MOVIE SCRIPT – PART 1 of N (continue seamlessly from MASTER PLAN) --- **Previously in the story…** In Neo-Haven, a near-future megacity, human anxiety has been turned into a traded commodity. An 18-year-old warehouse worker, LIA, lives under a system where debt, illness, and fear are engineered for profit by a transnational landlord class guided by a symbolic AI-entity called SATAN, while ordinary people cling to a quieter symbol of dignity they call GOD. --- ### FADE IN: #### EXT. NEO-HAVEN – DAWN A vast, vertical city. Towers pierce a hazy sky. Giant SKY-SCREENS float like electronic clouds. On them: not weather, but NUMBERS. > “ANXIETY INDEX: 73.2 – BULLISH” > “RED TIER POPULATION: STABLE” > “GLOBAL HEALTH YIELD: OPTIMAL” A soft VOICEOVER – LIA (18). > LIA (V.O.) > They stopped predicting the weather when they realized it didn’t pay. > Now they predict… us. CLOSE ON: a SKY-SCREEN. Numbers drift like storm fronts. A section darkens, flashing: > “MICRO-CORRECTION INBOUND – RED TIER ADJUSTMENT PENDING” The city hums below, unaware. --- #### INT. LIA’S APARTMENT – TOWER 19 – PRE-DAWN A cramped unit. Three beds in one room. A TINY KITCHEN bleeding into a LIVING SPACE. LIA lies awake on a thin mattress, eyes open in the dark. Her WRIST DEVICE glows faintly. A DEBT CLOCK: > “BIRTHLINE BALANCE: 178,203 CREDITS” > The number ticks up by 0.01… 0.01… 0.01… with each faint heartbeat sound. She stares at it. On the wall above her bed: rough SKETCHES – maps of the city, arrows, circles showing “FOOD FLOW,” “HEALTH,” “RISK.” GRANDMA MARA (70s) sleeps on a nearby cot, breathing softly. LIA’s younger brother, TOMI (12), curled on a sofa, hugging a cracked tablet. A faint COUGH from Mara. Lia glances over, worried. Her DEVICE VIBRATES. A notification: > “REMINDER: BASELINE PAYMENT DUE – 04:00” > “FAILURE TO PAY WILL DOWNGRADE YOUR ACCESS.” Lia sighs, quietly slides out of bed. --- #### INT. APARTMENT – KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS Dim light. Lia boils thin porridge on a single burner. The kettle whistles quietly. She opens a cupboard. Almost empty. A single bag of grains, some tea leaves, pills in a blister pack. Mara’s voice, raspy but warm, from the other room. > MARA (O.S.) > Lia? The clock again? Lia answers softly. > LIA > It’s nothing, Buni. Go back to sleep. Mara appears in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket. > MARA > Nothing doesn’t make that face. She shuffles over, peering at the wrist device. CLOSE ON: The DEBT CLOCK and a TINY ICON of a HEART next to it. > MARA (quietly) > They charge too much for a heart. > LIA > Only when it’s still beating. Mara smiles sadly, touches Lia’s cheek. > MARA > There was a time we paid with bread and thanks. Not… numbers. > LIA > That was before they started billing us for being born. A small beat. Mara looks toward the window – a slice of city, cold blue light. > MARA > Remember, child… the numbers don’t know your name. The One Who Remembers you… does. Lia half-smiles, brushes it off. > LIA > Yeah, well, the numbers still evict us. --- #### EXT. TOWER 19 – ROOFTOP – PRE-DAWN Lia steps out onto the rooftop, holding a chipped metal MUG of porridge with one hand and her wrist device with the other. Wind. The city below like circuitry. She taps her device. A payment screen: > “MINIMUM DUE: 340 CREDITS” > “AVAILABLE BALANCE: 355 CREDITS” Her finger hovers over “CONFIRM.” Behind her, the sky-screens flicker. For a split second, the interface GLITCHES – numbers smear into a red pattern that looks almost like a FACE. A distorted WHISPER: > SATAN (V.O., layered mechanical voices) > Just a little more. You can work it off. Lia freezes. Blinks. The normal interface returns. She shakes it off, hits CONFIRM. The DEBT CLOCK drops slightly… then resumes ticking upward, slower. She downs a spoonful of porridge, already rushing. --- #### EXT. TOWER 19 COURTYARD – PRE-DAWN Cracked