A Future Broadcast

**A FUTURE BROADCAST** **SCENE 1** **INT. MEADOWBROOK TV - HALLWAY - DAY** A long, dim hallway. The walls are exposed brick, the color of dried blood, weeping a fine powder of age. Sunlight struggles through a grimy, high window, illuminating a universe of dust motes dancing in the stale air. This is a place where time stalled around 1988. BRIAR (22), sharp and bright but currently wound tight as a spring, stands in the middle of the hall. Her knuckles are white where she grips a worn Moleskine notebook to her chest. Her eyes are fixed on a closed door at the end of the hall marked “CONFERENCE ROOM.” SOUND of a low, anxious HEARTBEAT -- hers. It’s almost drowned out by a relentless, rhythmic CLACK-CLACK-ZRRRRT... CLACK-CLACK-ZRRRRT... She closes her eyes for a second. The knot in her stomach tightens. Her gaze drifts to the source of the sound: an ancient DOT-MATRIX PRINTER churning out a banner schedule in an adjacent office. A technological dinosaur, still roaring its monotonous song. The printer is the station’s true heartbeat. Slow, obsolete, unwavering. Briar takes a slow breath, trying to center herself. She catches a scent in the air, seeping through the porous brick. Faint. Metallic. Rain is coming. She looks down at her notebook. On the cover, in her neat, hopeful handwriting, is the title of her pitch: “Meadowbrook Unfiltered.” The CLACK-CLACK-ZRRRRT of the printer continues, a mechanical tick-tock counting down to her execution. Steeling herself, Briar pushes off the wall. One final, shaky exhale. She walks toward the conference room door, her soft footsteps lost in the mechanical din of the past.