AI-Film-Eval-Prompt.csv

ai_film_script
"EXT. CORLEONE MALL - DAY

The wedding reception is in full swing. The Italian sun beats down on the stone courtyard.

CONNIE and CARLO spin wildly in the center of a circle of guests. They dance a traditional Tarantella, moving faster and faster. The GUESTS clap in rhythm, cheering them on.

AT A SIDE TABLE

SONNY CORLEONE sits, detached from the main celebration. He picks a piece of food from his teeth, looking bored.

Next to him sits LUCY MANCINI, a bridesmaid in a pink dress and matching hat. She watches him, waiting.

Sonny leans in close, his lips brushing her ear. He whispers something private.

Lucy throws her head back, laughing, her eyes locked on his.

AT ANOTHER TABLE

SANDRA, Sonny's wife, holds court with a group of OLDER WOMEN. She is mid-story.

Sandra holds her hands up, palms facing each other, indicating a length of roughly twelve inches. She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

The women at the table GASP. One covers her mouth. Another shrieks with laughter.

Sandra nods, taking a sip of wine. It's true.

The table dissolves into scandalous, uproarious laughter.

ON THE BANDSTAND

The band plays a lively intro. An OLD MAN at the microphone waves his arms, summoning someone from the crowd.

OLD MAN
Signora Corleone!

The crowd cheers as MAMA CORLEONE is pushed toward the stage. She waves her hands, feigning modesty, but steps up to the microphone with a smile.

The Old Man dances a little jig beside her as she grabs the mic stand.

MAMA CORLEONE
(singing)
C'è la luna mezzo mare
Mamma mia me voglio maritare...

The crowd CLAPS along. Mama Corleone points to the Old Man, singing with gusto, enjoying her moment in the spotlight."
"INT. HOTEL SUITE - NIGHT

A romantic dinner for two, but the mood is heavy. A slow, melancholic jazz ballad plays softly in the background.

MICHAEL CORLEONE sits opposite KAY ADAMS. He finishes his meal in silence, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His expression is unreadable.

MICHAEL
I have to go.

He drops the napkin on the table and stands abruptly. Kay watches him, startled by the sudden shift.

KAY
Can I go with you?

Michael walks to a nearby chair where his heavy wool coat is draped. He picks it up.

MICHAEL
No, okay? There's gonna be detectives there. People from the press.

He slips his arms into the coat. Kay turns in her chair, watching him.

KAY
Well, I'll ride in a cab.

Michael buttons his coat, focusing on the task to avoid her gaze.

MICHAEL
I don't want you to get involved.

He finishes buttoning and stands by the table, looming slightly. The finality of his tone hangs in the air.

KAY
When will I see you again?

Michael pauses. He looks past her, his mind already miles away dealing with the crisis at hand.

MICHAEL
Go back to New Hampshire, and I'll call you at your parents' house.

Kay searches his face, desperate for something concrete.

KAY
When will I see you again, Michael?

Michael looks down at her. A flicker of hesitation, then the cold reality sets in.

MICHAEL
I don't know.

He leans down and presses a brief, almost perfunctory kiss to the top of her head.

Without another word, Michael turns and walks out of the frame.

Kay remains seated at the table, a half-empty glass of wine in front of her. She stares at the empty doorway, the silence of the room rushing back in."
"EXT. CORLEONE COMPOUND - MAIN GATE - DAY

A yellow taxi pulls up to the imposing iron gates of the Corleone estate. The pavement is wet from rain.

KAY ADAMS steps out, a splash of color in a bright red coat and matching hat. She pays the driver through the window.

The taxi pulls away, leaving Kay standing alone on the driveway. Behind the iron bars, several GUARDS in trench coats watch her impassively. The gate remains shut.

From the main house, TOM HAGEN emerges. He walks briskly down the stone path, past two stone lions, buttoning his vest. He looks professional but guarded.

Tom reaches the gate and signals a GUARD to unlock the pedestrian entrance. He steps out to meet Kay.

TOM
Hey. Weren't expecting you, Kay.
(beat)
You should call.

KAY
Yes, well, I have. I mean, I've tried writing and calling.
(firmly)
Now, I want to reach Michael.

TOM
Nobody knows where he is. We know that he's all right, but that's all.

Kay glances over her shoulder at the street behind them, where black sedans and men in suits—police detectives—are loitering.

KAY
Uh, what was that?

TOM
Well, that's an accident, but nobody was hurt.

Kay turns back to him. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a white envelope. She holds it out, her voice trembling slightly.

KAY
Tom... will you give this letter to Michael, please? Please?

Tom looks at the letter, then at her. He raises his hands defensively, refusing to touch it.

TOM
Well, if I accepted that, in a court of law, they could prove that I have knowledge of his whereabouts.

Kay slowly lowers the letter, defeated.

TOM (CONT'D)
Now, you just be patient, Kay. He'll get in touch with you. All right?

KAY
I let my cab go, so can I come in to call another one, please?

Tom hesitates for a split second, then his demeanor softens. He nods.

TOM
Come on, I'm sorry. Come on.

He places a hand on her back, guiding her through the open gate.

TOM (CONT'D)
Come on.

They walk together up the path towards the stone house, the grey sky hanging heavy over the estate.

INT. CORLEONE COMPOUND - LIVING ROOM - DAY

A view through a window into a dark, quiet room."
"EXT. CORLEONE MALL - DAY

SAL TESSIO and TOM HAGEN walk briskly along a stone wall, heading toward a waiting convoy. Tessio moves with purpose, checking his watch, anxious to get the meeting underway.

WILLI CICCI steps out from the shadows of a large tree, blocking their path. Two other BODYGUARDS emerge silently from the background, closing the perimeter.

WILLI CICCI
Sal, Tom, the boss says he'll come in a separate car. He says for you two to go on ahead.

Tessio stops short. His face drops. This wasn't the plan.

TESSIO
Hell, he can't do that. It screws up all my arrangements.

WILLI CICCI
Well, that's what he said.

TESSIO
(turning to Hagen)
I can't go either, Sal.

The air leaves the conversation. Tessio freezes. He looks at the bodyguards surrounding him. The realization hits him like a physical blow: the trap has sprung.

Tessio looks back at Hagen, his eyes searching for a lifeline that isn't there.

TESSIO
Tom, tell Mike it was only business. I always liked him.

HAGEN
He understands that.

Cicci steps forward, grabbing Tessio's arm to frisk him or perhaps just to ensure compliance.

WILLI CICCI
Excuse me, Sal.

Tessio pulls his arm away gently, maintaining his dignity. He turns to Hagen one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper.

TESSIO
Tom, can you get me off the hook?

Hagen stares back, his expression pained but unyielding.

TESSIO (CONT'D)
For old time's sake.

HAGEN
(softly)
Can't do it, Sally.

Tessio nods slowly. He accepts his fate. The fight leaves him.

He turns and allows Cicci and the BODYGUARDS to escort him toward a waiting black sedan.

INT. CORLEONE HOUSE - DAY

Hagen stands behind a leaded glass window, the diamond panes fragmenting his reflection. He watches stoically.

EXT. CORLEONE MALL - DAY

Tessio is guided into the car. The door slams shut.

INT. CORLEONE HOUSE - DAY

Hagen watches the car drive away, his face a mask of grim resignation."
"INT. WOLTZ'S BEDROOM - DAWN

Rain lashes against the tall, leaded windows of a palatial bedroom. The room is silent, save for the storm outside.

JACK WOLTZ, silver-haired and wearing silk pajamas, sleeps deeply in a massive, ornate bed with a gold-leaf headboard. The bed is covered in heavy satin sheets.

Woltz stirs. He frowns in his sleep, restless. He turns his head, his cheek pressing against the pillow.

He pauses. He feels something. Wetness.

Woltz groggily opens his eyes. He lifts his hand, inspecting it in the dim grey light. His fingers are coated in thick, dark BLOOD.

He rubs his fingers together, confused. He sits up, heart rate rising. He looks down at the bedclothes. A dark, crimson stain has spread across the gold sheets near his waist.

Breathing heavily, Woltz grips the top sheet. He peels it back slowly at first.

More blood. A pool of it. Viscous and deep red.

Terrified now, Woltz rips the covers all the way down to the foot of the bed.

THE REVEAL:

Lying in the bed, severed at the neck, is the massive, glossy head of KHARTOUM, his prize black stallion. The horse's dead eyes stare blankly. Blood soaks the mattress around it.

Woltz freezes. His eyes bulge. The horror hits him like a physical blow.

WOLTZ
(screaming)
Aaaah! Aaaah!

He scrambles backward, crab-walking against the headboard, desperate to get away from the gruesome object. He clutches his chest, hyperventilating.

WOLTZ
(screaming)
Aaaah! Aaaah!

EXT. WOLTZ MANSION - DAWN

The sprawling Mediterranean estate sits majestic and quiet in the Hollywood Hills. The palm trees sway gently.

From inside the mansion, Woltz's blood-curdling SCREAMS echo out, piercing the morning calm.

INT. CORLEONE HOME - DAY

DISSOLVE TO:

VITO CORLEONE. He sits in a darkened room, an expression of impassive, weary calm on his face. He slowly opens his eyes as the screams fade into silence."
"INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT

A grainy, black-and-white surveillance photo hits the table. It shows a large man in a trench coat.

DETECTIVE WEATHERBY (O.S.)
These were taken by a video surveillance camera at the West Highland Police Station in 1984.

DETECTIVE WEATHERBY leans into the harsh light of a desk lamp. He stares intensely across the table.

Opposite him sits SARAH CONNOR. Her hair is long and unkempt. She stares at the photos with a hollow, thousand-yard stare.

WEATHERBY
He killed 17 police officers that night. Men with families...
(beat)
...children.

Weatherby slaps down a fresh stack of photos. These are in color—grainy, but clearly showing the same man, wearing sunglasses and leather, striding through a corridor.

WEATHERBY (CONT'D)
These were taken at a mall in Reseda today.

Sarah's eyes flicker down to the photos. She recognizes him. The Terminator. But she remains stone silent.

WEATHERBY (CONT'D)
Miss Connor, we know you know who this guy is.

DETECTIVE MOSSBERG stands in the shadows behind Weatherby, smoking, watching Sarah closely.

Weatherby leans closer, his voice dropping to a desperate, aggressive whisper.

WEATHERBY (CONT'D)
Look, I just sat here and told you that your son is missing. That the foster parents have been murdered.

A muscle twitches in Sarah's jaw, but she refuses to break her catatonic mask.

WEATHERBY (CONT'D)
We know this guy's involved. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Don't you care?

Silence. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only sound.

Mossberg steps forward, crushing his cigarette.

MOSSBERG
Wasting our time. Let's go.

Weatherby glares at Sarah one last time, defeated, then pulls back.

DR. SILBERMAN steps into the light, offering a practiced, bureaucratic apology.

DR. SILBERMAN
Sorry, guys. She's just grown more and more disconnected from reality as time goes on.

Silberman glances down at his patient with clinical detachment.

DR. SILBERMAN (CONT'D)
I'm afraid she can't help us now. If she clears at all and can give us anything, then I'll call you.

WEATHERBY
Sure.

DR. SILBERMAN
Douglas, take her back to her room, please.

DOUGLAS, a thick-necked orderly, steps out of the gloom. He grabs Sarah's wrists roughly.

DOUGLAS
Yes, sir.

He snaps a pair of HANDCUFFS onto her wrists. Sarah doesn't resist. She is limp, a ragdoll in his grip.

DOUGLAS (CONT'D)
Come on, sweetheart. Let's go.

Douglas hauls her up from the chair."
"EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - DAY

Close on the side of a black-and-white LAPD cruiser. The motto ""to protect and to serve"" is emblazoned on the door.

The car halts at the curb. The driver, the T-1000, steps out. He is dressed in a crisp police uniform, his hair perfectly gelled, his expression neutral. He adjusts his belt and shuts the door.

He walks up the driveway with fluid, efficient strides, passing a muscle car parked in the drive.

EXT. VOIGHT HOUSE - FRONT PORCH - CONTINUOUS

The T-1000 steps up to the front door. He peers through the diamond-patterned security screen.

POV - T-1000

The mesh of the screen door creates a grid over the interior hallway.

BACK TO SCENE

The T-1000 knocks on the frame. Three precise, hard raps.

INT. VOIGHT HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

TODD VOIGHT, wearing a baseball tee, answers the door. He looks annoyed to see a cop.

T-1000
Are you the legal guardian of John Connor?

TODD
That's right, officer. What's he done now?

T-1000
Could I speak with him, please?

TODD
You could if you were here. He took off on his bike this morning, so he could be anywhere.

T-1000
Do you have a photograph of John?

JANELLE VOIGHT appears behind Todd, wiping her hands on a rag.

JANELLE
Yeah, sure. Hold on.

Janelle turns and heads deeper into the house to retrieve a photo. Todd leans against the door jamb, crossing his arms defensively.

TODD
You gonna tell me what this is about?

T-1000
I just need to ask him a few questions.

Janelle returns and hands a Polaroid through the open slot in the screen door.

T-1000 studies the image of a young boy.

T-1000
He's a good-looking boy.
(beat)
Do you mind if I keep this picture?

JANELLE
No, go on.
(beat)
There was a guy here this morning looking for him, too.

TODD
Yeah, a big guy on a bike. Has that got something to do with this?

The T-1000 freezes for a micro-second. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as he processes this data. The T-800 is already here.

T-1000
No.

A synthetic, polite smile forms on his face.

T-1000 (CONT'D)
I wouldn't worry about him.

The T-1000 pockets the photo.

T-1000 (CONT'D)
Thanks for your cooperation.

He turns sharply and walks away."
"EXT. PESCADERO STATE HOSPITAL - NIGHT

Rain-slicked pavement reflects the harsh floodlights of the facility. A sign reads: PESCADERO STATE HOSPITAL - A CRIMINALLY DISORDERED DETENTION FACILITY.

A Harley Davidson rumbles out of the darkness and idles in the shadows, just out of sight of the main gate.

THE TERMINATOR sits at the controls, stone-faced behind sunglasses. Young JOHN CONNOR sits behind him, looking anxious.

TERMINATOR
Why do we stop now?

JOHN
Now you gotta promise me you're not gonna kill anyone, right?

TERMINATOR
Right.

JOHN
Swear?

TERMINATOR
What?

JOHN
Just put up your hand and say, I swear I won't kill anyone.

The Terminator pauses, processing the command. He stiffly raises his right hand.

TERMINATOR
I swear I will not kill anyone.

John pats him on the shoulder, satisfied.

JOHN
Alright, let's go.

The Terminator kicks the bike into gear. The engine ROARS.

EXT. GUARD SHACK - MOMENTS LATER

The motorcycle rolls up to the lit security booth. The GATE GUARD steps out, clipboard in hand, looking bored.

GATE GUARD
Visiting hours is ten to four, Monday through Friday.

The Terminator draws his .45 Long Slide. Without a flicker of emotion--

BLAM! BLAM!

The Guard's legs buckle. He drops to the concrete, clutching his shattered knees.

JOHN
(horrified)
What the hell are you doing?

GATE GUARD
(screaming)
You son of a bitch! You shot me!

The Terminator dismounts. He ignores the screaming man and SMASHES his fist through the glass of the guard booth.

GATE GUARD (CONT'D)
Crazy bastard!

The Terminator punches the GATE RELEASE BUTTON on the console. The heavy chain-link gates begin to slide open.

He walks over to the writhing Guard. The Guard flinches, expecting the kill shot.

Instead, the Terminator reaches down and calmly plucks the .38 revolver from the Guard's holster. He checks the weapon, then looks back at a stunned John.

TERMINATOR
He'll live.

The Terminator mounts the bike. He revs the engine and they speed past the moaning Guard, through the open gates.

INT. PARKING GARAGE - CONTINUOUS

The Harley descends into the concrete depths of the hospital, the engine echoing off the walls as shadows stretch long against the pillars."
"EXT. DESERT COMPOUND - SUNSET

CLOSE ON SARAH CONNOR.

Sweat beads on her forehead. Her breathing is heavy, ragged. She looks up, eyes haunted, watching ENRIQUE'S FAMILY play near the skeletal remains of a helicopter fuselage. The innocence of the children contrasts sharply with the darkness in her eyes.

She looks down at a weathered wooden picnic table.

INSERT - THE TABLE

The tip of a massive BOWIE KNIFE gouges deep into the wood. With violent, deliberate strokes, she finishes carving a message:

NO FATE

BACK TO SCENE

Sarah stares at the words. A decision made. She slams the knife down.

CUT TO:

EXT. TRAILER - MOMENTS LATER

The door swings open. Sarah steps out, transformed. She wears a black tactical vest, a cap pulled low, and dark sunglasses that mask her emotions. She carries a heavy duffel bag and an assault rifle.

She marches across the sandy compound, ignoring everything but her objective.

EXT. WRECKED BUS - CONTINUOUS

JOHN CONNOR and THE TERMINATOR are working near an old bus with ENRIQUE. John looks up, spotting his mother striding toward a beat-up station wagon.

Sarah throws her gear into the passenger seat and climbs behind the wheel without a glance in their direction.

John steps forward, confused.

JOHN
(to Terminator)
What's she doing?

The Terminator extends a massive arm, blocking John's path as he tries to move toward the car.

THE TERMINATOR
She said you go south with him, like you planned.

Sarah cranks the engine. It sputters to life.

THE TERMINATOR (CONT'D)
She'll meet you tomorrow.

Panic rises in John's face. He knows something is wrong.

JOHN
Mom!

He ducks under the Terminator's arm and sprints after the moving vehicle.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Mom, wait!

INT. STATION WAGON - CONTINUOUS

Sarah grips the steering wheel, her face a mask of stone. She stares straight ahead, refusing to look in the rearview mirror.

EXT. DESERT COMPOUND - CONTINUOUS

John runs alongside the car, slapping the window.

JOHN
Mom! Wait!

Sarah hits the gas. The station wagon surges forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.

John slows to a halt, breathless, watching the car disappear down the dirt road. He stands alone in the fading light, the dust settling around him, abandoned."
"EXT. SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD - DAY

A pristine, sun-drenched suburb. Automatic sprinklers hiss rhythmically, casting arcs of water over manicured lawns. Two GIRLS ride bicycles down the sidewalk.

JANELLE VOIGHT (30s) darts across her front lawn, shielding herself with a newspaper as she dodges the spray.

JANELLE
John! John!

EXT. GARAGE - DAY

Janelle reaches the driveway where JOHN CONNOR (10) and his friend TIM (10) are tinkering with a dirt bike. John ignores her approach, focused intently on the machine.

JANELLE
John, get in there and clean up that pig sty of yours.

John doesn't look up. He kicks the starter. The engine ROARS to life.

JANELLE (CONT'D)
John!

John twists the throttle. The engine SCREAMS, drowning out Janelle's voice completely. She glares at him, throws her hand up in disgust, and storms toward the house.

John kills the engine. The silence rushes back in.

TIM
Your foster parents are kind of dicks, huh?

INT. VOIGHT HOUSE - DAY

Janelle marches into the kitchen, tossing the mail onto the counter.

JANELLE
I swear, I have had it with that goddamn kid. He won't even answer me anymore.

She walks into the living room. TODD VOIGHT (30s) is sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, glued to the TV.

TODD
Honey, move.

Janelle plants herself directly in front of the television screen.

JANELLE
Would you get off your butt and help me?
(beat)
Todd!

TODD
What? What?

JANELLE
He hasn't cleaned that room of his in a month.

Todd sighs, craning his neck to see around her.

TODD
Well, it's an emergency. Hang on, I'll get right on it.

He reluctantly hauls himself off the couch.

EXT. DRIVEWAY - DAY

Todd pushes through the screen door, stepping onto the porch.

John is already straddling the bike. Tim hops on the back, hoisting his boombox.

TIM
Come on!

TODD
John!

John kicks the bike into gear.

TODD (CONT'D)
Come on, get your ass inside. Do what your mother tells you.

John looks back over his shoulder, eyes cold.

JOHN
She's not my mother, Todd.

John guns the throttle. The bike PEELS OUT of the driveway, leaving Todd standing impotently on the porch.

TIM
(cheering)
Yeah!

They speed down the street, weaving past neighbors, the engine whining into the distance."
"EXT. MONSTER JOE'S TRUCK AND TOW - DAY

A weathered yellow sign looms against the grey sky: ""MONSTER JOE'S USED AUTO PARTS.""

WINSTON WOLF, impeccable in a tuxedo, walks arm-in-arm with RAQUEL, a young woman in flannel and jeans. They stroll past stacks of crushed cars. A German Shepherd trots past them.

WINSTON WOLF
(to the dog)
Come on, Rex.

Winston stops in front of VINCENT and JULES. The two hitmen look ridiculous in borrowed beachwear—Vincent in a ""UC Santa Cruz Banana Slugs"" shirt, Jules in a powder blue tee.

WINSTON WOLF
We cool?

VINCENT
Like it never happened.

WINSTON WOLF
(nodding)
Alright.
(gesturing to Raquel)
Boys, this is Raquel. Someday, all this will be hers.

Raquel smiles politely.

RAQUEL
Hi.
(looking them up and down)
So, what's with the outfits? You guys going to a volleyball game or something?

Vincent forces a tight, awkward smile. Jules looks unamused.

WINSTON WOLF
I'm taking my lady out for breakfast. Maybe I can drop you two off. Where do you live?

VINCENT
Redondo.

JULES
Inglewood.

Winston grimaces, waving his hand dismissively.

WINSTON WOLF
It's your future... I see a cab ride. Move out of the sticks, fellas.

Winston turns to Raquel.

WINSTON WOLF (CONT'D)
Say good night, Raquel.

RAQUEL
Good night, Raquel.

WINSTON WOLF
(smirking)
I'll see you guys around. Stay out of trouble, you crazy kids.

Winston turns to leave, but Jules steps forward.

JULES
Mr. Wolf?

Winston pauses, looking back.

JULES (CONT'D)
I just want to tell you it was a real pleasure watching you work.

VINCENT
Yeah, really.

Jules extends his hand. Winston takes it firmly.

JULES
And thank you very much, Mr. Wolf.

WINSTON WOLF
Call me Winston.

Winston gives a final nod and walks Raquel toward a sleek SILVER ACURA NSX parked on the dirt road.

WINSTON WOLF (CONT'D)
(to Raquel)
You see that, young lady? Respect. Respect for one's elders shows character.

RAQUEL
I have character.

Winston opens the passenger door for her.

WINSTON WOLF
Of course you are a character. Doesn't mean that you have character.

Raquel gets in. Winston rounds the car, hops in the driver's seat, and guns the engine.

The Acura PEELS OUT, tires spinning in the loose dirt.

A massive CLOUD OF DUST erupts behind the car, completely engulfing Vincent and Jules. They stand stoic, squinting through the brown haze.

The dust settles on their ridiculous outfits.

JULES
Call a cab?

Vincent looks down the empty road.

VINCENT
No, I'll go for some breakfast. You feel like having breakfast with me?

Jules pulls out a cigarette.

JULES
Cool."
"EXT. MARSELLUS'S HOUSE - POOL AREA - DAY

MARSELLUS WALLACE sits at a patio table overlooking the Hollywood Hills. He wears a yellow turtleneck and dark sunglasses, holding a large brick-sized cell phone to his ear. He picks at a plate of food.

MARSELLUS
Well, say she comes home. What do you think she'll do?

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

JULES WINNFIELD stands in a floral-wallpapered kitchen. He is drenched in sweat and blood. He grips a white landline receiver tightly.

JULES
Oh, no fucking shit she'll freak. That ain't no kind of answer.
(beat)
I mean, you know I don't... how much, a lot or a little.

Jules wipes sweat from his forehead with a bloody hand.

JULES (CONT'D)
You got to appreciate what an explosive element this Bonnie situation is.

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - FRONT DOOR - DAY (IMAGINED)

BONNIE, wearing a white nurse's uniform, unlocks the front door. She looks exhausted.

JULES (V.O.)
I mean, she comes home from a hard day's work...

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY (IMAGINED)

Bonnie walks through the house, unpinning her nurse's cap.

JULES (V.O.)
...finds a bunch of gangsters in her kitchen doing a bunch of gangster shit.

She turns the corner into the living room.

JULES (V.O.)
Ain't no telling what she's liable to do.

Bonnie stops dead. Her eyes go wide.

REVEAL:

VINCENT VEGA and JIMMIE, both in bathrobes, are clumsily hauling a LIMP, HEADLESS BODY through the living room. They freeze, looking like deer in headlights.

EXT. MARSELLUS'S HOUSE - POOL AREA - DAY

Marsellus calmly wipes his mouth with a napkin. Beside him, TRUDI lounges in a swimsuit and swim cap, sipping a drink.

MARSELLUS
Yeah, I've grasped that, Jules. All I'm doing is contemplating the ifs.

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

Jules's eyes bulge. He is losing patience.

JULES
I don't want to hear about no motherfucking ifs! All I want to hear from your ass is, ""You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker.""
(mimicking Marsellus)
""Go back in there, chill them niggas out and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly.""

EXT. MARSELLUS'S HOUSE - POOL AREA - DAY

Marsellus tosses his napkin onto the table. He speaks with cool, absolute authority.

MARSELLUS
You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there and chill them niggas out and wait for The Wolf, which should be coming directly.

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

The tension instantly drains from Jules's face. He looks stunned.

JULES
You sending The Wolf?

EXT. MARSELLUS'S HOUSE - POOL AREA - DAY

Marsellus takes a sip of his drink.

MARSELLUS
You feel better, motherfucker?

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

A wide, bloody grin breaks across Jules's face. He laughs.

JULES
Shit, negro! That's all you had to say!"
"INT. CHEVY NOVA - DAY

The interior of the car is a slaughterhouse. Blood splatters the windows, the upholstery, and the roof. 

VINCENT sits in the driver's seat, grimacing. He peels a slimy piece of brain matter off his fingers, flicking it away with utter disgust.

VINCENT
Oh man... I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked up repugnant shit.

In the back seat, JULES is hunched over, scrubbing at the gore-soaked upholstery.

VINCENT
(turning back)
Jules, did you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits that he is wrong, that he is immediately forgiven for all wrongdoings? Have you ever heard that?

JULES
Get the fuck out my face with that shit! The motherfucker said that shit never had to pick up itty-bitty pieces of skull on account of your dumb ass.

VINCENT
I got a threshold, Jules. I got a threshold for the abuse that I will take. Now, right now, I'm a fucking race car, right? And you got me in the red. And I'm just saying... I'm just saying that it's fucking dangerous to have a race car in the fucking red. That's all. I could blow.

JULES
Oh, oh, you ready to blow?

VINCENT
Yeah, I'm ready to blow.

JULES
Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain, I'm Superfly TNT! I'm the Guns of the Navarone!

Jules gestures wildly with his bloody hands.

JULES (CONT'D)
In fact, what the fuck am I doing in the back? You the motherfucker should be on brain detail! We fucking switching! I'm washing the windows, and you picking up this nigga's skull!

INT. JIMMIE'S GARAGE - LATER

The Chevy Nova sits parked. The windows are sparkling clean. 

THE WOLF, impeccable in a tuxedo, inspects the interior. He opens the rear door, leans in, and scrutinizes the upholstery. 

VINCENT and JULES stand nearby, holding bloody trash bags, looking exhausted. JIMMIE, wearing a bathrobe, watches anxiously.

The Wolf runs a hand over the seat cover. Not a speck of red remains.

THE WOLF
Fine job, gentlemen.

He steps back and closes the car door with a solid THUNK.

THE WOLF
You may get out of this yet.

Jimmie leans in, inspecting the bodywork.

JIMMIE
I can't believe this is the same car.

THE WOLF
Well, let's not start sucking each other's dicks quite yet.

The Wolf checks his watch, all business.

THE WOLF
Phase one is complete: clean the car. Which moves us right along to phase two: clean you two."
"EXT. APARTMENT COURTYARD - DAY

BUTCH COOLIDGE (40s, shaved head, brown suede jacket) walks briskly through the sun-drenched courtyard of a Los Angeles apartment complex. The air is still, filled only with the distant hum of the city.

Butch moves with cautious purpose, his eyes scanning the upper walkways and windows. He is a man who doesn't want to be seen.

EXT. SECOND FLOOR WALKWAY - CONTINUOUS

Butch emerges from a stairwell onto the second-floor balcony. He walks along the railing, passing potted plants and closed doors.

