Screenplay / Once Upon Scene 6

INT. WAREHOUSE, MANCHESTER-DAY The van reverses in and stops. The door is pulled closed by a shady character. The two hooded figures pull tom out of the van. People are shrink-wrapping pallets of computer CPU’s. The people pull their hoodies over their faces and face away from Tom. The place is very unfriendly. DVDs are being produced on multiple burners. Covers are being printed and boxes are piled up. A white powder is being mixed with dried baby milk- cocaine, and, in a nearby vat, another white powder is mixed with a liquid into a fully plasticised mass- C4 plastic explosive. In the corner of the warehouse lies a computer and sophisticated laminator, churning out countless forged passports. An exhausted Chinese woman has been stapling them together – presumably for hours, from the pile next to her. A forklift truck drops off a pallet, stacked high with Lucozade-style sports drinks. The floor is scattered with empty sports drink bottles. Two men, CROWBAR 1 and CROWBAR 2, use their tools to open a wooden box. When the lid comes off they back away from the smell. They drag out a Chinese man: exhausted, terrified. He’s wearing only underwear, soaked in urine. CROWBAR 1 holds a water bottle to his mouth while he eagerly drinks. CROWBAR 2 lifts an arm out of the box and checks the pulse. He makes a cutthroat gesture- “dead”. HOODED MAN You try getting from Hull to Manchester in economy class. The voice is familiar. Tom is staring at the floor, too shaken to look up. The hood appears in the man’s hand, down at Tom’s eyelevel. Tom looks up. It’s Dave. Tony’s stood behind him. Tom laughs quietly to himself. He has absolutely no idea what is going on. DAVE nods to someone who is wheeling in a very expensive wide screen, flat screen TV, freshly out of the box. It is plugged in and is showing a news channel. The text bar at the bottom of the screen reads, “TERROR IN MANCHESTER” The PRESENTER Ad-libs as the news comes in. PRESENTER And- we’re getting reports of further bombings in Manchester, this time in a Geno-Urinary Medicine clinic- A GUM clinic for sexual health… Tom’s eyes move; he’s thinking. SILENT FLASHBACKS play over PRESENTER’s voice TOM entering the Job Centre Job Centre blowing up behind him (Sound with next shot) TOM entering GUM clinic with envelope. Many small things are rolling around in it. PRESENTER (CONT) I’m being told to warn you that you may find these images disturbing. This is an apparent terrorist attack in Manchester. The text bar stays on screen but the news feed cuts to Silent CCTV FOOTAGE of the GUM clinic we saw Tom visit earlier. A briefcase is handed over to a very nervous looking SCALLY GIRL: young, bland, stripy jumper, three earrings per ear, acne, and androgynous- looking. As she opens the case the lid rips itself back and what look like long building nails fly out. Around five of them hit the girl. One is embedded in the wall near the camera, so we can see what it is. People fall to the floor, crouched, writhing. Some have already stopped moving. TOM is drained by guilt. He looks as if he’s going to vomit. DAVE puts newspaper clippings on the floor in front of him. “BRITISH STI RATES HIGHEST IN EUROPE” “DIVORCE RATE HIGHEST IN EUROPE” “OBESE CHILDREN WILL DIE BEFORE THEIR PARENTS” “HOW 1.7M EXTRA JOBLESS ARE KEPT HIDDEN” “UK-15 MILLION COMPLAINTS A YEAR” “POPULATION HITS 60 MILLION” “STORAGE CENTRES DOUBLE- HAS OUR DESIRE TO POSSESS GONE TOO FAR?” “TEACHERS TOLD TO STOP TEACHING TOTS” “HOME SCHOOLING OUR ONLY OPTION”, SAY DISILLUSIONED PARENTS DAVE I have an apology to make, mate. All that about graduate initiative, testing your abilities, handling finance… All bollocks. Oh, and the premier customers- they were just randomers, told to open the briefcase in the presence of a manager, with witnesses. I heard that CD. I had to tell you something though. This country just needed a kick up the arse. And you’re the one who got to put the boot in. I’d be fucking proud mate. TOM (V/O) I was until the bombs went off. Now I’m anything but. DAVE We needed to send a message out to the government. Sort your shit out. Fast. So Devant came up with a great idea. Draw attention to every area of life that needs a makeover by bombing the fuck out of them. People die. The government finally gets off its arse and does something. It’s Saturday, Tom. Do you think anyone would have given a fuck if it was a Wednesday morning and there were about two people in that storage centre? Serves people right buying stuff they blatantly don’t