ACT ONE
CUT TO:
INT. BUFFY SUMMERS'S OFFICE
The light is low, natural light.
CAMERA FOCUSES on a 15 Year old GRACIE GREENWAY
GRACIE
(looks right at the camera)
CUT TO:
BUFFY SUMMERS 44 Years old, school councillor.
BUFFY
(looks down into her eyes then down at her notes)
So, your parents say you cim to be a vampire expert?
GRACIE
Not expert, I'm a vampire master.
BUFFY
(awkward, pys it cool)
right, you know, there's no such thing, right?
(doesn't look her in the eyes)
GRACIE
Yeah right, and that explosion in Sunnydale in 2003 was just a World War II bomb, right?
BUFFY
(smirks)
Your quite smart.
GRACIE
(raises a brow)
Try to be.
BUFFY
(back on topic)
But, there are some things you say around people, and some thing you do, particurly parents.
GRACIE
Otherwise, they’ll de-ce.
BUFFY
(confused)
GRACIE
Modern sng.
BUFFY
what do you know about vampires.
GRACIE
There have been 230 killings in Sunnydale from 1997 til 2003, most of them, marks to the neck.
BUFFY
woah, that's, a lot.
GRACIE
Didn't you used to live there once?
(beat)
stop watch on Buffy's phone goes off.
BUFFY
That's our hour.
GRACIE
Thank god, I'm missing taco Tuesday for this.
(walks to the door)
BUFFY
Gracie.
GRACIE
Yeah?
BUFFY
Next Tuesday, right?
GRACIE
Yeah, its a date.
BUFFY
oh, your not my type.
GRACIE
(ughs)
your funny.
(walks off)
BUFFY
(sighs in relief)
INT. CLASSROOM - DAY
The css is filled with bored faces, and the talkings of a teacher.
NOVA
(listens)
GRACIE
New Girl?
HUGO
From New Sunnydale I think.
GRACIE
(looks curious)
NOVA
(gnces at her)
INT. SCHOOL ROOFTOP / FIRE ESCAPE — LATE AFTERNOON
Gracie’s snuck out during free period. She’s reading an old watcher’s journal she nicked online and eating dry cereal from a ziplock bag. Nova finds her there—silent at first—until Gracie finally breaks the tension.
GRACIE
You always that quiet, or is it just around rich-girl dragons?
NOVA
(sits beside her, slow)
Words feel different in my mouth. Like they don’t belong to me anymore.
GRACIE
You been through stuff?
NOVA
(soft)
You could say that.
GRACIE
(smirks)
Good. Me too. Means we’re qualified for the end of the world.
They sit together in silence a second. Gracie offers her some cereal.
NOVA
(surprised)
Thanks.
INT. WILLOW’S HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
Willow Rosenberg 43 Years Old stands over a cluttered desk. Books open, pages tagged, digital notes glowing.
She mutters a Latin incantation under her breath — soft, rhythmic.
The candle in front of her flickers blue.
She opens a worn photo album — one page shows Dawn, smiling beside Buffy. A birthday party. Balloons.
Willow touches the photo gently, her voice trembling on the st words of the spell.
The fme dies.
INT. CLEVELAND STREETS - NIGHT
Buffy walks alone through the empty streets, her footsteps echoing. The city lights cast long shadows, and the quiet hum of distant traffic is almost soothing. Buffy’s gaze drifts over the buildings, the streets that feel both unfamiliar and painfully familiar. She pulls her coat tighter, a shiver that isn't from the cold.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she ignores it. The weight of years presses down on her. She pauses at a street corner, looking at an old diner across the road—a pce that should feel like home but doesn’t anymore.
EXT. CLEVELAND — DINER PARKING LOT — NIGHT
A hum of streetlights, wind skimming over puddles. A quiet, lived-in diner sits under a flickering sign: Helen’s. It looks closed, but one booth glows dimly from inside.
INT. DINER — NIGHT
BUFFY sits alone at the booth looking at a picture of her sister DAWN SUMMERS, bck coffee untouched. Her fingers drum lightly on the table. She stares out the window like she’s watching for someone—or something.
The door creaks open.
