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Director’s Statement
When I first envisioned Katabasis, I saw not fire and brimstone, but fluorescent lights that never turn off, paperwork that never ends, and silence that grows heavier with each draft unapproved. Hell, to me, is not a place of monsters—it is a system.
This story is not only about academia. It is about the labyrinth we all face: bureaucracy, authority, the slow erosion of hope through repetition. And yet, at its heart, it is also about friendship. Two students walk together into the underworld, and their bond—imperfect, human, absurd—is what keeps them from disappearing completely.
In this film, the architecture is alive, the paperwork burns, and laughter becomes the only fire in the dark. It is a surreal satire, yes, but also a mirror. A mirror that asks: what are we willing to sacrifice, and what happens if we simply refuse?
Scene 1: The Library at 3AM
INT. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY – NIGHT
Fluorescent lights hum, a sound so constant it begins to feel like a voice whispering a secret it doesn’t quite remember.
Rows of books stretch forever, or maybe just until the vanishing point. The difference is academic.
FLORENCE sits hunched over a table stacked with open books. She’s not reading them; she’s staring through them. A pen scratches. Stops. Scratches again.
FLORENCE
(muttering)
One more draft. One more. Just—
(beat)
then sleep.
But she doesn’t move the pen. She stares at the paper like it’s staring back.
Across the room, DEV fights with the coffee machine. He pushes the button. Nothing. He pushes harder. It whines like an animal in pain.
DEV
(to himself)
What’s Latin for “please work”?
The coffee machine spits out half a cup, the liquid blacker than black. DEV stares at it like it might answer his thesis.
Silence presses in. FLORENCE looks up. Something moves in the stacks—a SHADOW, too tall for a person.
From between the shelves, THE ADVISOR (TILDA) appears. Impossibly composed. A cup of tea in hand, steam curling like a question mark.
ADVISOR
Knowledge demands sacrifice.
FLORENCE blinks.
FLORENCE
Sorry—what?
But when she looks up again, the Advisor is gone. Only the sound of the fluorescent hum remains. Louder now.
The floor CREAKS beneath her chair. It’s just wood. Or maybe bone.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 2: The Ultimatum
INT. FACULTY OFFICE – NIGHT
The office looks normal, which is the strangest thing about it.
Stacks of dissertations lean like tired soldiers. The fluorescent light buzzes just slightly out of tune with itself.
The ADVISOR (TILDA) sits at her desk, sipping tea that never cools. A small plant sits beside her—its leaves curling inwards as if ashamed of existing.
FLORENCE stands in front of the desk, shuffling papers she knows aren’t enough. DEV slumps into a chair that squeaks in protest.
ADVISOR
(flat, almost kind)
Without my letter, you’ll have no future.
Florence nods too quickly, like she expected this but still hoped for a loophole.
FLORENCE
I—I just need another week. Maybe two. I’ve been revising the introduction—
ADVISOR
(dead calm)
The introduction is irrelevant. So is the conclusion. Only the middle matters.
(beat)
And your middle is insufficient.
DEV laughs. Not loud, not happy—like a cough pretending to be a laugh.
DEV
So… we’re already in Hell.
The Advisor looks at him with absolute serenity.
ADVISOR
Not yet.
Florence freezes. DEV blinks.
FLORENCE
I’m sorry… what?
The clock on the wall begins to tick backwards. Pages on the desk flutter without wind.
ADVISOR
You still want my recommendation?
Florence clutches her papers tighter.
FLORENCE
Yes. Please.
ADVISOR
Then you must earn it.
She places her cup down with impossible gentleness. The sound echoes like a gavel.
The office door creaks open—though no one touched it. Beyond, there’s no hallway, no carpet. Just darkness, stretching forever.
The Advisor gestures, as if this is the most ordinary thing in the world.
ADVISOR
Proceed.
Florence and Dev exchange a look—terror mixed with resignation, like students who already know they failed the exam but keep writing anyway.
DEV
(to Florence, muttering)
What’s Latin for “we’re screwed”?
They step toward the darkness. The hum of the fluorescents grows louder, then cuts to silence as the door swallows them.