He stops in front of his apartment. Before making a move, he leans over the railing, checking the courtyard below one last time. He glances down the walkway. The coast is clear.

He turns to the door, pressing himself close to the frame.

CLOSE ON BUTCH

Tension is etched into his face. He listens intently.

EXTREME CLOSE UP

Butch's hand inserts a BRASS KEY into the deadbolt. The metal scrapes against metal, loud in the silence. He turns it slowly.

BACK TO BUTCH

The lock CLICKS open.

Butch doesn't enter immediately. He rests his forehead against the stucco door jamb, closing his eyes for a long beat. He exhales, steeling himself for whatever might be waiting on the other side.

He pushes the door open and slips into the darkness."
"INT. CHEVY NOVA - DAY (MOVING)

VINCENT VEGA drives with an easy, cool demeanor. JULES WINNFIELD sits in the passenger seat, watching the L.A. streets roll by.

JULES
Okay, so tell me again about the hash bar.

VINCENT
Okay, what you want to know?

JULES
Hash is legal there, right?

VINCENT
Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean, you just can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint, and start puffing away. I mean, they want you to smoke in your home or certain designated places.

JULES
And those are hash bars?

VINCENT
Yeah, it breaks down like this, okay? It's legal to buy it. It's legal to own it. And if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but that doesn't matter 'cause— get a load of this, all right? If you get stopped by a cop in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.

Jules's eyes go wide. He shakes his head in disbelief.

JULES
Oh, man. I'm going. That's all there is to it. I'm fucking going.

VINCENT
(smiling)
I know, baby. You'd dig it the most.

Vincent glances over at Jules, a thought occurring to him.

VINCENT (CONT'D)
But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?

JULES
What?

VINCENT
It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it's just— there, it's a little different.

Jules turns his head, intrigued.

JULES
Example?

VINCENT
All right, well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just, like, in no paper cup. I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's.

Jules nods, processing this cultural revelation.

VINCENT (CONT'D)
And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

JULES
They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?

VINCENT
No, man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.

JULES
What do they call it?

VINCENT
They call it a Royale with Cheese.

A slow grin spreads across Jules's face.

JULES
(savoring the words)
Royale with Cheese.

VINCENT
That's right.

JULES
What do they call a Big Mac?

VINCENT
Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac.

JULES
(laughing)
Le Big Mac.

VINCENT
(laughing)
Le Big Mac.

JULES
What do they call a Whopper?

VINCENT
I don't know. I didn't go into a Burger King.

Vincent's expression turns slightly grim, remembering something else.

VINCENT (CONT'D)
You know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?

JULES
What?

VINCENT
Mayonnaise.

JULES
(recoiling)
Goddamn.

VINCENT
I seen 'em do it, man. They fucking drown 'em in that shit.

JULES
(disgusted)
Uuccch!"
"INT. WARDEN'S OFFICE - NIGHT

ANDY DUFRESNE sits at the heavy oak desk, pen in hand, finalizing a ledger. The room is dimly lit, shadowed and oppressive.

WARDEN NORTON strides in, checking his watch. He is impatient.

WARDEN NORTON
Lickety-split. I want to get home.

ANDY
Just about finished, sir.

Norton walks past the desk to the wood-paneled wall. He approaches a framed needlepoint sampler that reads: ""HIS JUDGMENT COMETH AND THAT RIGHT SOON.""

He lifts the frame from the bottom, revealing a WALL SAFE embedded in the concrete behind it.

Andy closes the black ledger. He stands and picks up a thick envelope.

ANDY
Three deposits tonight.

Norton takes the envelope and the ledger without a word. He tosses them into the dark maw of the safe.

CLANK. He swings the heavy steel door shut and spins the dial. He lowers the needlepoint frame back into place, hiding the sin.

Norton turns to a side table. He grabs a white laundry bag and a shoe box.

WARDEN NORTON
Get my stuff down to the laundry.

He thrusts the items into Andy's arms.

WARDEN NORTON (CONT'D)
And shine my shoes. I want them looking like mirrors.

ANDY
Yes, sir.

Norton heads for the door, but pauses with his hand on the frame. He looks back at Andy with a rare, chilling smile.

WARDEN NORTON
It's good having you back, Andy.

Andy stares back, his expression unreadable behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

WARDEN NORTON (CONT'D)
The place wasn't the same without you.

Norton exits. His footsteps fade down the hall.

Andy stands alone in the silence of the office. He looks down at the shoe box in his hands.

He walks over to a chair and sets the box down. He opens it.

Inside are Norton's black, expensive leather dress shoes.

Andy sits. He looks at his own scuffed, prison-issue work boots.

With deliberate calm, he begins to unlace his boots.

He slides his foot into one of the Warden's polished shoes. He ties the lace tight."
"INT. ANDY'S CELL - DAY

WARDEN NORTON stares through the jagged, hand-dug hole in the concrete wall. His face is framed by the rough tunnel entrance, expression one of utter disbelief.

Behind him, CAPTAIN HADLEY and RED peer into the darkness.

RED (V.O.)
The next morning, right about the time Raquel was spilling her little secret...

INT. MAINE NATIONAL BANK - DAY

CLOSE ON: POLISHED BLACK DRESS SHOES striding confidently across a marble floor.

RED (V.O.)
...a man nobody ever laid eyes on before strolled into the Maine National Bank.

ANDY DUFRESNE—clean-shaven, hair slicked back, wearing a pristine grey suit—pushes through the gate. He looks like a completely different man.

RED (V.O.)
Until that moment, he didn't exist. Except on paper.

Andy sits at a mahogany desk across from the BANK MANAGER. A BANK TELLER stands ready with documents.

BANK TELLER
May I help you?

RED (V.O.)
He had all the proper ID...

Andy opens a leather wallet, revealing a fresh set of identification cards.

INSERT - ID WALLET:

A driver's license, birth certificate, and social security card all bear the name ""RANDALL STEPHENS"".

RED (V.O.)
...driver's license, birth certificate, social security card...

BACK TO SCENE

The Bank Manager compares the signature on a document to the ID.

RED (V.O.)
...and the signature was a spot-on match.

BANK MANAGER
I must say, I'm sorry to be losing your business. I hope you'll enjoy living abroad.

ANDY
(calm, polite)
Thank you. I'm sure I will.

The Bank Teller slides a CASHIER'S CHECK across the desk.

BANK TELLER
Here's your cashier's check, sir. Would there be anything else?

Andy lifts a THICK BROWN ENVELOPE from his lap.

ANDY
Please. Could you add this to your outgoing mail?

BANK TELLER
I'd be happy to.

She takes the package. Andy stands, buttoning his jacket with an air of finality.

ANDY
Good day, sir.

BANK MANAGER
Good day.

Andy turns and walks away, blending perfectly into the world of free men.

RED (V.O.)
Mr. Stevens visited nearly a dozen banks in the Portland area that morning.

INT. MAINE NATIONAL BANK - LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

Andy exits the bank, stepping out into the sunlight.

RED (V.O.)
All told, he blew town with better than three hundred and seventy thousand dollars of Warden Norton's money.

INT. PORTLAND DAILY BUGLE - DAY

A busy newsroom. A NEWSPAPER EDITOR sits at a cluttered desk, slicing open the brown envelope Andy mailed.

RED (V.O.)
Severance pay for nineteen years.

The Editor reaches inside and pulls out a BLACK LEDGER—the book containing all the details of Norton's money laundering.

He opens it. His eyes widen as he scans the columns of illicit figures.

RECEPTIONIST (O.S.)
(on phone)
Good morning, Portland Daily Bugle."
"INT. SHAWSHANK PRISON - MESS HALL - DAY

The cafeteria is loud, a cacophony of clattering trays and low voices. At a central table, BROOKS HATLEN holds court, leaning in toward ANDY DUFRESNE with a conspiratorial grin.

BROOKS
And then Andy says, ""Mr. Deakin, you want your sons to go to Harvard or Yale?""

HEYWOOD, sitting across the table, stops chewing. He looks incredulous.

HEYWOOD
He didn't say that.

BROOKS
God is my witness. Deakin just blinked for a second. Then he laughed himself silly, and afterwards...

Brooks pauses for effect.

BROOKS (CONT'D)
...he actually shook Andy's hand.

FLOYD, sitting next to Heywood, scoffs, shaking his head.

FLOYD
My ass.

BROOKS
Shook his hand! I nearly soiled myself. All Andy needed was a suit and a tie and a little jiggly hula gal on his desk, he would have been ""Mr. Dufresne,"" if you please.

RED, seated further down, smiles wryly at Andy.

RED
Making a few friends, huh, Andy?

Andy continues eating, unfazed by the attention.

ANDY
I wouldn't say friends. I'm a convicted murderer who provides sound financial planning. It's a wonderful pet to have.

RED
Got you out of the laundry, though, didn't it?

ANDY
I might do more than that. How about expanding the library? Get some new books in there.

Heywood points his spoon at Andy, pragmatic as ever.

HEYWOOD
You gonna ask for something, ask for a pool table.

RED
Right.

HEYWOOD
How do you expect to do that? Getting new books in here, ""Mr. Dufresne,"" if you please?

ANDY
Ask the Warden for funds.

The table goes quiet for a beat. Brooks stops smiling. He leans in close, his voice dropping to a grave whisper.

BROOKS
Son, son, son... six wardens have been through here in my tenure. And I've learned one immutable, universal truth.

Brooks raises a finger, trembling slightly with age.

BROOKS (CONT'D)
Not one of them born whose asshole wouldn't pucker up tighter than a snare drum when you ask him for funds."
"INT. SHAWSHANK PRISON - CELL BLOCK - NIGHT

The heavy steel gate slides open. A GUARD stands by the lever.

ANDY steps out from the shadows, wearing his denim prison jacket. He looks exhausted, his face a mask of grim determination. He walks past the Guard, stepping onto the catwalk.

The Guard watches him go, indifferent.

INT. RED'S CELL - CONTINUOUS

RED stands at his cell door, gripping the iron bars tight. He watches Andy approach from down the tier. His eyes are filled with deep concern, sensing something is wrong.

Andy walks past Red’s cell without a word. He doesn't look up. He just keeps walking, staring into the middle distance.

INT. ANDY'S CELL - CONTINUOUS

Andy enters his cell. He sits on the edge of his cot, hands clasped between his knees. He stares at the stone wall opposite him, motionless.

GUARD (O.S.)
Lights out!

With a loud CLACK, the cell block plunges into darkness. The mechanical locking mechanism SLAMS shut, echoing through the concrete hall.

INT. ANDY'S CELL - LATER

Pitch black, save for the occasional flash of lightning from a storm outside.

CLOSE ON:

Andy’s hands. He holds a length of ROPE. He twists it, testing its strength, wrapping it around his knuckles. The rope creaks under the tension.

A sudden FLASH of lightning illuminates the cell.

Andy stands in the center of the room. He looks up, his face pale and sweaty in the strobe-light effect of the storm. He looks terrified.

INT. RED'S CELL - CONTINUOUS

Red sits on his bunk, head buried in his hand. He is unable to sleep, tormented by the silence.

RED (V.O.)
I've had some long nights in stir.

Red rubs his forehead, the weight of the night pressing down on him.

RED (V.O.)
Alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts.

Red looks up at the ceiling, listening to the thunder rumble.

RED (V.O.)
Time can draw out like a blade.

He shifts, leaning against the cold wall, eyes wide open in the dark.

RED (V.O.)
That was the longest night of my life."
"INT. PRISON LIBRARY - DAY

Silence hangs heavy in the room. TOMMY WILLIAMS is hunched over a wooden table, head propped in his hand, scribbling furiously into a test booklet. He looks exhausted, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

Opposite him sits ANDY DUFRESNE. He is the picture of calm, holding a silver pocket watch suspended by its chain. He watches the second hand tick.

RED sits at a nearby table, observing the scene with quiet interest.

Andy watches the final seconds pass.

ANDY
Time.

Tommy freezes. The pencil hovers for a split second before he drops it. He exhales sharply, rubbing his face with a mixture of fatigue and defeat.

Andy clicks the watch shut and slips it into his pocket. He takes off his glasses.

ANDY
(CONT'D)
Well?

Tommy stares at the table, shaking his head.

TOMMY
Well, it's for shit. I wasted a whole fucking year of my time with this bullshit.

ANDY
It's probably not as bad as you think.

TOMMY
Yeah, it's worse. I didn't get a fucking thing right. Might as well have been in Chinese.

ANDY
Let's see how the score comes out.

Tommy's eyes snap up. The frustration boils over.

TOMMY
Yeah, well, I'll tell you how the goddamn score comes out.

Tommy SNATCHES the test booklet off the table and stands up abruptly. The chair SCREECHES against the floor.

He waves the paper aggressively.

TOMMY
(CONT'D)
Two points right there, and there's your goddamn score!

He paces, mocking the test questions.

TOMMY
(CONT'D)
Goddamn cat's crawling up trees. Five times five is twenty-five.

He CRUMPLES the test booklet into a tight ball with both hands.

TOMMY
(CONT'D)
Fuck this place!

He winds up and HURLS the paper ball into a wire mesh trash can near the door.

TOMMY
(CONT'D)
Fuck it!

Tommy storms out of the library, shouting back down the hall.

TOMMY (O.S.)
(CONT'D)
Fuck this place!

The library falls dead silent. Several INMATES look up from their books, startled.

Andy sits motionless at the table. He glances over his shoulder at Red. Red meets his gaze, offering a small, helpless shrug.

Slowly, Andy pushes his chair back and stands. He walks calmly across the room to the trash can.

He reaches into the wire mesh and retrieves the crumpled ball of paper. He holds it for a moment, smoothing the edges with his thumb."
"INT. ANDY'S BEDROOM - DAY

Close on a BABY MONITOR sitting on the bedside table next to HAMM. Static crackles.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Frankincense, this is Murr.

Suddenly, the signal clears.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Hey, heads up, everybody! It's showtime!

HAMM
Oh, it's time!

The room erupts into chaos. TOYS scramble toward the monitor.

WOODY stands near a laundry basket. Suddenly, a SHEPHERD'S CROOK hooks around his neck and yanks him backward.

WOODY
Oh! Oh, Bo.

BO PEEP reels him in close, a sultry look on her porcelain face.

WOODY (CONT'D)
There's got to be a less painful way to get my attention.

BO PEEP
Merry Christmas, Sheriff.

WOODY
(rubbing his neck)
Say, isn't that mistletoe?

BO PEEP
(coy)
Mm-hmm.

Woody looks up. On the shelf above, BO'S SHEEP are dangling a sprig of mistletoe over them. Woody smiles, tipping his hat, but Bo tosses her crook aside and dips him for a kiss.

Elsewhere, REX the dinosaur paces nervously in front of SLINKY DOG and MR. POTATO HEAD.

REX
Maybe Andy'll get another dinosaur, like a leaf eater. That way, I could play the, uh, dominant predator.

Static bursts from the monitor again.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Quiet, everyone, quiet!

The toys freeze. Tension fills the room.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Holly's first present is... Mrs. Potato Head.

REX
(gasps)

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Repeat, a Mrs. Potato Head.

MR. POTATO HEAD'S eyes go wide. His plastic mustache twitches.

HAMM
Way to go, Idaho!

MR. POTATO HEAD
Gee, I better shave.

He frantically starts pulling off his mustache.

ON THE BED

BUZZ LIGHTYEAR sits calmly by the pillow. WOODY climbs up next to him, lipstick marks all over his face.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Come in, Frankincense. Andy is now opening his first present.

Woody glances at Buzz, who is staring intently at the monitor.

WOODY
Buzz. Buzz Lightyear, you are not worried, are you?

BUZZ
Me? No, no. No, no, no, no, no.

Buzz waves it off, but his smile is tight.

SARGE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Large box. It's, it's, it's--

Static drowns out the voice. Buzz leans in, eyes narrowing.

BUZZ
Are you?

WOODY
(laughing)
Oh, now, Buzz. What could Andy possibly get that is worse than you?

Suddenly, a BARKING sound erupts from outside. The toys turn to the window.

ANDY (O.S.)
(distant, ecstatic)
Oh, what is it? What is it? Wow, a puppy!

Woody and Buzz freeze. They slowly exchange a look of sheer terror.

WOODY/BUZZ
(weak laughter)
Heh... heh...

They force a smile, masking the impending doom."
"EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET - NIGHT

A quiet suburban street sleeps under a starry sky. 

SID PHILLIPS (10, wearing a skull t-shirt) carves up the asphalt on his skateboard, a battered army-green BACKPACK slung over one shoulder. He leans into a turn, heading toward a darker, less inviting house.

INT. BACKPACK - CONTINUOUS

Dark, cramped, and shaking violently with every bump in the road.

BUZZ LIGHTYEAR presses his face against the mesh fabric of the bag, peering out at the passing streetlights.

WOODY holds onto his hat, looking nauseous. The three SQUEAKY ALIENS are in a trance, swaying with the motion.

BUZZ
Sheriff, I can see your dwelling from here. You're almost home.

THE ALIENS
Nirvana is coming. The mystic portal awaits.

Woody snaps, grabbing an Alien to steady himself.

WOODY
Will you be quiet? You guys don't get it, do you?

Woody points to the mesh, dread filling his face.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Once we go into Sid's house, we won't be coming out.

EXT. SID'S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Sid hops off his board and marches up the walkway to the foreboding house. He fishes for his keys.

INT. SID'S HOUSE - FOYER - CONTINUOUS

POV - FROM INSIDE THE BACKPACK

Through the vertical teeth of the zipper, the world is a sliver of light and shadow.

The front door CREAKS open. Sid steps onto the tiled floor.

Suddenly—A MONSTER.

SCUD, a bull terrier with a spiked collar, LUNGES at the bag, barking ferociously. His jaws snap inches from the zipper.

SID
Oh, Scud, hey, boy. Sit. Good boy.

The view tilts as Sid kneels. He unzips the bag slightly. A hand reaches in—

—and SNATCHES an Alien.

SID (CONT'D)
Hey, I got something for you, boy.

Sid balances the frozen Alien on Scud's snout. The dog goes cross-eyed trying to look at the treat.

SID (CONT'D)
Ready, set...

Scud quivers with anticipation.

SID (CONT'D)
...Go!

SNAP. Scud catches the toy in his jaws with a squeak.

Sid laughs and heads deeper into the house.

INT. SID'S HOUSE - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Sid rounds the corner, nearly colliding with his little sister, HANNAH. She clutches a rag doll, JANIE.

SID
Hannah! Hey, Hannah!

HANNAH
What? Did I get my package in the mail?

SID
I don't know.

HANNAH
What do you mean you don't know?

SID
(mocking)
I don't know.

Sid leans in, feigning concern.

SID (CONT'D)
Oh, no, Hannah.

HANNAH
What?

Sid SNATCHES the doll from her hands.

SID
Look, Janie.

HANNAH
Hey!

SID
She's sick.

HANNAH
No, she's not.

SID
I'll have to perform one of my operations.

HANNAH
No!

Sid bolts for the stairs.

INT. BACKPACK - CONTINUOUS

Woody and Buzz are thrown against the fabric walls as Sid sprints.

Through the zipper gap, Woody sees the ominous staircase ahead, bathed in eerie green wallpaper.

WOODY
(horrified)
Sid's room. Not there.

INT. SID'S HOUSE - STAIRCASE - CONTINUOUS

Sid thunders up the steps, the backpack bouncing against his spine. Hannah chases from below.

HANNAH
Sid, give her back!"
"EXT. DINOCO GAS STATION - NIGHT

A massive, illuminated sign towers against the starry sky: a glowing Brontosaurus inside an egg. DINOCO.

Below, a blue minivan pulls off the highway and rolls under the fluorescent lights of the pump island.

INT. MINIVAN - CONTINUOUS

MRS. DAVIS puts the van in park. ANDY sits in the passenger seat, eager.

ANDY
Can I help pump the gas?

MRS. DAVIS
Sure, I'll even let you drive.

ANDY
Yeah?

MRS. DAVIS
Yeah, when you're 16.

ANDY
(sarcastic)
Yep, yep, yep, buddy.

Mrs. Davis chuckles and opens her door. They exit the vehicle. The doors SLAM shut, leaving the interior in silence.

ON THE BACK SEAT

WOODY lies limp in ""toy mode,"" staring blankly at the ceiling. A beat of silence passes to ensure the humans are gone.

Woody blinks to life. He sits up, rubbing his forehead, his face a mask of panic.

WOODY
Oh, great.

He looks out the window at the gas pumps, distraught.

WOODY (CONT'D)
How am I going to convince those guys it was an accident?

SPLAT. A large mosquito smashes against the window glass, right beside Woody's reflection. Woody flinches.

Suddenly, a gloved hand SLAMS onto the window ledge from outside. Woody gasps, scrambling back against the seat.

BUZZ LIGHTYEAR hauls himself up through the open sunroof. He drops onto the seat, landing with a heavy plastic THUD.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Buzz!

Buzz stands up, brushing off his suit. A dead mosquito is smeared across his helmet visor.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Buzz!

Woody's face transforms from terror to pure elation.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Ha! You're alive! This is great!

Woody rushes forward, arms open.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Oh, I'm saved! I'm saved!

He grabs Buzz by the shoulders, shaking him enthusiastically.

WOODY (CONT'D)
And he'll find you here. He'll take us back to the room, and then you can tell everyone that this was all just a big mistake.

Woody notices the bug smear on Buzz's helmet. He licks his thumb and vigorously wipes the slime off the glass.

WOODY (CONT'D)
Huh, right? Buddy?

Buzz stands motionless. His expression is stone cold. He stares daggers at the cowboy.

BUZZ
I just want you to know that even though you tried to terminate me, revenge is not an idea we promote on my planet.

Woody sags with relief, holding a hand to his chest.

WOODY
Oh, well, that's good.

Buzz leans in close, his voice dropping to a menacing growl.

BUZZ
But we're not on my planet, are we?

WOODY
No.

With a sudden yell, Buzz LUNGES. He tackles Woody, driving him into the blue upholstery."
"EXT. ANDY'S HOUSE - NIGHT

Crickets chirp under a starry sky. A beam of light cuts through the darkness, scanning the siding of the house.

REX (O.S.)
Hey, you guys! I think I found him!

The beam flares against the lens as it searches.

REX (O.S.)
Buzz! Is that you?

A DOG barks loudly from a neighboring yard.

REX (O.S.)
Whiskers! Will you get out of here?

INT. ANDY'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS

REX stands at the open window sill, aiming a flashlight into the night. SLINKY leans out beside him.

REX
You're interfering with the search and rescue!

Headlights sweep across the bedroom walls, blinding them for a moment.

REX
(gasp)
Look! They're home!

EXT. DRIVEWAY - CONTINUOUS

The family minivan pulls into the driveway. The garage door rumbles open, casting a warm yellow light onto the concrete.

INT. ANDY'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The toys—REX, SLINKY, BO PEEP, HAMM, and MR. POTATO HEAD—crowd the window, peering down through the screen.

EXT. DRIVEWAY - CONTINUOUS

ANDY hops out of the passenger side, looking frantic. MOM exits the driver's seat.

ANDY
Mom, have you seen Woody?

MOM
Where was the last place you left him?

ANDY
Right here in the van.

Andy leans back into the car, searching desperately under the seats.

MOM
I'm sure he's there. You're just not looking hard enough.

ANDY
(voice breaking)
He's not here, Mom. Woody's gone.

INT. ANDY'S ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The toys recoil from the window, stunned.

BO PEEP
Woody's gone?

HAMM
Ah, boy. The weasel ran away.

MR. POTATO HEAD
(smug)
Huh-huh. I told you he was guilty.

Potato Head turns to the others, shaking his head.

MR. POTATO HEAD
Who would have thought he was capable of such atrocities?

Bo Peep clutches her shepherd's crook, looking down at Slinky with deep sadness.

BO PEEP
Oh, Slink. I hope he's okay.

EXT. ANDY'S HOUSE - NIGHT

The camera tilts up from the lit window, past the roof antenna, settling on the vast, silent stars above."
"INT. ANDY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

CLOSE ON the wooden headboard, carved with a crescent moon. The room is dim, lit only by a bedside lamp.

ANDY (6) lies in bed, eyes wide with worry. He looks up at his MOM, who sits on the edge of the mattress.

MOM
I looked everywhere, honey, but all I could find was your hat.

She gently strokes his cheek. Andy clutches the blanket, his voice trembling.

ANDY
But what if we leave them behind?

MOM
Oh, don't worry, honey. I'm sure we'll find Woody and Buzz before we leave tomorrow.

She leans in and kisses his forehead. Andy turns onto his side, looking away, defeated.

Mom reaches over and CLICKS off the lamp. The room is bathed in deep blue moonlight.

She stands and walks to the door, casting one last look at her son before exiting. The door CLICKS shut.

Silence fills the room. Shadows stretch across the floor.

Suddenly, a cardboard box marked ""Andy's Toys"" SHUDDERS violently.

MR. POTATO HEAD (O.S.)
(muffled)
I need air!

The flaps of the box burst open. MR. POTATO HEAD gasps, pulling himself up to the rim. Beside him, REX the dinosaur is shaking uncontrollably, his tail thumping a rapid rhythm against the cardboard wall.

MR. POTATO HEAD
Will you quit moving around?

REX
I'm sorry. It's just that I get so nervous before I travel.

Potato Head grabs his detachable ears to steady them.

MR. POTATO HEAD
How did I get stuck with you as a moving buddy?

REX
Everyone else was picked.

ANGLE ON the floor near the dresser.

BO PEEP stands silently in the shadows, her shepherd's crook in hand. She ignores the bickering toys, her gaze fixed on the bed.

She steps forward into a sliver of moonlight, looking up at Andy.

ON THE BED

Andy is fast asleep now. His arm dangles off the side of the mattress. Clutched tightly in his hand is WOODY'S RED COWBOY HAT.

BACK TO BO PEEP

Her porcelain face softens with sorrow.

BO PEEP
Oh, Woody.
(beat)
If only you could see how much Andy misses you.

She watches the boy, the weight of the empty spot on the bed hanging heavy in the air."
"INT. ROSE'S COTTAGE - DAY

Sunlight floods a cluttered, bohemian room filled with paintings, artifacts, and hanging plants. A GOLDFISH swims lazily in a glass bowl, distorting the view of the garden outside.

OLD ROSE (101) sits at a potter's wheel. Her hands, wrinkled and spotted with age, expertly shape a wet mound of red clay. She is focused, serene.

In the background, a small portable TV sits on a wooden counter, broadcasting a news report.

TRACY (V.O.)
...He reached the most famous shipwreck of all, the Titanic. He is with us live via satellite from the research ship Keldysh in the North Atlantic. Hello, Brock.

BROCK LOVETT (V.O.)
Hello, Tracy.

LIZZY (20s) enters through the screen door, carrying a fresh bouquet of roses. She moves past the pottery wheel, accustomed to the noise of the TV.

BROCK LOVETT (V.O.)
Of course, everyone knows the familiar stories of Titanic. You know, the nobility of the band playing to the very end and all that.

Rose's hands continue to work the clay, but her head tilts slightly. She is listening.

BROCK LOVETT (V.O.)
But what I'm interested in are the untold stories. The secrets locked deep inside the hull of Titanic.

Lizzy sets the flowers down on the counter next to the TV and begins arranging them.

BROCK LOVETT (V.O.)
And we're out here using robot technology to go further into the wreck than anybody has ever done before.

TRACY (ON TV)
So, your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber.

Rose's hands stop moving on the clay.

BROCK LOVETT (ON TV)
Well, nobody ever called the recovery of the artifacts...

OLD ROSE
(sharp)
What is that?

Lizzy looks up from the flowers, surprised by the intensity in her grandmother's voice.

OLD ROSE
Turn that up, dear.

Lizzy reaches for the dial on the small white TV set.

BROCK LOVETT (ON TV)
I have museum-trained experts out here making sure that these relics are preserved and cataloged properly.

Rose stares at the screen, her wet hands hovering over the wheel. Her breathing shifts.

BROCK LOVETT (ON TV)
Take a look at this drawing that we found just today. A piece of paper that's been underwater for 84 years.

ON THE TV SCREEN:

The camera pans over a charcoal sketch. It depicts a beautiful young woman, nude, reclining on a sofa. She wears a massive diamond necklace.

