EDEN: THE GENESIS PROTOCOL

EDEN: THE GENESIS PROTOCOL

EPISODE ONE

Starting point

Written by Oluwalonimi Gideon

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

* * * * *

AN ALLEYWAY — NIGHT — THE PAST

(The frame opens grainy. Sepia-toned at the edges.

Cobblestone streets glisten under flickering gas-lit

lampposts. Not medieval — just a world one generation

behind. The air smells like kerosene and old rain. A man —

HENRY DAKA, late 40s, broad-shouldered, shirt torn at the

collar — sprints desperately through a narrow alleyway,

knocking a metal bin flying as he goes. He breathes the way

people breathe when they know death has already looked

up their address.)

(He rounds a corner, slams his back against a brick wall,

presses himself flat. His chest heaves. He squeezes his

eyes shut for exactly one second — a man gathering

whatever remains of himself. He peeks around the corner.

Two silhouettes moving fast through the lamplight. Getting

closer. He bolts again.)

(A sharp CRACK splits the night. A gunshot. Henry

stumbles, grabs his lower back, drops hard onto one knee.

The pain is enormous. But he does not stop. He falls to his

hands and knees and crawls forward, dragging himself

across the wet cobblestones, leaving a dark trail behind him.

His fingers claw at the ground. He is not ready to die.)

(Footsteps close in. Heavy. Deliberate. The footsteps of men

who know the chase is over. A boot swings and connects with Henry's jaw — a sickening crack. He rolls onto his back,

staring up at the lamplight, blood pooling at the corner of his

mouth. One eye already swelling shut. He breathes in short,

ragged pulls.)

(A large man steps over him and crouches down. This is the

ATTACKER — thick jaw, dead eyes, a long scar running

from his left ear to his chin. His face is fully visible. He is not

hiding. Men at the top of certain organisations never hide

their faces. He studies Henry the way a man studies a

broken watch — mildly curious, mostly done with it. He

exhales slowly through his nose.)

ATTACKER: (exhales, almost admiringly) Man... you are a

tough one. I will give you that.

(He tilts his head. Brings his face close to Henry's. Almost

gentle.)

ATTACKER: (quietly) Your wife... and the little boy... they

are at home. Waiting for you.

(He lets that sit. Watches Henry feel it. Then stands slowly,

raises his revolver.)

ATTACKER: (pressing the barrel against Henry's chest) But

you tried to mess with our boss. No one does that.

(He fires. Once. Henry's body jolts and goes completely still.

The Attacker looks down at him for a long moment — then,

almost leisurely, sits down on Henry's chest. Like a throne.

He produces a cigarette, lights it. The lamplight catches the

smoke curling upward into the dark, indifferent sky.)

(The Attacker sits over Henry Daka, cigarette in hand, the lamplight catching the scar on his cheek. Henry's mouth moves — barely. The Attacker leans down. Not mercy. Just the instinct of a man who wants to know if there is anything left to take. Henry's voice is almost nothing. But one word arrives. The Attacker's expression shifts — the cigarette stops halfway to his lips. Not satisfaction. Something colder. Recognition. The word is not a name. It is not a threat. It sounds, in Henry's ruined voice, like the name of a place he was always trying to return to. The Attacker straightens. His hand goes, briefly, to his jacket pocket — to the small object he keeps there, the one Henry gave him years ago, in a different city, when they were not yet on opposite sides of anything. He looks at it for one second. Puts it back. Stands. Walks. The alleyway behind him goes quiet except for the lamp and the rain.)

SLOW FADE TO BLACK.

(In the darkness — the faint sound of a small boy crying. Far

away at first. Then closer. Then silence. The crying does not

return.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

GREENFIELD HIGH SCHOOL — ROOFTOP —

EARLY MORNING — PRESENT DAY

(The world explodes into color. Vivid. Loud. Modern.

Students flood through the school gates below — laughter,

music bleeding from earphones, a teacher somewhere

yelling at someone for running in the corridor. Life in full,

chaotic motion.)

(On the rooftop, three girls sit along the low pavement wall

like queens surveying territory that technically is not theirs

but functionally is. This is THE PARROTS — Greenfield

High's self-appointed intelligence agency, social

commentary desk, and department of everyone else's

business.)

(JADE — sharp eyes, sharper tongue, always has snacks,

speaks in headlines. TESS — so dramatic she once cried at

a weather forecast and would do it again. MONA — delivers

the most devastating observations in the flattest voice

known to living people.)

