"KIMI" (2022)

CLOSE IN, we glide over the curves of a beautiful, abstract- looking device. Pulling back, we see it’s an electronic gizmo of some kind, a new one to us. It’s about six inches high, wide at the base, flying-saucer shaped.

The device is on a bookcase in a converted-factory apartment. It’s a nice place. Not too nice, but open and roomy. There's a big wooden table, set up for work. Somebody's in tech -- big computer, lots of assorted plug-ins, papers, calendars, distracting toys to play with.

Past the desk, your basic living room stuff. Tidy place, but a very full life is lived here. There’s a guitar leaning against a wall near the bed, bits of other musical equipment.

ANGELA CHILDS, thirtyish, is still in her bedclothes, on her first coffee. She goes to the big windows, pulls one of the blinds up, and looks outside.

THROUGH THE WINDOW,

she looks up and down her street, five floors below.

It’s a former factory district, mostly condos now. The neighborhood’s still shaky, a lot of HOMELESS among the new homes. Things could go either way here, upscale or falling- apart, with just a nudge in either direction.

KIDS are being walked to school or bus stops. There’s a burrito truck on the corner, serving up breakfast. Some people still wear masks, most don’t. Life is back to nearly normal.

Angela looks up, to the building just across the street.

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It's got tons of big windows like this one, and since it's only a street's width away, it's easy to look inside them. Like watching TV.

In one window, PARENTS try to wrangle KIDS into clothes for school.

In another, a BURLY GUY drinks from a huge mug of coffee, staring dully out the window, waiting for the caffeine to do its thing.

In a third window, the drapes are still shut. Angela frowns.

A few feet away from her, the electronic device we saw on the bookcase activates. A blue ring lights up at the top and a COMPUTER VOICE replies.

Kimi is a tad insufferable, in her readiness.

Angela shakes her head at the window with the shades drawn.

She starts to turn away, and just as she does the drapes on that window are yanked open. Angela turns back.

A HANDSOME MAN in his mid-thirties, shirtless, is across the way, just waking up. Angela was right, he's late, we can tell from his hurrying. He darts into his bathroom.

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The dregs of her coffee SPLASH into the sink in Angela's kitchen.

The sleeping area is in an alcove on the far side. Angela makes the bed, scrupulously.

Was that a wrinkle in the top sheet, disrupting the fold of the blanket? Not any more.

Angela brushes her teeth. She has nice teeth, and she REALLY takes care of them.

She brushes a mouth guard too, she must wear it at nights.

She pauses. Touches her cheek. Something weird in her lower left molar?

She opens her mouth and looks. Seems fine. Wow, she really stresses her teeth.

Now she's on a stair-master of some sort, climbing to nowhere. She works out hard, sweat flying.

Her gym area is at one end of the big open room, just the climbing machine and a bench with various weights around it, but it's enough to keep her in shape, especially if she works this hard.

There's a big screen TV on the wall, tuned to cable news (as it will always be).

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Again, the blue ring lights up on Kimi.

Immediately, the TV mutes and the Billie Eilish song BLARES from speakers in the apartment.

Good one to work out to. Angela steps up her pace.

A few minutes later. Angela’s finished, breathless and sweaty. She goes back to the window and looks out again.

The Handsome Man is in his apartment, in shirt and tie now, moving around, getting ready.

Angela picks up her phone. She taps out a text, and the contact name that comes up is TERRY HUGHES.

How late are you?

She presses send and waits. Across the way, the Handsome Man * turns, and picks up his phone off a table near the window. Oh, she’s texting him?

He replies, and her phone BUZZES.

Not very.

He looks up, toward her apartment, and smiles.

She bites her lip, anxious. She turns and looks down the street, where she can see the burrito truck, doing breakfast business. She writes back.

What if I met you for an egg thing at the truck?

He sees the text, seems mildly surprised, and writes back.

What if you did?

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She takes a breath. She writes back.

I might.

She sends. He reads. He writes back.

I dare you.

She reads his text. For some reason, this whole exchange makes her anxious. But she started it. She writes a short text --

See you in fifteen.

She hesitates before sending it, her thumb hovering over the button, unsure whether to commit.

She forces herself to press send.

Things get cutty, as if we’ve picked up Angela’s anxiety.

She showers. Through the frosted glass door, we see her scrubbing herself, almost violently.

A SHORT TIME LATER,

she's in a towel, laying out several medications on the bathroom counter. She counts them carefully, checking each.

She takes them, one after the other. The last one is big, so she breaks it in half and puts the other half back in the bottle.

Looking down through the big windows in her living room, we see people STREAMING out of the buildings now, hurrying to work, school, whatever.

The Handsome Man (whose name is TERRY HUGHES) comes out of his apartment building, dressed in a suit now. He glances up this way and walks toward the burrito truck on the corner, glancing at his watch.

Angela comes out of her room, dressed now, and hurries to the front door. She’s more than anxious, almost panicky now.

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AT THE DOOR,

she tosses a few things in a small handbag. Keys, money, Advil, prescription bottles, hand sanitizer, three surgical masks. Seems like overkill for a trip to the corner.

She turns to the door. She starts to unlock the several locks and reaches the last, which requires a key.

She takes the key from under a bowl on a table near the entry, puts it in the lock --

-- and stops.

She’s breathing rapidly now. Feeling dizzy, she starts to swoon. She puts a hand against the wall to steady herself.

Her breathing gets faster, shallower. She turns and sags against the wall, then slides down it, till she’s squatting next to the door.

She closes her eyes and attempts to regain herself. She forces herself to breathe through her nose, still rapid, but it seems to help. She lowers her head, almost between her knees.

It has the feel of a practiced routine; of taking the steps you’ve been told to take in this situation. This is what a panic attack looks like.

Slowly, her breathing calms. When she can, she stands again.

She looks at the door. But she can’t open it.

She pulls the key out of the lock and puts it back under the bowl.

BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM,

Angela steps up to the window and looks outside. Down at the corner, she can see Terry, standing near the burrito truck, waiting, checking his watch.

She sends him another text.

I’m sorry. I tried.

Even from up here, half a block away, she can see his body language. He’s displeased. Exasperated.

He types something back.

Okay.

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That was a little cold. He puts his phone in his pocket, turns, and walks away, joining the other COMMUTERS on their way to school or work.

Angela watches him go. Shit.

A few minutes later. Angela settles down at the big desk, hangs a sweater over the back of her chair, and wakes up her computer.

Angela doesn’t go to work, we realize, work is right here. As is the entirety of her life, we now gather.

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Again, the blue circle lights up on the device.

The desktop computer in front of Angela flickers to life and a number of programs reopen. A big screen for AMYGDALA SYSTEMS OPS & DATA INTERPOLATION opens, asking for a login password.

Angela enters it and another window opens:

Amygdala KIMI dv Organic Data Correction stream 11127.3.21

Angela puts on a pair of headphones and is about to start work, whatever that is, when a rhythmic CHUNKING sound comes from above.

She pulls the headphones off immediately.

She picks up her cell phone, calls up a number, and hits dial.

While she waits for someone to answer, we hear a CIRCULAR SAW upstairs, and that rhythmic CHUNKING picks up pace, right over her head. Construction work.

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Upstairs, the noise stops.

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Marcos reads the meaning in that, and moves to wrap up.

She hangs up. She puts her headphones back on, moves the mouse on her screen to select a certain audio stream, and clicks PLAY.

RECORDED AUDIO begins to play, the waveform line bouncing around on the screen as a VOICE with a thick Southern accent calls out, recorded in a room somewhere far away.

ON THE AUDIO STREAM,

As the stream plays, an auto-transcription appears in the action box where Angela's working.

Angela hits pause on the recording.

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She highlights that portion of the unfolding transcription of the audio stream in the action box, enters "organic translation," and a blank field appears. In it, she types:

"kitchen paper" = U.S. regional slang "paper towels."

She hits enter, the file with the disputed audio stream turns from red to green, closes, and zips back into the queue.

Angela picks the next stream and double clicks it.

ON THE SECOND AUDIO STREAM,

a TEENAGE GIRL'S VOICE.

Music starts, but it abruptly cuts off when:

Angela hits pause, highlights the box that contains the word "Me" in the transcription, and types in:

"Me!" = song title by Taylor Swift

She clicks enter, and sorts that one. She looks up at the bottom of her cue.

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538 streams unresolved

That’s a lot of work left. She picks up her phone and checks her texts. She looks at the last one from Terry Hughes. Just that single, unreassuring word -- “Okay.”

She thinks. She opens another box on the screen of her desktop and selects an option:

Outgoing FaceTime call to: Mom

The phone RINGS on the other end.

ON SCREEN,

Angela's mother, DORIS, in her mid-fifties, picks up. She’s in business clothes, carrying a briefcase and hurrying along a busy downtown street.

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CONTINUED: (2)

Doris tries very hard not to sigh and mostly succeeds.

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CONTINUED: (3)

Pause.

She hangs up. That was unsatisfying.

She puts her headphones on and resumes work, opening a new action window and listening to a third audio stream. This time, we don't hear what she hears, aside from a faint TINNY sound from the headphones.

Drifting off of her, we move across her apartment, toward the windows. We hear the headphones faintly, and the TAPPING of Angela's keys as she continues work, correcting streams.

We reach the windows and turn to look out, the same spot Angela did this morning.

Looking up now, we can see into the building across the street. Life goes on as normal there, a number of tableaus playing out in a number of windows.

But we've got a zoom lens, and we move in on one specific window. It's one floor up from Angela's, directly across the street.

The Burly Guy who stood staring out the window with his coffee earlier is back. He's gotten dressed and is back in the window.

He's not just staring at the street, though, he's staring right at us. At Angela, at her work table.

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CONTINUED: (4)

He drinks his coffee. He stares at her. It doesn't seem healthy.

Oh dear, Angela has an admirer.

Night is falling, lights going on. Those same PEOPLE come home from work, heading into their buildings.

The burrito truck does a brisk business.

Evening light slants across Angela's floor. Her work table looks like she's busy, but she's not there. Her computer is still on, and an Amygdala Corporation encrypted video chat window is open.

DARIUS, a pasty-looking guy in his early twenties, is on screen. As we move past it, he calls out.

We hear BUMPING sounds from down a short hallway and follow them.

We reach the short hallway and peer down it. There's a doorway open on a closet, THUMPS coming from inside it.

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She's got her hands in the thick snarl of cable and has partially disassembled an electronic device of some kind. She quickly wires the cables back together, SNAPS the back onto the booster, and leaves the closet.

BACK AT HER DESK,

Angela sits and checks a system status box. A row of bars that were formerly in the red all shoot up to green.

