The Alpha Agenda - Episode 001: Santanatural

 

THE ALPHA AGENDA — EPISODE 001: "SANTANATURAL"

When Gene and Cam Wrenchester stake out a mysterious facility deep in the Alaskan woods, they expect a quiet mission—but what they uncover is a nightmare born of science and shadow. Joined by Santa Claus, Van Helsing, and Hansel, the team stumbles onto the remnants of a sinister experiment: Project Metamorphosis. Secrets long buried begin to surface… and some of them wear wrestling boots.

Scene: Deep in the Alaskan Wilderness

Fade in.

A sprawling, fortified complex sits deep in the snow-covered woods of Alaska. The structure is weather-beaten but intact—like a Cold War bunker had a lovechild with a ski lodge. It looms against the pine-drenched skyline, surrounded by barbed wire fencing, satellite dishes, and a few blinking red lights.

A single dirt road leads in and out—barely wide enough for two cars. Beyond that, nothing but dense trees and snowfall.

Cut to: A black 1985 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham tucked behind a cluster of spruce trees, off a logging trail.

Inside the car are Gene and Cam Wrenchester.

INT. CADILLAC – STAKEOUT – DAY

Fast food wrappers are everywhere—on the dash, wedged between the seats, one stuck to the window with what might be cheese. A half-eaten vacuum-sealed cheeseburger—clearly bought from a gas station weeks ago—is in Gene’s hand. He eats it like it’s the best thing he’s had in years.

Gene Wrenchester, late 30s, square-jawed and permanently skeptical, leans back in the driver’s seat, feet on the dash, chewing and muttering through a mouthful of burger.

Cam Wrenchester, younger, taller, with a calm, bookish intensity, scans the compound through a pair of military-grade binoculars.

CAM (quietly, lowering binoculars) Gene, I’m telling you—no one’s there. It’s been three days. No movement. No guards. No heat signatures. Just... nothing. It’s abandoned.

GENE (with a mouth full of burger) You ever think maybe that’s exactly what they want us to think, Cam?

CAM (sighs) Right. Because the secret North Pole Facility has a cloaking spell or something?

GENE (swallowing) Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing we’ve seen. Remember the haunted latrine in Barrow? Ghost Moose in Juneau? That one time you got possessed by a cursed mall Santa?

CAM (defensive) That mall Santa lied about being jolly, okay? I stand by my actions.

GENE (smirking) You tried to arrest a snow globe.

CAM (sitting up straighter) Point is, we’re wasting time. I say we go in, sweep the place. If there’s no one there, we at least get answers. Maybe even heat.

GENE (gruffly) Look, Robbie said observe only. "Don’t go in. Wait for the others." That’s the mission. We stick to the plan. So don’t be an idjit.

CAM (pouting) When are they even supposed to arrive?

GENE (sips from a thermos, winces) Anytime now. So just be patient. Or meditate or whatever it is you do when you’re not annoying me.

CAM (mutters) I read, actually.

GENE Yeah, that. Reading. Nerd yoga.

CAM (smirking) You ate cheese out of a glove box this morning, Gene. I don't think you get to judge.

GENE (offended) Hey. That was aged cheddar. Very aged.

Suddenly—headlights flare through the trees. A deep, rumbling engine approaches.

A 1969 black Chevy Impala—menacing, gleaming despite the frost—pulls up beside them and idles.

Gene sits up. Cam lowers the binoculars. They both stare at the Impala, then at each other.

CAM (flatly) Let me guess. That’s the cavalry?

GENE (grinning) Told you. Any minute.

Gene tosses the half-eaten burger out the window (it bounces off a tree with a sad slap). He throws the Caddy into park and opens the door with purpose.

GENE (smirking as he steps out) Alright, Cam. Show time. Let’s meet the rest of Santa’s freakin’ Avengers.

CAM (grabbing his coat) Please don’t call them that.

Camera pans up as the Impala’s doors open... silhouettes step out, boots crunching snow. 

FADE TO BLACK.

Fade in from black. The low rumble of the Impala’s engine dies out as snow gently drifts through the air like ash.

EXT. HIDDEN FOREST ROAD – OUTSIDE THE COMPLEX – LATE AFTERNOON

The 1969 Chevy Impala has just pulled up next to the Cadillac Fleetwood. Black paint, chrome finish—an echo of a darker age. Its tires crunch the frost-dusted ground. Steam rises gently from the hood.

Inside the car, the air is heavy with silence.

Van Helsing—weathered, cold-eyed, a man who’s been through wars most people don’t know happened—sits behind the wheel, staring forward, knuckles white on the steering wheel. His long coat is pulled tight. His fedora casts a shadow across his weary eyes. He hasn't said more than five words the entire drive.

In the front passenger seat, Santa Claus, stripped of his usual red suit, now wears a tight-fitting flannel tee, jeans, and hiking boots. The beard remains, thick and as white as judgment. His gut is slightly smaller than the myths make it out to be, but his shoulders are massive.

