Mark S (on speaker): Who are you?

[Audio Description: An auburn haired woman lies atop a wooden conference table, limbs askew. She wears a light blue mid-length skirt and a darker blue top.]

Mark S (on speaker): Who are you?

[AD: The auburn haired woman stirs. She stretches out her legs and slowly lifts her head, resting on her elbows. A blue and beige speaker sits on the table facing her.]

Speaker: [static feedback]

[AD: She squints at it.]

Helly R: Hello?

[AD: She grimaces and touches the back of her neck.]

Mark S (on speaker): I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself. Hi there, you on the table. I wonder if you'd mind taking a brief survey.

Helly R: Who is that?

Mark S (on speaker): Five questions. Now, I know you're sleepy, but I just bet it'll make you feel right as rain.

Helly R: Who's speaking?

[AD: She glances around the empty room and slides off the table. She steadies herself against the table as her legs give way beneath her.]

Helly R: Oh, God.

[AD: She lurches to a closed door and tries the handle.]

Helly R: Hey! Open the door!

[AD: She faces the conference table and begins pacing along the perimeter of the room.]

Mark S (on speaker): I'd be just thrilled to chat once we've run the survey. Shall we begin with question one?

Helly R: I'm not taking your survey.

Mark S (on speaker): Shall we begin with question one?

[AD: She peers under the table.]

Helly R: Let me out of here.

[AD: She bangs the door.]

Helly R: Hey!

[AD: She kicks it.]

Helly R: Open the door!

[AD: She yanks the handle.]

Helly R: Fuck. Hey! Let me out!

[AD: She falls backwards to the floor and sits facing the carpet. She bows her head. She lifts her head over the edge of the table to glare at the speaker.]

Helly R: Hey.

Mark S (on speaker): Hello.

Helly R: Five questions?

Mark S (on speaker): Five questions.

Helly R: What do I get at the end?

Mark S (on speaker): Depends on your answers.

Helly R: Okay.

Mark S (on speaker): Great. Off we go. Now to start, who are you?

Helly R: That's the first question?

Mark S (on speaker): First name will do.

[AD: Her gaze shifts and she stares off. Her mouth opens and closes as her forehead creases.]

Helly R: I don't…

Mark S (on speaker): It's okay. If you can't answer the question, feel free to say, "unknown".

Helly R: What is this?

Mark S (on speaker): Okay, unknown. Question two, in which US state or territory were you born?

Helly R: Wait.

Mark S (on speaker): Which state or territory, please?

Helly R: I-I I don't know.

Mark S (on speaker): Unknown. Question three, please name any US state or territory.

Helly R: Fuck. I...

Mark S (on speaker): First that comes to mind.

Helly R: I don't know. Delaware. What is this?

Mark S (on speaker): Delaware. Question four, what is Mr. Eagan's favorite breakfast?

Helly R: I don't... That one makes no sense.

Mark S (on speaker): Right? Unknown. Question five. And as a reminder, this is the final question. To the best of your memory, what is or was the color of your mother's eyes?

[AD: She shakes her head and smiles. The smile quickly fades from her face. Her chin quivers and she lowers her eyes. She looks back up toward the speaker.]

Helly R: Okay, what's hap... What's happening?

Mark S (on speaker): Unknown. So that's unknown, unknown, Delaware, unknown, unknown.

Helly R: What the hell did you do to me?

[AD: She scrambles backward as a figure opens the door obscured by shadow.]

Mark S: That's a perfect score.

[AD: Chest heaving, the auburn haired woman stares.]

[AD: A title appears: Severance]

[AD: A brown haired man weeps in a car. He raises a quivering hand to his forehead and covers his eyes. He grabs a tissue lying beside an ID card with his face beneath the word “Lumon.” He dabs at his tears. An angular building stands beyond other cars. He checks a wrist watch. 9:00. The brown haired man slips his ID around his neck and exits the car. He locks it and adjusts his brown jacket over his shoulders. He walks alone through the center of an immense parking lot filled with rows of cars toward the angular building. Dark rectangular window panels reflect the parking lot. Light filters in through the ceiling as he walks past empty couches to a reception desk. He holds out his ID and a woman in a grey suit puts a phone to her ear.]

Florence: Are you ready for Mr. Scout?

[AD: Her gaze flickers to the brown haired man, Mr. Scout, as she keeps the phone to her ear.]

Florence: Thank you.

[AD: She hangs up and offers a small smile.]

Florence: Go ahead.

[AD: He steps around the square reception desk and treads across a rectangular patterned carpet. He touches his ID to a scanner as he passes through. People in business attire hurry across an open area. Mr. Scout walks by a massive stone etching of a mustached man with a pronounced chin. He heads down a staircase. He steps into a hallway lined with fluorescent lights. A label reads SVR’D ACCESS. Mr. Scout presses his ID card to a raindrop shaped scanner beside a door and steps through. The door slowly shuts behind him. He opens a plain metal locker and shrugs off his jacker. He hangs it up and opens a drawer. A plain watch and blue keycard bearing only a raindrop icon rest inside. He places his phone and wallet inside and switches his watch for the simpler one. He slips off a pair of shoes and puts them in the locker. He sits on a bench, laces up a pair of black shoes, and trades his ID badge for the plain blue keycard. He shuts the drawer and steps into the next room.]

