FADE IN:

Nothing but black. The sounds of DRILLING and MEN laughing can be heard but not seen. Somewhere CARS and TRUCKS are driving by.

KAZZY HART (Off-Screen):

Come on you stupid thing! Work! You?re not even worth the frickerfracking coins I paid Cheeky for you if you can?t even?

The screen suddenly goes from black to a glaringly bright RhyDin day. The drilling, the men, the cars and trucks are all still out of sight though. Instead there is the scuffed up pavement and an equally scuffed up pair of yellow hi-top sneakers standing on it.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

It?s alive!

The pavement jolts up and down matching the movements of the amateur holding the handheld camera.

If the jolting isn?t enough to make a viewer nauseous the blur caused by the camera being whipped around might do the trick.

Staring up at an awkward angle KAZZY HART?s pale and stupidly grinning face comes into view. Kazzy, 18, wears an orange hardhat with her wild floof of platinum blond hair poking out from underneath. Her electric blue eyes are the only thing to stand out on such a white backdrop.

KAZZY HART:

Hah! This is so fantabulous!



KAZZY HART:

I wonder if you can see up my nose? What about now?

A sudden rush and everything is black again. If the camera had a better focus maybe some nose hairs would be visible but luckily they?re not. Kazzy?s LOUD LAUGHTER accompanies another fast movement that puts her entire stringbean of a body into view. She?s wearing a vest the same obnoxious color as her hardhat, a dirty t-shirt and a pair of dusty jeans.

KAZZY HART:

Ohhh yeah, you know you like what you see, don?t you?

An uneven up-and-down pan of the lanky body follows. The loud laughter continues.

KAZZY HART:

All right then so where were we? Yeah! I?m your totally excellent host Kazzy Hart. What am I hosting? Duh! You?re going to get an exclusive peek into my super fun life! Starting with a look at my newest job in construction!

Another blur and the MEN who were laughing earlier come into view. They?re a motley bunch with hair growing in the most unflattering of places and ways, potbellies on some, tattoos on others.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

Say hello to the camera boys!

The MEN do not wave. They make lewd gestures towards the camera. RUSTY, a mountain of a man with thighs as thick as tree trunks does something particularly obscene. He grabs his crotch and smiles wide.

RUSTY:

Hey Kazzy! How do ya like your meat?

KAZZY HART (O.S.):


Definitely bigger than that weenie you?re packing dude!

The men including Rusty laugh.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

See that building?

Very quickly the top of a large brick building comes into view.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

We?re going to blow it up today! And that?s after I get to take a sledgehammer to part of it! And that freak Rusty there pays me for doing it! How frickerfracking awesome is that?!

Spinning around a row of sledgehammers leaning against a fence comes into view.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

That last one of the left is mine. I call it Slammerhead.

Again the movement is quick, too quick for the eye to like, but the last sledgehammer on the left looks like all the rest except its handle has been covered in rhinestones. Bedazzled even.

KAZZY HART (O.S.):

Oh man wait ?til you see this?hey! What?s this little blinking light action you got going on? You trying to wink at me or something? What?? Low battery?! But Cheeky said these batteries were brand spanking n---

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

KAZZY HART sits cross-legged on a bed covered by a wild patchwork comforter made up of colors that logically should not go together but somehow work in the context of the grey walled room. The big brown cowboy boots she wears stick out over the edge of the bed. A long men's collared shirt and the blue boy shorts she's got on keep this from turning into a XXX peep show.

KAZZY HART:

Time for a little show and tell!

Kazzy reaches her lanky arms behind her. Out of the mass pilings of throw pillows she pulls out a large framed black and white photograph. The frame itself is austere with the exception of a small crest carved into the wood bearing a fish jumping out of the water and the Latin words 'Luxuria est inimica Dei'.

Kazzy taps the crest and holds it closer as she speaks directly to the camera.

KAZZY:

Do you know what this is? This is the motto of St. Augustine's Prep Academy. Now if you were going to be in charge of a school what would your big message be to the fragile silly putty minds you were entrusted to mold? Something about the glory of knowledge probably right? Achieving your dreams maybe? Not the fine religious folks at St. Auggy's. You know what 'Luxuria est inimica Dei' means?



