An ABANDONED INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT – NIGHT
Rain pours over cracked asphalt and rusted steel. Sodium lights flicker. The hum of a dying city. There is a smell of cigarette smoke. The steam from the city grates floats into the night sky. Movement can be heard inside of the warehouse from the outside street corners. Just down the block there stands a once flourishing church. But now stands a derelict cathedral, its stained glass, long been shattered.
Suddenly a black SUV glides to a stop outside of the front steps. VINCENT MORETTI (late 30s) steps out — tailored suit under a raincoat, calm, deliberate. He checks his watch. Always precise. He is someone who is very methodical.
From the other side of the SUV appears MIKEY "TWO GUNS" ROMANO (early 30s) He is confident — loud, restless, chewing gum like he wants to beat everybody at everything.
Bring up the rear is, CARLA DESANTIS (late 20s) emerges, slick ponytail, sharp eyes that miss nothing. She is a quiet but fearsome lass. Her appearance is well put together and very strong.
The three walk up the stairs, on guard, for they are walking into dangerous territory. Mikey reaches out to open the cathedral's heavy doors. As the doors open Mikey puts his hand on his gun, always anticipating the unexpected.
INT. ABANDONED CATHEDRAL – NIGHT
The space is vast, echoing. Crates sit under a collapsed crucifix. Candles flicker around a table — weapons laid out with reverence. There are several other men standing near
Vincent's men sweep flashlights.
VINCENT
We keep it clean. We keep it quiet. No heroes tonight.
MIKEY
Ain't no heroes in a deal this dirty.
CARLA
Then try not to make it dirtier, Mikey.
She opens a ledger, marking items. Vincent inspects a crate — finds European rifles, sleek and new.
A set of heavy footsteps approaches from the shadows.
DIMA VOLKOV (40s) enters with three men — thick accents, cold eyes, ex-military precision.
The two crews face off, a line of rainwater dripping between them.
DIMA
Mr. Moretti. Your reputation survives you.
VINCENT
Yours too, Mr. Volkov. That's the problem.
Tense silence. Then: Dima nods to his men. They open a crate — bundles of cash inside.
DIMA
You check the goods. I check the money.
We go home. Simple.
Vincent gestures. Carla counts, while Mikey eyes the Russians.
VINCENT (to Dima)
You hear the quake last week? Cracked foundations all over this district.
DIMA
Everything falls, eventually.
They share a look — two men who've built their lives on that truth.
ANGLE – ONE CRATE
Vincent opens it. Inside, rifles wrapped in cloth. But on the wood beneath — faint carved sigils, unfamiliar shapes.
CARLA
What is that?
VINCENT
(soft)
Decoration, maybe.
The symbols faintly glow under his flashlight. He frowns.
SCOPE SHOT – HIGH ABOVE
Through a shattered stained-glass window: a red laser dot glides across the floor.
SNIPER POV: Target lock on Dima's shoulder.
BANG!
Glass explodes. Dima's man drops.
Gunfire erupts — deafening chaos.
VINCENT dives behind the altar.
MIKEY sprays bullets wildly.
DIMA yells in Russian, returning fire.
CARLA
(screaming)
Who set this up?!
VINCENT
Doesn't matter — cover fire!
Rounds ricochet off stone pillars. Candles topple, flames licking the floor.
The sigil crate SPLITS OPEN — a pulse of light flares inside.
The ground trembles.
Plaster rains down.
The cathedral moans like something alive.
WIDE SHOT – THE FLOOR
A fracture splits down the center aisle — widening, glowing red beneath.
MIKEY
What the f— is that?!
He tosses a grenade toward the sniper's nest.
The explosion is too much — the floor collapses.
For one suspended heartbeat, all we see are falling bodies and shards of glass.
SMASH TO:
BLACKNESS.
Then — the echo of water. A faint heartbeat.
INT. SUBTERRANEAN CHAMBER – UNKNOWN
VINCENT gasps awake. Lying in shallow water.
He coughs, blinking. The air is thick, humid, wrong.
His phone screen flickers — NO SIGNAL.
Nearby: CARLA, soaked, bruised but alive.
MIKEY curses, bleeding from his forehead.
VINCENT
(hoarse)
Roll call. Who's breathing?
Flashlights flick on across the darkness — revealing DIMA and two of his men, guns drawn.
They all freeze, aiming at one another.
DIMA
You bring us down here, Moretti?
VINCENT
If I could do that, I'd be charging admission.
A pause. Dripping water. Silence too heavy to be natural.
CARLA
Where are we?
DIMA
Not heaven.
They sweep their lights around — revealing walls carved from black stone, faintly pulsing.
Symbols — the same sigils from the crates — cover every surface.
Somewhere deeper: a distant scream echoes.
Everyone looks at Vincent.
VINCENT
(sober)
We find a way out. Together. Or we die down here.
No one argues.
They move out — flashlights cutting through the dark — toward the echo of the scream.
As they vanish, the camera lingers on the wall.
The sigils flicker once, as if breathing.
FADE OUT.