-.'-iyp«;^~;';'-: »M v^-.^ ;^^^ ^^r^^^'^^fi^^v^;^,^;:^^^ •« - T ^ jy jfcjg* jffe^f :i *Ttj5^F iw,'-,',,:'ri^' '*;••'••J,-,.. V XvJ;?;, The S^jlligh bpllarMan >i »#«•;-* V*;-M •siA^i^ :•'•••• •:fr'^tv,' Smith -.-•; ^ • I^WjCj*;: :-l)V I ^!:*J$£ /vr.-.*;'-" • ,' v^:>> First Draft Sen. 1.9': EXT O.S.I. BIOMCS DIVISION BUILDING. WASHINGTON D.C. - NIGHT An establishing shot of a polished and sterile looking building. A subtitle lets us kno* where we are. The grounds are patrolled by SOLDIERS - six of them to be exact; fully armed, fully trained. They walk the borders and watch the shadows. One of the Soldiers reaches into his top pocket and extracts a cigarette. He pops it into his mouth and reaches for a light. As he flicks the lighter, a flash of steel swipes . in front of him. lightly sprinkling his. face with blood. His eyes go wide, and he slow­ ly looks toward the ground. There, on the cement pathway, his hand rests, lighter still ignited in it's severed grip. The now pale Soldier slowly looks up. As his eyes meet with something OC. he buckles forward as if gutted. INT FOYER. O.S.I. BIONICS DIVISION BUILDING - NIGHT A N1GHTWATCHMAN sits at the front desk. He twists furiously at the lid of a jar of mayonaise. Before him sits an open turkey sandwich - awaiting said condiment Frustration shows on his face. His eyes clamp shut to facilitate a harder twist... ...and miss the SECURITY MONITOR, which details flashes of black darting across the front of the building's exterior. The fallen Soldiers are dragged offscreen. The Nightwatchman gives up and. slams the jar on the counter of his desk. He checks /0m*\ the security monitor briefly, sees nothing, and turns his attention back to his sand­ wich. He closes it, and looks around for something. Behind him, he spots a butter knife. .As he turns to retrieve it, a flash of silver comes down behind him, slicing his sandwich in half, making not the slightest sound as it does so. The Nightwatch­ man turns back to his dinner, preparing to cut his sandwich in half with his butter knife. When he notices the sandwich already cut in half, he freezes, blinking twice. He slowly looks up. His eyes go wide. | Before him. stand six NINJA - swords drawn, shuriken in hand. They seem very out ' of place in the lobby... ...but not as out of place as the Nightwatchman looks - facing down well-armed would-be assassins with a butter knife. He continues to stare. The Ninja pan as if on cue, allowing for a large, CLOAKED FIGURE to pass between their number. Half of his face is shrouded. The one eye we can see stares down the Nightwatchman. The Cloaked Figure stops at the counter and eyes the Nightwaicnmar The Nightwatchman "begins to sweat. The Cloaked Figure turns his attention to the sandwich on the counter. He picks up half and takes a bite, chewing. He pauses, and replaces it on the plate. He then slow­ ly reaches for the jar of mayonaise and twists the lid off with the ease with v.hicr. one would fart. He points to the butter knife in the Nightwatchman's hand. ft**-. The Nightwatchman looks down at it, comprehends, and then hands it tc the ( Cloaked Figure. The Cloaked Figure dips the knife into the jar. gets a knjfe-full, and spreads the mayonaise on the sandwich half he's eating. He takes another bite and nods at r the Mghtwatchman - "Better." The Cloaked Figure puts the sandwich down, wipes his hands, then reaches forward and snaps the Nightwatchman's neck with the ease he displayed in opening the jar of mayo. Clearly, this is a strong man. As the Nighrwatchman crumples to the floor, the Ninja wordlessly rush out of frame. The Cloaked Figure places the lid back on the jar of mayonaise. INT BIONICS LAB-NIGHT A crew of SCIENTISTS put the finishing touches on a microchip. One touches a wire to the chip's edge. On the other side of a glass wall, a ROBOTIC ARM flexes open - in the fashion of a human arm. Touching another wire to the chip, the 'Hand' on the arm closes tightly. then opens. The CODE PANEL on the door blinks to life. A number sequence begins to flash. The Scientists look to the door, then to one another. They share "We're all here and "Who could it be at this time of night" confused glances. Suddenly the door whooshes open, allowing a view of a smoke filled outer hallway The Scientists stare, confused. Then black flashes speed into the room. Blades rise and fall, shuriken fly. One by one. the Scientists drop - bloodied, dazed and unaware of what hit them. The Cloaked Figure enters the fray, stepping over bodies. He approaches a comput­ er bank and begins typing on a keyboard. ON THE