ATTRITION | PILOT | (Pages 6 - 19)
The dystopia is here... Yesu and Avaline know no other life.
THE STORY CONTINUES….
And now we enter the core of Act One—thirty years after the tragedy that opened our story. The dystopian regime has held power for decades, its rule cemented by war—but its most potent weapon is not violence, but social complicity. To be at peace is to be complicit—and society has settled into it. Submission to class loyalty is now a civic duty. Resistance and activism have been crushed, deemed immoral and destructive to national unity. Technology has advanced—along with the regime’s pervasive AI, calibrated for perfected social control. It doesn’t just monitor life—it guides it, predicts behavior, and detects even the faintest spark of dissent.
The Constitution has changed. Histories have been erased. Society has surrendered.
And there are generations now with no memory of anything different.
Welcome to ATTRITION.
PREVIOUS EPISODE
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.
ATTRITION | PILOT | PAGES 6 - 19
We hear the sounds of the morning. Water boiling, the sound of a coffee in the coffee maker. Deep in the background we hear news, national.
INT. THE DAVIS HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAWN
AVALINE DAVIS' brown face fills the frame. Her rich black hair is wrapped in an elegant silk scarf.
She opens her eyes— tired, groggy, apprehensive.
SUPER: 30 YEARS LATER
The soft sounds of an urban morning hum in the background. The muffled news grows louder, but we stay on her eyes. Long enough to really see her.The whites of her eyes flicker—like a TV changing channels. We pull back as she sips her tea. The news feed grows louder.
We realize she’s watching the broadcast, piped directly into her eyes via a small cybernetic receiver implanted in her temple
NEWS ANCHOR ONE (V.O.) | Authorities discovered a cache of weapons hidden by “activists.”
NEWS ANCHOR TWO (V.O.) | Just another failed attempt to disrupt America’s new thriving social stabil—
She taps her temple. The feed cuts.
AVALINE | Bullshit.
INT. THE DAVIS HOUSE - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
She walks the modest hallway, tea still in hand, draped in a vibrant blue, flowing kaftan. She nearly passes an empty room— but pauses, leans against the doorframe.
Plastic tarps cover the floor, stained with paint. An old ladder and bucket lean against a half-finished wall—painted yellow.
The cold glow of morning light filters in, faint and quiet.
It finds the crib in the farthest corner— brand new, still wrapped in plastic. She smiles.
A soft digital chime. She taps her temple to answer.
HER POV: Faint holographic busts flicker into view, superimposed over the room—
BREONNA DAVIS, her best friend. SOON-OK, a reserved Korean woman her age. BEVERLY, warm, early fifties.
BREONNA | Happy Stamp Day!
SOON-OK | Happy Stamp Day!
BEVERLY | Happy Stamp Day!
AVALINE | Oh... thank you. But it’s a little premature.
BEVERLY } Don’t be so pessimistic. There’s no reason you wouldn't be approved.
SOON-OK | I told you, Ava. You have nothing to worry about. Follow the system—if it’s your time, it’s your time.
BREONNA | I’m so proud of you, love. Be hopeful. You deserve this.
AVALINE (manufacturing excitement) | Okay... okay. Hopeful!
BEVERLY | I’ll make sure there’s not too much work waiting for you. Take the rest of the week. Celebrate, okay?
AVALINE | I will.
BREONNA | Good!
BEVERLY | Oh… and please be sure to change. It seems you’re very colorful in your downtime.
AVALINE | Oh... (realizing) Of course.
BREONNA | See you soon!
AVALINE | Bye, loves.
She taps her temple. The busts fade, as does her facade.
INT. THE DAVIS HOUSE - BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER
We see her in the mirror. Almost ritualistically, she unwraps her headscarf—revealing her natural, kinky hair. It’s beautiful. Then— a hiss.A crackle. Slowly, methodically, she draws a hot comb through the kinks searing them into fledgling obedience.
We sit with this erosive ritual. Again and again, the searing heat deforms the resistant kinks into submission.
She waves her hand in front of a sensor— a sterile white drawer hisses open, grimly revealing a drab black utility suit, a fitted grey poncho, trimmed with a faintly glowing maroon frame. Her regulation citizen-wear.
She pauses. A flicker of anxiety crosses her face.
In the mirror—her eyes drop to her belly.
She puts on the citizen-wear, dreading the sight of the sterile fabric veiling her in colorless uniformity.
Her eyes sink again. She taps her temple.
AI AVATAR | Yes.
AVALINE | Call my husband.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION- CONTINUOUS
At its helm, floor chief YESU DAVIS manually commands the rotation of the metal-and-glass alloy monstrosity.
His face: stern, but kind. His leather-brown hands—ripe with the callous of labor—rip and ratchet the machine’s control lever back and forth.
His focus is total. Tunnel-visioned to his work and the surrounding symphony of labor, he is the driver—its rhythm born from him.
His labor, a repetition. A rhythm. A liturgy of labor.
His escape.
The machine’s chamber ingests old material. He pulls a lever; The chamber turns. The chamber empties—reborn alloys.
He waits. The floor moves on its own, clearing the way to repeat the cycle. He turns. The cycle begins. It empties.
