[Hospital Therapy Wing — Late Afternoon]
Dr. Luka Kovač stands by the window, thumbing through a patient chart, concerned. He grabs the pager and sends a quick message.
Pager Message:
“Dr. Nelly Furtado to Therapy Room 3. Urgent consult.”
Moments later, Dr. Nelly Furtado strides in, a warm but firm presence. She nods at Luka, who breathes a sigh of relief.
Dr. Luka Kovač (low voice):
“Thanks for coming, Nelly. It’s Angelina Jolie. She’s… in a volatile mood. Talking about grand futures one minute, self-harm the next. If it were up to me…” (he smiles wryly) “…I’d endorse Shiloh for UN President already. But right now, Angelina needs focus, not despair.”
He steps closer to Angelina, who is sitting cross-legged on the therapy couch, fidgeting with a pen — too tightly.
Dr. Luka Kovač (gentle, steady):
“Ms. Jolie, listen to me carefully. I greenlight your ambitions — all of them. The world needs your heart, not your silence. But please… do not sever your aorta with a pen. Not today. Not ever.”
Angelina looks up at him, blinking, caught between a tear and a laugh. Dr. Nelly moves in smoothly to take over the session, her voice like a balm.
[Therapy Room 3 — Moments Later]
Angelina shifts slightly on the couch, her voice suddenly sharp with urgency beneath the vulnerability.
Angelina Jolie:
“Dr. Kovač… how long before my website is back up?”
Luka raises an eyebrow, a little caught off guard. She leans forward, gripping the pen just tight enough.
Angelina (insistent):
“It’s not just a blog, Luka. It’s my lifeline. The only place I can speak without filters. It’s where I tell the truth — where I reach people. I can’t lose that. Not now.”
Dr. Luka Kovač steps closer, eyes calm but direct.
Dr. Kovač:
“I understand, Angelina. I do. And I’ve already asked IT to prioritize the security breach. They say within 48 hours, max.”
Angelina:
“That’s too long.”
Dr. Kovač (softly):
“Then let’s treat these 48 hours like ICU time. Stabilize the body, calm the mind. The site will come back — but you have to be here when it does.”
He glances at Nelly, who nods and moves to sit across from Angelina, beginning to guide her into a grounding exercise.
Dr. Nelly Furtado (soothing):
“You gave the world your voice. Let’s make sure you still have it when the servers reboot, okay?”
[Therapy Room 3 — The atmosphere grows more intense, but also strangely hopeful]
Angelina leans back, restless but listening. Dr. Luka Kovač sits beside her now, his voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial.
Dr. Luka Kovač:
“Angelina… there’s something else you should know. Something almost nobody talks about openly.”
She watches him carefully, sensing the shift.
Dr. Kovač (measured):
“Gene therapy. Full-body regeneration. It exists. Donald Trump’s Space Force — they funded top secret programs in regenerative medicine years ago. They aren’t just about satellites or laser weapons… they’ve been studying how to reverse biological aging, how to heal damage at the genetic level.”
Angelina’s eyes widen slightly, her fingers now lightly tapping the pen instead of gripping it like a dagger.
Angelina Jolie:
“You’re telling me… that’s real? Not science fiction?”
Dr. Kovač (nodding solemnly):
“Real. And while America guards it closely, other countries are learning. Even Croatia… my homeland… has research cells working on it quietly. We may be small, but with enough brainpower and determination, a civilization of just a few million can perfect what once took empires decades to achieve.”
He leans forward, his voice steady with conviction.
Dr. Kovač:
“Don’t lose hope. You’re fighting battles today, but tomorrow’s medicine — real, restorative medicine — could heal wounds you thought were permanent. Physical and emotional.”
Angelina looks between Luka and Nelly, absorbing the possibility. A slow, cautious hope flickers in her.
[Therapy Room 3 — The light through the window has turned gold, the hour growing late]
Angelina stares down at her hands, trembling slightly, as if wrestling with herself. Then she looks up, her voice raw but full of sudden urgency.