But Angela closes the video window and sits back. She looks at the clock on her table. It's almost eight p.m. Long day.

She turns and looks at the big TV, still on, still muted.

It's a commercial. Must be for Cialis or Viagra, cause that middle-aged couple looks awfully fit and tan and ready to get down.

Angela turns, thinking. Something has crossed her mind.

She gets up and goes to the window.

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ACROSS THE STREET,

we instinctively check for the Burly Guy, but his lights are off.

In the window directly below him, we see Terry, the Handsome Man from earlier. He’s coming home from work, tie off, a bag of takeout on the table near the window.

He's moving in and out of frame, getting ready to eat.

Angela picks up her cell phone. She taps out a text.

That looks good.

She hits send.

Terry comes back into frame and picks up his phone. He taps out a response and Angela's phone BUZZES.

Not really, it's from Jimmy's.

She replies.

I didn't mean the food.

Terry gets that, but just looks at his phone. He doesn’t seem to be replying. So she texts again.

Want to come over?

He looks up, through the window and at her.

A FEW MINUTES LATER,

there's a KNOCK on Angela's front door.

She steps out of the bathroom, where she's been cleaning up. She frowns. Doesn't like something about that.

The KNOCK comes again, softly.

She goes to the door and opens it. Terry smiles winningly.

He's kidding, making a porny joke, but Angela is unhappy, and not opening the door any further.

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This is the side of Angela we haven't seen before. She's not kidding around, and she does not like what just happened.

But she just stares at him, shaking her head. He's supposed to buzz.

Nothing for a moment.

Terry and Angela have sex in her bed.

It's vigorous. They're a good match.

Afterwards. Angela pulls on a tank top and sits at the edge of the bed. Terry reclines. He puts a hand on her back.

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His tone indicates he's in the D.A.'s office, and she knows it.

That was sharp. He declines to pursue it. He picks up his phone off the end table and scrolls through it.

She lays down again, curling up against his chest.

He keeps scrolling through stuff on his phone. She turns affectionate, stroking his chest lightly. It’s a nice moment.

Then:

He shows her a picture of sunset, from a waterfront restaurant, at a table with people.

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She shrugs. He lets it go. He puts his phone down.

He looks at the acoustic guitar, leaning against the wall near the bed.

She doesn’t answer. He drops it.

He pauses, thinking about something. Really thinking about it, before he says it. Finally:

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She sees what he’s getting at. Her hand stops moving on his chest.

She sits up and turns away.

He trails off, as this trial balloon has already fallen to earth.

Angela gets up, looking for a pair of pajama bottoms.

She finds them, pulls them on, and heads into the kitchen area.

Angela's at the fridge, getting herself a bottle of Diet Snapple.

Terry appears a moment later, pulling on a tee shirt.

Angela doesn't face him, just drinks. She sets the bottle on the counter, but she's not looking and sets it right at the edge, half-on, half-off. It's unsettling.

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Angela winces and touches her cheek. Maybe that tooth does hurt.

She still doesn't turn around. Now finds dishes in the sink that must be done, and starts to do them.

Terry tries to lighten things up.

She keeps working at the sink.

No laughs. And she doesn't look at him.

Pause. He gives up.

He goes back to the bed area, to get the rest of his clothes.

Angela cleans the sink.

The bottle of Snapple hovers at the edge of the counter.

Frustrated, Terry comes out of Angela's building and crosses the street to his own.

Abruptly --

-- we change angles, now looking down on Terry from several floors above.

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We're inside an apartment, semi-dark, and as we pull back we realize we're over the shoulder of the Burly Guy, the one who we've seen watch Angela in her window.

He FLICKS off the light next to him, so as not to be seen, and steps forward, watching as Terry comes into this building, the entrance below him.

The Burly Guy looks up, and he can see directly into Angela's apartment. Particularly well at night.

He watches as she goes to her own window and looks out.

Over in her place, Angela watches Terry while the Burly Guy watches her. Some neighborhood.

In Terry's apartment, his lights flick on. He comes in and swats a pillow off the couch, angry. It SMACKS into a lamp and knocks it over.

He goes to pick up the lamp. Angela can see he's cursing.

She turns from the window.

Angela sits down at her work table, agitated.

The familiar work boxes open up on the screen in front of Angela.

She puts on her headphones and goes back to work.

We don't hear the audio she's listening to, except the TINNY sound through her headphones. She works fast, listening, typing, correcting, picking a new stream.

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We move in closer to her, closer still, closer still, we're headed for her ear and that right headphone in particular. The sounds from the data stream get louder as we draw closer, and when we get all the way into her ear --

-- there's a PIERCING ANIMAL SHRIEK in the headphones.

Angela starts. What the hell was that?

She backs up ten seconds, plays that section of the recording again.

The ANIMAL SHRIEK returns, with some sort of muffled, low-end sound over it. Like a GROWL, maybe?

Angela takes her headphones off. She clicks back on the stream, taking it to its beginning. It's seventeen seconds long.

She clicks PLAY, and this time the sounds come out of the computer's speakers. She turns it up.

The stream doesn't start with the usual "Kimi" command, it just seems to pick up mid-sentence. But the words in it are muffled, and she can't tell what they're saying.

There's a higher-pitched voice, and a lower-pitched voice, and they're in some sort of conflict, that's for sure, but the sound quality is really degraded, and the only thing that really pops out is that horrible SHRIEK.

Angela plays it again, trying to catch the words under it.

But she can't.

She closes her eyes and plays the tape from the beginning. (This is a technique she'll use from time to time, trying to visualize the conversation.)

As she does, the wall of the apartment in front of her

TURNS INTO A SHADOWY TABLEAU,

on which we see TWO FIGURES, a woman and a man, and they seem to be grappling in some way, and then we see the man on top of the woman's figure and hear the SHRIEK and

BACK AT THE DESK,

Angela's eyes pop open and she hits pause on the recording. She's rattled. She reads the data box attached to the stream:

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And below that, another mysterious entry:

freq tab D2626 req

She looks at the waveform of the stream. She thinks.

She gets an idea. She opens a widget on her desktop, "AUDIO RX TOOLKIT" and now starts CLICKING on applications from that.

Tool names flash by us, names like AMBIENT SQUELCH and ROOM TONE EQ and the like. Angela turns the computer volume up, sets the audio stream on loop, and starts playing it.

She adjusts levels on the soundboard app, and the audio starts to become clearer. She's good at this.

She plays it again. Still too distorted to be understood.

She thinks. She gets up.

Angela digs in a box in the equipment closet. She shoves around cables, old routers, extension cords and the like, and comes up with a four-knob plugin of some kind.

The plugin device BANGS down on her desktop, and we can read the label on the front -- ACCUSONOS.

There are a couple USB cables running out of the thing, and she plugs them into two free ports in the back of her desktop.

A widget pops up and she clicks on it. A new window opens.

As the stream plays on a loop, she fiddles with the four knobs on the front of the device. (Labeled, in case we're looking closely, as "ERA NR," "REVERB RMVR," "PLOSIVE RMVR," and "DE- ESSER.")

She tries a little of this. More of that. Less of that.

The recording continues to play, and every pass through is clearer and clearer, till we can pick out a few words here and there. Not the meaning of the words, but their intent, for sure.

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A MAN is pressing his will on a WOMAN, who is objecting, stridently. Their fight is verbal, but also physical. There is the unmistakable sound of several hard SLAPS, skin on skin.

Angela turns the sound up almost all the way as the tape is about to crescendo. It's much clearer this time, but that low end growl is dominating everything.

Angela goes to the sound board and takes the low end down to zero.

The recording is tinnier now, but when it comes to the moment that sounded like an animal shriek, it no longer has any low end underneath it, so it is clear as a bell.

It's the sound of a woman SCREAMING.

Bloodcurdling, like she's afraid for her life.

Angela's eyes widen.

She hits pause and sits back, breathing hard.

She closes her eyes, pulling herself together. She sits forward again. She reaches out to the soundboard with a shaking hand, raises the low end all the way, and this time mutes the treble.

She clicks play.

This is the worst seventeen seconds of all. Because a MAN is MUTTERING, GRUNTING, and SWEARING at a woman, and when the moment of the woman's scream comes, it's EQ'd out this time, and we can hear the man's low-end growl clearly. It's his voice.

Angela stops the recording, shaken --

-- and there is a tremendous CRASH from the kitchen.

Angela SCREAMS and whirls around, snapping the headphones off.

She gets up and goes to the kitchen, what the hell was that?!

IN THE KITCHEN,

the empty bottle of Diet Snapple she left on the edge of the counter finally fell, and is lying in shards on the floor.

MOMENTS LATER,

Angela cleans it up.

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Angela washes her hands, too hard.

MOMENTS LATER,

Angela brushes her teeth, also too hard. She touches that tooth again.

Back at the desk, she fires off an email, furiously, fingers BANGING hard on the keyboard. We're cutting around, as jumpy as Angela is, so we only glimpse a few words, like the addressee --

holloway.christian@amygdala.net

-- and some of the text --

which I have reason to believe was a recording of a violent crime. If you could please

-- and Angela clicks SEND. The email flies off with a WHOOSH, and she pushes back from the computer.

Angela gets in bed. Terrible end to a terrible day. She pops two Ambien and washes them down. Sure hope those are 5 mgs.

She looks at the ceiling. She picks up her phone.

She opens FaceTime, selects “Mom,” and makes a call.

The phone RINGS on the other end, but only once, and then the call is ended.

Mom is not available for FaceTime

Wow, declined by Mom. Cold. Angela turns off the light and rolls over to go to sleep.

Moving off her, we see her mouth guard, lying unused on the nightstand beside her.

Suddenly, it's daytime, and Angela sits up sharply into frame, holding the side of her face.

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Upstairs, the CONSTRUCTION WORK has begun. Angela has overslept. She looks at her phone. 9:08 a.m.

And she's in agony. She staggers to her bathroom.

Angela leans into the mirror, looking at that back tooth.

Angela, dressed in clothes she pulled on hastily, is in front of her computer. She's leaning in close, her mouth wide open.

DR. EVAN MERRILL, a dentist, is on the screen in front of her.

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Angela doesn't answer. Dr. Merrill is patient. He's dealt with her before.

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He thinks, trying to work with her.

She ends the call.

Three Advil time.

Angela sits down to work. She doesn't look as put-together as yesterday, not by a long shot.

Upstairs, the rhythmic CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNKING comes. What the hell tool are they using, anyway?

Her screen BUZZES with an incoming call.

Encrypted Amygdala video call from CHRISTIAN HOLLOWAY

She's been waiting for this. Angela straightens herself as best she can and clicks accept.