Judd: Mr. Scout.

Mark: Hi, Judd.

[AD: A bald security guard, Judd, rises from a desk and waves a metal detector over Mr. Scout.]

Judd: All right, see you this evening.

Mark: Yep, see you soon.

[AD: Judd sits. Mr. Scout scans himself into an elevator. He buttons his grey suit and places his keycard around his neck as the elevator doors close. He stares forward as it descends. His eyelids flutter. A brighter expression settles on his face and he blinks. The elevator doors open. He walks past a well lit reception area lined with green chairs and into a hallway. His expression shifts into a slight frown as he reaches into his pocket and removes the tissue. He scrutinizes it and tosses it into a cylindrical metal trash can. He smiles mildly as he navigates the maze-like hallway. He turns a corner, sniffs, and wipes his nose with a finger. He balls a fist over his mouth [coughs, sniffles]. As he moves fluidly through the narrow, white-walled hallways, he glances at his watch. He maneuvers through a quick series of turns, a long hallway, and a large opening into a room with pale green carpeting. He walks to four desks separated by green barriers. He switches on a boxy computer and sits at a desk. He pulls a folder from a drawer and switches on a panel with his face and the words “MARK S - ALLENTOWN”. A bearded man in glasses sits at another desk.]

Dylan G: You're breathing shitty.

Mark S: Sorry.

Dylan G: You sick?

Mark S: Maybe. Petey was sniffling yesterday.

Dylan G: Mmm. If you breathe on me, I'll rip your larynx out.

Mark S: Wow. That went right to ten. I feel like ripping out my germ-ridden larynx would get you sicker than just me breathing on you.

Dylan G: Nah. Endorphins.

Mark S: Oh.

Dylan G: Petey better not be out for the day, cause I'm about zero seconds from wrapping the Tumwater file, and he needs to process it.

Mark S: Uh, I think he's out.

Dylan G: If he doesn't process today, they won't know until Tuesday of next week. It's typical Lumon bullshit.

Mark S: Oh. Careful, guy.

Irving B: Hi, kids. What's for dinner?

Dylan G: Goddamn it, Irv. We warned you.

Irving B: About the greeting? You were kidding.

Dylan G: No, we sincerely hate it. How many reasons did we come up with?

Mark S: Eight.

Dylan G: Eight reasons. Chief among them the latent condescension.

Mark S: And it's confusing. Like, did the kids make you dinner in this scenario? Or...

Dylan G: Yeah. What kind of a shit dad are you?

[AD: Irving sits.]

Irving B: No Petey?

Mark S: Uh, we think he's sick.

Irving B: Oh, no. And Dylan's about to wrap Tumwater today.

Dylan G: Yeah, and if he doesn't see me finish, I might get passed over for refiner of the quarter and miss out on my goddamn waffle party.

Irving B: Grumble, grumble. These perks are so out of hand. When we'd process a file in the old days, they'd shake our hand and fill up the creamer.

Dylan G: I still don't buy they actually incentivized creamer.

Irving B: They did. And back then, we were grateful for it.

Dylan G: That's fucked, dude.

Irving B: Yes, very fucked. To put in an honest day's work and not get a children's breakfast in return.

Dylan G: Oh, uh-oh. Irv's got claws today.

Mr. Milchick: Good morning, Macrodata Refinement.

Irving B: Hi, Mr. Milchick.

Mr. Milchick: Mark, could I have a word?

[AD: Mark rises from his desk, pushes in his chair, and gathers his things. Irving casts a look toward him, then sits as Dylan resumes working. Mr. Milchick smiles and leads Mark out of the room. Words by the door read “MACRODATA REFINEMENT”. Mark follows Mr. Milchick through the sparse white hallways.]

Mr. Milchick: Last time you saw Ms. Cobel, she was in her old office. Now she's in her new office. It's a completely different office.

Mark S: What's this about?

Mr. Milchick: She'd never say so, but I know a compliment about the office would just make her day.

[AD: Mark purses his lips and follows him through an entryway labeled “ADMINISTRATION”. Mr. Milchick knocks on an open door.]

Ms. Cobel: Mark? Come in. Shut the thing.

Mark S: Nice office.

Ms. Cobel: Ugh, it's horrid.

Mark S: Yeah, the old one was better.

[AD: A grey haired woman emerges with a box and stops, staring at Mark.]

Ms. Cobel: Oh. You look awful. You look hungover. Have a seat.

[AD: Mark’s face falls. He looks down at himself and sits across from her.]

Ms. Cobel: The Board will be joining us remotely today.

Mark S: Oh.

Ms. Cobel: I have Mark S. at my desk.

[AD: Mr. Milchick plugs a blue and beige speaker into a computer. It faces Mark.]

Speaker: [static feedback]

Mark S: Oh, uh, hello.

[AD: Ms. Cobel glances between him and the speaker.]

Mark S: I assume this is about me acting as department chief today. Okay. Uh, well… I mean, I've subbed for Petey before, so it shouldn't be that big a thing.

Ms. Cobel: Petey is no longer with this company.