WILLOW (O.C.)
(small smile)
Hey, stranger.
BUFFY turns slowly. Her eyes widen a bit—recognition, but also disbelief.
BUFFY
Wow.
(a beat)
Still red.
WILLOW
You’d be surprised how many people told me to go grey gracefully.
BUFFY
They don’t know you.
(Willow slides into the booth across from her. They sit for a beat. Time presses between them like a third presence.)
BUFFY
Twenty-one years, huh?
WILLOW
Yeah. I almost texted. A lot. Never hit send.
BUFFY
I know the feeling.
(A waitress drops off another coffee. Willow nods politely, then looks at Buffy.)
WILLOW
I felt her. About a week ago. Strong. Different. Clevend of all pces.
BUFFY
Figures. Clevend always gets the weird ones.
WILLOW
This isn’t just a one-off activation, Buffy. She’s new. Brand new. Like... born from the spark. Not called through death, or succession. I didn’t even know that was possible.
BUFFY
Maybe the universe got tired of waiting for me to die.
WILLOW
Don’t say that.
BUFFY
(quiet)
Well, it didn’t. I’m still here. Still dreaming about coffins and apocalypse countdowns. Still fighting shadows in my sleep.
WILLOW
I’m not here to drag you back in. I know what that cost st time.
BUFFY
But you are here.
WILLOW
Because she’s different. And if she’s anything like you were... she’ll need help. She’ll need you.
(Buffy looks away, out the window again. Her reflection stares back at her—older, harder.)
BUFFY
I’m not the girl I was, Will.
WILLOW
No. You’re the woman who survived what no one else could. That’s who she needs.
(A long pause. The sound of rain outside. Buffy sips her coffee, finally.)
BUFFY
Alright. Let’s meet her.
The hum of fluorescent lights. A jukebox pys something faint from decades ago.
Buffy and Willow sit across from each other. The air is warm with memory, but there's a cold distance between them.
WILLOW
(stirring her tea)
You still drink coffee like it’s a personality trait?
BUFFY
(smirks)
It is a personality trait.
Silence lingers again. Not awkward. Just... lived-in.
WILLOW
(quietly)
I—um... I was thinking about her, the other day.
BUFFY
(dull edge)
Her?
Willow doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to.
WILLOW
She used to send me those ridiculous gifs. Cats screaming into cereal bowls.
BUFFY
(swallows hard, eyes fixed on her coffee)
She liked the absurd. Said it made the world feel less sharp.
WILLOW
You never talk about it. About her.
BUFFY
Because if I start—
(she hesitates)
If I start, I don’t know if I’d stop.
Beat. The clink of a spoon against porcein.
WILLOW
People whisper. Still. Like it was some... magical implosion. Like she just stopped being real.
BUFFY
Isn’t that what we all do? Stop being real eventually?
Willow looks at her. Long. Searching.
WILLOW
It was like the universe took a breath and forgot to exhale.
BUFFY
(nods slowly)
And we were the ones left holding it in.
The silence now is heavy, cosmic. A grief so big it’s been buried in myth, like the Time War. No one really talks about it. No one wants to remember.
WILLOW
She mattered.
BUFFY
She still does.
WILLOW
I searched the texts after it happened. Even the restricted ones. There was nothing. Not even a whisper about what to do when a Key just... fades.
BUFFY
Because no one thought she'd st that long. Not even the monks. They built her to be temporary. A Band-Aid on a god-shaped wound.
WILLOW
But she lived. She grew up. She ughed, and compined, and sent me cat memes at 2am. That wasn’t a spell. That was Dawn.
BUFFY
She was the most alive person I’ve ever known. And then one day… she just wasn’t.
WILLOW
No body. No ritual. Just gone.
BUFFY
And the world didn’t even blink.
INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE – DAY
Faith sits across from a professional. The walls are clean, sterile. But she’s anything but. Her posture is defensive, angry—like she’s been dragged here by someone else’s will.
THERAPIST
(soft, patient)
You’re allowed to be angry, Faith. But not at everyone else. Not at Buffy.
You’ve got to take that power back. Stand up for yourself. Let her know that you’re not just a sidekick in her fight. You deserve respect.