Immediately, the face of a harried man of about fifty appears. CHRISTIAN HOLLOWAY has children at home, tweens it looks like, and they're visible creating mayhem in the background.

Holloway doesn't wait for Angela to start the conversation.

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He turns around, as the TWEENS are now fighting, in full view in the background.

Behind her, Angela's Kimi activates at the sound of its name.

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Holloway's eyes light up with the hopeful expression of someone who sees a way out.

Angela gets a pen.

He turns around and SHOUTS at the kids behind him --

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A short time later. Angela's sitting on her couch, a cell phone to her ear, waiting while it RINGS on the other end.

The phone CLICKS strangely, then the ringing starts again, as if it's being auto-routed.

Then a WOMAN'S VOICE comes on.

We hear a mouse CLICKING, as if the woman’s finding a response script on her desktop.

But she thinks about it.

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SOME TIME LATER,

Angela is on the phone again, in the kitchen this time, making a sandwich.

ANOTHER COUPLE HOURS LATER,

Angela is at her desk again, the sandwich now half-eaten, on a plate in front of her.

She's on her phone, yet again.

WOMAN’S VOICE (O.S.) (patience wearing thin) Yes, Ms. Childs, I recognized the number. I’m afraid she’s still not free. It might be easier if you just came in. You’re in Seattle, I see?

WOMAN’S VOICE (O.S.) Fine, just come down to the office in about an hour. Bring the recording, and if she isn’t available I’ll-

WOMAN’S VOICE (O.S.) May I ask why not?

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She hangs up. She thinks. She picks up her phone again, pulls up the text string with Terry, the one that ends with his curt “Okay” text.

She types.

Hey John Law, if I hear a crime on a tape, who do I tell?

Little dots as he writes back. Finally:

FBI. Internet is interstate. What’d you hear?

She types back a short reply, but doesn’t answer the question.

Tell you later. Come over tonight?

There is a long pause before he replies. This does not make her feel good. Finally:

I don’t know.

She frowns at the screen. Her unsettled feelings from this morning were correct. She types again.

10 o’clock?

Another long pause.

Finally, he replies:

Call you later.

That’s not encouraging, and things are getting shitty around here.

Angela puts down the phone and looks at the screen of her desktop, thinking. The contested audio stream is still open in front of her.

She looks at its data ID tags.

An idea, she CLICKS a few times, making a video call.

Encrypted Amygdala video call to Darius Popescu Bucharest, Romania

The screen opens up on Darius, the Eastern European guy she sought tech help from earlier.

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CONTINUED: (2)

Angela types, fast. She's a bit of a Mozart with a computer.

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CONTINUED: (3)

Behind him, his Kimi unit activates at the sound of its name.

Angela rubs her forehead, the last thing she needs.

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CONTINUED: (4)

Her desktop screen lights up with another call.

Incoming Zoom call with Dr. Sarah Burns

Angela winces and looks at her watch.

She hangs up, answering the new call. DR. SARAH BURNS, a woman in her sixties with a shock of long white hair, appears on her screen.

Her jaw clenches, and she winces, putting a hand to her cheek.

Angela shakes out two more Advil from a bottle and takes them. Dr. Burns watches, not liking what she's seeing.

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CONTINUED: (5)

Her cell phone BUZZES with a text and she glances down.

She slides her phone around. It's a text from Darius.

Trying not to move her hands much, Angela swipes on her phone so she can read the text. But the phone demands facial recognition, so she has to hold it up, just out of sight of the computer's camera. It's tricky.

Her phone opens. She swipes to get to the text from Darius. It reads:

ADMIN FOR FAKE HOTNESS: 92390uiry2t4ijKK83ne

Angela's face lights up, seeing the code.

As Dr. Burns speaks, another text comes through from Darius:

Don't use it on your desktop. Private browsing on your phone. I'll get back to you on who pulled freq tab.

Angela reads that, desperately curious.

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CONTINUED: (6)

Again trying to move cautiously so that Dr. Burns can't see what she's doing, Angela slides the cursor slowly toward the LEAVE button on the meeting.

Angela gets the cursor all the way up to the LEAVE button, and summons up some feeling in her voice. Faking it, making it good.

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CONTINUED: (7)

She CLICKS on leave and her therapist vanishes.

Ahhhh.

Angela closes the Zoom window immediately and puts the computer to sleep.

The surface of the big table in Angela's desk area is jammed with stuff, a far cry from its usual clean sense of order. There's an empty coffee cup, a couple Snapple bottles, the half- eaten sandwich from earlier, an open jug of Advil, various printed papers, mess.

Angela's not at the desk. We can hear the sounds of heavy breathing, and find her on the other side of the apartment, working out hard on the climbing machine.

ON THE MACHINE,

Angela's got a post-it note taped to the screen, with the 20- digit number that Darius gave her earlier.

While she climbs, she enters the letters and numbers into an open box on her phone.

She hits enter, and the screen opens on an array of links to choose from. There, she enters the device number from the ID tag on the still-open audio stream.

She hits ENTER.

A new box opens, showing account information. There's a picture of an attractive young woman around Angela's age, and her name:

billing data archived orders delivery addresses

but then things get more personal:

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music preferences movie & TV favorites

and more personal:

purchase interest mild purchase interest actionable purchase interest intense

and then the one Angela's after:

Kimi commands log

Angela clicks it, and a list of recordings blooms in front of her. There must be two hundred of them, going back six months or so.

Angela highlights the last dozen, puts in her ear buds, and clicks PLAY while she's working out.

While Angela works out, we hear Samantha Gerrity's VOICE:

Then a CLICK, and another one.

Then a CLICK, and another one.

Angela smiles, hey, I like that song too.

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CONTINUED: (2)

She clicks on the third-to-last recording. This one's different.

Her voice sounds different, strained, and then the muffling of the recording begins.

IN ANGELA'S MIND,

she pictures a Kimi device, in an apartment somewhere, and a blouse, falling over it. That would explain the muffling.

On the wall behind the device, shadows struggle.

IN ANGELA'S APARTMENT,

the recording that plays now is the one that Angela heard the first time -- the muffled sounds of the struggle, unclarified by Angela's technical assistance.

Climbing harder and faster, Angela looks at her phone. She skips down to the second-to-last recording and clicks play. Samantha's voice again:

But she's said it in a low tone, as if trying to conceal her voice from someone. A moment later, a DOOR OPENS, and a person comes in the room.

This conversation is clear.

ON THE RECORDING,

A man's voice. It's the same voice from the assault tape earlier.

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CONTINUED: (2)

Now the voices overlap, both trying to shout over the other.

There is the sound of another scuffle, something is overturned.

And then the sound of a DOOR SLAMMING.

Finally, softly now, Samantha's breathless voice one more time:

The recording ends.

Angela looks at the screen of her phone. That was the second to last recording, and it was made six days ago.

There is only one other, made four days ago.

Angela stops climbing, the sweat running down her face now, and touches the link to that final recording.

In Angela's ear buds:

ON THE RECORDING,

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CONTINUED: (3)

Samantha's VOICE is hushed, frightened.

On the recording, we hear FOOTSTEPS move across a floor. They stop, and a door opens.

But whoever is at the door doesn't want to talk either. Somebody pushes their way into the apartment, and Samantha SCREAMS.

It's immediately muffled, though, as if a hand was placed over her mouth.

Angela's eyes go wide as the recording plays in her ear buds.

On the tape, there is the CRUNCH of fist hitting bone, then the hurried, MUFFLED VOICES of TWO MEN as they mutter to each other.

There's a sound of dragging, then a RIPPING, like a bedsheet being torn in half. More muffled SCREAMING, struggling, a higher pitch now, as if Samantha knows what's about to happen.

Angela's mouth opens in a silent scream at the sound of SOMETHING WET AND FLESHY, like a melon being sliced in half.

Then there are SLOPPY SOUNDS, a GURGLE, more GRUNTS from the Men.

More SCUFFLING sounds. But then they stop. Angela collapses to * the floor, her hands over her mouth in terror.

There is a deafening RIP on the tape, different from the other sounds, this one's like a roll of duct tape held right next to the microphone.

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CONTINUED: (4)

There's a moment of silence, then FOOTSTEPS, muffled THUMPS --

-- and the recording shuts off. Holy shit. *

Angela, on the floor of her apartment, crawls backs against the wall behind her, terrified, sweating, hyperventilating.

She RIPS the buds out of her ears, in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.

And her phone RINGS.

She jumps, a SCREAM escaping her, uncontrolled.

She turns the phone and looks at the screen. It's a local number.

She answers, her voice shaking.

A pleasant WOMAN’S VOICE is on the other end of the line. *

Angela's mouth opens and closes, she's momentarily unable to form words. Finally:

For a moment, Angela can't process that information.

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CONTINUED: (5)

BOY, she is trying to think fast. How much should she say? How much should she keep to herself?

Pause.

That was said with real sensitivity. Not a reflex; she really wants to know.

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CONTINUED: (6)

We believe her. Angela wants to believe her. It would help if we could see Mrs. Chowdhury, but we can't.

Angela almost sobs. Mrs. Chowdhury’s voice is comforting, and her plan is solid.

Angela doesn’t answer right away. She breathes, hard, through her nose.

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CONTINUED: (7)

Finally:

We see a sequence we saw before -- this morning, when Angela tried to leave the apartment the first time. Her preparations now are exactly the same.

First, she showers. She scrubs herself, almost violently.

A SHORT TIME LATER,

she's in a towel, laying out medications on the bathroom counter. She takes two, breaks the third in half, and swallows it.

She thinks a moment, then decides to take the other half too.

She opens her mouth wide and looks in the mirror, checking her inflamed gum line. She doesn't like what she sees.

She takes three more Advil. That's probably not good for you, but whatever.

Angela pulls on pants and a shirt. Her hands are shaking, so she can't button the buttons at first.

She stops. Breathes. Tries again.

Dressed now, Angela stands at her desk, looking at her computer. Thinking. She closes all the files on the desktop.

She looks at her phone. The recordings she listened to are still open.

She highlights them, AirDrops them to herself, and with a BING they appear on the computer's desktop.

Now she digs through a basket of electronic junk on the table, finds a data stick, and plugs it into a free USB drive on the computer.

When it appears on screen, she drags the file of recordings over to it and drops it.

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COPYING 211 FILES TO DRIVE

She waits, watching the progress bar. When it BINGS, she ejects the stick drive and shoves it in her pants pocket.

AT THE DOOR,

Angela checks her handbag, still packed from the morning. But she double-checks -- keys, money, Advil, prescription bottles, hand sanitizer, surgical masks.

She turns to the door. She unlocks the locks and reaches the last, the one that requires a key.