(Jade is perched on the ledge with her chin resting on folded

arms, watching the entrance like a hawk with better hair.

Tess lies flat on her back eating a biscuit, staring at the sky.

Mona sits cross-legged with a flask, sipping slowly,

meditating on the sins of others.)

JADE: (narrating below like a sports commentator) Ohhh —

would you look at that. Three-car convoy. Three. Cars. For

one person. For school.

TESS: (bolts upright) Wait, wait — is that a new bag?

JADE: With an entrance like that? It's always a new bag.

TESS: (lies back down, genuinely devastated) I cannot

afford to even look at her. It physically hurts me.

MONA: (without looking up from flask) Her driver is cute

though.

JADE: Mona!

MONA: I am just saying what everyone is thinking.

(Along the road outside, a bus pulls up and a stream of

students climb off, beginning the walk toward the gates.

Among them, ERWIN shuffles along half a step behind

everyone else, eyes barely open, moving more on instinct

than any actual awareness of where he's going.)

JADE: (squinting down) Is that... Erwin?

TESS: (sitting up slightly) Why is he walking like that?

JADE: Like what?

TESS: Like his body is still asleep and just dragging the rest

of him along behind it.

MONA: (without looking up from her flask) Accurate. I have

personally watched him sleep through an entire fire drill.

JADE: That cannot be true.

MONA: I crossed seven rivers to get here this morning.

Seven. One of them was not even supposed to exist

geographically. And he still finds a way to look more tired

than me.

JADE: What does that even mean, the seven rivers thing?

MONA: It means my morning commute is an unsolved

mystery and I do not have the emotional capacity to discuss

it further.

(Tess stares at Mona for a long, sincere moment.)

TESS: I love you, Mona.

MONA: I know.

(In the courtyard below the Parrots' rooftop, partially visible at the edge of the frame — a student leans against the far wall of the school entrance, neither arriving nor departing. Still. Watching the gate with the calm of someone who arrived before everyone else and has no particular interest in being noticed. This is REEF. He has been here all year. He will be here all year. Nobody is looking at him. Nobody is not looking at him. He adjusts his bag strap and goes inside.)

(Then — something shifts below. The chatter drops half a

decibel. Then another. Like an invisible hand slowly pulling

the volume down on the entire school. A junior student stops

mid-sentence. Two girls near the stairwell freeze. Even the

teacher who was yelling has stopped yelling. Everyone feels

it before they see it — the way you sense a change in

pressure before the rain arrives.)

(KIM steps through the gate.)

(Everything slows.)

(He moves through the crowd like he has all the time in the

universe and the universe has agreed to this arrangement in

writing. Backpack slung over one shoulder. An easy,

unhurried smile that costs him nothing and means

everything to whoever receives it. His hair has been

arranged, it seems, by this morning's specific breeze — for

this specific entrance. He exchanges a nod with a group of

boys near the fence — effortless, like breathing. Two girls

dissolve into hushed laughter, glancing sideways at him.

Kim does not react. He either has not noticed or has long

since made peace with being the centre of a room he is

simply passing through.)

(The Parrots watch from above. Total silence. Three full

seconds. This is historically unprecedented — three

uninterrupted Parrot seconds have never before been

recorded in the known world.)

TESS: (quietly, almost to herself) There should be a law.

JADE: (also quietly) Yeah.

MONA: (sets her flask down slowly) ...Yeah.

(Near the corridor entrance below, ANNA stands with a

textbook pressed against her chest. She watches Kim the

way people watch things they have memorised but cannot

stop looking at. Something soft and quietly painful lives in

her expression — the look of someone who has rehearsed a

conversation a hundred times in the mirror and knows with

complete certainty they will never say it. She watches until

he disappears through the school doors. Then she exhales

once. And follows.)

(The school BELL rings. Sharp. Loud. Final.)

JADE: (snapping back) Okay! Enough of that. Move.

TESS: (has not moved) I need a moment.

JADE: Tess!

TESS: (gets up slowly, dramatically) Fine. But I want it on

record that today is already entirely too much and it is not

yet eight in the morning.

MONA: (standing, flask tucked away, completely composed)

It is 8:07 AM.

(They disappear down the rooftop stairwell. Below, the

school gates swing shut. The courtyard empties. Greenfield

High swallows them all whole.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

GREENFIELD HIGH — CLASSROOM 4B —

CONTINUOUS

(Students file in noisily, scraping chairs, dropping bags,

continuing conversations that started in the corridor. The

classroom is alive with the particular energy of people who

are present in body only. ANNA takes her seat near the

window. KIM settles two rows across, flashing a quick smile

at ELLIE as he sits — Ellie smiles back, quiet and warm, the

kind of smile that has learned not to ask for anything in

return. PIPER arrives last, deliberately. She drops into the

seat behind Kim, leans forward and says something low

near his ear. Kim laughs. Anna looks at the window.)

