Industry Practice: Scriptwriting

 27/11/24: Produced Intrusive Thoughts Script and asked for feedback from the group.

14/01/25: Produced Health Anxiety Script and asked for feedback from the group.

In our group I have been assigned the general role of a Scriptwriter, and as such I have produced several script assets for use in our game.

INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS

--PSYCHOLOGY CLASSROOM--

Player (I'm gonna refer to them as "MC") is sitting at their desk, facing towards the central whiteboard / chalkboard / screen that the teacher uses. There are images of human brains, rennaisance-anatomy style, spread across the walls. The lighting is stark and orange, a similar marigold shade to Intrusive.

MC: There was a tingling in the back of my mind, sitting silent in that classroom. It was always there, I realised, always present as a whisper, quiet and hollow. Chipping away within me.

MC: It was a shout, in that room.

The Spirit of Intrusion appears. It is subtle yet present, perhaps a figure standing in a corner or sitting behind the teacher's desk, or a slender shadow across the wall that covers the printed images.

The Teacher speaks. They may not need a design, being a background character, or could alternatively have an abstract form alike a rorscach test.

PSYCH TEACHER: ... we then speak of another idea. Aggression and hurtfulness are, quite naturally, hold-overs of a more primitive age, in which anger and rage were survival metrics used by our ancestors in assistance of their survival...

MC: The tingling was a voice, in my mind – my voice. It told me things I did not want to hear, told me things that upset me. Angered me to the point of tears as they jabbed inwards, an anchor sunk in the oceanic bed of my thought. A burden I could not remove; a fear I could not shed.

PSYCH TEACHER: ... it is a response we see today. A question can then be raised; is this response – survival-induced as it is – relevant to the modern age, in which we do not have to hunt for food nor fear for preadation? Anger is prevelant, rage is prevelant, and the goal-posts of predation and survival have shifted...

MC: Goal-posts, I remembered thinking. Goal-posts and survival. Justifications?

INTRUSIVE: Goal-posts and survival. Justifications.

PSYCH TEACHER: ...now, our own goals for survival have changed. We live in a world of excess, yet there is still harm that can befall us. It is a heightening of this response, mixed with supplimentary angers taught and societal, that lead to chunks of violence we see in the modern day...

INTRUSIVE: Taught and societal. Personal violence. Hmmmm.

INTRUSIVE: I think there's a difference there. How can a 'society' breed violence? A society is incapable of violence. It is people that cause the violence, the society is just a stage. People and people and people, all capable of the same abhorrence. Like tiny eggs, waiting and waiting!

MC: This class was always silent. Quiet and contemplative, the voice of the teacher stark against the sound of rustling pages and the scratch of pen on paper. It was one of the few classes that were silent, perhaps the only in which the tudents found interest in what was being taught. They regarded the subject with the seriousness it deserved.

MC: All other classes were different, in that regard. There was always people screaming and shouting in boistrous voices, whining and groaning at the very notion of having to do work. And then what would happen? The entire class, all of us, would be punished. It made me upset.

INTRUSIVE: It made you angry. It made you angry, and that's ok! You deserved to be angry, come on. You deserved to be angry.

MC: Repetition sunk it into my mind, and as I tried to pull the thought from my mind, it fell further in.

INTRUSIVE: Please, think about it. Think about it! Screaming and gawking and shouting, rolling in the vestiges of their own ignorance. You've always tried your hardest, [MC Name], and it shows. My goodness, it shows!

MC: The classroom was always silent, and that made the whispering all the more louder.

INTRUSIVE: So why, tell me, why should you be punished? Why should you have been punished when you didn't deserve it, when it was those around you who were pushing their own beligerance forwards?

Intrusive moves closer to the MC, standing by a nearer desk or looming closer in the wall.

MC: I was sitting there alone and the session was blowing past me, my page barren of notes as I sat in the silence. I always thought about how I wanted the silence, how I needed it to concentrate, yet now? As I sat quietly, I wished for something to distract me. I snapped back to the lesson. Whatever the teacher was talking about, I had missed the brunt of it.