SMASH CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 3: The First Descent
INT. BASEMENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Darkness. Then a flicker. A light bulb sputters alive overhead, not steady, but pulsing like a weak heartbeat.
Florence and Dev stand in what looks at first like a normal basement corridor—cinder block walls, linoleum floor. A vending machine hums in the distance. The kind of corridor you’d pass through without noticing.
Except—something is wrong. The floor doesn’t meet the walls at the right angle. It bends inward, subtly, as though the hallway is breathing.
FLORENCE
(whispering)
This… is still campus, right?
DEV
Sure. And I’m still caffeinated.
Florence presses her palm against the wall. It feels damp, like paper left out in the rain. She pulls her hand back and sees faint black smudges on her fingers—ink.
FLORENCE
Ink.
DEV
Better than blood.
They walk. Their footsteps echo, but the echoes arrive late, like they’re trudging through time itself.
Ahead, a filing cabinet stretches across the corridor. At first it looks ordinary, then longer, then impossibly long. Drawer after drawer after drawer, vanishing into the dark.
Florence runs her hand along it. The metal is cold. Each drawer has a label: APPROVED, DENIED, INCOMPLETE. The labels repeat, over and over.
FLORENCE
They’re all the same.
DEV
Maybe it’s efficient.
He tries one drawer. It resists, then slides open with a moan. Inside: stacks of blank forms. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Each stamped PENDING in red ink.
Florence slams it shut, breathing hard.
FLORENCE
This is a dream.
DEV
Yeah. Yours or mine?
The lights overhead hum louder, then cut out completely. In the silence, a faint scratching sound fills the air, like pens dragging endlessly across paper.
Florence reaches for Dev’s hand. He doesn’t pull away.
The corridor stretches ahead. The darkness seems to lean toward them, patient, expectant.
They walk. Their shadows stay behind for a moment too long, then catch up.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 4: The Registrar Demon
INT. REGISTRAR’S CHAMBER – NIGHT
The corridor opens into a cathedral. Not of stone, but of filing cabinets.
Cabinets stretch to the ceiling—if there even is a ceiling. Brass handles gleam faintly. Drawers breathe in and out, expanding, retracting, as though the whole chamber is alive.
Florence and Dev step inside. Their footsteps echo like dropped pins.
FLORENCE
(whispering)
It’s… beautiful.
DEV
That’s one word.
A drawer SLAMS open by itself. Then another. Then another. Papers flutter down like snow. Each sheet stamped INCOMPLETE.
From the far wall, a SHAPE peels itself free. A body assembled from cabinets—torso of drawers, arms of ledger books, head a metal stamp.
The REGISTRAR DEMON.
Its voice is the dry scrape of paper sliding in a tray.
REGISTRAR DEMON
Form incomplete. Please resubmit.
Florence stares, frozen. Dev laughs, though his face says terror.
DEV
Do you… do you take digital copies?
The Demon slams its chest open. Cards spill out—index cards sharp as blades. They whirl in the air, slicing past Florence’s ear. She yelps.
FLORENCE
(shouting)
We’re not here for forms!
REGISTRAR DEMON
All here are for forms.
The index cards swarm, cutting the air like wasps. Dev grabs Florence’s arm, pulls her behind a stack of cabinets. Papers rain down around them.
DEV
So this is what killed me in the end—death by stationery.
FLORENCE
Shut up!
She grabs one of the falling sheets. The words rearrange themselves in her hands: APPLICATION FOR CONTINUED EXISTENCE.
FLORENCE
(reading)
Application for—?
The Demon roars without sound. Its stamp-head slams onto a sheet. The word DENIED glows in red and burns itself into the paper.
The ground trembles.
Florence clutches the form, shoves it into Dev’s hands.
FLORENCE
Run.
They sprint between cabinet towers, the Demon’s drawers slamming open, hurling cards like knives.
DEV
(yelling back)
I’d rather die than file another extension request!
FLORENCE
That’s the joke! You already did!
The cabinets shudder. For a split second, it sounds like the whole chamber is laughing.
