Untraceable

Untraceable By Robert Fyvolent & Mark R. Brinker Current Revisions by Allison Burnett June 5, 2006 FADE IN: INT. SUBURBAN BASEMENT -- RAINY NIGHT. VIDEO CAMERA POV: held at hip level, jerking with each step, we move in dim light past boxes of junk...a dormant furnace ...a rusty bicycle...shelves of Christmas decorations...and bundles of Ethernet cable, running beside flashing state-of- the-art computers...around a corner into-- A WOOD-PANELED ROOM. Rain rattles the ground-level windows, whose panes are covered with black soundproofing panels. A folded-up Ping-Pong table leans against a wall. Ugly shag carpeting has been stripped back from the cement floor. A small, muted TV set, sitting on a cardboard box, plays a prime-time hour-long drama. Thunder rumbles outside. The CAMERA shakes as it is screwed into a tripod and pointed to the cement floor. At the top corner of the frame, the TV is visible. Footsteps. Liquid pours. A MALE HAND, long and slender, lowers a saucer of milk to the floor. More footsteps. A package is torn open. A glue rat-trap is slapped to the floor a few feet from the milk. A canvas bag is unzipped. A tiny meow, then the tinkling of a little bell. A man’s torso passes by, momentarily blotting out our view. A moment later, the CAMERA zooms tighter on the milk and the trap. More meowing, as a KITTEN enters the frame, bounding clumsily, adorably.