PSYCH TEACHER: ... and these inclinations begin small, perhaps as divergent thoughts different from the mind as a whole; suggestions that the perpetrator falls in to.

INTRUSIVE: Come on now, [MC Name]. Different from the whole or not, does it matter? One mouldy slice of bread taints the whole loaf. It wasn't your fault – you had the right to be upset! And you have the right to be more than upset, more than angry.

INTRUSIVE: You are these people's victims, their collateral that they have no care for. You're the one who told me this! You hate them! You hate them! They ruined your mood, [MC Name]! They have ruined you! Now you retch in violence and rage!

MC: It was something I had wrestled with, how I thought of those around them. I was liked no more or less than the average student, I felt, yet there were times when isolation rooted itself in my conscience. Times where those around me irritated and annoyed me to no end. I had thought about that anger, and that anger had bloomed – brief as it may have been – into a terrible suggestion of violence.

MC: I felt sick to my stomach. The more I pushed it away, the greater a thought it became. The more it prodded itself into my mind. The greater a weight it became. The more I pushed it away, the more of me it became. That's what it felt like.

INTRUSIVE: Careless, tired, ignorant people. Whilst you sit a caste above them all. You told me this! You told me this! You, you above them all, them beneath you. Senseless, careless, ignorant people.

INTRUSIVE: You above them? You realise how that sounds, right? You realise how that makes you look? How dare you even suggest it. Sickening, truly.

MC: ...

MC: There was a point, in the silence, when I felt stuck in a fevered pitch.

Intrusive moves closer to the MC. Perhaps this would be their sprite sheet? They look almost disgusted, looking down to the MC. They carry a heavy briefcase in one hand.

INTRUSIVE: I feel sick to my stomach, knowing what you are saying about these people.

Intrusive looks into the briefcase.

INTRUSIVE: ...

Intrusive looks back to MC.

INTRUSIVE: You want to hurt them, don't you?

--INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, CHOICES--
GOOD CHOICE: I thought that the idea was ridiculous.

BAD CHOICE: I thought how I would never do such a thing.

--INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, GOOD CHOICE--
I thought that the idea was ridiculous.

MC: It was a ridiculous suggestion.

INTRUSIVE: You want to hurt them? Is that what I heard?

MC: It was ridiculous. Of course I didn't. I was sitting there, worried, yet I knew that the suggestion of violence was an alien thought in my mind. I knew it was different from me, and I knew that I should think of it as such.

INTRUSIVE: Come on, [MC Name], after everything you've just said? Is it not in the front of your mind? This is what you are, remember.

MC: I got my head down and carried on with my work. I twas difficult, but I could do it. The teacher wandered around to help us, of course. The silence continued, though some talking filled the quiet.

INTRUSIVE: Listen to them. They'll get you in trouble! Their belligerence, their idiocracy... listen to them.

MC: It was a questionnaire we were filling out, transcribing notes from the previous lecture onto paper. It was difficult.

INTRUSIVE: Look at you, now. Struggling, moving slowly. I know how this must make you feel, [MC Name]. Lagging behind whilst everyone else surges forward – it must be upsetting, must be rage-inducing...

MC: I continued with my work. The sounds of my writing provided distraction enough.

INTRUSIVE: Don't you know what you are?

MC: ...

MC: That was the question that made me pause. Don't you know what you are. It was strange, hearing it phrased internally in such a light. Because I do know what I am, and worried though I was, I knew what I was at the time, too. The suggestion of violence and anger sickened me, and that sickening response should have been reason enough for me to realise that the inclination went against me.

MC: These thoughts were a part of me, but they did not define me. The thoughts of anger and hate, of violence and distrust, they went against me. I would not commit them, and there in lay a difference between action and thought; between definition and suggestion, between what I was and what I was not.

