SCENE 1 INT. SMALL, WINDOWLESS ROOM - NIGHT Ava sits alone at a metal table, illuminated by a single, bare bulb overhead. The walls are gray concrete. On the table is an old rotary phone. SOUND of frantic, static-filled breathing. The phone RINGS—a piercing, antique sound. Ava jumps. She hesitantly picks up the receiver. AVA (Whispering) Hello? CALLER (V.O.) (Calm, synthesized) Hello, Ava. Your remaining time is 17 minutes. AVA (Pleading) Please, I don't know what you want! Why are you doing this? CALLER (V.O.) You failed to complete the sequence. The penalty is due. Do you wish to use your lifeline? AVA A lifeline? What is that? CALLER (V.O.) One final call to one person. It must be a person you trust absolutely. Choose wisely. Ava stares at the phone's rotary dial, her hand hovering over the holes. SCENE 2 INT. SMALL, WINDOWLESS ROOM - MOMENTS LATER SOUND of heavy breathing and a faint, muffled DIAL TONE. Ava has finished dialing a number. She holds the receiver to her ear, shaking. CALLER (V.O.) 15 minutes remaining. The phone on the other end connects. JAKE (V.O.) (Groggy, confused) ...Hello? Ava? It's almost midnight. Where are you? Ava closes her eyes, tears streaming. She opens her mouth to speak, but only a desperate sob escapes. AVA (Choking up) Jake... I— CALLER (V.O.) (Interrupting, stern) Only one sentence is permitted. Use your words carefully. Ava looks up at the bare bulb, a horrifying realization dawning in her eyes. She takes a shaky breath, forcing the words out. AVA (Clear, intense) Jake, the code wasn't numbers; it was the color of the first three words of the oldest message I ever sent you. A flat, electronic BEEP sounds, cutting off the call. CALLER (V.O.) (Slightly amused) Time used. 14 minutes remaining. Your attempt was incomplete. Ava slowly lowers the receiver to the cradle. Her face is pale with dread, yet a tiny spark of defiance flickers in her eyes. AVA (To herself, a cracked whisper) It's up to you now, Jake. FADE TO BLACK.