Yeah I totally didn't either and I wish I still didn't BUT it's Latin for 'Excess is the enemy of God.'



The ENEMY of frickerfracking GOD! Now ok listen I get that, you know, overkill is a bad thing like that time Lizzie and I entered that chicken wing eating contest and tried for the record and wanted to barf for three days after. That kinda excess was a little much sure, but the MORTAL ENEMY of our lord and savior? Like if Jesus were a ninja he?d be spinkicking some 300 pound dude surrounded by hookers called Excess and get all...

Kazzy?s head disappears from sight as she jumps up on the bed to chop her hands in the air and kick out one cowboy-booted foot. The boy shorts again spare this from becoming amateur porn hour.

KAZZY:

?HI-YAH! on his butt?

Kazzy drops back down onto the bed with a loud THUD and some equally loud laughter. She bounces a few times before the mattress returns to its regular state of stability.

KAZZY:

Yeah I think not. Like I said, excess can be bad but at St. Auggy's they were talking about self-indulgence too. Now when you start putting this kind of 'your-immortal-soul-will-absofreakinlutely-be-dam ned' spin on self-indulgence you're headed down a slope more slippery than the one we built outside Lizzie's window to sled down. Which by the way is going to be totally awesome when we do it!

Kazzy pumps her fist into the air and almost drops the framed photograph. She laughs and settles it back onto her lap.

KAZZY:

But yeah, like I was saying. Self-indulgence is more often than not a good thing. I mean think about it. You come into this world alone and you leave it alone--unless you get bit and become a vampire or some junk but then you're not really leaving this world just the part of it that requires a pulse right?--but yeah so if all you ever really have is yourself, shouldn't taking care of you rank pretty high on the priority list? Food wouldn't taste so good and sex certainly wouldn't feel so damn good if we weren't meant to enjoy those things right?!

Kazzy covers her mouth to cough for a few moments. Her electric blue eyes go up towards the ceiling with a grin as she addresses some higher power up above.

KAZZY:

Yo, I'm taking that as a sign that I'm totally dead on about it dude.

She looks back at the camera again.

KAZZY:

Really, regardless of where you land on the acceptable excess scale I don't think that should ever be the main focus of a place entrusted with kids learning junk. I don't know what the frick my parents were smoking when they thought that was where I should spend my formative years.



That's a lie--I totally know what my parents were smoking. They were inhaling all the smoke and mirrors of high society saying girls needed that kind of fine education in order to learn how to keep their noses permanently stuck up in the air.

Kazzy snickers and rests her chin against the top of the frame.

KAZZY:

It's not always easy but I keep fighting the good fight of thinking at least one impure thought on the hour, every hour, to really stick it to all of them. It's just the cross I have to bear I guess.

With an over-the-top 'woest me' sigh Kazzy bursts into another fit of laughter.

KAZZY:

But I got off track. I wanted to show and tell you about the photograph inside this cruddy frame--

The loud, repeated BUZZ of a doorbell sounds.

KAZZY:

Ooh! Pizza's here! Ok hold that thought I'll be back in a jiffy dudes!

Kazzy manages not to break the photograph when she tosses it onto the bed behind her. She jumps up and starts walking to the camera not bothering to change into more appropriate door opening attire.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. EASTERN WING - DAY

From a distance it is hard to see what exactly was written on the cracked and peeling walls of the abandoned asylum.

JOLYON (Off-screen):
And you say this device is like a miniature of the machines that make the flicker reels? Just how--? Hmm? Oh, damn, sorry.

Loud laughter can be heard as JOLYON steps into view, backing up a bit.

KAZZY (Off-screen):

You really are more curious than a cat, Chisel. Let?s get this show on the road before Rusty comes and shuts us down.

JOLYON:
Yes, well, Jolyon here looking over the remains of an asylum. From the layers of debris possibly ten years vacant, could be more. I won't know until I reach the basement. But, oh -- say take a look at this.

He goes past and behind, completely oblivious of the need for staying a certain distance from the camera, acting just like he's talking to Kazzy.

