HACKED

SAINTS ROW
SAMPLE CUTSCENE

For my SAINTS ROW writing test, I envisioned a Heathers-style gang of mean girl influencers making bank off their prescribed Adderall… amongst other things.

INT. SAINTS PENTHOUSE - DAY

The SAINTS chill in the penthouse HQ. 

Various BOTS wander the penthouse, serving food and drinks, cleaning up, and patrolling entrances, exits, windows, and outside. 

PIERCE sits sideways on a chair, whistling through his teeth while scrolling through hot MugShot babes. A bot brings him a sandwich. 

ZINJAI snores as he naps on a floatie in the pool. SHAUNDI and GAT sit on the couch playing “Agents of Mayhem” on a console. 

ZIMOS bangs on the elevator door to no avail.

ZIMOS  (irritated)

Elevator! Open!

The elevator opens. The boss stomps out of it, looking at his/her phone in a rage. Zimos hustles into the elevator and the doors close.

BOSS

This is the second week our dealers came back fully stocked. What the hell is going on, Pierce?

INT. THE CLIQUE’S CONTROL ROOM - DAY

Pierce as seen on a monitor, through the fisheye cam of a bot. His hand looms large as he snatches the proffered sandwich and takes a bite.

PIERCE (with mouth full)

Lately, everyone’s hypin’ on Scrip, that product coming outta the Gate.

Pierce chokes and sputters.

PIERCE (angry)

This shit again? I don’t eat no ham and eggs. Damn bots tryna kill me with this cholesterol.

The sandwich splats across the screen as Pierce throws it at the bot.

Off-monitor - a door opens, and we cam up on VAL: high heels, legs, strap with a designer pistol on the thigh, plaid uniform skirt, shopping bags hanging off one arm and a purse with the fluffy FIFI inside, then the button-down blouse, matching plaid jacket, and finally her face. She holds a phone in one hand but speaks on the wireless earbud pressed into her ears. 

VAL (into phone)

If you get less than 1200 on your SAT, you’re out. The Clique isn’t for losers.

HASHTAG, a cute bot, approaches with arms outstretched. 

VAL (into phone)

I don’t care how many followers you have. Lose my number, honey.

HASHTAG

Greetings, Val. May I take your bags?

Val taps her earbud to hang up, delivers her shopping bags onto Hashtag’s arm, then smooches his forehead. 

VAL (as if to a puppy)

Good bot.

Val walks past Hashtag and through a well-appointed control room and sits on a white leather couch with perfect posture. FIFI jumps out of the purse and into her lap and gets petted.

VAL

You patched into Saints headquarters?

Monitors line one wall of the control room, all displaying the view through the Saint’s bots’ cams. PROXY, also in uniform, sits on a couch under a chandelier, collectible sneakers propped up on a glass coffee table, phone outstretched, taking selfies with duck lips. HAX sits at a desk cross-legged, tapping on a keyboard, wearing her uniform with knee-high Doc Martens, leggings, and big headphones.

HAX

Way too easy. Boring-easy. I mean, their passwords are their birthdays.

Another monitor, another Saint’s BOT’S cam, this time focused on the BOSS.

BOSS

...coming with me to knock some heads together. I want names. I want heads. I want this Scrip shit. And I want buttons back in this goddamn penthouse. Elevator! Garage!

Through the elevator cam, we see the light comes on, showing ZIMOS standing alone inside. The panels light up and the elevator moves. 

ZIMOS

Stupid fucking elevator.

There’s a white flash as PROXY takes another selfie.

PROXY

It’s so sad how they treat their bots.

VAL

Shall we give them a lesson in civility, ladies?

/end