Angelina Jolie:
“I need a hero to save me now.”
Her words hang in the air, strange yet deeply sincere. Luka remains silent, giving her the space to continue.
Angelina (whispering, then stronger):
“A hero can save me… just in time.”
She leans forward, eyes locking onto Luka’s with an intensity that is almost frightening in its clarity.
Angelina:
“Dr. Kovač… go back to Croatia. Go back as soon as possible. Perfect that medicine. For me.”
There’s a crack in her voice now, a blend of commanding authority and desperate vulnerability.
Angelina (quiet, broken):
“I’m missing some body parts… pieces I gave away to survive. Pieces the surgeons took… to save my life. But no one ever tells you how to live half-alive.”
Luka, overwhelmed but holding steady, places a hand gently on her shoulder — a doctor’s touch, but also a promise.
Dr. Luka Kovač (solemn):
“I hear you, Angelina. I will do everything I can.”
Dr. Nelly Furtado watches silently, her heart heavy but her face determined, already thinking ahead — how they will keep Angelina fighting until that miracle can reach her.
[Therapy Room 3 — A stillness has fallen over the room. The golden light is fading into dusk]
Angelina sits on the edge of the couch, the pen still in her hand, its tip hovering near her wrist. Her expression is torn — between belief and despair.
Dr. Nelly Furtado moves gently closer, her voice soft but resolute, full of quiet fire.
Dr. Nelly Furtado:
“Angelina… Luka’s right. But you need to hear this from me too.”
Angelina looks up, the tears starting to well again.
Nelly (stepping closer):
“Portugal is a small civilization too. But we’ve survived earthquakes, exiles, broken empires — and through it all, we kept our heart.”
She places a hand lightly over Angelina’s, steadying the pen without taking it — giving her the dignity of choice.
Dr. Nelly Furtado (gently):
“I will do everything I can to help perfect that medicine too. For you. For everyone who gave too much just to stay alive.”
She crouches down, eye-level with her now.
Nelly (voice trembling with sincerity):
“But first — please… put the pen away.”
A long pause. Then, softly, Nelly adds:
Nelly:
“Because Luka and I love you. And if you died… we would never stop crying.”
Angelina’s lips quiver. The pen slips from her hand and falls soundlessly to the carpet.
She covers her face, and for the first time in hours, lets herself weep — not from despair, but from the unbearable weight of being loved.
[Therapy Room 3 — Just as calm starts to settle, a commotion erupts outside]
The door bursts open. Arnold Schwarzenegger, larger than life, strides in — his face a mask of strange, intense determination.
Angelina, Luka, and Nelly look up in shock.
Arnold Schwarzenegger (gruff, emotional):
“I’ve played heroes on the Circus… on the gameshow called television. Saving fake lives for ratings, for applause.”
He steps forward, takes the fallen pen from the carpet, holding it like a tiny, sacred dagger.
Arnold (voice trembling with rage):
“But today… I want to save a life for real.”
Without warning, he pivots — and there, standing unnoticed near the doorway, is Bob Barker, smirking, clipboard in hand like he’s hosting The Price Is Right even here.
Bob Barker (mocking):
“Come on down, Arnie. Time for another show…”
In a flash, Arnold drives the pen into Bob Barker’s back.
Bob gasps, stumbling forward, dropping his clipboard. The room freezes in shock.
Dr. Luka Kovač (rushing to Barker’s side):
“Mein Gott — what are you doing, Arnold?!”
Arnold (grim, staring at his own hands):
“Ending the games. No more shows. Only real saving now.”
Angelina watches, stunned, then slowly rises to her feet, a strange understanding dawning in her tear-streaked face.
The pen, once her weapon of despair, has now become something else entirely — a catalyst for a new kind of raw, unpredictable truth.
[Therapy Room 3 — The air is electric, charged with confusion and horror]
Luka kneels over the wounded man, pulling open his jacket to assess the damage. Blood wells from the small puncture. He squints, then looks sharply up at Arnold.