Mark S: I'm sorry?

Ms. Cobel: I said, Petey is no longer with this company.

Mr. Milchick: I'm sorry, Mark. You guys were one of my favorite office friendships.

Mark S: I mean, there should have been some notice of this. What happened?

Mr. Milchick: We'd love to tell you, but unfortunately, non-disclosure policy forbids. We'd be aiding an assault on Petey's privacy by you.

Mark S: Wh...

Ms. Cobel: Mark, would you place your key card on my desk?

[AD: He pulls off his keycard as she grabs another from her desk.]

Ms. Cobel: Mark S., at this time I confer upon you the freedom to serve Kier in the advanced role of Macrodata Refinement department chief. Congratulations.

[AD: She places the identical keycard beside his. He puts it around his neck, and she stores the other in a drawer.]

Ms. Cobel: Oh, a handshake is available upon request.

[AD: Mark drops his gaze and trembles slightly. He meets her eye.]

Mark S: Thank you. May I have a handshake?

[AD: Ms. Cobel’s mouth opens slightly. She nods, and shakes his hand firmly.]

Ms. Cobel: I know you haven't run a training before, but Irving will be there to shadow. Just stick to the flowchart and escalate properly depending on dialectics. You'll be fine.

Mr. Milchick: If you need to take a few minutes-

Mark S: Thank you. I don't.

[AD: Mark starts to go. He turns.]

Speaker: [static feedback]

Mark S: Oh, and, uh, thank you to the Board as well.

Ms. Cobel: The Board won't be contributing to this meeting vocally.

[AD: Mark hesitates, and leaves her office. In a dim room, Irving gets water from a cooler.]

Irving B: Our last refiner, who was a woman, was...

Mark S: Carol. Dylan's old seat.

Irving B: Hmm.

[AD: Mark works at a screen.]

Irving B: Don't be sad.

Mark S: I'm fine. We'll be fine.

Irving B: I know you and Petey were close. He was the only one who really appreciated your humor.

Mark S: Everything's fine. So, I'm supposed to start with just the input survey? Isn't that a little weird?

Mr. Milchick: It's standard. Just start at 1A and continue by line, based on her answers.

Mark S: Well, what if I just talk to her?

Mr. Milchick: She deserves to have the information presented to her in the proper order. Just as you had.

Mark S: "If the trainee becomes agitated and demands to leave, skip to page 19."

Irving B: She has to ask three times for you to let her.

Mark S: Right. Yes.

[AD: He underlines the phrase “three times”. A screen shows the auburn haired woman.]

Mark S: Um… Image is good.

Irving B: She looks nice.

Mr. Milchick: Okay. You're all set.

[AD: Milchick walks to the exit and turns.]

Mr. Milchick: I just love seeing you all come in like this. Go on ahead when you're ready.

[AD: He leaves.]

Irving B: All right.

Mark S: Okay. Um…

[AD: Mark flips to a page in the binder. “Input Survey Question Q-001: Who are you? Standard Trainee Response: Unknown.” Irving nods at him.]

Irving B: There you go.

Mark S (into mic): Who are you?

[AD: The auburn haired woman lies motionless on the conference table. Mark looks to Irving. He nods again.]

Irving B: All right.

Mark S (into mic): Who are you?

[AD: The auburn haired woman stirs.]

Irving B: Mark.

Mark S: What?

Irving B: You skipped the preamble.

Helly R (on speaker): Hello?

Mark S: Shit!

[AD: He flips pages.]

Mark S: Um… (into mic) I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself.

[AD: He flips to an “Input Survey Preamble”.]

Irving B: That's it.

Mark S: Okay, um… (into mic) Hi there, you on the table. I wonder if you'd mind taking a brief survey.

Helly R (on speaker): Who is that?

Mark S (into mic): Five questions. Now, I know you're sleepy, but I just bet it'll make you feel right as rain.

Helly R (on speaker): Who's speaking?

[AD: Mark pages through the binder and Irving glances at a security camera over the door behind them. The auburn haired woman tries the door.]

Helly R (on speaker): Hey! Open the door!

Irving B: Mark.

Mark S (into mic): I'd be just thrilled to chat, once we've run the survey. Shall we begin with question one?

Helly R (on speaker): I'm not taking your survey.

[AD: She paces. Irving eyes the camera.]

Mark S (into mic): Shall we begin with question one?

Helly R (on speaker): Let me out of here. Hey!

[AD: They watch a door handle jiggle.]

Helly R (on speaker): Open the door!

Irving B: She- She's not supposed to do that.

Helly R (on speaker): Hey!

Irving B: She's going to break in.

Helly R (on speaker): Let me out!

Mark S: No, she's not.

Mr. Milchick: Are you seeing this?

Ms. Cobel: I'm watching.

Mr. Milchick: Should I help?

Ms. Cobel: You should not.

[AD: Milchick leaves Ms. Cobel’s office. Mark enters the conference room.]

Mark S: That's a perfect score. Now, I think I know where our disconnect is coming from.

Helly R: What?

Mark S: Well, there was a preamble, which I was supposed to read before the survey, to lead into the questions and… But I unfortunately skipped that and went straight into the survey.

Helly R: Am I livestock?