SCREEN - the graphic reads CYBERNETIC SYSTEMS FILE - O.S.I. ONLY. ENTERACCESSCODE. The Cloaked Figure reaches into a pocket and withdraws a cable. He inserts one end into the hard drive of the computer. He pulls off his hood, giving us a view of one side of his face and head. The other end of the cable he apparently plugs into his unseen ear- He types anew on the keyboard. ON THE SCREEN - an access code bypasses the security, and encrypted codes fill the screen. The Cloaked Figure presses enter. ON THE SCREEN' - the graphic reads DOWNLOADING. PLEASE WAIT. The Cloaked Figure's fingers tap the console patiently. He freezes /^*"\ One of the Ninja examines the Robotic Arm and the corresponding :r.:r OC CLOAKED FIGURE Hey ( The Sinja looks up sharply. The Cloaked Figure slowly turns, giving us a full view of his face. Half of the skin on the previously unseen side is worn away, revealing tarnished metal beneath it. The cord is inserted in a vacant eye socket. This is our first full view of KLATCH. KLATCH (in Japanese; subtitled) Don't touch the machines. The Ninja backs away with a slight bow. Klatch turns his attention back to the screen. ON THE SCREEN - the graphic reads DOWNLOADING COMPLETE Klatch unplugs the cord from his eye and crosses to the Robotic Arm. He takes the microchip from the workbase and sticks it in a small platic bag. Smashing his hand through the glass, he grabs the Robotic Arm. crushing it in his gloved grasp. He shakes his hands free of glass and metal shards, and strides out of the lab, closely followed by the Ninja. Credits. EXT TAFT EXPERIMENTAL AIRFIELD - DAY /**»> A ground crew prepares the DAEDELUS FIVE - a sleek, black, futuristic stealth \ bomber. It looks mighty pricey. GENERAL McCLINTOCK (fifties, on the heavy side, old soldier feel) barks into a cell­ ular phone. He is closely shadowed by his aide. McCLINTOCK 1 want to speak to Goldman, and 1 want to speak to him now... 1 don't care... Tell him it's his goddamn job security calling!... (to Aide) Still no sign of him? AIDE Main gate says he hasn't come through yet, sir. McCLINTOCK Test pilots - they go civilian, and it's all talk shows and golf! Well this is the last time 1 wait for... (into phone) What?... Well you track his ass down, missy! If I don't hear Oscar Goldman on this phone by the count of three... OC OSCAR /0^\ You'll have him thrown in the bng. McCLINTOCK ...I'll have him thrown... ^"v McClintock looks up sharply. V. OSCAR GOLDMAN (also fifties, trim, kind-faced) smiles at McClintock. McChntock frowns back at him, thrusting the cellular at his Aide. He holds his watch up at Oscar's face. McCLINTOCK You see that, Oscar? See how the big hand has now passed the twelve and is well on it's way to the three? That means that this craft should have been airborne fifteen friggin' minutes ago! OSCAR I see that ROTC education paid off. Hal. Silly me -1 let my parents teach me how to tell time. •McCLINTOCK Where is that little shit. Oscar? OSCAR Little. He's bigger than you. McCLINTOCK The only thing big about Colonel Austin is his big aversion to being on time. If he's not here in ten f**^ minutes, you're going up in his place. The Airforce didn't spend two billion on this piece of wow to have it decorate the airstrip, for Christ's sake! OSCAR Two billion's a kind estimate. McCLINTOCK I am not screwing around here, Goldman. Does your boy have a case of the chicken shits or something? I swear by God, if he doesn't show, I'll have his ass drummed out of this program so fast... OSCAR Hal - let's not kid ourselves. Yes. he's late. Yes. he's always late. But 1*11 tolerate lateness because he's the best He's a regular Chuck Yeagher, and it's a priveliege to watch him work. Is he irresponsible? Of course. But insinuating that he.might be even the slightest bit nervous about what for him is pro­ bably the most routine of test-runs - even in this souped-up 727 - well, that's just childish. McCLINTOCK Good, he is. A god, he's not. People get scared. Gold- /f^ man - even overpraised test pilots... particularly on • their final runs. OSCAR (beat) f^^- Who flew twelve test runs in the stealth, even when we were sure the retro-thrusters weren't up to snuff? Who landed the H-Class on fumes when the fuel-to- weight ratio was miscalculated by your people? Who - when told to eject from an on-fire F-16 - still brought her in safely and quick enough to extinguish the blaze before it even came close to irreparable damage? Steve Austin may not be the most punctual person I've ever worked with, but I'd say he's - hands-down - the bravest man alive, bar none.