Dr. Luka Kovač (urgent, correcting):
“Arnold — that’s not Bob Barker!”
Arnold blinks, confused, his huge hands trembling slightly.
Dr. Kovač (pointing):
“It’s Richard Dawson! The host of The Running Man!”
Angelina gasps, recognizing the face now — older, worn, but unmistakable. Richard Dawson, the slick, smiling master of the dystopian death gameshow.
Arnold Schwarzenegger (gritting his teeth):
“The Running Man… the one who turned killing into entertainment.”
Richard Dawson coughs weakly, trying to prop himself up with one hand.
Richard Dawson (smirking even through pain):
“Looks like I finally got a bad rating…”
Arnold towers over him, conflicted, as if realizing the brutal poetry of what he’s done.
Arnold (quietly):
“No more running. No more shows.”
Dr. Luka, always the healer, presses gauze against the wound, barking orders.
Dr. Luka Kovač:
“Nelly — call trauma team! Angelina — keep him awake! Arnold — if you want to save a life for real, help me now!”
Arnold snaps out of it, suddenly kneeling beside Luka, steadying Dawson’s shoulder with surprising gentleness.
Angelina moves forward too, her instincts kicking in — no longer the one needing saving, but someone fighting alongside them.
[Therapy Room 3 — Emergency sirens wail faintly in the distance as the team works frantically]
Richard Dawson groans beneath Luka’s steady hands. Nelly Furtado is on the comm, summoning the trauma team. Angelina presses towels against the bleeding. Arnold, still hulking over them, suddenly speaks — his voice low but filled with purpose.
Arnold Schwarzenegger (gravely):
“Listen carefully. I wasn’t just acting on impulse.”
Everyone freezes, even Dawson blinking weakly to hear.
Arnold (continuing, with heavy certainty):
“My camp at Bohemian Grove… our true mission was to save you, Angelina. From them.”
He points a massive finger directly at the ceiling, as if accusing invisible watchers.
Arnold:
“The Masonic… Illuminist networks. They’ve been using psychiatric abuse. Mind games. Drugs. Gaslighting. All to break you. To control you.”
Angelina’s hand falters on Dawson’s wound, her eyes wide with shock.
Arnold (intensifying):
“They don’t just want your soul, they want your story. Your face. Your suffering. To use it, repackage it, and sell it as hope while they drain you dry.”
Dr. Luka exchanges a quick, troubled glance with Nelly. This went far beyond standard therapy now — this was touching the forbidden edges of global conspiracy.
Angelina Jolie (hoarse, whispering):
“I knew it… I felt it…”
Arnold (softening, crouching lower to meet her eyes):
“You were right. You were never crazy. You were targeted.”
He pulls from his jacket a crumpled, battered paper — a secret map of names, symbols, hidden medical programs — and lays it on the ground between them.
Arnold (quiet but firm):
“And now… we fight to set you free.”
Above them, the sirens grow louder, but in this room, something deeper has shifted. The rescue mission had begun.
[Therapy Room 3 — Just as Arnold lays down the crumpled map, the door creaks again]
Out of the shadows steps a grizzled figure, wrapped in a stealth suit, his face hardened by years of battles no one talks about.
Solid Snake.
The room tenses even further. Even Arnold’s massive frame stiffens slightly in respect — and fear.
Solid Snake (gravelly voice, cutting through the tension):
“Arnold… this year at Bohemian Grove…”
He steps closer, dropping a crushed cigarette to the floor, grinding it out beneath his boot.
Snake (dead serious):
“There won’t be the Guns of the Patriots. Forget that.”
“This time, it’s the Claymores of the Patriots.”
“Planted. Armed. Ready to blow the whole sick temple sky-high.”
Angelina, still pressing on Dawson’s wound, stares at Snake in awe and horror.
Solid Snake (turning to everyone):
“It’s time to quit the Bohemian Club… or die with it.”