Mark S: I'm sorry?

Helly R: Like, did you grow me as food and that's why I have no memories?

Mark S: You think we grew a full human, gave you consciousness…

Helly R: I don't know.

Mark S: …did your nails and...

Helly R: I don't know. I don't know you.

Mark S: No, you're not livestock. Good Lord.

Helly R: Then what's my name?

Mark S: Helly. Your name is Helly. Helly R. Please.

[AD: Mark gestures across the conference table. Clenching and unclenching her fists, Helly sits across from him. He flips to a new page in the binder, glances at a camera, and smiles at her.]

Mark S: Thank you for taking the welcome survey. I can sense that the questions made you feel afraid or disoriented. Well, the good news is, you're at an orientation.

[AD: He grins. She stares blankly and his smile falters. He consults the binder.]

Mark S: You see, you have been hired to a position on the severed floor of Lumon Industries.

Helly R: The what floor?

[AD: He glances at her and flips the page back and forth. She glances around the room as he searches the binder.]

Mark S: Ah. Uh, I understand you're confused about the severance procedure. Before we hop on that, let's chat about something I bet you have heard of, the work/life balance. To start, imagine yourself as a seesaw.

[AD: She hurls the speaker at him.]

Mark S: Ow! Fuck! That locks from out there!

Helly R: Let me out!

Mark S: God!

[AD: He shuts the binder.]

Mark S: Can we just take a beat? Please.

[AD: She whirls toward him. He pulls out a chair at the corner of the conference table as she glares with balled fists. He gestures to another chair.]

Mark S: Please.

[AD: She steps forward and pulls the chair out. She sits. He opens the binder and touches his head. He holds a pen rigidly to a page, staring down. He suddenly pushes the binder aside.]

Mark S: Okay, my name's Mark. And, uh- So, I, you know, few years back, I woke up on this table. In this room. And, uh… A disembodied voice asked me 19 times who I was. And when I realized I couldn't answer, I told that voice that I would find him and kill him. I don't know why I said that. Uh, I mean, I was scared too.

Helly R: Did you kill the voice?

Mark S: No. No, that voice's name was Petey, and he became my best friend. So, look, you know, there is a life to be had here, Helly.

Helly R: A life to be had?

[AD: Mark’s gaze shifts and he frowns. He pulls the binder closer.]

Mark S: Well, you see, life, like a seesaw, requi-

[AD: She tries to wrestle the binder from him.]

Helly R: Let me the fuck out of here!

[AD: Mark looks to the camera and back at Helly. Ms. Cobel and Irving each watch their screens intently.]

Mark S: Ask me again.

Helly R: What?

Mark S: You've asked twice to be let go. Ask one more time.

Helly R: Mark.

Mark S: Yeah?

Helly R: I would like to leave the building now.

[AD: He opens the binder.]

Mark S: I understand you don't feel it's working out for you here at Lumon. While disappointed, I'd hate to keep you somewhere you're not happy. So, let's get you outta here.

[AD: He jerks his thumb toward the door, shuts the binder, and knocks on the door.]

Mark S: Irv.

[AD: Mark steps into a white hall followed by Helly. She glances down the hallway. They turn a corner. They pass through an office filled with cubicles.]

Mark S: The departments are pretty spaced out, but it'll all fill in one day. They're planning an expansion.

Helly R: And I'm, what, part of that?

Mark S: No. You're a replacement.

Helly R: Replacement for who? Why are you saying that like you hate it?

[AD: Mark leads Helly to the end of a hallway.]

Mark S: Here's your stairwell. Just past the bend.

[AD: She passes him and rounds a corner. A green sign hangs over a doorway. She faces him.]

Helly R: You're not coming with me?

Mark S: Oh, I'm not allowed to see.

Helly R: Excuse me?

Mark S: Well, once you leave, you- I just can't watch you leave.

[AD: A smile spreads over her face. He watches her.]

Helly R: Of course you can't.

[AD: She strides to the door. Mark presses his back to the bare white wall. Helly slows as she approaches the door, her reflection appearing in a small rectangular window. She glances back. Frowning, she steps forward and peers through the window at a stairwell beyond. She steps through the door. The door leads her back into the hallway. Her eyes dart around.]

Helly R: What the hell?

[AD: Squinting, she faces the door and looks back down the hallway. She steps back to the door, pushes through it, and emerges in the hallway. She blinks and faces the door. She runs at it, collapsing on the other side.]

Helly R: Ah, fuck!

[AD: Leaning against the wall around the corner, Mark fiddles with a tissue, checks his wristwatch, and slips a hand in his pocket. Helly emerges from the door. She strides quickly toward Mark as he stares down at the tissue in his hands.]

Helly R: Am I dead?

Mark S: No.

Helly R: This isn't, like, hell or something?

Mark S: No.

Helly R: Then why the fuck can't I leave?

Mark S: Well, you did leave, just now. Out into the stairwell, at least. You left, but you came back.

Helly R: I did not.

Mark S: You did. Come on.

[AD: She follows. In Ms. Cobel’s office.]