They dive through a narrow passage. The Demon’s roar echoes, drawers slamming in fury, until the sound is only their own breath.
Silence again.
They collapse, pressed against cold stone, shaking. The Application for Continued Existence flutters out of Dev’s hand and vanishes into the dark.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 5: Oxygen Beat
INT. HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS
Narrow corridor. No monsters. Just stone, damp, and silence.
Florence collapses against the wall, chest heaving. Her face is streaked with ink that looks suspiciously like blood but smells like an old paperback.
Dev slumps beside her, sliding down until he’s sitting on the cold floor. His hands are covered in paper cuts. Each cut whispers faintly, like a page being turned.
They sit there, shaking, breathing, not looking at each other.
FLORENCE
(hoarse)
That thing… what was that?
DEV
Registrar, maybe? I mean, it had the vibe.
Florence laughs, sharp and broken, like glass.
FLORENCE
We almost died.
DEV
Yeah. Which is basically registration week.
Florence leans her head back against the wall. Her hair sticks to it. She peels away, leaving faint black smears.
She doesn’t notice.
FLORENCE
Do you… do you still have your citation guide?
Dev blinks at her. Then bursts out laughing, almost hysterical.
DEV
No, but I brought sarcasm. Same thing.
A beat of silence. Florence’s mouth twitches—half a smile. She wipes at her eyes, but it could just as easily be sweat as tears.
FLORENCE
We’re not going to make it, are we?
DEV
Oh, definitely not. But at least we’ll fail together.
For a moment, it feels almost human again. Like two students on a late night, laughing because the alternative is crying.
The corridor HUMS. Low at first, then louder. They freeze.
Florence squeezes Dev’s hand without realizing. He doesn’t let go.
The hum deepens into a CHALK SCRAPE. A faint light flickers at the far end of the corridor.
DEV
(whispering)
And there’s the bell.
They haul themselves up, still holding hands. They don’t look at each other.
They walk toward the sound.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 6: The Lecture Hall of Eternal Exams
INT. LECTURE HALL – NIGHT
The corridor spills them out into a cavernous lecture hall.
Rows upon rows of desks, stretching farther than vision. Each occupied by a STUDENT, head bowed, scribbling furiously. None of them look up. Their pens scrape in unison—a sound like millions of insects crawling.
At the front stands the PROCTOR. A tall figure in academic robes, but its SHADOW doesn’t match. The body stands still. The shadow paces, chalk in hand, scrawling questions across the blackboard.
The questions erase themselves before anyone can answer.
FLORENCE
(whispering)
Are they… alive?
Dev waves his hand in front of one student’s face. The student doesn’t blink. Ink dribbles down his wrist, pooling on the desk.
DEV
Define “alive.”
The Proctor’s shadow turns. Its chalk hand points directly at Florence. A blank EXAM PAPER appears on her desk.
REGISTRAR DEMON (O.S.)
(off-screen echo)
Form incomplete.
Florence jumps. Dev grabs the exam, but as soon as he looks at it, new questions appear, scrolling endlessly:
Explain the unexplainable.
Defend the indefensible.
Write until you disappear.
DEV
(weak laugh)
I skipped this class.
The Proctor’s shadow paces closer. Its chalk screeches so loud it shakes the desks.
Florence clutches the paper, scribbles nonsense words. They vanish the moment she writes them. She tries again—gone.
FLORENCE
It won’t stay. Nothing stays.
DEV
Maybe that’s the point.
He scrawls one word on the exam: NO.
It remains. For a second. Then burns.
The Proctor’s body doesn’t move, but the shadow leans closer, chalk hand hovering above Dev’s face.
Florence slams the paper down, trembling.
FLORENCE
We’re not answering. Not anymore.
The shadow pauses. The scraping stops. For the first time, the hall is silent.
Every student freezes mid-scribble. Ink drips. One raises his head. His eyes are hollow sockets. His mouth moves, whispering—
LOST STUDENT (CAMEO)
(softly)
One footnote away. Just one.
Florence and Dev step back. The Proctor’s shadow lowers the chalk. Slowly, it erases the blackboard.
Blank.
