EXT. CITY STREET – DAY
Blue and red lights flash as two officers confront a young Black man, JAMAL, 22, standing beside a convenience store. He’s confused, hands raised, eyes wide.
OFFICER 1 (firmly):
“We have a report. You match the description.”
JAMAL (calmly):
“I just came from work. I got my badge and everything. You got the wrong guy.”
OFFICER 2:
“Don’t move. We’re detaining you until we get this sorted.”
They begin to grab Jamal’s arms. Panic flickers in his eyes — not just fear, but frustration. The crowd grows.
And then —
a voice cuts through the chaos.
MOTHER (O.S.):
“LEAVE MY SON ALONE!”
MS. DAVIS, 50s, fierce, protective, and unapologetically proud, storms through the crowd like a storm in heels and a headscarf.
MOTHER (to the cops):
“You see a young man with brown skin and assume criminal. But you know what I see?
I see a son I raised with love.
I see late nights studying.
I see him holding two jobs.
I see his father’s legacy in his strength.”
The officers hesitate. The crowd begins to murmur in agreement.
MOTHER (steps between them):
“You want to arrest somebody?
Go arrest the system that makes you fear my son.
But you will not lay another hand on him today.”
The officers glance at each other, uncertain now. A dispatcher’s voice crackles through their radio:
“Suspect in custody… wrong ID. Repeat, wrong ID.”
Silence.
The officers look back at Jamal, then walk away.
MOTHER (to her son, gently):
“Come home, baby. You’ve had enough battles for one day.”
FADE OUT.