Ms. Cobel: Weaponizing office equipment on your first day. You are gonna be fun. Look, I do sympathize. I've wanted to pummel Mark myself, but I am his employer. And he is your department chief. So we'll both have to be strong. The good news is, there's only one part left of your orientation, which Mark can't possibly derail.

Helly R: Why is that?

Ms. Cobel: Because it's a video.

[AD: Ms. Cobel opens a drawer. She pulls out a DVD sleeve.]

Ms. Cobel: Welcome to Lumon, Helly.

[AD: Helly glances at the sleeve labeled “Helly R”. She takes it and looks between Ms. Cobel and Mr. Milchick’s mild expressions as she leaves the office. She passes Mark, his forehead bandaged. Milchick follows her out.]

Ms. Cobel: Have a seat.

[AD: Mark enters Ms. Cobel’s office, unbuttons his grey suit jacket, and sits across from her. She stares directly at him.]

Mark S: Are you mad at me?

Ms. Cobel: For the incompetence or the disobedience?

Mark S: Well-

Ms. Cobel: Yes!

[AD: She stands.]

Ms. Cobel: You know, my mother was an atheist. She used to say that there was good news and bad news about hell. The good news is, hell is just the product of a morbid human imagination. The bad news is, whatever humans can imagine, they can usually create.

Mark S: I don't know what that means.

Ms. Cobel: A department like yours can go so good or so bad. You know what makes the difference?

[AD: He shakes his head nervously.]

Ms. Cobel: The people.

[AD: Milchick plugs in a cord. A DVD drive pops out. He sets the DVD inside.]

Mr. Milchick: You can have a seat.

[AD: Mark returns to his desk. Helly sits in front of a TV in the corner of the room. A Lumon logo appears. Milchick folds his arms and watches her staring at the screen.]

Mr. Milchick (on screen): Okay, go ahead and have a seat.

[AD: Smiling, Helly takes a seat on screen. She lifts a note card from a table and looks it over. Helly leans toward the screen.]

Helena (on screen): My name is Helly R. I'm making this video roughly two hours before it will be shown to me. I have, of my own free accord, elected to undergo the procedure colloquially known as severance. I give consent for my perceptual chronologies to be surgically split, separating my memories between my work life and my personal life. I acknowledge that, henceforth, my access to my memories will be spatially dictated. I will be unable to access outside recollections whilst on Lumon's severed basement floor, nor retain work memories upon my ascent.

[AD: Helly stares.]

Helena (on screen): I am aware that this alteration is comprehensive and irreversible. I make these statements freely.

[AD: She glances at the others and Milchick. He keeps his eyes down.]

Mr. Milchick (on screen): Okay, that's a wrap.

[AD: Helly blinks, and her mouth opens slightly. Milchick shuts off the TV.]

Mr. Milchick: Okay. Go ahead.

[AD: Helly slowly rises from her chair as Milchick sets the remote beside the TV and unplugs it. She shuffles toward the four desks at the center of the room. Mark, Irving, and Dylan work at their computers.]

Helly R: So I'll never leave here?

[AD: Mark looks at her.]

Mark S: You'll leave at 5:00. Well, actually, they stagger our exits, so 5:15.

Helly R: Hmm.

Mark S: But it won't feel like it. Not to this version of you anyway.

Helly R: Do I have a family?

Mark S: You'll never know.

Helly R: And I have no choice.

Mark S: Well, every time you find yourself here, it's because you chose to come back.

[AD: Helly stares at him. He swivels back toward his computer. Dylan watches her over the partition. She sits. She inspects her work station, then glances through a gap in the partition. Irving stares at her.]

Irving B: Hello.

[AD: She offers a twitch of a smile and faces her computer. Milchick wheels the TV out of the room. Later, Mark slips his keycard into a slot by an elevator. An up arrow glows and it opens. He steps inside, touching his bandage. His eyelids flutter. A small frown settles on his face. He steps out past Judd.]

Mark: Good night.

Judd: Good night.

[AD: He opens the locker drawer and switches his work belongings with his personal ones. He eyes the new blue keycard with a small frown, sets it in the drawer, and shuts it. The setting sun casts bars of light across the wall. Mark’s shadow stretches out before him as he walks alone through the reception area. Outside, he pauses near his car. An envelope sits on his windshield. He takes it and glances toward the building. He pulls out a letter with the Lumon logo, and opens it to find a typed message.]

Mark: "Dear Mark, Whilst carrying boxes in a room today, you slipped on an overhead projector slide and sustained a minor blow to the temple."

[AD: He brushes his fingers across the bandage. The message continues: “Enclosed, please find a VIP gift card to Pip’s Bar and Grille.” He reaches into the envelope and pulls out the gift card. He backs out of his space, away from clumps of snow. As he drives, he struggles to remove his ID card from his neck. Helly passes in front of him, carrying a bouquet.]

Helena: Hey!

Mark: Sorry.

Helena: Maybe keep your eyes on the icy road.

[AD: She walks on.]

Mark: Sorry.

[AD: Mark pulls out of the nearly empty parking lot onto a curving road surrounded by snow. The sun sets behind a tree covered mountain range looming over the building. Mark drives past a tower bearing a raindrop icon and passes over a bridge. He passes a sign reading “Baird Creek” and turns toward a street lined with houses. His headlights catch particles of falling snow. He parks in the driveway of a two story house. He steps into the dark house and sets his keys on a small table by the door. He flicks on a light over the kitchen counters and grabs a beer from the refrigerator.]