KAZZY (O.S.):

Back it up, Chisel!

Kazzy decides to make up for his lack of awareness as Jolyon returns to the center of the frame.

He lifts up a leather strap that looks torn. He holds it up higher to his face level, running his hands over the strange markings.

JOLYON:
Teeth marks. You can tell by the curve an indentation. I'd say someone was feeling a bit of pain.

He tucks the leather into his satchel and ignores the fact the camera is still going.

JOLYON:
I'll take a look around and if I find something really interesting, give a call. Right?

KAZZY (O.S.):
You got it, Chisel!

Coming in closer on a bare bed in the corner of the room the thin blanket shows signs of moth holes. A pale hand pulls back the blanket. The sheets suffer from years of accruing sweat stains.

KAZZY (O.S.):
Ughh, here come those woolies again.

Down the hall comes the sound of HOLLERING.

JOLYON (O.S.):
Come here, come here! This is great! You gotta see this! Damn!

A CRASHING sound like floor giving way.

INT. HALLWAY - CONT'D

Hard to see much beyond the giant hole in the floor before Jolyon comes back into focus.

JOLYON:

Well, we'll have to wait until I go down to the basement.

KAZZY (O.S.):

Yo, you sure you don?t want a job in construction? You?re pretty fricking good at demolishing the place. Look out below!

A drop and a large cloud of dust rises up.

INT. BASEMENT - CONT'D

KAZZY (O.S.):
I?ve got those woolies again, Chisel?

A darker, danker area, a dim light flickers on and off. Flashlights shine around the basement.

JOLYON:
Glad I thought to bring the torch.

Jolyon salutes the camera with his lit flashlight.

JOLYON:
Here we go....

He reaches down, flashlight in the crook between neck and shoulder, he straightens up a long table, the remnants of broken metal bands showing at the edges and the once soft cushion rent in many places oozing black.

JOLYON:
Fascinating. I do wonder if this was to assist or experiment.

He suddenly drops the table once more with a curse, and sheepish grin at the camera, shaking his hand.

JOLYON:
That's sharp.

KAZZY (O.S.):
That's totally got to be sanitary.

Hey, Chisel, wait up!

When he wipes his hand on his pants a bit of blood is left behind, but he walks on....fascinated...away from the light with the stirring sounds of a breeze that should not be there and the creaking of what might have been leather against metal.

FADE OUT.

((Written mostly by Jolyon Gardiner and a little writing/formatting by me.))

FADE IN:

An inn room. The bed, stripped of its covers, is pushed against one bare wall. Bolted around one leg of the bed's frame is a thick chain, which trails into the shadows underneath. In the far corner stands a suit of armor, polished to a near-mirror shine, with a bright red cape draped over its shoulders. Partially out of frame, on the wall adjacent to the bed, is a window, framing fading daylight. On the floor can barely be seen a paper plate, holding a small pile of raw meat scraps.

KAZZY HART (Off-Screen):

There we go?

KAZZY HART enters the frame from the left. In addition to her already too-bright yellow sweater and green-striped scarf multiple rolls of fluorescent colored spike tape are worn along her right arm all the way up to her elbow.

Now if you go here?

Kazzy drags GREM MCTIRIN into the frame. He wears only an old pair of shorts, which are at least two sizes too large for his lean frame. Several fading bruises dot his torso and a healing cut crosses across his right cheek. His left hand is holding the shorts' waistband, while his right rubs the back of his neck. She pushes him into a seated position on the bed. Kazzy runs back towards the camera and disappears behind it, leaving him in the frame alone with the armor, the cape, the window and the paper plate full of raw meat.

KAZZY (Off-Screen):

Perfect.



There?s so much meat in so little space right now?

Kazzy returns and stands in profile next to Grem holding out the arm with the spike tape rolls.

KAZZY:

Can wolves see color? Which one do you think he?ll like the best?

GREM MCTIRIN:

Not well. Sight's good, but some colors look the same.

He shakes his head and shrugs, eying the tape with a raised brow.

GREM:

Doubt it'll matter, darlin'. I don't think it cares about colors.

