a political action thriller
FROM THE EMMY AWARD WINNING TEAM of STUDiO CiTY
A kidnapped Senate candidate escapes captivity and leads a classified kill squad in a mission to destroy the trafficking network behind her daughter’s death — and expose the powerful players protecting it from the inside.
BODYMAN CAST
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
SEAN KANAN
Whitaker maintains a polished public image, positioning himself as a traditionalist and national security hawk. However, beneath the surface, he is tied to a shadowy underworld of human trafficking and corruption. His campaign is built on manipulation, fear, and control — a stark contrast to Evelyn’s justice-driven mission.
EVELYN JAMES
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
KATE MONROE
Evelyn is a decorated Marine who has redirected her relentless focus toward public service, channeling her grief and rage after the loss of her daughter to an accidental fentanyl overdose. That tragedy fuels her mission to dismantle human trafficking networks and combat the systems that enable them. Her campaign is grounded in
KATE MONROE
Evelyn is a decorated Marine who has redirected her relentless focus toward public service, channeling her grief and rage after the loss of her daughter to an accidental fentanyl overdose. That tragedy fuels her mission to dismantle human trafficking networks and combat the systems that enable them. Her campaign is grounded in justice, accountability, and moral clarity — yet beneath her political polish lies a combat-trained operative still wired for war.
DAVE GARRETT
SENATOR HENRY WHITAKER
DAVE GARRETT
TOM ARNOLD
Dave Garrett is the authoritative voice who delivers breaking news to the public, anchoring key plot developments for the audience. His calm but urgent reporting serves as a narrative device to heighten tension during major political events, including the disappearance of Evelyn James and the tight election results.
DALLAS ROGERS
MAX "SILK" PARKER
MAX "SILK" PARKER
JOHNATHAN SCHAECH
Call Sign : GHOST DOG
The definition of controlled brutality, Dallas is the one they sent when “resolve” failed. Trained to extract intel, eliminate threats, and vanish without a trace, he operated in a world where morality was optional and loyalty had a body count.
Disavowed after aging out— and refusing to trade instinct
JOHNATHAN SCHAECH
Call Sign : GHOST DOG
The definition of controlled brutality, Dallas is the one they sent when “resolve” failed. Trained to extract intel, eliminate threats, and vanish without a trace, he operated in a world where morality was optional and loyalty had a body count.
Disavowed after aging out— and refusing to trade instinct for politics— he disappeared into underground fight circuits and off-the-books security ops. Now he lives in the shadows, a soldier without a flag, answering only to one thing: his gut.
Call Sign “GhostDog” was whispered on the field. Some say it came from the way he’d track a mark— silent, patient, relentless. Others say it’s because when he showed up, you were already dead.
He doesn’t follow orders. He follows instincts. And once he’s locked on a target? There’s no escape.
MAX "SILK" PARKER
MAX "SILK" PARKER
MAX "SILK" PARKER
DAVID CHOKACHI
Call Sign : SILK
A smile like silk over steel. A shadow in full light, clearly ex-military. He wields diplomacy like a blade. Effortlessly blends into high society but never forgets what it cost him.
His name carries power and polish, and his cultural background lets him play insider/outsider in any room. He also represents a
DAVID CHOKACHI
Call Sign : SILK
A smile like silk over steel. A shadow in full light, clearly ex-military. He wields diplomacy like a blade. Effortlessly blends into high society but never forgets what it cost him.
His name carries power and polish, and his cultural background lets him play insider/outsider in any room. He also represents a man of principle who now operates in gray spaces—perfect match for Evelyn.
Former CIA cultural liaison, fluent in Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, Hindi, Urdu, Arabic, Farsi, and Pashto. Used to run psychological ops in the Middle East and Asian— now turned political advisor after exposing his own superior’s corruption.
Lu-Z
MAX "SILK" PARKER
Lu-Z
PAOLA PAULIN
Call Sign : Lu-Z
Dry wit. No ties. No patience. She’ll save your life... if she likes you. And if she doesn’t? Hope you’re not WiFi-enabled.
Raised in East LA but a child prodigy in digital forensics, Lu-Z was recruited at 15, arrested at 17, and flipped by 18. Her fingerprints are still embedded in 11 federal systems and one
PAOLA PAULIN
Call Sign : Lu-Z
Dry wit. No ties. No patience. She’ll save your life... if she likes you. And if she doesn’t? Hope you’re not WiFi-enabled.
Raised in East LA but a child prodigy in digital forensics, Lu-Z was recruited at 15, arrested at 17, and flipped by 18. Her fingerprints are still embedded in 11 federal systems and one abandoned Russian satellite.
She doesn’t do windows. She doesn’t do small talk. But she does know how to build a firewall with one hand while hacking your retina scan with the other. Lu-Z doesn’t need a gun— she builds war zones with code.
After burning out, she filed for maternity leave, which she renews every nine months. That was five years ago.(She wasn’t pregnant. She just needed to work remote so she was never scrubbed from the clearance levels.) No one questions why.
Her call sign? A nod to the “Loose Z”— the invisible slash left behind by Zorro. She’s here, she’s gone, and all you’re left with is digital wreckage and zero logs.
DOC
MAX "SILK" PARKER
Lu-Z
CHRIS FORSBURG
Call Sign : DOC
Remembered for a scorched-out Mosul burn unit after saving six lives with half a medkit and a broken scalpel. He’s patched up Senators, assassins, and once—accidentally—a tiger. (That one’s still classified. Don’t ask.)
Officially discharged. Unofficially indispensable. Doc’s the guy you call when someone’s “le
CHRIS FORSBURG
Call Sign : DOC
Remembered for a scorched-out Mosul burn unit after saving six lives with half a medkit and a broken scalpel. He’s patched up Senators, assassins, and once—accidentally—a tiger. (That one’s still classified. Don’t ask.)
Officially discharged. Unofficially indispensable. Doc’s the guy you call when someone’s “leak” isn’t metaphorical. He keeps a field kit in the trunk, morphine under the seatbelt, and a scalpel in his watch bezel.
His bedside manner is casual, even charming— until the gloves snap on.
Adrenaline isn’t a high. It’s homeostasis. He doesn’t chase danger. He walks into it—steady hands, dilated pupils—like it’s Sunday mass. His eyes? Already scanning for how to stop your heart... and restart it in under three minutes.
And if he hands you a stick to bite down on, it’s not for the pain. It’s so you don’t scream.
You don’t call Doc because you’re in trouble. You call Doc when there’s no one left to call.
