ACT TWO
SNAP OF THE CAMERA
INT. SCHOOL CORRIDOR – EARLY MORNING
The scene opens with a harsh camera fsh, white and overexposed, cutting through the otherwise dim, bluish hallway lighting.
Cold, sterile. The stillness of morning. The echo of tragedy hangs in the air.
The hum of fluorescents. A slow echo of police radios crackling.
The blurred edge of a white sheet over a body, crimson seeping through onto pale linoleum tiles. A set of bloody Converse poke out, eerie in their normalcy.
Officer Jacob Reed, 22 and officer Frankie Vile 24.
JACOB
(quiet, unsettled)
That’s her second missing kid in three weeks.
FRANKIE
(scoffs)
We live on a Hellmouth. You want a tidy body count, move to Idaho.
JACOB
You don’t think this is weird?
FRANKIE
I think it's Tuesday.
BUFFY (O.C.)
Mind if I recim my office before someone else dies on my doorstep?
FRANKIE
(turns, arms folded)
Can we help you?
Buffy appears at the end of the hall, almost ghost-like in the morning light, wearing muted tones—denim jacket, coffee in one hand, keys jangling.
BUFFY
You’re kind of blocking my door. Also, maybe the crime scene. Also, the hallway I walk through to emotionally repress things.
JACOB
Didn’t exactly choose where she died.
BUFFY
Well maybe next time the killer can leave a note.
FRANKIE
(looks at the officers)
right, let's bag it up and move along!
officers do so.
JACOB
Good day ma'am.
they put the body in a body bag.
BUFFY
(looks curious)
WILLOW (O.C.)
hey stranger.
BUFFY
(turns)
you took the job, good, we need a new computer tech teacher.
WILLOW
I thought was where the action is.
BUFFY
Your not kidding...
looks on as the police take away the body bag.
(sound of a doorbell)
CUT TO:
EXT. CLEVELAND STREET - DAY
GRACIE
(waits outside)
HUGO
(looks right at her)
This is crazy you know.
GRACIE
This person used to live in Sunnydale, before the explosion, I need to hear his story.
HUGO
(eye roll)
ANDREW
(answers)
hi?
HUGO
cool smoking jacket dude.
GRACIE
(eye roll)
we're here to talk about Sunnydale, 2003?
INT. ANDREW’S APARTMENT – DAY
A cluttered living room filled with vintage collectibles, books, and a massive bookshelf that looks one wrong step away from colpse. Movie posters (The Fellowship of the Ring, Pan’s Labyrinth) line the walls.
Gracie and Hugo step inside awkwardly.
ANDREW
(gesturing)
Watch the Captain Picard bust—it’s fragile and emotionally significant.
GRACIE
Nice pce. Very... curated.
ANDREW
That’s a polite way of saying “nerd museum.”
(beat)
But I like to think of it as a refuge. From... the world.
HUGO
So... you really lived through Sunnydale? Like, the real Sunnydale?
ANDREW
Lived, ran, wept, narrated. It was a whole thing.
(beat, sits)
What do you want to know?
GRACIE
Everything. The battle, the explosion, what came after. What you all did.
ANDREW
(pause, nostalgic)
Sunnydale wasn’t just a Hellmouth. It was a pressure cooker of fate. And bad cafeteria food.
HUGO
How did it end?
ANDREW
Depends who you ask. For some, it ended in fire and ash. For others, it started something new.
(looks at Gracie)
You weren’t activated in 2003, were you?
GRACIE
(shakes head)
I was born in 2009.
ANDREW
(leans back, eyes narrowing)
Then you shouldn't be a Syer.
HUGO
She is, though. We’ve seen her throw a vending machine. And a guy.
ANDREW
That’s not supposed to happen. Every Syer after Sunnydale was called in that moment. Willow’s spell—one great, cosmic activation.
GRACIE
Then why me?
ANDREW
(quiet)
That’s the million-soul question. There are theories—leaks in the Syer line, echoes of the magic that never settled.
Some say the spell fractured. Others say it... evolved.
HUGO
Into what?
ANDREW
That’s what scares me.
GRACIE
Could someone be making Syers?
ANDREW
(looks to her, suddenly serious)
Not unless they’re rewriting reality. And trust me—we’ve tried. It never ends well.
Gracie gnces at a faded photo on Andrew’s shelf: him with Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Faith. Younger. Battle-worn. Hopeful.
GRACIE
Do you still talk to them?
ANDREW
(small smile)
Not really. They scattered. Surviving doesn’t always mean sticking together.
(beat)
But if you’re really new... like new-new...
(stands, crosses to a file cabinet)
...then someone needs to know.
He pulls out a worn, leather-bound book. Sps it on the table.
ANDREW
It’s not official Watcher material. It’s mine. Personal logs, stories, things we couldn’t expin.
GRACIE
Thanks. I’ll take care of it.
ANDREW
Take care of yourself first.