BROCK LOVETT (ON TV)
And my team are able to preserve it intact.

BACK TO ROSE:

The color drains from her face. Her blue eyes—still sharp and clear—widen in disbelief. The image on the screen is a ghost from a life she buried nearly a century ago.

BROCK LOVETT (ON TV)
Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity? We can see it and enjoy it now.

Rose trembles. The recognition is absolute.

OLD ROSE
(a whisper)
I'll be goddamned."
"EXT. GANGWAY - DAY

JACK and FABRIZIO sprint through the enclosed gangway, bags slung over their shoulders, adrenaline pumping. They dodge slower passengers, bursting with the thrill of the last-minute escape.

JACK
We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?

EXT. TITANIC - DECK - DAY

They explode onto the deck, weaving through the dense CROWD of steerage passengers. They rush to the railing, squeezing into a spot to look back at the dock.

Below, hundreds of well-wishers wave handkerchiefs and hats. The air is filled with CHEERS and the ship's massive WHISTLE.

Jack leans halfway over the rail, waving frantically.

JACK
Goodbye!

FABRIZIO
(confused, shouting over the noise)
You know somebody?

JACK
Of course not, that's not the point!

Jack waves with both arms, caught up in the sheer magnitude of the moment.

JACK (CONT'D)
Goodbye, I'll miss you!

FABRIZIO
(shrugging, joining in)
Goodbye!

JACK
Goodbye!
(pointing to a random stranger on the dock)
I will never forget you!

ON THE PROMENADE DECK (FIRST CLASS)

RUTH DEWITT BUKATER, CAL HOCKLEY, and MOLLY BROWN wave with dignified restraint, looking down from their high vantage point.

BACK TO STEERAGE DECK

Jack and Fabrizio are screaming their lungs out.

JACK
Goodbye!

FABRIZIO
Goodbye!

EXT. UNDERWATER - DAY

The Titanic's massive bronze propellers begin to churn. They slice through the water, generating a vortex of white foam and power.

EXT. TITANIC - DAY

The ship pulls away from the dock. The gap widens. The crowd on the pier becomes a sea of ants.

ON DECK

A CAMERAMAN cranks an old-fashioned motion picture camera, capturing the departure.

Jack and Fabrizio keep waving until their arms are tired, the excitement never fading.

INT. TITANIC - G-DECK CORRIDOR - DAY

The vibration of the engines hums through the white-walled labyrinth of the lower decks. Passengers haul luggage, confused and overwhelmed.

A 3RD CLASS BOY stares up in wonder at the ceiling pipes. His 3RD CLASS MOM yanks his hand.

3RD CLASS MOM
Come on, darling.

Jack and Fabrizio stride down the corridor, Jack checking his ticket, trying to decipher the signage.

FABRIZIO
Where are you going?

JACK
Don't know.

They weave around a group of lost immigrants.

FABRIZIO
I'll just...

JACK
What?

FABRIZIO
What is going on?

Jack spots a sign, orienting himself, and picks up the pace."
"EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT

The TITANIC is a blazing cathedral of light, listing heavily into the black Atlantic. Lifeboats dot the water, oars cutting through the glassy surface.

IN LIFEBOAT 6

MOLLY BROWN pulls an oar with grit, surrounded by terrified women.

MOLLY BROWN
Put your backs into it! Pull!

She looks back at the dying ship. The stern is rising. RUTH DEWITT BUKATER sits frozen, staring blankly at the nightmare.

MOLLY BROWN
(to Ruth, breathless)
Now there's something you don't see every day.

Ruth doesn't blink. 

MOLLY BROWN
Pull!

A DISTRESS ROCKET screams into the sky, exploding in a white starburst above the funnels.

EXT. BOAT DECK - NIGHT

Chaos. Passengers swarm the remaining boats. At Collapsible D, SECOND OFFICER LIGHTOLLER is frantic.

LIGHTOLLER
What's this luggage doing here? Get rid of it! Get rid of it!

Crewmen hurl suitcases overboard.

LIGHTOLLER (CONT'D)
We need the room! Get rid of that! Get rid of it!

An ELDERLY WOMAN is roughly handled by crewmen trying to clear the way.

LIGHTOLLER (CONT'D)
Let go, sir! Get back!

CAL HOCKLEY pushes through the crushing mob, eyes darting. He spots a familiar face.

CAL
Lovejoy!

LOVEJOY, Cal's valet, turns. He looks grim.

LOVEJOY
She's not on the starboard side, either.

CAL
We're running out of time. This strutting martinet isn't letting any men on at all.

Cal gestures toward Lightoller, who is physically shoving men back with a pistol in hand (O.S.).

LOVEJOY
There's one on the other side letting men on.

Cal processes this instantly. A plan forms.

CAL
Well, then, that's our play.
(beat)
We'll need some insurance first. Come on!

Cal grabs Lovejoy and they shove their way back into the ship.

INT. E-DECK CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Bright white lights. The ship groans. JACK DAWSON and ROSE DEWITT BUKATER sprint down the long hallway, dodging confused passengers in lifebelts.

A STEWARD blocks the intersection, trying to herd people.

STEWARD
This way, please! All the way down there.

He spots Jack and Rose running the wrong way.

STEWARD (CONT'D)
Here!

He steps in front of them, grabbing Jack's arm.

STEWARD (CONT'D)
What do you think you're doing?

Jack doesn't break stride. He winds up and DECKS the Steward with a solid right hook.

STEWARD (CONT'D)
(crumpling)
You little--

Jack and Rose scramble past his falling body, disappearing down the corridor."
"INT. PALM COURT RESTAURANT - DAY

Sunlight streams through the high arched windows of the Palm Court. A STRING QUARTET plays a polite waltz in the background.

RUTH DEWITT BUKATER sits at a wicker table with the COUNTESS OF ROTHES and another society woman. Ruth holds her teacup with practiced rigidity.

RUTH
But the purpose of university is to find a suitable husband. Rose has already done that.

Ruth glances past her companions, her expression souring instantly.

RUTH
Look, here comes that vulgar Brown woman.

Through the trellis, MOLLY BROWN approaches, dressed in a loud, expensive suit, beaming with energy.

RUTH
(sotto voce)
Quickly, get up before she sits with us.

Ruth and the Countess scramble to their feet, gathering their gloves just as Molly arrives at the table.

MOLLY BROWN
Hello, girls. I was hoping I'd catch you at tea.

RUTH
(feigning regret)
We're awfully sorry you missed it. The Countess and I were just off to take the air on the boat deck.

MOLLY BROWN
What a lovely idea. I need to catch up on my gossip.

RUTH
(tight smile)
Good evening, Countess.

Ruth sweeps past Molly without looking back. Molly watches them go, unfazed.

CUT TO:

ANOTHER TABLE

BRUCE ISMAY lounges in a wicker chair, a cigarette poised in his hand. Across from him sits CAPTAIN SMITH, looking weary but dignified. Ismay studies a piece of paper.

ISMAY
So you've not yet lit the last four boilers?

CAPTAIN SMITH
No, I don't see the need. We are making excellent time.

ISMAY
The press knows the size of Titanic. Now I want them to marvel at her speed.

Ismay folds the paper, leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

ISMAY
We must give them something new to print. This maiden voyage of Titanic must make headlines.

CAPTAIN SMITH
Mr. Ismay...

Smith pauses, his voice measured.

CAPTAIN SMITH
I would prefer not to push the engines until they've been properly run in.

Ismay takes a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke with calculated indifference.

ISMAY
Of course, I'm just a passenger. I leave it to your good offices to decide what's best.

Ismay smiles, a shark-like expression.

ISMAY
What a glorious end to your final crossing if we were to get into New York on Tuesday night and surprise them all. Make the morning papers.

Smith stares at him, the pressure weighing on his shoulders.

ISMAY
Retire with a bang, eh, E.J.?

Smith holds Ismay's gaze for a beat, then gives a small, resigned nod.

ISMAY
Good man."
"EXT. BOAT DECK - DAY

Sunlight glares off the white superstructure. A wooden TOP wobbles on the deck planks.

A FATHER stands over his young SON, instructing him on the toy's string.

FATHER
Okay, so unwind it up right like I showed you.

Near the railing, JACK DAWSON watches them. He wears a stolen overcoat and bowler hat, trying to look the part of a First Class gentleman. He leans casually, but his eyes dart around, alert.

FATHER (CONT'D)
That's right. Okay, now let it go.

The boy throws the top. It spins perfectly.

FATHER (CONT'D)
That's good. Quite nice.

Jack smiles faintly at the boy's success, then stiffens. He spots a group approaching from down the deck.

FATHER (CONT'D)
That's excellent.

Jack turns away, adjusting his hat, pulling the brim lower to obscure his face. He leans against a davit, feigning interest in the sea.

ROSE, THOMAS ANDREWS, RUTH, and CAL stroll along the promenade, inspecting the lifeboats. Rose looks troubled, calculating figures in her mind.

ROSE
Mr. Andrews, forgive me. I did the sum in my head. And with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned...

She pauses, looking up at the hanging boats.

ROSE (CONT'D)
Forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard.

ANDREWS
About half, actually.

Rose stops. She stares at him, stunned by the admission.

ANDREWS (CONT'D)
Rose, you miss nothing, do you?

He gestures to the davits—the cranes holding the boats.

ANDREWS (CONT'D)
In fact, I put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats inside this one. But it was thought by some that the deck would look too cluttered. So, I was overruled.

CAL
(dismissive)
A waste of deck space as it is on an unsinkable ship.

Cal offers his arm to Ruth, eager to move on. Andrews lingers a moment with Rose, his voice gentle.

ANDREWS
Sleep soundly, young Rose. I have built you a good ship. Strong and true.

He pats the gunwale of a lifeboat affectionately.

ANDREWS (CONT'D)
She's all the lifeboat you need.

Andrews gestures forward.

ANDREWS (CONT'D)
Just keep heading aft. The next stop will be the engine room.

As the group resumes walking, they pass the davit where Jack is loitering. He keeps his head down, face hidden by the hat.

Just as Rose passes, Jack's hand shoots out and GRABS her arm.

Rose gasps, spinning around. Before she can make a sound, Jack pulls her toward a doorway.

INT. GYMNASIUM - CONTINUOUS

Jack drags Rose inside and shuts the door. The room is filled with mechanical exercise equipment—a camel, a horse, rowing machines. Sunlight streams through tall arched windows.

ROSE
Jack.
(breathless)
This is impossible. I can't see you.

Jack holds his ground, intense.

JACK
I need to talk to you.

Rose backs away, shaking her head, her composure cracking.

ROSE
No, Jack, no."
"INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT

EXTREME LOW ANGLE looking up at LINCOLN and SOL. The ceiling above them is grimy, splattered with dried blood. Fluorescent lights FLICKER and BUZZ rhythmically.

SOL
All right. But we're gonna have to wait until it gets light. And we have got to get rid of these bodies.

Sol gestures vaguely off-screen.

SOL (CONT'D)
That one over there with the tea cozy on his head is starting to stink.

LINCOLN
Right.

Lincoln considers this, calm amidst the carnage.

LINCOLN (CONT'D)
Let's stick them in the car, and then go look for a pig farm.

INT. LOCKER ROOM - NIGHT

TURKISH and TOMMY stand side-by-side, looking down with expressions of mild concern.

REVERSE ANGLE:

MICKEY lies sprawled on a narrow bench, a leather hat pulled over his eyes. He is out cold.

TURKISH
Oi. Mickey.

No response. Turkish leans in.

TURKISH (CONT'D)
Oi! Mickey!

Mickey stirs. A low, guttural GROAN escapes him. He lifts a hand, rubbing the leather hat against his face.

TURKISH (CONT'D)
You feeling all right, Mickey?

MICKEY
(mumbled, thick accent)
Mmm... Get a drink.

Turkish reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a silver FLASK.

TOMMY
(panicked)
You can't give him a drink.

TURKISH
It's not for him, it's for me.

Turkish unscrews the cap and takes a long, desperate swig. 

Suddenly, Mickey's hand shoots out. He SNATCHES the flask from Turkish.

MICKEY
(grunting)
Ah, give it here.

Mickey drains the flask while lying flat on his back. Turkish watches, impressed and annoyed.

TURKISH
He's a hard bastard, this Goodnight Anderson. So pay attention to what you're doing.

Mickey hands the empty flask back to Tommy, smacking his lips.

TOMMY
What, Mickey?

TURKISH
Mickey.

Mickey pushes the hat off his face. He looks disoriented, rubbing his jaw.

MICKEY
Did I have a shave?

EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

A black Jaguar sits parked in the shadows of a corrugated iron fence. 

BRICK TOP (V.O.)
If you see the pikey, Turkish, or his girlfriend come out this--"
"INT. PIG FARM - NIGHT

A grim, industrial slaughterhouse. Green fluorescent lights buzz over concrete pens filled with sleeping swine. The air is thick with steam and the stench of manure.

TURKISH (30s) stands in the narrow corridor, flanked by his nervous partner TOMMY (30s). Opposite them stands BRICK TOP (60s), a man who exudes menace through thick-rimmed glasses. His henchman, ERROL, looms in the shadows.

TURKISH (V.O.)
If you're going to deal with him, you've just got to make sure you don't end up owing him. Because then you're in his debt, which means you're in his pocket.

Brick Top stares down into a pen, watching the pigs breathe.

TURKISH (V.O.)
And once you're in that, you ain't ever coming out.

Brick Top turns his gaze to Turkish.

BRICK TOP
I hear he's a good fighter, so I'm going to use him. But I'll be doing you a favour, boy.

TURKISH (V.O.)
What he means is, I'm doing him a favour. Because everybody knows nobody takes a dive in my fights. Unlike his.

Brick Top leans closer to the pen bars, glancing at Errol.

BRICK TOP
Here, Errol, I don't think he likes me.
(to Turkish)
You don't like me, do you, boy?

Turkish keeps his face neutral, fighting the urge to flinch.

TURKISH
I don't know what you mean.

TURKISH (V.O.)
I do know I can't wait to get out of here. Fuck me, it stinks.

BRICK TOP
I like my fights to finish prompt, so we can get the punters out before the authorities find out. Play your cards right and I'll sort you out.

TURKISH
You can sort me out by showing me out.

Brick Top stares at him, unblinking.

BRICK TOP
It's hard enough to make a living in the boxing world, so every now and then you've got to do something that might not agree with your principles. Basically, you have to forget you've got any.

Tommy, trying to look casual, peers over the gate at the slumbering beasts.

TOMMY
Are they Lancashire pigs?

Brick Top snaps his head toward Tommy.

BRICK TOP
Who the fuck's talking to you, boy?

Tommy recoils instantly.

TURKISH (V.O.)
Oh, yeah, Tommy. Brick Top loves Tommy.

Brick Top turns back to Turkish, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

BRICK TOP
Now, don't let me down. You don't want to let me down, do you, boy?

Turkish swallows hard. He taps Tommy, signaling the exit.

TURKISH
I'll see you ringside.

Turkish and Tommy walk away briskly, leaving Brick Top in the gloom."
"EXT. INDUSTRIAL ALLEY - DAY

A beat-up, maroon BMW sits parked in a desolate, grey alleyway, wedged between overflowing dumpsters and black trash bags. The atmosphere is damp and grim.

INT. BMW - CONTINUOUS

SOL sits in the passenger seat, looking out at the bleak surroundings with dread. VINCENT is behind the wheel.

SOL
I don't want to go in there. You never see me again.

VINCENT
Well we won't if you don't.

SOL
All right. You give me the stone, and I will give it to Bricktop.
(beat)
Yeah?

VINCENT
All right.

Vincent shifts his weight, grimacing as he reaches deep into the front of his trousers.

VINCENT
(straining)
Give me a minute. It's a bit fiddly.

Sol watches him, appalled.

SOL
What is it doing down there?

VINCENT
Well I put it down there in case we got mugged.

Sol stares at him, disbelief written all over his face.

SOL
You ain't from this planet, are you, Vincent? Who is gonna mug two black fellas, holding pistols, sat in a car that's worth less than your shirt?

Vincent stops fishing in his pants. His gaze drifts to the driver's side window. His eyes widen in recognition—and fear.

VINCENT
Bullet-Tooth Tony and his friend...

Vincent swallows hard.

VINCENT
...Desert Eagle point five oh.

SOL
(confused)
What have they got to do with anything?

VINCENT
They're both staring straight at me.

Sol leans forward to look past Vincent.

IN THE WINDOW REFLECTION:

BULLET-TOOTH TONY stands right outside the car. He raises a massive CHROME HANDGUN.

CLACK.

The barrel of the gun taps gently against the glass, inches from Vincent's nose.

BULLET-TOOTH TONY
(muffled through glass)
You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.

Tony stares dead-eyed at them through the window.

BULLET-TOOTH TONY (CONT'D)
Now out the car. And leave your water pistols behind.

Tony pulls the gun back, waiting.

Inside, panic sets in. Sol holds up his hands, trying to formulate a plan.

SOL
(whispering, frantic)
Look... just... just tell him the stone's back at the office.

VINCENT
I think that's right.

They both scramble for the door handles, desperate to comply."
"INT. BOXING GYM - DAY

Two BOXERS spar in a gritty, dimly lit ring. Heavy leather gloves connect with wet thuds. Sweat flies.

TURKISH (V.O.)
Tommy's newfound enthusiasm for firearms... Sooner or later, in the unlicensed boxing world, you're gonna have to deal with that reason for it. Brick Top.

Ringside, BRICK TOP watches the violence with a critical eye. Standing nervously beside him are GARY and LIAM. Behind them looms ERROL.

BRICK TOP
If that's not worth a bet, I don't know what is.

GARY
He doesn't look bad, does he?

BRICK TOP
(Mocking)
Oh no, Mr. Polkwood, he looks great. He'd do you proud, Guv'nor.

Brick Top turns slowly to face Gary, his expression unreadable behind thick lenses.

BRICK TOP (CONT'D)
You reckon that's what people should do for me, do you Gary? Do me proud?

GARY
That's what you deserve, Mr. Polkwood.

BRICK TOP
Pull your tongue out of my arsehole, Gary. Dogs do that. You're not a dog, are you Gary?

GARY
(Stammering)
Eh, no. No, I'm not.

BRICK TOP
However. You do have all the characteristics of a dog, Gary. All except loyalty.

Behind them, Errol quietly reaches into his jacket.

TURKISH (V.O.)
It's rumored that Brick Top's favorite means of dispatch involves a stun gun...

CLOSE ON: A STUN GUN in Errol's hand. The arc of electricity CRACKLES blue.

TURKISH (V.O.)
...a plastic bag...

Errol jams the stun gun into LIAM'S kidney. Liam stiffens, eyes rolling back.

TURKISH (V.O.)
...a roll of tape, and a pack of hungry pigs.

Liam collapses into the arms of another heavy. Errol swiftly pulls a clear plastic bag over Liam's head and tightens it around his neck.

Brick Top leans in close to the suffocating man, calm as ever.

BRICK TOP
You're a ruthless little cunt, Liam, I'll give you that.

Liam gasps for air, the plastic sucking against his face.

BRICK TOP (CONT'D)
But I've got no time for grasses. Feed 'em to the pigs, Errol.

Errol and the heavy drag Liam backward. Liam kicks and thrashes, making muffled, guttural noises.

BRICK TOP (CONT'D)
(Mocking Liam's struggles)
Urgh! Urgh!

Brick Top turns back to the ring. The two BOXERS have stopped sparring. They stand frozen, staring at the abduction in horror.

Brick Top glares at them.

BRICK TOP (CONT'D)
What the fuck are you two looking at?"
"INT. HALLWAY - DAY

Dark, narrow, and bathed in ominous red light. TURKISH (30s, tan coat) walks briskly, glancing over his shoulder. He looks like a man running out of time.

TURKISH (V.O.)
Now, it's not too clever to hang about after Mickey's performance. Brick Top insurance will be looking to kill Tommy, Mickey, and myself.

INT. TURKISH'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Turkish enters his cluttered office. He moves with urgent purpose.

TURKISH (V.O.)
I know he's looking for us, but I don't have a choice. I'm happy to leave the country, but I need money to do so.

He strides to a framed picture of St. George and the Dragon on the wall. He tilts it, checking the WALL SAFE behind it. It's locked.

TURKISH (V.O.)
And any money I have is in the safe, which is in the office.

He moves to the kitchenette area, opening a cupboard, rummaging for a key or a stash.

TURKISH (V.O.)
Once I have that, it's...

ERROL (O.S.)
Oink, oink.

Turkish freezes. The blood drains from his face. He closes his eyes for a split second.

TURKISH
Shit.

He turns slowly.

Sitting on the office sofa is ERROL, wearing a leather jacket and a smug grin. Next to him sits TOMMY, looking like he's about to vomit.

ERROL
So that's where you keep the sugar.

Turkish tries to regain his composure, masking his fear with bravado.

TURKISH
Brings you to it. Run out of pants to sniff?

Errol’s grin tightens. He looks across the room to JOHN, a large henchman leaning against the filing cabinets.

ERROL
That sounds like hostility, doesn't it, John?

JOHN
(deadpan)
And we don't like hostility, do we, Errol?

ERROL
No, we don't, John.

Turkish turns back toward the door, looking for an exit—

And walks chest-first into BRICK TOP.

The older gangster stands uncomfortably close, his thick glasses magnifying his cold, dead eyes. Turkish recoils, almost stepping on the old man's feet.

Brick Top stares down at his own pristine dress shoes, then slowly up at Turkish.

BRICK TOP
I just had them polished.

Turkish holds his breath, trapped between the henchmen and the boss.

BRICK TOP
(casual)
Go and put the kettle on.

Turkish hesitates, then moves back to the kitchenette. He grabs the kettle, his hands trembling slightly. He glances back at Brick Top.

TURKISH
You take sugar?

BRICK TOP
No, thank you, Turkish.

Brick Top adjusts his silk scarf, his expression unreadable.

BRICK TOP
I'm sweet enough.

INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

Under the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights, Brick Top struggles with a heavy object wrapped in plastic.

He drops a BODY BAG onto the concrete floor with a wet THUD.

He looks up at a group of waiting THUGS.

BRICK TOP
He is now your problem."
"EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Green light bathes a closed storefront. RAPHAËL stands with his back to us, peering through a heavy metal security grate. Perched on his shoulder is a GARDEN GNOME.

Raphaël adjusts the gnome, ensuring it gets a good look at the sign behind the bars: ""DU DEPART"".

INT. TRAIN STATION - PHOTO BOOTH - DAY

A broom sweeps dust across the concrete floor. A CLEANER works past a red photo booth.

Inside the booth, the curtain is partially drawn. AMÉLIE is asleep, slumped against the wall. The GARDEN GNOME sits stoically beside her.

INT. GARE DU NORD - DAY

A high-angle wide shot reveals the massive iron-and-glass cathedral of the train station. Trains sit idle at the platforms. Commuters swarm like ants.

ON THE PLATFORM

NINO is on his hands and knees near a photo booth, face inches from the dirty tiles. He is hunting.

Two PASSERSBY walk past, deep in a technical conversation.

PASSERSBY 1
(passing by)
...non, car c'est de la céramique.

PASSERSBY 2
Ouais, silicone.

PASSERSBY 1
Fini.

PASSERSBY 2
C'est céramique.

Nino ignores them, scraping a torn piece of a photograph off the floor with a coin.

A pair of heavy black shoes and a red skirt march past Nino's face. He pauses, watching the feet retreat.

He carefully picks up a tiny scrap of photo paper.

Suddenly, Nino looks up. He freezes.

AMÉLIE stands a few yards away, wearing a trench coat. She stares directly at him, eyes wide.

CLOSE ON AMÉLIE'S CHEST

Through her coat and skin, her HEART glows bright orange, beating frantically like a trapped bird.

THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.

BACK TO SCENE

Nino’s eyes dart to something O.S.—a target.

NINO
(to himself)
Hey!

He scrambles to his feet, snatching up a blue plastic bag but leaving his heavy photo album behind on the tiles. He sprints away down the platform.

Amélie snaps out of her trance. She sees him running.

AMÉLIE
Hey!
(beat)
Monsieur!

She hesitates, then bolts after him.

AMÉLIE (CONT'D)
Monsieur! Monsieur!

She weaves through the crowd, chasing Nino's retreating figure into the depths of the station."
"INT. METRO STATION - STAIRS - DAY

The walls are tiled in a sickly, stylized green. AMÉLIE (20s) descends a long, steep staircase, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone steps. She is alone, framed by colorful posters advertising art exhibitions.

She reaches the bottom and walks down a long, curved tunnel. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a surreal glow.

INT. METRO STATION - PLATFORM - CONTINUOUS

Amélie emerges onto the platform. A sign reads ""ABBESSES"".

Sitting on a bench against a mural is a BLIND MAN. He wears a green coat and holds a white cane upright like a scepter. On his lap sits a vintage portable turntable, spinning a vinyl record.

The crackling voice of a French chanteuse echoes through the cavernous station.

SINGER (V.O.)
(singing)
Comment pourrais-je vivre si tu n'étais pas là ?

Amélie slows to a stop. She watches the Blind Man with a gentle, benevolent curiosity.

SINGER (V.O.)
(singing)
J'ai parfois l'attribut à l'épreuve, même un soir sans te voir je me débrouille.

The Blind Man stares vacantly into the middle distance, completely absorbed in the melody.

SINGER (V.O.)
(singing)
Tu reviendrais sous un peu de tristesse, car tu serais le passé, tu me laverais.

Amélie turns her head, distracted by a scuffling sound near the exit.

ANGLE ON:

A PHOTO BOOTH stands against the tiled wall. Protruding from behind the curtain are the legs of a man.

NINO (20s) is on his hands and knees, practically lying on the dirty floor. He holds a long metal ruler, sweeping it frantically under the machine's base.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Ce garçon qui farfouille sous le photomaton s'appelle Nino Quincampoix.

Amélie stares at him, perplexed. Nino shifts his weight, stretching his arm deeper into the gap, his face pressed against the cold tiles, searching for something lost.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
À l'âge où Amélie était privée du contact des autres enfants, le petit Nino, lui, s'en serait bien passé.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY (FLASHBACK)

Sepia-toned and high contrast.

A YOUNG NINO (8) is surrounded by a pack of vicious SCHOOLBOYS. They grab his legs and hoist him into the air, laughing as he struggles helplessly upside down."
"EXT. GARE DE L'EST - DAY

Low angle on the stone statues atop the station facade. The sky is a sickly, stylized green.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Vingt-six minutes plus tard, Amélie arrive au photomaton de la gare de l'Est.

INT. PHOTO BOOTH - DAY

Inside the booth, the turquoise STOOL spins rapidly, empty, coming to a halt.

EXT. GARE DE L'EST - SIDE ENTRANCE - DAY

A blue car screeches to a halt. The tires curb check.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
A la même seconde, l'homme aux baskets rouges stationne devant l'entrée latérale.

INT. GARE DE L'EST - CONCOURSE - DAY

CLOSE UP on the large station CLOCK. The minute hand ticks forward.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
A cet instant, il est exactement 11 heures et 40 minutes.

INT. PHOTO BOOTH - DAY

AMÉLIE slides a coin into the slot. Her face is focused, determined.

INT. GARE DE L'EST - CONCOURSE - DAY

NINO'S RED SNEAKERS hit the polished floor. He moves with urgency, running toward the main hall.

INT. PHOTO BOOTH - DAY

Amélie ties a black ZORRO MASK around her eyes. She adjusts it, staring into the mirror.

INT. GARE DE L'EST - CONCOURSE - DAY

Nino's sneakers squeak against the floor as he navigates the station.

INT. PHOTO BOOTH - DAY

Amélie takes a breath. She reaches for the curtain.

INT. GARE DE L'EST - CONCOURSE - CONTINUOUS

Amélie WHIPS the curtain open.

AMÉLIE
(breathless)
Vous!

She freezes. 

Standing outside the booth is NOT Nino.

It is the REPAIRMAN—a bald man in a red work shirt, holding a toolbox. He stares back at her, utterly baffled.

ON REPAIRMAN:

For a split second, a surreal visual effect overlays his face—his features CRACK and fragment like a broken porcelain plate, revealing the confusion beneath.

ON AMÉLIE:

A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face beneath the mask.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
A ce moment précis de l'histoire, Amélie est la seule à connaître la clé de l'énigme de l'inconnu des photomatons.

