BLACK SCREEN
Slowly, white text fades in:
They told us not to think.
So we swallowed our words.
We buried our questions.
Until one voice rose—not against silence, but into it.
— Anonymous, Archive 2172
INT. Emotion Observation Room – Day
A cube of gray and white—sterile, silent. The air smells faintly of metal. Interactive screens line the walls; beneath one, a small child's cushion sits, perfectly placed.
Nine-year-old C048 sits on it. Her posture is still, back straight, hair neatly tucked behind her ears. Her expression is calm—too calm for a child.
SYSTEM VOICE (V.O.) (soft, mechanical)Today marks your 1,375th thought-record session.C048, please select one of the following expression modes: painting, dancing, singing.
C048 (gazing at the screen, serene) I choose to write a letter.
She presses "Other", then selects the graphic interface.
SYSTEM VOICE (V.O.) No regular recipient detected. Please specify recipient identity.
C048(a pause, unsure)I want to write to... someone I saw in a dream.
SYSTEM VOICE (V.O.) Recipient not found in database. Suggested: choose alternative.
C048 begins typing. Line by line, the screen lights up:
Hello. I don't know who you are.But I saw you in my dream.You told me to remember who I am.But... I don't know who I am.
She pauses. Then presses "Save."
SYSTEM FEEDBACK: Recipient does not exist. Delete draft?
She stares. Two seconds. Then slowly, decisively: Delete.
[Thinking Awakening Index: +1]
[Recommendation: Monitor]
INT. Emotion Observation Room – Night
Night. Most pods in the observation tower are dimmed. Only C048's glows faintly—cold, blue-white.
She sits cross-legged on the floor, silhouetted before a low screen. Her fingers move across a translucent graphic board, strokes slow and deliberate.
AI RECORDING (V.O.) Subject C048. Nocturnal graphic input: 17th instance.Detected: non-standard image pattern.Classification: Spontaneous Abstract Expression, Level 1.
On the screen, her drawing appears:
a closed mouth.a diagonal line, pointing at it.beneath it, repeated ripple symbols.
C048 whispers to herself, mimicking the AI:
C048Level... one...
The pronunciation is soft, blurred—almost a murmur. Not quite language, yet more than sound.
— FLASHBACK —
INT. Screen Cradle Pod – Day
One-year-old C048 lies motionless, eyes open, staring at the screen above her.
A grainy video plays: a woman holds a baby, mouth moving, speaking softly.
WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.)(distorted, from old footage) Baby... call mommy... I love you...
C048's pupils dilate. Neural scans spike in her language centers—but no alarms. No cries.Only silence.
— BACK TO PRESENT —
C048 reaches under the floor panel. From a hidden gap, she pulls out a worn graphic board—its surface scarred from constant erasing and rewriting.
She sketches again. And again.Each time: a different combination. Each one a message she can't quite speak.
She practices sounds under her breath:
C048...call mommy...
Suddenly, her voice breaks. She clutches her throat.Eyes dart upward.
The surveillance sensor blinks red—then fades.
AI RECORDING (V.O.) Symbol frequency increasing.
Then, silence.
C048 keeps drawing, line by line.Shapes of longing, of memory, of something not yet understood.
Outside the tower, the city glows—encased in a cold blue AI grid.A single dark dot pulses faintly within it:a little girl, still glowing. Still trying to remember.
INT. Collective Emotion Regulation Room – DAY
A pure-white, windowless space. The floor glows faintly beneath a translucent layer. The ceiling lights are evenly lit with no shadows. Twenty children sit cross-legged in four neat rows, dressed in identical gray outfits. Floating transparent display boards hover before each of them.
C048 sits far left in the third row. Her gaze is downcast. One finger rests on the screen, unmoving.
AI Voice (O.S.) Synchronization initiated. Please begin drawing the following sequence: Arc. Balanced Triangle. Grid Square.
The children begin drawing swiftly on the boards. Visuals emerge:
– a perfect arc– an equilateral triangle– a square composed of evenly spaced dots
C048 hesitantly raises her hand. Her finger draws an arc—But near the end, she swerves off course. A spiraled, jagged line takes shape.
She stares at it for a moment. Then continues:
– a shaky, off-centered triangle– the grid dots, connected into a flowing wave
System warning beep.
AI Voice (O.S., repeated) Subject C048, input does not match required pattern. Please correct.
C048 lifts her head slightly. Her lips part, but no sound comes out.Instead, she erases the image and redraws the spiral—this time, more twisted.
