Episode 1 - Pilot
Written by: Tim Kring
Directed by: Francis Lawrence
JAKE: The ratio is always the same: 1 to 1.618 over and over and over again. The patterns are hidden in plain sight. You just have to know where to look. Things most people see as chaos, actually follow subtle laws of behavior. Galaxies, plants, seashells – the patterns never lie, but only some of us can see how the pieces fit together. Seven billion, eighty-million, three hundred sixty-thousand of us live on this tiny planet. This is the story of some of those people. There's an ancient Chinese myth about the red thread of fate. It says that the gods have tied a red thread around every one of our ankles and attached it to all the people whose lives we are destined to touch. This thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break. It's all been predetermined by mathematical probability, and it's my job to keep track of those numbers, to make the connections for those who need to find each other. The ones whose lives need to touch. I was born 4,161 days ago on October 26, 2000. I've been alive for 11 years, four months, 21 days and 14 hours, and in all that time… I've never said a single word.
[Scene switches to Martin in an airport. He drums his fists on a counter.]
MAN: Only 25 or so. (hands Martin a box of cell phones)
MAN: No charges. They're probably dead. The hell do you do with these things anyway?
MARTIN: My son. He likes to take them apart.
[Scene switches Martin walking down a hall in the airport. He is carrying the box of cell phones. One of which rings. He picks it up.]
MAN ON PHONE: Oh. Thank god.
MARTIN: Who is this?
MAN ON PHONE: It's the owner of the phone that you are, illegally, in possession of.
MARTIN: I'm not illegally possessing anything. It was in the lost and found at JFK. I work here.
MAN ON PHONE: You're kidding me. Look, I don't care how you got it, okay? I just want it back. I lost it at Heathrow Airport two days ago. People have been phone-skipping it around the globe ever since. So, can I please have it back?
MARTIN: Can't you just get another one?
MAN ON PHONE: It's not the phone that I need. It's a photograph inside it. Of my daughter. (sighs) It's her birthday tomorrow. I'm in Mumbai now. I just need it back, okay?
MARTIN: Alright let me get your address. [The phone in his pocket rings.] Hang on, now my phone is ringing. [He answers it, and sets the other phone down on a green suitcase on a conveyor belt.] Hello?....... Again? You gotta be kidding me. I pay your school good money to keep my son safe. Are you grasping the iro - just tell them not to touch him. Do you understand? DO NOT TOUCH HIM. I'll be there as fast as I can. [The conveyor belt starts working, and the phone is taken with it while Martin rushes away.]
MAN ON PHONE: Hello? Are you still there? Hello?
[The scene switches to Jake on the top of a cell phone tower. He rocks back and forth slightly and frantically writes in a notebook. Martin's car pulls in.]
MARTIN: Damn it, Jake. You had to call the police, right?
MAN: This is the third time this month.
MARTIN: Hey, don't go near him. You can't touch him.
MAN: Sir, your son cannot keep doing this.
MARTIN: I just told you, you cannot touch him. You gotta let me bring him down.
MAN: I can't let you go up there.
MARTIN: I'm not going up there. I'm scared of heights. I got another idea. JAKE!
MAN: Come back down, Lenny, the kid's dad is here.
MARTIN: (yelling) Hey buddy! Come on down, okay? I got a present for you, see? (holds up one of the phones from box) Jake, it's alright, just come on down. Come on down, buddy. Jake!
[Jake starts climbing down stairs.]
MAN: You're lucky there wasn't any rain today. That thing gets wet, and it could've gone up like a torch. Does the time 3:18 mean something special to that kid?
MARTIN: (to Jake) Wait for me by the car.
MAN: All three times he tripped the alarm on the security system, it was exactly 3:18. Kid is like clockwork.
MARTIN: I don't know anything about that.
MAN: You know I'm gonna have to report him to child services this time.
MARTIN: I know.. I.. I know. I'm sorry for your trouble.