The crowd starts filming. Cellphones and the occasional DSLR raised up, jostling for the best shot. The Man bears up under it well, not giving the jeering mob the satisfaction of reacting as they taunt and film him.
SOCIAL FEED A.I.
Blinq reminder: Level 1 sanction authorizes non-lethal behavior only. #publicjunk permit recording and distribution of still and video images–
CASSIE
No. No, I can’t…
The man stands there and takes it. It’s almost noble.
CASSIE
I can’t. Can’t do this.. Please, let me…
She pushes her way through the crowd, desperate, running. She flees the field and we see…
FLASHBACK
The man at the top of the bleachers takes off his glasses and…
FLASHBACK
A Black man’s hand tucks a different pair of glasses into a different shirt pocket. Same motion; different man.
Cassie shoves her way out of the field, leans against a lamppost, breathing hard. The roar of the crowd pummels her. She’s near breaking, tears in her eyes.
CASSIE
Damn it! Damn it!
EXT. CITY STREET — LATER
Cassie wanders down the street, hands jammed in her pockets. She’s moody, sullen. At a beautiful apartment building, she stops, tugs at the door. Frustrated, she buzzes a unit.
CASSIE
Mom? Mom, the smartlock isn’t working again.
MALE VOICE
(from buzzer)
Mom? What the fuck?
CASSIE
Shit!
EXT. DIFFERENT STREET — MUCH LATER
Cassie hops off a city bus in more rundown, less impressive neighborhood. There’s a late-model car parked just down the street. Two men inside. She doesn’t notice it, but we do…and they notice her.
She troops up the steps of a shabby apartment building and goes inside.
INT. MCKINNEY APARTMENT — MINUTES LATER
It’s a smallish apartment with that just-moved-in look to it. It’s not that there are boxes piled around, but it just doesn’t look LIVED IN yet. Cassie comes in through the door.
RACHEL (O.S.)
Cass? That you?
CASSIE
Yeah, mom.
RACHEL (O.S.)
You’re late.
Coming around the corner now, RACHEL MCKINNEY (40, white), perma-exhausted. She’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that says “Veni. Vidi. Dormivi.” She’s pissed.
CASSIE
Not really.
RACHEL
Really. But I guess you had better things to do.
She produces a tablet that shows drone-level footage of the mob Cassie was in. And, yeah, there’s Cassie, too tall to miss.
RACHEL
We talked about this. You’re not supposed to be participating in this garbage.
CASSIE
Whatever.
RACHEL
Didn’t I disable the Hive alerts on your account?
CASSIE
(barely suppressing laughter)
Oh, please.
She brushes past her mother and into the apartment.
RACHEL
Your father taught you too well… (catching up) Where do you think you’re going?
CASSIE
To my room. Am I still allowed to do that?
INT. CASSIE’S ROOM — CONTINUOUS
SLAM! She slams the door once she’s inside. The bed’s unmade. It’s cramped as hell in here — piles of unorganized clothes and all kinds of wires, cables, components. There’s a tiny desk squeezed up against the wall with three — count ‘em, three — laptops on it. One of them is even functioning; the others are in various stages of disassembled.
She flops onto the bed and glances at her smartwatch.
TEXT from DAD: How’s your day, sweetheart?
CASSIE
It kinda sucks.
As she speaks, the watch transcribes, then sends the text.
TEXT from DAD: Any day you can walk away from is a good one, right?
Cassie groans. After a moment, she softens.
CASSIE
I miss you.
The watch sends it off.
TEXT from DAD: I miss you and I love you, my girl.
She stifles tears. Grabs her pillow and holds it over her face to scream into it.
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