They head for the door. As Gracie opens it, Andrew calls out.
ANDREW
Hey—Gracie?
She turns.
ANDREW
You are a Syer. Doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is what you do with it.
Gracie nods, a little stunned, a little steadier.
Would you like to follow this with a scene of Gracie reading something arming from the book ter? Or perhaps have Andrew contact someone mysterious after they leave?
You said:
Gracie's not a syer, Nova's the Syer
ChatGPT said:
Ahhh yes, you're totally right — Nova is the Syer, Gracie is something else (possibly scarier ??). That actually makes this scene even more interesting — because Andrew assumes Gracie is the Syer, and we get to py with that misdirection and confusion.
Here’s a revised version of the scene, now reflecting that Gracie is not the Syer, but she's still powerful and mysterious enough that Andrew thinks she might be. This allows us to build more intrigue around her powers and identity.
INT. ANDREW’S APARTMENT – DAY
The apartment is a lovingly organized chaos: books, collectibles, swords mounted next to Star Wars memorabilia. A shelf buckles under the weight of ancient grimoires and Buffy DVDs.
Gracie and Hugo step in cautiously.
ANDREW
Careful with the Obi-Wan lightsaber. It's signed. By me.
GRACIE
You live alone?
ANDREW
Solitude is underrated when the alternative is roommates with demonic allergies.
HUGO
We’re not here for your... Starfleet confessionals. We need answers.
ANDREW
(straightens up)
Okay, Mr. Sass. What exactly are you trying to understand?
GRACIE
Nova. My friend. She's a Syer. Like, fully chosen-one style. But I’m not. Except... I’m still—strong. Fast. And something's wrong with me.
Andrew looks at her. Then at Hugo. Then back at Gracie.
ANDREW
Wait. She’s the Syer?
GRACIE
Yeah.
ANDREW
But you’re the one who kicked in my door like it owed you money.
GRACIE
I told you. I’m not a Syer.
ANDREW
(sits heavily)
That’s not possible. I mean, unless... no, that was sealed... or—wait.
He gets up suddenly, rummaging through a stack of notebooks, muttering.
HUGO
Should we be concerned?
ANDREW
Only if she starts glowing.
Gracie raises an eyebrow.
GRACIE
I don’t glow.
ANDREW
Then we’re still in the “maybe this won’t end in fire” zone.
(beat, finds a tattered notebook)
There were rumors. Years ago. Syers being activated outside the spell’s radius. Girls with Syer-like strength but no connection to the line.
GRACIE
What were they?
ANDREW
We don’t know. Some thought it was echo magic. Others called it contamination. Magic leaking into the world, sticking to people it wasn’t meant for.
HUGO
So Gracie’s... leaking?
GRACIE
Gee, thanks.
ANDREW
There’s another theory.
(pause)
ANDREW
Some thought the Syer spell didn’t just awaken Syers. It... stirred other things. Old things. Sleeping powers that had nothing to do with the Syer line.
GRACIE
And I might be one of those?
ANDREW
You feel it, don’t you? Something inside you that doesn’t feel human.
Gracie doesn't answer right away. Just stares at him, serious.
GRACIE
I don’t know what I am. But it’s getting harder to hide it.
ANDREW
Whatever you are... I don’t think you're the only one.
That nds hard. Gracie gnces at Hugo.
ANDREW
Tell Nova to be careful. If she’s a real Syer, she’s part of the pattern.
(beat)
But you, Gracie... you're something else. And patterns? They don’t like being broken.
Gracie meets his gaze. Unflinching.
INT. SCHOOL LIBRARY – NIGHT
The library is dim, long emptied out. A storm rumbles faintly outside.
Gracie sits tucked away in a corner, cross-legged on the carpet, Andrew’s journal open on her p. The flickering light from her phone casts a soft glow across the pages.
Nearby, HUGO is passed out on a beanbag, earbuds in, hoodie up.
Gracie flips through Andrew’s entries. Hand-drawn sigils. Syer lineages. Notes scrawled in frantic, cramped handwriting.
She slows on a page titled:
“Experimental Activations”
Her eyes dart across the text.
INT. BUFFY’S SCHOOL OFFICE – NIGHT
Buffy leans back in her chair, staring at a coffee mug that’s long since gone cold. Willow stands at the window, tapping away on her tablet, frowning.
BUFFY
You ever get the sense we’re right back where we started?
WILLOW
(deep sigh)
Please don’t say Sunnydale. I just started sleeping again without nightmare dirt in my teeth.
BUFFY
I mean patterns. Things repeating. But different this time. Off.
Willow turns, softer now.
WILLOW
You’re talking about Gracie.
Buffy doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.
Willow pces the tablet down. Joins her at the desk.
WILLOW
I scanned her aura after the fight. There’s something else in there. Something primal. Not demonic, but not Syer either. It’s like her magic’s been rewired. And whatever it is... it’s feeding on something.
