THE INTERROGATION

Written by Ryan P. Stark

INT. DARK ROOM A dark room. A single light hanging from a long cord hangs low in the middle of the room. Several MEN IN UNIFORMS surround the area where the light shines. Between the crowd we can see an INTERROGATOR, a towering figure, calmly walking around a PRISONER who kneels on the ground. A loud THUD. The Interrogator smashes his fist into the Prisoners face. The light swings back and forth, scattering the only light in the room. The features of the Prisoner are not clear, but the blood trickling down his face is unmistakable. INTERROGATOR Still got nothing to say? No response. The Interrogator steps out of the circle and nods to one of the SOLDIERS who takes his turn and steps towards the Prisoner. The Soldier slips on a pair of brass knuckles and makes a fist. A repetitive tinging sound rings out each time he lands a blow. The Interrogator jumps back into the circle, intervening. INTERROGATOR (CONTD) Hey, we need him alive...and conscious. He pushes the Soldier aside and bends down to the Prisoner. Closer, his features become clear. He looks familiar. Hard to recognize, but through all the blood and wounds on his face we see that the Prisoner and the Interrogator look exactly the same. The Interrogator grabs the Prisoners face and holds it up to the light to see clearer. INTERROGATOR (CONTD) Amazing. Itd be a shame to ruin those good looks. The Interrogator punches him in the stomach. INTERROGATOR (CONTD) Who are you?

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He nurses his hand and shows signs of discomfort. The continuous blows have taken their toll. INTERROGATOR (CONTD) Get me a towel. The Soldier brings him a towel. He uses it to wipe his neck and face, then his hands. PRISONER You have to let me go. Something very bad is about to happen. The Soldier now brings a battery and wire. Another tool of torture. INTERROGATOR Who sent you? Why were you made to look like me? The Interrogator readies the battery by hooking the wires to it. INTERROGATOR (CONTD) I never liked doing this. PRISONER I never could get used to it.. The Interrogator pauses. He recognizes something in the sound of his voice. A familiar tone reminiscent of his own thoughts. He rips the Prisoners buttoned shirt open, exposing the skin. A faint scar adorns his chest. The Interrogator opens his own shirt to reveal a heavy bandage over the same area. Peeling open the gauze and tape, we see the same wound, only much newer. INTERROGATOR I-I just - Yesterday, this happened yesterday. The Interrogator bewildered. He looks intently into the Prisoners eyes. He knows the answer to the question he has yet to ask. PRISONER I have to change it. What we did. You must help me change it. For both our sakes.