She takes the key from under the bowl on the entry table, puts it in, and stops again.

But this time she turns it.

She almost winces at the heavy CLICK of the last lock turning.

The door's unlocked now.

She reaches out to the knob.

She opens the door.

Angela steps across the threshold, closing and locking the door behind her. We see her apartment number -- 5F.

She moves down the hall, walking quickly, head down, staying close to the wall.

She nears an elevator, but goes right past it. Not for her.

She reaches a stairwell at the end of the hall and goes down it.

Angela comes off the stairs and into the lobby. There are a couple RESIDENTS passing in front of her, from the elevator.

She hesitates at the base of the stairs and lets them pass.

When they're gone, she heads for the front door, again staying close to the wall. She pushes through the door.

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Angela steps outside, and WOW is it bright and loud out here. The street's only fairly busy, but when you never go out, it's all overwhelming.

Angela looks down, at a slip of paper on which she's written an address. She commits it to memory, shoves it in her pocket, and starts walking.

Angela ignores it, as it can't possibly be for her.

She looks back, over her shoulder. A SMILING GUY in work clothes is walking toward her, flanked by another WORKMAN.

The Smiling Guy points at her.

Angela keeps walking, unsure how to respond.

Angela wasn't expecting this and it throws her, so she MUTTERS something indistinct and crosses the street.

Angela, in a mask now, stands at one end of a subway platform.

The train pulls in. She waits till everyone else has boarded, then darts ahead at the last moment, just before the doors close.

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Angela finds a seat and sits, as distanced as possible. The train moves. She closes her eyes.

So far so good.

Angela comes up out of a subway station in a strange, industrial part of town.

She removes her mask, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

She looks around, getting her bearings. She sets off, down the street.

There are fewer people around here. That's good.

Seen from high above, Angela comes into a large public square. We watch her from a bird's eye view as she moves through the square, always clinging to the edges of the buildings, never out in the open.

She looks like a small and frightened animal.

For the first time, we are not with Angela.

We're in a lush corporate office, most of Seattle's downtown visible out a pair of big windows. It's not a master of the universe office, but somebody does very well.

HASLING, a fit man in his forties, is standing at his desk, wearing a headset, spreadsheets in front of him. We see the familiar Amygdala Corporation logo across the top. Hasling's on a long call, checking down a row of figures as people talk on the other end.

On the desk, his cell phone BUZZES. He looks at the screen. Just one letter:

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He hits a button on his console, takes off his headset, and takes a deep breath. He answers the cell phone.

A MAN'S QUIET VOICE on the other end of the phone.

Hasling's face goes pale. His mind reels.

He sits, and as he does we move down with him, till we catch the name plate on his desk -- BRADLEY HASLING, C.F.O.

(And in case we didn't get it when he first spoke, we realize it now -- his was the arguing voice on Samantha's Kimi recording.)

The Voice on the other end SIGHS softly.

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CLOSE ON the piece of paper on which Angela wrote the address.

She's standing in front of a building with that same address.

Angela exhales. She made it.

This building, however, is a cause for concern. It's no modernist masterpiece in the middle of some sprawling corporate campus. It's a scarily nondescript three story block building, so bland it's threatening.

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Angela goes to the front door, which is just an outline in an opaque glass wall. There's a lighted blue ring that looks like a buzzer, so she touches it. The ring blinks.

Angela waits.

No answer, but words light up under the blue circle

Remove eyeglasses. Lean into scanner.

Angela doesn't wear eyeglasses. Plus:

No answer. But the words flash at her now.

Remove eyeglasses. Lean into scanner.

There's a horizontal mirrored area, lit up at the edges, around head height.

Angela leans into it. A vertical bar lights up and swipes along her eyeball.

ANGELA'S NAME displays at the bottom of the screen, and the door BUZZES.

She shoves it open.

Angela steps inside. There's no lobby attendant, just an all- glass revolving door on the other side of an empty area.

She looks around, expecting help. Instead, there is a loud BUZZING from a panel beside the door, and a key card CHUNKS out of a slot.

Angela looks down at it. A VOICE calls from a panel.

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Angela takes the card and the revolving glass door starts moving, as a result. When a big enough space opens, she steps inside.

INSIDE THE REVOLVING DOOR,

once there is a seal on both sides, the door stops moving abruptly.

There is the sound of SUCTION as rubber gaskets seal the door.

A BLAST OF AIR comes up from the grated floor, God knows what THAT security measure was.

Angela winces at the unexpected wind in her face, but then it finishes and the door starts to move again. Angela steps out on the other side, happy to be out of there.

Angela walks around a corner, following a bold red line drawn down the middle of the gray cement floor.

The line leads down the center of a six-foot wide pathway that cuts through a seemingly endless row of servers. Their fans and the AC system are loud in here.

The servers run along both sides of the path, separated by eight- foot Plexiglas panels so no one can get at them.

Angela walks down the red line. It's freezing here, and she can see some gloved and masked TECH WORKERS in with the servers, staring at her as she goes past.

AT THE FAR END,

she reaches an elevator bank, puts her key card in, and the doors open on one of them. She steps inside.

She steps off the elevator on the third floor. It's a cubicle farm up here, rows of cubbyhole offices along the edges of a vast work floor.

She goes to the first WORKER she sees.

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Angela starts down the long row of offices, each identical to the one before it.

Reaching the third from the end, she stops, and a Woman sitting at a desk just outside it looks up.

Mrs. Chowdhury's ASSISTANT looks up and smiles. She gets to her feet, speaking to Angela as one would to a six-year-old.

Angela, a little thrown, just nods.

The Assistant smiles, treating her with unctuous kid gloves. Clearly, they read her file.

She leads her to the door, KNOCKS, and opens it.

Everything about NATALIE CHOWDHURY and her office radiates calm and competence. She’s got family pictures, well-tended plants, and rides a collapsible bike to work (it's hung on the door).

There's a small seating area and she’s now in a chair, facing Angela, who's on the couch. They've been talking for a bit.

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Pause.

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Mrs. Chowdhury just looks at her, thinking.

Mrs. Chowdhury looks at her. Tries another angle.

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Mrs. Chowdhury desperately wishes she could go back in time twenty seconds and unsay what she’s just said.

Pause. It’s possible Angela has not said that out loud, in that way, to anyone else before.

Mrs. Chowdhury proceeds with caution.

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Yeah!

Mrs. Chowdhury just looks at Angela for a long moment.

Angela wasn't expecting that.

She gets up.

She goes to the door, opens it, and turns back, one last thought.

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She goes outside, has a word with her Assistant, and heads off down the hall.

Angela winces, putting her hand to her cheek again. Must have been grinding her teeth, because that thing's getting worse.

OUT IN THE HALLWAY,

Angela steps up to the Assistant's desk.

In the bathroom, Angela splashes water on her face and dries it.

She regards herself in the mirror. She's doing all right.

She holds up her hands. Shaking a bit.

She takes one of the orange prescription bottles from her pocket and shakes a pill into her palm. She is about to swallow it, but changes her mind.

Doesn't need it. Good for her. She puts it back.

She takes out her phone and sends a text to TERRY HUGHES.

I’m sorry for this morning. That was the last time. Promise.

She sends.

A text comes back:

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In court all afternoon. Let’s talk later.

Not exactly what she’d hoped for. But at least she apologized.

Angela walks down the third floor hallway, headed back to Mrs. Chowdhury's office.

She passes the assistant's desk, but the woman isn't there at the moment, so Angela goes right in.

Angela sits on the edge of Chowdhury's couch, waiting for her to come back.

She looks at a clock on a side table. It's 2:07.

While we look at the clock

IT JUMP CUTS,

and now it's 2:19.

Angela is still waiting. She's standing now, looking at the dreary view out the window.

She hears VOICES behind her and turns, but it's just TWO WORKERS walking past the door.

She sighs, impatient, and sits in a chair.

From this vantage point, she's staring directly at a Kimi unit that's sitting on an end table.

As she watches, its blue ring lights up.

Angela furrows her brow, staring at it. She does not like that.

After a few seconds, the blue light turns off.

Angela pulls out her phone and calls the only number she has for Mrs. Chowdhury.

After a moment, the phone on the desk RINGS. Angela waits four rings, the phone on the desk rings four times, and then her voice comes on.

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Angela hangs up. She looks at that clock on the table again.

Now it's 2:36.

She looks back at the Kimi unit. The blue ring lights up again.

Angela's anxiety is spiking.

She gets up and goes to the door. She looks up and down the corridor in both directions.

Her phone BUZZES with a text. She looks at it.

Text from: Darius Popescu

Still in the doorway, Angela swipes, to read it. It says:

What did you do?

Angela is confused.

She writes back.

What do you mean?

Her screen shows three little dots. Darius is replying.

Angela's still in the doorway, facing us, so we can see down the long corridor behind her.

In the deep background, the elevator doors BING, strangely in focus.

Angela's still looking at her phone and doesn't notice. Darius is still writing, but then the dots stop, so he must have stopped. Angela waits.

Far behind her, the elevator doors open and TWO MEN step off. One of them is tall, and the other wears glasses. They look around. They don't seem familiar with this place.

Angela does not see them.

Impatient, she writes to Darius:

Hello?

The dots come back. Darius is writing again.

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In the background, the Two Men stop to ask directions. A GUY points this way, and the Men walk toward us.

On Angela's phone, Darius's message comes through.

Why’d you delete all that shit?

Angela is puzzled. She writes back:

I didn’t.

Behind her, the Men come closer.

Darius replies:

Well, somebody just did.

Angela's eyes go wide. She shoves her phone in her bag and turns, looking around, thinking. Trying to keep a lid on frantic.

Behind her, the Two Men turn into the doorway of the office a couple doors away --

-- just as Angela decides to get the hell out of there.

IN THE HALLWAY,

she walks quickly back toward the elevators, passing the door to the second office, just seconds before the Two Men realize they're in the wrong office and come out.

They turn right, headed for Mrs. Chowdhury's office as Angela continues in the other direction.

She reaches the elevator bank and rings for it, pressing the button three more times than is necessary.

She waits. She looks back, over her shoulder.

She sees the Two Men come out of Mrs. Chowdhury's office, looking around. Clearly didn't find what they were looking for in there.

The guy in the glasses sees her. He glances down at his phone.

Trying to keep it cool, he nods toward her and shows his phone to the Tall Man.

Tall Man looks up sharply and they start walking toward her. Their gait is best described as forced-casual.

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Angela turns again. There's no question, those Men are coming for her.

She presses the elevator button again and looks up at the lights.

It's on two. She's on three. As she watches, the light blinks and changes --

-- but it goes down to one.