MC: The teacher was moving up the classroom and lingered by my desk.

Maybe show the teacher looking down to the MC or their work?

PSYCH TEACHER: [MC Name], could you see me after class?

INTRUSIVE: Wait a minute! Wait a minute! They know! They know! Saw through you like glass, know what you are!

MC: I closed my eyes for a moment and continued on with my work. Even as I tried to continue, the worry remained within me. Eventually, the session passed.

Teacher is sitting in their chair. Intrusive behind them?

PSYCH TEACHER: ...

PSYCH TEACHER: How did you find the session today?

MC: It was fine.

INTRUSIVE: It was horrible.

PSYCH TEACHER: I noticed you, by the way. I just thought I would ask you...

INTRUSIVE: Here it comes!

PSYCH TEACHER: I just thought I would ask, I noticed that you seemed a bit "off" today. Has something been bothering you?

MC: I explained myself. I had been "off", I had been worrying. There was sympathy.

PSYCH TEACHER: Well, you haven't been the first who has been bothered by the topics we cover. It's more common than you would think. I've been doing this for a long time, and I've had a lot of students come to me with similar concerns. It's perfectly normal. If you are struggling, however, you must reach out. And your wellbeing is more important than a class task – if you're growing uneasy, you can leave the class and calm down.

Intrusive thoughts spirit maybe becomes less noticable, maybe moving backwards in the scene or hiding behind the teacher?

MC: It was calming to here those words. Though the suggestion lingered inside me even still, I knew that it could be held seperate from me. Burying it would make it more powerful: I must rest to let it go, and must give myself the good grace of forgiveness and care to do so.

MC: I thanked the teacher, though they said I did not have to.

Last shot shows the classroom – the Intrusive thoughts spirit can be seen through the window of the door. It looks forward, and the screen fades.

--INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, BAD CHOICE--
I thought how I would never do such a thing.

MC: It would never do such a thing.

INTRUSIVE: Never do such a thing? This is your thought, [MC Name], this is what YOU want!

MC: It wasn't what I wanted.

INTRUSIVE: How can you be so sure? You're always thinking about it. Always thinking about it. Always spinning the thread of violence through your mind, fantasising, thinking, wondering with grotesque curiosity!

MC: It wasn't what I wanted.

INTRUSIVE: Then how come you think about it so much? How come you think about it constantly, all the time, at any given opportunity?

MC: It wasn't me.

INTRUSIVE: Why are you thinking these things? I'm only trying to help you, [MC Name], only trying to help!

MC: I found the thought abhorrent.

INTRUSIVE: Always in your head, always thinking. How can you desire something so vile? Disappointing. Oh, it's so, so disappointing.

MC: I sat in silence for a while. The weight had grown. I felt incapable and weak, with the jabbing spike of the suggestion twisting in my mind. The seconds between then and the ending of that session felt long and drawn-out.

Scene change – school field.

MC: I didn't want to be around anyone, that day. I felt sick to my stomach. I just needed to escape from it. I was alone, that day, but it didn't help. The silence of the classroom had been replaced by a social silence around me, and my mind lingered on the suggestion uncomfortably. The sickness in my stomach made it so that I couldn't eat.

INTRUSIVE: Why do you feel this way? Sick to your stomach over a thought. All of this worry, all of this upset... over something you thought. You wanted this, and now you're all suck. It's confusing.

MC: I knew I did not want the suggestion. I closed my eyes briefly, letting the cold wind pass through. Eventually, I heard someone approach – another teacher, a worried expression on their face.

Teacher enters scene, intrusive standing behind them and looking directly at MC.

TEACHER: Are you alright, [MC Name]? You seem a bit worried.

MC: I looked up to them.

INTRUSIVE: Why would you think such abhorrences. Gross. Gross and vile, violent to the core. Rotten. A rotten slice condemning your entire being.

MC: I said I was fine.

Teacher leaves. Intrusive stands alone.

INTRUSIVE: ...