The cycle resets.
He waits — MARCH: the sound of troops’ feet striking earth.
He turns — MARCH: the clunk of an artillery chamber locking into place.
It empties — MARCH: the burst of a mini-tank firing... followed by the rapid stutter of machine gun fire.
SYDNEY (distant) | Yesu.
Yesu’s eyes lift—skip across ours for a beat.
A large hand drops on his shoulder. SYDNEY ADÉVE, brawny and fierce, grounds him in the moment. Yesu removes his muffs.
SYDNEY (gently) | ...still?
Yesu gives a brief, affirmative nod. Sydney understands—but doesn’t press.
SYDNEY | It’s time.
YESU | They finally getting rid of me?
Sydney chuckles.
SYDNEY | Not even they want to deal with Ava.
He hands Yesu his glass smart device.
SYDNEY | It’s her.
Yesu takes it. Activates it.
AVALINE (O.C.) (soft, warm) | Hey.
YESU | My love.
AVALINE (O.S.) | Are they giving you trouble about leaving?
YESU | No. Are you okay?
AVALINE (O.C.) | Yeah. I’m just...
YESU | I understand.
SYDNEY (gently) | Hey—we can’t hold up the line.
AVALINE (O.C.) | Tell him his shift is over.
YESU | Ava says hi.
SYDNEY | Good morning, Mrs. Davis.
Yesu turns to go.
SYDNEY | Hey—good luck.
They share a brotherly hug.
SYDNEY | Come by tonight. I’ll fire up the grill, Bree’ll bring the drinks. We’ll celebrate.
YESU | There’s nothing to celebrate yet.
SYDNEY | You’ll get approved. Just come anyway.
YESU | Okay. Okay—I look forward to it.
Sydney steps up, takes Yesu’s place at the machine.
SYDNEY | Now get outta here before I get another call from Ava.
A minor disruption on the factory floor draws Yesu’s eye. A pair of junior workers struggle to mount a dismantled unit onto the chain conveyor—misaligned, too heavy, awkward in their hands.
SYDNEY | Get out. Go home. Today’s a big day...
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
Yesu makes his way down the dingy hallway—exhausted. A litany of ragged, begrimed propaganda posters line the walls:
“People First.” “Work Hard.” “Stabilize the Nation.”
“The New American Dream.” “Country Over Race.”
“To Unionize is Activism. Activism is Un-American.”
The morning shift passes him heading in. A few wish him good luck. He nods, saying little. They understand.They’ll be that tired soon.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - LOCKERS - MOMENTS LATER
Yesu pulls military pressed citizen-class ware from his locker. They're not fancy, but they're sharp. Ignoring surveillance sensors in every corner, he unzips his factory jumpsuit.
More suffocating propaganda posters litter the mirror. He peeks through, beginning to unzip his factory scrubs—ready to drape on the dreary homogeny of a different kind.
Suddenly, an alarm pierces the air. All lights flash red.
AI loudspeaker (repeating) | Cascade failure imminent.
Yesu, abandoning the changeover and any hope for rest, bolts out.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
Sprinting down the hallway, Yesu intercepts three frantic operators.
YESU | Talk. What tripped it?
OPERATOR ONE | Started ingesting the old sub—core started spiking right after. We didn’t even hit full load.
OPERATOR TWO | Pre-op screwed us. Cut corners, sent unstable composite. No way it passed decay eval.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION - CONTINUOUS
Sydney strains against the robotic lever. The massive cylindrical construct on the main floor pivots slightly—then SLAMS against an unseen obstruction, igniting a cacophony of metal-on-metal chaos. Screeching. Warping. A deep, guttural groan as steel bends out of place.
He drives the lever forward. Yanks it back. Repeats. The violent stutter continues.
Yesu and a wave of operators rush in.
Sydney | I’m trying to manually reset the core—we’re redlining! Two coolant chambers are already gone!
In a flash, Yesu scans the floor. Below the rail, every station surrounding the core is spiking into the red. Operators scramble, shouting over each other.
A valve overhead bursts—chamber three of nine. Steam rains down. Panic spreads.
YESU | Sydney, hold on the reset.
Yesu sweeps toward Partition 4 — HTNR INGEST — weaving swiftly through gargantuan, hanging sections of the disassembled nuclear sub.
He finds the ingest operator, Bailor—a young man in over his head—gripped by panic, wrestling manual levers to slow an automated process gone feral. Material slams into conveyors already jammed to capacity.
BAILOR | I CAN’T STOP IT! The AI’s caught in a recursive loop—it’s seizing control levers at random, overriding all manual input. It’s ignoring my failsafes completely!
YESU | Did you inspect core for decay?
BAILOR (furtive) | Yes, I think so? It read fine!
YESU (commanding) | Not assigning blame. Did you manually evaluate the material?
BAILOR | No. But I followed protocol. Pre-op flagged the decay rate as stable.
YESU | We're in cascade.
BAILOR | But I followed protocol!
YESU | This isn’t your fault.
Yesu smashes the glass box and yanks the emergency lever—alarm bell howling.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
With the crew assembling, Yesu stands at the center of the floor—a lieutenant surrounded by his men.
