EXT. NIGHT. STASH HOUSE.

The night is cold, oppressive. Agent 83, a seasoned ex-

special operations agent, slips through the darkness like a
shadow of vengeance. His every step is calculated, every
breath measured. The Trinity cult—the ones who took Micka
from him—are about to feel his wrath.

RADIO OPERATOR (V.O.)

(urgent, panicked)
83! Do not shoot the leader! He’s
the only one with the code—do not
shoo-

Without a word, Agent 83 rips the radio off his belt and
throws it to the ground with a snap. The silence is
deafening. His focus sharpens. His eyes are ice cold, his
body a weapon, moving without sound or hesitation.

He advances further into the stash house. Far off in the

distance, voices hum, too muffled to make out.

He approaches a rusted, iron gate and carefully nudges it

open. A vertical sliver of light spills into his eyes. He
freezes. The sound of footsteps—slow. A man walks past the
gate, unaware of the predator lurking behind it. Without a
sound, Agent 83 glides forward, his knife tightly held,
foreshadowing the coming bloodbath. The blade finds the man’s
throat with a swift, deadly precision.

The body crumples, lifeless. He grabs the man’s gun, then

vanishes back into the shadows.

His movements are faster now, more urgent. Every second

counts. Micka is somewhere in this hell, and he has to find
her.

The voices ahead become clearer—more distinct.

LEADER (V.O.)
(calm, almost soothing)
In the end, it was never about
saving her. It was always about
what you abandoned. The parts of
you left behind. The things you
gave up that can never be
reclaimed.

Agent 83’s blood boils, but he stays focused. His heart thuds
in his chest, the weight of his failure pressing in. He
rounds the corner and halts.

Made in Highland
 2.

He fears what he’s looking for—Micka, his best friend. She’s

bound to a chair, her head slumped forward. A camera stands
before her, its lens cold and unblinking. Two harsh lights
shine down on her battered face, casting grotesque shadows
across her features. Her makeup has smeared, streaked with
tears and blood. She’s barely conscious.

The Leader stands behind her. His face is unreadable, his

voice laced with mockery.

LEADER (V.O.)
(almost detached)
The world tells us we can rewrite
the past. That there’s always a
way out, if you just try hard
enough. But those are lies. Lies
told by those afraid to face the
truth. The truth is this: we’re
all prisoners of our own choices.

Micka shifts weakly in her chair, her body trembling with

exhaustion. She struggles against the tape over her mouth,
and her voice escapes in a hoarse whisper.

MICKA
(muffled, desperate)
Please… someone… help…

Agent 83’s heart cracks, but he forces himself to move

forward. He hides behind a corner, waiting for the right
moment. The seconds stretch on, stretching the tension in the
air to its breaking point.

The Leader’s voice fills the space, chillingly calm. He steps

toward Micka, his words hanging in the air like a death
sentence.

LEADER
The things we love… they are
fragile. Easily lost, easily
shattered. We hold them close,
not realizing how easily they
slip away.

Micka’s eyes flutter open, weak, broken, but desperate. Her

body trembles, and she strains against the tape, her breath
shallow as she tries to speak.

MICKA
(straining, barely audible)
No… please… someone… help…

The Leader walks to a nearby table, tweezers, and various

tools—torture implements laid out like instruments of ritual.
His hand lingers on the table for a moment, his fingers
brushing the cold steel.

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 3.

LEADER
(cold, matter-of-fact) (V.O)
We sacrifice what we love because
it is the only way to move
forward. Some things aren’t meant
to be saved… they are simply
lost.

Micka, her face pale and streaked with tears, mumbles again,
this time louder, more desperate.

MICKA
(muffled through the tape)
No… please… someone… help…

The Leader steps back. Just as he does, Agent 83 moves from

the shadows, his silhouette emerging like a nightmare. He
locks eyes with the Leader. Time freezes for a moment.

Micka lets out a scream—her entire body convulses with the

force of it, but the sound is muffled, hopeless.

MICKA
(screaming into the gag,
with all her strength)
Help!

Agent 83 steps forward, his gun trained on the Leader.

AGENT 83
(voice low, steady)
Mets les mains en l’air.

The Leader doesn’t flinch. There’s no fear in his eyes—only

an unsettling calm.

LEADER
Regret… it has a way of following
us, doesn’t it? We cling to it,
hold it close. But in the end, we
are bound by our choices.

AGENT 83
(seething, trembling with
rage)
Tu ne sais pas de quoi tu
parles !

Their gazes lock, one consumed with grief and rage, the other
with cold detachment.

LEADER
You think you can undo what’s
been done? You can’t. It’s too
late. She’s gone. You didn’t have
the courage when it mattered.

Made in Highland
 4.

AGENT 83
(gritting his teeth, fists
tightening around his gun)
Non. Je peux encore la sauver. Je
ne l’ai pas abandonnée. Je vais
réparer ça... Je vais arranger
les choses.

The Leader takes a slow breath, as though savoring the

moment.

LEADER
(a hint of sorrow, but still
resolute)
You failed her… long before this
moment.

AGENT 83
(quiet, breaking)
Ce n’est pas vrai ! Je l’ai
échoué une fois, mais pas
encore ! Je vais réparer ça. Je
vais le faire!

LEADER
(cold, almost pitying)
Every choice sends ripples
through time. Some things… you
can never undo.

As Micka is screaming as hard as she can, the Leader reaches

into his waistband and pulls out the pistol. Agent 83 reacts
instantly, but it’s too late. The silence of loneliness is
all he can hear.

With a flash of movement, the Leader turns and fires. The

bullet rips through the air, striking Micka before she can
even react. Her scream is cut off as blood splatters,
painting the camera lens.

Agent 83’s heart stops. His vision goes red with rage. His
gun comes up and fires twice—each shot strikes the Leader in
the chest. The Leader stumbles, but it’s too late.

Agent 83 rushes toward Micka, but as he reaches her, the

world falls away. She hangs limply in the chair, her body
slumping forward as gravity claims her.

Time freezes.

Agent 83 stands before her, the gun slipping from his hands.
His eyes don’t leave her lifeless body. His face is empty,
blank. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

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 5.

AGENT 83
(whispering, as though the
words could change
everything)
Je... je n’ai pas pu... je n’ai
pas pu la sauver...

His voice cracks, but his face betrays nothing. His hands
shake violently, unable to hold the weight of the loss. His
fingers twitch, gripping the empty air, but it’s too much.

He stumbles back, his gun clattering to the floor. Tears fill

his eyes, but he doesn’t wipe them away. His chest heaves as
sobs rip through him, raw, guttural. His entire body trembles
as the magnitude of what he’s lost crashes down.

The silence in the room is suffocating.

Then, a sound of metal behind him. A figure emerges from the

shadows. The radio operator, silent and unforgiving, presses
a gun to the back of Agent 83’s head.

RADIO OPERATOR
(softly, with finality)
Some losses can never be undone.

CREDITS ROLL.

Made in Highland