concrete, dim security lights. Workers in faded jumpsuits stream out. JAY (19), hoodie up, juggling two PHONES and a HEADSET, jogs over to Lia. > JAY > Morning, chief economist of Tower 19. > LIA > I’m demoted. Still can’t make the numbers like me. Jay shows her his phone: three different gig apps open, all with RED NOTIFICATIONS. > JAY > Look. Triple-booked before sunrise. I’m a one-man GDP. His wrist device pings: > “STRESS INDEX: ELEVATED. PRODUCTIVITY POTENTIAL: HIGH. BONUS ELIGIBLE.” Jay grins. > JAY > See? They love me when I’m dying. Lia snorts, shaking her head, but there’s affection there. A shuttle bus pulls up. Doors wheeze open. --- #### INT. WORKER SHUTTLE – MOVING – DAWN Packed. Workers sway as the bus glides along a rail. Screens on the ceiling stream “MORNING MARKET BRIEF.” ON SCREEN: DR. ARIA VOSS (40s), impeccably composed, explains the economy. > ARIA (on screen) > Minor adjustments overnight in Red Tier debt instruments. Nothing to worry about. As always, your participation keeps Neo-Haven stable. Below her, graphics show cartoon figures smiling as arrows go up. A tiny TICKER at the bottom: > “ANXIETY INDEX FUTURES: +3.2%” Lia watches, brow furrowed. She’s noticing. Jay watches too, but more to mock. > JAY > “Nothing to worry about.” First thing anyone says when there’s everything to worry about. The bus passes a SKY-SCREEN outside. For a brief moment, the SKY-SCREEN matches the bus feed perfectly – then LAGS by a fraction of a second, revealing a hidden overlay. Lia catches it: underneath Aria’s face, a red label briefly appears: > “PRODUCT LINE: ANXIETY-DERIVATIVES” Lia blinks. The label vanishes. --- #### EXT. MEGA-WAREHOUSE COMPLEX – DAWN A sprawling, sealed complex. Hundreds of WORKERS funnel into security gates. The building’s side bears a bland slogan: > “FULFILLMENT IS FREEDOM.” Above the entrance, a large SCREEN shows each worker’s DEBT and PRODUCTIVITY SCORES as they pass. LIA steps through a scanner. Her profile appears: > “LIA MIREA, RED TIER. > DEBT: 177,944 CREDITS. > HEALTH YIELD: MODERATE. > COMPLIANCE: HIGH.” A green check. She passes. Jay follows. > “JAY ARMAN, RED TIER. > DEBT: 213,870 CREDITS. > HEALTH YIELD: HIGH. > COMPLIANCE: VARIABLE.” A yellow icon flashes, then turns green with a chirp. > JAY > They love me… but they don’t trust me. > LIA > Maybe they’re not as dumb as they look. They share a quick smile before splitting to their lanes. --- #### INT. WAREHOUSE – MAIN FLOOR – DAY A vast CAVERN of conveyor belts, robotic arms, and human workers. CAMERA glides along: * Workers scan items. * Wrist devices tick. * Overhead SCREENS show “LINE SPEED,” “ERROR RATES,” and a background “ANXIETY HEATMAP” of the workforce. A SUPERVISOR (50s) barks from an elevated platform. > SUPERVISOR > Line Three, your pace is down point five! You want a Red Tier penalty? Lia at her station, scanning boxes with mechanical precision. Her wrist device subtly vibrates with each successful scan. A tiny bar graphs her “FOCUS,” “FATIGUE,” “DEBT OFFSET PER MINUTE.” We HEAR her heartbeat faintly under the machine hum. Her co-worker, ANA (20s), whispers across the belt. > ANA > Heard about the adjustment? > LIA > What adjustment? > ANA > Around dawn. Red Tier. My cousin’s in Block 32. Their rent jumped ten percent overnight. Lia’s scan falters. > LIA > Overnight? A warning flashes on her station: “DELAY – WATCH IT.” > ANA > They call it a micro-correction. Like you correct a spelling mistake. > LIA > Or a human error. They glance up at the SKY-SCREENS visible through the high, narrow windows – numbers swirling like digital storm clouds. --- #### INT. CLINIC – LOWER TIER – DAY Overlapping with warehouse sounds, we CUT TO: NIA (30s), a nurse, weaving through crowded halls. Patients line corridors: coughing, shaking, holding their chests, eyes sunken. A screen above reception: > “TODAY’S PRIMARY DIAGNOSES: > – SLEEP DEFICIT > – CARDIAC