Kazzy tears off two pieces of orange tape and bends down to stick them to the floor in the shape of an ?X? before standing back up.

KAZZY:

Good, so if you boys can both stay behind that mark you?ll be right where I can see you.

GREM:


I don't think it'll be followin' stage directions.

He regards the tape, brows furrowing.

Kazzy takes a momentary perch on his knee, draping one bony and tape-free arm across his shoulders. She steals a kiss.

KAZZY:

Are you sure I have to go? Between me, you, the camera and those oversized bloomers you?re wearing we?ve got all the ingredients for a niche market porn in the making.



Grem gives her a flat look, unsmiling.

Kazzy leans in for one more kiss and reluctantly stands up. She runs her hand over his shorn hair and holds it for an extra moment against his cheek. He touches the back of her hand briefly with the tip of his thumb.

KAZZY:


I?ll see you soon, Two Tone.

Kazzy exits.

GREM:

He sits quietly for a moment, then turns his eyes toward the camera.



I still don't think you should watch this, darlin'. But I said I'd do it, so...

He bends forward, one hand snatching at the chain. It scrapes along the floor until a large collar comes into view, fashioned of steel with thick leather padding lining the interior. He picks it up and looks back to the camera as he holds it out.

GREM:

You've seen this before. It's what I wear to make sure the wolf doesn't get out. The paddin' isn't just for comfort.

He stands, walking toward the camera until the chain pulls tight. He strikes an awkward pose, legs held tightly together, and lets go of the shorts. He glances down at the leather, than taps a small hole while turning his brown and blue eyes to the camera. Hands positioned on either side of the hole, he squeezes hard. As the muscles in his forearms shift, light glints off of a point of metal that is lighter in tone than the steel. He relaxes his grip and takes hold of his shorts once more.

GREM:

Silver. If the wolf pulls too hard against the chain, it'll feel that against its skin. It's smart enough to stop before puncturin' itself.

He walks back to the bed, taking a few minutes to work a mechanism on the collar to make it spring open. After frowning down at it for a moment, he lifts it to his neck and closes it, producing a sharp click.

GREM:

Wolf won't be able to reach anythin' but the bed, and the food I'm leavin' out for it. Well...



It can reach that armor, too, but it leaves that alone. Not sure why. It can't quite get to the cape, though, and it'd take more torque than the wolf can manage with the chain tight to be takin' the whole thing down, anyway.



Normally I just sit around waitin'. Not... I'm not used to talkin' when I'm waitin'. I'm sorry. I don't have much to say.

He sits quietly for several minutes, mostly looking down at the floor. His brows slowly furrow, and he finally shakes his head and pushes to his feet, chain rattling as it

moves to accomodate the shift.

GREM:



I don't...



This is a bad idea.

He walks toward the camera, reaching out for it, until the chain pulls tight on his neck. Twisting, he tries to get his hand on the camera, but fails. He shoots a look at the darkening window and briefly scowls. His fingers slide under the back of his collar as he returns to the bed.

GREM:



Too late to take this off.



No promises that I don't go and erase this in the mornin'. Guess I'm talkin' to myself, if I do, but...

His head snaps to the failing light in the window, and he bows his head. His lips move silently for a minute, before lifting his eyes back to the camera. More of the whites are visible than usual, bloodshot, and the brown and blue seem more starkly defined. The haunted expression remains for only a moment before he squeezes his eyes shut and his lips draw back from his teeth. The muscles in the corners of his jaw jump as his teeth grind together.

His head snaps back with a loud cracking sound, and his throat can be seen twitching above the collar, though his clenched jaw doesn't allow much of the scream to reach the microphone. A growl does escape before he falls sideways on the bed. More cracking can be heard as the skin of his face moves, the bones of his skull shifting. The cut on his cheek pulls open, blood streaming from the wound as his jaw lengthens. Except for a low snarl, the noise stops.

His eyes are a notably different shape when they open, staring unseeing past the camera, before snapping closed once more as his skin contines to stretch and pull across the changing muscles beneath. His cut gapes wide as his ears pull toward the top of his head, and softer snaps sound as they become thinner, drawing toward rounded points. More soft snaps, and his nose begins to flatten toward the his jaw, now undeniably a muzzle, albeit currently a short one.

