DOCUMENT A-53 (working title)

THE CITY

Beyond the window skirted the drones, their elongated propellers allowing them to hover, suspended in the murky air. Each was in a fixed trajectory, delivering all manner of products; food stuff, exercise equipment, furniture. After making their deliveries, the drones would spiral up into a vortex above the city's towering monoliths of steel and glass. Like those starlings that you would see in old documentaries, when nature still had a place beside humankind. Each starling would make beautiful sweeping movements in perfect synchronicity with its brothers and sisters. Amassing into huge, morphing, three dimensional forms. The drone mass however was not as organic in its movements. The way flocks of starlings would swell and skew reminded MC of the way dancers could synchronise their body movements. The drone mass however was much more angular and geometric in its pattern. Without a single error the drones changed shape in a blink of an eye. She once asked F why the drones had been designed to make these shapes. He explained to her how it was an error correcting exercise. The drones practiced communicating with each other like nodes in a network. MC felt disturbed yet strangely inspired by this information.

In an instant the drones sped off towards their overnight hangers. MC, paused on her way to the office, remained frozen where she was, staring upwards towards the space of gloom where the drones had previously performed their exercise. Her eyes then traced the soft blooms of white fluff that had found themselves snagged in the snarled branches of the trees that lined the tarmac. With the occasional gust of wind the blooms soared upwards, swirling in the breeze before falling onto the road and finally pushed out of the way by the roaring traffic. Street lamps were beginning to flash on as the night was drawing in. Suddenly MC noticed huge blue blocks starting to fall from the edges of her vision and land with a reverberating crunch, causing them to crack. A second later another set of irregular block forms this time in red, were falling on top of the first, to lay on top. Then a final set of purple blocks fall but instead of being caught in the cracks between the growing pile, they are caught up by a wave of vibrant green liquid that has dissolves the entire scene. Black text begins to sweep in-front of the sea of liquid. MC turns away from the huge roadside billboard and marches towards the edit suite. She knows how the advertisement ends, she completed it last week.

Thick grey clouds swirl above the slick skyscrapers that reach upwards to catch the morbid air in their steel carapaces. Crunching along the icy tarmac, a figure slips on their way to their next marketing meeting. A woman is following the lone figure. Swathed in a large coat she skips along the frozen concrete with agility and grace. The figure looks like the devil, and so it is. On his way to another marketing meeting, stumbling along in front of her. Huddled over and stinking of booze. She leaps around him without pity. On the next row of towering monolithic office blocks, MC sees above her the neon signage of the editing suite SQUARE. Pink, block text pulses. Tortuously revealing the same information over and over again. MC finds the sign infuriating. As she gets to the point directly underneath the sign she steps through the automatic doors. Concrete. Glass. The reception, much like the outside of the building, is cold and vast. The room reaches back towards the far end of the building where the far wall disappears into the gloom. A deep space. The desk on the right hand side of the reception hides partly an A1 poster of a panda, surrounded by more pink, luminous text in Chinese script. Concrete pillars stand at regular intervals alongside the room's left hand side. Floor to ceiling mirrors have supplanted the bricks between the sets of pillars. Their abominable reflections bounce the grey, murky light around the space, adding to its deep, refracting nature. Stomping across the polished floor MC reaches the desk and spots, sat down reading the receptionist, whose fiery red hair vibrates the air around her. Sitting as to be nearly imperceivable from the entrance way.

[I'm here to see POST-PRODUCTION]

[Name. please]

[We are working on MEMORIES together