[TV NARRATOR] Indeed, this gnat will spend much of its three to seven-day life-

[AD: He sits at a television, sipping his beer. In the morning, he pushes a blue trash can covered in snow toward the road. He finds another blue can in his space and glances at the next house over. He paces in his living room with a phone.]

Mark: Uh-huh. No, I know, Mrs. Selvig. It's just, it was in my space again. Yeah. Well, trash comes tomorrow night. Tonight's recycling. Yeah, it is weird, but that's how they do it. And with both yours, there's no room for- Uh-huh.

[AD: Later, he pulls a bottle of wine from a cabinet. He watches TV beside the bottle and a partially filled plastic cup. [knocks] He turns toward the door.]

Devon: Hey.

Mark: Hey.

[AD: A brown haired woman stands outside.]

Devon: Did you forget?

[AD: He frowns, shaking his head.]

Mark: Oh, yeah. Shit.

Devon: That's okay.

Mark: Sorry.

Devon: That's fine. Do you wanna put on pants, and I'll…

Mark: I'm wearing pants.

Devon: …meet you in- Those are not pants.

[AD: She drives him.]

Mark: So if there's no dinner, how is it dinner?

Devon: Okay.

Mark: Like...

Devon: You- You actually owe me this.

Mark: Do I?

Devon: Yep. You remember that time when we were kids and I was just generally a way better sibling than you?

Mark: Oh, must have slipped my mind.

Devon: Also, I know we're nearing the anniversary, so I just thought maybe you'd wanna be around people.

Mark: Nope.

[AD: She touches his head.]

Devon: This is nice. When did you get it?

Mark: Something from work, and they apologized.

Devon: Oh, they apologized. Thank God. Did they tack an explanation onto that apology?

Mark: It's fine. Got a gift card.

Devon: Oh, you got a gift card. Where's he going to?

Mark: I don't know. Pip's.

Devon: Of course it's Pip's. Well, enjoy.

Mark: I will, without you.

[AD: They approach a large house tucked in the woods. A bearded man opens the door.]

Ricken: There's our captive.

Mark: Hi, Rick.

Ricken: Ricken. Come on, it's Ricken. You, sir, look at peace.

Mark: You know. Okay.

Devon: Hi, baby.

Ricken: Hi.

Patton: No, what a lot of people overlook, I think, is that life is not food.

Danise: Right.

Patton: You've got life, this complex quality of sentience and- and activity. And then you've got food, which is what?

Ricken: Yes, what is it?

Patton: Fuel.

Ricken: Ah.

Patton: Calories. It's not the same thing.

Ricken: Yes, that is spot on, Patton.

Rebeck: I definitely agree.

Devon: Though, if I- [imitates tapping on mic] Sorry, uh, Mark and my dad used to have "whiskey is life" carved on a flask.

Mark: True.

Devon: It was low-hanging fruit.

Ricken: He did. He was a misdiagnosed alcoholic.

Danise: Now, Mark, Ricken told Rebeck and me that you're a former history professor.

Mark: Yeah.

Danise: So I'm curious for your take on all of this. The food v life of it.

Mark: Well, I'm not sure. I taught mostly about World War I.

Patton: Oh, okay. Well, I got one for you. I was- I was just reading this think piece about the comparative levels of violence and warfare throughout history.

Ricken: Oh, nerd alert.

Patton: War porn, I know. But anyway, in it, he said that the people actually called it the Great War. Apparently, it would have been a faux pas to have called it World War I.

Ricken: Is that right?

[AD: They all look at Mark.]

Mark: Well, uh, I’m, uh, you know, no one would've called it World War I cause World War II hadn't happened yet.

Danise: Wow.

Ricken: Of course.

Patton: That's absolutely right.

Ricken: Duh.

Rebeck: That's so true.

Devon: This is why we bring this guy.

Ricken: Mark's late wife, Gemma, was an educator as well. Russian literature.

Rebeck: Oh, I love literature.

Ricken: Right? But, um, Mark is a Lumon man now.

Devon: Ricken.

Patton: Really?

Mark: Yeah. Uh, about two years.

Rebeck: Do you design the medicines?

Mark: No.

Patton: I thought Lumon was more on the tech side of things.

Danise: They began in the 1800s.

Patton: Really?

Danise: Topical salves, right?

Rebeck: What don't they make?

Mark: Yeah, but I'm in the corporate archives division, so…

Patton: Oh, so you know all the dirty secrets.

Mark: No, not really.

Ricken: No. Um, Mark's work is sensitive enough as to require the severance procedure.

[AD: He glances down. Patton eyes Mark.]

Danise: Well. That's something, isn't it?

[AD: Mark nods.]

Devon: Yeah. It's also, I think, something that's his choice to tell people or not. Right, Ricken?

Ricken: Oh, my God.

Mark: No. I, no.

Ricken: Oh, God, Mark. Please forgive me.

Mark: No, no, no. It's okay. I don't care.

Ricken: My apologies.