Then it turns away, pacing toward infinity.
The frozen students resume scribbling, louder, faster.
Florence grabs Dev’s arm.
FLORENCE
Let’s go.
They run up the aisle. The desks stretch forever, but somehow they reach a door. They fling it open.
The sound of pens follows them into the dark.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 7: The Lost Student Monologue
INT. SIDE CORRIDOR – NIGHT
Florence and Dev burst through a side door, slamming it shut behind them. The sound of pens scratching dies instantly.
Silence. A corridor lit by a single flickering bulb.
At the far end, a STUDENT sits cross-legged on the floor, clutching a stack of papers. His face is hollow, pale, but his eyes gleam with manic intensity.
Florence hesitates. Dev doesn’t.
DEV
Hello?
The Student looks up. His lips crack into a dry smile.
LOST STUDENT
I was one footnote away.
Florence kneels, cautious.
FLORENCE
One footnote from… what?
LOST STUDENT
Completion. Approval. Release.
(beat)
But the citation was wrong. One comma. Out of place. I fixed it. Then another mistake appeared. Then another. It never ends.
He clutches the papers tighter. They CRUMPLE but don’t tear—like they’re made of bone.
DEV
You’ve been here long?
The Student laughs. A thin, papery laugh.
LOST STUDENT
Long? I don’t know. Days. Years. It’s all drafts. Time is drafts.
He holds up one page. It’s blank. Then words form, rearrange, vanish.
LOST STUDENT
I keep revising. Every correction births a new error. Every sentence breaks in half. The closer I get, the further it runs.
Florence watches, horrified.
FLORENCE
Why don’t you stop?
The Student blinks. He doesn’t understand the question.
LOST STUDENT
Stop? If I stop, I never finish. If I never finish, I’m nothing.
He whispers the word again:
LOST STUDENT
Nothing.
He presses the papers to his chest. His body begins to crumble—first his fingertips, then his arms—flakes of ash peeling away.
Florence reaches out instinctively.
FLORENCE
Wait!
But her hand closes on dust. The Student collapses silently into a pile of gray flakes. The papers dissolve last, turning blank before vanishing.
Silence again.
Dev crouches, runs his hand through the ash. It clings to his skin like graphite.
DEV
That’ll be me in a week.
Florence stares at the empty space, eyes wet.
FLORENCE
You wish.
A pause. Their shared breath loud in the silence.
Then a distant sound—the slow, wet drag of a mop.
Florence and Dev exchange a look.
DEV
That doesn’t sound like extra credit.
They rise, moving cautiously toward the noise.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 8: The Janitor’s Corridor
INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT
The sound of the mop grows louder.
Florence and Dev enter a long corridor. The floor shines wet. Buckets line the walls like sentries, filled with black water that doesn’t ripple.
At the far end, a JANITOR pushes a mop. Slowly. Rhythmically. Too slowly to be human.
The mop leaves behind dark streaks. Not random. Words.
Florence squints.
FLORENCE
(reading)
Failure.
Another stroke: Insufficient.
Another: Not Original.
She stops walking.
FLORENCE
(whispers)
It’s writing us.
Dev steps forward, frowning. He looks down at his shoes—his footprints glow faintly behind him, letters forming.
His prints spell: Coward.
Florence looks back. Her prints read: Desperate.
DEV
(snickers, brittle)
Well, that’s accurate.
The Janitor never looks up. His face is hidden under a brimmed cap, shadow swallowing his eyes. His mop water drips onto the floor, sizzling.
JANITOR
(flat, calm)
I only clean what’s already there.
Florence grabs Dev’s arm.
FLORENCE
We shouldn’t be here.
They move faster. The mop strokes follow, echoing like a metronome. Words bloom across the walls now—rejections, critiques, scrawled in giant letters:
Needs Revision.
Not Enough Sources.
Unclear.
Lacks Rigor.
Florence starts to cry, wiping her eyes angrily.
FLORENCE
I worked. I worked until I bled.
The Janitor doesn’t react.
JANITOR
Work stains. I mop stains.
