INT. NEIGHBORHOOD BAR – NIGHT
Dark, seedy charm. Davis and Olivia sit at one end of the bar. Drinks on the counter, not many patrons. Davis’ bloody shirt attracts strange looks from the barkeep.
This nightmare’s gotta have a way out, doesn’t it? How ’bout a door, Monty? Lousy frickin game you got here, but I’ll take door number three.
Five extraordinary people. Murdered. Blessed souls? Damned souls? Please tell me, Olivia.
They were good people. Loving souls. And I don’t know what else to say.
Are we supposed to just keep going? Train, count the days, wear blinders? Because I don’t know if I can. If we could just slow down a bit. That’s all. Regroup.
Then let’s ask.
It’s a long shot, but I think I can set it up. I agree with you. Ever been to the White House?
EXT. WHITE HOUSE – DAY
As the visitor’s gate rises, Davis and Olivia ride to the East Wing entrance. Getting out of the limo, apprehensive, they feel like students going to the principal’s office.
INT. WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE – DAY
Davis and Olivia sit stiffly as the President stokes the fire. Finishing, the President takes his customary power chair… six inches higher than the others.
Stalin killed twenty million of his own to achieve his warped vision. Undeniably certifiable, but you have to admire his commitment.