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EXT: OUTSKIRTS OF LONDON. NIGHT.

The frame is black; the sound of a brief scream echoes in the air. Heavy breathing now dominates the airwaves along with the faint whine of police sirens. Suddenly the frame erupts with two figures sprinting down a dimly lit, cobbled street. They are both panting heavily and looking over their shoulders. One is clasping onto a woman's brown leather handbag. After 50 yards they dart down a side alley where they pause to catch their breath.

EXT: SIDE ALLEY. NIGHT

JACK leans against the wall to catch his breath whilst CHRIS lays sprawled on the floor panting. JACK tosses the bag onto CHRIS' chest. CHRIS is in a grey hoody and jeans. CHRIS stands to one knee and starts scanning through the bag. He withdraws a woman's purse. As he does so JACK inspects his hands, they are bleeding heavily from a series of deep cuts.

A sly smile creeps across CHRIS' rugged features. JACK looks ashamed. He tries to mask it by paying close attention to his bleeding hands. He sweeps back his long, brown, shabby hair; his face looks young in good need of a wash.

The street lamp above them starts to flicker, and a light breeze picks up. JACK gazes up at the lamp and looks uneasy.

JACK:
(His voice seems young and impatient)
Hurry it up will 'ya... I don't wanna
hang round here too long

CHRIS stares up at JACK and gives him an aggressive hand gesture.
CHRIS:
SSHHHH!

JACK:
(Urging)
Get on with it already...

The blood from JACKS hands starts seeping through his denim trouser pocket. He looks at his Casio watch, wincing with pain. It reads 11:52pm. He starts tapping his feet.

JACK's coat pocket starts to flash and vibrate. He pulls out a sleek, metallic phone. It reads ANNOYMOUS. JACK looks puzzled. CHRIS eyes up JACK'S phone and shoots JACK a look of interest.

JACK:
(Flashing the phone towards CHRIS)
Nicked it last week...

(He rejects the call and returns
the phone to his pocket)

CHRIS finishes with the bag. He chucks of wad of money to JACK and pockets some for himself. JACK's face is overwhelmed with sweat and looks pale.

CHRIS notices JACKS complexion and becomes very aware of how quiet the alleyway is.

CHRIS:
(Standing up))
JACK...You turning soft?

JACK:
(Snapping)
Sod off...

(JACK turns walks away.)

CHRIS attempts to call JACK but stops himself. We see JACK quicken his pace to a brisk walk. He reaches the end of the alley and we lose sight of him.

We cut to CHRIS still standing in the alleyway, lighting a cigarette. Over Chris' shoulder, out of the shadows, two figures emerge tearing down the alleyway towards CHRIS. They both have POLICE in large white letters printed on their chests. Chris hears the footsteps and spins around wildly.

The two officers pounce onto CHRIS, knocking the air out of his lungs and pinning him to the floor. Chris feebly attempts to fight back and call for JACK, but with no result. A third officer steps out of the shadows and into view. He is cloaked in a beige overcoat unlike the other two. His face is glistening with sweat and his cheeks a bright scarlet. He catches his breath and produces a smile.

POLICEMEN:
(Cheerfully)
Your nicked mate!

CHRIS lies on the floor with the larger of the two police officers handcuffing him. As the senior officer begins to read CHRIS his rights, the sound drains away and we hear a canyon deep voice talk over the action.

VOICE:
(Reflective)
They found me 20mins after they jumped CHRIS
...He was 16 and I 14.
FADE IN:
INT: OFFICE. DAY

The office is vast and filled with stacks of files. Book cases line the walls of the office and are stuffed with books. Most are on the subject of the human mind. A slim-line PC adorns a typical office desk and hums quietly. A bronze name plaque sits at the front of the desk. It reads, MICHAEL CLARK. The morning sun beams through one of the many windows overlooking the surrounding city. Out of the four walls of the office only one is free of book cases and is covered in posters on stress related illnesses and treatments.

Two seated figures dominate the room. They both sit facing each other. One is dressed in a tattered black jacket and torn blue jeans. He looks unshaven and dishevelled. He sits with his head lowered. The figure opposite him is well dressed in what appears to be a fine stripe fine suit. He sits with his legs crossed and a note pad and pen on his lap.

JACK:
(His voice full of remorse)
When they let me out I had nowhere to
go. So I turned to the streets...

JACK begins to sob. His head is still lowered.

JACK:
(Sobbing)
I'm 22 and I've accomplished
nothing...Not even a single exam.

JACK shifts his weight and gradually slips his hands into jacket pocket. MICHAEL starts to look anxious.

JACK raises his head for the first time. His eyes are blood shot and full of tears. He makes no attempt to wipe them away.

JACK:
Now I've no choice...

MICHAEL:
(In a well spoken voice)
We always have choices lad.

JACK shakes his head and starts to hit himself repeatedly. MICAHEL starts to break out into a light sweat. JACK slowly withdraws his hands from his pocket. His hand grasps a pistol. His hands are shaking violently. CHRIS rears up in his seat.

MICHAEL:
(Apprehensive)
JACK...The mistakes we make, they're
for a reason.

JACK looks MICHAEL in the eye.

MICHAEL:
You just have
To live with them thats..

JACK swiftly pulls the pistol to his temple, lets out a brief scream and pulls the trigger. He slumps down into his chair. MICHAEL sits in a state of shock. He slowly stands and staggers towards JACK, his face full of compassion and disbelief.

MICHAEL:
...that's just life.