Further loud cracks are nearly drowned out by the sound that escapes from his now open mouth, a combination of a whimper and a scream. Accompanying these cracks are changes in his upper body, as his rib cage deforms and his shoulders pull toward his chest. His fingers shrink with a series of sharp snaps, and the bones in his arms lurch and bend unnaturally as he writhes on the bed.

Gasping follows, as the apparently less painful process of fur growing begins to occur. Growing in patches, with no discernable order, the pale undercoat covers most of his body before the growth stops for the moment.

A new round of muscular change ripples over his torso, followed by more cracking bones. He whimpers as a bulge appears toward the back of his shorts, eventually reaching the leg opening and revealing itself to be a tail. The outer coat of russet, dark brown, and tan fur grows through the undercoat while his hips and legs loudly snap and reshape themselves, and the sound escaping his muzzle is more akin to a howl, now, than a scream.

The howl grows quiet, though his muzzle remains held wide open while his back arches. He actually stops breathing while his organs move to allow for his skeleton to begin the final changes. He draws a ragged breath and howls through the fast series of cracks and snaps, bones aligning into the proper positions for the wolf he is become. His eyes, no longer human in the least, roll about in their sockets as his head assumes its shape, a long muzzle terminating in a black nose.

The WOLF squirms about, its howl fading into a whimper, and then a snarl. Thrashing its hind legs, it tears and kicks at the shorts until they are clear of its paws, then scrabbles to its feet. Ears pressed flat against its head, it casts about until its eyes fall directly on the camera. It holds stock still for a moment, then lunches directly toward the lens, jaws snapping until the chain is pulled tight. It yanks once on the chain, then falls back a step with a whimper while continuing to eye the camera, sharp teeth bared.

Finally, it relaxes its stance, ears rising as its tongue reaches out to slide over the blood-matted fur on the side of its face. It whuffs in the camera's direction, then paces about the room, snarling occasionally as it sniffs its surroundings before turning its attention to the plate of meat. It gulps down the scraps, occasionally pausing to snap looks around the room, until the food is completely gone.

For much of the next several hours, the wolf mostly paces the room. Occasionally, it pulls against its chain hard enough for the padding to be crushed and the silver spikes to press against its neck, at which point snarls, backing up to give the chain slack. More than once, it gnaws on the chain itself or the leg of the bed to which it is attached, growls rumbling from deep within its chest.

A faint light starts growing in the window, and the wolf's hackles rise while its ears press against its skull. It snaps its head back and forth for a few minutes before its legs convulse and it drops to the floor with a howl. Again, there is a series of snapping bones and crackling cartilage, stretching skin and twisting muscles, and again there is a moment when breathing ceases amid wild contortions. The long guard hairs of its fur slowly withdraw into its skin even as its undercoat is shed, spreading about on the floor as the creature first howls, then screams.

When it is over, Grem lies naked on the floor, curled into a fetal position with his back to the camera, a large scar plainly visible between his shoulder blades. He draws a series of ragged breaths, otherwise unmoving for some time. When he does finally rouse himself, it is to reach for the bed and weakly lift the corner of the matress with one hand. He reaches into the gap with the other and draws out a pair of pants, which he hastily dons.

GREM:



That's it.

He pushes himself to his feet, and a shudder rushes down his body before he turns to face the camera. Dried blood covers his stubbled cheek, dotted with bits of fur. The bruises are gone. Working slowly, he disengages the collar and drops it with a clatter to the floor, then walks out of frame. The sound of water can be heard from somewhere off-screen.

GREM (O.S.):

Told you it's not any fun.

Walking back into frame, he holds a damp rag to his face for a few moments while staring at the camera, frowning faintly. He closes his eyes as he wipes the rag across his face, taking away most of the blood and fur. The skin revealed is unblemished. He opens his eyes and regards the rag quietly before draping it over one shoulder.

GREM:

So, that's...

He blinks, gaze moving to the camera, then the floor. Shaking his head, he walks toward the camera, his right hand reaching past it.

FADE OUT.