The image of Amélie smiling FREEZES and bleeds into high-contrast white."
"EXT. PARIS STREET - DAY

A quiet corner in Montmartre. A green PHONE BOOTH stands near a grocery store with red umbrellas.

The PHONE RINGS. Loud. Insistent.

DOMINIQUE BRETODEAU (50s) walks past, carrying a plastic bag. He freezes. The ringing cuts through the ambient city noise.

He looks around. No one else is near the booth. He hesitates, then steps toward the glass structure, drawn by the sound.

INT. PHONE BOOTH - CONTINUOUS

Bretodeau steps inside. He lifts the receiver cautiously.

BRETODEAU
(into phone)
Hello?

Silence. No answer. 

Confused, he doesn't hang up. Instead, he rests the receiver on top of the payphone unit.

As he turns to leave, something catches his eye. 

On the metal shelf, tucked behind the coin return, sits a small, rusted TIN BOX. The lid reads: ""Bergamottes de Nancy.""

Bretodeau frowns. He reaches out and takes the box. It feels heavy with history.

EXT. CAFE - CONTINUOUS

Through the glass window of a nearby establishment, AMÉLIE (20s) watches intently. She holds a phone receiver to her ear, but her eyes are locked on Bretodeau. She waits.

INT. PHONE BOOTH - CONTINUOUS

Bretodeau holds the tin in both hands. He pries the rusted lid open.

INSERT - THE TIN BOX

Inside lies a treasure trove of childhood artifacts:
- A black-and-white photo of a boy in a soccer uniform.
- A miniature toy car.
- A handful of marbles.
- A tiny metal cyclist.

BACK TO SCENE

Bretodeau stares. His mouth hangs slightly open. The confusion vanishes, replaced by a wave of shock.

He reaches in with a trembling finger and touches the photograph.

His eyes gloss over. The sounds of the street fade away.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
In a second, everything comes back to Bretodeau's memory.

Bretodeau is paralyzed by the rush of nostalgia.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
The victory of Federico Bahamontes in the Tour de France 1959.

INT. GARDEN - DAY (FLASHBACK)

The image shifts to grainy BLACK AND WHITE.

YOUNG BRETODEAU (8) sits in the grass on a sunny day. He moves a line of miniature metal CYCLISTS across the lawn, completely absorbed in his own world."
"INT. CAFÉ DES DEUX MOULINS - DAY

The café is bathed in a warm, sepia-toned light. At the tobacco counter, GEORGETTE (30s, wild curls, yellow shawl) shivers theatrically, reaching out to slide a glass partition shut.

GEORGETTE
Là, oh, il y a des courants d'air, bon sang !

Behind the bar, GINA (30s, red cardigan) wipes a glass, unimpressed.

GINA
Non mais ça va, là, c'est pas la Sibérie.

IN THE BOOTH

JOSEPH (40s, leather jacket) sits alone, peeling a hard-boiled egg with intense, maniacal focus. He stares into the middle distance.

BACK TO TOBACCO COUNTER

Georgette leans in conspiratorially to an OLD CUSTOMER, her eyes wide with medical horror.

GEORGETTE
Oh, on voit bien que c'est pas toi qui es allergique à l'oxyde de carbone, hein. Moi, cette nuit, j'ai tellement toussé que j'étais à deux doigts de me décoller la plèbe.

Gina pauses mid-wipe, eyebrows raised at the malapropism.

GINA
Un décollement de la plèbe.

IN THE DINING AREA

A PLAID CUSTOMER sits opposite HIPOLITO (long hair, green overalls). Gina breezes past with a tray of coffees.

PLAID CUSTOMER
Qu'est-ce qu'on a fait de bon aujourd'hui, madame Suzanne ?

SUZANNE (O.S.)
Des endivogratins !

SUZANNE (50s, the owner) limps into view behind the bar, beaming with pride.

SUZANNE (CONT'D)
Vous allez voir, elles sont à tomber à genoux.

Hipolito leans forward, a cynical smirk on his face.

PLAID CUSTOMER
Ça veut dire qu'elles sont bonnes ?

HIPOLITO
Tout dépend, tout tombe à genoux.

PLAID CUSTOMER
C'est vrai ? Si c'est dans la cuve à dévisser.

HIPOLITO
Là, ça veut dire qu'elles sont pas bonnes.

AT THE BAR

Gina throws her head back and lets out a loud, theatrical LAUGH.

IN THE BOOTH

Joseph immediately raises a DICTAPHONE to his lips, clicking record. He speaks with the cold detachment of a nature documentarian.

JOSEPH
Midi 15, rire de gorge évoquant l'orgasme. Motif, plaire au mâle dominant.

Gina slams a rack of glasses down, her patience evaporated.

GINA
Il continue à m'emmerder, moi, je réponds plus de rien.

Joseph stares blankly, chewing his egg.

JOSEPH
C'est vrai, ça. Pourquoi il insiste ? Il y a des bistrots tous les 20 mètres dans le quartier.

AT THE TOBACCO COUNTER

The Old Customer takes his change and shuffles away.

OLD CUSTOMER
Au revoir.

Georgette raises a finger, calling across the room to Suzanne.

GEORGETTE
Madame Suzanne, madame Suzanne.

Suzanne is pouring a drink from a bottle of liquor.

SUZANNE
Oui ?

GEORGETTE
Dans les endivogratins, à tous les coups, il y a de la béchamel.

SUZANNE
Bah oui, alors ?

GEORGETTE
Je la digère pas, moi, la béchamel. Ça me fait que... C'est comme vous. Je vois un peu la viande de cheval.

Suzanne freezes. The bottle hovers over the glass. Her expression shifts from casual to deeply haunted.

SUZANNE
Moi, c'est pas une question de digestion, c'est une question de souvenirs. Je préférais cuisiner de la viande humaine.

Georgette stares back, paralyzed with sudden, irrational fear.

GEORGETTE
(whispering)
Bah non, il y en a quand même pas."
"EXT. HOGWARTS SKIES - DAY

Wind ROARS. The world is a blur of grey clouds and stone.

HARRY POTTER clings tightly to the neck of BUCKBEAK, the Hippogriff. They plummet through the air, diving past the high towers of Hogwarts Castle.

EXT. THE BLACK LAKE - CONTINUOUS

Buckbeak pulls out of the dive, leveling off just feet above the water. The wind ripples through his feathers.

The Hippogriff extends a massive leg. His razor-sharp TALON slices the surface of the lake, carving a line through the water and sending up a spray.

Harry looks down, seeing his reflection rush by. The fear melts away, replaced by adrenaline.

He sits up. Slowly, he releases his grip on Buckbeak's neck.

Harry spreads his arms wide, embracing the wind. He is flying. Truly flying.

HARRY
Woooo-hoooo!

He laughs, a sound of pure, unburdened joy.

Buckbeak banks sharply, climbing away from the water and soaring toward the green valleys. Sunlight pierces the clouds, bathing them in a momentary glow.

EXT. PADDOCK - DAY

RUBEUS HAGRID stands rooted to the ground, staring up at the speck in the sky. His eyes are wide, a mix of terror and immense pride.

HAGRID
(to himself)
Blimey.

Hagrid puts two fingers to his mouth and lets out a sharp, piercing WHISTLE.

EXT. HOGWARTS SKIES - DAY

Harry hears the signal. He leans forward, wrapping his arms lovingly around Buckbeak's neck as the beast begins to circle back.

HARRY
(beaming)
Yeah!"
"EXT. THE THREE BROOMSTICKS - DAY

Heavy snow blankets Hogsmeade. A dark, wooden door stands shut. Hanging from the frame are several grotesque SHRUNKEN HEADS.

HERMIONE GRANGER and RON WEASLEY stand bundled in winter gear, looking annoyed.

SHRUNKEN HEAD
I say, no underage wizards allowed in today. Shut the damn door!

HERMIONE
(scoffing)
So rude.

SHRUNKEN HEAD
Thick heads.

Suddenly, the door CREAKS open on its own—or so it seems. A flurry of snow rushes in as an invisible force pushes past the students.

SHRUNKEN HEAD (CONT'D)
How dare they! Who are they calling thick heads? Young whippersnappers!

INT. THE THREE BROOMSTICKS - CONTINUOUS

The pub is warm, dim, and packed with patrons. WIZARDS and WITCHES laugh, drink, and read the Daily Prophet.

The camera floats through the crowd at eye level—HARRY POTTER'S POV (invisible).

Near the back, MADAM ROSMERTA leads CORNELIUS FUDGE and PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL toward a private room. She looks distressed.

ROSMERTA
Nobody's going to come to a pub where they're going to get scared out of their wits.

FUDGE
Professor Dumbledore doesn't want Dementors around the place, I can assure you.

They reach a heavy wooden door. Rosmerta ushers them in.

INT. PRIVATE ROOM - CONTINUOUS

The adults enter the secluded room. Just before the door clicks shut, it pushes open slightly again—Harry slips inside.

Rosmerta turns to the Minister, hands on her hips.

ROSMERTA
Now, tell me what this is all about.

McGonagall sighs, removing her hat and cloak. She looks grave.

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
Well, now, years ago, when Harry Potter's parents realized they were marked for death... do you remember? They went into hiding.

ROSMERTA
(nodding)
Mm-hm.

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
Few knew where they were. One who did was Sirius Black. And he told You-Know-Who.

IN THE CORNER

The air SHIMMERS. Through the distortion of the Invisibility Cloak, we see HARRY'S face, pale and horrified.

FUDGE
Not only did Black lead You-Know-Who to the Potters that night, but he also killed one of their friends. Peter Pettigrew.

ROSMERTA
Peter? Peter Pettigrew?

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
Yes. Little lump of a boy. Always trailing after Sirius Black.

ROSMERTA
I remember him. Never let James and Sirius out of his sight. But what happened?

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
Well, Peter Pettigrew tried to warn the Potters and might have managed to had he not run into an old friend. Sirius Black.

Fudge pours himself a drink, his hand shaking slightly.

FUDGE
Black was vicious. He didn't kill Pettigrew. He destroyed him.

Fudge holds up a single finger.

FUDGE (CONT'D)
A finger. That's all that was left. A finger. Nothing else.

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
Yes. Sirius Black may not have put his hands to the Potters, but he's the reason they're dead.

ROSMERTA
And now he wants to finish what he started.

Harry, still under the cloak, breathes heavily. His eyes dart between the adults.

ROSMERTA (CONT'D)
I don't believe it.

FUDGE
That's not the worst of it.

ROSMERTA
What could be worse?

McGonagall leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL
This: Sirius Black was, and remains to this day... Harry Potter's godfather.

ON HARRY

The color drains from his face. The betrayal hits him like a physical blow."
"INT. HOGWARTS - CLOISTERS - DAY

A heavy wooden door stands ajar, revealing a BLIZZARD outside. HARRY, bundled in a winter cloak, heads for the exit.

Suddenly, TWO SILHOUETTES lunge from the shadows. They grab Harry by the arms and yank him back into the darkness.

FRED
I'll show you a quicker way.

GEORGE
If you pipe down.

HARRY
(struggling)
Let me go! Come on, guys.

FRED
Don't--

GEORGE
Now, Harry.

FRED
Come and join the big boys.

They frog-march him away from the light.

INT. HOGWARTS - STAIRWELL - DAY

The twins corner Harry in a secluded, dim stairwell. Harry shakes them off, annoyed.

HARRY
What are you doing?

FRED/GEORGE
Shh!

Fred pulls a folded, worn piece of PARCHMENT from his jacket and thrusts it into Harry's chest.

HARRY
What's this rubbish?

FRED
(to George)
What's this rubbish, he says.

GEORGE
That there is the secret to our success.

FRED
It's a wrench giving it to you, believe me.

GEORGE
But we've decided your needs are greater than ours.

FRED
George, if you will.

George raises his wand and taps the blank parchment with ceremonial gravity.

GEORGE
I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

ON THE PARCHMENT:

Ink bleeds from the center, branching out like veins. Elegant calligraphy forms words.

HARRY
(reading)
""Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder's Map.""

FRED/GEORGE
We owe them so much.

Harry unfolds the map. It's an intricate, moving architectural drawing of the castle.

HARRY
Hang on. This is Hogwarts. And that... No.

Harry points to a tiny pair of FOOTPRINTS moving across a room labeled ""Headmaster's Study.""

HARRY (CONT'D)
Is that really...

FRED
Dumbledore.

GEORGE
In his study.

FRED
Pacing.

GEORGE
Does that a lot.

HARRY
So you mean this map shows...

FRED
Everyone.

GEORGE
Everyone?

FRED
Everyone.

GEORGE
Where they are.

FRED
What they're doing.

GEORGE
Every minute.

FRED
Of every day.

HARRY
Brilliant. Where'd you get it?

FRED
Nicked it from Filch's office, of course. First year.

GEORGE
Now listen. There are seven secret passageways out of the castle.

Fred points a gloved finger to a specific corridor on the map.

FRED
We'd recommend this one.

GEORGE
The One-Eyed Witch passageway.

FRED
It'll lead you straight to Honeyduke's cellar.

GEORGE
Be best hurry. Filch is heading this way.

FRED
Oh, and Harry, don't forget.

GEORGE
When you're done, just give it a tap and say...

FRED
Mischief managed.

GEORGE
Otherwise anyone can read it.

ON THE MAP:

The ink retracts, leaving the parchment blank once more.

INT. HONEYDUKES CELLAR - DAY

Silence. Sacks of flour and sugar are stacked high.

A heavy STONE SLAB in the floor grinds upward. HARRY peeks his head out from the darkness below, checking the coast."
"EXT. SNOWY WOODS - DAY

A heavy winter storm blankets the forest. The wind howls, whipping snow through the air.

HERMIONE GRANGER trudges through the deep drifts, her face wet with tears. She clutches her scarf, sobbing openly. RON WEASLEY follows a few paces behind, struggling to keep up, his expression filled with worry.

Hermione stumbles toward a cluster of massive, snow-covered tree roots. She collapses against a large rock, gasping for breath, trying to compose herself. She reaches out, her hand trembling against the frozen bark.

Through her tears, she notices something in the snow—fresh FOOTPRINTS leading around the bend of the roots.

She wipes her eyes and follows the trail. Ron stays close.

Rounding the massive trunk, they find HARRY POTTER.

Harry sits alone in a hollow between the roots, knees pulled to his chest, staring blankly into the white void. He is shivering, not from cold, but from shock.

Hermione kneels beside him, her voice trembling.

HERMIONE
Harry, what happened?

Harry doesn't look at her immediately. His jaw is set tight, eyes red behind his glasses.

HARRY
He was their friend.

Hermione freezes. Harry turns his head slightly, looking at the snow.

HARRY (CONT'D)
And he betrayed them.

Suddenly, Harry scrambles to his feet, his grief exploding into rage.

HARRY (CONT'D)
(shouting)
He was their friend!

His voice echoes through the empty, frozen forest. Ron and Hermione recoil slightly, stunned by the intensity of his outburst.

A wide shot reveals the three small figures dwarfed by the towering, ancient trees and the relentless snow.

Harry stares out into the distance, his breathing ragged. The tears on his face are cold, but his eyes burn with a new, dark resolve.

HARRY (CONT'D)
I hope he finds me.

He turns back to Hermione and Ron, his voice dropping to a chilling, steady tone.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Because when he does, I'm going to be ready.

The wind picks up, swirling around them.

HARRY (CONT'D)
When he does, I'm going to kill him."
"INT. DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS CLASSROOM - NIGHT

Moonlight spills through tall gothic windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room. A massive DRAGON SKELETON hangs suspended from the ceiling, swaying imperceptibly.

PROFESSOR LUPIN stands near the window, half-hidden in gloom. HARRY enters tentatively through the heavy wooden doors.

LUPIN
Come in.

Harry walks down the center aisle between rows of empty wooden desks. Lupin holds a folded piece of old parchment—the MARAUDER'S MAP—tapping it rhythmically against his hand.

LUPIN
Now, I haven't the faintest idea, Harry, how this map came to be in your possession.

Lupin steps into a pool of moonlight, his face stern.

LUPIN (CONT'D)
But quite frankly, I am astounded that you didn't hand it in. Did it never occur to you that this, in the hands of Sirius Black, is a map to you?

Harry stands before the teacher's desk, looking small and guilty.

HARRY
No.
(beat)
No, sir.

Lupin turns away, pacing toward a side table cluttered with glass jars and specimens. He sets the map down, his back to Harry.

LUPIN
You know, your father never set much store by the rules either, but he and your mother gave their lives to save yours.

Lupin turns back, leaning against the window frame. The moonlight catches the weariness in his eyes.

LUPIN (CONT'D)
And gambling their sacrifice by wandering around the castle, unprotected, with a killer on the loose, seems to me a pretty poor way to repay them.

Harry flinches slightly at the mention of his parents. Lupin steps closer, his voice dropping to a firm command.

LUPIN (CONT'D)
Now, I will not cover up for you again, Harry. Do you hear me?

HARRY
Yes, sir.

LUPIN
I want you to return to your dormitory and stay there. And don't take any detours. If you do, I shall know.

Harry nods. He turns and begins the long walk back up the aisle toward the exit. The room is silent save for his footsteps.

Halfway to the door, Harry stops. He hesitates, then turns back to face the Professor.

HARRY
Professor, just so you know, I don't think that map always works.

Lupin watches him from the shadows of the front desk.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Earlier on, it showed someone in the castle. Someone I know to be dead.

Lupin tilts his head, intrigued.

LUPIN
Oh, really? And who might that be?

HARRY
Peter Pettigrew.

The name lands with palpable weight. Lupin freezes. His expression shifts from curiosity to genuine, haunted shock.

LUPIN
(whispering)
That's not possible.

HARRY
It's just what I saw.

An uncomfortable silence hangs between them. Harry turns to the door.

HARRY (CONT'D)
Good night, Professor.

Harry slips out. The heavy door CREAKS shut, the latch clicking into place.

Lupin stands alone in the dark, cavernous room. He stares at the closed door, his breathing shallow, looking as if he's seen a ghost.

INT. DIVINATION CLASSROOM - DAY

Extreme Close Up on a CRYSTAL BALL. Milky white smoke swirls violently within the glass.

TRELAWNEY (V.O.)
Broaden your minds! You must look beyond the art of crystal gazing..."
"EXT. MOTEL - NIGHT

Through the iron bars of a fence, a lit window on the second floor frames a COUPLE. They laugh, unaware of the darkness below.

Down in the tall grass, four figures crouch in the shadows. The TENDER TRIO—CABELEIRA, ALICATE, and MARRECO—loom over a small boy, DADINHO.

DADINHO
(pointing)
Esse daí que é o hotel, Dadinho?

CABELEIRA
É esse aí mesmo.

Cabeleira turns to the group, keeping his voice low but firm.

CABELEIRA
Ai, te liga só, a gente vai entrar lá dentro, meter a mão no dinheiro e sair fora, hein? Sem morte, moro?

MARRECO
Tranquilidade.

Dadinho eyes the heavy revolver tucked in Alicate’s waistband. He reaches for it.

DADINHO
Ai, eu vou precisar dessa aqui.

Alicate slaps the boy's hand away, aggressive.

ALICATE
Não fode, moleque. Vai ficar metendo a mão na minha arma?

DADINHO
Nunca mais faz isso.

Alicate points a finger in Dadinho's face. Dadinho doesn't flinch. His eyes go wide with rage.

DADINHO (CONT'D)
Tira o dedo da minha cara, moleque.

ALICATE
(mocking)
Qual é?

DADINHO
Tira o dedo da minha cara, tira o dedo da minha cara.

Marreco steps in, sensing the boy is about to snap.

MARRECO
Porra, tá dando de criança, irmão?

Cabeleira intervenes. He pulls a snub-nose .38 from his pocket and hands it to Dadinho.

CABELEIRA
Isso aqui que é a tua.

Dadinho takes the gun. His demeanor shifts instantly from rage to professional satisfaction. He checks the cylinder.

DADINHO
Valeu, cara. Aí, bora, bora logo, bora logo.

Dadinho starts to move toward the fence, but Cabeleira blocks him with a heavy hand on the shoulder.

CABELEIRA
Vai ficar aqui fora, amigo.

DADINHO
(confused)
Qual foi?

CABELEIRA
Se liga só, tu vai ficar escutando aqui se o Samango brotar, amigo. Tu vai dar um tiro naquele vidro lá, ó.

Cabeleira points to the lit window above.

DADINHO
E por quê? Deixa eu ir prestar meu serviço.

CABELEIRA
Calma aí, calma aí, se liga só.

DADINHO
Pô, bolo o plano todinho, dou de presente pra você. Pô, esse cara não faz nada.

MARRECO
O que que ele faz com o bonde?

CABELEIRA
Só vê porque tu que deu ideia, amigo.

Dadinho stares up at them, pleading his case with desperate intensity.

CABELEIRA (CONT'D)
E quantas vezes eu vou ter que falar que tu é moleque? Quantas vezes?

Dadinho seethes. Defeated by his age.

CABELEIRA (CONT'D)
Pô, tu vem cá, a gente vai ficar na escota, moro?

Cabeleira signals the others.

CABELEIRA (CONT'D)
Chico, Chico. Vambora.

The Trio starts to move up the hill toward the motel entrance. Cabeleira glances back at the sulking boy.

CABELEIRA (CONT'D)
Pô, tu vai chegar a tua hora, amigo. Fica na tua curidão. Na verdade, tu tá muito afoito pro meu gosto.

Dadinho stands alone in the dark. He watches them go.

CABELEIRA (CONT'D)
Pô, fica aí, tu vai ficar aí.

Dadinho walks slowly to the iron gate. A vertical sign reads ""SAIDA"" (EXIT) in glowing blue and yellow letters.

He raises his small revolver, aiming down the sights at the sign. Practicing. Cold.

From inside the motel lobby, a SHOUT echoes.

CABELEIRA (O.S.)
Aí, piranha, essa porra aqui é um assalto!

Dadinho holds his aim. Unblinking."
"EXT. ROADSIDE - NIGHT

Darkness. Tall grass sways in the wind. Beams of FLASHLIGHTS cut through the night.

Several POLICE OFFICERS scour the brush, moving with urgency near a parked squad car. Its cherry top spins, casting a rhythmic red glow over the scene.

POLICE OFFICER
(shouting, pointing)
Forensics! Over there!

Another officer runs toward the spot.

A yellow VW BEETLE rumbles past the crime scene, headlights cutting through the mist.

INT. VW BEETLE - MOVING - NIGHT

Inside the cramped car, the mood is lighter, oblivious to the police outside. Streetlights rhythmically wash over the faces of the three occupants.

PAULISTA (40s, balding, sweaty) drives. In the passenger seat sits CARIOCA. In the back sits ROCKET (18).

PAULISTA
(glancing in the rearview)
...big melody, huh? You like it?

ROCKET
(shrugs)
I'm gonna tell you I don't know it, right, Copacabana?

Paulista chuckles, turning his head slightly to address Rocket.

PAULISTA
Open up here, look. Crazy recognizes crazy, right there.

He gives Rocket a knowing look.

PAULISTA (CONT'D)
You holding?

ROCKET
(smiling)
Yeah. Prepared.

PAULISTA
Ih, you got papers?

ROCKET
Mine ran out, man.

Carioca rummages in his pocket.

CARIOCA
Got it. Got it right here.

Carioca hands some rolling papers back to Rocket.

PAULISTA
Beauty.

Rocket takes the paper. He settles back, focused. His fingers work with practiced precision, teasing tobacco and herb into the crease of the paper.

ROCKET (V.O.)
I was always a master at the art of rolling a joint.

Rocket licks the adhesive strip—a slow, deliberate motion. He seals it.

ROCKET (V.O.)
If I had the same skill with women...

He inspects his handiwork. He strikes a match. The flame illuminates his face.

INSERT - THE JOINT:

As the flame touches the tip, we see the paper is recycled scrap—handwritten numbers (891230) burn away into ash.

ROCKET (V.O.)
...I wouldn't have burned so many chances to lose my virginity.

Rocket takes a drag, the cherry glowing bright orange.

EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

The Beetle takes a sharp turn around a bend, tires humming on the asphalt.

INT. VW BEETLE - MOVING - NIGHT

Smoke fills the cabin.

CARIOCA
Hey, Paulista. This is really cool, huh, my brother?

PAULISTA
(grinning)
Thanks, Carioca.

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

The Beetle shrinks into the distance, a pair of red taillights disappearing down a long stretch of road lined with streetlamps. 

In the far background, the faint lights of the police scene are still visible, smoke drifting across the highway."
"INT. BEDROOM - DAY

The room is cramped, walls peeling. RENATO (20s) stands cornered against the plaster. His FATHER (50s) is right in his face, furious.

SMACK.

The Father slaps Renato hard across the cheek. Renato takes it, turning his head but keeping his eyes averted.

FATHER
O que é que tu faz isso, Renato? Tu acha que eu sou otário, rapaz?

BUSCAPÉ (11) sits on the bottom bunk of a rickety bed, knees pulled to his chest, watching with wide, fearful eyes.

FATHER (CONT'D)
A partir de hoje, cês vai trabalhar comigo.

The Father points a calloused finger at Buscapé.

FATHER (CONT'D)
E teu irmão que é menor que tu vai junto, pra tomar conta de você.

He turns back to Renato, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

FATHER (CONT'D)
Se eu pegar... Olha bem a minha cara. Se eu pegar você de novo com merda de dinheiro dos outros, eu vou te arrebentar inteiro.
(pointing at Buscapé)
E você também, seu moleque.

The Father straightens up, disgusted.

FATHER (CONT'D)
Vão trocar a merda dessa roupa, vão trabalhar hoje.

He storms out of the room. The tension breaks.

Renato exhales sharply. He grimaces, rubbing his lower back.

RENATO
Ah, que merda.
(to Buscapé)
Olha só, ter irmão mordido é a maior furada. Sempre acaba sobrando pra gente.

BUSCAPÉ
Tá tranquilo?

Renato reaches into the back of his waistband, wincing slightly.

RENATO
Vai soltar sim, porque tá nervoso comigo. Daqui a pouco ele fica numa boa. Tu vai ver.

Renato pulls out a SNUB-NOSE REVOLVER. He sits on the edge of the bed next to Buscapé.

He opens a small wooden box, retrieving a cleaning rod. He begins to service the weapon with practiced ease. Buscapé watches, mesmerized, and reaches a hand toward the gun.

RENATO (CONT'D)
Não dá essa merda aqui, busca pé. Isso daqui não é pra você ficar metendo a mão, não.

Renato gently but firmly pushes Buscapé's hand away.

RENATO (CONT'D)
Você tem que estudar.

BUSCAPÉ
Você não tem medo de tomar um tiro, não?

RENATO
Eu tô nessa vida porque eu sou burro. Você não, você é muito inteligente. Você tem que mais é que estudar.

BUSCAPÉ
Eu só estudo porque não gosto de trabalhar fazendo força.

Renato pauses. He looks at his little brother, serious now.

RENATO
Faz uma promessa pra mim. Você nunca mais vai tocar a mão nessa arma. Promete?

Renato holds out his hand for a shake.

RENATO (CONT'D)
Toca aqui.

Buscapé hesitates, then touches Renato's hand. The deal is sealed.

Renato snaps the box shut and stands up, his mood suddenly lightening.

RENATO (CONT'D)
Ah, vamos se arrumar logo antes que o pai venha pra cá, bora.

He moves to the side, checking his reflection, then leans down to tease Buscapé.

RENATO (CONT'D)
Hoje eu vou vender muito peixe pro pai. E tu não fica rindo de mim não, hein. É, eu vi você rindo quando eu tomei um tapa na cara.

BUSCAPÉ
Eu não.

RENATO
É, não.

Renato smirks, turning away to get ready."
"INT. APARTMENT HIDEOUT - DAY

The room is a grimy, blue-walled drug den. NEGUINHO (20s, pink shirt) is mid-count, organizing cash and goods. He hears a commotion at the door.

NEGUINHO
Quem é?

The door bursts open. ZÉ PEQUENO (18, yellow tank top, wild afro) strides in, leading a pack of armed GANG MEMBERS, including BENÉ (18, glasses).

Neguinho freezes, trying to play it cool.

NEGUINHO
Porra, Dadinho.
(nervous smile)
Chega assim na minha boca, meu amigo.