INTRUSIVE: People like you deserve to be in a cage.

The screen fades out.

--INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, EPILOGUE--

The scene fades in. Anemoia sits facing the MC, and looks up from their typewriter.

ANEMOIA: ...

ANEMOIA: I understand how you felt. How you feel, now.

MC: It wasn't pleasant.

ANEMOIA: Yet you lived, and life continues. You persist in the wake of abhorrence.

MC: Sometimes it creeps back into my mind.

ANEMOIA: As is only natural. Thoughts are thoughts, no different than any other. It is actions and wills that define us.

MC: Thoughts, action and will. I was worried that those things would converge... or that one meant the other.

ANEMOIA: Hmmm.

ANEMOIA: Did you ever hurt anyone? Did you ever commit to violence?

MC: No.

ANEMOIA: And that should be a comfort, for you. Is it?

MC: It... it's complicated.

ANEMOIA: Does it need to be?

MC: ...

ANEMOIA: Thank you for sharing this with me. Truly. Now... what other classes do you remember having?

Lead into Path select screen.

HEALTH ANXIETY

–BIOLOGY CLASSROOM–

MC is sitting at their desk, facing towards the central whiteboard / chalkboard / screen that the teacher uses. There are images of bacteria under a microscope, greyscale, showed atop it. There is a large ventilator / fan / air conditioning unit with a spinning turbine within it that blows cool air into the room. The lighting is cold, grey-green and sickly.

MC: An itching in my skin, a soreness in my throat, a coiling twist in my gut. It was worry that fettered me in that classroom, conscious doubt leaving the confines of my mind and entering my body writ large. It was always present when I worried, always a tingling annoyance.

MC: It was unbearable, in that room.

Crowley appears. He is physical though mist-like, with a shadow that stretches across the entire room. His beak is pointing towards the greyscale bacteria displayed on the whiteboard.

The Teacher speaks. They may not need a design, being a background character, or could

alternatively have an abstract form alike a rorschach test.

BIO TEACHER: ...the symptoms of this infection are stark and sudden, especially after the initial incubation period has passed. The most hallmark symptom is, of course, aching joints. This is felt as a dulling pain, a stiffness primarily in the knees, ankle and hip…

MC: The tingling was an ache, willowing throughout my body like an eel surging in water I never noticed it at the time, but it moved as I did, moved with every breath. Psychological or physical, it was present.

CROWLEY: Hello? You look pale, dear.

MC: I didn’t feel pale, not until I thought about it. Then I felt light-headed, felt faint. Felt colour drain from my face, if such a sensation was possible.

CROWLEY: Poor thing, what have you eaten today? Have you eaten enough? You really do look pale - white as a sheet!

BIO TEACHER: …the illness also causes paleness, though this is just a side-effect of the primary infection. As it works its way through the body, as the legs seize and cartilage extends, colour returns to the skin…

MC: …

MC: I cannot remember how the class was, in that session. They listened to the teacher, though chatter was constant. People laughed when he made jokes and whispered amongst one another. I think some people laughed when he spoke about how ‘colour returns to the skin’ after the infection has run its course, as if that tiny alleviation made the other, dire effects of the illness bearable.

MC: They were probably whispering. It made my silence noteworthy. Sounds felt different, felt more distant than they were. I felt cold.

Crowley comes into being proper, standing before MC. He looks worried or saddened, leaning down slightly to the MC.

CROWLEY: Are you alright? This talk of illness seems to be getting you… getting you all worked up! Is something bothering you?

MC: Something was. The talk of infection had ran its course through me, and that psychosomatic ache had travelled down to my knees. I flexed my feet reflexively. Illusion or not, I found that motion difficult.

Crowley’s eyes widen.

CROWLEY: Are you sure you’re ok? Pale and stiff… stiff and pale… aching joints?

MC: It was a nonsensical worry, I knew it, as I had never stepped foot in any one of the countries in which the disease we were studying brewed. Yet-

Crowley looks up to the MC, shocked.

