Updated: Dec 19, 2022
The FS or Friendly Script formula proposes a new approach to script writing aiming not at professionals but the general public as a new form of publishing format. Have a good and fun FS reading!
The year is 2054. Nestled on the northeast coast of the United States is the city of New Breton. A perfect blend of antiquated and high-tech buildings, soaring high-rise armatures of polished chrome, and exposed interiors made possible with a new energy field technology that replaces most walls and windows. New Breton is a small city compared o most. Silent electric vehicles have replaced polluting petrol-driven transportation. People on the street do not make eye contact or have much interest in each other; most interact with their invisible AI companions and personal arm-cuff interfaces.
Helen Brown, right hand to the Governor, mid-forties, attractive and conservative. She is watching a video report as the airship approaches the city.
In the video, at the center of New Breton is the majestic IYM building. It is the pride of the city and the core of its economy.
During that time in the city, a small, streamlined vehicle is driven by a beautiful yet agitated woman in her mid-thirties. Her nine-year-old daughter is in the passenger seat, watching a cartoon projected onto the windshield. The girl doesn’t notice that her mother’s agitation is increasing. She is arguing with an older woman in the back seat that is invisible to the kid.
The IYM AI product line has forever changed how we live.
At Speilberg Parc, Sandra, a sexy, 20-something African American woman, is running down a path; running by her side is Bro, a stunning 20-something African American man.
SANDRA: I’ve been working at IYM for six years, and except for the night-shift security guard, I pretty much don’t know anyone.
BRO: People don’t open up very easily these days. SANDRA: Easily? They don’t open at all! It’s so damned ironic we’ve built all these interface tools to support a progressive and healthy society, yet people don’t know how to socialize without them. BRO: How is this a problem? I mean, we’re great friends. SANDRA: Bro, you’re an AI, a projection in my mind.
At this moment, a tall, athletic man runs past them from the opposite direction. Sandra gives him a big smile, but the man doesn’t acknowledge her.
SANDRA: See, real people, don’t even know I exist! BRO: Don’t take it personally; he’s not running alone. SANDRA: Of course, he probably has a Swedish AI goddess running after him.
Bro turns to have another look; we see through his eyes that the man is running with a dog—bro smiles.
BRO: German, And it’s a Shepard.
She stops and looks at him, intrigued.
SANDRA: Huh?! BRO: It’s a dog. SANDRA: Great, even an imaginary dog gets more attention than I do! BRO: Maybe you should switch me off. You are starting to bum me out. SANDRA: Anyway, I have to get to work. At least there are two people there who know I exist. BRO: I know about the security guard. Who’s number two? SANDRA: I’ve told you a trillion times. My boss Stephan Bray. BRO: Oh yeah, the Adonis landed, Mr. Bray.
Sandra faces Bro and blushes, then picks up her pace.
SANDRA: Come on, Bro, let’s step it up. INTERIOR CAR With tears streaming down her face, the agitated woman disengages the automatic pilot. The driving wheel juts out. She grabs it and makes a sharp right turn.
It all started in the early morning of a day like any other.
EXTERIOR HIGHWAY We see the small car swerving its way through traffic, over a ramp, and crash onto a lower-level highway and explode! Was it the act of a deranged woman, a system malfunction... or something more sinister?
FROM THE CAR FLAMES UP WITH THE RISING SMOKE, WE TRAVEL TO A TALL HIGH-RISE. SPINNING AROUND THE BUILDING, WE SEE THAT IT IS AN APARTMENT BUILDING. ENERGY FIELD WINDOWS AND WALLS REVEAL THE RESIDENTS WITHIN.
The residents of the building are occupied with their various daily activities, most of which are interacting with their invisible AI companions. Some appear to be having sex, a bizarre sight as we can only see one participant in this activity.
THE SHOT ENDS FACING A YOUNG MAN LEANING AGAINST A WINDOW, AND HE IS FIDDLING WITH A CONTROL PANEL ON THE FACING WALL.
We can see the wires and electronic components inside the panel. As he fiddles with it, the protective field window vanishes, and gale-force winds lift him out over the edge, plummeting to his death.
To support the local Sheriff and his team, an FBI cybercrime specialist has been brought in. WE FOLLOW THE FALLING MAN AS HE CRASHES ONTO THE ROOF OF A RESTAURANT’S CONCRETE BALCONY. THE SHOT CONTINUES DOWNWARD UNTIL IT REACHES A SUBWAY PLATFORM. SUBWAY PLATFORM - MORNING Jeremy, a gangly teenage boy attempting to look cool but not succeeding, is walking through a subway crowd. He’s looking for someone. Another teenage boy, Karl, devastatingly handsome and cool, approaches him. They meet and then find a more private spot.
