them apart.

Silence...

All the men stand facing Iron like children waiting for trouble...

Iron stares blankly, unable to lock eyes with anyone without their eyes hitting the ground, hands in his pockets, head cocked.

Without a word, he leaves.

Silence remains...

All tensions eventually dropped, the men go about getting dressed and cleaning up.

Like an angry child, Rip jumps up onto his bunk and throws the covers over his head.

The room remains silent save the rustle of sheets and bump of footlockers put back into place. Slowly, however, a murmur brews.

A snort breaks the silence, everyone giggling to each other.

Jim just sits on his bed, shaking his head, his face saying it all: 'What the fuck just happened?'

The lights dim.

The giggling dies down as the room comes back together and men get into bed.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - NIGHT

Jim sleeps with the thick pair of goggles on, his eyes open, darting from left to right.

INT. THE GORGE

Stood on a concrete platform suspended in the middle of a deep blue abyss Jim holds his sword, gaze rising with a growing fear to be suppressed.

Before him something starts to materialise.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - SAME

Men sleep, all of them flinching, eyes open behind the translucent goggle lenses, bodies tensed, the bunks clinking and groaning with each toss and turn.

INT. THE GORGE

BANG

Jim is knocked to the floor by the hilt of a sword.

Footsteps pound forward with slow and looming malice.

Jim looks his enemy in the eye.

... eight arms bristled with thick hair...

... two metal legs...

... a metallic body with fluid bulging muscles...

... a human head with no features beyond a dozen beady black eyes...

... female human hands that grip seven samurai swords, each a colour of the rainbow.

Jim rises to his feet.

The creature approaches, middle finger poised in mockery.

Screaming...

JIM

FUCK YOOOOOU!!!

... Jim runs at it.

He darts around the swooping blades, navigating the violent maelstrom with finesse...

SLASH

... lopping limbs off...

C-C-CLANG

... thinning the flurry of blades...

S-SLASH

... down to three arms, two samurai swords.

Jim swings, his blade searing through flesh...

BAM

... striking the metal chest, the blade consumed by the liquifying metal.

He tries to pull free--

--the creature arcs its final sword--

--Jim throws himself clear.

Unarmed, Jim can only back away, head tipped towards the seething blade rising over the creatures head--

B-BOOOOOOM

Out of nowhere a telephone handset the size of a car plows into the creature, sending it off the concrete platform and into the abyss.

As quick as it came, the phone's gone.

Jim's gaze pivots frantically as he gets to his feet.

Then...

BOOOM

... the handset rattles his frame into the void, broken and twisted.

INT. IRON LIVING QUARTERS - NIGHT

Jim jolts awake, tearing the goggles off.

He sits up in bed with them in his hands, bewildered.

The restless room around him quietly writhes with dulled, reflexive murmur.



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