(In the third row, ERWIN — a round-faced boy with an

impressive gift for sleeping with his eyes open — is already

somewhere else entirely. He stares at a fixed point on the

board. Nothing registers.)

(The door opens with authority. MR. BANDA — homeroom

teacher, mid-forties, the kind of man who has been teaching

long enough to know exactly which students are already lost

and which ones will surprise him — sets his register on the

desk, surveys the room once, and begins.)

MR. BANDA: (without looking up from register) Good

morning. Sit down properly. Yes, you at the back —

properly.

(Class settles. Mr. Banda begins the lesson — something

about historical trade routes. His voice is steady,

experienced, filling the room with the particular rhythm of a

man who has said these words before and will say them

again.)

(And then — slowly — the classroom begins to blur at the

edges. We are now inside ERWIN'S HEAD.)

(Mr. Banda's voice becomes a low, shapeless hum. The

words lose their meaning, dissolving into background noise

like a radio signal losing its station. The room goes soft and

muffled — sound arriving as if through water.)

(From Erwin's muffled, half-conscious vantage point — the

classroom becomes a silent film of small private disasters:)

(PIPER passes a folded note forward. It travels through

three hands before reaching KIM. Kim reads it under his

desk, smirks, glances back at Piper. ANNA, from the corner

of her eye, sees the exchange. Her pen stops moving. She

writes nothing for a moment. Then continues.)

(Two boys in the back row conduct an elaborate, entirely

silent transaction — a sandwich moves from one bag to

another in exchange for what appears to be a phone

charger. Both are intensely focused. This is serious

business.)

(Near the door — two boys slip in just before Mr. Banda looks up from his desk. The first, MICKEY, enters with the energy of someone who was expected and is mildly surprised the reception isn't warmer. The second, MARK, enters behind him with the expression of someone who knew this would happen and came anyway. They find the last two available seats. Mickey immediately leans toward the nearest student and begins explaining something in a low, urgent voice. The student looks at him. Looks at Mark. Mark gives the student a single slow blink that means: I know. I'm sorry. There is nothing to be done. Mickey continues explaining. This is their natural state and it has always been their natural state and the class absorbs them back in the way the class absorbs things that were always going to return.)

(A girl in the middle row is doing her nails under the desk

with the precision and focus she has clearly never applied to

any academic subject. Her neighbour watches with open

admiration.)

(ELLIE, however, writes. Pages of careful, deliberate notes.

She is the kind of person who pays attention not because

she has to but because she understands that one day

attention will matter. She pauses once, looks at Kim across

the room — just a glance, brief and private — then returns to

her page.)

(Someone in the front row has fallen completely,

unambiguously asleep. Their head drops forward in slow

motion — then jerks back up. They look around wildly.

Nobody was watching. Except everyone was watching.)

(Erwin himself blinks slowly. His pen rests loosely in his

fingers. His notebook is open to a page containing three

words, one doodle of what might be a dog or possibly a

cloud, and nothing else.)

(The muffled hum continues. The classroom drifts. Time

moves sideways. Everything soft and distant and slightly

warm —)

(BANG.)

(Mr. Banda's palm comes down on his desk like a

thunderclap. The entire classroom snaps back to sharp

reality all at once — chairs screeching, heads lifting, the nail

girl nearly knocking over her polish, the sleeping student in

the front row launching upright and sending their textbook

crashing to the floor. Total, immediate silence.)

MR. BANDA: (surveying the room slowly, letting the silence

do its work) Wonderful. You are all awake. What a novelty.

(He straightens, clasps his hands behind his back. His tone

shifts — still authoritative, but carrying something new.) Anannouncement.

MR. BANDA: Before we continue — I have information that

concerns this class. Next week, this school will be receiving

four transfer students. Two boys and two girls. They will be

joining this homeroom.

(A ripple moves through the class. Murmuring. Glances

exchanged.)

MR. BANDA: (raising one hand, cutting the murmur flat)

They are students like yourselves. I expect this class to

conduct itself accordingly. No theatrics. No unnecessary

attention-seeking. You will treat them as you would wish to

be treated on your first day somewhere unfamiliar.

