INT. ARVEN'S ROOM – MORNING
The alarm blares. Arven slaps it off and stares at the ceiling, heavy-eyed. The room is dim, sunlight creeping through the blinds, dust motes dancing in the air. His chest feels tight, restless, every breath shallow.
It has been a week since the dreams began. Online, people joke, make memes, laugh nervously. But Arven feels the unease behind the humor. Something is wrong. Something beyond his understanding.
He swings his legs off the bed, stretches, and dresses quietly. Each movement feels deliberate, careful. He leaves the house, locking the door behind him, as though someone—or something—might be watching.
EXT. STREETS – MORNING
The city wakes. Vendors set up stalls, children dash toward buses and jeepneys, drivers rev engines. But the usual noise is subdued, hollow, as if the city itself is holding its breath.
A man passes by, muttering, shoulders hunched.
Man (muttering): Same dream... every night... God help us.
Two women walk nearby, phones in hand, scrolling memes of faceless figures and "Nightmare Season 2." Their laughter is forced, brittle.
Woman (to friend): Haha... funny, right?
Friend (hesitant): ...Yeah.
Arven glances at them, uneasy, sensing the tension beneath the jokes. Everywhere, people speak in whispers, quick glances exchanged, hurried steps to avoid lingering too long in one place.
Billboards flash news headlines: "Scientists Study Global Nightmare Phenomenon," "Governments Investigate Mass Hysteria," "Preachers Warn: Judgment May Be Near." Drones hum overhead, monitoring streets, cameras rolling. Something in the air feels heavier than usual, electric.
INT. MALL – DAY
Arven and May navigate through the crowded mall. People cluster near screens showing news reports: scientists explaining EEG scans of dream patterns, government officials discussing mass alerts, religious figures calling for prayer. The atmosphere is tense, like the calm before a storm.
May: You've been quiet. Still... dreaming?
Arven (quiet): ...Yes.
May (soft): What do you see?
Arven (hesitating): A figure. Faceless. Blinding. Reaching... asking for help.
May's smile fades. She looks away, scanning the crowd, uneasy.
May (softly): That sounds... worse than what everyone else is seeing.
They walk past a row of screens where scientists explain that global dream patterns are syncing—millions experiencing similar hallucinations at the exact same time. Governments are issuing warnings, telling people to stay calm, avoid large crowds, but the anxiety is palpable. Security guards patrol more frequently, eyes darting at anyone who looks too panicked.
Arven keeps silent, taking it all in. The magnitude of the phenomenon feels like a pulse pressing through the city, resonating in his chest.
EXT. MALL PLAZA – AFTERNOON
Outside, students and families gather, talking quietly, some praying, others joking to mask fear. Street performers play music, but the tunes feel hollow in the undercurrent of tension.
John joins Arven and May, unusually serious.
John: Don't you think it's strange? Not just the dreams... but how no one can stop them?
Arven (nodding slowly): Yeah... it's like they're waiting for something.
People glance nervously at the skies, whispering reports of low hums, strange vibrations. Government drones hover quietly overhead, cameras scanning. Scientists appear on screens explaining how dream synchronization is unprecedented. The public watches, fearful and fascinated.
EXT. MAY'S HOUSE – EVENING
Arven walks beside May through the dimming streets. The neon lights of shuttering stores flicker across their faces. Even the chatter of vendors packing up sounds tense, hurried.
May (hesitant, glancing at the sky): Do you think... we're missing something? That maybe there's a reason this keeps happening?
Arven doesn't answer immediately. His eyes trace the clouds shifting above, dark and restless.
Arven (softly, almost to himself): I don't know. It doesn't feel like a warning... not exactly. More like... a message. Or maybe just a test. Something we're supposed to notice.
May frowns, uncertainty shadowing her features. She hugs her arms to herself, staring at the streetlights reflected in puddles.
May: And if we're not ready?
Arven shrugs, a faint tension in his shoulders. He doesn't have an answer, and he knows it. But he keeps walking, letting the silence carry them, heavy with questions that have no clear answers.
At her doorstep, the world outside feels paused, the usual hum of traffic dulled, as if the city itself is holding its breath. May squeezes his hand briefly.
May: Just... promise you'll be careful.
Arven (nodding): Always.
She disappears inside, leaving him staring at the closed door, the unease in his chest a constant, silent weight. The pulse of the city, the low hum beneath his feet, and the clouds above remind him: nothing will feel normal again.
EXT. STREETS – NIGHT
The city glows under flickering streetlights. Jeeps rumble past, vendors finish closing their stalls. Screens in shops show scientists and government officials speculating on causes, security alerts, and "emergency protocols," while religious figures preach repentance.
Arven stops mid-step, sensing the air thicken. A low hum vibrates beneath his feet, faint but persistent. He swallows hard, heart pounding.
Arven (whispering): It's coming...
People glance at the skies nervously, some clutching phones, some kneeling in prayer, others laughing too loudly, forcing normalcy. Drones pass overhead silently, eyes scanning, lights blinking. Even the wind seems charged, electric, as if carrying a warning.
Arven continues walking, every sense alert. The city waits. Scientists calculate, governments strategize, the world prepares—but it won't be enough. Something unseen, immense, waits beyond human comprehension.
He looks up again at the clouds. They move unnaturally fast, dark shapes twisting above the skyline. A faint vibration pulses again, echoing in his chest.
Arven quickens his pace. Every instinct tells him the dream—the real nightmare—is no longer confined to sleep. The world is on the edge, and he can feel it in every step, every breath.
The silence before it may be the loudest sound of all.
To be continued...