INT. DECLAN’S HOME - QUEENS - NIGHT

A modest, middle-class QUEENS LIVING ROOM. A full media center setup against white walls. Couches face a large TV.

SUPER: "SEP, 2001"

ON TV

NEWS ANCHOR (V.O.)

Today, President Bush signs the Authorization for Use of Military Force in Afghanistan, following the tragic events of 9/11.

BACK TO SCENE

DECLAN, late 20s, well-built, sits on the couch, eyes wet as he watches the TV.

Next to him, SARA, late 20s, a Midwestern girl with a pregnant belly, sits close. She rests a hand on Declan’s shoulder.

The TV’s cold light washes over their faces. A somber mood fills the room.

DECLAN

I hope I get to—

(beat)

—take him off the face of the earth.

His lips tremble.

Sara just squeezes his hand gently.

DECLAN

Mom would have been here. She went just for an early meeting.

She winces — a sharp pain low in her belly. Declan’s hand tightens around hers.

He feels it. His tone softens.

DECLAN

You okay, Sara?

SARA

I think it’s time.

DECLAN

Hey. Breathe.

She breathes. He holds her hand.

One. Two...The contraction passes. She exhales, shaky.

DECLAN

I’m calling the hospital.

Declan jumps up, crosses to the wall, and picks up the landline. He dials.

As he listens to the ring—

A FETAL HEARTBEAT FADES IN, rhythmic and insistent.

INT. LABOR ROOM – DAY

The FETAL HEARTBEAT whooshes in and out. VITAL MONITORS BEEP.

Sara lies on a labor bed, slick with sweat. Declan supports her back.

SARA

(huffing)

Hm… hm… Aaa—

OB/GYN

One more push, Sara!

SARA

Aaaaaaaa—

The baby emerges. Crying. The OB/GYN catches the newborn, clamps and cuts the cord.

OB/GYN

Congratulations. It’s a baby girl.

An RN quickly cleans the baby, wraps her, and hands her to an anxious, beaming Declan.

Sara exhales, settling.

Declan brings the baby to her. She takes the child in her arms. He softly kisses Sara’s forehead. She smiles.

DECLAN

She’s gorgeous — just like her mother.

Sara blushes.

SARA

She has your nose.

Declan touches the baby’s nose, grinning.

They close their eyes and pray.

DECLAN & SARA (PRAYING TOGETHER)

Lord, dear God, thank you for blessing us with this baby girl. Be her light, her path, and her savior. We pray in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A quiet beat. Declan looks at them, torn.

DECLAN

I wish I didn’t have to leave.

Sara exhales.

SARA

For Mom?

Declan nods.

He slips off his blue hospital robe — UNDERNEATH, A U.S. AIR FORCE UNIFORM.

He leans in, kisses Sara’s forehead. She forces a small wave goodbye.

Bright hallway light creeps into the room as he steps out.

He leaves.

EXT. KANDAHAR NATO BASE — DAY

The sun knifes over the ridgeline. A dust-blown FOB of tents sits behind HESCO barriers. A serpentine entry road. A TOWER with a guard on overwatch.

SUPER: "AFGHANISTAN, 2004"

A HUMVEE idles at the checkpoint.

INT. HUMVEE — CHECKPOINT — DAY

Declan thumbs a creased photo — Sara in hunting gear with ANGI (3).

In the driver’s seat, DAVID — late 20s, tall Midwesterner, Declan and Sara’s old high school friend — glances over and shakes his head, mocking.

DAVID

Your eyes are about to fall off.

Declan stays deadpan.

DECLAN

I just miss them.

DAVID

You had better options than coming here.

Declan’s eyes sharpen; his shoulders set. Tiny breaks in his voice.

DECLAN

It’s a chance to make them pay. Not just for Mom.

David exhales, a bitter half-laugh.

DAVID

“Eye for an eye,” huh? How about “turn the other—”

Declan looks over. Just looks.

David bites his lip, lets it die.

DAVID

My granddad used to say, “Only the horse knows how bad the flies bite.”

He turns his focus back to the road.

EXT. KANDAHAR FOB / ROAD — CONTINUOUS

The HUMVEE rolls out through the gate, onto the open road.

INT. HUMVEE — MOVING — CONTINUOUS

Through the windshield: an empty stretch of road ahead.