Dev pulls Florence forward. They run. Their footprints multiply, glowing, shouting their flaws.
Lazy. Obsessive. Unfocused. Pretender.
The corridor seems endless. The buckets overflow. Black water runs toward them, chasing like a tide.
DEV
(panting)
It’s… grading us.
FLORENCE
Then fail it.
They sprint harder. The water nips at their heels, words forming in the liquid: Expired. Irrelevant. Nothing.
At the far end—a door. Small, plain, wooden.
They reach it, slam it open.
The mop sound cuts off instantly.
Silence.
They collapse on the other side, dripping with black water that smells like ink and mold.
Florence wipes her arms. The words Desperate smear across her skin, faint but visible.
Dev looks at his hand. The word Coward glows faintly, fading into his palm.
They don’t speak.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 9: The Advisor’s Office Revealed
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
Florence and Dev stumble through the door—gasping, dripping black water from the Janitor’s corridor.
They freeze.
It’s the Advisor’s office. The same cramped space. The same plant. The same framed diploma, slightly crooked on the wall.
Only one thing is off: the clock ticks backwards.
The Advisor sits at her desk, calm as ever. The cup of tea still steams. She looks up like they’re late to a scheduled meeting.
ADVISOR
So. You made it.
Florence stares at the plant. Its leaves curl inward, folding on themselves.
FLORENCE
This… this is impossible.
DEV
(laughing, nervous)
No, this is Tuesday.
The Advisor gestures to the chairs across from her desk.
ADVISOR
Sit.
They hesitate. The chairs are identical to the ones upstairs—same worn fabric, same squeak when Dev lowers himself down. Florence sits stiffly, clutching her arms.
The Advisor picks up a pen. Turns it in her fingers. Places it gently on the desk.
ADVISOR
You still want my recommendation.
Florence swallows, nods.
FLORENCE
Yes.
ADVISOR
(serene)
Then you must be evaluated.
Dev shifts uncomfortably.
DEV
Evaluated how, exactly? Scantrons? Oral defense? Or do we just… die again?
The Advisor ignores him. She leans forward slightly, her eyes soft, voice almost tender.
ADVISOR
I want to see your dedication. Your precision. Your willingness to endure. That’s all.
Florence’s voice cracks.
FLORENCE
We’ve endured everything! The Registrar, the Proctor, the Janitor—
ADVISOR
(smiling faintly)
Those were preliminaries.
The clock ticks louder. Backwards.
Florence buries her face in her hands. Dev leans closer to her, whispering.
DEV
It’s the same office. The same bloody office. We’ve been walking through hell for hours just to end up here again.
Florence lowers her hands. Her eyes are wet, but blazing.
FLORENCE
No. It’s worse. It means Hell was always here.
The Advisor watches them like a mother watching children bicker. She lifts her cup, sips her tea. Calm.
ADVISOR
When you’re ready, we’ll begin.
Florence and Dev sit frozen, trapped.
The sound of the ticking clock fills the room—steady, backwards, eternal.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 10: Duel of Words
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
The office is still. The plant curls tighter. The clock ticks backward, louder now.
Florence sits rigid, papers trembling in her lap. Dev slouches, but his eyes are sharp, waiting.
The Advisor places a blank sheet of paper on the desk. A pen rests on top, perfectly centered.
ADVISOR
Begin.
FLORENCE
(hoarse)
We’ve already written—dozens of drafts—hundreds—
ADVISOR
(serene)
Then write another.
DEV
(gritting his teeth)
You don’t even read them.
The Advisor smiles faintly, like that was the correct answer.
ADVISOR
I don’t need to. The act of writing is the evaluation.
Florence slams her papers onto the desk. They scatter, fluttering to the floor.
FLORENCE
We bled for this! We faced monsters, corridors, endless exams—
ADVISOR
(soft)
Preliminaries.
DEV
So what’s the final? Starvation? Suicide?
ADVISOR
Completion.
Florence leans forward, desperate.
FLORENCE
I’ve given everything. Time, sleep, years of my life—
ADVISOR
(flat, patient)
And what have you produced?
Florence stares. Her lips move, but no words come.