Shit. Angela glances over her shoulder again. The Men are almost here. She turns and walks away, in the opposite direction.

Twenty feet down the hall, she finds a stairwell and pushes through the door.

The moment she's through the door, Angela picks up her pace. She bounds down the stairs, fast, to the second floor, and pushes on that door.

But it's locked.

There's a key-card panel next to the door. She fumbles in her bag and comes up with the card she was given downstairs.

She swipes it, but the light flashes red, no good here. The door won't open.

Above her, she can hear the stairwell door open up on three, and the sound of FOUR HEAVY FEET.

She takes off again, bounding down the next flight of stairs.

AT GROUND LEVEL,

Angela finds another locked door, with a key reader next to it.

She prays, swipes, and this time the door BUZZES.

She shoves through it.

Downstairs, Angela run-walks around the corner from behind the elevator bank on the server level.

There's only one way out of here, down the red line in the center of the path between the server bays.

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From around the corner behind her, she can hear the stairwell door SLAM.

So she runs.

There's no more pretense, she's racing to get the hell out of there before they catch her.

The Men move fast, trying not to draw notice, but there's no way they're going to let her go.

Ahead of them, Angela reaches the slowly-revolving glass doors.

It's the only way out of there, so she steps into the opening as soon as it becomes available.

The Two Men reach the doors just after her, but the revolving door has already turned enough to create a seal.

AND THE DOOR STOPS TURNING.

Just as it did on her way in, the doors stop when they can seal up, and there's the SUCKING sound of a vacuum being created.

Angela turns, wide-eyed, and is just across the glass from the Two Men. They make no pretext now, just stare at her, dead- eyed.

Nothing anybody can do for a moment.

The BLAST OF AIR blows up from the grate in the floor beneath Angela's feet, her hair blows as she is de-magnetized or whatever the hell that is --

-- and the door starts to turn again.

The second she has a wide enough opening on the other side, she squeezes through, into the lobby, and out the front door of the building.

The Two Men leap into the revolving door's new opening, it stops, they wait the endless several seconds while the blast of air blows, and then fight their way out the opening on the other side as soon as they can.

We're with them now, and we've lost sight of Angela, as they have.

They run across the short lobby of the building and out the front door.

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The Men race out of the building and onto the sidewalk in front of it. They turn in circles, looking for her, then split up, one to this side, the other to that.

We go with the Tall Man, all the way to the corner of the building. He looks in all directions, but Angela's nowhere to be seen. Doesn't seem possible she could have run this far, this fast.

He turns around and runs back the other way.

We stay where he was, drift the rest of the way around the corner, find a tiny alcove there, turn ninety degrees to peer into it --

-- and discover Angela.

She's pressed up against the side of the building, flattened in this quirk of building design, which might have just saved her life.

She breathes hard, in short, staccato breaths, trying to get control of them. But she can't.

She looks up, surveying her position. Ten feet away and ten feet up is a silvery, teardrop-shaped metallic bulb.

It's a surveillance orb, suspended on a pole from the side of the building.

ON A VIDEO SCREEN SOMEWHERE,

we see Angela's image, below us, cowering in that corner of the building. It's unclear if someone is watching this or it's just the orb's-eye view of her, but either way it's unsettling.

IN THE ALCOVE,

Angela realizes she can't stay here.

She shoves herself out of there and takes off down the sidewalk.

Looking up at the building as she run-walks, she sees those same orbs, every twenty feet or so.

She moves faster.

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We lose her as she reaches the corner, serpentines through traffic, and disappears in foot traffic on the far side of the busy street.

Angela, fighting panic, moves through a crowd on a busy downtown street. Remembering belatedly, she pulls a mask over her face.

She moves fast, making unpredictable turns, looking continually over her shoulder.

She's lost the Two Men. She finds the loneliest bench she can and sits, lost in the crowd for the time being.

She feels in her pocket, finds the data stick she shoved in their earlier. Still safe. She puts it away again.

She takes out her phone, pulls up Terry's information, and hits dial. His phone rings once and goes directly to voicemail.

It BEEPS.

Angela hangs up and MUTTERS to herself.

She thinks.

She makes another call. Again, a VOICEMAIL.

Angela hangs up. It is an emergency, and she does not want to dial 911.

That makes her think of the police, though.

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She looks around. There are TWO COPS about fifty feet away. Two men, both white. They're giving some TOURIST directions.

Angela stands, thinking.

The Cops look at her. One of them stares. You looking at me? Angela holds his eye for a long moment.

And then she sits again. No cops. Not these guys, anyway.

Remembering something, she opens a browser on her phone and types in a search entry.

1110 South 3rd Street

Angela TAPS on the address, which opens the phone's map feature.

She hits the pedestrian icon, the phone thinks for a second, and then lays out a route, along a jagged blue line.

total walk time 24 minutes

Okay, that's the plan, then. Angela turns, orienting herself on the map, and starts walking.

She pulls her mask up and is soon lost in the crowd again.

The Spheres are two enormous geodesic domes in the middle of an office park in downtown Seattle. You can go in them, look at a bunch of plants, have a nice business meeting there.

Brad Hasling has no interest in going inside. He walks quickly across the plaza outside the domes, meeting someone.

He gets to a railing overlooking both domes and steps up next to a man who's already there. RIVAS is an athletic-looking forty- year-old in a decent suit.

Hasling stands next to him, holding a thin white envelope in both his hands.

Rivas glances down at it.

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His voice is the one we heard on the phone in Hasling's office.

But he does not hand over the envelope, he just looks at Rivas, expecting something first. Hasling is a nervous wreck.

Hasling breathes an enormous sigh of relief. However:

Hasling's eyes widen with panic.

His eyes flit down to the envelope. He looks up at Hasling, who still hesitates, not handing it over.

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He looks back down at the envelope, waiting.

Hasling hands it over.

He walks away quickly.

Rivas takes out his phone, picks a contact, and dials.

The phone buzzes on the other end, a foreign ring.

Wow, this place looks far away.

Grozny, Chechnya

Yep, that's far. The ringing continues.

YURI is about forty. His apartment is a tech-filled grotto. There's a window in the top of the wall and FEET are visible walking by, so he's the subterranean type.

Tech equipment clogs every available surface.

Yuri answers the incoming call on his computer.

Rivas's VOICE comes from the other end.

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Yuri opens a box on his computer and a blank field appears, enough space to enter a phone number.

Yuri types the numbers into the boxes, hits enter, and a MASSIVE amount of data starts to scroll by on his screen.

CLOSE ON a cell phone screen showing a map feature and a walking route. Angela's blue dot has moved along it. She's seven minutes into the walk, seventeen minutes to go.

WITH ANGELA,

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she hurries across a street, following the map, and turns right when she gets to the far side.

As she walks, we

JUMP TO AN OVERHEAD SHOT,

looking directly down at her as from a drone. We see Angela below us, moving through the street, her image pulsing with blue cell service lines that radiate out from her.

The screen splits in half, the right side showing the overhead shot of her and the left scrolling her cell phone's specs --

Cell account #89230200003# Tower location W281 N2312 Data roaming ON Location services ON

-- and basically every other feature that she ought to have turned OFF, but is turned ON.

Moving in closer on the data, we lose the overhead shot of her. The data screen changes in visual quality, it gets bigger, sharper, full-screen, and we pull back from it --

-- and see it's now displaying on a big screen TV mounted on one wall in Yuri's apartment in Grozny.

Yuri is on the sofa, slouched in front of the TV, jumping between laptops, changing the data that's displaying on the TV in front of him. For some reason, he is listening to SHITTY EUROPEAN THRASH METAL at an unpleasant volume. He finds it restful?

Yuri TAPS in commands in a virtuosic fashion, and the results play out on the big screen. It's all Angela's data -- her driver's license picture, her passport photo, a long, scrolling credit history, social media accounts.

But that's not what he's after, what he wants is this one:

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Spikes appear all over the map, they look like the old RKO Pictures logo, little towers with transmissions emanating from their tops.

There are hundreds of them, all over Seattle, but Yuri starts filtering through them.

The screen asks a dozen questions, one after the other, with names like "LKLoc," "dig pulse freq," "LASTvia mobXing ctr."

One by one, he checks or unchecks boxes, and as he does whole networks of towers flash off the screen, eliminated one after the other.

First the several dozen towers around the edges of the city disappear.

Then, as Yuri types in responses in the various boxes -- YES, NO, CLOSE, IGNORE, etc. -- the next ring of towers is eliminated from the graphic up on the big screen in front of him.

When there are only a dozen towers left, they are clustered around a certain area of downtown Seattle.

Now Yuri enters another command:

send silent SMS

A text box opens up, he enters Angela's phone number in it, hits enter, a message field appears, he types <0> in it, and presses enter. The message WHOOSHES away.

ON YURI'S TV SCREEN,

a similar FLASH appears in a portion of Yuri's screen, and on the big map, another six cell towers disappear.

Now there are only half a dozen left.

Yuri opens another command box and types:

Open AnyTimeInterrogationSMS field

Another box opens up, just a blue flashing field with a question mark at the end of it.

Yuri's pleased, that seems to be what he's after. He types:

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ProvideSubscriber3GPPPLocation

He hits enter. A little wheel spins as the program thinks, then all but three of the cell towers drop away on the animation on the big screen.

Now triangulated, a large blue shaded circle appears in the area covered by the three towers.

Yuri wipes some sweat from his upper lip, excited. So close. Mercifully, he kills the shitty music, so he can focus.

Just one more command:

3GPP towers ping all

He hits enter. The cell towers on the big screen all show that they're emitting a frequency, the blue shaded area shrinks, irising inward --

-- until it becomes a single blinking blue dot, on the city map.

Yuri clicks on the blue dot, expanding the map, and switches to another laptop, which has an open phone line.

Rivas's VOICE replies.

He watches the blue dot on the map, which is blinking steadily northward.

Yuri sits back, watching the map, and Angela's moving blue dot.

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CONTINUED: (2)

Back with Angela, she's hurrying down the very streets Yuri described.

She looks at the map on her phone, sees there's one turn left, just up ahead, and then it's straight on to the FBI building.

But then she stops, suddenly. She's struck by a thought.

She looks down at the phone in her hand. Not so much to see whatever's on the screen, but at the phone itself, as if she just realized what we have been shouting at her for the past five minutes.

Get off your fucking phone.

All at once that thing feels like a snake in her hand.

She hits the power button on the side, holds it down, and the feature pops up to turn it off.

Angela swipes it and her phone powers down.

She shoves the phone in her pants pocket, makes her right turn, and walks on, unsurveilled.

Yay! Our character did the smart thing!

On the big screen TV in Yuri's apartment, the flashing blue dot that was Angela suddenly curls up and disappears.