CROWLEY: Do you remember? A few weeks ago! You were visiting family - they had to fly back to England! They plane trip made them unwell, and-

MC: It was a nonsensical worry.

MC: But, truth be told, the ache persisted. The paleness persisted. The distant sounds came back into focus.

The Teacher fades back into the scene, standing behind Crowley.

BIO TEACHER: …airborne transmission is the most common method of infection, followed by water-borne. This is because the bacteria lies in mucous that is ejected from the body when those infected cough.

MC: I remember my skin crawling, my hands feeling coarse and warm. Wriggling.

CROWLEY: Your aunt had a cough, didn’t she? Maybe… hmm. Maybe it was just a cough? Flu, or something of the like? It is that time of year, Dear. Best not jump to any conclusions. But…

MC: …but my legs were aching and my skin felt pale and I was sweating bullets. I was uncomfortable and faint.

CROWLEY: …

Crowley’s expression turns more worried.

MC: I felt so silly. A part of my mind felt so, so silly. We were learning about a neglected tropical disease that had scarcely been documented, and yet in such unlikely a scenario, my mind was racing to find dots and lines that could connect me - and my pains - to it. A plane ride, a cough, being around others in a crowded room, the paleness, the stiffness - and now, an itching in my chest.

CROWLEY: Oh… oh, I am so, so sorry. I really, truly am.

MC: I was not sure, then, why my thoughts had turned so apologetic. Yet the twisting in my stomach had condensed from worry into dread, now sitting heavy in my gut, throat and legs as motion built-up and waiting to be released. Anticipation for something awful barrelling down upon me, yet not quite here yet.

MC: I was thinking apocalyptically, that I was unwell with the illness we were studying, and that it would ruin my life. It felt heavy, physically heavy, and I was itching to move the legs that seemed too heavy and stiff.

BIO TEACHER: …now, after initial onset, there is a period of latency, of sorts. The infection doesn’t get any better - whilst the body begins producing relevant antibodies - but it doesn’t get any worse. From this, approximately 60% of cases recover. The remaining 40% require further treatment.

CROWLEY: So… there’s a chance. That’s good.

Maybe a scene change here to show how the dynamic of the MC interacting with the classroom has changed: perhaps the shades of students / the bio teacher are looking up to them? By no means a necessity, just a suggestion.

MC: I put my hand up, then, as the twist in my gut grew. I felt deeply, deeply unwell.

BIO TEACHER: Yes? [MC Name]? What is it?

MC: I excused myself and fled to the bathroom, the twisting sensation having curdled the precognition of vomit. I felt so very, very uncomfortable.

Scene change - bathroom.

CROWLEY: Oh, deary. Oh, deary. Whatever the matter is, I’m sure it will sort itself out.

CROWLEY: I’m sure of it. Are you?

--HEALTH ANXIETY, CHOICES--

GOOD CHOICE: There was nothing to be sure of.

BAD CHOICE: I wasn’t sure. I had to think about it, again.

--HEALTH ANXIETY, GOOD CHOICE--

There was nothing to be sure of.

MC: Did I feel sure? Sure of what?

CROWLEY: Oh, deary - how are you feeling?

MC: The illness - it was a thought upsetting but betrayed by the silliness of its tone. I knew I was not ill, knew it deep in thoughts suffocated by worry and anxious intrigue.

CROWLEY: Pallid skin, sick in your stomach… sweating mouth, weak knees. Oh. Oh, please don’t throw up, dear.

MC: I wasn’t feeling the greatest. But thinking about the illness and the uncomfortability it brewed in me would not have helped, and could only have spurred on the broiling reaction of sickliness in my body.

Scene change - the screen darkens, signifying how the MC has closed their eyes.

MC: I stood in the bathroom for a moment and let the sensation pass over me. I controlled my breathing, I closed my eyes, I waited for it to pass. To leave my body like flotsam drifting through a river.