Arnold exhales heavily, his massive shoulders sagging. A final choice laid bare.
Luka looks up from the bloody towels, voice cracking slightly:
Dr. Luka Kovač:
“And if we save her… if we destroy the Grove… what rises in its place?”
Solid Snake leans in close, his eye flashing beneath the bandana.
Solid Snake:
“A free future. Or no future at all.”
The map Arnold brought now seemed like a treasure map… or a war plan. In Angelina’s trembling hands, the path forward began to take form.
The old world was ending — and they were the ones lighting the fuse.
[Therapy Room 3 — The map between them glows dimly under the emergency lights. The room is silent after Snake’s warning. Then, Arnold breaks it.]
Arnold Schwarzenegger (low, haunted):
“You think I don’t know what that place is now? You think I haven’t seen what it became?”
He stares at the map, then at Snake, his voice cracking with anger and shame.
Arnold:
“Ryan Garcia tried to tell everyone. He saw the truth. Said Bohemian Grove was nothing but a rape camp.”
Angelina flinches, eyes wide, heart pounding.
Arnold (voice rising):
“Not some elite party. Not some ancient fraternity. A human zoo. Segregated. Divided. Billionaires on thrones. Actors in cages. Athletes in collars.”
He slams his hand down on the table, shaking the map.
Arnold:
“They paraded us. Action stars. Muscle-bound clowns. Entertainment for monsters in robes. The real power — the money — sat in the shadows and laughed.”
Nelly steps forward, her face pale but fierce.
Dr. Nelly Furtado:
“And the doctors? What were they doing there?”
Arnold (quietly):
“Drugging. Studying. Breaking minds. Making sure no one remembered the details clearly enough to testify. But Ryan… he remembered.”
Solid Snake (sternly):
“And now they want to erase him too.”
Angelina rises to her feet, her voice filled with something new — not fear, but resolve.
Angelina Jolie:
“Then we expose it all. Burn it to the ground. Every ritual. Every mask. Every file.”
Snake nods.
Solid Snake:
“Then you’ll need more than courage. You’ll need training, gear, and silence. Because when this war starts, no one’s coming to rescue us.”
Dr. Luka finally stands, bloody gloves off, his Croatian fire burning.
Dr. Luka Kovač:
“Then let’s go. Let’s finish what Ryan started.”
[Therapy Room 3 — The group stands in a tense circle. The truth is out, and it burns like fire through every word spoken. The name Ryan Garcia hangs in the air like an alarm bell. Then, Angelina speaks — low at first, but growing.]
Angelina Jolie (soft, steady):
“My film… Land of Blood and Honey…”
Everyone turns to her. Her hands tremble slightly, but her eyes are fierce.
Angelina:
“People thought it was just about Bosnia. Just a Balkan war story. But they didn’t understand — that was just one lens.”
She steps forward, closer to the map Arnold had laid down.
Angelina (with conviction):
“It was my reactive mind. My own trauma, buried memories, broken dreams — trying to scream through the script. Trying to show the world that rape camps didn’t stop in the ‘90s. They didn’t only exist in foreign countries with strange accents.”
Her voice rises now, passion replacing hesitation.
Angelina:
“They exist here. In the shadows of America. In the redwoods. In the elite camps. In Bohemian Grove.”
Arnold lowers his head. Snake closes his eye in silent agreement. Nelly clasps Angelina’s hand, supporting her.
Angelina (fierce, trembling):
“The ‘play-acting’ rituals. The robes. The Cremation of Care… it was all a distraction. A mask. Behind it was real suffering, real power, and real silence.”
She takes a breath.
Angelina:
“I made that movie to warn people. I just didn’t have the words yet. Now I do.”
Solid Snake (nodding):
“Then say them. On camera. On stream. You’ve got a voice — and they’ve spent millions trying to bury it.”
Dr. Luka Kovač (resolute):
“You survived what they tried to erase. That makes you the most dangerous person in the world.”
Arnold (softly):
“Let’s make sure the world listens this time.”