The warning tone sharpens.
System Alert Graphic Anomaly Level 2. Tag: Customization Tendency. Final warning. Please correct.
Without resistance, C048 quickly draws the required shapes.The alarm stops.
The others continue drawing uniformly, their faces blank, unfazed by the disruption.
But then—In the fourth row, a boy, X089, glances quickly at C048's screen. His eyes flicker. His face lights up with a spark of something—excitement?He hesitates, then impulsively scribbles a spiral on his own board.
System Alarm — Highest Priority
Alert Subject X089: Emotional instability detected.Execute Immediate Reset Protocol.
A silent door slides open. Two agents in white walk in.They remove X089 without a word. No one looks up.
Except C048. She lifts her gaze slightly. Watches.The boy lets out a small whimper as he is taken.
The air thickens again, heavy with silence.
C048 speaks—softly, clearly:
C048 Go…
No warning sound follows.Nothing at all.
INT. Adult Function Pod – DAY
A vast hive-like interior.Rows of adults in identical black uniforms sit before their assigned control consoles. Screens scroll lines of text:
Content ReviewFeedback Required
A young woman fixates on one line of ancient poetry:
She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies...
A glint of emotion flickers in her eyes. Her lips tremble faintly. The system detects it.
ALERT Neural deviation.Initiate rhythm correction.
She is forced to remove her headphones.A neural headset is clamped onto her head.
Moments later, her face returns to stillness. Memory wiped.Work resumes.
EXT. Urban Walkway – Dusk
The sky, dyed cold blue by overhead holographic light. The ground glides silently beneath transport belts. Humans are carried toward designated "Belonging Pods."
In this society without families, people are sorted and reassigned by life stage, delivered to containment zones.
System Broadcast (Calm) Evening residency activated. All units, return to pod.
An elder man sees a young boy approaching from the opposite side. He lifts a hand gently—but is immediately locked down by an AI limb.
System Broadcast (Urgent) Warning. Warning.Unscheduled contact attempt detected.
The warning repeats. Then falls silent.
The elder is transported forward. His face smooths into blankness. As if nothing ever happened.
INT. COLLECTIVE GROWTH ZONE – DAY
C048 stares at the "smiley face" icon glowing on the screen.Suddenly, with a subtle motion of her fingertip, she draws a new symbol in the air—an eye.
She looks around. Every man, woman, and child wears the exact same face, the same expression, the same posture.
Fear grips her. She lowers her head and whispers, almost inaudibly:
C048 (softly)…This isn't me.
She lifts her head again. Her eyes are resolute now—something in her gaze is distinctly different from the rest.
INT. REENTRY POD – NIGHT
Silence fills the dark capsule. C048 lies in the docking cradle, arms and legs gently secured in a standard sleep posture. A screen floats before her, projecting a vivid nightscape—a giant full moon casting silver light over a rippling lake. Her eyes are half-closed. She's not asleep.
Suddenly—
The screen flickers.Grainy black-and-white images flash:A mother and child running under a tree. The footage trembles. Its colors are faded and sepia-toned.They laugh. It's real.
A crude line of ancient glyphs appears between the frames: LEAVE THIS PLACE.
Silent. Yet it startles C048. She snaps her eyes open and instinctively sits up.
No alarm. The AI's laser restraints remain quiet.
Another message flashes:Child, leave now.
C048 holds her breath.She glances around—the other pods are still silent.
A voice. Familiar. Whispering directly into her ear—Only she can hear it.
VOICE Firewall lifted. Fifteen seconds. No logs. Proceed immediately to the east virtual shaft.
Without hesitation, C048 rolls out of the pod.Her bare feet touch the floor—strangely warm, like human skin. No time to dwell on it. She bolts, racing down the corridor. She slips through an unseen crevice and dives into the shaft.
INT. ABANDONED VENTILATION SHAFT – TRANSIT ZONE – NIGHT
Cramped. Sealed. Dust swirls in the stale air.C048 crawls, pressing her body close to the cold metal wall.
A dim blue light glows at the end.
She has no idea how long she's been crawling.Eventually, the space widens. She rises to her feet, searching for the next path forward.
The voice returns—urgent, whispering:
VOICE Location mismatch.Update window detected—Left. Upward.One second left. Get out.
C048 dashes forward at full speed.
A red light scans behind her.An alarm shrieks.
Just as it sounds, she reaches the end and launches herself toward the light—
A laser beam grazes her silhouette.The glow vanishes.
Silence returns.
As if the shaft never existed.