use. Otherwise, why would they be there? Have you got clap, Tom? TONY smiles, looks away. TOM Watch. Your fucking. Mouth. DAVE You don’t have to answer. DAVE picks up the article “BRITISH STI RATES HIGHEST IN EUROPE” DAVE One in ten young people have though. One in eight girls. We’re going to end up with a country of fucking infertile slags. And what have the government given us? Some fucking hellhole clinics that make Abu Ghraib look like the fucking… Playboy mansion. Trust me, I’ve been there. TONY The clinic, I think he means. DAVE holds up the next article. “CHILDREN WILL DIE BEFORE THEIR PARENTS- Fast food culture killing the young” The article includes a picture of the “Happy Snapper” meal, along with grave “nutritional information”. DAVE I think now parents will find it much easier to discourage their kids from eating in places like this, don’t you? TOM Oh, don’t show me… DAVE A quick history lesson for you. About 800 AD. Thousands of Vikings flood Britain from Scandinavia. They rape and murder thousands. DAVE pretends he’s on the phone. DAVE Hi. Customer service? Yeah, er, I’ve just had my cottage burned down by Nordic invaders and my wife is being raped as we speak- (to imaginary wife) DAVE Honey, can you keep the noise down please- (to imaginary customer service rep) Sorry mate. So yeah, can I get some compo for this, do you reckon? My wife could do with some counselling too, mind if I get this free out of taxpayer’s money? DAVE drops the act. DAVE We didn’t need pampering before. The government need to sort themselves out, and most of all- the people do too! They need to take some responsibility and stop being such fucking hypochondriacs. Fifteen million people made official complaints last year. That’s a quarter of the country paying premium rate just to moan at someone. TONY leans on the van. DAVE sits next to TOM on a pile of boxed DVD recorders. Drops voice. DAVE The general idea, Tom, is that fucking proletarian knobheads don’t know how good they’ve had it. When this is all over- and no, it’s not over yet- they’ll be grateful for what they’ve got. TONY Once the government sees how bad we’ve made everything, they’ll have to fix the problems. They’ll stop wasting money on fucking… Tony picks up another news article and checks it TONY (Cont) Pan pipe players in NHS waiting rooms and start giving us some extra hospital beds. DAVE My Grandma died of MRSA on a hospital floor ‘cause there were no beds to put her in. Can you believe that? The fucking cunts. Moving on. How long has Thailand been a third-world country, Tom? This is all just washing over Tom now. He answers quietly. TOM I don’t know. TONY As long as I can remember. TONY walks off. DAVE Exactly. When did people actually start giving a fuck? After the Boxing Day Tsunami. Two hundred and twenty five thousand people died then. People know about them now. Nobody dies; nobody cares. Speaking of far-eastern issues, is Yan-yan still alive? Tom shrugs, bewildered. Thinks. TOM How do I contact Devant? DAVE (not looking up from sheet) You don’t contact Devant, he contacts you. TOM (cutting him off) Don’t give me that SHIT. DAVE (standing ground) You’ll have to wait, Tom. There’s something else you need to know. TOM Tell me everything, and do not fucking lie to me Dave, I’m getting sick of this. DAVE How many jobs fairs have you been to? TOM (impatient) I don’t know, Dave. DAVE Quite a few? Tom nods. DAVE How many jobs have you got out of them? Other than this one. Pause. DAVE I’m guessing none. Nobody gets work at Jobs fairs, Tom. They’re just adverts for the companies with the managers presenting them. I heard some of them even hold interviews just to cover their tracks! The only person hiring is Devant. He doesn’t want to go and pick someone off the street ‘cause he would NEVER get what he wants. And they probably wouldn’t have had a CV on them anyway. I couldn’t have told you earlier ‘cause you wouldn’t have made the deliveries. There are graduates all over the country that got the same offer. Although why the hell everything only happened in Manchester, I don’t know. TOM I just wasted a year of my life going to those fucking places. DAVE You’re not wasting time now, Tom. You’re making good use of it. DAVE pulls out another piece of paper from a pocket. It’s the CV Tom gave to Devant. DAVE Thomas Charnock BA Hons. Thirty-one West St Bolton. Degree in media production. Dissertation- Society, Film and Censorship. “Do films reflect society? Does the news reflect it better? What is being hidden from us?” (Pause) I bet you wish