INT. SEDAN (MOVING) - DAY
A high-pitched ELECTRONIC WHINE pierces the cabin.
Outside, a wall of white. The windshield wipers, jury-rigged and mismatched, SMEAR the heavy snow rather than clear it.
SID (30s, sharp features, wearing a worn jacket) grips the steering wheel. Their knuckles are white. They do not blink.
POE (30s, soft-featured, slumped in cracking synth-leather) stares at the dashboard.
Is it supposed to make that noise?
Sid adjusts a knob on a custom-bolted console. The screen flickers with scrolling code.
Define "that noise."
The whine. It’s getting into my teeth.
Auxiliary power converter. It sings when it’s happy. Means the snooper drones think we’re a broken-down grain hauler.
A heavy, guttural CLUNK vibrates through the floorboards.
Poe shifts their feet, looking down at the floor mat.
And that?
Sid’s jaw tightens. They glance at the temperature gauge. The needle hovers in the red.
That’s new. Try not to think about that.
Poe looks out the window. Nothing but grey sky and black jack pine skeletons rushing past.
Poe pokes at a loose thread on their seat, right above a shielded compartment.
We’re moving awfully fast for a broken-down hauler.
Conceptual state. The system sees a flag for maintenance. It creates a processing error. By the time a corp-sec analyst checks the feed, we’re a ghost.
A ghost in a noisy machine.
The CLUNK returns. Louder. Violent.
Ice. Hitting the undercarriage.
Sid’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror. Nothing but swirling snow.
Remember the Regina run? The vat-grown alpacas?
Sid’s grip on the wheel loosens, just a fraction.
One tried to eat my coat.
It liked the texture. You should have been flattered.
The ELECTRONIC WHINE pitches up. A sharp, piercing note.
Sid leans forward. Focus absolute.
Someone’s pinging the highway. Hard.
Poe sits up. The ease vanishes.
Corp-sec?
Broad-spectrum. Shaking the digital tree.
A METALLIC BANG erupts from beneath the car.
The vehicle LURCHES violently to the right.
Sid wrestles the wheel. Hand-over-hand.
The world outside spins. A vortex of black and white.
EXT. HIGHWAY - CONTINUOUS
The sedan FISHTAILS across the ice-slicked asphalt.
It slides sideways, tires SCREAMING against the nothingness.
The car slams to a halt on the shoulder, angled awkwardly.
The engine SPUTTERS. COUGHS. Dies.
INT. SEDAN - CONTINUOUS
Silence. Absolute and heavy.
The only sound is the TICKING of cooling metal and the HISS of snow against glass.
Sid exhales. They flex their fingers off the wheel.
New rule. We’re allowed to think about the clunk now.
Sid taps the console. Red text flashes: CRITICAL FAILURE.
Engine temp critical. Coolant line rupture.
Sid unbuckles. They reach into the back seat for a heavy thermal jacket.
You’re going out there?
Jammer’s on battery. We have thirty minutes before the signal fades. Before we stop being a grain hauler and start being a target.
Sid opens the glove box. They pull out a heavy, blocky PISTOL.
Sid checks the clip. Hands it to Poe.
Cycle the locks every two minutes. Don’t open the door. Not for anyone.
Poe takes the gun. It looks massive in their hands.
Don’t be a hero.
Heroism is for people with better-paying jobs.
Sid opens the door. A BLAST of wind and snow invades the cabin.
Sid steps out. The door slams shut.
Poe is alone.
Poe stares at the pistol. They cycle the locks. CLICK-CLACK.
They wipe a circle of condensation from the window. Nothing but white.
A SHAPE materializes in the snow.
Low. Scuttling. Red lights blinking.
A DRONE. Four-legged. Animalistic.
Poe freezes. They raise the pistol, hands shaking.
The drone stops. Its optical sensors rotate, scanning the dead car.
Poe holds their breath.
The drone turns and vanishes back into the storm.
Poe exhales. Shoulders slump.
The passenger door RIPS open.
Sid collapses into the seat, covered in snow. A dark gash on their forehead bleeds sluggishly.
Sid!
Sid slams the door. They gasp for air, teeth chattering.
Not a heat shield. Not ice.
Sid looks at Poe. Terror in their eyes.
Magnetic limpet. A tracker. It snagged the brake line when it detached.
A tracker? Since when?
Since the city. They knew. They let us get out here.
Sid jams a finger onto the start button.
The engine WHIRRS. CATCHES. It idles rough and angry.
I bypassed the brake line. It’s sluggish, but we move.
Sid shifts gears. The car crawls back onto the road.
The jammer. Shut it off. Save power.
No. If we go dark now, it confirms we’re here.
Sid drives. The console shows battery at 15%.
Through the windshield, the snow swirls in hypnotic patterns.
A LIGHT appears ahead.
Not the warm glow of a town.
A single, pulsing RED LIGHT. Suspended in the middle of the nothingness.
Sid lifts their foot off the gas.
The light resolves. A sleek, black metal BARRICADE blocks the entire highway.
The red light PULSES. Slow. Methodical.
Sid and Poe stare at the blockage.
The road ends here.