In the back, Hansel sits with his arm in a sling, chewing on trail mix and chuckling. Dressed in hunter’s camo, his belt still holds a silver hatchet and various pouches of mystery. He's been talking non-stop with Santa the whole trip, mostly about pro wrestling stories and demon-hunting mishaps.

SANTA (laughing mid-story)
—and then Jolly Green goes for the top rope moonsault and the thing snaps! The whole treehouse ring just collapses. Took out two elves and a reindeer.

HANSEL (chuckling)
 

VAN HELSING (grim, quiet) We're here.

The other two fall silent.

Santa opens the door and steps out into the snow. His presence is immediate. The forest notices.

Gene and Cam are already outside the Cadillac, waiting.

GENE (mouth full of jerky, sarcastic) Well look who decided to show up. Was beginning to think you guys got stuck behind a herd of possessed moose.

CAM (sincerely) Good to see you, sir. (nods to Santa, then Van Helsing) Mr. Van Helsing.

VAN HELSING (stern, curt) Cam. Gene.

SANTA (squinting at the complex) Still no movement?

CAM Three days. Not a soul. No lights, no patrols, no sign of life.

GENE (leaning against the car) I told Cam here we should’ve gone in two days ago. But he’s all “observe the perimeter” and “what if it's a trap?” This is why I don’t play chess.

CAM (dry) You also don’t know how to play chess.

SANTA (gruffly, to Van Helsing) You think they were tipped off? The Enclave’s been tighter than usual. Makes you wonder.

VAN HELSING (grim) Someone always talks. Even in the North. We move now.

GENE (finally excited) About time. I’ve been ready to bust in since sunrise. Cam’s been cramping my vibe all day.

CAM (incredulously) I held you back!? 

EXT. OUTSIDE THE COMPLEX – MOMENTS LATER

The group moves through the snow, up toward the massive structure. No cameras, no guards, no movement. Windows are frosted over, and icicles hang like teeth.

As they fan out to investigate, Gene sidles up next to Hansel, who’s scoping the perimeter with one good arm.

GENE (trying to sound casual) So uh... where’s your sister?

HANSEL (not looking at him) She didn’t want to come. Specifically didn’t want to come if you were involved. She wants nothing more to do with you after Milwaukee.

GENE (defensive) What? But I thought we were on a break!

HANSEL (turns, sharp glare) If my arm wasn’t in a cast, I’d punch you right in your dumb face.

GENE (smirking) Noted. But in my defense, that hotel had two Jacuzzis and no rules.

CAM (suddenly stepping in) Gene. Stop stirring up trouble. We’re here to save the world, not destroy your dating history.

GENE (grinning) Same difference, really.

INT. OUTER HALLWAY – COMPLEX

The group finds a heavy metal door, locked tight. Frost is growing from the seams. Santa and Van Helsing work to find an alternate entry, while Gene leans against the wall next to Santa.

He looks... thoughtful.

GENE (low voice) You know, there’s something that’s been bugging me since I was, like... seven.

SANTA (not looking up) We’re trying to break into a possibly cursed abandoned ice-fortress, Gene.

GENE (serious tone) No, but this is important. Real soul stuff.

SANTA (sighs) Alright. Hit me.

GENE (stares ahead) When I was seven, all I wanted for Christmas was a Cobra Crackshot XR air rifle. Top of the line. Had it circled in the catalog. I was good. I was so good, Santa.

SANTA (glances at him) Okay...

GENE But what do I get? A plastic cap gun. With a cracked trigger and a cartoon sheriff badge. No Cobra Crackshot. Not even a Nerf.

SANTA (blinking, stunned) That’s... that’s what’s been haunting you all these years?

GENE (intensely) You knew I wanted it. I left out cookies. I cleaned my room. I never even cursed that whole month! Not even when Dad stepped on a Lego.

SANTA (slowly turns to face him) Gene… it’s very, very simple. (pauses) You would’ve shot your eye out.

GENE (staring) Shot... my eye out?

SANTA (turns back to the door) Exactly.

Santa walks away muttering and fiddling with a lock pick set, clearly done with the conversation.

GENE (still frozen in place) …Shot my eye out?

CAM (passing by, casually) You were also nine, not seven.

GENE (quietly) It was the betrayal that aged me.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. ABANDONED TRAINING COMPLEX – ALASKA – NIGHT

The heavy door finally gives way with a groan, rust flakes falling like dead snowflakes. The group moves inside in silence, flashlights sweeping over cold, clinical walls.

Inside, it's a tomb of purpose long-abandoned.

Flickering emergency lights sputter in the ceiling above, casting long shadows. Steel-framed corridors stretch in all directions. There’s a smell—sterile, metallic, and faintly burnt. Like a memory that refuses to die.

