ATTRITION | Pilot (pages 1 - 6)

BEFORE | Like a prophetess or an oracle, she saw what was ahead and set up a chessboard for a game that another generation would be forced to play.

INT. FLAT - BATHROOM - DAY

THEMBA, 31, looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Gently, she strokes her majestic black locks—then hesitates. She’s beautiful, but as she catches her own softened gaze, she does what she must, letting her grace harden into brown steel.

SUPER: JANUARY 6TH 2032

She whispers, a prayer barely audible.

THEMBA | ...I have done judgement and justice. Leave me not to my oppressors...

And with that, she gathers her locks, bundling them in solemn resolve.

INT. FLAT - MOMENTS LATER

Themba scans her flat—her last look at it.

Crates packed with books fill every corner, some stacked high, almost reaching the vaulted ceiling. She nearly steps on a tattered book, its pages spilling across the rug.

She picks it up—and reverentially re-gathers the fragile pages.

THEMBA | May the eyes who need them find you.

With care, she slots the book into a gap in one of the crates. Beside it, a half-face gas mask rests. She picks it up, slips it into a nearby satchel, and slings the bag over her shoulder.

EXT. FLAT - STEPS - MOMENTS LATER

The air is charged with the restless energy of thousands chanting—protestors moving forward in solidarity. Many carry banners that read: "The March of Citizens."

Themba descends the steps of her row-house. At the bottom, five men and women are waiting. MIN-JAE, a middle-aged Korean man, greets her with a hug.

THEMBA | Move quickly. I don't know how much time we have.

She hands him the keys to her flat.

MIN-JAE (reassuring) | They'll get where they need to be. The passage is solid.

THEMBA | I hope.

MIN-JAE | It's solid.

THEMBA | Be safe.

MIN-JAE | There is no more safe. I'll be smart. Will you meet us after?

THEMBA | Of course. If there is one.

Min-Jae takes that in. And they share one more hug.

MIN-JAE | Amani is already there. Please, both of you come back to us.

She gives him a look that says, no guarantees.

MIN-JAE | ...until we meet in Shiloh.

THEMBA | Until we meet in Shiloh.

She departs.

EXT. WASHINGTON DC- A HILL - DAY

AMANI, 35, a Black man with chiseled hands and a strong frame, stands on a low hill, overlooking the capital in the distance. Thousands of people fill the valley of streets and concrete. Their chants reverberate through the air.

Themba approaches and embraces him gently.

A fleet of military helicopters bellow overhead, ripping toward the capital.

THEMBA | Was this inevitable?

AMANI | No. It was a chosen path. Not inevitable.

THEMBA | Do you think they'll-

AMANI | This will end in pain.

THEMBA | Then you have to go.

He turns, locks eyes and brings her in close.

AMANI (with all the desperation in the world) | I can't leave you here.

She reaches up, her hand slipping to cup his neck. She pulls him down for a kiss as deep as her soul. When they separate, their eyes remain locked.

THEMBA | ...we have to stay true...

Amani can't break from her. He can't speak. She wipes his eyes. He gathers himself.

Kisses her forehead, he whispers a prayer….

…Touching his heart, she whispers one back.

AMANI | Strength...

THEMBA | ...strength. Until we build Shiloh.

AMANI | Lead them well.

They separate—her heading toward the sea of people, him moving away toward the city.

But the sound of air churning in turbines stops them. They look up as a small fleet of hover fighters materializes in the low-hanging clouds, their curved, bladed wings aimed at the backs of the protestors.

Amani looks back at Themba, who’s already staring up. She shoots him a sharp look that says HURRY.

He turns away, and she slips into the crowd.

EXT. APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS - TRAIN TRACKS - NIGHT

Amani hops off a slow moving, rusty train-car with nothing but a backpack filled with tools and survival gear.

Suffocated by the silver shadow of the woods, he digs out his flashlight and scans the incline until he spots a hidden path, barely visible.

He ascends, slipping on loose roots and wet dirt.

Finally finding a clearing, he kicks aside a rock and pulls a small lever buried in the mud. A sectioned rod springs out, unfurling a receiver.

He pulls a small "smart-glass" device from his satchel—his IRD—and slides it into a slit in the receiver, which becomes the interface. A biometric scan of his forefinger unlocks access.

Sounds layered in static- human pandemonium, pops of firearms, the low rumble of explosions.

AMANI (desperate) | Themba...are you there?

(beat) Are you alive?

The response is just more static.

AMANI | Themba?

A man with a Persian accent answers.

Gabriel (O.S.) | Amani! We got separated.

AMANI | Gabriel? Where is she?

GABRIEL (O.S.) | We got separated! I found her IRD.

AMANI | What happened, Gabe?

GABRIEL (O.S.) | They bombed us Mani. They fucking bombed us...There's so many people, gone...

AMANI | ...is she?!

GABRIEL (O.S.) | I don't know. After the first wave, she started helping people get out. Then they hit us with smoke bombs. We couldn't see anything.

(in shock) They didn't want us to get out.

More pops can be heard in the background- escalating.

GABRIEL (O.S.) | I have to go...i have to go!

AMANI (desperate) | Gabe-

GABRIEL (O.S.) | You have to get the passage ready. We need it now. If she's alive, she'll find you on the passage- she won't be alone.

We hear a massive explosion over coms.

GABRIEL (O.S.) (filled with doom) | Until we meet in Shiloh-

The signal cuts out.

The receiver ejects his IRD, retracts, and self-destructs.

Amani is left in shambles, but finds his way to intense focus. Gripping his satchel, he makes his way, with all haste, up the incline.

CUT TO BLACK:

TITLE SCREEN: ATTRITION

AI Ethics Statement: This original work was proofread for grammatical errors using ChatGPT, and contains an image generated by substack.