Across

 Absolutely. Here's a more realistic version of that scene — grounded, without surreal elements, and focused on the tension, discomfort, and inner thoughts of Max and the other recruits. Dialogue is natural, and the tone captures the dehumanizing process of a military draft exam.

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INT. MILITARY INDUCTION CENTER – MORNING

The sound of shuffling boots and faint commands echoes through the high-ceilinged building. Max steps through the metal doors, his draft letter folded in his jacket pocket. He looks around — sterile floors, long corridors, young men everywhere, some staring blankly, some whispering nervously.

He joins a line. Ahead, the line moves slowly. Nobody talks much. A clipboard is shoved into Max’s hands.

CLERK

“Name. Birthdate. Social. Fill it out. Move forward.”

Max scribbles. Hands the form back. Steps forward again. Through a doorway and onto a moving walkway. There are soldiers stationed along the sides.

One steps forward.

SOLDIER

“Jacket off.”

Max hesitates. The soldier doesn’t wait. He grabs the collar and yanks it down.

SOLDIER

“Shirt. Shoes. Pants. Let’s go.”

Max undresses on the moving belt. He looks around — the other young men ahead of him are doing the same. No privacy. Just a line of guys being stripped down to underwear as the belt glides forward.

MAX (to himself, under his breath)

“This is nuts.”

The belt ends in a large, cold room. The walls are painted white, the lighting is clinical. About fifteen guys, all in briefs, stand along a line. Max steps into place. Next to him, a TALL BLOND GUY, maybe 19, looks like he’s about to cry.

BLOND GUY

“Dude, I haven’t even seen a doctor in, like... two years.”

MAX (trying to stay calm)

“They’re not gonna treat you. Just check you off.”

A sharp voice cuts through the tension.

OFFICER (O.S.)

“IN POSITION!”

Everyone stands up straight, arms at their sides. A few flinch. A couple guys look around nervously. Max stares straight ahead.

MAX (V.O.)

This isn’t an exam. It’s a sorting line. Like cattle.

One by one, they’re led into individual examination cubicles. Max steps into his — a cramped white space with a folding chair, a metal table, and a doctor in fatigues holding a clipboard.

DOCTOR

“Sit.”

Max sits. The doctor listens to his heart, takes his pulse. Checks his eyes with a penlight.

DOCTOR

“Ever had asthma? Seizures? Heart issues?”

MAX

“No, sir.”

DOCTOR

“Good. Reflex check.”

The doctor taps Max’s knees, then gestures to a side curtain.

DOCTOR

“Drop your underwear. Face the wall.”

Max hesitates. Then obeys.

MAX (V.O.)

Just keep your head down. Get it over with.

The doctor checks quickly — impersonal, clinical. Doesn’t speak. Max clenches his jaw.

DOCTOR

“Bend over. Take a deep breath.”

Max does it. A few seconds pass.

DOCTOR

“Alright. You’re done. You can dress.”

Max pulls his underwear back up, avoiding eye contact. He steps out of the cubicle. The hallway outside is crowded again with half-dressed boys, some trying to joke, others quiet.

CLERK (O.S.)

“Max Carrigan. Approved. Next!”

Max exhales and grabs his clothes from a bin. The moment lingers as he buttons his shirt with slow, tense fingers.

MAX (V.O.)

Just like that. I’m government property.

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Let me know if you'd like to extend this into the next part of the film, or see it from the perspective of another character.