Zé Pequeno gets right in Neguinho's face, eyes manic.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Quem falou que a boca é tua, rapá?

BENÉ
Quem falou que a boca é tua, cara?

NEGUINHO
Qual é, Dadinho?

Zé Pequeno snaps. He SLAPS the air, emphasizing every word.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Dadinho é o caralho, meu nome agora é Zé Pequeno, porra.

BENÉ
(laughing)
O nome dele é Zé Pequeno, tá entendendo?

Zé Pequeno raises a silver REVOLVER, leveling it at Neguinho's chest.

ZÉ PEQUENO
E tu vai cair, filha da puta.

BENÉ
(pushing the gun down)
Mata não, que ele já entendeu.
(to Neguinho)
Entendeu, neguinho?

Neguinho raises his hands, backing away, surrendering completely.

NEGUINHO
Pode ficar com a boca aí que eu não quero nada, não. Vou sair saindo que eu não quero arregação, valeu?

BUSCAPÉ (18, white shirt) stands frozen against the peeling blue wall. He eyes a loose REVOLVER sitting on a table nearby. The world slows down for him.

BUSCAPÉ (V.O.)
O certo era eu aproveitar aquela chance pra vingar a morte do meu irmão.

Buscapé stares at the gun. He doesn't move.

BUSCAPÉ (V.O.)
Pensar é fácil.

BANG! Zé Pequeno fires a round into Neguinho's foot. Neguinho collapses, screaming.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Vai ficar vivo, neguinho. Mas vai ficar vivo aqui. Trabalhando pra nós. Tá escutando?

Chaos erupts. Zé turns, adrenaline pumping. Buscapé tries to slip out the door unnoticed.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Ô! Ô!

Zé blocks Buscapé's path with the gun.

ZÉ PEQUENO (CONT'D)
Vai aonde, mulher?

Bené steps in, peering at Buscapé.

ZÉ PEQUENO (CONT'D)
Como é que é o seu nome, mulher?

BUSCAPÉ
(terrified)
Buscapé.

BENÉ
Buscapé, irmão do Marreco.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Marreco?

BENÉ
Falecido Marreco.

Zé Pequeno bursts into laughter, mocking the dead.

ZÉ PEQUENO
Fala, moleque, se adianta.

Zé turns to the room, addressing everyone, waving his gun like a scepter.

ZÉ PEQUENO (CONT'D)
Diz pra todo mundo agora que a boca do Zapé pertence ao Zé Pequeno. E a gente vai começar a vender pó. Tá escutando?

Bené dips his finger into a bag of white powder, rubs it on his gums, and grins.

BENÉ
Cocaína."
"EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

Darkness. The air is thick with humidity and tension. SANDRO CENOURA leans against a large tree, frantically checking the cylinder of his revolver. He snaps it shut, eyes darting.

MANÉ GALINHA crouches beside him, sweat glistening on his forehead. He looks eager, hungry for an opportunity.

MANÉ GALINHA
Os caras roubaram a maior grana do motel.

SANDRO CENOURA
(distracted, checking weapon)
Eu tô sabendo, cara. Eu tô sabendo.

MANÉ GALINHA
Se a gente pegasse essa grana?

Sandro stops. He looks Mané dead in the eye, his intensity spiking.

SANDRO CENOURA
Atua comigo, cara.

Sandro leans in, voice low and dangerous.

SANDRO CENOURA (CONT'D)
A minha não é essa, não. Meu negócio é passar o rodo nesses caras.

Mané recoils slightly, defensive.

MANÉ GALINHA
Tá invocado comigo? Desde quando roubar preto ladrão é crime?

SANDRO CENOURA
Achar esses caras não vai ser um problema, né?

Sandro gestures vaguely to the darkness around them, confident.

SANDRO CENOURA (CONT'D)
Tô com língua de tamanduá na Cidade de Deus. Se ele derrocando eles pra nós, eu já vou entrar e pegar meu irmão.

INSERT - MACRO SHOTS:

A single DROP OF WATER slides down the spine of a dark, waxy LEAF.

In the murky black water of a stream, a FISH glides silently past the camera.

EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

CLOSE ON MANÉ GALINHA. He wipes sweat from his upper lip, his breathing heavy. The waiting is torture.

Suddenly—POPS of gunfire in the distance. The gang snaps to attention.

SANDRO CENOURA
Estão trocando tiro lá em cima. Vamos lá.

Sandro signals to the GANG MEMBERS perched in the branches and hiding in the brush.

SANDRO CENOURA (CONT'D)
Eu vou trocando lá em cima.
(pointing to Mané)
Vai por baixo. Vamos chocar os caras. Vamos lá.

The gang moves out, shadows merging with the trees.

EXT. CIDADE DE DEUS - DAWN

A wide, static shot of the housing project. Rows of identical houses stretch out under a gloomy, pre-dawn sky. Silence hangs over the neighborhood."
"INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

JOEL sits hunched on the edge of a sofa, still wearing his coat. He holds a crumpled piece of paper in his hands, staring at it intensely.

INSERT - THE PAPER:

A collage-style letter. A photo of two crude dolls—one with red yarn hair, one with brown—is taped to the center. Arrows point to them labeled ""Me"" and ""You.""

Handwritten text surrounds the image: ""Dear, dear Joel... LOOK: You and me, on the Charles river!""

JOEL (V.O.)
Look, you and me on the Charles River.

Joel's eyes scan the scribbled handwriting further down the page.

JOEL (V.O.)
I could die right now, Clem. I'm just happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be.

Footsteps approach. Joel flinches, panic in his eyes. He frantically shoves the letter into his messenger bag on the floor.

CLEMENTINE enters from the hallway, beaming, wearing a scarf and coat.

CLEMENTINE
So excited.

JOEL
(nervous smile)
Hey. I'm excited, too.

CLEMENTINE
Cool.

She starts to take off her coat. Joel reaches into his bag, fumbling for something.

JOEL
Oh, uh, I, uh... I got you this... thing.

He pulls out a small, red-wrapped box.

JOEL (CONT'D)
Um, happy early Valentine's Day.

Clementine freezes. Her expression softens into shock. She takes the box.

CLEMENTINE
Wow.

JOEL
(shrugs)
I don't know. Open it up.

She carefully peels back the paper and opens the hinged box. Inside lies a vintage pendant on a chain.

CLEMENTINE
Oh.

She lifts it out, the metal catching the dim light. Her eyes well up immediately.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
It's gorgeous.

JOEL
You like it?

CLEMENTINE
(voice breaking)
Yeah, it's just my taste, really. God, I've never gone out with a guy who bought me a piece of jewelry I liked.

She looks at him, tears spilling over. Joel smiles, relieved and adoring.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
Thank you.

She leans in. They share a tender, lingering kiss.

Clementine pulls back, overwhelmed, and turns toward the bedroom, clutching the necklace.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
Okay.

JOEL
Okay.

He watches her go, then stands up to follow her."
"EXT. MONTAUK BEACH - DAY

A grey, freezing morning. The Atlantic Ocean churns violently against the shore. Fog obscures the horizon.

JOEL (30s) walks alone near the water's edge, huddled inside a heavy black coat and wool beanie. He carries a leather briefcase.

JOEL (V.O.)
It's goddamn freezing on this beach. I'm talking February. Brilliant, Joel.

LATER

Joel sits on the wooden steps of a beach access ramp. He holds a spiral-bound sketchbook, pen in hand. He stops, noticing the binding.

INSERT - SKETCHBOOK:

Jagged edges of paper remain where sheets have been torn away.

JOEL (V.O.)
Pages are ripped out. Don't remember doing that.

He smooths the paper and begins to write.

JOEL (V.O.)
It appears this is my first entry in two years.

EXT. DUNES - MOMENTS LATER

Joel descends the weathered staircase, stepping past broken sand fencing onto the beach.

He crouches near the surf, poking at the wet ground with a stick.

JOEL (V.O.)
Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks.

He stands, brushing his hands, and looks out at the ocean. The wind whips his coat.

Down the beach, a figure approaches—CLEMENTINE. She wears a bright orange hoodie that cuts through the gloom.

She walks past him. Joel watches her go, his expression guarded and sad.

JOEL (V.O.)
If only I could meet someone new. I guess my chances of that happening are somewhat diminished. Seeing that I'm incapable of making eye contact with a woman I don't know.

EXT. BEACH HOUSE - DAY

VIEW FROM INSIDE:

Through a large bay window, the grey ocean is visible. Joel steps onto the deck outside. He leans in, peering through the glass into the dark, empty house.

JOEL (V.O.)
Maybe I should get back together with Naomi. She was nice. Nice is good.

EXT. BEACH HOUSE PORCH - CONTINUOUS

LOW ANGLE looking up at Joel standing under the eaves. He looks out at the sky, lost in thought.

JOEL (V.O.)
She loved me.

WIDE SHOT:

The massive, grey-shingled house stands imposing against the dunes. Joel is a small, solitary figure on the porch."
"INT. BLANKET FORT - NIGHT

A patchwork quilt of vibrant reds, blues, and golds forms a low ceiling. Two pairs of bare feet stick out from the bottom, resting on a leopard-print rug.

The camera TRACKS SLOWLY beneath the heavy fabric, entering a warm, amber-lit sanctuary. 

JOEL and CLEMENTINE lie facing each other, cocooned in the intimate space. The outside world doesn't exist here.

CLEMENTINE
(whispering)
Jolie?

JOEL
Yeah.
(beat)
Tangerine?

Clementine shifts, her eyes searching his face, suddenly vulnerable.

CLEMENTINE
Am I ugly?

Joel looks at her, surprised by the question.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
When I was a kid, I thought I was.

She lets out a shaky breath, wiping a tear that escapes too quickly.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
Can't believe I'm crying already.
(beat)
Sometimes I think people don't understand how lonely it is to be a kid. Like... you don't matter.

JOEL
Sure.

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY (FLASHBACK)

GRAINY, 8MM HOME VIDEO FOOTAGE.

YOUNG CLEMENTINE (8) sits on a retro floral chair, wearing a cowgirl hat. She looks small, framed by the large furniture.

CLEMENTINE (V.O.)
So, I'm eight, and I have these toys, these dolls.

The image BLURS and refocuses on a specific doll in her lap.

CLEMENTINE (V.O.)
My favorite is this ugly girl doll who I call Clementine.

EXTREME CLOSE-UP on the doll's face. It has matted hair and strange, staring green eyes. It is grotesque yet loved.

CLEMENTINE (V.O.)
And I keep yelling at her, ""You can't be ugly. Be pretty.""

INT. BLANKET FORT - NIGHT

Back under the covers. The amber light glows through the fabric weave. Clementine stares past Joel, lost in the memory.

CLEMENTINE
It's weird. Like if I can transform her, I would magically change too.

Joel reaches out, his hand gently cupping her face, grounding her.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
Jolie, don't ever leave me.

He pulls her in. They kiss—desperate and tender. The sound of the memory echoes around them.

YOUNG CLEMENTINE (V.O.)
Be pretty. Be pretty. Be pretty.

JOEL
(whispering into the kiss)
Yes, we are.

Suddenly, the light shifts. The edges of the blanket fort begin to darken, the fabric dissolving into shadow. The reality of the memory is breaking down.

Joel pulls back, looking up at the void consuming their sanctuary. Panic sets in. He shouts to the invisible erasers wiping his mind.

JOEL (CONT'D)
Please, let me keep this memory. Just this one.

The warmth vanishes. Darkness swallows them.

YOUNG CLEMENTINE (V.O.)
(cold, distant)
I don't want to hold your hand."
"INT. JOEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a computer monitor and a few lamps. 

STAN and MARY are asleep, tangled together in a leather recliner, half-naked under a plaid blanket. In the background, JOEL lies unconscious on a makeshift bed, a metallic brain-scanning helmet strapped to his head.

An electronic CHIME sounds from the computer. The rhythmic processing noise stops abruptly.

Stan stirs, eyes fluttering open. He looks at the monitor.

STAN
It stopped.

MARY
(sleepy)
What?

STAN
It stopped erasing.

Stan scrambles out from under the blanket, completely naked. He stumbles toward the makeshift workstation set up on a small table.

STAN
Oh, shit. This is terrible.

He hunches over the keyboard, typing frantically. The screen displays a complex map of brain activity.

STAN (CONT'D)
He's off the map. He's off the map.

MARY
Where?

STAN
(snapping)
I don't know where! What do you mean? I don't know where!

Stan grabs a pack of cigarettes, tossing things aside. His hands are shaking.

STAN (CONT'D)
This is bad. This is very, very bad news. Where are my glasses?

He spots his thick-rimmed glasses on the table and jams them onto his face. He leans in close to the monitor, checking Joel's vitals.

STAN (CONT'D)
Okay. Crap. Okay.

He paces back to the keyboard, unsure.

STAN (CONT'D)
What do we do? What do I do?

Mary sits up in the chair, clutching the blanket to her chest, looking dazed.

MARY
What should we do?

STAN
I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!

MARY
What should we do?

STAN
Crap! Crap! I don't know, I just said that!

MARY
I'm sorry!

STAN
I don't know!

MARY
Well, we have to do something! He could wake up!

Stan holds up a hand, trying to think, but looking like he's about to hyperventilate.

STAN
Quiet! You're freaking me out! Shh!

MARY
...fully and... and half-baked.

STAN
Okay. Um.

MARY
(dreamily)
That sounds so good.

STAN
Oh, shit.

MARY
I'm hungry.

STAN
Oh, shit.

Mary suddenly gasps, a look of realization washing over her stoned features.

MARY
Oh. Oh.

STAN
What? What? What?

MARY
We should call Howard.

Stan recoils as if slapped.

STAN
No way! No, sir, man. This is my... I can handle this.

He turns back to the computer, typing uselessly.

STAN (CONT'D)
I can't call Howard.

MARY
It's a half-baked cookie! He's...

Mary stands up, wrapping the blanket tight, pleading with him.

MARY (CONT'D)
There's no time to fuck around!

STAN
I got this under control!

MARY
What are you talking about?

STAN
Stop fucking around!

Stan stares at the screen. Defeated.

STAN (CONT'D)
Okay, I'll call Howard."
"INT. JOEL'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The living room is dim, cluttered with books and strange, handmade PUPPETS perched atop an old television set.

JOEL (40s), wearing a green striped shirt, stands in the middle of the room eating Chinese takeout with chopsticks. He stops mid-bite, eyes darting around nervously.

JOEL
There's someone here.

He listens to the silence. He looks toward the hallway, paranoid.

JOEL (CONT'D)
He's still here anyway.

ON THE COUCH

CLEMENTINE (30s), hair dyed a vivid orange, sits cross-legged in a kimono. She eats from a carton, completely unbothered.

CLEMENTINE
I don't see anyone.

Joel stares at her, disconnected. He turns and walks into the shadows of the apartment.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Joel walks slowly down the dark corridor. He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at a patch of light on the wall, inspecting his own hands as if reality is slipping.

INT. LIVING ROOM - LATER

A JUMP CUT disrupts the scene.

Joel is suddenly lying flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, motionless.

Clementine, now stripped down to a black slip and tights, paces frantically above him. The atmosphere has shifted from quiet to volatile.

CLEMENTINE
I'm fucking crawling out of my skin.

She steps right over Joel's body as if he were a rug. He doesn't flinch.

Clementine storms toward the closet, yanking the door open and rummaging through clothes.

CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
I left you at the flea market.

INSERT - TV SCREEN

A black-and-white movie plays. A MAN in a suit holds a book, speaking with dramatic flair.

MAN ON TV
The first thing to do is hide in the air.

BACK TO SCENE

Another JUMP CUT. Joel is now sitting upright on the couch, looking defeated. He holds a small drawing in his hands, staring at it with sadness.

MAN ON TV (O.S.)
Sip in a cup of powdered wave hot.

Joel sits in the dim light, the memory looping and fragmenting around him."
"INT. EGO'S OFFICE - DAY

CLOSE ON:

A TYPEWRITER.

Long, pale fingers strike the keys with lethal precision. CLACK. CLACK. CLACK. The rhythm is slow, deliberate.

ANTON EGO sits in the shadows, his face gaunt, eyes heavy-lidded. He doesn't look up.

ANTON EGO
What is it, Ambrister?

The camera ZOOMS OUT rapidly, revealing the room's architecture: it is long, narrow, and high-ceilinged—shaped unmistakably like a coffin. 

At the very far end, standing in the sliver of light from the open door, is AMBRISTER. He looks tiny in the cavernous space.

AMBRISTER
Gusteau's.

Ego continues typing. Unbothered.

ANTON EGO
Finally closing, is it?

AMBRISTER
No.

ANTON EGO
More financial trouble?

AMBRISTER
No, it's...

Ego pauses. He lifts a glass of red wine to his lips, swirling it boredly.

ANTON EGO
Announced a new line of microwave egg rolls? What? What? Spit it out!

AMBRISTER
It's come back. It's popular.

Ego's eyes widen. He SPRAYS his mouthful of wine across the typewriter.

He coughs, wiping red droplets from his chin, staring at the machine in horror.

ANTON EGO
I haven't reviewed Gusteau's in years.

AMBRISTER
No, sir.

Ego stands, his silhouette long and spindly against the shuttered window. He moves to a wooden card file on his desk, fingers spidering through the index cards.

ANTON EGO
My last review condemned it to the tourist trade.

AMBRISTER
Yes, sir.

Ego pulls a card, reading his own words with relish.

ANTON EGO
I said, ""Gusteau has finally found his rightful place in history right alongside another equally famous chef... Monsieur Boyardee.""

AMBRISTER
Touché.

Ego slams the card file shut.

ANTON EGO
That is where I left it. That was my last word.

He turns, stepping out of the shadows. He looms over the much shorter Ambrister, who clutches a clipboard to his chest.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
The last word.

AMBRISTER
(shrinking)
Yes.

Ego picks up a long wooden matchstick from his desk. He holds it delicately between his fingers, inspecting it.

ANTON EGO
Then tell me, Ambrister.

Ego leans in close. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
How could it be...

SNAP.

Ego breaks the matchstick in two.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
...popular?"
"INT. GUSTEAU'S - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

The dining room is bathed in warm, red hues. Waiters bustle in the background, but at table one, the air is frigid.

MUSTAFA, the head waiter, stands beside the table, sweating. He forces a trembling smile. Seated before him is ANTON EGO, reading the menu with an air of profound boredom.

MUSTAFA
Do you know what you would like this evening, sir?

Ego slowly lowers the menu. He peers over his spectacles.

ANTON EGO
Yes, I think I do. After reading a lot of overheated puffery about your new cook, you know what I'm craving?

Ego closes the menu with a soft SNAP.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
A little perspective.

Mustafa blinks, his smile faltering.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
That's it. I'd like some fresh, clear, well-seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that?

MUSTAFA
(confused)
With... uh, what, sir?

ANTON EGO
Perspective. Fresh out, I take it?

MUSTAFA
I am...

ANTON EGO
Very well. Since you're all out of perspective and no one else seems to have it in this bloody town, I'll make you a deal.

Ego steepled his fingers, his voice dropping to a silky purr.

ANTON EGO (CONT'D)
You provide the food, I'll provide the perspective. Which would go nicely with a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947.

Mustafa fidgets, clutching his order pad.

MUSTAFA
I'm afraid I... um... your dinner selection?

Suddenly, Ego LUNGES forward. The camera ZOOMS IN rapidly as his face fills Mustafa's personal space. Mustafa recoils.

ANTON EGO
(intense whisper)
Tell your Chef Linguini that I want whatever he dares to serve me. Tell him to hit me with his best shot.

Ego holds the stare for a beat, then abruptly sits back, turning away dismissively. Mustafa, rattled, scurries off.

AT A NEARBY TABLE

A short man in a trench coat, beret, and dark sunglasses lowers his menu. It is SKINNER, spying.

SKINNER
(sotto voce)
I will have whatever he is having.

INT. TRUNK - NIGHT

Darkness. Bars. The cold interior of a cage.

REMY lies curled in the corner, defeated. The gloom is broken by a soft, ethereal glow.

GUSTEAU (O.S.)
So, we have given up.

Remy opens one eye. The ghost of GUSTEAU floats beside the cage bars, looking down with gentle concern.

REMY
(weakly)
Why do you say that?"
"INT. SKINNER'S OFFICE - DAY

SKINNER, the diminutive chef, is in the throes of a full-blown meltdown. He clutches his face, pacing frantically.

SKINNER
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

He spins around and KICKS a filing cabinet drawer shut with a violent SLAM. He grabs the edges of the cabinet, hyperventilating.

The LAWYER stands in the center of the room, perfectly still, holding a tiny espresso cup. He is the picture of calm indifference.

LAWYER
The DNA matches. The timing works. Everything checks out. He is Gusteau's son.

Skinner turns, his face a mask of despair.

SKINNER
This can't just happen! The whole thing is a set-up. The boy knows.

Skinner rushes to the window looking out onto the kitchen floor. He pries two slats of the blinds apart.

SKINNER (CONT'D)
Look at him out there, pretending to be an idiot.

THROUGH THE WINDOW:

LINGUINI stands in the kitchen, looking around vacantly, holding a mop bucket. He looks harmless.

BACK TO SCENE:

Skinner turns back to the Lawyer, eyes wide with paranoia.

SKINNER
He's toying with my mind like a cat with a ball of... something.

Skinner twiddles his fingers, grasping for the word.

LAWYER
String?

SKINNER
Yes! Playing dumb, taunting me with that rat.

LAWYER
Rat?

SKINNER
Yes, he's consulting with it! Deliberately trying to make me think it's important.

LAWYER
The rat.

SKINNER
Exactly!

Skinner points a trembling finger at the Lawyer. The Lawyer stares blankly, taking a sip of espresso.

LAWYER
Is the rat important?

SKINNER
Of course not! He just wants me to think that it is.

Skinner drops to a crouch, creeping across the rug, his voice dropping to a manic whisper.

SKINNER (CONT'D)
Oh, I see the theatricality of it. A rat appears on the boy's first night. I order him to kill it. And now he wants me to see it everywhere.

Skinner leaps up, waving his arms like a spooky ghost, mocking his own sanity.

SKINNER (CONT'D)
Ooh! Ooh, it's here! No, it isn't, it's here! Am I seeing things? Am I crazy? Is there a phantom rat or is there not?

He stops abruptly, holding up a hand to silence the imaginary voices. He squeezes his eyes shut, composing himself.

SKINNER (CONT'D)
But... oh, no. I refuse to be sucked into this little game...

He opens one eye, twitching.

SKINNER (CONT'D)
Of...

Skinner freezes, his face contorted in a rictus of suppressed rage. He holds the pose, vibrating slightly.

The Lawyer stares at him. A long, uncomfortable silence stretches between them.

LAWYER
Should I be concerned about this?
(beat)
About... you?"
"EXT. EXTERMINATOR SHOP - NIGHT

Rain lashes against the cobblestones of a dark Paris street. Two rats, DJANGO and REMY, stand before a large glass display window.

Django stares up grimly. Remy looks confused, water dripping from his nose.

DJANGO
Take a good, long look, Remy.

Remy follows his father's gaze upward.

INSIDE THE WINDOW:

A macabre display. Dozens of DEAD RATS hang by their necks from metal traps, suspended in rows against a cold green background.

REMY
(gasps)
(sharp inhale)

Remy's eyes go wide with horror. He trembles.

DJANGO (O.S.)
Now, this is what happens when a rat gets a little too comfortable around humans.

ON REMY:

He stares, paralyzed. The reflection of the streetlights dances in his terrified eyes.

DJANGO
The world we live in belongs to the enemy.

The camera PANS across shelves lined with bottles of poison. Labels scream: ""RAT KILLER,"" ""INSTANT DEATH,"" ""POWDER.""

DJANGO (O.S.)
We must live carefully.

A SNAP-TRAP holds a dusty, grey corpse. Its teeth bared in a final grimace.

DJANGO (O.S.)
We look out for our own kind, Remy.

BACK ON THE STREET:

Django turns to his son, his face hard but pleading. He gestures with a paw.

DJANGO
Remy, when all is said and done, we're all we've got.

Django waits for the lesson to sink in. Remy stares at the ground, processing. Then, he lifts his head. His expression shifts from fear to defiance.

REMY
No.

DJANGO
What?

REMY
No.

Remy turns to face his father fully.

REMY
Dad, I don't believe it.

Django blinks, taken aback.

REMY (CONT'D)
You're telling me that the future is, can only be, more of this?

Django sighs, his patience wearing thin. He gestures back to the shop window.

DJANGO
This is the way things are. You can't change nature.

REMY
Change *is* nature, Dad.

Remy clutches his paws to his chest, imploring.

REMY (CONT'D)
The part that we can influence. And it starts when we decide.

Remy turns away from the shop, away from his father, and looks down the wet, dark street.

DJANGO
Where are you going?

Remy glances back over his shoulder. A small smile touches his lips.

REMY
With luck. Forward.

Remy scampers off into the rain, leaving Django alone in the puddle-strewn alley.

EXT. PARIS STREET - DAY

The gloom of the rain dissolves into a bright, golden morning sky.

Clouds drift over classic Parisian architecture. The camera TILTS DOWN to a bustling street corner.

A red awning flutters in the breeze above a parked blue scooter. From a low vantage point—a sewer grate or cellar window—Remy watches the human world, full of life and possibility."
"EXT. GUSTEAU'S - NIGHT

The neon sign of Chef Gusteau—five stars shining proudly—illuminates the Parisian night sky. The fountains below spray gently.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

LINGUINI and COLETTE stand amidst the copper pots and checkered tiles. They gaze into each other's eyes, a new understanding between them.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.

Linguini leans down. REMY, EMILE, and DJANGO watch from the floor. Remy smiles, hopeful.

Colette grabs Linguini by the lapels and pulls him into a deep, passionate kiss. 

Linguini’s red sneakers lift slightly off the cobblestones as Colette’s clogs plant firmly.

EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

ANTON EGO, tall and somber in his black coat, walks down the cobblestone alley away from the restaurant. He pauses under a streetlamp.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
Last night I experienced something new. An extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source.

Ego turns. He looks down at the ground.

REMY stands there. Small. Vulnerable. Waiting.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core.

Ego offers a small, respectful bow. A silent acknowledgment between master and artist.

Remy watches him go, flanked by Emile and Django. The rats look puzzled, but Remy beams.

EXT. GUSTEAU'S - NIGHT

Remy stands on a railing, looking up at the GUSTEAU'S sign. The phantom of Gusteau seems to wink in the neon.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook.

INT. SEWER - NIGHT

Brief flashes of the rat colony gathered around a fire, eating a meal prepared with care.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
But I realize only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.

INT. EGO'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Ego lies in bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years, he looks truly at peace. A soft smile plays on his lips.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France.

INT. LINGUINI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Colette sleeps soundly in purple sheets, the Eiffel Tower glowing in the window behind her.

EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Remy sits on a ledge, gazing out at the sprawling lights of Paris. The wind ruffles his fur.

ANTON EGO (V.O.)
I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

Sunlight streams in. Linguini and Colette huddle over a newspaper. The headline reads: ""FRANCE'S FINEST.""

LINGUINI
It was a great night. The happiest of my life.

Colette beams at him. Linguini wraps her in a joyous hug, burying his face in her neck.

LINGUINI
But the only thing predictable about life...

Linguini walks to the back door and throws it open.

EXT. ALLEYWAY - DAY

A SEA OF RATS waits outside, expectant."
"EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

High angle on a narrow, rain-slicked canyon of brick. HARTIGAN (60s, weathered, trench coat) stumbles through the shadows. A glowing white X-shaped scar marks his forehead.

He stops, clutching his chest, face grimacing in sudden agony.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
Halfway to the warehouse where Weevil said they took her and it hits. Wicked spot of indigestion. At least that's what I pray it is.

He leans against the rough brick, trying to steady himself.

CUT TO:

A pool of harsh light from a streetlamp. A sleek JAGUAR CONVERTIBLE sits parked.

Two men stand beside it: DOUGLAS KLUMP (small, wearing a cap) and BURT SCHLUB (massive, bald, imposing). Klump is in the middle of a lecture.

KLUMP
...light-hearted and momentary digression. The briefest indulgement in automotive pleasure. For cheap thrills. Such short-lived durability, Mr. Schlub, you would risk engendering ill will on the part of our employers.

