12 Monkeys Page #2

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AMPLIFIED VOICE (o.s.)

Raise your arms above your head.

COLE lifts his arms and the FIGURES start scrubbing his armpits.

INT. TINY CHAMBER - SHORTLY (ETERNAL NIGHT)

Still naked, COLE is seated on a stool while a MASKED TECHNICIAN

in a less elaborate, less bulky decontamination outfit draws

blood from COLE'S arm with an old-fashioned hypodermic needle.

COLE glances toward a single, nearly opaque "window" of thick

plastic in the rusty iron wall. VAGUE FIGURES seem to lurk

behind the translucent aperture, studying him.

The TECHNICIAN slips the blood sample through a slot in the wall.

INT. ENGINEERING OFFICE/FUTURE WORLD - ETERNAL NIGHT

Ushered in by two guards, TINY and SCARFACE, COLE looks around.

COLE'S POV:
wails hidden by old headlines, articles, maps, charts...

a blackboard covered with elaborate, sophisticated formulae...surfaces

heaped with cracked monitors, gerry-rigged computers held together with

string, lasers lost in tangles of cable, ancient tube amplifiers, a

dilapidated cardboard reconstruction of a city, stacks of moldering

books and tattered computer printouts...and, seated at a long conference

table, staring at COLE, six SCIENTISTS: an ASTROPHYSICIST, ENGINEER,

BOTANIST, MICROBIOLOGIST, ZOOLOGIST, and a GEOLOGIST. They represent

a "modern" science where brilliant new ideas interface with crude,

outdated, patched-together technologies.

TINY:

James Cole. Cleared from quarantine.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

Thank you. You two wait outside.

SCARFACE:

He's got a history, Doctor. Violence.

COLE'S eyes return to the walls.

Headlines:
"CLOCK TICKING! NO CURE YET!"

SCARFACE:

Anti-social six -- doing 25 to life.

ENGINEER:

I don't think he's going to hurt us. You're

not going to hurt us, are you Mr. Cole?

COLE'S head turns quickly to the ENGINEER.

COLE:

No, sir.

The GUARDS exchange a look, shrug, exit, closing the door.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

Why don't you sit down, Mr. Cole.

COLE goes to the empty chair at the conference table, sits down.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

We want you to tell us about last

night.

COLE:

I went to the surface and I collected

specimens like I was told.

The SCIENTISTS don't say anything. They just study him carefully.

COLE:

(worried)

I mashed the spider, didn't I?

MICROBIOLOGIST:

We'll get to the spider later, Mr.

Cole. Right now, we want to know

everything that you saw.

INT. ENGINEERING OFFICE - AN HOUR LATER (ETERNAL NIGHT)

COLE, starting to look very tired now, stands at the blackboard

sketching a detailed map of exactly where he was last night.

ASTPOPHYSICIST:

Where you collected sample #4, what

street was that?

COLE:

Uh...

BOTANIST:

It's important to observe everything.

COLE:

I think it was...I'm sure it was 2nd Street.

As the SCIENTISTS start to whisper animatedly among themselves,

COLE'S eyes drift across the newspaper clippings taped to the

wall. One headline screams, "VIRUS MUTATING!" Another features

a photo of an OLD MAN (DR. MASON, who we'll see again later on)

and the words, SCIENTIST SAYS, "IT'S TOO LATE FOR CURE".

ASTROPHYSICIST'S VOICE (o.s.)

Close your eyes, Cole.

Startled, COLE closes his eyes obediently.

BLACKNESS. Like COLE, WE SEE NOTHING. But we HEAR their VOICES.

ENGINEER'S VOICE (o.s.)

Tell us in detail what you've seen in

this room.

COLE'S VOICE (o.s.)

Uh, in this room? Uh...

MICROBIOLOGIST'S VOICE (o.s.)

How many of us are there?

COLE'S VOICE (o.s.)

Six...seven, if you count me.