Up the road, a wobbling MOPED

drifts into view.

EXT. ROADSIDE — CONTINUOUS

The MOPED putters along the shoulder and eases to a stop.

ANGAR, late 20s, tall, wheat-colored complexion, wearing loose white Afghan pants and a collarless shirt to his knees, a light goatee and an Islamic cap, kills the engine.

Behind him, SAAD — almost six feet, dressed similar to Angar, a longer pointed beard — hops off the back of the moped.

INT. BASE WORKROOM — NIGHT

A long WORKBENCH under a harsh task light. A palm-sized DRONE lies in pieces.

Declan, in service dress, works: ROTOR. BOARD. BATTERY. He slots components together with practiced hands.

He checks the battery, frowns. Scratches his head, inspects it again.

DECLAN

(disappointed, muttering)

This won’t sustain high climbs.

He tears the build back apart. The BATTERY unclicks.

Bootsteps approach. Declan straightens.

An OPS TECH (mid-20s, tall, well-built) enters and salutes. Declan returns it.

OPS TECH

Major.

DECLAN

At ease.

The ops tech relaxes, hands over a FILE.

OPS TECH

Commander’s waiting, sir.

Declan scans the top sheet.

DECLAN

Let’s go.

He snaps the file shut, buttons his blouse, and heads out with the ops tech.

INT. DRONE ROOM — NIGHT

A wall of MONITORS hums, casting cold, dim light. Four empty operator stations. An empty pilot console.

THE COMMANDER (50s) stands, still as a blade.

ON MONITOR — UAV TAIL CAM — NIGHT

A dark runway. Sparse lights.

INT. DRONE ROOM — CONTINUOUS

Declan enters with the ops tech. The Commander turns.

Declan snaps a salute.

DECLAN

Commander.

COMMANDER

You read the names on the file?

DECLAN

Yes, sir. Read and understood.

COMMANDER

We pull this off, you won’t have to see my ugly face again.

DECLAN

I’d like that, sir.

COMMANDER

Sensors are locked down for compartmentalization. No support techs. Only MISSION CONTROL on climb-out. You good to fly without the rest of the eyes?

DECLAN

Long as I have final abort and one last clean horizon check. First hint of collateral, I’m aborting.

COMMANDER

Granted. Ops tech?

OPS TECH

Ready, sir.

The Commander nods.

COMMANDER

Take your stations. I want it clean and discreet.

The ops tech sits at a security console, kills external feeds.

Declan straps into the pilot seat. Power on. SYSTEMS SPIN UP. He dons a HEADSET — comms click live.

DECLAN

Predator One requesting clearance.

A beat.

ATC (V.O.)

Predator One, cleared for takeoff.

DECLAN

Copy.

He eases the throttle forward.

DECLAN

Power set. Airspeed alive… rotate.

ON MONITOR — UAV TAIL CAM — NIGHT

Runway lights streak. The ground falls away. The engine’s hiss rises as the UAV climbs into darkness.

A steady hiss as it’s airborne.

INT. ANGAR’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – DAWN

The hiss of a UAV ENGINE fades out, replaced by morning quiet.

A modest but well-kept AFGHAN HOME. No couches — just a thick FLOOR MATTRESS with SIDE PILLOWS lining the walls.

SHELVES hold old RELICS and framed PHOTOS. FLOWER VASES sit in the corners.

Angar worships on a PRAYER MAT.

EXT. OPEN FIELD – CONTINUOUS

A TWO-STORY STONE HOUSE stands alone in a wide, open field. The rising sun washes it in gold.

A SHAMIANA (open tent), big enough for thirty guests, stands nearby. On the other side, LARGE POTS bubble over open fires.

SHAZMINA, early 20s, in a loose KURTA and SHALWAR, a decorated veil with tiny BELLS at the edge, moves between the pots, supervising the cooking.

INT. BEDROOM – CONTINUOUS

MONI (5) sleeps on a decorated mattress on the floor, a small FLOWERY TENT pitched over it.

She blinks awake, pushes the fabric aside, climbs out.

A faint ANKLET CHIME with each step.

AUNTY #1 (O.S.)

Gravy needs a little more spice.

AUNTY #2 (O.S.)

I’m about to add it. You just want to find faults.