you’d had this job before you wrote that essay… When Devant found you he knew this campaign would work out. You were perfect for it. (Shouts) Tom Charnock, the Manchester bomber, everyone, WHOO! Dave claps. People glance nervously at Tom, then get on with their criminal work. Tom sits still, nervous. DAVE Look at what they’re doing, Tom. No one’s gonna grass. Dave claps his hands; rubs them together DAVE But- Time waits for no man. You’ll get over all this. It costs a fortune pulling off a stunt like you did today. That’s why we need to bring a bit more in. Dave walks over to a cardboard box, pulls out a DVD in a plastic wallet and Frisbees it to Tom. DAVE Her y’are, the world is yours. Have a complimentary copy of Scarface. I need you to help me make these. It’s a piece of piss. Low overheads, no competition. Devant gets his share, but even after that we’ll still be raking it in. And- and- there’s a lot of scared people out there. When people see the motives behind the bombs, they’ll presume they’re the next target. They need- Dave reels off on fingers- DAVE Protection rackets, arms dealing, espionage- Dave points over his shoulder at the stall. Speaks quietly. DAVE Between you and me, we’re pushing these guys out of the market- TOM has heard enough. He stands up. He’s made a decision. He walks over to the men on the stalls, dusting his suit off. DAVE Yeah, you try and walk away from this. See where it gets you. That fourteen grand won’t last you five fucking minutes. TOM (V/O) Uni was rumoured to be a thee-year sex fest. Wrong. We were told we’d get a good chance of a job. Wrong. We were told we’d learn valuable skills. Wrong. Now some cunt-in-a-suit has talked me into this shit. A BALACLAVA WEARING SALESMAN stands behind a stall of plain but sturdy-looking black vests. He is wearing a t-shirt bearing the word- GUNCHESTER In white block caps. His portable radio screeches more updates: RADIO NEWSREADER … Are expecting that there may be hundreds dead. Just to reiterate, one two four Newberry Street, the building that houses Manchester’s Local Education Authority, has been razed to the ground as part of an apparent terrorist campaign. GUNCHESTER MAN (strong Manchester accent) Check this out mate. GUNCHESTER MAN pulls out a Beretta 92F and throws the garment on the floor. TOM steps back, cautious. The gun is pointed at the garment and GUNCHESTER MAN covers his closest ear with his finger. BANG. A lead smudge is all that can be seen on the surface of the vest. It is otherwise undamaged. People around have gone quiet, their fingers still in their ears. They eye Tom suspiciously. These are dangerous people but they’re still on edge after the bombings. They’ve only just heard about them. GUNCHESTER MAN Spider silk jackets. Straight out of Canada. Fabric’s five times stronger than steel. Twice as tough as Kevlar. Grand a piece. TOM (V/O) Fuck Devant. I must have killed about two hundred people in the last hour. Another one won’t make a blind bit of difference. And anyone else who gets in my way- they can go to the same overcrowded morgue. TOM (V/O) Police couldn’t find me before… FLASHBACK The fight Tom had at uni, seen in the opening credits TOM (V/O) Doubt they’ll find me now. TOM picks up a Beretta 92F and a couple of cartridges and pays for them. DODGY CHAV 1 runs the stall next to GUNCHESTER, selling designer clothes out of bin bags. DODGY CHAV 1 Are you actually selling him that gun? TOM Excuse me? DODGY CHAV 1 ignores Tom, continues DODGY CHAV 1 You know who he is, don’t you? He’s a fucking terrorist mate, look at him. TOM “Look at me?” What the fuck does that mean? GUNCHESTER Yeah right. Whatever. He’s just some yuppie on his lunch break. Tom wasn’t expecting that. TOM Yeah… I’m just covering my back. GUNCHESTER I don’t blame you, mate. I take it you were out there when all this happened? GUNCHESTER indicates the radio. Tom nods. TOM It’s pretty bad. GUNCHESTER How’d you wind up here? TOM What the fuck do you think I’m asking myself? Still, better to be safe than sorry. TOM Pulls out a money clip and hands the whole thing over reluctantly. GUNCHESTER MAN feels the weight of the money and nods. DAVE walks over. DAVE If you go behind Devant’s back he’ll kill you, Tom. TOM PUNCHES DAVE in the face, HARD. He’s got that insanely angry look that we saw in the flashback a few seconds ago. Dodgy Chav 1 backs off. TOM pulls out the gun and points it at TONY, who has already stepped forward. TOM looks so mad that TONY backs down.

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