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Rated: ASR · Script/Play · Young Adult · #2161508
A suspenseful sci-fi script featuring a young woman who will do anything to buy time...

Sandra (36) is making a hearty breakfast of porridge. She is tall with long black hair which is tied into a messy ponytail as she cooks. She is stirring ingredients such as berries and sugar in a metal bowl and watching television. The kitchen is clean with most surfaces being shiny metals. The television is set to the news channel.

NEWS ANCHOR (Television)

It comes with great sadness to inform you that Mayor Keenan was found dead in his home this morning. His body was found with his shell void of any intel. More updates as we get them.

Sandra quickly mutes the television, her face paling with shock.


Rowan! Come in here breakfast is almost ready.


Two seconds Mom I’m talking to Beth.


Is Beth going to heat up your food when it’s cold? I said now.

Rowan (17) enters the room. She is medium height with blue short hair. She is talking into her phone looking slightly irritated.


Beth I’m going to have to call you back.

Rowan puts away her phone and huffs at her mother. She pulls out a chair by the counter in which Sandra is cooking.

ROWAN (Cont.)
What is it?


Have you seen the news lately? With your head in that thing you think you’d know what’s going on.



Rowan frowns apologetically. She gestures with her hands to continue when she notices her mother’s unamused stare.

SANDRA (Cont.)

Mayor Keenan is dead. These shells are getting worse and worse, how many more innocent people have to die before they are happy?


I don’t know but if you ask me he’s not much of a loss.

Rowan looks to her hand where there is a small square protruding the skin. Its screen says "stable."

ROWAN (Cont.)

It was his idea we got these stupid shells implanted anyway. He got what was coming to him.

Sandra stops her mixing and wipes her hands on her shirt. She approaches her daughter with a serious face.


Rowan take that back, no matter who the person is. No one should experience such-

A loud beeping is sounded from Sandra’s wrist. It is her shell flashing red. The display shows "WARNING: 1 Day Remaining."

Panic builds on both their faces, Sandra’s chest heaves up and down as she starts to hyperventilate. Suddenly Sandra faints.



Rowan is sitting in her dark living room staring at a computer screen. Her face is lit up by the bright computer screen showing it contort from stress to anger, her fingers tapping on the keys in an aggressive fashion.

ROWAN (Angrily)
There’s got to be a way.



She is typing furiously into the internet search bar. Suddenly she comes across a webpage she has never seen before. Images of shells, old and rusted in a trash can fill the computer screen. Bulk text is seen between each graphic image of people attempting to remove the metal object from their arms. Rowan gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth, her eyes watering.

ROWAN (Whispers)
There’s no way I can do that.

Rowan looks from her sleeping mother to her surrounding living room. There are framed photographs of them both throughout her life: multiple birthday’s and achievements. The camera lingers on one particular photograph of her mother, wearing a white wedding dress and kissing a man in a dark suit. By the framed photograph is an old watch which matches the man in the picture.

Her gaze returns to the screen now hardened with determination, written in bold text.

"Kill the host with a stable shell. You must kill the host first in order to deactivate the shell for it to be renewed on another host."

Rowan jolts from her seat, determined. She quietly moves to her mother’s side where she presses a light kiss on her cheek.

ROWAN (Whispers)

Don’t worry mom. Everything will be okay. I promise.


Rowan is standing in the hallway of a much richer house than her own, she is surrounded by crystal chandeliers and glass coffee tables. As she waits she admires the intricate details of the hallway, from porcelain ornaments on dainty little painted end tables to floral metallic framed mirrors. Amongst the framed mirrors are similar framed pictures of Mrs. Richards’ only child Emilia. The little girl is short and cute with blonde curls to her shoulders and wearing pastel clothing.

Mrs. Richards (34) enters the hallway carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. She is clad in a shimmering black gown and earrings bigger than her head.



MRS. RICHARDS Thanks again for agreeing to

babysit little Emilia, I would be lost without you. Jack and his job.. it’s always last minute plans.

Mrs. Richards set the silver tray down on one of the glass tables and gestures for Rowan to take one. Rowan refuses sheepishly explaining she already ate. Rowan takes one of the frames pictures of the little girl and smiles.


Not to worry, little Emilia won’t even notice you are gone.


That’s good. She’s quite a light sleeper. You will have your work cut out. Well I best be off, don’t want to be too late.

Mrs. Richards’ grabs her keys and after fussing over her appearance once more in one of the larger mirrors, leaves the house.

Rowan stands in the hallway still holding the framed picture. Her face is void of emotion as she stares blankly in the mirrors on the wall, her reflection jolts her out of her stupor. She sets down the framed picture on one of the end tables and slowly makes her way to the child’s room.


Rowan is hidden by the shadows of the dark stairwell. The only light is from the moon shining through the satin curtains on the only window. The stairs creak as she continues to venture upwards, her face becoming less apparent.


Emilia’s bedroom door is ajar letting the light of her astrological night light seep into the dark hallway. Rowan’s face is lit up with blue shadows hiding her intentions.


Rowan enters Emilia’s room. The little girl is hidden mostly by pink duvets, only her face can be seen. Her face is angelic and small, her eyes shut as she sleeping peacefully unaware. The room is filled with toys and and a soft lullaby is sang from a music box.



Rowan quickly approaches the bed, keeping her gaze on the child as she grabs the nearest pillow. She takes a deep breath and covers the child’s face. Emilia begins to struggle as she awakens, kicking and clawing at Rowan. The child’s struggle knocks the music box from its place by her bed. The music is abruptly stopped.

Rowan’s jaw clenches with pressure, her eyes beginning to water as Emilia whimpers beneath the pillow. Suddenly Emilia stops kicking and whimpering. She is lifeless under the duvet. Rowan is left alone in the child’s bedroom surrounded by teddy bears and toys. Her hands are trembling as she wipes the stray tears which escaped.

She shakily pulls a knife from her pocket and begins to cut roughly around the shell embedded in the child’s delicate pale skin, blood escaping and dripping onto the white bed sheets.



Rowan is running through the streets as fast as she with a determined look on her face. The blood coated shell is in her hand, her grip increasing the closer she gets to home.

Suddenly a loud beeping is sounded. Rowan stops in her tracks. Shock evident on her face. She looks slowly to her arm and sees her shell flashing red. "WARNING: 1 Day Remaining."

She gasps, trembling with fear. Her hand holding the shell opens and she looks from the small bloodied device to her home in the distance.

Her hand suddenly closes around the shell. She smirks.

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