(He holds the room with his eyes for a moment. He has been

teaching long enough to know that exactly none of this

instruction will be followed.)

MR. BANDA: (returning to his notes) Now. Where were we.

Trade routes. Open your books.

(The class obeys. Pages turn. But in the low hum of

returning focus, the murmuring continues in whispers — four

new students, next week, two boys two girls — moving from

desk to desk like a current under still water.)

(PIPER leans forward toward Kim, something sly in her

expression.)

PIPER: (barely above a whisper) Transfer students. How

fun.

(Kim does not answer. He opens his book. But the corner of

his mouth moves — just barely. Somewhere between a

smile and something harder to name.)

(Anna writes her notes. She does not look up.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

GREENFIELD HIGH — SCHOOL CAFETERIA —

BREAK TIME

(The cafeteria is alive with the beautiful, ungoverned chaos

of break time. Students pack every table — talking over

each other, trading food, laughing too loudly about things

that will mean nothing in five years. The queue for food

stretches along the far wall, orderly and patient in the way

that only exists before it is disturbed.)

(ERWIN stands near the middle of the queue, tray in hand,

studying the menu board with the focused expression of a

man making the most important decision of his afternoon.

He is entirely unbothered. Entirely unaware. This is his

natural state and it is about to become a liability.)

(A shift in the room. Not loud — just a change in frequency.

Conversations near the entrance drop a level. Chairs scrape

as people create space without being asked. THE BIG 7

have arrived.)

(KIM leads. Behind him — FINN, broad and watchful, the

crew's quiet edge. BOB, who is already laughing at

something that has not happened yet. DON, who says

nothing and needs to say nothing — his presence

communicates on his behalf. JON, walking half a step too

close to Kim, eager in a way that is almost sad. RUNNER,

hands in pockets, eyes scanning the room at a slight remove

— present in body, elsewhere in conscience. And

PIPSQUEAK — last, unhurried, the name a joke that nobody

who has met him laughs at twice. He is built like a small

building. The queue parts for him on instinct.)

(They walk the full length of the queue without pausing and

position themselves directly at the front. The student who

was first in line — a slight girl with glasses — looks up, looks

at them, looks back down, and takes one careful step aside.

She has done the mathematics and they are not in her

favour.)

BOB: (surveying the queue behind them, grinning) Look at

all these people. Very organised. Very patient.

JON: (nodding vigorously) Very patient. Good for them.

(Kim is not paying attention to the queue. He is looking at

Erwin. Erwin, still staring at the menu board, tray balanced in

both hands, has not yet processed that the social geography

around him has completely changed.)

KIM: (tilting his head, studying Erwin the way someone

studies an insect that has wandered onto their desk) What

are you getting?

(Erwin blinks. Turns. Registers Kim standing beside him. His

brain processes this information slowly.)

ERWIN: (genuinely uncertain) I was thinking the rice or

maybe the—

KIM: (cutting him off cleanly) Move.

(One word. Flat. Final. Not even unkind in tone — just

completely indifferent, the way you speak to an object that is

in the wrong place. Erwin stares at him for a moment.)

ERWIN: (quietly) I was here first though—

(Kim looks at him. Just looks. Does not speak.)

(BOB laughs — a single loud note. DON shifts his weight

forward by two centimetres. That is all it takes. Erwin's tray

lowers. His shoulders follow. He takes one step back. Then

another.)

KIM: (already turning away, completely uninterested) Should

have eaten at home. What do you even do in the morning?

BOB: (loudly, to the general audience of the cafeteria)

Wakes up late and still manages to look like that. Talent.

(Laughter moves through the nearby tables — the nervous

kind, the kind people produce because it is safer to laugh

along than to be noticed not laughing. Erwin stares at his

tray. His jaw is set. His eyes are doing something

complicated that his face is trying very hard not to show.)

KIM: (picking up a food item from the counter, examining it

casually) And fix your uniform. You look like you got dressed

in the dark. Actually — did you? Because that would explain

a lot about you.

(More laughter. JON nearly doubles over. BOB slaps the

counter. FINN allows a short exhale through his nose — the

bare minimum contribution to the performance.)

(RUNNER does not laugh. He looks at the floor. Then at

Erwin. Then back at the floor. His mouth opens slightly —

closes. He says nothing. He never says anything. This is the

thing about Runner that Runner knows and hates.)

(PIPSQUEAK stands at the back of the group with arms

folded, watching the room rather than the spectacle. His

eyes move slowly. Professionally. He is not here for the

entertainment.)