Danise: No, I think it's fascinating. I mean, I wish I could do it. I'd just always be thinking about, you know, the other one.

[AD: Mark raises his eyebrows.]

Mark: Well, er, there is no other one. It's me. I do the job.

Danise: I just don't grasp the visceral element. What does it feel like?

Patton: Well, it's simple. One's memories are bifurcated, so when you're not at work, you have no recollection of what it is you do there. Did I get that right, Mark?

Mark: Well, it's-

Danise: So you walk in at 9:00 a.m., and then suddenly it's 5:00, and you're leaving?

Mark: Well, they stagger us a little, so-

Danise: They stagger you?

Patton: And then, conversely, when you're at work, you can't access outside memories. So, in effect, that version of you is trapped there.

Ricken: Well, uh-

Patton: I mean, not trapped, but-

Mark: But what?

[AD: Mark stares Patton down.]

Mark: No, no. I'm curious. What were you gonna say? But not trapped, but- but what?

[AD: The others look down.]

Mark: What were you gonna say?

[AD: Patton averts his gaze.]

Danise: So I suppose we know where you fall on the congressional goings-on.

Ricken: Okay, I think we may be missing the point here.

Devon: Yeah.

Ricken: The point is that Mark made a decision. And that decision was controversial, ethically and socially. Morally. Scientifically. But, Mark, I stand behind you without reservation.

Danise: So well said.

Ricken: Thank you.

Patton: Yeah, absolutely.

Rebeck: I definitely stand behind Mark.

Mark: Wow, uh, th-thank you. That's, that’s, uh, very sweet.

Ricken: Well, um, we're at the point where, traditionally, I would say something like, "Dig in." But I must say, I do think that the lack of food has allowed us to already do so on a much deeper level.

Patton: Oh, yeah.

Ricken: Right?

Patton: No, absolutely. I was saying, my friend in Lima hasn't had a food-based dinner event in-

[AD: Later.]

Devon: If I give you $3000, will you forgive me?

Mark: Well, because your child is innocent of tonight's atrocities, I'll wait until after it's born to murder you.

Devon: Oh, my God. Here you go, buddy.

[AD: Mark’s sister sets down a sandwich.]

Mark: Mmm. Thank you.

[AD: He stows a flask and bites into the sandwich.]

Devon: Hey, how's the good doctor therapy man with that weird little mustache?

[AD: He nods and chews. She stands by the table watching him.]

Devon: You're not going?

Mark: Well, the work thing's helped.

Devon: Yeah. I'm proud of you for taking that job. I really am. And I think she would've been too. I know she would've been.

[AD: Mark stares at the sandwich.]

Devon: I just feel like forgetting about her for eight hours a day isn't the same thing as healing.

[AD: She glances away, then eyes him. He picks bits off the sandwich and slips them into his mouth.]

Devon: You wanna crash here, since you're already here?

Mark: No.

Devon: Why?

Mark: Your house smells like pregnancy.

Devon: Mmm. Uh, yeah, I'm just not grasping the visceral element of it. Oh, she is fun, wasn't she?

Mark: Oh.

Devon: You're definitely staying here tonight.

Mark: No, I'm not.

Ricken: I'm making all the bedsheets myself, so I won't finish with the big one for some time. But the twin is comfortable, and the pajamas were made on a Baltic handloom, so you'll sleep well.

Mark: Thanks. I still don't quite get the three beds.

Ricken: Right.

Devon: Oh, Ricken's colleague told us that switching out the beds as the child grows can wound that child.

Ricken: Irreparably. But if you provide said child with all of its beds upon birth, you allow it to progress across the room at its own rate.

Mark: Got it. Yeah.

[AD: Mark lies on a racecar bed situated between a larger bed and a crib.]

Ricken: Yeah. I think people really enjoyed you tonight, Mark.

[AD: He scratches Mark’s foot.]

Mark: Good.

Devon: All right, baby.

Ricken: Mmm?

Devon: You ready, baby?

Ricken: Yeah.

Devon: Let's go.

Ricken: Sweet dreams.

Mark: Thanks.

Mark (British accent): Good night, m’lord.

Devon (British accent): Good night, m’lady.

[AD: She shuts the door. A toy hangs from the ceiling. Mark lies with his eyes open in the racecar bed. He flips onto his other side, fluffs a pillow, and rests his head on it. Later, he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a water filter. He pours water into a glass. As he sips, he looks out the window at the snowy expanse of forest surrounding the house. A figure moves among the bare trees. Mark leans toward the window, then hurries toward the front door, switches on an outside light, and steps outside. Frowning, Mark stares toward a grey haired man in a suit standing beside a large tree. A car passes and Mark squints into the glare of the headlights. The grey haired man disappears. Mark turns back toward the large tree. His eyes slide back and forth across the forest. He tentatively steps back inside. Sunlight shines across the roof, causing melted snow to run off and drip to the ground. Inside, Mark stares through the frost covered window toward the large tree. His sister walks in with a bag of chips.]

Devon: Hey.

Mark: Hey.

Devon: How long you been up?

Mark: A while.

[AD: She plops into a chair.]

Mark: There was a businessman in the yard last night.

Devon: A businessman?

Mark: Yeah.