Yuri sits bolt upright, surprised and pissed off.

He TAP TAP TAPS on two different keyboards, but nothing he does brings the image back to the map.

He opens a new box, and enters her telephone number again.

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Inside the cell account service page, there are a number of features accessible, and they all have long and hopeless code names, some understandable, some just number/letter combinations.

Yuri scrolls through them, brow furrowed, but his face lights up when he finds the one he's looking for.

He clicks enter.

Angela hurries down the street in Seattle. She's in a more official, government-oriented part of the city now, so hopefully not far from her destination.

She's moving with purpose, but not too fast for us to make a sneaky camera move down, from her face, along her arm, until we get to the pocket of her trousers --

-- which lights up from the inside.

Yuri has remote-started her cell phone.

Angela keeps walking, unsuspecting, no idea that the surveillance device we all willingly carry with us at all times is once again live.

Up ahead, she sees a large GROUP OF PEOPLE. It's a PROTEST MARCH, stretching in both directions, up and down the street.

There doesn't seem to be any way past except through it.

Angela takes a deep breath, pulls her mask up, and wades into the thick of it.

INSIDE THE DEMONSTRATION,

there's a lot of YELLING and CURSING. Some people support the idea of the Homeless Safe Zones, others are bitterly opposed. The mayhem is barely controlled.

Angela keeps her head down and plows through.

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ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET,

Angela reaches a more open area. She stops, taking a second to compose herself.

We hear a BUZZ, and a funny look crosses her face.

That can't be. Her hand darts down to her pocket and she whips out her cell phone.

Which is, of course, turned on, and is BUZZING. She looks at the screen:

Incoming call from MOM mobile.

Completely freaked out, Angela stifles a SHOUT. Looking at the little co-conspirator in her hand, hating it now, she stops.

She pulls out her keychain, which has a little Swiss Army knife on it. She pulls a fine-point feature out of the side of the knife, using it to poke the button for the phone's SIM card tray, slides that out, and chucks the SIM card in the street.

She thinks some more --

-- and tosses the whole phone into a garbage can.

Yay! Our character did the smart-

A BLACK VAN pulls in front of her and SQUEALS to a halt.

Angela stops, stunned.

The Tall Man from the data center jumps out, spins her around, and wraps a big arm around her, pinning her arms to the sides of her body. He hustles her toward the van.

Angela struggles, she tries to SHOUT, but he's got his other arm around her neck, cutting off her wind, and all she can get out is a frightened GASP.

The guy is good at this, and Angela's much smaller than he is, so his weight is working against her too. His momentum propels her toward the van.

But hang on -- this is Seattle, and we're just a block away from a major protest.

Several HEADS-UP PEDESTRIANS SHOUT at the Tall Man and to their fellow PROTESTERS.

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As Angela's hustled toward the open back door of the van, hands SLAM on the side of it, VOICES SHOUT at the Tall Man, phones are whipped out, video of the abduction starts to be shot.

But the Tall Man is fast, and his buddy, the one wearing glasses, is behind the wheel.

Angela lands on the floor of the van with a THUD, the Tall Man's body on top of hers. He SHOUTS into the front seat. *

Glasses, who is behind the wheel, drops the van in gear, but there is a KNOT OF PROTESTERS right in front of the hood.

GLASSES * Charlie Charlie Charlie! *

He puts the van in reverse instead, to back it out of there.

The Tall Man rolls over halfway, ZINGING the sliding door shut behind him, closing it on the enraged Protesters. But when he's turned to the door to close it, he has to lift half his body weight off of Angela.

Seizing that moment, she wriggles out from under him and lunges at the sliding door on the other side of the van.

She gets one hand on the handle, starts to slide it open --

-- the van moves backwards --

-- and the Tall Man pounces on her again, knocking her hand off the door. But it was enough to get that door open a few inches, * and now A DOZEN HANDS appear in the crack from outside as the van moves.

Angela SCREAMS. The Tall Man SHOUTS to Glasses.

Through the windshield we can see the van is arcing backwards to get away from the Protesters. It finds an open path, Glasses drops it in gear again and tries to drive, but the Protesters are all around, SHOUTING, rocking the van.

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Glasses pushes the gas down and the van moves faster, but in the back the Protesters manage to sling the side door open several feet.

The Protesters are running alongside the van, half a dozen of them with their arms through the door.

Two COLLEGE STUDENTS, a man and a woman, have the best grip on Angela, and they drag her halfway out of the van.

The van's now going ten miles an hour or more, this is dangerous shit. The Tall Man's holding onto Angela, trying to drag her back into the van, the College Students are running alongside, pulling the other way, and Angela's stretched between them.

All at once, the College Students win the tug-of-war.

Angela's body comes flying out of the van and the Tall Man falls back inside.

ON THE GROUND,

hands pull Angela to her feet, DEMONSTRATORS SHOUT at her from all sides, get out of here, go, go, go, they pick her up and push her back, through them.

IN THE CROWD,

it closes around Angela, pushing her away from the van as fast as she can move.

She manages to turn, and to get her feet beneath her.

She shoves through people and runs the hell out of there as the van is forced to SCREECH away, fleeing the angry crowd.

Yuri is on his cell phone, in his apartment.

He's listening, as he is given some bad news. His expression is affectless.

He hangs up the phone and sets it down.

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He reaches into a mini-fridge nearby and takes out a sixteen ounce can of Full Throttle, some noxious energy drink.

He looks up at the big screen in front of him, with its dozen different windows open, all of them various aspects of Angela's personal data.

He thinks.

He sees one window in particular that he likes.

He moves his cursor over to it and clicks, bringing it to the foreground.

It's Angela's search engine page.

He moves the cursor up to "HISTORY" and clicks it.

Angela's last several dozen searches come up. We don't see them directly, only reflected in Yuri's dirty glasses.

Yuri picks up the phone again.

It's late afternoon now. A UNIFORMED COP walks down the street somewhere in downtown Seattle.

We're behind the Cop, at around waist level, so we really just get the symbols of officialdom -- gun, walkie-talkie, heavy belt.

(In contrast to the recent freneticism, this scene is languid and floaty. Almost soothing.)

The Cop walks for a bit and we track along behind. There are some HOMELESS people around, some PASSERS-BY hurrying along their way, some SKATE PUNKS grab-assing in an empty parking lot.

The Cop passes a bench, where a woman is leaned forward, her face in her hands. Her clothes are nice, so she doesn't look homeless. Just in terrible distress.

As if sensing the Cop, the Woman looks up. It's Angela.

Seeing the Cop for the first time now, we see she is a woman in her thirties. OFFICER BAPTISTE and Angela make eye contact.

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Angela looks anything but okay. She's got a welt on her face, she’s bleeding, and she looks about to scream. But she answers:

But she waits.

Angela thinks for a long moment.

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Angela just waves her off.

Officer Baptiste nods. Okay, I get it now.

She gestures to the bench.

Angela slides over a little in answer. Go ahead. The Cop sits.

She's gesturing to Angela's face. Angela touches the puffy bruised area near her eye, the bloody cut underneath it.

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Angela looks up at her, stunned.

She stands, looking down at Angela. She holds out a hand and smiles. She is an idealized image of reassurance and kindness.

When we cut back to Angela, her head is in her hands again, in the exact position she was in when we found her at the beginning of the scene.

And there's no helpful Officer Baptiste standing over her. That was a daydream.

Instead, two white male COPS walk past. They slow, one of them catching Angela's eye. She stares back, longer than is strictly advisable.

He stops.

She gets up and starts walking, in the other direction.

By herself.

VERY CLOSE ON a street sign for the 1100 block of South 3rd Street.

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Tilting up, we see the Abraham Lincoln Building, an impressive twelve-story structure with a large, open plaza in front. In the center of the plaza is a bizarre statue of a naked man standing on one foot. Go figure.

There's a large set of glass doors in the front of the building, UNIFORMED GUARDS visible inside. Big shiny chrome letters on a portico over the entrance announce the address as 1110.

Dusk is settling in, no sun in the sky anymore, and streetlights are starting to wink on. GOVERNMENT WORKERS come out of the building in small knots of three or four.

ACROSS THE STREET,

Angela looks like hell. She stands in the mouth of a narrow walking alley that dead ends at the street in front of the plaza.

She sizes up the situation. To get to the glass doors of the building, she has to cross busy 3rd Street, traffic running in both directions.

Then it's six or eight stone steps up onto the plaza, maybe twenty yards to get across the plaza, and finally the front doors of the building.

She looks back, over her shoulder. No one behind her.

The walking street she's standing in the mouth of feeds straight out onto a street corner, and a crosswalk. There's a small group of PEDESTRIANS waiting at the corner for the light to change.

Angela looks left and right again. Now she sees another group, FIVE BOISTEROUS WOMEN, maybe done with work and headed out for a drink someplace.

They're headed toward that crosswalk. That's good.

Angela checks the light again. It changes to walk.

She goes. She steps out of the mouth of the walking street, falls in with the Boisterous Women, and crosses the street with them.

IN THE STREET,

Angela makes her way into the middle of the group, a bit obnoxiously, which draws a few glances from the Women.

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But she's moving, and so are they, and now they're headed across the street. As they cross, Angela looks to the cars that are stopped at the light right beside her while they cross.

Toyota, Lexus, pickup, Tesla, Chevy, black van.

Of course, Angela's eyes (and ours) stick on the black van. Could be the same one, could be a different one, no telling with those things. The windows are tinted, and from this angle she can't get a good look at the driver.

ON THE CORNER,

Angela reaches the far sidewalk. She walks to the steps, still staring back over her shoulder at the street, and at that van.

But the van pulls away when the light changes, leaving her behind, headed off about its business.

Angela exhales. She turns back to the FBI building.

The second she turns her head away from the van, it turns the corner and stops.

But that's way in the distance, and maybe it's just a coincidence anyway?

Angela climbs the steps to the plaza.

When she reaches the top, she's only twenty yards from the entrance to the building.

The Boisterous Women move off down the sidewalk, and Angela suddenly finds herself exposed. All of the foot traffic is coming out of the building now, Government Workers all going home at the end of the day, nobody going in.

Undaunted, she moves forward, making her way through the crowd, against the flow of people. Tends to make her stand out, but she'll be there soon enough.

She glances to her left as she walks.

And she sees the black van.

It's parked there, at the side of the plaza not far to her left, and the front passenger door is opening.

A GUY IN A SUIT gets out, it's possible that it's one of the guys that tried to get her earlier, but he's too far away and PEOPLE are passing in the foreground, she can't quite tell.

She walks faster.

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The Guy walks this way.