DEV
(quietly)
Drafts. Only drafts.
The Advisor turns to him.
ADVISOR
Exactly.
Dev laughs bitterly, rubbing his face.
DEV
So nothing’s ever enough. That’s the game.
ADVISOR
(softly, almost kind)
It was never a game. It was a test.
Florence grips the desk edge. Her knuckles whiten.
FLORENCE
Then grade us. Right now. Pass or fail.
The Advisor tilts her head, like considering a child’s drawing.
ADVISOR
Pass or fail?
(beat)
There is only continue.
The clock TICKS louder, then stops. Silence.
Florence bursts into tears, slamming her fists onto the desk.
FLORENCE
I can’t continue! I can’t!
The Advisor watches, unmoved.
ADVISOR
Then you’ve failed yourself. Not me.
Dev suddenly leans forward, eyes blazing.
DEV
No. You failed us.
The Advisor doesn’t blink. Her smile grows by a fraction.
ADVISOR
Interesting.
A beat. The plant on the desk shudders, shedding a leaf that curls to ash before it hits the ground.
The silence is unbearable.
Florence breathes raggedly. Dev’s fists clench. The Advisor sips her tea, calm.
ADVISOR
(soft)
When you’re ready… continue.
The clock ticks backwards again, steady.
Florence and Dev sit frozen, crushed under serenity.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 11: Breaking Point
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
Florence and Dev sit frozen. The Advisor watches them, sipping tea. Calm. The ticking clock grows louder, every backward beat a hammer.
Florence’s hands tremble. She tries to steady them on the desk but knocks over her stack of papers. They spill across the floor, scattering into corners.
FLORENCE
No—no, no, no—
She dives to the floor, frantically collecting them. Dev stays seated, arms crossed, eyes hollow.
DEV
(quietly)
It doesn’t matter.
FLORENCE
(sharply)
It matters to me.
She grabs another sheet, clutching it to her chest.
DEV
It’ll vanish like the others.
FLORENCE
At least I’m trying!
The words hang in the air. Dev looks at her, stung.
DEV
So I’m not?
Florence freezes, breathing hard.
FLORENCE
You—you joke your way through everything. You don’t care.
DEV
(angry laugh)
Of course I don’t! That’s the only way to stay alive down here!
Florence stands, papers clutched, face twisted.
FLORENCE
No. It’s cowardice.
The word echoes—Coward. The faint glow reappears on Dev’s hand, the word from the Janitor’s corridor.
He sees it, fists clenched.
DEV
And you? You’re desperate. That’s all you are.
Florence flinches. The same glow—Desperate—appears faintly across her arm.
The Advisor watches, serene, like a scientist observing a lab experiment. She sets her tea down with a soft clink.
ADVISOR
Interesting.
Florence and Dev don’t hear. They’re locked in.
FLORENCE
(through tears)
I gave everything! And it’s still not enough!
DEV
Maybe nothing’s ever enough. Maybe that’s the joke.
They stare at each other, breathing hard.
Then—silence. A fragile silence, so sharp it hurts.
Florence drops her papers. They scatter again. She doesn’t pick them up.
Dev’s shoulders sag. His anger drains into exhaustion.
They sit, side by side, broken. Not touching.
The Advisor leans back, satisfied.
ADVISOR
When you’re ready… continue.
The clock ticks. Backward. Eternal.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 12: Attempted Escape
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
The Advisor sits perfectly still, pen poised above blank paper. Florence and Dev don’t move. The ticking clock swells.
Then—Dev bolts. He grabs Florence’s arm, yanking her toward the door.
DEV
We’re leaving.
Florence doesn’t argue. They fling open the door—
INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT
They sprint down a hallway lined with office doors. Fluorescent lights BUZZ overhead.
At the end: another door. They slam it open—
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
The same office. The same plant. The same Advisor, sipping tea.
ADVISOR
(serene)
Welcome back.
Florence gasps, stumbling backward.
FLORENCE
No. No, no, no.
Dev grabs her again.
DEV
Another one. Try another one.
