ADVENTURES UP HIGH

Screenplay draft

Title: ADVENTURES UP HIGH
Credit: Written by
Author: Screenwriter
Draft date: Current Draft
Contact: production@highfly.studio

FADE IN:

INT. VERTICAL CITY HANGAR - DAWN

Golden light slices through gaps in the stratospheric hangar doors. Steel and glass yawn open to endless cerulean sky. Matte-black sky-bikes rest on charging pads, orange safety lines glowing on the deck like runway veins. Servo hums pulse low under the wind rush leaking from outside.

LADA VOSS, late 20s Eurasian woman with silver undercut and piercing violet eyes, kneels beside her matte-black sky-bike. Orange racing stripes pulse softly along the fuselage. Her cracked visor lies on the deck beside a scattered toolkit. She tightens a servo coupling with gloved hands, flight suit creaking.

KAI RENN, early 30s East-Asian man with messy black hair and glowing cybernetic left eye, leans against a tool rack. Data tattoos shift across his layered jacket. He watches the open doors, cybernetic eye flickering faint data overlays.

KAI
That contract’s suicide. Your brother died at half that altitude.

Lada doesn’t look up. She slots a fresh power cell into the bike’s flank. The engine spools with a rising whine.

LADA
He didn’t have my hack. Or your bikes.

She snaps the cracked visor into place. The HUD flares to life across the scratched lens, casting electric orange numerals over her violet eyes. A billion-credit sum scrolls in clean corporate font.

LADA
We plant the beacon, we come home legends.

Kai’s cybernetic eye ticks once, registering the height telemetry streaming from the visor. Wind gusts rattle the hangar doors. He exhales through his teeth.

KAI
Legends are made by those who return with proof. Not by those who never land.

Lada stands. The suit’s orange stripes catch the dawn light. She holsters a slim hacking rig to her thigh and slaps Kai’s shoulder, hard enough to jolt him.

LADA
Pack light. We’re not staying.

Kai straightens, jacket patches glinting. He glances at the open sky again, eye dimming the altitude readout.

KAI
You’re buying the drinks when we land. And I’m picking the bar. Something underground.

Lada walks the length of the bike, running a hand along the matte hull. The charging pad clicks off. She swings a leg over the saddle, visor reflecting the vast blue beyond the doors.

LADA
Dawn launch. No second calls.

Kai lingers by the rack a beat longer. His fingers drum once on a wrench, data tattoos flaring. Then he moves to his own rig, boots echoing on steel.

The hangar doors grind wider. Golden light floods the deck, turning the orange stripes into fire. Lada’s bike lifts an inch on repulsors, wind already tugging at her undercut.

LADA
(soft, to herself)
We ride the updraft or we don’t ride at all.

Kai mounts his bike. The two rigs idle side by side, servos humming in sync. Outside, the vertical city canyons drop away into cloud. Lada’s visor HUD pulses the contract total one last time before she kills the display.

She guns the throttle. The matte-black hull surges forward toward the light. Kai follows a half-second later, jacket data tattoos streaking in the wind.

CUT TO:

INT. VERTICAL CITY HANGAR - DAWN

Golden light cuts across the steel deck through the open stratospheric doors. Matte-black sky-bikes rest on charging pads, orange stripes pulsing low. A wide holographic screen floats above the workbench, displaying the contract in crisp white text against deep indigo.

LADA VOSS stands with arms crossed, cracked visor tucked under one arm. Her violet eyes scan the billion-credit figure. KAI RENN leans forward, his cybernetic eye flickering as data tattoos shift across his jacket sleeves.

KAI
That number’s real. One billion credits if we reach the platform and plant the beacon.

LADA
We plant it, we come back legends.

KAI
Legends are made by those who return with proof.

He taps the screen. The payout window expands, showing transfer confirmations and corporate seals. Wind rushes outside, servo hums from the bikes filling the pause.

LADA
My brother never made it back with anything.

KAI
Exactly. He chased the height and left nothing but a crater. We go up, we plant the beacon, we ride the footage home. No one remembers the ones who stay up there.

Lada steps closer to the screen. Her silver undercut catches the light. She reaches out, rotates the contract hologram, revealing the fine-print clause about permanent residency.

LADA
They want us to stay.

KAI
Then we don’t. We hack the core if we have to. We come down with the proof or we don’t come down at all.

Kai’s eye ticks once, logging the altitude data scrolling beside the payout. He straightens, voice dropping.

KAI
Your call, Voss. But legends don’t upload from orbit.

Lada snaps the visor into place. The HUD flares orange across her face, reflecting the contract sum. She kills the screen with a swipe. The hangar falls quiet except for the distant wind.

INT. VERTICAL CITY HANGAR - DAWN

Golden light slices through the stratospheric bay doors. Two matte-black sky-bikes rest on charging pads, orange racing stripes pulsing against brushed aluminum. Wind howls faintly beyond the open doors, cerulean sky stretching endless above the vertical city canyons.

LADA VOSS kneels at the port wing of her bike, silver undercut catching the light. Her cracked visor lies on the deck beside her. She tightens a servo clamp with gloved hands, flight suit creaking.

KAI RENN stands at the second bike, his glowing cybernetic eye scanning the HUD. Data tattoos shift across his jacket as he runs diagnostics. Tool patches catch the rim light.

KAI
Your fuel mix is still running hot. One thermal spike and the whole rig cooks.

LADA
Then we run leaner on the ascent. Same as last time.

She stands, wipes grease on her thigh, and steps over to his bike. She checks the docking clamps with quick, precise movements.

KAI
Last time we didn’t climb thirty thousand feet into nothing. Your brother’s telemetry cut out at half that. I watched the feed.

Lada’s hands pause on the clamp. Her violet eyes flick to the open sky for half a second. The wind outside rises, servo whine echoing off steel walls.

LADA
He tried to manual the descent. Thought the hack would hold. It didn’t.

She snaps the clamp shut. The bike’s engine hums to life, electric orange indicators flaring.

LADA
These bikes don’t fail. You built them that way.

Kai’s cybernetic eye ticks, registering altitude projections. He exhales through his teeth and leans against the tool rack.

KAI
I built them to race. Not to die on some corporate dare.

Lada picks up her cracked visor. She turns it in her hands, cloud reflections sliding across the fracture lines.

LADA
We plant the beacon, we come home legends. That’s the deal.

She snaps the visor into place. The HUD blooms with the billion-credit sum. Kai watches the number scroll across his own eye implant.

KAI
You’re still buying the drinks when we land.

Lada slaps the bike’s flank. The engine note climbs, wind rushing louder through the doors.

LADA
Pack light. We’re not staying.

INT. VERTICAL CITY HANGAR - DAWN

Golden light slices through the open stratospheric doors. Matte-black sky-bikes rest on charging pads, orange racing stripes pulsing against brushed aluminum. Wind rushes outside, carrying the faint servo whine of distant drones.

LADA VOSS kneels beside her rig, flight suit creaking as she wipes carbon dust from the hull. Her silver undercut catches the light. The cracked visor lies on the deck beside her.

KAI RENN leans against the tool rack, data tattoos shifting across his jacket. His cybernetic eye flickers with residual telemetry.

KAI
Post-race numbers look clean. You clipped that last gate by four centimeters.

LADA
(without looking up)
Felt tighter. HUD lagged on the final dive.

She stands, wiping her hands on a rag. The vast cerulean sky fills the open doors behind her.

KAI
Your brother used to say the same thing after every run. Then he’d push one more meter.

LADA
He didn’t have you

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