EXT. HIGHWAY – NIGHT

A motorcycle ROARS across the asphalt, headlights cutting a thin blade through the dark. The rider leans low, the ENGINE THRUM vibrating through his bones.

CLOSE ON: leather jacket whipping in the wind, skin pulled taut by the sheer velocity of air. Every sense raw, alive.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
On a motorcycle, you feel everything. The motor’s growl. The wind, pulverizing your skin. The road clawing at your tires.

CUT TO – INT. CAR – SAME HIGHWAY

Inside the car it’s sealed tight, silent but for the muted hum of the radio. The same road, the same speed, but it feels… abstract.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Step into a car and it’s different. Same forces at play, but you forget them. The speed. The mechanics. You drift into illusion.

MONTAGE – SURREAL

– A human brain flickers on a screen.
– From it, two figures emerge — SALLY and TOM. They strut like gods.
– They point at the brain as if to say: We invented this.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The brain builds avatars—Sally, Tom—then lets them pretend they built the brain itself.

CLOSE UP – RIDER’S EYES BEHIND VISOR

The truth burns there. Distress. Clarity. The realization of how much is ignored, forgotten.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
You see it once, and it’s unbearable: what’s denied, what’s really happening. But that’s the deal. That’s how it is.

EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

The rider dismounts, pulls a GUITAR CASE from the bike. Opens it. Not weapons, strings, keys, instruments.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
That’s my mission when I improvise. To forget that sounds are just vibrations, dead, indifferent. Pretend they’re alive. Convince the listener they breathe.

He strums a chord.

The SOUND rises, trembling, dangerous—alive.

FADE OUT.