Moni pads to the doorway, feels the heat from the kitchen, then steps in—

INT. KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS

The kitchen is alive — pots bubbling, voices bright. As Moni appears, it somehow gets even happier.

AUNTY #1

Look who’s here.

AUNTY #1 & AUNTY #2

Happy birthday, Moni.

The aunties kiss her cheeks.

Moni wipes them off.

MONI

You made my cheek wet.

She complains in her small, serious way. The aunties just laugh, adoring her.

Moni runs toward the living room-her ANKLET CHIMES.

INT. LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Angar stands at a glass-fronted SHOWCASE, gazing at a CRACKED POCKET WATCH on display.

A rolled-up PRAYER MAT rests in the corner of the room.

Moni bursts in and wraps herself around his legs. Her ANKLET CHIMES as she runs.

MONI

Good morning, Baba.

He kneels and hugs her tight.

ANGAR

Happy birthday, my angel.

MONI

Why do you stare at that watch every morning?

He looks back to the watch.

ANGAR

It was my great-grandfather’s. The only thing he brought from his old home. It reminds me of my father.

MONI

It’s broken.

She points at the crack across the glass.

ANGAR

I broke it.

ANGAR’S FATHER (V.O.)

(reciting in Arabic, from Surah Ash-Shura 42:40)

SUPER: "Qur'an – Ash-Shura 42:40"

Angar’s gaze softens on the watch.

ANGAR

I’ll tell you all about it when you’re grown up.

Shazmina steps in, wiping her hands on her shawl.

SHAZMINA

Happy birthday, Moni. Let’s get you ready.

She takes Moni’s hand.

SHAZMINA

Saad is waiting for you outside.

ANGAR

I’ll check, honey.

He exits.

EXT. OPEN FIELD – CONTINUOUS

An ENSEMBLE of LOCAL KIDS, 14–18, bare-chested in loose white pants, forms a loose circle.

Saad stands in the middle, swiveling a SWORD with easy confidence. Each spin kicks up a light haze of dust.

He clocks Angar, grins, and stops.

SAAD

Get your lazy ass over here.

These kids could use a lesson from an actual master.

ANGAR

For once, you speak a truth.

Angar steps into the circle, takes the sword, then WHIPS through tight 360s — never grazing a thread of his clothes.

A smatter of claps from the kids.

Saad hugs Angar.

SAAD

Brother.

Angar hugs him back, then pivots away, handing over the sword.

ANGAR

You always find a way to get me dirty.

Your turn.

Saad takes a stance, ready to show off.

Shazmina appears in the BACKYARD DOORWAY of the house.

SHAZMINA

Angar, do you have a minute?

ANGAR

Yes, honey. Coming.

(to Saad)

She just saved you from embarrassment.

He heads over to Shazmina.

SHAZMINA

I need a few more spices. Here’s the list. Can you send someone?

ANGAR

I’ll get them myself.

He takes the list and returns toward the kids, where a MOPED is parked nearby.

Saad hops onto the moped behind him.

SAAD

Angar, give me a ride home.

Angar starts the moped and eases down the valley road — off for spices.

ANGAR

I’ll be back ma.

GRANDMA, by the doorway, finally coaxes a RECORD PLAYER to life and waves after them.

As Angar descends the valley, MUSIC drifts out from the house — TABLA and RUBAB.

INT. DRONE ROOM — DAWN

Music fades — replaced by the drone’s hiss and the room’s hush.

Banks of MONITORS glow in the dim.

ON MONITOR — UAV TAIL CAM — DAWN

Clouds slide past. The PROPELLER’s whine threads the air.

INT. DRONE ROOM — CONTINUOUS

DECLAN

Winds aloft gusting 35 at one-two thousand.

COMMANDER

Weather raises collateral risk. Scrub the op?

DECLAN

Negative, sir. Within limits. I’ll use Infra.

EXT. KANDAHAR — DOWNHILL ROAD — DAWN

Saad hops off in front of his house, just down the hill from Angar’s.

SAAD

My grandma drives better than you.

Angar chuckles, shakes his head and rolls on.

The distant music lingers. He hums along, guiding the moped downhill.

INT. DRONE ROOM — DAWN

Declan squeezes the trigger.

DECLAN

Rifle.

ON MONITOR — UAV TAIL CAM — DAWN

A missile drops from the rack and arcs toward the target.