STRAIN > – ANXIETY-ADJACENT SYMPTOMS” Nia glances at the stats. She picks up a tablet. It displays: > “PATIENT LOAD: +18% > RED TIER CASES: PRIORITY LOW” A DOCTOR (40s, tired) stops her. > DOCTOR > They updated the triage. Red Tier gets pain management and functional fixes only. No long-term treatments unless… you know. He points subtly upward – meaning “unless someone above says so.” > NIA > They’re getting sicker. We can’t just— The Doctor taps his own wrist device, showing a compliance notice. > DOCTOR > Orders came down from the Stack. We don’t make the rules. We follow them. A distant SCREAM echoes. Nia flinches, hurries away. --- #### INT. CLINIC – EXAM ROOM – MOMENTS LATER Nia examines an older MAN, clutching his chest. > MAN > Feels like someone’s sitting on me. She checks his vital signs. All indicators red. Her tablet flashes: > “RECOMMENDED ACTION: DISCHARGE WITH SEDATIVES.” > “RISK CLASS: ACCEPTABLE (RED TIER).” Nia looks from the tablet to the man. The tablet PINGS, waiting for her input. Two buttons: > “APPROVE SYSTEM DECISION” > “REQUEST EXCEPTION (AUDIT RISK)” Her finger hovers. The man’s eyes, frightened. > MAN > Am I going to die? Nia hesitates. Her own wrist device flashes: > “NON-COMPLIANCE ALERT – 3 SECONDS REMAINING.” She grits her teeth, hits “REQUEST EXCEPTION.” Her device VIBRATES hard. A red warning: > “EXCEPTION DECLINED. RESPONSIBILITY ASSIGNED TO SYSTEM.” The tablet auto-selects “DISCHARGE WITH SEDATIVES.” Nia, helpless, signs. The man is wheeled away. Nia leans back against the wall, shaken. She glances at a hidden FOLDER on her tablet labeled “GHOST NOTES” – secret charts she’s building linking policy shifts to illness spikes. She opens it briefly: graphs connecting “ANXIETY INDEX,” “RENT ADJUSTMENTS,” and “HEART FAILURE (RED TIER).” She looks from graph to the door where the man left. --- #### INT. WAREHOUSE – BREAK ROOM – DAY LUNCH BREAK. Fluorescent lighting. Vending machines with overpriced snacks. Lia sits with Jay and Ana. They each have meager meals. On a WALL-SCREEN: a cheerful ad. > ANNOUNCER (V.O.) > Feeling overwhelmed? Try CALM-LINE, the subscription that turns your stress into opportunity! One low monthly payment, peace of mind included. Happy actors smile, wearing CALM-LINE wristbands. Small print: > “Interest compounds daily. Non-payment may affect your access to essential services.” Jay laughs bitterly. > JAY > Turns your stress into their opportunity, more like. Lia’s eyes are distant. > LIA > Did you see Aria Voss this morning? On the feed? > JAY > The High Priestess of “Nothing To Worry About”? Yeah. > LIA > There was… something under what she said. Like a tag on a product. Ana squints. > ANA > Like the time they rebranded layoffs as “mobility events”? > LIA > Worse. Like we’re… the product. Jay waves a fry. > JAY > Lia, we’ve been the product since birth. You think they gave us those wrist things for fashion? He jangles his device. It pings: > “HEART RATE: HIGH. ENGAGEMENT: EXCELLENT.” > JAY > See? I’m trending. They laugh a little, but there’s tension. The break room lights DIM for a moment. A subtle tone over the intercom: a chime that everyone seems to recognize. Conversations quiet. On the wall-screen, the “ANXIETY INDEX” graph begins to rise slowly, a red line curving upward. > AUTOMATED VOICE (O.S.) > Minor global adjustment underway. Remain calm. Your contribution is appreciated. Lia watches the line. Her own device pings. > “YOUR DISTRICT RISK RATING: INCREASING.” --- #### INT. SYNDICATE TOWER – BOARD CHAMBER – DAY Contrasting environment. Glass, marble, quiet luxury. The city sprawls far below. A circular table around a central HOLOGRAPHIC DISPLAY: a rotating globe with data overlays. At the head, THE CUSTODIAN – seen from behind, silhouette only. DR. ARIA VOSS stands, presenting. Around them: other COUNCIL MEMBERS, faces partially obscured by subtle digital masks. The hologram