They run through a side door—
INT. STAIRS – NIGHT
A staircase spirals downward. They clatter down, breath ragged, shoes slipping.
At the bottom: a door. Dev slams it open—
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
Identical.
The Advisor sets down her cup. Smiles faintly.
ADVISOR
You’re very persistent.
Florence screams, slamming the door shut.
INT. HALLWAY OF DOORS – NIGHT
Endless doors, stretching in both directions. Every door identical.
They try one. Then another. Then another.
Each one opens into—
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
The same. Always the same.
Florence collapses, sobbing. Dev pounds his fists on the wall.
DEV
It’s a loop. We’re rats in a maze.
The Advisor’s voice echoes through every doorway at once:
ADVISOR (V.O.)
Not a maze. A curriculum.
Florence lifts her head, eyes blazing through tears.
FLORENCE
Then we quit.
The echoes fade. Only the ticking clock remains, coming from everywhere at once.
Dev helps Florence to her feet. They stand together in the endless hallway of doors, trapped, but refusing to move.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 13: The Final Draft
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
The office is buried in paper. Stacks tower like skyscrapers, teetering, endless.
Florence and Dev sit at the desk, pens in hand. Blank sheets appear faster than they can write. Each page glows faintly, demanding ink.
Florence scribbles furiously. Her words vanish the moment she finishes a sentence. The paper curls upward, floats gently, then bursts into flames before her eyes.
She grabs another. Writes again. Same thing.
FLORENCE
(weary, muttering)
It won’t stay. Nothing stays.
Dev leans back, pen dangling between his fingers.
DEV
Maybe we should just draw little stick figures. See if Hell grades on creativity.
Florence glares.
FLORENCE
This isn’t funny.
DEV
No. It’s hilarious.
He scrawls across the page in giant letters: I REFUSE.
The paper floats up, burns anyway.
The Advisor, calm as ever, sips her tea.
ADVISOR
Again.
Florence grabs another sheet, tears streaking her face.
FLORENCE
(pleading)
Please. Just read one. Any one.
The Advisor shakes her head.
ADVISOR
It’s not the reading that matters. It’s the repetition.
Dev slams his pen down, snapping it. Ink splatters across the desk, across his hand. The stain forms words: FAILURE.
DEV
(whispering)
This isn’t work. It’s torture.
ADVISOR
Work is torture. Torture is work.
Florence’s hand cramps. She drops her pen, clutching her wrist. Still, a new page appears in front of her. Blank. Waiting.
FLORENCE
(crying)
It’ll never end.
The Advisor smiles softly, almost maternal.
ADVISOR
Now you understand.
Florence looks around. The walls themselves are layered with pages. Each one faintly glowing with words, burning, vanishing, replaced.
The office has no end. Only paper.
Florence slams her fists onto the desk.
FLORENCE
No more!
The echo is deafening. Every stack trembles.
The Advisor sets down her cup. Tea ripples.
ADVISOR
(quiet, calm)
Continue.
Florence and Dev stare at each other. Broken. Defiant.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 14: Defiance
INT. ADVISOR’S OFFICE – NIGHT (HELL VERSION)
Paper towers rise higher than before, swaying like trees in a storm. Florence and Dev sit at the desk, blank pages appearing faster than they can grab them.
Florence’s hand shakes. She drops her pen.
FLORENCE
(whispering)
No more.
Dev looks at her, startled.
DEV
What?
Florence pushes her chair back. The sound is deafening in the silence.
FLORENCE
I said no more.
She hurls her stack of papers across the office. Pages flutter like dying birds, burn mid-air, vanish.
The Advisor watches, serene.
ADVISOR
(soft)
Continue.
Florence slams her palms on the desk.
FLORENCE
No.
Dev stares at her. Then, slowly, he smirks.
DEV
Yeah. No.
He snaps his pen in half, ink splattering across his shirt. The stain forms the word Coward. He laughs, shaking his head.
DEV
Guess they already graded me.
Florence lifts her arm. The word Desperate glows faintly on her skin. She stares at it, then meets Dev’s eyes.
FLORENCE
Maybe it’s true. But I’d rather be desperate than endless.
