Yorktun is unrecognizable. Once a lively city of laughter and intellectual exchange, it has become an oppressive landscape of silence, surveillance, and constant dread. The Unitary Code—enforced by the Upbringers and their ruthless Wardens—dictates every aspect of life. The city is divided into sectors, and citizens are categorized by intellect, obedience, and assigned "value" to society. Watchtowers dot the skyline, and Wardens march through streets once filled with music, their heavy footsteps echoing in the emptiness.
The scene opens in a bustling square transformed into a bleak inspection zone. Citizens are herded into lines, each waiting to be assessed by machines that calculate their "suitability." Nolan, a young man who once aspired to be a musician, stands in line with his mother, a trembling woman with sunken eyes.
Warden: (Barking orders) Step forward, citizen. Identification.
He hands over a faded ID card. The machine scans him, whirring as it calculates his worth. A cold, metallic voice speaks from a speaker.
Machine: Classification: 2-C. Aptitude: Low. Potential: Minimal. Assigned role: Laborer.
Nolan: (Desperation in his voice) Please, there must be a mistake! I can do more—I'm good with my hands, I could—
Warden: (Cutting him off, expressionless) Silence. Your purpose has been determined.
The Warden shoves him into a group of other "laborers," the lowest social tier. A woman at the front of the line trembles as the machine beeps, marking her as a "3-D"—intellectually disabled, "unfit for purpose." Two Wardens drag her away, her cries echoing through the square.
Paragus, once a respected scholar, stares out the window in a small, darkened apartment. His face is gaunt, hollow, aged beyond his years. On the table beside him lies a photograph of his teenage son ፈᏗᎥᏬᏕ, a boy with bright eyes and an infectious smile. The memory is a painful stab against the sterile silence around him.
Flashbacks blend with reality as Paragus recalls the raid that took his son. The Upbringers had deemed ፈᏗᎥᏬᏕ a "chaotic element," his questioning nature a threat to the Unitary Code. Paragus had pleaded, his screams drowned out by the blaring sirens and Wardens' marching boots.
Paragus: (Whispering to the photograph) I failed you. They ripped the life out of this city, out of you... because I believed in them.
He slams his fist on the table, his voice trembling with anger and grief.
Paragus: I watched them poison Yorktun, believing they were restoring it. They murdered my son... and I stood by.
In his darkest moment, Paragus realizes that he cannot let ፈᏗᎥᏬᏕ's death be in vain. He knows now what he must do.
Months later, in a dimly lit underground chamber, Paragus sits with a group of like-minded individuals. Among them are Alitha, a former Warden who defected after witnessing the atrocities committed by her peers, Marten, a strategist whose family perished in the Upbringers' purges, and Verena, an artist whose very existence is now a crime under the Unitary Code.
Paragus: (Voice filled with quiet rage) The Upbringers promised order and stability. But they've built a machine fueled by fear, crushing everything human out of this city. They took our loved ones, they stole our souls... and now they call it peace.
Alitha: (Nods, jaw clenched) I was one of them. I thought I was keeping the peace and protecting Yorktun. But every day, I saw the light dim in people's eyes. I saw what we became—what I became. I can't go back.
Marten: My children... they didn't even resist. They were just deemed "excess" and disposed of like waste. I won't let that go unanswered.
Verena: (Voice breaking) They've taken everything. I was born with music in my soul. Now, I can't even hum a tune without fearing the Wardens will hear and drag me away.
Paragus: Then we must become more than what they believe we are. We will be the heartbeat of the old Yorktun, hidden but unbreakable. We will be Serkiuln—the spirit of resistance.
Their pact is sealed in silence, each vowing to do whatever it takes to dismantle the Upbringers' regime.
The scene shifts to a classroom. Children sit in rigid rows, their eyes blank as they repeat phrases from the Unitary Code. Once a poet, the teacher reads from a cold, monotone script. Ira, a young girl with a spark of defiance in her eyes, raises her hand.
Teacher: (Droning) ...And thus, freedom is found in obedience, and peace in silence. Speak, Ira.
Ira: (Timidly) Why... why aren't we allowed to ask questions?
The room goes still. The teacher's eyes narrow, her face draining of color. She whispers urgently.
Teacher: Never question the Code. Questions are dangerous. Questions bring chaos.
A Warden, stationed in the corner of the room, steps forward, his gaze fixed on Ira. He taps a device, recording her name. She shrinks back, understanding the danger but unable to hide her curiosity.
Paragus and his small resistance listen to the whispers of Yorktun's suffering in a hidden basement. They've managed to salvage an old radio, catching snippets of news about the Upbringers' latest "purges" of dissidents. Paragus listens, his hands shaking with anger.
Radio Broadcast: (Cold and mechanical) ...By the Unitary Code, fourteen additional individuals have been removed from society for crimes of independent thought and intent to disrupt unity. Their families have been reassigned, and their memories have been erased from the Records.
Paragus: (Furious whisper) They erase people like they're cleaning dust from a shelf. They've turned Yorktun into a prison where even memory is a crime.
Alitha: It's worse than a prison. At least in a prison, you know you're trapped. ... they try to make you believe this is all there ever was. That this silence, this emptiness, is our only reality.
Paragus: That's why we fight. We will make a thousand more for every memory they try to erase. For every spark they snuff out, we'll light a new fire.
Paragus finds himself in an empty square late at night, haunted by memories of his son. Suddenly, he hears faint, forbidden laughter. He follows the sound and finds Verena, the artist, scribbling on a wall in charcoal. It's a simple drawing—two hands reaching for one another. She looks up, fear in her eyes, but doesn't stop.
Paragus: (Voice choked with emotion) Verena, if they find you...
Verena: I know. But if I don't do this, I'm already dead. They've killed everything inside me but this—the need to create, to reach out. Even if no one sees it, I know it's here.
She finishes the drawing, and they share a silent understanding for a brief, fragile moment.
The scene returns to the hidden chamber, where Paragus addresses the small but determined group. His face is weary but resolute.
Paragus: They've built a world where even thoughts are crimes. Where memory itself is torn from our hearts, but they've forgotten that even the darkest silence can hide an echo. We are that echo, and one day we will be a roar.
The Serkiuln members nod, each carrying the weight of lost loved ones, crushed dreams, and smothered memories. They are bruised and broken but defiant. And in the depths of Yorktun's silent night, the first whispers of rebellion stir.
(shhh, you won't know his name)