Devon: Entry-level or management?

Mark: I'm serious.

Devon: There was seriously a man in my yard last night?

Mark: Yeah.

Devon: Holy shit.

Mark: He, you know, looked at me weird, like he knew me.

Devon: Aw, did the prowler invading my home make you feel seen?

Mark: So seen.

Devon: Well, there's a bar down the hill. It's probably just a stumbler. Speaking of which, you still smell like a distillery.

Mark: I'm sorry, I just had to drown out the memory of Mom and Dad switching out my beds when we were kids.

Devon: Heh-ho, you've been sitting on that one.

[AD: He continues to stare out the window as she walks away. Thin icicles reflect the sunlight. Snow covers the roofs of the Baird Creek houses. Standing atop a ladder, Mark pulls clumps of leaves from his rain gutter, wrinkling his nose as he drops them to the ground. He pauses, leans against the roof, and looks out across a lake and forest toward the Lumon building. He frowns. Later, he sits alone in the VIP area of Pip’s Bar and Grille. He gets a call from Mrs. Selvig.]

Mark: Hello. Okay. So, recycling was last night, Mrs. Selvig. Tonight's garbage. And you keep putting your bin on my side. So- Yeah. Okay. You know, I actually can't talk right now. I'm out at dinner. But- No, by myself. Uh, Pip's Bar and Grille. Excuse me. Wh-

Petey: Hang up. Quickly.

[AD: Mark gawks at the grey haired man suddenly sitting across from him.]

Mark: I'm sorry, Mrs. Selvig. They've cooked the food, and it's here.

Petey: Hi, kids. What's for dinner?

Mark: Uh-

[AD: Mark glances around.]

Petey: I'm sorry. You don't get that reference.

Mark: Are you following me? Wh-

Petey: Your voice is different here. Worse.

Mark: Okay, who the fuck are you? I-

Petey: Petey. My name is Petey. I'm from work.

Mark: Well, that's not plausible. Everyone in my department is-

Petey: Severed. Severed. I was.

Mark: Okay. Well, severance is pretty permanent.

Petey: Yeah. Bypassing the implant wasn't easy. I had help.

Mark: Uh-huh.

[AD: Mark purses his lips and looks down as Petey watches. Petey blinks hard and winces. Mark glances around the restaurant.]

Mark: So, what, you were unhappy at work? And instead of lodging a complaint, you-

Petey: No. I tried that first. So did you.

Mark: Right. Um, okay. So, you've unsevered. And now you, what, think they're after you or something?

[AD: Petey stares at him.]

Petey: Yeah. "They" being Graner, who's probably out here right now.

Mark: Graner. Okay. Is that, uh, like, a person you knew or-

Petey: We both know him. We don't like him.

Mark: I see.

[AD: Petey pulls a red envelope from his jacket and slides it to Mark. Mark takes it.]

Petey: Nothing down there is what they say. If something happens to me, the things I know need to stay known.

[AD: Mark frowns at the envelope.]

Petey: I'd prefer it be by a friend.

[AD: Petey rises from the table.]

Mark: So, we're friends?

Petey: I'm your best friend. You're my very good friend.

[AD: Mark stares after Petey as he strides across the length of the restaurant and leaves. Mark glances around, then eyes the red envelope in his hands. Later, he gets into his car and stares forward with a frown. He fishes out the envelope and removes a card. The words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NIECE” hang over a wrapped box. He opens it. Handwritten words cover the interior.”]

Petey (voiceover): Mark, sorry about the card. I had to grab something and I know it's not appropriate. Though I'm sure you'd be a really (fucking) awesome niece. We used to wonder what kind of men we were on the outside. What choices we had made, and why.

[AD: A car pulls into the lot behind Mark. He glances at his rearview mirror.]

Petey (voiceover): I used to think it would take a monster to put someone in a place like that office. Especially if the person was himself.

[AD: Mark drives.]

Petey (voiceover): But we're not monsters, Mark. Not real ones. If you don't want to know what's going on down there, I won't force it. But if you do, there's an address on the back of this card. Go alone, and you'll find the beginning of a very long answer.

[AD: He pulls into his driveway. Writing on the back of the card reads “499 Half Loop rd.” Mark shakes his head and gets out of his car. He pushes his trash can into position.]

Mrs. Selvig: Mark, is that you?

Mark: Oh. Hi, Mrs. Selvig.

Mrs. Selvig: Oh, will you color me embarrassed for the mix-up with the bins?

Mark: Oh. No, it's no problem.

Mrs. Selvig: How was dinner?

Mark: Fine. I'm just, you know, tired.

Mrs. Selvig: You know, my mother was a Catholic. She used to say it takes the saints eight hours to bless a sleeping child. I hope you aren't rushing the saints.

Mark: Well, I'll give them ample time tonight.

[AD: He smiles.]

Mark: Good night, Mrs. Selvig.

Mrs. Selvig: Mark.

[AD: He pauses and turns.]

Mrs. Selvig: You're good people.

[AD: Ms. Cobel nods at him, wearing a knit cap and patterned sweater. He gives an awkward smile and heads toward his door as she watches. He glances at her and walks inside. Her gentle smile slowly fades. Cut to black.]