The Chains That Bind

The Time Traveller

Series 1, Episode 2

"The Chains That Bind"

by Mason Hawker

1. INT. WORKHOUSE. LORNA'S ROOM. EARLY MORNING

Caption - Victorian London, 1837.

Begin looking into LORNA'S tightly shut eyes.

Something is not right here - the CAMERA slowly pulls out slightly and we can see that beads of moisture are cascading down her face, and her breathing is panicked.

Staying on the sleeping Lorna as she becomes even more distressed, we:

FLASH CUT TO:

2. A VISION.

A burning house - the flames are ruthless in their trail of destruction. And before it, LORNA watches as the house sinks further into the ground. Among this commotion, faint screams can be heard.

Helpless screams, screams destined for death...

CLOSE-UP on Lorna's face. Tears rolling down her cheeks - the experience is unbearable.

LORNA:

No. No. No...

CUT TO:

3. INT. WORKHOUSE. LORNA'S ROOM. EARLY MORNING

LORNA still asleep, still stirring and sweating.

But she can take no more.

LORNA:

(waking with a start)

NO!

And from that cry we CUT TO TITLES.

4. INT. WORKHOUSE. LORNA'S ROOM. EARLY MORNING

LORNA sits on the edge of her bed, in the early light. Gasping for breath.

Trying to forget that nightmare.

She stares at the grimy and uninviting wooden door before her bed. She sighs.

Looks at the windows, protected with steel bars. Squints slightly as the narrow beam of morning light shining through catches her eyeline.

CUT TO:

5. INT. CARRIAGE. EARLY MORNING

A regal, Victorian horse and carriage clatters along a cobbled street. At least, that's what we can deduce from the inside. Every bump appears to be frustrating SIR GILES RAMSWORTH, a wealthy but aging man in his early to mid-sixties. The many lines upon his face indicate that he has worked hard, but that that life is taking its toll.

He is dressed in what can only be described as typical attire for a wealthy, 1837 working man. He's sporting a top hat, a waistcoat, a watch and chain, a shiny black walking cane - the lot.

But there's something about him that isn't 1837 at all. From his waistcoat Ramsworth produces a fob watch. A press of a button on its side reveals an alien recording device as the lid flips open. Ramsworth looks down at the watch and a sinister smile spreads across his face.

He stares ahead at the screen that separates the cabin from the man driving the horses. He leans forward and gives the screen two solid knocks.

Soundproof.

A high-pitched frequency whistle comes from the watch.

On Ramsworth:

SIR GILES RAMSWORTH:

(into the watch)

Are you there, Mr Jenkins?

For a second, no reply. Just static. Then -

JENKINS:

(jolly, Cockney accent - clearly London born and bred)

Ah, good morning Mr Ramsworth sir!

CUT TO:

6. INT. MAIN FACTORY COMPLEX. MORNING

JENKINS stands amongst all of the 19th Century Victorian workhouse machinery. It's all very "Oliver Twist".

His method of communication comes in the form of a very alien wrist-mounted device, with a fair few gauges, buttons and flashing lights upon it. CLOSE UP shot on this for a moment.

Jenkins raises the device to his lips in order to speak into it.

And when he does, his voice is much quieter. He's secretly adamant that no-one should hear his conversation.

JENKINS:

Today, sir. It'll be today.

SIR GILES RAMSWORTH:

(responding)

Excellent. Everything has worked just as I'd known it would. The General will be very pleased. Thank you, Mr Jenkins. Your work is done now.

A look of slight horror is slowly occupying Jenkins' face.

<p style="text-align: center;">JENKINS:

<p style="text-align: center;">(with an uneasy chuckle)

<p style="text-align: center;">But, pardon me, sir, it is surely not done? We had an agreement - the High Council made sure personally that it was binding. With this project complete we can return home with the solution to all of Sirax's problems.

<p style="text-align: center;">SIR GILES RAMSWORTH:

<p style="text-align: center;">The agreement you speak of, Mr Jenkins, has been - shall we say - terminated. The Siraxian High Council were subject to a little majority vote.

On Jenkins.

FLASH CUT TO:

7. INT. SIRAXIAN HIGH COUNCIL MEETING HALL. DAY. (FLASHBACK)

An alien congress hall, futuristic.

On the marble floor lie the bodies of senators and ministers, all dressed in official garments.

They've all received a fatal bullet.

FLASH CUT TO:

8. INT. MAIN FACTORY COMPLEX. MORNING.

As before, JENKINS continuing the conversation. Horror on his face.

<p style="text-align: center;">JENKINS:

<p style="text-align: center;">This is murder, sir.

<p style="text-align: center;">SIR GILES RAMSWORTH:

<p style="text-align: center;">(becoming infuriated)

<p style="text-align: center;">It is not murder, Mr Jenkins, it is progress.

<p style="text-align: center;">(beat)

<p style="text-align: center;">Continue. Make them do whatever it takes, and use any means, necessary or otherwise. I hope I have made myself quite clear.

RAMSWORTH signs off with a burst of static. JENKINS composes himself for the mammoth task ahead.

CUT TO:

9. INT. MAIN FACTORY COMPLEX. NOON