(At a table near the far wall, PIPER sits with two other girls,

watching. She lifts her juice carton to her lips and sips

slowly, the way people sip when they are enjoying

something that has nothing to do with what they are

drinking.)

(At the table beside Piper, ELLIE watches Kim. Her pen is

still in her hand. She is not laughing. She is looking at Kim

the way you look at a word you thought you knew the

meaning of and are no longer sure about.)

(Then — from across the cafeteria — a chair scrapes back.)

(ANNA is on her feet. She does not look like someone who

planned this. She looks like someone whose body moved

before her brain could negotiate. She crosses the cafeteria,

weaving between tables, and stops three feet from Kim. The

nearby tables go quiet first. Then the ones around those.

The quiet spreads outward in a circle.)

ANNA: (voice steady, eyes on Kim) Leave him alone.

(The cafeteria holds its breath. BOB turns around slowly, like

he must have misheard. JON looks at Kim to calibrate his

reaction. DON turns and faces Anna — he does not need to

do anything else. PIPSQUEAK's eyes move to her and stay

there, assessing, unblinking.)

(KIM turns. He looks at Anna for a long moment — the same

flat, measuring look he gave Erwin. Then something shifts

behind his eyes. Not cruelty exactly. Something colder. The

look of a person who has just decided to stop being

amused.)

KIM: (voice rising, filling the cafeteria without effort) Excuse

me? Who asked you? Who called your name? Do you see

your name anywhere in this conversation? Sit down and

mind what belongs to you.

(The words land hard and fast. The cafeteria is completely

silent. Every head is turned. Anna absorbs each word visibly

— her shoulders, her jaw, the set of her hands.)

KIM: (stepping forward slightly, voice dropping but somehow

carrying further) Go. Sit. Down.

(Anna holds his gaze. One second. Two. Something moves

across her face — not defeat exactly. The particular pain of

someone who looked directly at something they loved and

saw it clearly for the first time. Then she looks down. Just

slightly. Just enough.)

(She takes one step back. Then turns. She walks back to

her table without looking at anyone. Her tray goes down too

carefully. She sits. Stares straight ahead.)

(The cafeteria exhales. Conversation slowly, carefully

restarts around the edges. BOB says something to JON and

they both laugh. Kim turns back to the counter like nothing

happened — because for him, nothing did.)

(RUNNER looks at the back of Anna's head from across the

room. Then at Erwin, still standing with his tray, staring at

nothing. Runner's jaw tightens. He picks up his food. He sits

down. He eats. He will think about this later, alone, and it will

not feel good.)

(ELLIE looks at Kim one more time as he laughs at

something Bob says. She looks down at her page. Draws a

single, slow line through the last thing she wrote. Then

closes her notebook.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

GREENFIELD HIGH — SCHOOL ENTRANCE AND

GROUNDS — END OF DAY

(The final bell of the day tears through the building like a

verdict. Doors burst open simultaneously — students pour

out into the afternoon in every direction, the collective exhale

of an institution releasing its people back into the world.)

(Outside the main entrance, the organised chaos of

departure: a row of cars idling along the road, some sleek,

some battered, all waiting. A group of students in fresh

uniforms climb into a minivan — cram school, the evening

shift, second round of studying still ahead of them. Their

faces carry the expression of people who have accepted

their fate and are no longer fighting it. Others join the bus

queue, bags heavy, heading home. Some walk in groups

down the road, loosening ties, finally free.)

(ANNA walks alone. She does not take the bus. She does

not go toward the cars. She walks the road at a steady pace,

bag on her back, looking straight ahead. She has been

walking like this — contained, forward-facing — since she

left the cafeteria.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

GREENFIELD HIGH — ROOFTOP — SAME TIME

(The Parrots are in their usual position. But the energy is

different today. Jade is not narrating. Tess is not lying down.

Mona has not touched her flask. They watch Anna's figure

getting smaller along the road below.)

JADE: (arms folded, jaw tight) I cannot stand him.

TESS: (quietly, genuinely upset) She was just defending

Erwin. That is all she did.

JADE: And he embarrassed her in front of the whole

cafeteria. In front of everyone. Like she was nothing.

(Silence. They watch Anna turn the corner and disappear.)

MONA: (looking down at the road, voice completely flat) And

she still likes him.

(Neither Jade nor Tess says anything. Because there is

nothing to say. Mona has, as usual, located the most painful

truth in the room and placed it on the table without

ceremony.)

TESS: (after a long pause, very quietly) That is the worst

part.

