The Human League
EXT. ROADSIDE - MORNING Two running shoe-clad feet pound the pavement in the pre-dawn light. Heavy breathing, in rhythm with the footfalls, fills the otherwise eery silence. The runner is JAMES, 24, incredibly fit but nonetheless struggling. JAMES (V.O.) My name is James Whitmore. I'm 19 years old. And I'm training for the League. INT. HOUSE - DAY A modest split level, filled with old decor. Scattered b-roll highlights items in the house: a picture of a young James with his family. A shelf dedicated to various sports awards and medals—baseball, basketball, track. In the corner, a pile of old action figures: men with mechanical limbs and robotic eyes. A stack of bills on the dining room table. ...