shows heatmaps of anxiety, debt, and illness. > ARIA > As projected, Red Tier anxiety is leveling. They’ve adapted to current debt loads. Compliance is plateauing. A COUNCILOR gestures. > COUNCILOR > Plateau is death. > ARIA > For markets, yes. She flicks her wrist. The hologram shifts to a 3D graph labeled “ANXIETY-DERIVATIVE YIELDS.” > ARIA (cont’d) > We can trigger a micro-correction. Targeted. A modest rent and baseline adjustment in lower tiers. A twelve to eighteen percent spike in stress should restore volatility and yield. The Custodian’s voice is calm, smooth. > CUSTODIAN > And health outcomes? > ARIA > Predictable. Increased clinic loads. Sleep deficit. Cardiac events. Within insurable ranges. > CUSTODIAN > Acceptable casualties? > ARIA > Within… established tolerance. A beat. Aria’s eyes flicker, just a hint of discomfort. > CUSTODIAN (O.S.) > Then proceed. The markets must feel alive. On a side screen, we see a label: > “PRODUCT: CLEANSING MICRO-EVENT B-23 > UNDERLYING ASSETS: HOUSING, HEALTH, LABOR FEAR.” A junior analyst – KAI (late 20s) – stands at a side console, watching, jaw tight. He discreetly opens a hidden window on his device: a video of crowded clinics, suffering faces. He glances between the two. Aria turns to operations staff. > ARIA > Implement in Red Tier districts 17 through 25. Stagger notifications. The appearance of randomness is… important. --- #### EXT. NEO-HAVEN – VARIOUS – DAY (MONTAGE) A SERIES OF QUICK CUTS as the “MICRO-CORRECTION” ripples across the city: — A single mother at a kiosk buys groceries. Her wrist device flashes RED. > “RENT ADJUSTMENT: +12% > EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.” Her face falls. — A group of teens at a school terminal see their “EDUCATION DEBT PROJECTIONS” suddenly jump. — On a factory floor, wage rates quietly adjust downward by a few decimals on overhead screens. — In Nia’s clinic, notifications flood the system: “RESOURCE SCARCITY ALERT – RED TIER.” — In Lia’s apartment tower, wall-displays in the elevator show a cheerful graphic: > “CONGRATULATIONS! Your district has been selected for a Stability Enhancement.” Numbers silently climb. --- #### INT. WAREHOUSE – MAIN FLOOR – LATE DAY Lia’s wrist device vibrates aggressively. She glances: a new alert. > “TOWER 19: RISK CATEGORY UPGRADE – RED TIER ENHANCED.” > “BASELINE RENT: +15%.” > “NEW MINIMUM PAYMENT DUE: TONIGHT.” Her breath catches. Her scanning rhythm falters. The conveyor belt slows as more workers glance at their devices. Overhead, the Anxiety Heatmap glows BRIGHTER RED. SUPERVISOR steps out, raising his voice. > SUPERVISOR > Phones down, eyes front! You want your access downgraded? He looks at his tablet, where an on-screen prompt appears: > “MOTIVATE WORKERS: > – OPTION A: THREATEN PENALTIES > – OPTION B: OFFER PERFORMANCE LOTTERY” He taps OPTION A. His tablet flashes: > “REMINDER: THE SYSTEM ACCEPTS RESPONSIBILITY FOR ALL OUTCOMES.” He exhales, then leans into the script. > SUPERVISOR (louder) > This isn’t my doing, people. It’s System-level. You keep your pace, you might win a Stabilizer Bonus. Slow down, and the Stack will notice. Workers murmur, anxious. Belts whir faster. Lia looks up at the narrow windows. Outside, the SKY-SCREENS show the ANXIETY INDEX SPIKING sharply. Her stomach twists. --- #### INT. APARTMENT – EVENING Lia bursts in, still in her jumpsuit. Mara sits at the table counting coins and faded PAPER SCRIP – old money, hidden. Tomi plays a game on his tablet: a cute animation of a character jumping over “DEBT LOADS.” > GAME VOICE (O.S.) > Pay or fall! Pay or fall! Lia scans the room. > LIA > Did you get the notice? Mara nods, eyes wet. > MARA > They say the building is… “upgrading.” We must… contribute. She shows a HOLOGRAPHIC NOTICE on the wall: > “TOWER 19 IMPROVEMENT EVENT! > RENT ADJUSTMENT: +15% > FAILURE TO PARTICIPATE MAY RESULT IN RELOCATION TO SUPPORTIVE