BACK TO HARTIGAN:

Watching from the darkness. He studies them.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
Burt Schlub and Douglas Klump. Two... any dirty job there is. Thugs with delusions of eloquence.

ON KLUMP AND SCHLUB:

Klump gestures theatrically at the vehicle.

KLUMP
This Jaguar you so pinheadedly covet, temporarily remanded to our custody though it may be, remains the property of the son of Senator Roark.

Hartigan steps out of the void, sliding a heavy LEAD PIPE from his coat sleeve.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
Gotta keep this quiet. Take 'em down fast.

Klump doesn't see him coming. He continues his sermon to the giant.

KLUMP
A single dent, the merest scratch thereupon, and the before-mentioned consequences of which I so recently made mention, shall surely be... athwart us.

WHAM.

Hartigan strikes Schlub first—a brutal blow that drops the giant instantly.

Klump spins around, startled—

CRACK.

Hartigan backhands him with the pipe. Klump collapses without a sound.

Hartigan stands over them for a beat, then the pain returns. He drops the pipe and clutches his heart, staggering back against a wooden door frame.

He gasps for air, sweat beading on his face.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
Catch your breath. Give your heart time to slow down.

He doubles over, fighting the seizure in his chest.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
But it won't slow down.

He grits his teeth, forcing his body to obey through sheer will.

HARTIGAN (V.O.)
Get over it. She needs you.

He pushes off the wall and disappears into the warehouse entrance."
"EXT. OLD TOWN ALLEY - NIGHT

Heavy rain slashes through the high-contrast darkness of Sin City. Steam rises from the vents.

DWIGHT stands with his back pressed against wet brick, a .45 automatic in his hand. He looks up toward the fire escape, exasperated.

DWIGHT
Are you having a good time humiliating me like this for no damn reason at all?

GAIL (O.S.)
That's far enough, Dwight.

Dwight freezes. He turns his head.

GAIL steps out of the shadows. She wears a studded collar, leather straps, and mesh. She holds a MICRO UZI leveled directly at Dwight's chest.

GAIL
We've been on top of these peckerwoods since they first showed up with that cop behind them. Everything's under control.

She lowers the Uzi slightly, a smirk playing on her lips.

GAIL (CONT'D)
Enjoy the show.

Dwight stares at her, the tension in his jaw visible.

DWIGHT (V.O.)
There's no use arguing with her. The ladies are their own enforcers.

GAIL
So how's the barmaid? You know, the one that never shuts up.

DWIGHT
Not right now, Gail.

GAIL
Ooh. Wound up a little tight, aren't we?

She steps into his personal space, looking him up and down.

GAIL (CONT'D)
That's your whole problem, Dwight. You worry too much. That and your lousy taste in women. These days, anyway.

DWIGHT
Damn it, Gail. Not right now.

GAIL
Those clowns down the way. They some of the barmaid's boyfriends?

DWIGHT
One of them thinks he is. He's out of control. I followed him here to make sure he didn't hurt any of the girls.

GAIL
(sarcastic)
Us helpless little girls.

Gail produces a cigarette. She leans in close to Dwight, waiting. He pulls out a Zippo lighter.

DWIGHT (V.O.)
All kinds of death is about to hit less than twenty yards ahead of us.

Dwight flicks the lighter. The FLAME illuminates their faces in the stark darkness. He lights her cigarette.

DWIGHT (V.O.)
And still it's hard to take my eyes off her.

Gail takes a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that mixes with the rain.

GAIL
Us girls are safe as we can be, Lancelot.

She looks past him, eyes narrowing toward the street.

GAIL (CONT'D)
Those boys in that Chrysler... they're one mistake away from seeing what Miho can do.

A cruel smile cuts across her face.

GAIL (CONT'D)
And she's been aching for some practice."
"INT. MARVIN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

A high-contrast NOIR world. Shadows slice across the room through arched windows.

A toy fighter plane hangs suspended from the ceiling, frozen in a nosedive. Below it, MARVIN sits on the edge of a small, child-sized bed. He is a mountain of a man, his face a patchwork of white bandages.

MARVIN (V.O.)
Mom still hasn't changed a thing in this room. Every week she dusts it all off so it looks like it was only yesterday that I moved out.

Marvin leans forward, his leather coat creaking. He reaches for an old footlocker at the end of the bed.

MARVIN (V.O.)
Every time I come visit she has me sleeping here and the old smells make me cry like they do right now.

He unlatches the trunk. Inside, amidst folded clothes, lies a heavy PISTOL.

MARVIN (V.O.)
I knew Gladys would be safe here.

Marvin lifts the gun. It gleams in the moonlight. He handles it with tender reverence, checking the slide.

MARVIN (V.O.)
I call her Gladys after one of the sisters from school. She's almost lived up to the name.

He presses the gun against his bandaged cheek, closing his eyes. A moment of communion.

MARVIN (V.O.)
For a while we just get the feel of each other back. Good as ever.

Marvin stands. He looms in front of the tall windows, silhouetted against the white light of the city outside. He holds the gun up, ready.

MARVIN (V.O.)
I tell her about Goldie and what we have to do.

The bedroom door CREAKS open. A rectangle of blinding white light floods the room.

MOM stands in the doorway, squinting into the dark.

MOM
Marvin?

Marvin whips the gun behind his back instantly.

MOM
Is that you, baby?

MARVIN
Yes, Mom. I'm sorry I woke you up.

MOM
I couldn't sleep for the worry. There were men here looking for you. They weren't police.

Marvin stands stiffly in the shadows, towering over her.

MARVIN
It was about my job. I got a new job. It's night work.

Mom steps closer, peering up at his battered, taped-up face.

MOM
What did you do to your face?

MARVIN
Why, uh, cut myself shaving.

MOM
(softly)
You're getting confused again, aren't you?

Marvin looks down at her, his silhouette stark against the window panes.

MARVIN
Mom, I feel better than I have in years."
"INT. BARN - NIGHT

High contrast noir. Shadows swallow the room, save for the stark light hitting NANCY CALLAHAN.

She hangs suspended from a wooden beam, wrists bound by rope above her head. Her blonde hair is matted with sweat. Her face is streaked with tears and glitter.

CRACK.

A whip lashes across her body. Nancy SCREAMS, her body convulsing in agony.

CRACK.

Another strike. She writhes, gasping for air.

THE YELLOW BASTARD steps into the light. He is a nightmare made flesh—skin a sickly, glowing yellow, shirtless, with a distended belly and a twisted, goblin-like face.

YELLOW BASTARD
Don't you think I'm tired?

He pauses, breathing heavily, enjoying her pain.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
Is that it? You think I'm getting tired?

Nancy trembles, eyes wide with terror.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
You're the one who's gonna crack.

He leans in, his voice a gravelly rasp.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
You'll crack. You'll cry and beg.

He grins, revealing rotting teeth.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
You'll scream. Oh, yeah, you'll scream, you big, fat, ugly cow.

His face contorts with manic glee.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
You'll scream!

CRACK.

He lashes her again. Nancy HOWLS, arching her back.

The Yellow Bastard moves in close behind her, pressing his yellow, sweaty chest against her back. He whispers into her ear, intimate and repulsive.

YELLOW BASTARD
I was thinking the whip was the worst I could do. That was foreplay.

Nancy shudders, trying to pull away from his touch.

NANCY
(breathless, defiant)
Hartigan was right about you.

The Yellow Bastard freezes.

NANCY (CONT'D)
You can't get it up unless I scream.

She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with him. Despite the fear, there is venom in her voice.

NANCY (CONT'D)
You're pathetic.

The Yellow Bastard stares at her, his grin vanishing.

NANCY (CONT'D)
You're pathetic.

He steps back, his expression shifting from lust to cold, murderous rage. He reaches to his belt and unsheathes a jagged HUNTING KNIFE.

YELLOW BASTARD
It's not wise at all to make fun of me like that.

He holds the blade up, the metal glinting in the harsh light.

YELLOW BASTARD (CONT'D)
It brings out the worst in me."
"EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT

Heavy, stylized RAIN lashes down in stark white streaks against a pitch-black sky. A massive suspension bridge looms in the darkness.

MARV, a hulk of a man in a long leather trench coat, trudges along the pedestrian walkway. He ignores the deluge, his face set in a grim scowl.

MARV (V.O.)
I keep coming back to that cop I just killed and what he told me. I was pretty steamed about what he'd done to Lucille, so I took my time with that son of a bitch.

Marv continues his relentless pace, head down against the wind.

MARV (V.O.)
It wasn't until I showed him all those pieces of himself that he said it. Just a name.

Marv stops. He looks up into the void of the storm.

MARV (V.O.)
Patrick Henry Roark.

A spectral, high-contrast vision of CARDINAL ROARK manifests in the rain, towering over Marv like a statue.

MARV (V.O.)
Man of the cloth. Could have become president, but he chose to serve God. And along the way, he just happened to become the most powerful man in the state.

In the vision, the Cardinal is joined by KEVIN—a small, creepy man in glasses—and SENATOR ROARK, a man with a thick mustache.

MARV (V.O.)
He's brought down mayors and governors like they were nothing. He even made his rotten brother a U.S. senator without breaking a sweat.

The visions fade, leaving Marv alone in the downpour. He staggers slightly, overwhelmed.

MARV (V.O.)
And here he's gonna get killed in the name of a dead hooker.

Marv clutches his chest, his breath hitching.

MARV (V.O.)
I'm getting used to the idea. More and more I'm lacking the sound of it.

Suddenly, Marv collapses to his knees on the wet pavement. Splash.

MARV (V.O.)
Then it hits me like a kick in the nuts.

He throws his head back, looking straight up into the falling rain. His face is a map of scars and water.

MARV (V.O.)
What if I'm wrong?

CLOSE ON MARV

His eyes dart around, panic setting in behind the toughness.

MARV (V.O.)
I've got a condition. I get confused sometimes. What if I'm wrong with Lucille dead? I can't get my medicine.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting his own mind.

MARV (V.O.)
What if I've imagined all of this? What if I've finally turned into what they've always said I was gonna turn into?

Marv hangs his head, defeated.

MARV (V.O.)
A maniac. A psycho killer.

A beat of silence amidst the roar of the storm. Then, Marv's fists clench. He pushes himself up from the ground.

MARV (V.O.)
Can't kill a man without knowing for sure he ought to.

Marv stands to his full height, a dark silhouette against the driving rain. The doubt is gone.

MARV (V.O.)
I've gotta know for sure."
"INT. MAUSOLEUM - DAY

CLOSE ON:

CUTTER (60s). His eyes are heavy, voice low and gravelly. He speaks to someone off-screen, trying to offer a grim form of comfort.

CUTTER
...tangled in the sails. They pulled him out, but it took him five minutes to cough.

REVERSE ANGLE:

ROBERT ANGIER (30s) listens. He looks hollowed out. Red-rimmed eyes. A man in shock.

CUTTER (O.S.)
He said it was like going home.

Angier stares into the middle distance, barely processing the words. The silence of the stone hallway presses in.

Movement in the background catches Angier's eye. He stiffens.

ALFRED BORDEN (30s) stands at the end of the row of mourners. He wears a black coat, hat in hand. He looks hesitant.

CUTTER
(noticing Borden)
What do you want, Borden?

Borden steps forward, ignoring Cutter, his eyes fixed on Angier.

BORDEN
I'm sorry for your loss, Angier.

Angier doesn't blink. His gaze drifts past Borden to the OPEN CASKET nearby.

Inside lies JULIA. Pale. Still. Water-logged but peaceful.

Angier squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back a fresh wave of pain. He opens them, cold and sharp.

ANGIER
Which knot did you tie?

Borden freezes. The question hangs in the air like a blade.

BORDEN
I keep asking myself that.

ANGIER
And?

Borden looks down, struggling with the memory. He looks back up, helpless.

BORDEN
I'm sorry. I just don't know.

Angier’s face twitches. Disbelief wars with fury.

ANGIER
You don't know?

Borden can't hold the gaze. He turns sharply, walking away down the long, white corridor lined with burial niches.

He passes SARAH BORDEN, who stands waiting in a black veil. She falls in step behind him, head bowed.

Angier takes a step after them, his voice rising, cracking with emotion.

ANGIER
(louder)
You don't know?!

Borden keeps walking. Faster now.

WIDE SHOT:

The endless corridor of the dead. Borden and Sarah are small figures retreating into the distance. Angier stands by the coffin, his silhouette trembling with rage.

ANGIER
(screaming)
YOU DON'T KNOW?!

His voice echoes violently off the marble walls."
"INT. WORKSHOP - NIGHT

Extreme Close Up on a newspaper advertisement: ""STRAND THEATRE - THE PROFESSOR HAS DEFIED DEATH - THE TRANSPORTED MAN"".

ROBERT ANGIER sits at a dimly lit vanity, surrounded by bottles and props. He looks exhausted, his hair unkempt. He uncorks a small glass bottle and pours a clear, sticky liquid—spirit gum—into his palm.

He rubs the adhesive vigorously over his jaw and cheeks.

OLIVIA WENSCOMBE stands in the shadows of the doorway, wearing a dressing gown. She watches him silently.

ANGIER
I thought you'd gone.

OLIVIA
I don't really have anywhere to go.

Angier pauses, catching her reflection in the mirror. He turns slightly.

ANGIER
You've been sleeping here?

OLIVIA
Yeah, Carter said it would be all right till we get another booking.

Angier turns back to the vanity. He picks up a clump of FALSE HAIR and begins teasing it out.

OLIVIA (CONT'D)
What are you doing?

ANGIER
Uh, research.
(applying the hair to his chin)
Part of a magician's job is to watch his competition, to see what illusions...

OLIVIA
You're going to do something to that man, aren't you?

Angier stops. The tension in the room spikes. He doesn't look at her.

OLIVIA (CONT'D)
Carter's hoping that you'll let things lie. He says that if Borden thinks things are even between you two...

Angier spins around in his chair, incredulous.

ANGIER
Even?
(beat)
My wife, for a couple of these fingers?

He stares at her, the grief hardening into rage.

ANGIER (CONT'D)
He has a family. Right now, right? And he's performing again. Borden is out there living his life just as he always intended, as if nothing had happened.

Angier turns back to the mirror, staring at his own half-disguised, desperate reflection.

ANGIER (CONT'D)
And look at me, right? I'm alone, and no theater will touch me.

Olivia steps into the light, her expression softening.

OLIVIA
Us.

Angier meets her eyes in the mirror. She offers a small, sad smile.

OLIVIA (CONT'D)
You're going to need a better disguise.

INT. THEATER - NIGHT

The auditorium is packed. In the back row, ANGIER stands wearing a heavy coat, a hat, and a thick FAKE BEARD.

He watches the stage with intense scrutiny.

ON STAGE: A MAGICIAN performs amidst candles and dramatic lighting."
"INT. THEATER - NIGHT

On stage, ALFRED BORDEN stands with his back to the audience. He turns, intense and focused. He holds a set of metal rings, discards them, and picks up a small red rubber ball.

BORDEN
I need a volunteer.

INT. ANGIER'S PARLOR - NIGHT

ROBERT ANGIER sits in a dark armchair, staring into the flame of an oil lamp. He looks shell-shocked. OLIVIA kneels beside him, concerned.

OLIVIA
What happened?
(beat)
Did you hurt him?

Angier doesn't answer. He takes a sip of whiskey, his hand trembling slightly.

OLIVIA (CONT'D)
What happened, Robert?

INT. THEATER - NIGHT

Borden scans the crowd. He points a gloved finger at a man in the front row—ANGIER, wearing a heavy disguise: false beard, glasses, and a wig.

BORDEN
You, sir.

Borden tosses the red ball to Angier. Angier catches it reflexively.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Just a rubber ball, yes?

Angier squeezes the ball. Solid. Ordinary. He tosses it back to Borden.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Thank you.

Borden holds the ball up for the gallery to see.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Just a rubber ball... no.
(lowering his voice)
Not normal.

Borden stares intensely at the ball, then at the audience.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Not a normal rubber ball. It's magic.

INT. ANGIER'S PARLOR - NIGHT

Angier finally tears his eyes away from the lamp.

ANGIER
He had a new trick.

INT. THEATER - NIGHT

Borden stands between two freestanding wooden doorframes spaced ten feet apart on the stage.

He bounces the red ball HARD against the floor.

The ball rockets upward.

Borden steps through the DOOR on the LEFT.

The ball reaches the apex of its arc—

Borden INSTANTLY steps out of the DOOR on the RIGHT.

He catches the falling ball casually in one hand.

He holds it up. A perfect transport. Impossible physics.

INT. ANGIER'S PARLOR - NIGHT

Angier stands in the doorway, looking back at Olivia. The memory haunts him.

OLIVIA
Was it good?

ANGIER
It was the greatest magic trick I've ever seen.

INT. THEATER - NIGHT

Borden stands center stage, breathing hard, holding the pose.

In the audience, JOHN CUTTER stares, mouth slightly open. He is baffled.

The theater is dead silent. The audience is too stunned to react.

Finally, a single person starts to clap. Then another.

ANGIER (V.O.)
Did they applaud when you saw it?

Cutter remains frozen, trying to deconstruct the impossible."
"INT. BORDEN HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY

The room is heavy with Victorian decor—dark wood, a crystal chandelier, and silver tea service. ALFRED sits at the dining table, reviewing a stack of correspondence.

JESS (5) bursts into the room, wearing a plaid dress with a red bow. Alfred’s face lights up. He catches her, lifting her onto his lap.

ALFRED
Oh, you look so pretty in this new dress of yours.

JESS
Are we going to the zoo this evening?

ALFRED
No, no, no, no, no. Remember, Daddy has some errands to run.

JESS
But you promised.

ALFRED
I promised, did I?

Jess nods, eyes wide and pleading.

ALFRED
Then go to the zoo we shall.

SARAH enters from the hallway. She wears a beige blouse, her hair loose and slightly unkempt. She watches them, her expression unreadable, bordering on sad.

ALFRED
So, Daddy will go run his errands, and I'll be back before you know it. So you go get ready.

Alfred sets Jess down. She beams.

ALFRED
We'll go see those chimpanzees.

Alfred makes a playful MONKEY NOISE. Jess giggles and scampers out of the room.

Alfred’s smile vanishes the moment the girl is gone. He turns to Sarah. She stands by the window, unstopping a crystal decanter on the sideboard.

ALFRED
Sarah. What are you doing?

Sarah pours a glass of sherry. She lifts it, staring into the amber liquid.

SARAH
We each of us have our voices.

She takes a drink. It’s not a sip for pleasure; it’s for nerves. Alfred watches her, pained. He stands and crosses the room to her.

ALFRED
Sarah...

He moves behind her, his voice dropping to a whisper.

ALFRED
...whatever you may think, your only competition for my affections is our little girl.

He places a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, then allows the touch. He turns her to face him.

ALFRED
I love you. I will always love you, and you alone.

Sarah searches his eyes, desperate to find the truth in them.

SARAH
You mean it today?

ALFRED
Absolutely.

A tragic realization washes over Sarah. She pulls back slightly.

SARAH
Which makes it so much harder when you don't.

She pulls away from his grasp and walks out of the room, leaving Alfred alone in the silence."
"INT. PRISON YARD - DAY

A bleak, industrial courtyard. Inmates in rough grey wool work at tables. 

The PRISON WARDER stands over ALFRED BORDEN, who sits hunched on a bench, heavy CHAINS binding his wrists and ankles. The Warder inspects a crumpled piece of paper.

PRISON WARDER
Let me see.
(reading)
I'm going to learn all the professor's secrets.

BORDEN
Only if I teach you how to read.

The Warder scoffs, lowering the paper.

PRISON WARDER
They're just stupid tricks, right? Haven't helped you get out of here, have they?

The Warder leans in, tapping the heavy iron padlock on Borden's wrist chains with a baton.

PRISON WARDER (CONT'D)
Well, can't you undo real locks, professor?

Borden stares at a small RED RUBBER BALL in his fingers. He manipulates it with practiced fluidity despite the shackles.

BORDEN
Well, maybe I'm just biding my time.

Borden looks up, locking eyes with the Warder.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Maybe one day I'll, uh, open my hand, get your attention, ask... are you watching closely?

Borden rolls the ball between his fingers.

BORDEN (CONT'D)
Maybe a magic word or two.
(beat)
And then I'll be gone.

He makes a sudden gesture—the ball vanishes from his palm. The Warder flinches, then straightens up, unimpressed but wary.

PRISON WARDER
How do you get so famous then, eh?

Borden leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eye.

BORDEN
Magic.

Borden suddenly SWINGS his legs. The heavy chain connecting his ankles catches the Warder's shins.

The Warder CRASHES face-first onto the stone floor.

The yard erupts. PRISONERS howl with laughter. Borden grins, scrambling back onto the bench as the Warder scrambles to his feet, red-faced and furious.

PRISON WARDER
Oi! Get back here!

The Warder lunges, but Borden is already out of reach, held back by laughing inmates. The Warder flails, humiliated, shouting at the jeering crowd.

PRISON WARDER (CONT'D)
Shut up! Get back here!

CUT TO:

EXT. FOREST - DAY

Thick, grey FOG blankets a woodland path. A figure in a black coat and TOP HAT (ROBERT ANGIER) walks away from camera, disappearing into the mist.

ANGIER (V.O.)
February 8th."
"EXT. SPACE

Infinite darkness. A sea of stars glimmers in the void.

A crackle of static cuts through the silence, followed by an upbeat ORCHESTRAL INTRO.

SINGER (V.O.)
Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers...

TITLE CARD: WALT DISNEY PICTURES PRESENTS

SINGER (V.O.)
Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby...

TITLE CARD: A PIXAR ANIMATION STUDIOS FILM

The camera PANS across a vibrant nebula, revealing a planet in the distance. It isn't the blue marble we know. It is brown, dusty, and choked with gray clouds. A ring of satellites and space junk orbits it.

SINGER (V.O.)
There's a slick town, Barnaby, out there, full of shine and full of sparkle...

EXT. EARTH - ATMOSPHERE

The camera DIVES toward the planet, accelerating.

SINGER (V.O.)
Close your eyes and see it, listen, Barnaby...

We plunge into the toxic cloud layer. Visibility drops to zero. The clouds are thick, roiling, and yellow-brown.

SINGER (V.O.)
Listen, Barnaby...

EXT. EARTH - SURFACE - DAY

We break through the smog.

The landscape below is a wasteland. No greenery. No water. Just endless, rolling hills of garbage under a hazy, pollution-choked sky.

SINGER (V.O.)
Put on your Sunday clothes, there's lots of world out there...

Jagged peaks of refuse silhouette against the brown horizon. Broken wind turbines stand like skeletal sentinels on the trash heaps, their blades still.

SINGER (V.O.)
Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars...

The camera GLIDES over the terrain. What looked like natural formations are revealed to be man-made towers of compacted trash cubes, stacked hundreds of feet high.

SINGER (V.O.)
We're gonna find adventure in the evening air...

In the distance, the silhouette of a mega-city rises, but it is silent. Abandoned nuclear cooling towers loom over the waste.

SINGER (V.O.)
Girls in white and a perfume night where the lights are bright as the stars.

The camera TILTS DOWN, looking into the canyons between the trash towers. It is a grid. A city plan executed in waste.

SINGER (V.O.)
Put on your Sunday clothes, we're gonna ride through town.

We descend further, hovering over the ""streets."" The scale is immense. The civilization that built this is long gone, leaving only their leftovers.

SINGER (V.O.)
In one of those new horse-drawn open cars...

The camera continues its slow, haunting drift over the geometric abyss of garbage, the cheerful music echoing over the dead world."
"INT. AXIOM - LIDO DECK - NIGHT

A massive, neon-lit artificial resort. The center of the deck features a large circular pool. A high-tech, translucent cover spirals shut over the water.

SHIP'S COMPUTER (V.O.)
...is now closing. The Lido Deck is now closing.

AT THE POOL'S EDGE

Two PASSENGERS in floating hover-chairs drift dangerously close to the water. The closing mechanism slaps the surface, sending a spray of chlorinated water directly into their faces.

PASSENGER 1
(sputtering, wiping eyes)
Hey! Watch it!
(to Passenger 2)
I didn't know we had a pool.

A LIFEGUARD BOT (GL-N) rises from a poolside recess. Its siren spins, casting a red light. It projects a laser barrier in front of the men.

LIFEGUARD BOT
No splashing. No diving.

The bot retracts. The passengers drift on, unbothered.

IN THE SHADOWS

A side door slides open. WALL-E peeks his binocular eyes around the frame. He spots EVE floating near a pneumatic tube station across the deck.

He quickly scuttles behind a SERVICE CART stacked high with white towels labeled ""LIDO DECK.""

Two STEWARD BOTS glide past, their screens flashing ""CAUTION."" WALL-E freezes, blending in with the laundry.

AT THE TUBE STATION

A STEWARD BOT places an OLD BOOT—containing a small PLANT—into the pneumatic canister. 

THWUMP. The tube sucks the canister upward.

INSERT - DIGITAL SCHEMATIC:

A tracking graphic overlays the scene. The package travels up the ship's spine.
TEXT: DELIVER TO AXIOM SUPERIOR.

BACK TO SCENE

EVE watches the canister disappear. She slumps slightly, her blue LED eyes drooping in boredom or melancholy. Faint, romantic music plays over the ship's PA.

Behind the towel cart, WALL-E leans out, entranced by her. He stretches his neck too far.

The cart wobbles.

CRASH!

The cart tips over, burying WALL-E under a mountain of folded towels.

EVE whips around instantly, her right arm transforming into a glowing PLASMA CANNON. She aims directly at the pile.

WALL-E pops his head out of the towels, terrified. He frantically points a rusty finger toward the pneumatic tube where the plant went.

EVE lowers her weapon slightly. A GREEN LEAF symbol flashes on her chest display.

EVE
Directive?"
"EXT. EARTH - CITY RUINS - DAY

An UPBEAT SHOWTUNE (""Put On Your Sunday Clothes"") blasts against a desolate soundscape of wind and dust.

AERIAL ANGLE looking straight down.

A labyrinth of brown, geometric shapes stretches endlessly. At first glance, it looks like a city grid. As the camera DRIFTS over the landscape, the texture reveals itself.

These aren't buildings. They are towers of compacted trash, stacked with mathematical precision.

The camera TILTS UP.

In the distance, the skeletal remains of actual skyscrapers pierce the toxic, ochre haze. The trash towers rival them in height. The world is silent, dead, and buried in garbage.

EXT. STREET LEVEL - CONTINUOUS

Down in the canyons of refuse, a small, boxy figure works alone.

WALL-E (Waste Allocation Load Lifter Earth-Class). He is rusty, dented, and squeaky.

Wall-E shovels a pile of debris into his chest cavity using his shovel-hands. 

WHIRR. CLUNK.

His chest closes. The internal compactor GROANS as it crushes the trash.

Wall-E trundles forward on tank treads. The rear hatch pops open.

THUD.

A perfect cube of garbage drops out behind him.

ON THE GROUND

A COCKROACH skitters over a rusted tin can, antennae twitching. It watches the robot work.

Wall-E lifts the heavy cube with straining hydraulics and slots it into a gap in a towering wall of trash. It fits perfectly.

He turns back to the pile, scooping up another load. Something catches his optical sensor.

He pauses. 

Wall-E plucks a shiny HUBCAP from the dirt. He holds it up, tilting it to catch the dim sunlight cutting through the smog. It glimmers.

He reaches over his shoulder and opens a red COOLER strapped to his back. He carefully places the hubcap inside—a new treasure.

Wall-E glances down at a gauge on his chest. He presses a button.

DING!

The meter jumps to full. Solar charge complete.

He looks down at the Cockroach.

WALL-E
(electronic trill)
Whoa.

The Cockroach CHIRPS back.

Wall-E looks up at his work. The stack goes on forever.

WIDE SHOT

The camera PULLS BACK. And BACK.

Wall-E is reduced to a speck atop a man-made mountain of waste. The sheer scale is overwhelming. The trash towers stand like monuments to a forgotten civilization, dwarfing the ruined city skyline in the background.

TITLE CARD: WALL-E"
"EXT. CITY RUINS - DAY

A thick, toxic HAZE blankets the skyline. Skyscrapers stand like hollowed-out skeletons against a bleached sky.

On a rusted highway overpass, a convoy of yellow CONSTRUCTION VEHICLES sits frozen in time, buried in drifts of dust.