ASTROPHYSICIST'S VOICE (o.s.)

Tell us about the pictures on the wall...

COLE'S VOICE (o.s.)

Uh, you mean the newspapers?

A MONTAGE OF OVERLAPPING VOICES (o.s.)

Tell us about the newspapers. Can you

hear my voice? What do I look like?

What does he look like, the man who

just spoke? How old were you when you

left the surface?

The VOICES blur into a cacophony and FADE INTO the droning P.A.

SYSTEM at the airport.

INT. CONCOURSE/AIRPORT - DAY

THE DREAM AGAIN! But at an earlier moment. YOUNG COLE, flanked

by his PARENTS, whose faces are out of view, is watching a PLANE

land through one of the big glass windows that lines the concourse

leading to the departure gates.

P.A. SYSTEM (o.s.)

Flight 784 now boarding at gate...

Suddenly, a SHOUT, followed by raised VOICES, interrupts the

monotonous airport routine. As YOUNG COLE and his PARENTS turn

to see what's going on, a man we'll call MR. PONYTAIL, his face

averted, hurries past them, bumping YOUNG COLE with a Chicago

Hulls Sports Duffle Bag.

MR. PONYTAIL

WATCH IT!

YOUNG COLE sees little more than the gaudy pants, the duffle, and

the man's ponytail flopping as he rushes towards the gates.

Just then, a WOMAN'S VOICE cries out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"

YOUNG COLE turns back toward the Security Check Point just as

TRAVELERS scatter madly, some diving to the floor, others

running. A TERRIFIED TRAVELER, hitting the floor close by, looks

up at YOUNG COLE with panicky eyes, and asks....

TERRIFIED TRAVELER

Just exactly why did you volunteer?

INT. ENGINEERING OFFICE/FUTURE WORLD - (ETERNAL NIGHT)

COLE comes abruptly awake. Seated now, he's facing the SCIENTISTS.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

Wake up, Cole.

COLE:

Uh, I didn't hear the...

MICROBIOLOGIST:

(tapping a pencil on the table)

I asked you, why did you volunteer?

COLE:

Well, the guard woke me up. He told me

I volunteered.

The SCIENTISTS react, whispering urgently among themselves.

COLE starts to nod off again, then comes awake with a start as

the ENGINEER speaks to him.

ENGINEER:

We appreciate you volunteering. You're

a very good observer, Cole.

COLE:

Uh, thank you.

ENGINEER:

You'll get a reduction in sentence.

COLE keeps his face impassive.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

To be determined by the proper authorities.

ENGINEER:

You don't want to jeopardize that reduction,

do you, Cole? Have it taken away?

COLE:

No, sir!

ASTROPHYSICIST:

We have a very advanced program, something

very different, requires very skilled people.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

An opportunity to reduce your sentence

considerably...

ZOOLOGIST:

And possibly play an important role in

returning the human race to the surface

of the earth.

ENGINEER:

We want tough minded people. Strong

mentally. We've had some...misfortunes

with "unstable" types.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

For a man in your position...an opportunity.

BOTANIST:

Not to volunteer could be a real mistake.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

(tapping his pencil again)

Definitely a mistake!

COLE gives away nothing. He's in a box here. He has no choices.

He stares at the tapping pencil.

INT. ART GALLERY - NIGHT

A strikingly "real" world of bright colors. Extravagant paintings

adorn the walls. A POET, tiny and ruddy faced, squints over his

glasses as he reads in a booming voice to an AUDIENCE of thirty

seated on folding chairs.

POET:

Still among the myriad microwaves, the

infra-red messages, the gigabytes of ones

and zeroes, we find words, infinitesimally

small, byte-sized now, tinier even than

science lurking in some vague electricity

where, if we listen we can hear the solitary

voice of that poet telling us,

"We are no other than a moving row

Of Magic shadow-shapes that come and go

Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern hold

In Midnight by the Master of the show."

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