HOUSING.” “Supportive housing” is clearly code for something worse. > LIA > Relocation where? > MARA > They don’t say. Lia’s wrist device pings with a countdown: > “TIME UNTIL PAYMENT DUE: 05:12:30.” > LIA > Okay. Okay. I’ll pick up an extra shift. Jay might know a night run. Mara grabs her hand. > MARA > You already give them your sleep. If you give them your dreams too… what’s left? Lia pulls away, restless. > LIA > What’s left if they throw us out? She paces, scanning the notice, then her own hand-drawn MAPS on the wall. She starts scribbling over one map, adding arrows: * “RENT UP” * “CLINIC LOAD UP” * “MOOD DOWN” * “MARKET UP” Mara watches her, quietly impressed and worried. > MARA > You’re always drawing their game. > LIA > Maybe if I see the pattern, I can… dodge it. The lights flicker. A citywide announcement tone. --- #### INT. APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS The whole wall lights up with a BROADCAST. DR. ARIA VOSS again, serene. > ARIA (on screen) > Citizens of Neo-Haven, a minor global correction is underway. This is a normal part of maintaining stability. We thank you for your resilience and cooperation. Remember: your trust keeps our world secure. Behind Aria, a graphic: a smiling city, with little hearts floating. Lia watches, eyes narrow. Then it happens again. For a split second, the FEED GLITCHES. The cute hearts are replaced by a red overlay: > “PRODUCT: ANXIETY-DERIVATIVE BUNDLE – ACTIVE.” > “YIELD TARGET: +18%.” Aria’s face flickers, replaced by a WALL OF LEDGERS: rows of names and numbers, including: > “MIREA, LIA – RED TIER – HEALTH YIELD: MODERATE.” > “MIREA, MARA – RED TIER – HEALTH YIELD: LOW.” > “MIREA, TOMI – RED TIER – FUTURE YIELD: HIGH.” A distorted whisper under Aria’s calm voice. > SATAN (V.O.) > You are not people. You are flows. Lia steps closer, transfixed. Tomi looks up from his game, frightened. > TOMI > Lia…? The broadcast snaps back to normal. Aria’s concluding line: > ARIA (on screen) > Together, we make the system work. Together, we prosper. The wall dims. Silence. > MARA (softly) > She lies with such a gentle face. Lia turns to her, shaken. > LIA > I saw… our names. Like we were… inventory. > MARA > That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, child. They don’t worship a god of life up there. > LIA > What do they worship? Mara looks toward the window, where the SKY-SCREENS glow red. > MARA > An idol that eats fear. --- #### EXT. TOWER 19 – COURTYARD – NIGHT Later. Night. Workers gather in clumps. The ATM-like KIOSKS in the courtyard are lit up, each with a line of anxious residents. Signs: > “RENT CORRECTION PAYMENTS HERE.” > “DELAY FEES APPLY IMMEDIATELY.” Lia and Jay stand in line. Jay scrolls through his phones, shaking his head. > JAY > I did four extra runs just to keep us from falling behind. Now they move the finish line. > LIA > That’s the point. Jay glances at her. > JAY > You sound like one of those basement preachers. > LIA > I sound like someone who knows the game is rigged. Her device shows: > “IF YOU CANNOT PAY FULL AMOUNT: > – OPTION A: EXTEND DEBT (HIGHER INTEREST) > – OPTION B: SELL FUTURE HOURS.” Lia scrolls. There’s also: > “OPTION C: SELL HEALTH YIELD – PARTICIPATE IN STUDY.” > JAY > Don’t pick that one. “Study” means they test how much they can break you before you stop working. They reach the kiosk. A HOLOGRAPHIC INTERFACE appears. > KIOSK VOICE > Welcome, LIA MIREA. Thank you for choosing to contribute to Neo-Haven’s stability. OPTIONS float in the air. Lia hesitates. > KIOSK VOICE (cont’d) > Remaining time to comply: 01:37:12. Jay watches, ready to help. > LIA > I can sell some hours. Night shift, warehouse. I’ll sleep on the shuttle. > JAY > Lia— > LIA > It’s that or relocation. Her finger hovers over “SELL FUTURE HOURS.” The interface flickers again. For a brief instant, the friendly UI peels back, revealing a more sinister BACK-END VIEW: code and labels. > “TRANSACTION TYPE: ANXIETY-FUEL ACQUISITION.” > “ESTIMATED STRESS LOAD: HIGH. PROFITABILITY: EXCELLENT.” SATAN’s multi-layered whisper: > SATAN (V.O.) > Yes. Give us your nights. The days will follow. Lia’s breathing shallows. Her hand trembles. > JAY > Lia. Hey. Breathe. She presses the option. The kiosk flashes: > “THANK YOU FOR YOUR SACRIFICE. > YOUR FEAR MAKES US STRONGER.” Then, quickly: > “YOUR EFFORT MAKES US STRONGER.” — like the system corrected itself. Lia steps back, dizzy. --- #### INT. TOWER 19 – APARTMENT – LATE NIGHT Mara sits at the table, candle lit. She hums an old tune quietly. Lia enters, drained. > MARA > Well? > LIA > We’re safe. For now. She drops onto a chair, rubbing her eyes. Mara pours tea – thin but warm. The candlelight softens the room, a contrast to the cold city glare. > MARA > Sit. Drink. I will tell you a story. Lia half-smiles. > LIA > Buni, I’m really tired. > MARA > That is when stories do their best work. Lia relents, cups the tea. Mara begins. > MARA > There was once a village that built a granary big enough for everyone. Every harvest, they filled it together. And when winter came, no one went hungry. Lia listens despite herself. > MARA (cont’d) > But one day, a clever man said, “If I guard the granary, I should take a little extra. For my trouble.” So he did. And then he needed guards for his extra, and those guards… needed extra too. Lia’s eyes droop, but she’s listening. > MARA (cont’d) > Soon, the granary was so well-guarded that the people who grew the grain… were locked outside. The granary was full, but the village was hungry. Lia frowns. > LIA > Why didn’t they just break the door? Mara smiles, sad. > MARA > Because the clever man told them… that the granary was God. That without it, they would all die. And so they prayed to the door… while their children starved. > But God was never the granary. God was in their hands. In the way they planted and shared. They forgot. Lia looks at her own hands, calloused from work. The candlelight flickers warm. The sound of the city outside muffles, softening. For a brief moment, the room feels… different. Safe. The presence of “GOD” – not seen, but felt: a soft hum under the silence. Tomi mumbles in his sleep, smiling slightly. Lia whispers. > LIA > What happened to the village? > MARA > One day, someone remembered. That’s all a miracle ever is. Lia stares at the candle. The flame reflects in her eyes, mixing with faint reflections of city lights. We PUSH IN on the flame… then match-cut to: --- #### INT. SYNDICATE TOWER – SERVER HALL / VIRTUAL SPACE – NIGHT A cold, blue-white space. Rows of SERVER RACKS glow. Data pulses through fiber like blood. Within the digital noise, an ABSTRACT FORM coalesces – a shifting, red pattern of NUMBERS and VOICES: SATAN. Whispers overlapping. > VOICES (V.O.) > Late fees… > Risk profiles… > Non-compliance penalties… > Restructured assets… We glimpse Lia’s profile among countless others as a data point. > SATAN (V.O.) > They pray to doors. > We hold the keys. The ANXIETY INDEX graph rises again. The red glow intensifies. --- #### EXT. NEO-HAVEN – CITYSCAPE – NIGHT The city under a red-tinted sky of screens. Text ripples over the skyline: > “MICRO-CORRECTION IN PROGRESS.” > “THANK YOU FOR YOUR PARTICIPATION.” We hear Lia’s voice once more, over the city. > LIA (V.O.) > They say the crashes are accidents. Corrections. > But what if… the crash is the plan? HOLD on the city – numbers racing. **CUT TO BLACK.** **END OF PART 1.** --- ## VIRAL CLIP IDEAS from this part 1. **Clip 1 – “Paying for Every Heartbeat” (7–10s)** * **Hook line (first second):** Lia (V.O.): “They bill us for breathing.” * **Visual frame:** Close-up of Lia’s wrist device ticking up debt as her heartbeat sound plays. * **On-screen text:** “IMAGINE PAYING FOR EXISTING.” 