Angela walks faster still, against the crowd and toward the building.

Only fifty feet to go now.

Then forty.

The Guy from the van is still coming this way, but suddenly he breaks into an enormous smile, throws his arms out wide --

-- and a WOMAN meets him, embracing and kissing. They go way back.

It's not the Tall Man, and he's not here for her. The Guy and the Woman turn and head for the van, waiting at the corner.

Angela keeps walking, just thirty feet now.

Angela turns. Still walking, she sees a BLONDE WOMAN coming toward her, also smiling and happy, geez, people are sure happy here at the FBI building.

Angela knits her brows, it seems the woman is smiling at her and she's thrown by it, she wasn't expecting a woman and she wasn't expecting a smile and suddenly --

-- she WINCES in pain and stops --

-- reaching down involuntarily to her calf, where a tiny red dot of blood is even now appearing on her light-colored trousers.

She looks up in time to see a MAN WITH AN UMBRELLA walking away from her, quickly.

Angela straightens, feeling dizzy.

The Blonde Woman is with her now, smiling and laughing and she has an arm around Angela's waist, which is a good thing, because Angela's going woozy, fast.

A MAN sweeps in from the right, and we know this guy, it's Glasses, the one who was driving the van, and now he's got an arm around Angela on the other side. He's super friendly too.

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CONTINUED: (2)

Angela swoons, the Couple LAUGH together and support her.

Angela looks up, into the Blonde Woman's eyes. They're dark and cold and show no signs of mirth.

Angela's eyes flutter.

The Couple sweep her away, across the plaza, Angela's feet moving by reflex.

The trio draw a glance or two, but nothing anyone will remember.

Night fell.

CLOSE ON Angela's face. Her eyes are closed, and her cheek's pressed into some nasty black carpet.

Lights flicker across her. She's moving, or rather, the car she's in the back of is moving, driving across town.

She blinks, trying to focus. She can't lift her head, but she can move her eyes.

She's in the back of that goddamn black van again. Only this time no one is trying to help her get out. It's cruising through the city streets, not too fast, not too slow.

There are TWO MEN in the front seats, visible from here. We only see their shoulders, parts of the sides of their faces, but we know who they are. The Tall Man and Glasses.

Angela tries to pry her head up off the gross carpet, but doesn't have the strength.

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The van BANGS through a pothole, her head flies up a few inches, SMACKS back down, and she GROANS in pain. She's landed on her bad cheek.

Her eyes close again, either on purpose or because she's slipped back into unconsciousness, it's hard to tell which.

From the front, the Tall Man turns and looks back at her.

She's unmoving, eyes closed.

He turns and speaks to Glasses, who's driving.

(We still only see their shoulders, slivers of light on their faces, and hear their voices as the sort of MUTTER we're always straining to pick up more of.)

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Fair point. They ride in silence for a bit.

Tall Man looks at his watch.

The Tall Man looks at him and just shakes his head.

He turns and looks back over his shoulder again. Angela's eyes are still closed.

Did she hear any of that?

The Tall Man leans forward and peers up at a street sign through the windshield as they pass it.

Glasses turns a corner. They come into another street.

They go down half a block and pull to a stop in an open space on the side.

Out the windshield, a COUPLE are walking toward us, arm in arm.

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They wait.

Hey, we know this street. It's Angela's.

Outside the van, it just sits there, unmoving, windows tinted, inscrutable.

The COUPLE approach and walk past, not giving the van a second glance. Why would you?

The Tall Man and Glasses wait till they pass, and sit in silence for another long moment.

Glasses looks up and down the street again. Then he looks left, to the door to Angela's apartment building. It's several car lengths ahead and directly to the left.

The Tall Man holds them up.

Glasses pulls on a surgical mask. They come in handy for other reasons sometimes.

He nods to the side view mirror and Glasses looks.

IN THE MIRROR,

they can see TWO GUYS walking toward them, deep in conversation.

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IN THE VAN,

they wait that one out too. Once the Men have passed and turned a corner up ahead, the Tall Man pulls on a mask.

They both get out at the same time, SLAMMING their doors behind them.

IN THE BACK,

the sliding door glides open and Angela's eyes flutter.

She blinks, focuses, and sees two pairs of hands reaching for her.

She MOANS and tries to struggle, but this time they've drugged her, and it hasn't worn off all the way yet.

They drag her out of the van.

The Men get Angela up on her feet, close the door of the van as softly as they can, and move her quickly toward her building.

Angela shuffles her feet, which slows them down.

They reach the door of the building and sort of lean her against the door frame, Glasses still supporting her.

The cool night air is bringing her around though, and she's stirring, getting her bearings.

Tall Man has Angela's keys out and is sorting through them. But Angela has a lot of keys.

He tries one, two, three keys on the door lock. None of them fit.

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Glasses looks over his shoulder and sees SOME GUY approaching, a big guy carrying a brown paper bag.

Fourth key, nope. Fifth key, nope. *

Glasses notices the Guy, who has just noticed them. *

GLASSES * (low voice) * Incoming. *

Tall Man looks up. The guy is coming toward them, smiling. *

Angela turns her head and squints at the guy.

The guy is the BURLY GUY, the one who has so consistently been watching her from his apartment across the street, the one we'd always assumed was going to try to murder her, but instead he's saving her?

Might as well know his name -- KEVIN walks right up to them, joining the party fearlessly.

He finally gets the proper key in the door, unlocks the lock, and starts to pull the door outward toward them.

Angela, who's been fighting to clear her head, manages to get a word out to Kevin.

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There is a CLICK and a wet SLUICING sound, and Kevin GASPS.

His eyes pop wide and he shoves the brown paper bag at Glasses in reaction --

-- because Glasses has just stabbed him in the side.

Six bottles of beer fall from the bag and SMASH on the sidewalk, going off like hand grenades.

In the momentary distraction, Angela claws her keys out of the Tall Man's hand, shoves him to the side, and lunges through the door.

Kevin, bleeding but conscious, manages to get his body between the Men and Angela, shoving her further inside.

She does.

Angela staggers into the building on unsteady legs and runs across the empty entryway.

Behind her, Kevin puts up futile resistance against Glasses and the Tall Man, who shove him into the building and SLAM the door behind them.

Angela's already gone, onto the staircase.

Angela staggers up the stairs as best she can, headed for her floor.

Up on the fifth floor, the lights on the elevator start moving up from the lobby, now to the first floor, now the second.

But Angela staggers out of the staircase ahead of it and races down the hall to her apartment, number 5F.

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She unlocks the locks with a practiced hand. No key confusion for her, that one goes in the top, this one in the second --

-- elevator's on four --

-- this one in the third, that one in the doorknob --

-- the elevator BINGS on five --

-- Angela throws open the door --

-- the Tall Man barrels out of the elevator, leaving Glasses inside with the bleeding neighborhood hero --

-- and Angela spins into her apartment, SLAMMING the door behind her just before Tall Man gets there.

She SNAP SNAP SNAPS three locks and turns the key in the bottom one for good measure.

She takes two steps back from the door, breathing hard.

AND A GLOVED HAND CLAMPS DOWN OVER HER MOUTH.

Oh fuck, what now?! Angela fights and turns.

Antonio Rivas is behind her. Here's another thing we learn about Rivas -- he is enormously strong.

He hurls Angela onto the couch, which she hits with a THUD.

He pulls a handgun with a muzzle suppressor from a holster inside his coat and points it at her.

He backs up to the door, flick flick flicks the locks, and opens it. Glasses and the Tall Man hurry inside, supporting a bleeding Kevin between them.

Rivas closes the door and meticulously locks the locks once again. When he gets to the bottom one, the one that locks with the key, he turns it with a CHUNK.

The Tall Man and Glasses pitch Kevin onto the couch next to Angela.

He's clutching his side, holding back the flow of blood, but the wound is bad.

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As an example, he takes a deep, calming breath.

Only a few minutes later. Rivas, the Tall Man, and Glasses are huddled in dark conversation just a few feet away. Rivas has his gun out, and at least one pair of eyes are on the sofa at all times.

ON THE SOFA,

Kevin is slumped next to Angela. She has given him a shirt that was lying over the back of the couch and is holding it to the knife wound in his midsection.

He winces, in a lot of pain.

He nods, and puts his hands on the shirt, holding it in place.

Angela looks around her apartment. Not much hope of anything in here.

She glances over to the windows.

ACROSS THE STREET,

she can see Terry's window, across the street He's just barely visible in it, getting ready to come over for the evening, maybe.

But he might as well be a hundred miles away.

Angela turns back to Kevin. He looks up at her, eyes sad.

He nods to the building across the street.

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Kevin gives up. He's probably going to die, so why bother?

She looks at him -- how does that work?

Rivas comes over to them and sits down on the coffee table, directly in front of them.

He holds up the stick drive that Angela put in her pocket earlier.

Angela looks at Kevin. Whoops. Good point.

Rivas frowns. Angela, whose jaw is clenched, winces and touches her cheek. Rivas notices. He sets the stick drive down so that it's standing on edge on the coffee table.

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Angela doesn't answer. She's grinding her teeth, and they slip, sending a jolt of pain through her jaw. She winces.

Rivas notices.

Using the back of his hand, he SMACKS her lightly on her tender cheek. She HOWLS in pain.

He points to the stick drive again.

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Angela doesn't reply. No, it doesn't.

No answer. He SMACKS her cheek again, harder this time.

Angela just stares at him. She's in blinding pain, but resolute.

Rivas raises a hand, closed fist this time, to hit her again. But then he has a better idea.

He looks over at Kevin --

-- and RIPS the shirt out of his hands.

Kevin HOWLS in pain, and the blood starts to flow again.

Kevin starts to cover his wound with his hands, but Rivas raises the muzzled handgun and points it at his head.

Kevin does.

Blood GURGLES in his wound.

Rivas looks back at Angela and raises an eyebrow. Well?

Rivas gets up and goes to the desk, nodding to the Tall Man to come with.

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The Tall Man and Rivas go over to Angela's desk area.

Glasses stays where he is. They look up at him. He's still got the knife he used on Kevin, which he holds in his gloved right hand.

Over at the desk, Rivas wakes up Angela's computer.

Rivas waves her off.

He types Angela's password into the box and the screen wakes up.

He and Tall Man search the screen and see the file that Angela created earlier.

He drags it to the trash.

Then empties the trash.

Angela winces when she hears the CRUMPLING sound of the computer's trash basket being emptied.

She looks over at Kevin -- any ideas?

But Kevin's very pale, and getting paler as he loses blood.

OVER AT THE DESK,

Rivas and the Tall Man are nearly done.