EXT. ANGAR'S HOME — DAWN

Moni bursts out in a birthday dress, ANKLET CHIMING. Runs to an old woman on the field.

MONI

Grandma—how do I look?

The music wavers. A faint, insectile whine edges the air—almost nothing.

ANKLET CHIMES-one last time.

EXT. KANDAHAR DOWNHILL ROAD – DAWN

Angar continues down the hill.

The ground shudders—BOOM. A deafening blast.

He loses the moped. It slips beneath him; the throttle spikes as he grabs for it.

Angar is flung off, landing belly-down, sliding a few feet as gravel skitters.

INT. DRONE ROOM — DAWN

ON MONITOR — UAV TAIL CAM — DAWN

A FIREBALL erupts on the ground.

EXT. KANDAHAR — DOWNHILL ROAD — DAWN

Angar blinks awake, then flips onto his back, searching for the source of the blast. Black clouds boil over the hill. People point toward his home.

Panic snaps him fully alert. He scrambles up and sprints uphill with everything he has.

EXT. ANGAR’S RUINED HOME — DAWN — CONTINUOUS

A rolling cloud of smoke.

Angar crests the hill.

Scattered flames. The stench of burned flesh. The WHIRRING still hangs in the air.

He plunges forward — uncontrolled, wavering, eyes blown wide — into the smoke.

Visibility is down to a foot.

He trips over something small, goes down hard.

ANGAR

Moni...

On hands and knees, he searches through ash with his palms.

ANGAR

Moni. Moni...

His breathing quickens.

His hand finds a small LEG — MONI’S SPECIAL ANKLET still on it.

His throat closes.

ANGAR

Mon—Hck... hck... hck—

A weak rasp, then a tearing scream:

ANGAR

Moni!

Somewhere in the haze, an anklet CHIMES.

INT. DRONE ROOM — DAWN

Declan’s hands tremble on the throttle.

His eyes are locked on the COORDINATES on his screen.

ON MONITORS — SATELLITE INFRARED IMAGERY fills the displays.

In ghostly heat-signature, Angar’s SILENT SCREAM plays out — a lone figure in the rubble, clutching something thin, stick-like.

Declan shivers.

The OPS TECH follows his gaze to the coordinates.

OPS TECH

(under his breath)

Off by a degree.

The monitors HUM softly.

Declan’s face ghosts in the glass.

BLANK SCREEN.

The drone hisses. Then silence.

SCENES - OVER OPENING CREDITS

INT. MILITARY OFFICE – TEHRAN – DAY

Declan’s mishit reverberates half a world away.

ALPHA, 60s, in full Iranian military dress, sits behind a heavy desk.

SUPER: “TEHRAN, 2004”

An IRANIAN FLAG hangs behind him. Through the window: TEHRAN’S SKYLINE, a sweep of modern towers and old Persian facades.

He studies something on his MONITOR. His eyes narrow.

ON MONITOR: Angar’s Photo

He picks up a secure PHONE.

CLICK — the other side picks up.

ALPHA

You’ve seen the intel on Afghanistan mishit?

He listens, gaze still on the screen.

ALPHA

Task our cyber team to dig into it. This could be our chance to gain leverage over them.

INT. SAAD’S HOME – DAY

Angar stands at a small WINDOW, staring out.

The sun is weak and gray. Up in the mountains where his home once stood, a NEW MILITARY OUTPOST scars the ridge.

Behind him, the door opens.

Saad steps in with TWO LOCAL ELDERS, long white beards, in loose white tunics and pants.

Saad slows as he approaches Angar, rests a hand on his shoulder.

SAAD

Angar… the sahibs are here to see you.

Angar turns.

One ELDER (SAHIB #1) steps closer and gently takes Angar’s hand in both of his.

SAHIB #1

They’ve restricted any gatherings. We couldn’t even bury them properly.

Angar’s face tightens. He drops his gaze.

Sahib #1 squeezes his shoulder, then slowly slips a folded scrap of paper into his palm and lets go.

The elders turn and leave.

Angar looks down.

In his hand: a TINY PIECE OF PAPER, Urdu letters scrawled across it.

SUBTITLE: “They don’t care.”

Angar stares after the men as they go.

Sun hides behind clouds.