JADE: (uncrossing her arms, suddenly exhausted) Yeah.

(Below, ERWIN emerges from the school entrance alone,

collar slightly askew. He looks left, looks right, then begins

walking in the opposite direction from Anna. Unhurried.

Unbothered. As if the cafeteria was something that

happened to someone else and he was merely a nearby

witness.)

TESS: (watching him) Is he... okay?

MONA: Erwin processes things on a delay. He will be upset

about this on Thursday.

JADE: (despite herself) It is Tuesday.

MONA: I know.

(Tess watches Erwin walk away. Something softens in her

expression — the particular softness of someone who finds

genuine concern arriving uninvited and does not know what

to do with it.)

TESS: (quietly, almost to herself) Someone should check on

them.

JADE: (picking up her bag, standing) Tomorrow. We check

on them tomorrow.

(Mona picks up her flask at last. Takes one slow sip.

Stands.)

MONA: I crossed six rivers on the way home yesterday. I

am prepared for anything.

(They head for the stairwell. The rooftop empties. The

school grounds below thin out — the last students

disappearing in different directions, into different evenings,

different lives. The gates close.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

THE BANG ESTATE — EVENING

(The road leading to the estate is not on any public map that

matters. It is long, private, and lined on both sides with men

who are paid to stand still and notice everything. They stand

at intervals — unhurried, unsmiling, hands loose at their

sides. Not soldiers exactly. Something older than soldiers.

The iron gate at the end of the road does not move quickly

for anyone except the people it was built to move quickly

for.)

(The estate beyond the gate is enormous. Not ostentatious

— there is nothing flashy about it. No fountains. No

unnecessary decoration. Just space, and stone, and the

quiet authority of a place that has never needed to prove

itself. Men move through the grounds with purpose — some

in pairs, some alone — all carrying the posture of people

who work for a man whose name they say carefully.)

(A car pulls through the gate. FINN steps out — school bag,

school uniform, sixteen years old and carrying himself like

someone who has already decided what kind of person he

will be and is still working out how much of it to show. He

walks toward the main entrance without looking at the

guards. They watch him pass. Nobody speaks.)

CUT TO:

* * * * *

THE BANG ESTATE — MAIN HALL —

CONTINUOUS

(The interior is dark wood and high ceilings. Quiet in the way

that powerful places are quiet — not empty, just controlled.

A man stands at the far end of the hall with his back to the

entrance, looking out of a wide window at the grounds

below. He does not turn when Finn enters. He does not

need to.)

(This is BIG BANG — Finn's father. A large man who has

stopped needing to look large because the room shrinks

when he enters it. He is not old. He is seasoned — the way

iron is seasoned. He wears no uniform, carries no visible

weapon, and this somehow makes him more dangerous

than every armed man outside.)

(A long silence. Finn stands. Waits. He has done this

before.)

BIG BANG: (still facing the window, voice low and even, the

voice of a man who does not raise it because he does not

have to) Five boys.

(Finn says nothing.)

BIG BANG: Unconscious. All five. One had to be carried out

on a stretcher.

BIG BANG: You will be transferring. Greenfield High.

Monday morning.

FINN: (a beat, controlled) Greenfield.

BIG BANG: Is there a problem?

(Finn says nothing. There is no problem.)

BIG BANG: (looking back out the window, tone shifting —

not softer, just more purposeful) Get some rest. Tomorrow

you will be briefed. Saturday — you join the night mission.

Be prepared.

(He does not look at Finn again. The conversation, as far as

Big Bang is concerned, is finished. The window has his

attention now. Outside, the guards continue their slow

rotations through the grounds. Business as usual.)

BIG BANG: (quietly, to the window or perhaps to no one)

Dismissed.

(Finn holds his position for one extra breath. Then turns and

walks back toward the corridor. His footsteps are measured.

Even. He rounds the corner and is gone.)

(Big Bang remains at the window. One of his men enters

silently from a side door and stands at a respectful distance,

waiting.)

BIG BANG: (to the man, still looking out) Make sure the

school is ready for him. And tell the others — Saturday

moves as planned.

(The man nods once and leaves as quietly as he arrived. Big

Bang looks out at his estate. His guards. His grounds. His

empire, built on things that do not appear on any public

record.)

(Outside, somewhere past the iron gate and the long road

and the men who stand still and notice everything — the city

continues, completely unaware of what Saturday holds.)

FADE TO BLACK.

EDEN: THE GENESIS PROTOCOL EPISODE ONE

— END OF EPISODE ONE —