JEREMY: Did you hook me up? KARL: And then some. I’m the shit when it comes to AI tweaking! JEREMY: You’re sure my mom won't find out? KARL: The mods will only respond to your chip; when she checks, it’ll be the same lame-ass babysitter. Are you ready? Hey! You’ll do me that solid and put a good word in for me to your old man, right? I mean... without mentioning this, of course. JEREMY: I would tell the VP of IYM that my buddy found a way to tweak their AI product!
Jeremy turns around and exposes the base of his neck; we can see a small little black dot.
JEREMY: Do it!
Karl pulls out something that looks like a jump drive from his coat pocket. He presses it against Jeremy’s dot for a few seconds, then removes it.
KARL: Done! Just activate and enjoy!
Jeremy turns back.
JEREMY: What’s her name? KARL: Baby Sitter. JEREMY: Really? KARL: Dude, if I modify the AI’s name, your mom will know, and your ass will be grass. Sorry. JEREMY: Fine. “Baby Sitter, ON”!
A beautiful, slut-ily dressed teenage girl appears by Jeremy’s side. She gives him a big smile. Jeremy is more than pleased by what he sees.
BABY SITTER: Hi, Jeremy. I can’t wait for us to spend the day together! I mean, take care of your little brother.
We see Jeremy looking toward an empty space with a big smile on his face. Karl is waiting for his friend to spew appreciation. Jeremy is the only one to see the Baby Sitter.
KARL: So?! What do ya think? JEREMY: Dude, if you weren't so ugly, I’d kiss you!
On another platform, commuters are coming and going, and a teenager dressed in a private school uniform is running and pushing through the crowd; she is crying hysterically. Another girl, dressed in the same uniform, is running and screaming after her, but we hear nothing. Before we know it, the first girl jumps in front of an oncoming train. Keeping a low profile. IYM products are not only used all over the nation, but they are also a major international trading resource for our government, which owns over 60% of the company. If at all possible, avoid shutting down the core.
BUD HOME KITCHEN - MORNING Bud Marlin, Sheriff, late fifties, shaved head, in uniform, is sitting at the kitchen table. His wife Bet, nice looking, mid-fifties, is serving him a huge breakfast. She enjoys seeing her husband happy.
BUD: Wow, babe! BET: Too much? BUD: No, it’s great, thanks! Sit and eat with me. BET: I’m just having coffee, trying to shed a few pounds.
She serves herself a cup of coffee. He looks at her with a smile.
BUD: I love your curves. They’re in all the right places.
As she sits next to him, she gently slaps him on the shoulder.
BET: Sometimes I think you just say stuff like that to make me feel better... But... don’t stop... I like it. Bud... I’m thinking of looking into something… BUD: Yeah? BET: Well, the kids are gone, and I’m bored. I thought maybe I’ll get back into nursing.
He’s so into his meal that he doesn’t hear her. She gets upset and slaps him on the shoulder, this time with more gusto.
BET: Bud! I’m talking to you!
Bud’s bracelet lights up, he quickly taps on it, and a small floating holographic window pops up. On it is Philip Warp, British, in his late thirties, chubby, Bud’s deputy.
PHILIP: Bud, you better get over here. Some serious shit’s going down!
As he stands up, Bud responds…
BUD: Watch your language, Phil. PHILIP: Sorry, Mrs. Marlin. BUD: Heading out now. Fill me in on the way. Gotta go, Babe, call ya later.
Bud leaves without kissing his wife goodbye, and she’s not happy.
STEPHAN BRAY CONDO BEDROOM - MORNING CLOSE-UP OF A VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN WHISPERING IN THE EAR OF A SLEEPING MAN SAM: Wake up, sleepy. It’s time for you to get ready for work.
The man opens his eyes with a smile. THE SHOT ZOOMS OUT. WE ARE IN THE ROOM. The room is lovely and peaceful, with appealing colors on the walls. On the dresser are rows of framed pictures of the couple, and some are moving clips of happy romantic moments. Laying beside her husband is Samantha Bray, early forties, with stunning, red flaming hair, and green eyes, wearing a fine linen robe. Her husband, Stephan Anders, turns around, faces her, and stretches.
STEPHAN: Ah, my favorite alarm clock.
She smiles and gets out of bed.
SAM: You better hop in the shower, Stephan; I'll let you sleep in a bit; you’re running late. STEPHAN BRAY CONDO KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER The room is bathed by the morning sun, it looks like we are floating in the sky, and the floor is a projected image of slowly moving clouds. Sam is standing by the kitchen counter beside the coffee maker. Stephan walks in, looking a bit dizzy. He’s swaying, looking down at the floor of endless sky.
