A flickering CCTV MONITOR sits on a dusty console. The timestamp blinks.
She plugs it into a terminal. A video auto‑plays.
WHISTLE‑BLOWER (ON SCREEN) If you’re watching this, Nita, you know the truth. Spectra tracks everything—your coffee, your steps. This data… could end it.
CCTV VOICE (static) REC.
She rips the USB free, slams the server’s power switch. The rack erupts in sparks, blinding the guards.
A JANITOR'S CART rolls past. NITA (30s, practical, tired eyes) pushes it.
FADE TO BLACK.
Nita’s hand hovers over the USB. The server rack begins to sputter.
She darts out, rain pounding on the loading dock.
Nita swipes her keycard. A PANEL slides aside, revealing rows of old servers humming.