ON THE COUCH,

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Angela's fighting panic. She turns and looks out the window again, hoping against hope that Terry, across the street, might chance a look over this way and see something he doesn't like.

His lights are on, but he's nowhere to be seen now.

Angela is officially out of moves.

And then --

-- HER COMPUTER PHONE RINGS.

Loud. Completely unexpected.

Everyone in the apartment freezes, no idea what to do for a moment.

Angela's computer screen lights up with an announcement, and the mechanical voice BLARES from the computer's speakers:

Rivas and the Tall Man freeze, unsure what to do.

The Tall Man reaches toward the mouse to decline it, but Rivas slaps his hand away.

OVER ON THE COUCH,

Angela's eyes light up. She speaks in a loud, clear voice:

The blue ring on the Kimi unit lights up.

Rivas's head snaps toward the unit, he realizes what's going on - -

-- the blue ring on the Kimi unit flashes --

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-- and the computer's camera turns on.

The screen blinks and ANGELA'S MOTHER is suddenly looking right at two gloved intruders who are hovering over her daughter's desk.

The Tall Man dives out of camera range, Rivas grabs the computer and flips it over, face down on the desk, yanking the plug out of the back.

But Angela keeps going.

EVERY SINGLE LIGHT IN THE APARTMENT GOES OUT.

The place is suddenly nearly black, lit only by the light from the street and the fading lights of the bulbs.

Angela's not done.

Kimi complies. SUPER ABRASIVE RAP MUSIC blares from hidden speakers.

Kimi does so, and now it's REALLY loud.

Angela moves fast. She flips the coffee table up, into Glasses. The stick drive flies off it and CLATTERS to the floor.

The table itself SMACKS Glasses in the face and he drops the knife he has in his right hand.

He falls back, his glasses broken, and feels around on the floor in the dark, searching for the knife.

Angela rolls off the couch, just as Rivas raises his gun and fires two suppressed-noise GUNSHOTS at the spot where she was.

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CONTINUED: (2)

The shots FOOM into the couch cushion, but Angela's already gone.

She crawls across the floor, fast like a crab, and gets to the front door. She UNLOCKS two of the locks, but when she gets to the third, the one with the key in it, she can't see well enough and it comes out of the lock --

-- CLATTERS to the floor --

-- Angela hears FOOTSTEPS coming, dives out of the way --

-- and Rivas SLAMS into the door, right where she was.

Angela scrambles away again, into the darkness.

Somewhere next door, a NEIGHBOR POUNDS on the wall, SHOUTING, are you fucking kidding with that music?! sort of complaints.

WITH ANGELA,

we see her crawl across the floor. She has the advantage in that she knows the apartment, and she uses it now.

She scurries around a corner and into a short hallway, a hallway we've seen before. She opens a door there and darts through it.

She comes into the equipment closet we saw her working in earlier.

She looks up. There's an air vent overhead, the one through which all her cables are strung.

Back in the living room, Rivas has found the stereo equipment that's blasting the music.

He RIPS it out of a bookcase, TEARING cables left and right, and the music shuts off.

For a moment, it's just the POUNDING on the neighbor's wall, some residual SHOUTS of resentment --

-- and then that stops too.

Everything is quiet.

Rivas listens.

Above, he hears a SCUFFLING sound. He looks up.

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We follow his gaze, moving upward, off his face, rising higher, right up to the ceiling, then through the ceiling --

-- and into the ductwork above.

Angela is up here, in a crawl space that's about three feet high, lined with cable and other wiring.

She's crawling through it, as quietly as possible, toward a light that's shining at the other end.

It's not far, and it seems to open up into another space, this one above the ductwork. She can get out through there, we think.

Angela slides herself along quickly, silently, until --

-- TWO BULLETHOLES RIP THROUGH THE FALSE CEILING IN FRONT OF HER.

She SHRIEKS in surprise, and dust and light blast up from underneath.

She crawls, fast as she can now.

THREE MORE BULLETHOLES open up around her as she goes, that last one is right between the fingers of her right hand, but it mercifully misses her.

She reaches the light, it's a three foot square that's hanging open in the top of the ductwork, cables dangling through it.

She climbs up into it.

Angela wriggles out of the hole in the ductwork, and finds she's now in the apartment just overhead.

It's the apartment that's being remodeled, the one Marcos has been working on. There are open walls, and half a hardwood floor that's been laid.

No wonder the noise was so loud during the day, there's construction equipment everywhere.

Angela goes to the edge of the half-finished flooring and finds one tool in particular, the size of a drill.

She picks it up, her eyes alight. In this light, we can’t tell exactly what it is.

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But Angela seems to know. She presses it on the floor and pulls a trigger. It KA-THUNKS.

She thinks. She looks around, searching for something. She sees a roll of duct tape, drops the tool, and picks up the tape. She RIPS a long strip off.

Terry Hughes, dressed for a date, comes out of his apartment and starts across the street to Angela's building.

He reaches her door, is about to buzz her buzzer --

-- and then CURSES and turns around.

He heads back to his own apartment. Forgot something.

Back in Angela's apartment, Rivas has found the short hallway, and the half-open door to the equipment closet.

He looks up and sees the ceiling grate is shoved aside.

The Tall Man comes running.

Being tall, he leaps up, gets a hold of the edge of the ceiling, and starts to pull himself up into the duct, kicking shelves over as he goes.

IN THE LIVING ROOM,

Glasses is still standing at the edge of the couch.

He seems to have completely forgotten about Kevin, the bloody dude on the couch.

But Kevin hasn't forgotten about him. He looks down, and in a shaft of light on the floor he sees the knife that Glasses dropped, the one he stabbed him with.

Kevin puts a foot on it and slides it closer to himself.

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Rivas has his gun out, pointed upwards, as the Tall Man climbs the rest of the way up, into the ductwork.

His feet just disappear into the ceiling, when there is the strangest THWOMP sound --

-- AND HE FALLS BACK OUT OF IT.

The Tall Man's body SLAMS into the floor at Rivas's feet, dropping like a sack of wet cement.

Rivas SHOUTS, rolls him over on his back, and sees what killed him.

There is a ten-penny nail in the middle of his forehead.

One SLAMS into the dead man's chest, but the second hits Rivas in the back of his non-gun hand.

He stands, SCREAMING in pain, and raises his gun toward the ceiling, where Angela is in the opening, a compressed air nail gun in her hand. She’s wrapped a layer of duct tape around the safety mechanism, to pin it back and make a weapon out of the thing.

Rivas aims, but Angela FIRES AGAIN, and he has to retreat around the corner.

IN THE LIVING ROOM,

Glasses, distracted by the SCREAMING, has taken his eyes off Kevin.

Which is a terrible idea.

Kevin scoops up the knife from the floor, flips it over in his hand, and JAMS it up into Glasses's chest.

Glasses looks at him in shock, momentarily confused.

He looks down -- what is this and why is it in my chest?

IN THE EQUIPMENT CLOSET,

Rivas backs the hell out of there, cradling his injured hand.

He staggers back toward the living room.

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Angela drops the nail gun to the floor below, swings herself down, out of the closet, and lands, catlike, next to it.

She picks it up and goes after Rivas.

Glasses is a hell of a lot tougher than we maybe gave him credit for.

He DRAGS THE KNIFE out of his own chest with a wet SLURPY sound and turns toward Kevin, on the couch.

He raises it --

-- there is a THWUMP from across the room --

-- and a nail WHOOSHES into his neck.

Blood spurts everywhere.

Down goes Glasses.

Rivas appears behind Kevin, cradling his bad hand, shoves the gun up against the back of Kevin's head, and SHOUTS, for Angela’s benefit.

But there is a quick THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP from behind him and he falls, over the back of his couch, a line of three nails diagonally across his back.

Angela, behind him, lowers the nail gun.

She walks forward, to Rivas's still-writhing body.

Eyes dull, she raises the nail gun and THWUMPS a nail into the back of Rivas's head.

That oughta do it.

For a moment, silence.

Finally, softly:

The blue circle at the top of the Kimi unit activates, lighting up the room.

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And the lights go back on.

Angela goes to the couch and leans down, over Kevin. He's weak, but still alive.

She picks up the bloody shirt she gave him earlier and holds it over his midsection.

Kevin nods.

She gets up and limps across the floor.

She bends down, seeing the stick drive that caused all the trouble. She picks it up, wipes a bit of blood off it, and shoves it back in her pocket.

She goes to the front door, finds the key to the bottom lock on the floor, sticks it in the final lock, unlocks it, opens the door --

-- and GASPS.

Terry stands in the doorway, hand raised as if he was about to knock. He carries some flowers in the other hand, must have been what he'd forgotten.

He stops, taking in Angela's condition and seeing the apartment behind her.

There are two DEAD MEN on or about the couch area and a BLOOD- SOAKED NEIGHBOR slumped over, near death himself. It's one hell of a tableau.

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The cavalry has arrived, but the settlers have already saved themselves.

Terry looks back at Angela, unable to speak.

Neither can she, so she falls into his arms.

Daytime. The apartment has been cleaned up, though there are some stains where stains cannot be removed.

The day is bright, sunlight streaming through the windows.

The TV is on, muted as always, and on its screen we see reports, over footage of Brad Hasling being taken out of a shiny corporate headquarters in handcuffs.

The story has a snazzy logo already:

KIMI IS LISTENING!

and

We're on the move, across Angela's apartment, and don't have time for the TV news.

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We see her desktop, cleaned up now. Seems she hasn’t worked in a while.

Her screen is flashing:

Incoming FaceTime call from -- Mom

But Angela’s not there to answer it.

We keep moving, to the bookcase near the windows. Angela's Kimi unit is on top of it, but it's unplugged, the cord wrapped tightly around it.

No more Kimi for her.

We keep moving, to the windows, and pass right through them, similar to the way we came into the place the first time.

Out the open window, we tilt down, so we can see the street below.

We get there just in time to see the front door of the apartment building open and, five stories below us, Angela comes out onto the street.

She pauses, then turns left and starts down the sidewalk.

Angela walks. Outside.

She's dressed for summer and the day is bright and warm.

She walks along the edge of the building, as always, avoiding the open space of the sidewalk.

But as she goes she takes a breath and moves off the wall, more into the middle of the sidewalk. People pass on both sides of her. She's okay with it.

She reaches the corner and smiles.

We see why. Terry is waiting for her, also dressed to go out. And the sun is going down.

Hey, it's a date.

She reaches him and kisses him.

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He looks around, at the late afternoon.

He smiles.

They turn together, and take hands. Oh my God, they're actually going out to dinner?

They walk about thirty feet, till they get to the burrito truck on the corner.

We stay where we are, watching from a distance as they step up to the window and place their orders.

It's progress.