INT. BOARD ROOM. DAY. A NAKED MAN lies face up, unconscious on a large oak table. The room around him is comfortable but sterile. There are no windows and the only light buzzes from the florescent panels above. Pastel prints line the beige walls. This is MARK, mid 30’s. He’s tall and thin, his hair neatly combed, his breath slow but even. Suddenly, Mark’s eyes shoot open and he bolts to a sitting position. He gasps as his eyes dart around the room. For a very long moment, all is quiet. MARK Hello? He tries to get to his knees but they give way and he tumbles off the table. Shakily, he moves toward the door. He tries to open it, but it’s locked solidly. He turns back to the room. MARK (CONT’D) Where the hell am I!? At the far end of the table is mounted a small, black Intercom. It clicks on, emitting a MAN’S VOICE. MAN’S VOICE Who are you? MARK What? MAN’S VOICE Who are you? MARK I- Who the hell are you? Brief pause. MAN’S VOICE I’m sorry, sir. I got ahead of myself. MARK What is this place? Open the damn door!
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