The Foundation is a television series that’s like Men in Black meets Supernatural, with humor, heart, and plenty of secrets. It follows Monet Caraway, a paranormal vlogger who has devoted her adult life to understanding the disappearance of her brother, August, as she stumbles into a (highly expendable) position at an organization which seeks to monitor and conceal the unexplainable from the general populace. Unbeknownst to her, however, her life hasn’t been nearly as isolated from the Foundation as she thought, and the relationships she forms with her new coworkers will prove essential to surviving long enough to find some answers…
Below is an excerpt, or you can download the first act here: “The Foundation” Act One.
FADE IN:
INT. BARE ROOM – UNKNOWN TIME
MONET CARAWAY comes to in the middle of a dark, empty room on a plush leather chair. The room isn’t completely devoid of light, but there’s no clear source. Although it’s hard to make things out clearly, she’s not cuffed, and this surprises her–she raises her hands to affirm that in disbelief. There aren’t any visible doors into the room. As she looks around, out of seemingly nowhere–
MALE VOICE
(amused)
Ms. Caraway. I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to wake up.
MONET
(beat)
Sorry for the inconvenience, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep to begin with.
She stands up, walking along the walls to try to see where the audio is coming from–it seems to originate nowhere and everywhere at once.
MALE VOICE
Yes, I’m aware. My apologies for the unscheduled nap, but it was necessary given the circumstances.
MONET
The circumstances?
CUT TO:
INT. UNKNOWN OFFICE – CONTINUOUS
A MAN in a floral print shirt leans back in his chair, his back to us. He has a phone in one hand and a stress ball in the other. He’s squeezing it at regular intervals. In front of him are three monitors. On the left monitor, there’s a series of personnel files. On the right, there’s some sort of messaging service. He’s blocking the middle screen, but the visible parts of the screen are dark.
MAN
Don’t play coy, Ms. Caraway. We might have rendered you unconscious, but we did not erase your memory of the specter encounter you streamed live.
CUT TO:
INT. BARE ROOM – CONTINUOUS
Monet freezes with her hand on the wall, where she had been feeling for seams, or any sign of a door. There don’t seem to be any, nor is there any apparent place that speakers could be hidden.
MALE VOICE (CONT’D)
You really should make yourself more comfortable. We need to have a rather serious conversation.
Monet sits down as petulantly as a five-year-old who’s been sent to time-out.
MONET
Then let’s talk.
MALE VOICE
Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Caraway. I do hope that you can maintain–
MONET
Please get to the point. And please. If you want me to feel comfortable, call me Monet.
MALE VOICE
(beat)
I won’t insult your intelligence by beating around the bush, Ms. Caraway: I represent some people who are responsible for the moderation of sensitive intelligence, and, well. We’ve been keeping tabs on you for quite some time.
MONET
And you just now decided to check in on me? I wish I could’ve prepared some tea or something. At my place.
MALE VOICE
(slightly annoyed)
There wasn’t any need for us to bother you before.
Suddenly, the wall in front of her shows two parallel video feeds: one with Monet, on-screen, looking shocked, and another where we see overexposed night vision footage that transitions into full-color feed of a phantasmal white specter, glowing in the midst of the dark forest. Immediately after this figure appears, the feed cuts to black and the room seems even darker.
Monet’s expression is one of thinly veiled terror, and she pinches her arm lightly. This is all really happening.
MALE VOICE
You’ve put us in a rather…difficult situation, I’m afraid.
MONET
(beat)
I’m sorry?
MALE VOICE
We don’t need an apology, Ms. Caraway. We need a way forward.
MONET
(beat)
I don’t suppose letting me out of this room is an option.
MALE VOICE
(beat)
Not in the way you’re thinking.
MONET
…The literal one?
MALE VOICE
The one where leaving this room equals returning to your life like nothing’s happened.
Monet stares up at the bare ceiling, where there should be a light but isn’t one.
MONET
Damn. I liked that option.
MALE VOICE
It was never an option. You really only have two.
MONET
Do tell.
MALE VOICE
The first one–the easier one–would be that we kill you right now. There are a few dozen kinds of gas hooked up to the ventilation systems of that room. Several of them could end your life within a minute. Or, we could stage your suicide. That would be believable enough, considering your history.
Monet recoils as if struck.
MONET
You…
MALE VOICE
I told you, we’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while.
MONET
(beat)
You said there was a second option?
MALE VOICE
You’re not stupid, Ms. Caraway.
MONET
Thank you.
MALE VOICE
You’re resourceful, and you’ve managed to be a low-level security threat for the past four years with almost zero resources or connections. Of course, you jumped up to medium-level after the events of last night.
MONET
(quietly)
Last night.
(louder)
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be flattered or threatened.
It’s hard to be sure, but there’s a noise that almost sounds like…faint laughter?
MALE VOICE
Ideally, you should be both. You could be a real asset to us if you could manage to keep yourself under control and keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?
MONET
I can’t tell if you’re trying to get me to scamper off with my tail between my legs or if you’re trying to hire me, honestly.
MALE VOICE
You’re not scampering anywhere, Ms. Caraway–I thought that was clear. But we are always in need of new employees.