EXT. TRASH PEAK - DAY

High atop a mountain of compacted garbage, WALL-E sits motionless. His solar panels are spread wide, soaking up the weak sunlight.

ON HIS CHEST: A digital charge meter climbs from yellow to green.

SOUND: A sharp, cheerful CHIME (Mac startup sound).

WALL-E blinks his binocular eyes. Fully charged.

With practiced efficiency, he folds the solar panels back into his chassis. He checks his surroundings, then revs his tracks.

He tips forward, sliding down the steep slope of trash, kicking up a cloud of debris as he surfs to the bottom.

INT. TRANSPORT TRUCK - DAY

Dark and cluttered. The interior of a massive, abandoned transport vehicle converted into a home.

A COCKROACH skitters across a rusted shelf.

WALL-E rolls into frame, the morning light spilling in behind him. He approaches a battered RED COOLER sitting on the floor.

With a mechanical WHIR, he swings the cooler onto his back—his lunchbox for the day.

He pauses for a morning diagnostic. He locks his brakes and revs his drive gears.

				WALL-E
		(strained mechanical grunt)
		Hnnnn-gh!

The tracks shudder as he stretches the suspension. He extends his neck telescopically, the hydraulics HISSING, then shakes out his frame like a wet dog.

The COCKROACH chirps from the floor.

WALL-E looks down at the bug. He points a three-pronged metal finger firmly at the ground.

				WALL-E
		(electronic command)
		Wa-wa.

The Cockroach twitches its antennae, obedient.

WALL-E turns and rolls toward the daylight.

EXT. TRUCK RAMP - DAY

WALL-E emerges from the truck, tracks clanking on the metal ramp. He rolls out into the vast, silent wasteland, ready for another day of work."
"EXT. INDUSTRIAL WASTELAND - NIGHT

A desolate landscape of rusted pipes and towering silos. 

EVE, a sleek white probe droid, glides through the air. A blue SCANNER BEAM projects from her chassis, sweeping over the industrial decay.

SINGER (V.O.)
The magic spell you cast, this is love, the iron rose.

High atop a rusted platform, WALL-E watches her. He is captivated, his binocular eyes tracking her graceful flight path.

SINGER (V.O.)
When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see love and love for you.

EVE descends, her scanner washing over a row of vertical tanks. She moves with clinical precision, searching.

WALL-E peeks out from the open door of his transport truck, entranced by the glowing blue angel floating in the darkness.

SINGER (V.O.)
When you press me to your heart, and in a world apart, a world where roses bloom.

CUT TO:

EXT. CRASH SITE - MOMENTS LATER

EVE hovers near a massive, spherical rusted hulk—part of a derelict ship or tank. She scans the surface.

In the foreground, WALL-E creeps over a ridge of debris. He tries to get a closer look, moving his treads carefully over the loose junk.

SINGER (V.O.)
And when you speak, angels sing from above.

WALL-E stretches his neck, trying to see over a piece of scrap metal. His treads slip on the gravel. 

CLATTER.

EVE spins around instantly.

WITH A MECHANICAL WHIRR, her right arm retracts and transforms into a glowing ION CANNON. She aims directly at WALL-E's hiding spot.

SINGER (V.O.)
Every day what seems to turn into love.

WALL-E freezes, terrified. He shrinks down, blending perfectly with the garbage around him.

EVE holds her aim, blue eyes narrowing digitally as she scans for a threat. 

Silence. 

Detecting no movement, her arm transforms back into a smooth white limb. She turns away, resuming her patrol.

WALL-E slowly lifts his head, letting out a silent, mechanical sigh of relief. He stares at her back, more in love than ever."
"INT. SEA CAVE - DAY

CLOSE ON:

TEDDY DANIELS (40s). He is asleep on the cold, rocky ground, a dirty bandage plastered to his temple. He twitches, troubled by dreams.

A pair of bare, dirt-streaked legs step into frame next to his head.

A HAND reaches down, shaking his shoulder firmly.

RACHEL (O.S.)
You can't stay here.

Teddy jolts awake, scrambling backward into a sitting position, disoriented. He looks up at RACHEL SOLANDO (50s), wild-haired and dressed in rags.

RACHEL
They think I'm dead. That I drowned. I'm afraid if they come looking for you, they might find me.
(beat)
I'm sorry, but you have to go.

Teddy rubs his face, trying to clear the fog. He grabs his white orderly jacket from the ground.

TEDDY
I'm gonna come back for you.

RACHEL
I won't be here. I move during the day. New places every night.

Teddy struggles into his jacket, one arm at a time, urgency returning to his movements.

TEDDY
But I could come get you. Get-- get you off this island.

Rachel wraps a tattered shawl around herself, staring at him with pitying disbelief.

RACHEL
Haven't you heard a word I've said?
(beat)
The only way off the island is the ferry, and they control it.

She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

RACHEL (CONT'D)
You'll never leave here.

Teddy freezes. The weight of her words lands, but he shakes it off, looking toward the cave entrance.

TEDDY
I had a friend. I was with him yesterday, but we got separated.
(desperate)
Have you seen him?

Rachel stares at him. A long, heavy silence stretches between them.

RACHEL
Marshal.

Teddy waits, hopeful.

RACHEL (CONT'D)
You have no friends.

Teddy stares back, the color draining from his face.

EXT. CLIFFSIDE - DAY

High above the churning grey ocean, Teddy squeezes out of a narrow fissure in the rock face.

He clings to the jagged stone, boots slipping on the wet slate. He looks down—a sheer drop to the crashing waves below.

With a grunt of exertion, he begins the treacherous climb down, a tiny white figure against the massive, unforgiving cliffs."
"EXT. ASHECLIFFE HOSPITAL - GROUNDS - DAY

TEDDY and CHUCK flank the WARDEN as they stride briskly along a gravel path. The grounds are manicured, contrasting sharply with the imposing brick buildings and the gray sky.

TEDDY
When did she escape?
(beat)
This prisoner.

WARDEN
I'm afraid Dr. Cawley will have to fill you in on the situation.
(dryly)
Protocol.

They pass a manicured lawn where patients in gray tunics work with gardening tools. A WAVING PATIENT leans on a rake, beaming with a manic, wide-eyed grin as the Marshals pass.

Teddy glances down. The Waving Patient's ankles are bound in heavy IRON SHACKLES.

CHUCK
Correctional officers at a mental institution. That's a weird sight, if you don't mind me saying.

WARDEN
It's the only facility of its kind in the U.S., even the world. We take only the most dangerous, damaged patients. The ones no other hospital can manage.

The Warden gestures vaguely to the surrounding buildings.

WARDEN (CONT'D)
And it's all due to Dr. Cawley. He's created something really unique here. A hospital for people our society refuses to heal.

Teddy’s attention drifts to a flower bed nearby. A SHUSHING PATIENT—an older woman, gaunt, with a jagged, red SCAR across her throat—is tending to purple rhododendrons.

She senses his gaze. She stops working.

Slowly, she stands upright, locking eyes with Teddy. The ambient sound seems to drop away for Teddy.

The Shushing Patient raises a trembling finger to her lips.

Shhh.

Teddy stares, unsettled, his stride faltering slightly. The woman holds the gesture, her eyes piercing.

As Teddy passes her, the woman drops her hand and breaks into a wide, unsettling GRIN, revealing rotting teeth.

Teddy turns his head forward, trying to shake off the image. The Warden continues, oblivious to the exchange.

WARDEN (CONT'D)
Dr. Cawley is a licensed physician. Top of his class at Johns Hopkins.

Teddy adjusts his hat, his unease growing with every step."
"EXT. SHUTTER ISLAND - CLIFFS - DAY

A bleak, rocky coastline. The sky is overcast, threatening rain. A search party of GUARDS and OFFICERS scours the jagged terrain.

The WARDEN stands on a high rock, looking down at the Marshals.

WARDEN
If you have any further questions, feel free to join the Deputy Warden in the search.

The Warden turns and walks away, leaving TEDDY DANIELS and CHUCK AULE with DEPUTY WARDEN MCPHERSON.

McPherson sits on a boulder, a cigarette in hand, looking out at the ocean.

MCPHERSON
It's eleven miles to the nearest land and the water's freezing.

Teddy takes notes in a small pad. Chuck smokes, eyeing the rough surf.

CHUCK
Current was strong last night. Tide pushing in?

MCPHERSON
She'd have drowned and been crushed on the rocks and a body would have washed back up on shore.

Teddy steps to the edge of the cliff. Below, the sea violently batters the sharp rocks and sea stacks.

TEDDY
What about those caves down there? Have you checked them?

MCPHERSON
No way she could get there.

McPherson gestures vaguely to the dense, scrubby vegetation clinging to the cliff face.

MCPHERSON (CONT'D)
The base of those cliffs are covered in the poison ivy. Live oak, sumac.
(beat)
A thousand plants with thorns as big as my dick.

Teddy and Chuck exchange a glance. McPherson leans forward.

MCPHERSON (CONT'D)
You said yourself, Marshal, she's got no shoes.

Teddy snaps his notebook shut. He looks up at the sky, conceding the point.

TEDDY
All right. Let's check the other side.

Teddy turns, his eyes catching something in the distance. He points toward a stark white structure looming on a far promontory.

TEDDY (CONT'D)
What's that tower?

MCPHERSON
It's an old lighthouse. The guards already searched inside it.

CHUCK
What's in there? More patients?

MCPHERSON
Sewage treatment facility.

The wind picks up. The light is fading fast.

MCPHERSON (CONT'D)
It's getting dark soon. I'm calling this off for the night.
(shouting to the men)
Let's go, boys!

The guards begin to scramble up the rocks, abandoning the search. 

Teddy lingers. He stares at the lighthouse for a beat, his mind working. He turns his gaze toward a GUARD standing nearby.

TEDDY
You were on watch on the landing, huh?

GUARD (O.S.)
Yeah."
"INT. ASYLUM TUNNELS - NIGHT

Rain pours through open skylights high above, drenching the dark, brick-lined corridor. The sound of the storm echoes through the cavernous space.

TEDDY and CHUCK, dressed in white orderly uniforms, walk cautiously through the deluge. The water pools around their feet.

Teddy stops abruptly. He stares into the shadows ahead, his breathing heavy, eyes darting.

CHUCK
(sotto voce)
Boss?

Teddy doesn't answer. He steps closer to a dark alcove barred by heavy iron grating.

TEDDY
He's here.

Chuck looks around, seeing nothing but wet brick and darkness.

TEDDY (CONT'D)
Laeddis.

Teddy leans in, his face inches from the iron bars. He stares into the void.

TEDDY (CONT'D)
I can feel him.

Suddenly, a SCARRED HAND shoots out from the darkness, seizing Teddy by the lapel. 

Teddy gasps, stumbling back, but the grip is iron-tight. 

GEORGE steps into the sliver of light—bald, emaciated, his face a map of scars and madness. His eyes are wide, unblinking.

GEORGE
Tag, you're it!

George releases Teddy with a shove and lets out a MANIACAL LAUGH.

Before Teddy can react, George spins around and sprints away, his bare feet slapping against the wet stone floor. He disappears down the dark tunnel.

Teddy scrambles to regain his footing.

TEDDY
Hey! Hey!

Teddy takes off, sprinting after the inmate.

Chuck, bewildered, hesitates a beat before running after his partner.

CHUCK
Teddy!

Teddy disappears into the shadows of the tunnel, chasing the echo of George's laughter."
"INT. ASHECLIFFE HOSPITAL - WARD - DAY

A storm rages outside. Inside the grim, brick-walled ward, chaos reigns. Patients wander in dazed loops or sit huddled on metal beds.

TEDDY, pale, sweating, and sporting a fresh bandage on his forehead, is practically carried into the room by CHUCK and a burly ORDERLY.

BACKGROUND ORDERLIES secure the area.

BACKGROUND ORDERLY
Okay, make sure the bed's locked up. Make sure everything's okay.

BACKGROUND ORDERLY 2
All right.

A PREACHER PATIENT weaves through the crowd, gesturing wildly to no one in particular.

PREACHER PATIENT
Now, what's wrong with a withered hand? Why would Jesus bend and crawl to a withered hand?

Teddy stumbles, his legs giving out. He grabs a structural support pole to keep from hitting the floor. He looks ready to vomit.

CHUCK
Be careful.

ORDERLY
All right.

They pry Teddy off the pole and guide him toward a cot. He collapses onto the edge, burying his face in his hands, fighting a migraine.

Teddy lifts his head, squinting through the pain. He spots a figure standing in the doorway.

THE WARDEN stands motionless, flanked by guards. He wears a black trench coat, his eyes fixed coldly on Teddy.

TEDDY
(weakly)
Who is that?

ORDERLY
Him? That's the Warden.

The Warden stares, unblinking. A silent threat.

ORDERLY (CONT'D)
Don't you worry about him, all right?

The Orderly puts a hand on Teddy's shoulder, urging him to lie down.

ORDERLY (CONT'D)
Come on. Lay back.

Teddy swings his legs up. In the doorway, the Warden turns sharply and marches into the corridor, disappearing from view.

TEDDY
He looks like an ex-military prick, huh?

The Orderly tucks the sheets around Teddy, a small, knowing smirk crossing his face.

ORDERLY
You know what? I ain't gonna argue with you on that one.

Teddy sinks into the pillow, his eyes heavy. The sounds of the ward begin to blur.

He blinks—slowly.

FADE TO WHITE."
"INT. ABANDONED BUILDING - DAY

Darkness. A FLASHLIGHT BEAM slices through the stagnant air, illuminating peeling wallpaper and rotting floorboards.

DETECTIVE LOKI steps into the room. He wears a heavy coat, his face set in a grim mask. He moves with caution, weapon not drawn but ready.

The beam lands on a figure curled up on the floor—BOB TAYLOR. He lies next to a bottle of liquor, face down in the dust.

Loki stands over him, nudging him with his boot.

DETECTIVE LOKI
Hey. Rise and shine.

Bob stirs, groaning. He shields his eyes from the harsh light.

Loki turns away, sweeping the flashlight around the dilapidated room. He checks the corners, the closet. Searching for something specific. Something small.

DETECTIVE LOKI
I'm not gonna find two girls here, am I?

Bob pushes himself up, disoriented and defensive.

BOB
(muttering)
Fuck you.

Loki spins back, pinning Bob with the light.

DETECTIVE LOKI
What about Alex Jones?

Bob freezes for a second, then looks down, avoiding eye contact.

BOB
What about him?

Bob crawls on his hands and knees, trying to find his footing on the debris-strewn floor.

BOB
I came here to drink. I don't want to drink in front of my wife.

He finally stands, dusting off his jacket. He looks pathetic, small in the decaying room.

BOB
Look, my father left me this building, alright?

Loki stares at him. Calculating.

DETECTIVE LOKI
You mind giving me a tour?

INT. STAIRWELL - CONTINUOUS

Bob exits the apartment and heads for the stairs. Loki follows a step behind, flashlight still in hand.

The stairwell is cold, concrete walls stained with age. Light filters through a grime-encrusted glass block window.

DETECTIVE LOKI
Why didn't you tell me about this place?

Bob keeps climbing, his silhouette dark against the gray light. He doesn't look back.

BOB
I didn't think it mattered.

Loki watches him ascend into the shadows.

DETECTIVE LOKI
Everything matters."
"EXT. JONES HOUSE - DAY

A grey pickup truck sits parked in the driveway of a weathered, white clapboard house. The yard is dead grass and bare trees. A bleak, overcast winter day.

KELLER DOVER steps out of the truck. He looks exhausted, his face heavy with stress. He walks up the cracked concrete path toward the side porch.

He reaches the screen door and knocks firmly on the wooden frame. He waits, hands in his pockets, glancing around the quiet property.

Movement behind the glass of the inner door. A figure approaches through the dim interior.

HOLLY JONES appears behind the storm door. She peers out through the glass and the screen, her expression unreadable behind large glasses.

HOLLY
Can I help you?

KELLER
Good morning, ma'am.
(beat)
I'm Keller Dover. My little girl... was abducted with a friend.

Holly stares at him. No movement.

HOLLY
What do you want?

Keller looks down, shifting his weight. He seems unsure, struggling to find the words.

KELLER
Uh, I guess I haven't thought this through too good.
(beat)
I... I've been thinking a lot about what happened to your nephew.

Holly watches him, guarded.

KELLER (CONT'D)
And I know I scared him the other day at the police station. And... and what I'm trying to say is I kind of feel responsible for him running away.

He looks up at her, eyes pleading for understanding.

HOLLY
(softening)
You want to... come on in?

KELLER
Yeah.

Holly unlocks the inner door and pushes the screen door open. Keller steps up into the enclosed porch."
"EXT. JONES HOUSE - DAY

A static, grey establishing shot. A modest, cream-colored house sits under a bleak winter sky. A black Trans Am is parked in the dirt driveway, surrounded by dead leaves and piles of firewood.

INT. JONES HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Wood paneling lines the walls. The room is dim, cluttered with old furniture.

DETECTIVE LOKI sits in a beige armchair, leaning forward, hands clasped. Across from him, huddled together on a floral couch, are HOLLY JONES and her nephew, ALEX JONES.

Alex wears thick glasses and stares vacantly at the floor. A fresh, red gash marks his hairline. Holly absentmindedly strokes a small WHITE DOG in her lap.

LOKI
You sure he didn't say anything to Mr. Dover in the parking lot today?

Loki studies Alex's face, looking for a flicker of recognition.

LOKI (CONT'D)
Anything he could have misinterpreted?

HOLLY
(defensive)
I was right there. They didn't say anything to each other, man just attacked the boy.

Loki nods slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on Alex.

LOKI
Nothing like ""get away from me"" or ""help"" or... anything like that?

Alex shakes his head slightly, his voice barely a mumble.

ALEX
No.

Loki sits back, shifting gears. He glances between the two of them.

LOKI
Can I speak to Alex alone for a minute?

Holly stiffens. She looks at Alex, then back to Loki, reluctant.

HOLLY
(to Alex)
It's alright, sweetie. I'll be right in the next room.

She kisses the dog's head, sets it down, and stands up. She squeezes past the coffee table, leaving the frame. 

Loki waits. The sound of her footsteps fades. The room is heavy with silence. Alex remains frozen, staring at his knees.

Loki leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial, almost gentle tone.

LOKI
You love your aunt, don't you, Alex?

Alex blinks behind his thick lenses. A pause.

ALEX
Yes.

Loki’s expression hardens just a fraction—the trap is set.

LOKI
You know if you know something you're not telling us... that she could go to jail for a very long time.

Alex’s eyes widen slightly. He looks up, processing the threat.

LOKI (CONT'D)
Do you want that for her?
(beat)
After everything she's done for you?

Alex looks away, distressed.

ALEX
No."
"INT. JONES HOUSE - HALLWAY - NIGHT

HOLLY JONES (60s) walks down a narrow, dimly lit corridor lined with floral wallpaper. DETECTIVE LOKI (30s) follows closely behind her, his demeanor heavy and observant.

HOLLY
...know where he is. He's always home before dark, and I just don't understand. That boy has never been in trouble, not a day in his life.

Holly turns into a small bedroom. Loki follows her in.

INT. JONES HOUSE - BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

The room is modest, lit by a single lamp. A clothes rack stands in the corner.

HOLLY
In the summertime, he sleeps out in the camper some, but this time of year, he sleeps in here on the sofa bed.

Loki steps past her, scanning the room. He approaches a dark wood dresser, his eyes scanning the personal items scattered across it.

Holly lingers in the doorway, watching him with a mix of anxiety and fatigue.

Loki picks up a framed photograph from the dresser. He studies it.

HOLLY (CONT'D)
That's my husband. We had a fight, jeez, five years ago.

Loki continues to stare at the photo, his back to her.

HOLLY (CONT'D)
Walked out, didn't come back. Alex loved him like a father.

Loki turns slightly, placing the photo back on the dresser.

LOKI
Where are Alex's real parents?

HOLLY
My husband's brother and his girlfriend, they died in a car accident when Alex was about six.

Loki absorbs this, his expression unreadable. He looks down at the dresser again.

LOKI
Sorry to hear that.

He pulls open the top drawer. It rattles slightly.

INSERT - DRAWER

Inside is a sparse collection of trinkets: a few marbles, a piece of string, loose change, and small toy cars.

BACK TO SCENE

HOLLY
He doesn't have much.

Loki reaches in and picks up a small, white TOY VAN. He holds it for a beat, feeling its weight.

He sets the toy on the polished surface of the dresser and gives it a gentle push. It rolls silently across the wood, coming to a stop near the photo frame."
"INT. DOVER BEDROOM - DAY

KELLER DOVER stands in the doorway, his face a mask of exhaustion and repressed rage. He stares into the room, listening.

GRACE (O.S.)
The zipper on her coat was broken, and I told her it didn't matter because we were just going to go right down the street.

INSIDE THE ROOM

GRACE DOVER sits on the edge of the bed, doubled over in grief. Her teenage son, RALPH, sits beside her, rubbing her back, looking utterly lost.

GRACE
Why hasn't she come home?

Keller steps into the room. His presence fills the small space.

GRACE (CONT'D)
It's been three days.

Grace looks up, eyes wild, pleading with Keller.

GRACE (CONT'D)
Why can't you make her come home?

Keller places a hand on Ralph’s shoulder. A silent command: *Leave us.* Ralph hesitates, then stands and slips out the door, unable to bear his mother's pain.

Grace collapses sideways onto the mattress, curling into a fetal position.

GRACE (CONT'D)
I don't understand. I don't understand. It's been too long.

Keller hovers over her, hands twitching by his sides. He wants to do something, anything.

GRACE (CONT'D)
(sobbing into the pillow)
Please make her come home. Please make her. Please.

Keller turns to the nightstand. He snatches up a PRESCRIPTION BOTTLE. He needs to fix this immediate problem, at least.

KELLER
How many of these?

Grace lets out a jagged, hysterical laugh that morphs back into a cry.

GRACE
I don't know!

KELLER
Okay, that's all right. Just take one.

He tries to press a pill into her hand, offering a glass of water. She recoils.

KELLER (CONT'D)
Here.

GRACE
No. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to go to sleep.

She shoves his hand away. Keller pulls back, defeated. He sets the pills down and sits heavily on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

Grace stares at his back. Her voice drops, trembling with accusation.

GRACE (CONT'D)
You.

Keller freezes.

GRACE (CONT'D)
You made me feel so safe.

Keller stares at the floor, his jaw tight.

GRACE (CONT'D)
You told us that you could protect us from everything.

The words gut him. Keller looks down at the pill bottle in his hands, unable to face her. He has no answer."
"INT. HEATHROW BASE - BARRACKS - DAY

A HIGH ANGLE SHOT looks down on a concrete floor marked with a green guidance line.

CAGE (O.S.)
You have to listen to me!

CAGE, hands cuffed behind his back, is forcibly dragged through the hangar by two MPs. He struggles, frantic, shouting at the passing SOLDIERS.

CAGE
They know we're coming! They're waiting for us! I have been there!

The hangar is a hive of activity—troops gearing up, weapons being prepped. They stop to stare at the raving man.

CAGE (CONT'D)
I've seen it! You're all doomed! You're doomed!

The MPs shove Cage forward, bringing him to a halt in front of a specific bunk area. Suddenly, Cage’s demeanor shifts instantly. The panic vanishes. He exhales, centering himself.

CAGE
(calmly)
Okay, okay, okay. I'm fine. I'm fine.

He looks up. Standing before him is MASTER SERGEANT FARELL—stone-faced, arms crossed. Behind Farell stands J-SQUAD.

CAGE (CONT'D)
This is J-Squad, yes?

FARELL
This is J-Squad, yes.

CAGE
Not that I should know that, but okay.

Cage scans the faces of the squad: SKINNER in a ""MIMIC THIS"" t-shirt, NANCE, KIMMEL, GRIFF, and FORD.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Have any of you met me before?

SKINNER
Bitch, I don't know you.

CAGE
Exactly! Yes! Thank you.

Cage steps in, pointing a cuffed hand at NANCE.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Your name is Nance. You're Vibble...
(correcting himself, pointing to Kimmel)
Kimmel! Kimmel!

KIMMEL frowns, confused.

CAGE (CONT'D)
You fight balls out. Literally.

Cage spins toward the others, rattling them off with practiced speed.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Ford. Skinner. Griff.
(gesturing to Griff)
You're... He doesn't talk much.

Griff stares blankly. Cage turns his attention to Farell.

CAGE (CONT'D)
But there's a card game under the bed.

Farell shoots a sharp look at Griff.

GRIFF
Thanks a lot, asshole.

Farell bends down and flips the mattress of the nearest bunk. Revealed is a spread of PLAYING CARDS and cash.

CAGE
Kimmel's working on a flush. Spades... no, clubs.

Farell picks up the hand. He looks at the cards. They are indeed clubs. He looks back at Cage, his skepticism cracking just a fraction.

CAGE (CONT'D)
And you're gonna make me eat those cards.

Cage leans in, locking eyes with the Sergeant.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Am I right?

Farell stares, holding the cards, speechless for the first time.

Cage’s expression darkens. The manic energy is gone, replaced by the weight of a thousand loops.

CAGE (CONT'D)
What I'm about to tell you sounds crazy. It's true.

Cage steps closer, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

CAGE (CONT'D)
And you have to listen to me. Your very lives depend on it."
"INT. HEATHROW BASE - BARRACKS - DAY

A chaotic, industrial hangar converted into a barracks. Soldiers in various states of undress and gear prep mill about.

MASTER SERGEANT FARRELL marches through the aisle, towing a handcuffed CAGE behind him. Cage wears a dress uniform, looking completely out of place among the grunts.

FARRELL
Good news is, there's hope for you, Private. Battle is the Great Redeemer. The fiery crucible in which the only true heroes are forged. The one place where all men truly share the--

Farrell stops abruptly at a section of bunks. A motley crew of soldiers—J-SQUAD—looks up from their cards and gear.

FARRELL
(CONT'D)
Squad, this here's Private Cage.

Cage forces a tight, nervous smile, holding up his bound hands slightly.

CAGE
Private Cage. And you must be J-Squad.

He offers a tentative nod to the room.

CAGE
(CONT'D)
It's good to meet you.

SKINNER, wearing a pink fuzzy bathrobe and a mohawk, points a finger.

SKINNER
Isn't that an officer's uniform?

KIMMEL, shirtless and drying his neck with a towel, steps forward menacingly.

KIMMEL
These sure ain't officer's cufflinks.

Cage looks down at the handcuffs. He turns to Farrell, raising his wrists.

CAGE
Key's in the... left pocket, probably.

Farrell stares at him, unimpressed, then reaches into Cage's pocket. He fishes out a small key.

FARRELL
Private Cage is a deserter.

The atmosphere in the squad bay drops to zero. The soldiers' expressions shift from curiosity to disgust. GRIFF, wearing a shirt that reads ""MIMIC THIS,"" glares.

Farrell unlocks the cuffs. CLACK.

FARRELL
(CONT'D)
I'm making you all personally responsible for his deliverance. He will be combat ready by 0600 tomorrow.

Farrell pockets the cuffs. Cage rubs his wrists, trying to regain some dignity.

FARRELL
(CONT'D)
Private Cage is under the delusion he does not belong here. We must dissuade him of this delusion.

Farrell turns to leave, but stops.

FARRELL
(CONT'D)
If he tries to run--

CAGE
Oh, no, no, no, I'm not gonna run from you guys.

Cage laughs nervously, shaking his head. He gestures to the imposing squad members.

CAGE
(CONT'D)
It's, uh... not a chance.

Farrell leans in close to Cage's face.

FARRELL
He can't piss standing up.

Farrell turns to the squad, stone-faced.

CAGE
Thank you, Sergeant Farrell.

Farrell shakes Cage's hand—a grip like a vice—then walks away. Cage is left standing alone in the center of the hostile circle.

He looks around. Griff. Kimmel. Skinner. Nance. They all stare him down like a piece of meat.

Cage rubs his hands together, desperate to break the tension.

CAGE
What next? A little, uh...
(mimes running)
...P.T.?

FARRELL (O.S.)
(bellowing)
P.T.! Ten minutes!

Cage freezes. The squad groans and starts moving."
"INT. LONDON PUB - DAY

The pub is dim, the atmosphere thick with gloom. A chalkboard on the wall reads ""No Food Available.""

CAGE sits alone at the bar, staring into the middle distance. He nurses a pint of beer, his face etched with a profound, repetitive exhaustion.

