Fifty Seven

Fifty SevenFifty Seven

1. On VICTOR, deep in angry thought. He’s in his 40s, scrawny but with a bulbous nose. He’s wearing an orange space suit, the helmet removed but with a black helmet cap on. We’re in the cramped surroundings of

He’s sitting hunched over a small table, an empty bottle of non standard issue vodka in his hands.

VICTOR: It's done. Okay? 

VICTOR: If she had just stopped asking questions then -- 

2. Tight on LEONARD. He’s sat hunched on the opposite side of the table, nursing his own hangover and train of thought.

LEONARD: I liked her.

VICTOR (OFF): Leonard.

3. On VICTOR, his lips curled into a snarl.

Maybe the lettering of the VOICE/WOMAN here should be amplified somehow. It’s not a human voice for sure.

VICTOR: You were part of this too. 

VOICE (OFF): Hello.

4. As the picture above, both men turn to see a WOMAN, naked save a pair of dark boots floating in zero gravity across the room from them. They both look on in astonishment as tiny balls of white light swish around the woman in curved arcs.

VICTOR: We threw you out of the air lock! 

WOMAN: No. 

5. On the WOMAN, young and puckish looking. Her face is devoid of emotion, her eyes brimming with pure white energy.

WOMAN: Just this body.
May 7, 2017 · 1page1shots


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