Scene change - the bathroom. Crowley is gone, and the colours are slightly brighter / the bathroom looks cleaner.

MC: I opened my eyes.

MC: It hadn’t passed entirely: I still felt sickness in my body. But it had been calmed, soothed as my racing mind slowed.

MC:I felt a bit cleaner, a bit safer. A bit more healthy. It may not have been much, but it was enough - just enough - to continue with the lecture.

Scene change. Biology Classroom. Crowley is present, but only distantly? Maybe in the corner/behind a window?

MC: The class continued, even as I calmed myself down in the bathroom. I must admit that I felt a little lightheaded. I was unsure whether or not that was due to squeamishness or my own tepid anxiety.

MC: ...

MC: I can't remember much of the class after I left the bathroom. I was still a little worried, still feeling a bit offput. It just brushed past me, until it was over again.

Bio Teacher comes into view.

MC: I think I was a bit slow to leave, now I think about it. Perhaps it was the worry kicking up at me, again: I was slow to get up, slow o pack my belongings away. I think the teacher noticed me.

BIO TEAHCER: [MC Name]? A moment, please?

MC: It's almost a little funny, in hindsight. I must have looked a wreck.

BIO TEACHER: How are you feeling? You seemed a bit bothered in the class.

MC: I explained myself, how I had felt unwell at the discussion of the illness. There was sympathy.

BIO TEACHER: Yes, I understand that. It always gets a little squeamish when we discuss these things. Would you like to see the nurse?

MC: I thought for a moment.

MC: And I decided that I was fine.

The screen fades out.

--HEALTH ANXIETY, BAD CHOICE--

I wasn’t sure. I had to think about it, again.

MC: I wasn't sure. I had to consider it.

MC: The thoughts of illness lingered in my head.

MC: Thoughts of sickness and disease. Infection and contamination.

MC: Something alien, not of me, running rampant through my body.

MC: It didn't help.

CROWLEY: Pale and stiff... pale and stiff. Sweating mouth, churning stomach. Oh, no.

MC: I tried to control my breathing, tried to let the thought pass. I wan't ill – I couldn't be ill, it was a silly suggestion. But I did feel unwell. I did feel sick.

Scene change – a student shade comes into view. Sound effect of a bathroom door opening/closing.

MC: There I was, hunched over the sink, sweating, staring at my own reflection. And someone came to wash their hands next to me.

Sound effect – tap running.

SHADE: ...

SHADE: Hey, are you... alright? You look a bit sick.

MC: ...

MC: I don't think I said anything to them. I think I just stared. The words were caught in my throat, but even so I can't imagine how I looked.

SHADE: ...

SHADE: Uh, alright.

The Student Shade leaves.

CROWLEY: Oh, deary. Oh, deary. Look at yourself. Pale and sweating...

MC: I was pale and sweating.

CROWLEY: ...joints stiff...

MC: My legs felt like jelly.

CROWLEY: ...sickness in your stomach...

MC: I felt like I was going to throw up.

CROWLEY: ...my poor, poor child.

MC: ...

MC: I was unwell.

The screen fades out.

--HEALTH ANXIETY, EPILOGUE--

The scene fades in. Anemoia sits facing the MC, and looks up from their typewriter.

ANEMOIA: ...

ANEMOIA: So, how was your family?

MC: What?

ANEMOIA: You mentioned your family – one of them was unwell when they came to visit.

MC: Oh. They were fine.

ANEMOIA: I see. And... you worried you weren't, as a result of their illness.

MC: It was a nonsense worry. Their illness was the root of it, I suppose. The one tiny but of truth in it all.

ANEMOIA: And that one truth grew into the worry? Or did it only serve to nurture it?

MC: I don't know.

ANEMOIA: Well, nonsense or not, it bothered you. I'm deeply sorry for that.

ANEMOIA: Thank you for sharing that worry with me, 'nonsense' as it may have been. Now... what other classes do you remember having?

Lead into Path select screen.