FAITH
(scoffs)
Respect? Buffy?
(she pauses)
She always gets to be the “chosen one.” She doesn’t have to try, she just is. And every time I try to step up, it’s like… I’m not worthy.
THERAPIST
It’s not about worth. It’s about your voice. You have one. You’re not just her shadow. You can stand tall. And you can make her see that.
EXT. CLEVELAND ALLEYWAY - DAY
Faith walks down a darkened alley, her footsteps quick but heavy. The clink of chains from nearby fences and the distant hum of the city fill the air, but she’s alone, walking with purpose. Her jaw is clenched, her thoughts a swirl of anger and frustration.
She stops abruptly, hearing a faint sound behind her. A shadow moves quickly—a vampire, almost too quick. Faith spins around, her hand already grasping a hidden weapon. But the vampire is fast, disappearing into the darkness before she can strike.
FAITH
(grinning darkly, whispering to herself)
Not today.
She exhales slowly, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She looks at the empty space where the vampire disappeared, her face unreadable.
INT. SCHOOL GYM – EARLY MORNING
Faith punches a bag. Brutal, focused.
Buffy watches from a distance, arms folded.
She walks over, grabs the bag to steady it.
Faith’s pacing at the gym is interrupted as Buffy steps into view. The two face each other—silent, the tension between them palpable.
FAITH
(gruff)
Didn’t know you were still lurking.
BUFFY
Didn’t know you still used boxing as therapy.
FAITH
Some things never change.
BUFFY
We’re not enemies, Faith.
FAITH
No. You’re just the one everyone chooses.
BUFFY
(sincere)
I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t want it.
FAITH
Doesn’t mean I didn’t feel it.
Faith’s eyes narrow, the wheels turning in her head. A small, dangerous smile tugs at her lips.
INT. NOVA'S HOME - NIGHT
NOVA
(gets home listening to music)
YUSUF
(notices her)
Nova?
Nova turns to her father.
YUSUF
it's te...
NOVA
I know....
YUSUF
I was worried sick....
NOVA
I know!
YUSUF
DO YOU?!
NOVA
(eyes look down)
YUSUF
Nova, the st thing I want is for you to turn out like your mother.
NOVA
That won't happen.
YUSUF
How do you know?
NOVA
(walks up to her room)
YUSUF
This conversation is far from over!
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
NOVA
(cleans herself off, and looks at herself in the bathroom mirror)
INT. NOVA'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
beside her bed is a picture of Nova, seven years old with her mother.
NOVA
(opens the wardrobe)
revealing weapons
NOVA
(puts a blooded stake inside)
EXT. OLD CARNIVAL GROUND – NIGHT
The wind howls through broken rides. Neon lights flicker above the haunted house fa?ade, casting long, sickly shadows. CLARE stands near the ticket booth, arms folded, phone in hand.
CLARE
(mutters)
Come on, Billy. You said Friday.
She checks her phone again. 9:43 PM. Her breath clouds in the air.
CLARE
Okay… te is fashionably annoying, but not tragic. Yet.
She steps forward, crunching over gravel. Her sneakers echo on the rusted steps of the haunted house. The door is half open.
CLARE
Billy? If you’re in there doing some creepy boyfriend prank, I swear to God…
She pushes inside.
INT. HAUNTED HOUSE – CONTINUOUS
Dust. Silence. Fake cobwebs sway like they know something. A cheesy animatronic ghoul jerks to life in the corner, but Cre doesn’t flinch.
Then—something real.
A shoe. One of Billy’s. Peeking from around a corner.
CLARE
Billy?
She moves toward it—slow. One step. Two.
She turns the corner.
Stops.
We don’t see what she sees.
Her breath catches in her throat.
CLARE
No…
She drops to her knees. Her hand reaches out—trembling—but doesn’t touch.
Her voice is just air now.
CLARE
Billy…
Then—a sound behind her. A click. A low, wet inhale.
She turns slowly, as if gravity itself is holding her back.
We don’t see the monster.
Only Cre’s face.
Eyes wide. Mouth open, but no scream.
She looks up.
CLARE
(soft, terrified)
What are you?
