1: A small, not-too-clean hotel room is dimly lit. Sal’s bag is slumped against a wall, some of the contents spilled on the floor. The door to the brightly lit bathroom is wide open.

2: Sal is looking at himself in the mirror, hands tugging and prodding at his face and teeth.
Sal: Ugh…

3: He collapses, face first, into the bed. Bottles of hormone pills and a bottle of water are already set up on the night stand. He clutches his head as he thinks.
Sal: Okay… okay.
They wouldn’t wire their security to any external access ports.
If they have internet, it’ll be a narrow-band satellite connection in very controlled areas. They probably transport any papers in secure trucks…
Hrf... most of the good shit’s probably underground-

4: He raises his head as a knock rings out

5: Outside the hotel room, what appears to be a hotel manager – a male thylacine – stands patiently waiting. In a cut frame, the tenrec is pressed against the door, nervously listening.
Sal: shitshitshitshitshit