The Advisor sets down her tea.
ADVISOR
You misunderstand. To stop is to fail.
DEV
Good. Then fail us.
The Advisor tilts her head, studying them like curiosities in a museum.
ADVISOR
Interesting.
The clock behind her STOPS. Silence.
Papers tremble, stacks collapsing inward. The office shakes as if the refusal has cracked something fundamental.
Florence and Dev stand together, defiant.
FLORENCE
We’re done.
The Advisor smiles faintly, almost indulgent.
ADVISOR
We’ll see.
The office walls flicker, paper peeling away to reveal darkness beneath.
Florence and Dev grip each other’s hands. The silence grows unbearable.
Then—everything collapses.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 15: Resolution
INT. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY – DAWN
Florence and Dev stumble out of the darkness, into the library where it all began.
The fluorescent lights are still humming, but softer now, almost tired. Outside the tall windows, dawn leaks across the sky.
They collapse into chairs at a long wooden table. Their clothes are stained with ink, sweat, and ash. Their hands still glow faintly with the words Desperate and Coward.
Florence leans her head back, eyes half-shut.
FLORENCE
(whispering)
Did we… did we win?
Dev laughs. Not happy, not bitter. Just exhausted.
DEV
No. We just stopped playing.
They sit in silence. A bird outside sings.
Florence looks at her arm. The glow of Desperate fades slowly, until only skin remains.
Dev turns his palm over. Coward lingers a little longer, then flickers out.
They exchange a glance. Small. Human. Real.
Florence lets out a laugh that breaks into a sob. Dev laughs too, shaking his head. The sound grows, filling the cavernous library.
For the first time, they sound alive.
At the far end of the stacks, a SHADOW shifts. Tall. Familiar. A cup of tea steaming faintly in its hand.
Florence and Dev freeze.
The humming lights BUZZ louder.
Then — everything CUTS TO BLACK.
Director’s Statement
In the end, Katabasis is not about defeating the Advisor or escaping Hell. It is about recognizing that systems, no matter how vast or cruel, have no power if we stop feeding them.
Florence and Dev do not ‘win’ in the traditional sense. Instead, they reclaim their humanity by laughing, by refusing, by holding onto each other. That act of defiance, however small, is enough to collapse the illusion of inevitability.
I want audiences to leave this film unsettled, but also strangely relieved. Because the labyrinth is not just in libraries or offices—it is in all of us. And sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is put down the pen, look at the absurdity, and say: no more.
That, for me, is the true catharsis of Katabasis. Not escape, but freedom in defiance.
Short Bios:
Florence – A brilliant but exhausted graduate student whose perfectionism borders on obsession. Driven by desperation to earn her advisor’s approval, she embodies the crushing weight of academic pressure. Her journey reveals both her resilience and her vulnerability as she battles the endless labyrinth.
Dev – Florence’s fellow student and reluctant companion in the descent. Wry, sarcastic, and outwardly cynical, Dev masks his fear with humor. His arc reveals the quiet courage in refusing to play the system’s game, even as he struggles with feelings of inadequacy.
The Advisor – A calm, inscrutable figure who holds power over Florence and Dev’s futures. She is not monstrous in appearance, but her serenity is terrifying. Her office, duplicated endlessly in Hell, becomes the ultimate symbol of authority and futility.
The Registrar Demon – A towering entity built of filing cabinets and index cards. It represents the bureaucracy of academia, reducing lives to forms, labels, and denials. Its razor-sharp cards enforce compliance through paperwork as violence.
The Proctor – A shadow that writes exam questions no one can answer. Standing in an infinite lecture hall, it symbolizes the futility of endless testing and evaluation. Its presence forces the students to confront the absurdity of unattainable standards.
The Lost Student – A hollow, ash-crumbling figure who has been trapped in the labyrinth too long. Obsessed with perfecting a single footnote, he embodies the despair of those consumed by the pursuit of academic perfection.
The Janitor – A silent, spectral figure who mops words into the floor and reveals the flaws etched into Florence and Dev: Desperate and Coward. He represents the way failure is internalized, staining identity as much as reputation.
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