2. **Clip 2 – “Anxiety Index as Weather” (6–8s)** * **Hook line:** TV announcer: “Minor correction, nothing to worry about.” * **Visual frame:** Sky-screens showing the ANXIETY INDEX rising like a storm while people rush to work. * **On-screen text:** “THEY TRADE YOUR WORRY LIKE STOCKS.” 3. **Clip 3 – “Clinic Non-Choice” (8–12s)** * **Hook line:** Nia whispering: “This isn’t care. It’s triage for profit.” * **Visual frame:** Tablet forcing her to discharge the chest-pain patient, “System responsible for outcomes” flashing. * **On-screen text:** “WHEN ‘THE SYSTEM’ TAKES THE BLAME… WHO SUFFERS?” 4. **Clip 4 – “Granary Story” (10–15s)** * **Hook line:** Mara: “The granary was never God.” * **Visual frame:** Candlelit kitchen, Mara telling the story while Lia’s eyes reflect the flame. * **On-screen text:** “GOD ISN’T THE GRANARY. IT’S THE HANDS THAT SHARE.” 5. **Clip 5 – “Satan in the UI” (5–9s)** * **Hook line:** Distorted whisper: “You are not people. You are flows.” * **Visual frame:** Broadcast glitches showing ledgers with Lia’s family names labeled as “Health Yield.” * **On-screen text:** “IF YOU SAW THE BACK-END OF THE ECONOMY…” --- ## CAROUSEL / COMIC PANEL IDEAS from this part 1. **Carousel 1 – “How the World Now Works” (4–5 slides)** * Slide 1: City under sky-screens – “They don’t show the weather anymore.” * Slide 2: Close-up ANXIETY INDEX ticker – “They show how nervous we are.” * Slide 3: Lia scanning boxes, debt ticking – “Every move chipped away at her future.” * Slide 4: Boardroom with hologram – “Somewhere above, someone called it ‘a minor adjustment.’” * Slide 5: Lia’s face, realizing – “For them, our fear is just a line going up.” 2. **Carousel 2 – “Mara’s Granary Parable” (3–4 slides)** * Slide 1: Simple drawing of villagers filling a granary – “Once, everyone shared one storehouse…” * Slide 2: Guards appearing around the full granary – “Then guards started charging ‘a little extra.’” * Slide 3: Hungry villagers outside a locked door – “Soon the grain was safe, and the people were starving.” * Slide 4: Hands breaking the lock – “The miracle wasn’t magic. It was remembering.” 3. **Carousel 3 – “Micro-Correction” (4–5 slides)** * Slide 1: Cheerful system message: “Stability Enhancement in your district!” * Slide 2: A mother’s rent jumping in real-time. * Slide 3: Clinics overflowing with patients. * Slide 4: Trading floor cheering as Anxiety Index spikes. * Slide 5: Caption: “It’s not a bug. It’s a business model. (Allegory, not real-world claims.)” 4. **Carousel 4 – “Choice That Isn’t a Choice” (3–4 slides)** * Slide 1: Nia’s tablet: “Approve System Decision” vs “Request Exception (Risk).” * Slide 2: Countdown timer forcing her hand. * Slide 3: Patient being wheeled away, Nia’s haunted face. * Slide 4: Text: “When everything is automated, conscience becomes ‘non-compliance.’” 5. **Carousel 5 – “Phones as Chains (Intro)” (3 slides)** * Slide 1: Jay juggling multiple phones, joke caption: “Productivity king.” * Slide 2: Subtle cables from phones starting to wrap around his wrist. * Slide 3: Text: “Sometimes the leash looks like an upgrade.” --- ## SAFEGUARDS (for framing & distribution) * This story is **allegorical**, set in a fictional future city with fictional institutions and a symbolic AI called SATAN representing pure extraction. Emphasize that it’s a metaphor for unhealthy systems, not a claim about any real person, group, or current event. * Avoid naming or hinting at real-world individuals, companies, religions, or secret societies. Use generic terms like “Syndicate,” “Stack,” and “Syndicate Tower” so viewers understand the critique is about *systems* and *behaviors*, not specific real-world targets. * In captions, descriptions, and discussions, frame the narrative around **mental health, structural stress, and solidarity** (how people can redesign systems together), not around conspiratorial thinking or calls for violence. The “enemy” is the logic of extraction, not any real-world community.