The walls are lined with scraped nameplates, claw marks, smeared fingerprints. A half-shattered mirror reflects them like ghosts.

CAM (quietly, unnerved) This place wasn’t just cleared out… they evacuated.

VAN HELSING (grimly nods) Sloppy exit. They expected company. They knew we were coming.

GENE (sweeping flashlight) Yeah, no one empties out a lab this fast unless they’re scared or hiding something. Or both.

They pass an open observation room—rows of restraint chairs bolted to the floor, tubes still dangling from IV hooks. Cam stops, kneels, picks something up off the floor.

CAM (holding a disc in a cracked case) Got something. Labeled… “Exhibit 14.”

They move into a small adjacent monitoring room, where the DVD player somehow still works off backup power.

The screen flashes to life.

VIDEO FOOTAGE BEGINS:

A dimly lit lab. A young man, perhaps 18, is strapped to a steel chair. Wires run to his temples. His face is bruised. Fear is in his eyes.

A syringe is plunged into his neck.

Seconds later, he convulses violently.

His face distorts, bones cracking audibly as his features contort into something feral—his eyes become amber, his teeth elongate, skin mottling. He snarls and thrashes.

Off-camera, two voices speak.

MAN 1 (voice clinical) Doctor, we’ve injected Subject 14 with serum version 303. As you can see, the transformation is almost instantaneous. His bestial side is released…

DOCTOR (cold, methodical) Yes. Very good. This will save us months—no more psychological breaking. No more simulations. They awaken as what they are—weapons. (pause) Contact Marcus. Tell him we need more test subjects. Immediately.

MAN 1 Understood, Doctor.

The video ends. The date on the video was 1 month ago.

The room is silent. Only the faint hum of old power lines remains.

CAM (voice tight) They weren’t just training fighters... they were creating them.

GENE (flatly) Yeah. And whatever this serum is—it wasn’t about helping people.

INT. RESEARCH OFFICE – MOMENTS LATER

Van Helsing sifts through broken furniture, overturned files, and burned documents. He finds a leather-bound journal cover tucked under a fallen cabinet. The pages have been torn out.

He wipes the dust off the cover:

“FACTS AND DATA – PROJECT METAMORPHOSIS”

And at the bottom, in red letters:
“A.I.M.”

VAN HELSING (mutters to himself) Advanced Integration Management… no no no npt right …. A.I.M …. Adrian Igor Moreau

He turns to the others. Eyes wide with the revelation.

VAN HELSING Dr. Moreau has resurfaced and is aligned with the Alphas.

INT. HOLDING QUARTERS – MOMENTS LATER

Santa moves quietly through the small dormitory area—bare cots, some overturned, others still made.

His eyes scan the room like he’s searching for something he knows he won’t like.

Under one cot, he sees a folded piece of paper. He crouches and pulls out two photographs.

One is of a young blonde girl, no older than ten, smiling beside a snowman. The back reads:
“SUBJECT 3”

The other shows two older boys in their teens, solemn, distant.
“SUBJECTS 1 & 2”

Santa stares at the photos. Something in him breaks quietly.

A tear rolls down his cheek.

Van Helsing enters, seeing Santa frozen.

VAN HELSING (quiet) You know them?

Santa doesn’t answer right away. He just nods slowly, eyes never leaving the photographs.

SANTA (soft, bitter) They were taken. Years ago. I thought... I thought they were lost. But this… this confirms my worst nightmares.

He stands up, still clutching the photos like fragile things.

SANTA (sternly) I have to leave. Immediately.

VAN HELSING Where?

SANTA HCW. The next show. If what I fear is true… they’ve already begun placement. I need to warn Brenner and in turn maybe even break him further.

EXT. COMPLEX – NIGHT

Snow falls heavier now. The Impala is idling.

Van Helsing, Santa, and Hansel prepare to depart. Hansel gives a quick nod to Cam and Gene.

Santa stands at the edge of the woods, still holding the pictures. His expression is unreadable. Haunted.

GENE (stepping forward) What the hell kind of wrestling company recruits out of places like this?

VAN HELSING The kind that builds stars instead of finding them.

He looks to Cam.

VAN HELSING Contact Robbie. Tell him we need a full crew. Clean team, data extraction, everything. This site needs to be scoured.

CAM (nods) Understood.

Santa finally speaks again—his voice low, filled with weight.

SANTA (softly) I thought I was done with this life. But if they’ve touched them… then no blizzard, no storm, no hell can stop me now.

He steps into the Impala.

The engine roars. The Impala disappears down the frozen road, red taillights vanishing into the dark.

Cam and Gene stand silently, snow falling around them.

CAM (quiet) You ever get the feeling we’re in way deeper than we know?

GENE (chewing a toothpick) Weird science labs, Santa’s got a hit list, and now we're fighting mutant wrestlers? (grins slightly) Yeah. Definitely feels like a Tuesday.

FADE TO BLACK.