YESU | The core is cascading. In four minutes, we hit meltdown. Unstable nuclear material interacted with the core matrix. The overheat’s damaged the AI mainframe—also caused a structural break inside the HNTR enclosure.
A collective, tense groan rises from the crew.
YESU | It’s FUBAR. We can’t reset the machine. We need to kill the safety AI, clear the obstruction, and shut the floor down.
If we don’t—and the remaining coolant chambers collapse—core rupture, radiation breach, ignition.
We’ve got three minutes. I need six volunteers. Everyone else—evacuate.
Sydney and five others step forward.
YESU | Sydney—operations. Mark, Carter, Jarvis—valves. Grab axes. Dorian—mainframe, kill it. Bailor—on me. Move.
The team snaps to position. Yesu heads for the HNTR enclosure hatch.
Another valve bursts—four of nine—sending debris across the floor as the last of the crew flees the zone.
YESU | SEAL THE DOORS.
He kicks in a panel at the hatch, revealing an automatic lever—jammed in a mechanical loop.
YESU | It won’t open until the mainframe’s down!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR MAINFRAME - CONTINUOUS
Dorian yanks cable after cable, cutting power to the mainframe.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION - CONTINUOUS
Sydney helplessly watches as console after console powers down—including the one under his hand: internal chamber environmental control.
SYDNEY | Once the mainframe’s down, we lose heat control. You’ll get cooked in there!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
Yesu braces his body, preparing to yank the hatch.
YESU | Mark, Carter—break valves three, four, five.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - VALVES STATION - CONTINUOUS
Three arms swing. Three axes shatter three valve chambers. Mark, Carter, and Jarvis hit the floor, dodging an eruption of steam and water.'
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR MAINFRAME - CONTINUOUS
Dorian yanks the last cable, casting the factory floor into successive darkness—then triggering the dim red glow of emergency lights.
AI LOUDSPEAKER | Safety protocols inactive.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
The mechanism unclamps with a thud.
YESU (to Bailor) | Clear
Bailor steps aside. Yesu, leveraging his body, pulls hard on the lever breaking open the hatch, blasting out searing steam.
Unflinching, he enters.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS
Yesu wafts inside, the violent cacophony washing over him.
He’s in the mouth of chaos now—and it doesn’t consume him.
It wakes him.
At the center, a vertical cylinder of carbon and glasslike alloy seals in an unstable geodesic core—an intricate sphere of triangular, interlocked plates, escalating rapidly toward cataclysmic collapse.
Surrounding it: towering robotic arms, platforms rising and dropping at random. The whole system has gone feral—struts grinding in jerky half-rotations, gears lurching out of sync, reacting blindly to corrupted artificial inputs.
In the thick steam, blistering heat, and falling sparks, Yesu’s eyes sweep the chaos with practiced precision.
A valve bursts—eight of nine.
The core surges brighter, dangerously close to ignition.
YESU | Sydney, forward!
BAILOR | Forward!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION - CONTINUOUS
Sydney hurls his body into the lever—drives it forward.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS
The core attempts another rotation but slams violently into an unseen obstruction. Yesu spots it immediately—one of the strut joints has melted, grossly misaligning the arm and tearing it from its track.
He’ll need to dislodge it manually.
He spots a weak point high on the strut. Scans for the nearest ladder—close, but not close enough.
YESU | Reverse!
BAILOR (echoing) | Reverse!
As the machine lurches into reverse, Yesu leaps the ladder. The damaged strut swings into reach—and he kicks it with the full force of his body.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION - CONTINUOUS
Sydney watches in horror as the last valve explodes—shaking the whole floor.
SYDNEY (To Bailor) | Get him out! Everyone—evacuate!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
Nearly petrified, Bailor enters
AI LOUDSPEAKER | Warning: Core ignition active.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS
Bailor looks up—the core glows white-hot, its light bleeding across the chamber. The surrounding framework reddens under the heat, metal flaking and disintegrating as waves of energy ripple outward.
He knows—they’re both dead men.
BAILOR | We've got to go!
Yesu raises his body, driving a two-footed kick into the strut—it topples free.
YESU | SHUT IT DOWN.
BAILOR (echoing) | SHUT IT DOWN!!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CONTROL STATION - CONTINUOUS
Sydney DARTS to the lever and slams it forward.
SYDNEY | Holy shit—he did it!
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS
The whole chamber turns, locking into place—immediately deactivating the core. Yesu dismounts. All is still.
YESU | This machine is a poorly designed piece of shit.
BAILOR (not amused) | They’re gonna can me for this. I got nothing else.
YESU | This wasn’t your fault. Pre-op was wrong—this material was too old to process. They rushed the eval.
BAILOR | Doesn’t matter. I’m new.
YESU | Listen to me. I’m not letting them drop a single one of you.
INT. MACHINE FACTORY - HNTR FLOOR - CONTINUOUS
They exit— the entire floor crew has returned, lined up in formation, standing at attention before a fuming Plant Manager. Yesu steps between his men and the rage.
…..TO BE CONTINUED