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Current situation on the front lines. Our troops have suffered heavy casualties.

Cage lifts his glass, taking a slow sip. Behind him, out of focus, two older men sit at a table.

OLD MAN (O.S.)
It's about time we showed those things what we're made of.

Cage’s eyes shift slightly, acknowledging the voice but not turning.

OLD MAN (O.S.) (CONT'D)
My father flew in the Battle of Britain.

ANGLE ON THE TABLE

The OLD MAN, wearing a maroon beret, lectures his companion, a BALD MAN.

OLD MAN
Three years before the Yanks came into the war.

Cage sets his glass down. He’s heard this before. A thousand times.

OLD MAN (CONT'D)
Couldn't be broken. Backbone.

The Old Man leans in, tapping the table for emphasis.

OLD MAN (CONT'D)
My Uncle George landed on the beach of Normandy.

BALD MAN
Yeah?

OLD MAN
In their day, this war would have been over by now.

Behind the taps, the BARTENDER, wrapped in a fur coat against the cold, looks distressed.

BARTENDER
What do they want with us anyway?

The question hangs in the stale air.

BALD MAN
It's obvious, isn't it? Minerals.

OLD MAN
Minerals?

BALD MAN
Yeah, minerals. Oxygen they want.

OLD MAN
(scoffing)
What? Oxygen?

BALD MAN
Think about it.

Cage turns his head slowly. His patience has evaporated.

CAGE
What difference does it make?

The three locals turn to look at the American soldier.

CAGE (CONT'D)
They're here. They're winning.

Cage stares right through them.

CAGE (CONT'D)
And whatever it is, they're gonna get it.

The Old Man bristles, offended by the defeatism.

OLD MAN
Shouldn't you be over there?

Cage holds the Old Man's gaze. There is no fear in Cage's eyes, only a terrible weariness.

CAGE
I've been over there. More times than anybody.

Cage turns back to the taps, his voice dropping to a murmur.

CAGE (CONT'D)
As a matter of fact, I'm usually long dead by now.

The Old Man sneers, turning away.

OLD MAN
Coward.

Cage doesn't react. He just stares at the reflection in the brass tap.

Suddenly, the lights CUT OUT. The hum of the fridge dies. The pub plunges into shadow.

CAGE
Power's gone.

Silence fills the room. Cage sighs, stands up, and buttons his jacket. He knows the drill.

EXT. LONDON STREET - CONTINUOUS

Cage pushes out the pub door into the grey daylight. He walks past piles of uncollected trash bags, his senses on high alert.

He pauses, looking down the street, waiting for the inevitable reset."
"EXT. MILITARY BASE - DAY

Through the blurred slats of yellow metal stairs, RITA VRATASKI strides with lethal purpose. MAJOR WILLIAM CAGE scrambles to keep pace, looking like a man who just woke up in a nightmare.

RITA
You don't talk to anyone about this but me. Best case scenario is you're gonna end up in a psych ward.

She doesn't even look at him. Her eyes scan the perimeter.

RITA (CONT'D)
Worst case, you'll get dissected for study. Are we clear?

CAGE
(breathless)
Yes?

RITA
Yes.

She turns a sharp corner past a row of parked transport trucks. Cage nearly trips trying to stay close.

RITA (CONT'D)
First time you died, what happened? You killed a mimic?

CAGE
Yes.

RITA
Describe it.

CAGE
Um, it's different. It's... bigger, bluish.

RITA
And you got covered in its blood.

Cage stops for a split second, the memory visceral.

CAGE
As a matter of fact, I did.

RITA
They know we're coming. On the beach tomorrow.

She stops abruptly. Cage almost bumps into her. She turns, her face grim.

RITA (CONT'D)
It's a slaughter, isn't it?

CAGE
How do you know this?

She starts walking again, faster this time. Cage jogs to catch up, grabbing her arm to stop her.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Could you just wait? Wait! Wait!

They stand amidst the bustle of soldiers and machinery. Cage is desperate, his eyes wide with panic.

CAGE (CONT'D)
Could you please just explain to me what the hell is happening?

RITA
(deadpan)
What happened to you happened to me.

Cage stares at her, processing.

RITA (CONT'D)
I had it. I lost it. Okay?

CAGE
That's great. There's a cure. How do I get rid of this?

RITA
First I need your help.

CAGE
Help with what exactly?

RITA
Winning the war.

She turns on her heel and heads toward a waiting jeep.

RITA (CONT'D)
Let's go. Come on.

EXT. AIRFIELD - MOMENTS LATER

A small military jeep tears across the vast, grey tarmac. 

In the distance, massive dropships loom under a heavy, overcast sky. The jeep becomes a speck against the industrial landscape of the war machine."
"INT. HELICOPTER - DAY

EXTREME CLOSE UP:

An EYE snaps open. Wide. Alert.

MAJOR WILLIAM CAGE (40s) blinks, disoriented. The thrum of rotor blades fills the air. He shifts in his seat, looking out the window.

Below him, the gray sprawl of London. The Thames winds through the city, cold and indifferent.

Cage rubs his face, trying to shake off a bad dream. He puts on his service cap, composing himself.

EXT. TRAFALGAR SQUARE - DAY

The military helicopter descends into the heart of London, kicking up dust around the famous fountains and lion statues. The square has been repurposed as a landing zone.

The side door slides open. Cage steps out, ducking under the rotors. He carries a garment bag, looking less like a soldier and more like a man on a business trip.

A young woman in British fatigues, CORPORAL MONTGOMERY, waits for him at the bottom of the steps. She salutes sharply.

CAGE
(shouting over the rotors)
Major Cage.

MONTGOMERY
Welcome to London, Major. I'm Corporal Montgomery. From General Brigham's press office.

She gestures for him to follow. They walk briskly across the pavement, the wind whipping at their uniforms.

MONTGOMERY (CONT'D)
Very good to have you.

Cage looks around, taking in the fortified city.

MONTGOMERY (CONT'D)
Have you heard the news? It's brilliant.

Cage doesn't answer. His attention is caught by the side of a building under renovation.

A massive propaganda banner covers the scaffolding. It depicts SERGEANT RITA VRATASKI wielding a giant sword, looking heroic. The text reads: ""TO VICTORY - JOIN THE UDF.""

INT. UDF HEADQUARTERS - BRIEFING ROOM - DAY

A wall-sized screen displays a news feed: ""BREAKING NEWS - GENERAL BRIGHAM - UDF COMMANDER.""

GENERAL BRIGHAM stands at a podium, flashbulbs popping.

GENERAL BRIGHAM (ON TV)
Just before sunrise this morning, a large surge of energy was detected in Paris.

IN THE ROOM:

Cage stands amidst a sea of grim-faced OFFICERS from various nations. He watches the screen intently, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

GENERAL BRIGHAM (ON TV)
We do not know exactly what this signifies, but the result appears to be a total collapse of the enemy's capacity to fight.

The broadcast cuts to footage of tanks rolling through European streets.

GENERAL BRIGHAM (V.O.)
Russian and Chinese troops are now moving across Europe without resistance.

Back to Brigham at the podium. He leans into the microphone, projecting confidence.

GENERAL BRIGHAM (ON TV)
Tomorrow, we advance on the Western Front. We believe we are marching to claim a victory for ourselves.

The room is silent. Cage stares at the General, looking more terrified than triumphant."
"INT. BILL DUNNE'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT

The room is submerged in shadow. The back door opens, casting a sliver of moonlight.

NICK enters. He looks exhausted. He moves quickly to a keypad on the wall.

The keypad emits a rhythmic WARNING BEEP.

Nick punches in a code. 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

He gets it wrong. He tries again, fingers fumbling in the dark.

Suddenly—

The ALARM SCREAMS. A deafening, pulsing siren that fills the house.

Nick winces, frustrated. Almost immediately, the wall-mounted landline RINGS.

Nick snatches the receiver.

NICK
(shouting over the siren)
Hello?

He presses a hand to his other ear, trying to hear the operator.

NICK (CONT'D)
Hello?
(pause)
Nicholas Dunne.
(pause)
Owner, my father's name, William Dunn?

While he listens, his eyes wander to the kitchen table.

Resting against a sugar jar is a small white envelope. Handwritten on the front: ""Clue Three.""

Nick stares at it. The siren is relentless.

NICK (CONT'D)
Is this necessary? Can you just turn the bell off?
(listening)
Yeah, I know.

He rubs his forehead, trying to recall the password.

NICK (CONT'D)
It's puddles.
(beat)
Or it's poodles.

The SIREN CUTS OUT instantly. The silence is heavy.

NICK (CONT'D)
(relieved)
Where's that?

He hangs up the phone. He takes a breath, composing himself, then turns around.

DETECTIVE BONEY is standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the streetlights outside. She watches him like a hawk.

BONEY
Hello, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.

NICK
It's your dad's house, right?

BONEY
Are you following me?

NICK
What you doing?

BONEY
Like you said, it's my dad's house.

Nick steps away from the counter, moving toward her.

NICK
I come by once a week, make sure the place hasn't burned down.

He glances around the dark, empty kitchen.

NICK (CONT'D)
But it looks okay.

He gestures to the door, eager to get her out of there.

NICK (CONT'D)
We'll walk you out."
"INT. LAKE HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

DESI COLLINGS (30s, polished, wearing a linen suit) stands over AMY DUNNE (30s). Amy sits curled on a low sofa, dressed in drab, loose clothing, looking vacant and fragile.

Desi holds a tablet, his posture rigid with suppressed impatience.

DESI
Amy? It's time to move on.
(beat)
What can I do to help?

Amy picks at her lip, staring at the floor.

AMY
(softly)
I need some time to think.

Desi sets the tablet down on the coffee table with a sharp CLACK.

DESI
That's the last thing you need.

AMY
(pleading)
Desi...

Desi paces around the sofa, looming over her. He speaks with an intensity that borders on aggression.

DESI
Twenty years, you have kept me dangling. Finally, last night, you came to me. And you chose me.

Amy shrinks back into the cushions.

DESI (CONT'D)
Follow that instinct. Don't trust the instinct that left you beaten and homeless. Sleeping in your car, fearing for your life.

He stops directly in front of her, leaning down to catch her eye.

DESI (CONT'D)
I'm not gonna force myself on you.

Amy slowly lifts her head. Her eyes are wide, swimming with tears.

AMY
I understand what you're saying, Desi.
(beat)
I do.

She looks away, her voice trembling.

AMY (CONT'D)
Just been... I've been so mistreated. For so long.

She brings a hand to her mouth, acting as if she's holding back a breakdown.

AMY (CONT'D)
I've forgotten how to behave.

Desi’s expression softens into a possessive pity. He sits on the arm of the sofa, invading her space.

DESI
I'll move in here tomorrow. And we'll work it out together.

He reaches out, placing a large hand on the crown of her head. Amy freezes, her eyes darting but her body compliant.

DESI (CONT'D)
I just want you to be you again.

He notices a stray hair on her forehead. With meticulous, creepy precision, he pinches it and tucks it back into place.

In the background, a DETECTIVE steps into the room from the hallway, out of focus.

DETECTIVE
Are you--"
"INT. ABANDONED MALL - NIGHT

Total darkness, save for the piercing beams of two FLASHLIGHTS cutting through the gloom.

DETECTIVE and RHONDA descend a non-functional escalator. The metal steps are covered in grime. The cavernous space around them is silent, filled with the skeletons of old kiosks and debris.

DETECTIVE
Jesus.

He shines his light on the water-stained ceiling.

DETECTIVE (CONT'D)
They ought to burn this place down.

RHONDA
Seems like folks are trying.

They step off the escalator, boots crunching on broken glass and trash. They navigate through the shadows of the lower level.

DETECTIVE
You really think this is anything?

RHONDA
Cross it off the list.

They pass shadowy figures—SQUATTERS retreating into the darkness as the light hits them. Voices echo faintly in the distance.

SQUATTER (O.S.)
Come on, let's go.

Rhonda and the Detective approach a dilapidated storefront. JASON leans against a metal frame, smoking. Near his feet, a YOUNG JUNKIE sits on the floor, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself.

RHONDA
Jason.

Jason looks up, squinting into the flashlight beams.

JASON
What's up, Rhonda?

YOUNG JUNKIE
(mumbling, delirious)
...liberty... dedicated to the proposition... that all men are...

Rhonda pulls a PHOTO from her pocket. She holds it up into the light.

RHONDA
Seen this girl around here?

JASON
Why you ask?

RHONDA
She was reported missing.

Jason leans in. The photo shows a smiling young blonde woman. A stark contrast to their surroundings.

YOUNG JUNKIE
(rocking)
...so conceived... and so dedicated...

Jason studies the face. He nods slowly.

JASON
Yeah. I remember her.

DETECTIVE
What'd she want? Weed? Pills?

JASON
She wanted a gun.

The Detective and Rhonda exchange a look. This wasn't expected.

JASON (CONT'D)
I told her it's not my thing.
(beat)
I felt bad, though. She seemed really desperate. Said it needed to be small so she could keep it close.

RHONDA
You sure this is her?

JASON
You don't forget a girl like that in here. She was all in pink.

Jason looks them dead in the eye.

JASON (CONT'D)
It was Valentine's Day.

CUT TO:

INSERT - JOURNAL PAGE

A hand writes in cursive with a red pen: ""For Valentine's Day..."""
"INT. MARGO'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is dark, lit only by the harsh, flickering glow of the TELEVISION.

ON SCREEN: ELLEN ABBOTT, a Nancy Grace-esque pundit, sneers at the camera. A graphic reads ""NICK DUNNE'S KILLER SMILE.""

ELLEN ABBOTT (TV)
...A high-eating grin from a guy whose wife is missing.

MARGO sits on the couch, curled up with a beer, watching the assassination of her brother's character.

NICK enters from the hallway. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He sees the TV, grabs the remote, and CLICKS it off.

The room plunges into a quieter, heavier silence.

NICK
How are you doing?

MARGO
Terrific.

Nick walks to the kitchen area, opening the fridge.

NICK
How's Mary Beth?

MARGO
She's a wreck.

NICK
And you?

MARGO
Awesome.

Nick grabs a beer, twists the cap off. He leans against the counter, avoiding eye contact.

MARGO (CONT'D)
Hey. Have you told me everything?

Nick freezes. He looks up, defensive.

NICK
Of course.

MARGO
Everything?

NICK
Why would you even ask me that?

MARGO
Ever since you walked into the bar that morning Amy went missing, you seem, like... off.

NICK
(snapping)
I *am* off.

He moves into the living room, gesturing with his beer.

NICK (CONT'D)
Everybody's examining me and projecting their shit on me. All I want is to come over here, have a beer with you, and not be judged.

He stands over her, waiting for a verdict.

NICK (CONT'D)
Can we do that?

Margo softens immediately. She moves her legs to make room on the couch.

MARGO
Of course.

Nick sinks into the sofa beside her. He takes a long pull of his beer. They sit in the dark, two siblings against the world.

MARGO (CONT'D)
You know what I keep thinking?

NICK
That Mom were here?

MARGO
Yeah.

NICK
(exhales)
Yeah.

MARGO
Like I'm twelve. Mom would fix it.

A beat of shared grief. Margo sighs, putting on her glasses.

MARGO (CONT'D)
I'm gonna go Benadryl myself to sleep.

She stands up, grabbing her empty can.

MARGO (CONT'D)
Love you.

NICK
Love you.

Margo exits to the bedroom. Nick is left alone in the shadows. He stares into the middle distance, his face unreadable.

CUT TO:

INSERT - DIARY PAGE

A pen writes in elegant cursive on a fresh page.

HANDWRITING:
""September 18""
""So here's a strange..."""
"INT. MASTER BATHROOM - DAY

The room is sleek, cold, and grey. The sound of RUNNING WATER hisses from the shower.

NICK (30s, shirtless) walks toward the glass enclosure. He looks exhausted, haunted.

Through the steam and glass, a silhouette moves. AMY (30s). She turns.

NICK
You killed someone.

Amy stands under the spray. Her body is caked in dried blood.

AMY
Baby...

NICK
You're a murderer.

AMY
I'm a fighter. I fought my way back to you.

NICK
You killed a guy.

Nick stares at the blood washing off her skin.

NICK (CONT'D)
You slashed his throat with a box cutter.

Amy steps out of the direct spray, facing him through the open glass door. Her eyes are terrifyingly calm.

AMY
You went on national television. And begged for me to save your life. And I obliged.

She moves closer to the glass.

AMY (CONT'D)
But I want *that* man.

NICK
I'm leaving.

Amy tilts her head. A predator studying prey.

AMY
You really think that's smart?
(beat)
Shampoo.

She holds out a hand, expecting him to fetch it. Nick doesn't move. He just stares.

Amy retracts her hand, unbothered, and begins to scrub the blood from her neck.

AMY (CONT'D)
Wounded, raped wife battles her way back to her husband and he deserts her?

She lathers her hair. Red water cascades down her pale back.

AMY (CONT'D)
They'll destroy you. Neighbors will shun you. And I'll make sure that no one forgets the pain you caused me.

NICK
(quiet fury)
I don't want anything to do with your groupies outside.

Amy tilts her head back into the water, rinsing. The water swirling at her feet turns crimson.

NICK (CONT'D)
Once they go, I go.

Amy runs her hands through her wet hair, slicking it back. She looks at him—clean now, but no less dangerous.

AMY
Give it the night.

She turns away.

AMY (CONT'D)
Sleep on it.

Nick stands paralyzed in the doorway, realizing the cage has just locked shut."
"EXT. RURAL HIGHWAY - DUSK

A bruised, purple sky hangs over the plains. A convoy of heavy-duty MILITARY TRUCKS and SUVs sits idle on the roadside. 

Silhouettes of REAVERS stand guard, smoking, watching the horizon.

INT. MOBILE COMMAND TRUCK - CONTINUOUS

Sterile, cold light floods the cramped interior. 

CLOSE ON: An IV CATHETER is taped onto a pale, bruised arm. A clear liquid drips down the line.

DR. ZANDER RICE (O.S.)
My name is Dr. Rice...

CALIBAN sits hunched in the corner of the mobile lab. He looks wretched—skin scorched, sweating, eyes sunken in dark sockets. He stares blankly as a man adjusts the drip.

DR. ZANDER RICE
...but you can call me Zander if you like.

Rice steps back. He wears a beige trench coat over a suit, looking clinically detached from the grime around him.

DR. ZANDER RICE
My colleague tells me you've been somewhat resistant.

Rice leans against the metal cabinetry, studying his patient with a polite, predatory gaze.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
He believes you've been dispensing delayed information to allow your friends to stay one step ahead.

Caliban doesn't make eye contact. He breathes shallowly, in pain.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
I'm offering you the possibility of redemption, Caliban. To protect the world and, in the process, save your friends.

Rice moves closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
The girl is a rather small price to pay for that. And like you, she isn't pure. She wasn't made by nature. She's a mistake of my own.

Caliban slowly lifts his head. His eyes are watery, red-rimmed, filled with resentment.

CALIBAN
I did what I could, and they burnt me and beat me. Your colleagues are savages.

Rice smiles—a tight, sympathetic expression that doesn't reach his eyes.

DR. ZANDER RICE
I agree. The Reavers were very ineffective. But I'm bringing new tools to bear.

Rice’s face hardens slightly. The veneer of politeness thins.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
I still need someone to point us in the right direction.

CALIBAN
No, I can't help you.

Rice steps right into Caliban's personal space, looming over him. He speaks softly, soothing yet terrifying.

DR. ZANDER RICE
Breathe. Breathe.

Rice stares intensely into Caliban's eyes, searching for the tracker's weakness.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
And what does he have, the old man? Alzheimer's? ALS?

Rice’s eyes widen with dark fascination as he considers the diagnosis.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
A degenerative brain disease in the world's most dangerous brain.

Rice lingers on the thought, almost admiring the irony.

DR. ZANDER RICE (CONT'D)
What a combo."
"EXT. LOOKOUT TOWER - DAY

A scarred hand grips a heavy cable, hauling on a pulley system. This is LOGAN. He looks older, beaten down by time, his tank top stained with sweat and grime.

He pauses, sensing something. He looks out over the vast, arid desert landscape.

Far below, a lone vehicle kicks up a trail of dust on a dirt road.

A low HUM draws Logan’s attention upward.

He cranes his neck. Against the blue sky, a formation of QUADCOPTER DRONES buzzes overhead, heading toward the mountain range.

Logan’s eyes narrow. Trouble.

INT. LOOKOUT TOWER - CONTINUOUS

Logan rushes inside the glass-walled observation deck. He grabs the handles of a heavy-duty, mounted set of BINOCULARS and swings them toward the mountains.

BINOCULAR POV

The crosshairs sweep across the granite peaks. The drones hover in formation against the rock face.

INT. LOOKOUT TOWER - CONTINUOUS

Logan adjusts the focus, his jaw set tight. He pans down.

BINOCULAR POV

Deep in the valley below, a winding road cuts through the pine forest. A CONVOY of black armored trucks snakes its way through the trees.

INT. LOOKOUT TOWER - CONTINUOUS

Logan pulls back from the eyepiece. His breathing hitches. They found them.

INT. HIDEOUT - DAY

INSERT:

A small green vial sits on a rough wooden table. The label is obscured, but a handwritten note beside it reads: ""NOT ALL AT ONCE.""

EXT. FOREST - DAY

AERIAL SHOT: The dense canopy of the forest. Smoke or mist rises from the ground.

ON THE GROUND:

Black tactical boots stomp through the underbrush.

The REAVERS have arrived.

Heavily armored trucks crush the vegetation. Through the mist, SOLDIERS in tactical gear flank the vehicles, rifles raised, scanning the perimeter for targets."
"INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

The room is dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the ambient glow of streetlights outside. Posters cover the slanted ceiling walls.

TEEN BOY sits in a papasan chair at his desk, back to the door, wired earphones plugged into his ears. He is in his own world.

TEEN GIRL stands in the doorway, watching him silently. She wears a denim jacket over a grey tee.

The Boy senses something. He turns, startled to find her there. He pulls one earbud out, the tinny sound of music bleeding into the room.

The Girl steps inside, her eyes drawn to a row of golden TROPHIES gleaming under the desk lamp.

TEEN BOY
Those are for breakaway roping.

He gestures to the next set.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
Those are for barrel racing. And right here is for pole bending.

She moves closer, inspecting the plastic figurines frozen in action.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
They're all second, third place. I'm not too good at it, but... my dad makes me.

He looks down, a moment of vulnerability exposed. The Girl stands beside him now, the distance between them shrinking.

He lifts the loose earbud, offering it to her.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
Do you want to listen?

She doesn't speak. She leans in, brushing her hair back, and places the earbud in her ear.

They sit in silence, tethered together by the white wire, sharing the rhythm. The Boy watches her face, searching for a reaction.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
You like it?

She meets his gaze, her expression intense, unblinking.

He fumbles with the device—a small white MP3 player—and unplugs his own earbud to hand the whole unit to her.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
Um, well here. You can take it for the night.

She accepts it, her fingers grazing his.

TEEN BOY (CONT'D)
And I'll get it back from you in the morning.

She clutches the player to her chest and turns, walking out of the room as quietly as she entered. The Boy watches the empty doorway.

EXT. FENCE - NIGHT

CLOSE UP on the jaws of heavy-duty BOLT CUTTERS.

They bite into a thick steel chain.

SNAP."
"EXT. GREENWOOD CEMETERY - DAY

HEAVY RAIN hammers the gravestones. In the distance, a funeral service huddles under black umbrellas.

LOGAN leans against a large oak tree, separate from the mourners. He looks rough—bearded, scarred, older. He tips a miniature liquor bottle back, draining it.

GABRIELA (O.S.)
Wolverine.

Logan freezes. He lowers the bottle, eyes shutting in annoyance.

LOGAN
Fuck.

He pushes off the tree, turning to leave. GABRIELA, soaking wet in a teal coat, steps into his path.

GABRIELA
I knew it was you.

LOGAN
(walking past her)
...

GABRIELA
Please. I'm in trouble.

She scrambles to keep up with his long strides through the mud.

GABRIELA (CONT'D)
You're the only one that could help.
(in Spanish)
Necesito un héroe. (I need a hero.)

Logan spins around, snapping.

LOGAN
Get the fuck away from me.

He turns back around, marching toward a parked CHRYSLER LIMO. Gabriela pursues, shouting over the rain.

GABRIELA
(in Spanish)
Qué demonios te pasó? (What the hell happened to you?)
(in Spanish)
De qué te escondes? (What are you hiding from?)

She grabs his sleeve. Logan rips his arm away with terrifying force.

GABRIELA (CONT'D)
Please!

Logan reaches the limo. Gabriela is frantic now.

GABRIELA (CONT'D)
Logan!
(in Spanish)
Por qué no me oyes? (Why won't you listen to me?)

Logan yanks the driver's side door open. In the back seat, an ELDERLY WIDOW in mourning veils looks out, startled.

ELDERLY WIDOW
Who is that?

LOGAN
I don't know. Some crazy lady. Don't worry.

He dives into the driver's seat and slams the door, shutting out Gabriela's pleas.

INT. LIMO - CONTINUOUS

Logan grips the wheel, rain pounding the roof. He exhales, shaken.

EXT. CEMETERY - CONTINUOUS

The limo peels out, splashing through puddles. 

As Logan drives past a row of parked cars, he passes a beat-up TEAL FIAT.

In the rear window of the Fiat, a YOUNG GIRL (LAURA) in a red hoodie stares out. Her gaze is locked on Logan—intense, predatory, unblinking.

Logan catches her eyes in the rearview mirror. A shiver of recognition—or dread—passes over him.

EXT. HOSPITAL - DAY

The rain has stopped. The limo sits idling near the emergency entrance.

Logan climbs out of the car, looking exhausted, the weight of the encounter hanging on him."
"INT. RESTROOM - DAY

A cramped, filthy stall. Graffiti covers the beige walls. An empty wheelchair sits just outside the open door.

Inside, two pairs of feet shuffle on the tile. One pair wears heavy boots (LOGAN), the other droopy socks (CHARLES).

CHARLES (O.S.)
Stop it, for God's sake. I can do this myself.

LOGAN (O.S.)
Yeah, well, you're not doing it. Just get on with it.

CHARLES (O.S.)
Not with you standing there.

The stall door creaks as LOGAN steps out, looking exhausted. He holds the door ajar with one hand, turning his head away.

LOGAN
Trust me, I'm not looking.

INT. CONVENIENCE STORE - DAY

LAURA (11) stands in the snack aisle. She looks out of place—dirty clothes, intense eyes. She pops the lid off a Pringles can and devours a stack.

She grabs a can of energy drink. Cracks it open. It SPRAYS all over her face. She doesn't flinch, just slurps the foam.

She wanders to a sunglasses rack. Picks out a pair of glittery pink shades. Puts them on. She admires herself in the small mirror.

A STORE CLERK with bleached hair approaches cautiously.

STORE CLERK
Hello. Hi, there.

Laura ignores him, munching on chips.

STORE CLERK (CONT'D)
You know you gotta pay for that, right?

She stares at him through the pink lenses. Silent.

STORE CLERK (CONT'D)
Hey, where's your mommy and daddy, huh?

He reaches out, trying to take the snacks from her hands.

STORE CLERK (CONT'D)
Come on. That's enough. These two.

Laura's reaction is instant. She grabs his wrist, twists, and FLIPS him over her hip.

The Clerk slams onto the checkered floor, hard.

Laura pounces. She pins him down, raises a fist, and--

SNIKT.

Two ADAMANTIUM CLAWS extend from her knuckles, hovering an inch from the Clerk's eyeball.

LOGAN (O.S.)
Not okay.

Laura freezes. She looks up.

Logan stands over them, his hand firmly gripping Laura's wrist, keeping the claws away from the boy's face. He glares at her.

Laura retracts the claws with a wet SHINK.

Logan hauls her off the Clerk. The boy scrambles back, hyperventilating.

Logan looks down at him, weary.

LOGAN
Sorry.

Logan looks around the counter, distracted.

LOGAN (CONT'D)
Um, do you sell phone chargers?

He spots a rack of chargers. He grabs one, then snatches a handful of cigars from a display.

He grabs Laura by the scruff of her neck, steering her toward the exit.

LOGAN (CONT'D)
Come on. Get in the truck.

He shoves the door open and marches her out into the bright desert sun."