FADE IN:

EXT. BOBBY DODD STADIUM – NIGHT

The newly expanded stadium is a sea of rowdy, cheering STUDENTS. A game of epic proportions has just ended, the first of its kind in this modern colosseum.

ON THE FIELD – a TEENAGE BOY, REGGIE BALL, drenched in sweat and glory, stands triumphant. The first true freshman Quarterback ever to start an opener for Georgia Tech, and he’s just sealed a victory.

CUT TO:

EXT. STADIUM EXIT – NIGHT

LANIEL (20, Southern charm with a chip on his shoulder) and CHEESTOTT (19, Taiwanese born American, Tech frat boy), stagger out of the stadium, clearly drunk and in high spirits, despite the outcome of the game.

LANIEL Goddamn Yellow Jackets.

CHEESTOTT (grinning) Aw, c’mon Laniel. You gotta admit, that was one helluva game.

LANIEL (muttering) Just wait ’til next year.

They start heading towards WING NUTZ, a hole-in-the-wall joint across North Avenue, known for its boneless chicken wings.

CUT TO:

EXT. NORTH AVENUE – NIGHT

The boys, Laniel and Cheestott, cross paths with GT1 and GT2. Laniel squints, a smirk creeping onto his face as he takes in GT1’s nerdy appearance.

LANIEL (loudly, to Cheestott) Look at that nerd, typical Tech kid.

GT1 flinches, clearly offended but doesn’t respond. GT2 steps up, protective of his friend.

GT2 You got a problem?

LANIEL (smirking) No problem, just observing wildlife. Here we have the endangered Nerd in his natural habitat.

Cheestott snorts with laughter. GT1’s face reddens, but he stays silent.

GT2 (frowning) You’re a real piece of work, you know that?

LANIEL (grinning) I’ve been called worse by better.

He then turns his attention to GT2, eyes raking over him. Suddenly, he starts to sing, his voice loud and off-key.

LANIEL (singing) Prince Ali! Fabulous he, Ali Ababwa…

Laniel starts to dance, his movements exaggerated and offensive. Cheestott almost doubles over, cackling like a hyena. GT2’s face is a mask of fury.

GT2 (angry) My brother is an Army Ranger. He fights for people like you.

LANIEL (laughs) And here I thought he was off riding magic carpets.

GT2 (through gritted teeth) You’re gonna regret this.

LANIEL (teasing) Is that a promise, Aladdin?

More words are exchanged, each more heated than the last, but they eventually part ways, leaving the street filled with tension and lingering animosity.

INT. WING NUTZ – NIGHT

The door to Wing Nutz creaks open, revealing a place that’s more grunge than charm. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting an unflattering glow on the grimy floors and worn-out tables. Above the counter, a janky menu board hangs, a testament to years of neglect.

Chinese workers bustle behind the counter, their expressions guarded under the new, stingier management. Laniel and Cheestott step up to the counter, catching the attention of a GRUFF WORKER.

GRUFF WORKER (not bothering with pleasantries) What you want to order?

CHEESTOTT Combo #2. One with garlic parm ranch, the other chipotle ranch.

With their order placed, the boys find a table, dragging the worn-out chairs against the scuffed floor. Laniel can’t contain his grin as he recalls their earlier encounter.

LANIEL You should have seen Aladdin’s face when I started singing…

Cheestott chuckles, filling two cups from the soda machine.

CHEESTOTT You sure have a way with people, Laniel.

Their banter shifts to the day’s game, their words echoing around the empty restaurant.

LANIEL Still can’t believe we lost to a freshman quarterback.

CHEESTOTT Reggie Ball’s got talent, man. We might just have him around for four more years.

Laniel takes a sip from his soda, a smirk playing on his lips.

LANIEL Four years can change a lot, Chees. Four years can turn a boy into a man.

The words hang in the air, a veiled nod to Laniel’s future. Their order arrives, a heap of golden fries and glistening chicken slathered in rich, tangy sauces. They dig in, their laughter and conversation filling the worn-out restaurant as the night unfolds.

CUT TO:

EXT. SMITH DORM PARKING LOT – NIGHT

The night air is thick with tension as Laniel and Cheestott stumble upon GT1 and GT2 waiting for them in the parking lot. The hulking form of Smith Dormitory looms behind, its windows like blank eyes staring out into the night.

GT1 is pacing, his nervous energy palpable. He’s pleading with GT2, who stands rigid, something hidden behind his back. Laniel’s drunken smile widens, his words slurring as he calls out.

LANIEL What are you gonna do, Aladdin?

GT1, growing more anxious, shoots a quick glance at GT2 who remains silent, his focus locked onto Laniel. There’s a beat of silence, the only sound being the distant hum of late-night traffic. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, GT2 lunges at Laniel.

In Laniel’s mind, everything slows down. He imagines himself as Jason Bourne, his moves smooth and deliberate. He sidesteps GT2’s lunge, grabbing his arm and twisting it around. There, glinting under the pale streetlight, he sees it – a broken beer bottle, its jagged edges gleaming menacingly.

LANIEL (smirking) Well, well… look what we have here.

On the sidelines, Cheestott watches the scene unfold. To his eyes, Laniel looks more like a British footballer trying to throw a baseball – all awkward limbs and uncoordinated movements. But it’s enough to disarm GT2, the broken bottle clattering to the pavement.

They exchange a few more tense words before Laniel, still grinning that shit-eating grin, and Cheestott make their retreat. As they stagger away, the weight of the night’s events sinks in, casting a long shadow over their victory.

FADE TO:

INT. GYM – DAY

Two years have passed since that fateful night. The world has moved on, people have changed. And one such transformation is most apparent in GT2.

The gym is packed, the air thick with the musky scent of sweat and determination. Among the grunts and clatter of weights, a figure stands out. It’s GT2, now unrecognizable from the scrawny teenager of years past.

His body is a masterpiece of dedication and discipline. Every muscle is defined, his arms bulging with each lift, veins straining under the effort. His back is a canvas of strength, every pull-up sculpting it further. His chest rises and falls with each controlled breath, the rhythm as steady as a drum.

The change is not just physical. His eyes, once fearful and hesitant, now hold a steely resolve. Every movement, every lift, every drop of sweat sliding down his temple speaks of a purpose. An intent.

Cheestott spots him across the gym, the sight making him pause mid-rep. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, time seems to halt. The memory of that night flickers between them, a shared history that cannot be erased.

But there are no words. No nod. Just a lingering gaze from GT2, a silent message that echoes louder than any words. It’s a look of quiet determination, a promise of a reckoning that’s yet to come.

As Cheestott walks away, he can’t help but glance back. There stands GT2, the embodiment of change, his eyes never leaving Cheestott. As the weight in his hand hits the floor with a resounding thud, it’s clear – this is not the end of their story, but the beginning of another.