STEPHAN: Sam, you know I hate this program. It’s making me dizzy. Deco Tile, please. The floor changes to black and white tiles. She giggles. SAM: I know. I couldn’t help myself. You look like Jimmy Stuart in Vertigo. So cute. He doesn’t reply as he walks to the coffee maker. STEPHAN: Well, as long as you’re amused. He serves himself a cup of coffee and looks around in surprise. STEPHAN: No breakfast?! SAM: No time. There’s a message from the office, and they want you there ASAP. She kisses him on the cheek and walks to the window, looking at the view of the city skyline. They are very high-up. SAM: They’re gonna keep you late again, aren't they? STEPHAN: Probably. I’ll link with you, so you won't feel left out or quell any suspicions that I might be having an affair. She turns around with a big smile. SAM: That’s the least of my worries, sweetie. STEPHAN’S CAR - MOMENTS LATER Stephan is sitting in the passenger seat, and a uniformed Hispanic man with a curly mustache is driving. A total stereotype from another era. At IYM, they are assembling their brightest minds to assess the situation. One of them is Stephan Bray. Bray designed the system’s security grid. If there’s anyone who can provide answers, it’s him.
STEPHAN: Alberto, can you bring up the case report? ALBERTO (THICK HISPANIC ACCENT): Yes, sir. It’s very disturbing news, sir. But, nothing a genius like you can't fix.
STEPHAN: Alberto, I’m blushing.
A holographic projection appears in front of him. It’s disturbing. He’s flipping through it when another projection appears over the windshield. It’s an Asian woman, in her mid-thirties, with blue eyes and blond hair, Karis Bergan, CEO of IYM. She’s not happy.
KARIS: Bray, where the hell are you?! We need you here NOW! We have a situation. STEPHAN: Calm down. Problem with your wife? Oh no, I forgot, you're single. I’m on my way. I’m going through the report as we speak. KARIS: I hope you’re streaming here.
Stephan is not happy about the idea.
STEPHAN: I don’t stream. I have acute vertigo. KARIS: Says the man who lives on the 140th floor! Get over it! We need you here now!
She looks at Alberto.
KARIS: Hey, Zorro, engage streaming mode!
Her image vanishes. Alberto looks at Stephan, wondering if he should obey.
STEPHAN: Ahhhh, Shit. Fine, let's do it. HIGHWAY - CONTINUOUS We see an energy field forming around the vehicle, rising to reach one of many soft, glowing energy tunnels; other vehicles stream through them, going hundreds of miles an hour. The car gets in position and is sucked in and gone.
IYM CONFERENCE ROOM - MORNING A large conference room, walls covered in classic and post-modern master paintings. At the center of the room is a long, futuristic, glass conference table surrounded by matching chairs. Karis is sitting at the head of the table, dressed in a red Chanel suit; she’s the epitome of beauty and authority. At the opposite end is Rob Fairly, IYM’s International Sales Officer (VP), fifty, silver-haired, very attractive, dressed in a Savile Row pin-stripe. Around the table are dozens of people wearing white suits with the IYM company logo. In his mid-forties, handsome but a bit geeky, in jeans and a T-shirt, Jerry Wilding is sitting at the table scrolling through data on the ‘intelligent surface’ interface display.
IYM’s CEO, Karis Bergan, is a force to be reckoned with tough, exceedingly ambitious, and beautiful. Rob Fairly, a silver-haired fox, is the company’s VP and responsible for the Government takeover. Clad in a t-shirt and jeans is Jerry Wilding, the architect of IYM’s AI system and company founder. He is not a happy camper since he lost his majority holding stocks of the company due to Bergan and Fairly’s sell-out to the government. I would keep an eye on him.
WOMAN 1: After a comprehensive analysis, our sector has concluded that it must have been the work of a highly advanced external cyber-terrorist cell. MAN 2: YOU’VE concluded... I have not. This is a highly complex system... it had to have been someone from the inside! MAN 3: I disagree. Empirical data suggests that penetration of our profiling systems has not been compromised…
Rob stands up and shouts.
ROB: Can’t you turn those damn things off? I feel as though asylum nurses surround me!
Jerry raises his hand, his eyes still glued to his data interface.
JERRY: I support the motion.
Karis is upset, but she acquiesces.
She holds a long blink, and all of the people in white vanish into thin air.
KARIS: Why do we have these resources if we’re not going to use them? They are here to help us solve this mystery. They’ve got a hell of a lot more to share than you guys. JERRY: Too many chiefs for one wigwam.
Jerry doesn’t focus on what he’s doing, continuing to scroll through rows of data.
ROB: Where the hell is Bray? He’s the bloody fire-wall engineer, and he should be here. If there’s anyone who can shed some light on this, it’s him.