BUFFY
Feeding?
WILLOW
Emotion. Instinct. Grief. Anger. All of it.
BUFFY
(quietly)
She didn’t ask for this.
WILLOW
None of us did. Doesn’t mean we don’t have to deal with it.
A heavy beat. Buffy looks at the small framed photo on her desk: her, Dawn, and Giles. All smiles.
BUFFY
Nova’s heading out now. She’s good... but this thing regenerates.
WILLOW
Then let’s hope she brought fire.
EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - NIGHT
The night is thick with mist, the air heavy with the remnants of rain. The moon barely cuts through the clouds, casting eerie shadows on the cracked pavement.
NOVA (determined, tough) moves cautiously through the desote street, a fshlight in one hand, a weapon tucked into the other. Her eyes dart from one dark corner to another, watching for anything that moves.
She pauses, the hairs on her neck standing up.
NOVA
(whispers to herself)
Whatever you are, you’re here.
She steps forward, rounding the corner of the warehouse. Suddenly, there’s a SCREECH, followed by a loud crash—something rge sms into the side of the building.
NOVA jumps back instinctively, her fshlight shining toward the noise.
BUFFY emerges from the shadows, easily flipping over a low fence and nding with a soft thud. She holds a crossbow, and her eyes lock onto Nova immediately. She’s been here a while, waiting for something like this.
BUFFY
You should really get a better sense of timing.
NOVA stiffens, eyeing the newcomer with suspicion.
NOVA
(holding her ground)
You here for the same thing?
BUFFY
If by ‘thing,’ you mean the monster that’s been tearing people apart, then yeah.
NOVA
(chuckling darkly)
Not exactly what I expected. You look… like a tourist.
BUFFY
(smirking)
Tourist? Honey, I’ve been doing this for over 20 years. You might be the one who’s new around here.
NOVA doesn’t drop her guard, but she’s clearly intrigued.
NOVA
(assessing Buffy)
I’ve heard of you.
The “Chosen One” myth. Didn’t think it was still a thing.
BUFFY
Well, the Syer gig doesn’t exactly come with a retirement package. Some of us just keep going.
The ground SHUDDERS, and a low growl rumbles through the air.
NOVA
(raising an eyebrow)
I thought you were the expert.
BUFFY
I know enough to know when we’re being watched.
Suddenly, the creature appears—A BROODING BEAST, half-human, half-demon, standing tall with glowing eyes and razor-sharp cws. Its body seems to ripple with shadows, like it's made of smoke and solid matter at the same time. It lets out a deafening ROAR.
BUFFY
(eyes narrowing)
Okay, maybe we should talk ter.
NOVA
(stepping forward)
Agreed.
Without missing a beat, Nova springs into action. She swings her weapon—a sleek, custom-made machete—aiming at the creature’s chest. It deflects, barely. The creature’s cws swipe at her, grazing her side. Nova grits her teeth but doesn’t flinch.
Buffy, using the moment of distraction, fires a crossbow bolt at the creature’s shoulder. It screams in pain but quickly regenerates.
BUFFY
(grinning)
Ah, cssic. The regenerate-and-attack strategy.
NOVA
You mean you’ve dealt with this kind before?
Buffy pulls out a silver knife, moving toward the creature with practiced ease. She looks at Nova.
BUFFY
What do you think I’ve been doing for over two decades?
Nova’s eyes narrow as she assesses the monster. It’s fast, brutal, and regenerating—cssic hellspawn.
NOVA
(tensing)
Then let’s finish this.
They work in tandem—Buffy with quick precision, Nova with raw power. The creature charges toward Nova again, but Buffy distracts it just long enough for Nova to leap into the air, using her machete to strike a decisive blow to the creature's heart.
The beast howls and colpses, its body disintegrating into ash, leaving only a faint trail of smoke lingering in the cold air.
NOVA
(wiping her bde clean)
Nice work. You’re not bad.
BUFFY
(cutting the tension)
Thanks. You’re not bad either... for a tourist.
They stand in silence for a beat, eyeing each other.
NOVA
So, what’s your deal? You’ve been fighting demons for years, and you’re just hanging out in Clevend?
BUFFY
(sighing)
A girl’s gotta do something. Clevend’s... been home for a while now.
NOVA
(grinning)
Clevend. The nd of monsters and bad decisions. What a pce to retire.
BUFFY
(retiring into a smirk)
Never said I was retired.
I’m just... taking things one demon at a time.
Nova looks at Buffy for a moment, the tension between them still thick, but the beginnings of mutual respect starting to form.
NOVA
(softly)
I’ll be around. Maybe we’ll cross paths again.
Buffy gives her a brief nod, turning away to head toward the nearby street. Nova watches her, clearly still sizing her up, but with a bit of admiration.
As Buffy walks away, Nova watches the ashes of the creature disappear into the wind, pondering what’s next for her.
NOVA
(sees Hugo and Gracie who were spying)
