12 Monkeys Page #8

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UNEARTHLY VOICE/P.A. SYSTEM

-- they're the ones who are going to do it...

COLE'S eyes seek the source of the sound and find it on the table

in front of the panel of disapproving SCIENTISTS facing him. It's

a beat-up old tape recorder.

UNEARTHLY VOICE/TAPE RECORDER

I can't do anything more. The Police

are after me.

The tape ends, runs off the reel, flap...flap...flap...

ASTROPHYSICIST:

Well?

COLE:

Uh, what?

ENGINEER:

He's drugged out of his mind! He's

completely zoned out.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

Cole, did you or did you not record

that message?

COLE:

Uh, that message...me?

MICROBIOLOGIST:

It's a digital reconstruction of a

message, Cole, from a weak signal on our

contact number. Did you make that call?

COLE:

(angrily)

I couldn't call! You sent me to the

wrong year! It was 1989.

SCIENTISTS:

1989!

The SCIENTISTS react, exchanging looks, whispers. Then,

ZOOLOGIST:

You're certain of that?

GEOLOGIST:

(before Cole can answer)

What did you do with your time, Cole?

Did you waste it on drugs? Women?

COLE:

They forced me to take drugs.

BOTANIST:

Forced you! Why would someone force

you to take drugs?

COLE:

I got into trouble. I got arrested.

But I still got you a specimen -- a

spider -- but I didn't have anyplace to

put it, so I ate it. It was the wrong

year anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter.

The SCIENTISTS stare incredulously, then turn, exchange knowing

looks, huddle, start whispering to one another.

Struggling to stay awake COLE sees, blurrily, the MICROBIOLOGIST

staring at COLE intently. For one moment, the face belongs to

DR. FLETCHER!

COLE blinks hard...and the MICROBIOLOGIST has his own face, again.

COLE'S head slumps forward now...and everything goes dark.

GEOLOGIST'S VOICE (o.s.)

Cole!

INT. ENGINEERING OFFICE - ETERNAL NIGHT OF THE FUTURE

COLE comes awake with a start. The room is dark now, except...

a slide is being projected on a torn screen. It's a picture of a

stenciled graffiti...the logo of The Army of the 12 Monkeys.

ENGINEER:

What about it, Cole?

ZOOLOGIST:

Did you see it?

COLE:

Uh, no, sir. I...

Another slide CLICKS into place. Youthful PROTESTERS, their

placards featuring slogans and images of Animal Atrocities,

confront POLICE in riot gear.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

What about these people? Did you see

any of these people?

Zooming in, panning, the SCIENTISTS emphasize the FACES of the

PROTESTERS. The FACES are unfamiliar to COLE (though WE will

recognize some of them later on).

COLE (o.s.)

Uh, no, sir, I...wait!

The image pans back to a much enlarged blurry FACE among the

PROTESTERS. In spite of the poor image, the expression of rage

is clear, and it seems to resemble a somewhat older JEFFREY MASON.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

Him? You saw that man?

COLE:

Uh, I think so. In the mental hospital.

MICRO3IOLOGIST

(switching on the light)

You were in a mental institution?!

The SCIENTISTS MUTTER disapprovingly among themselves.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

You were sent to make very important

observations!

BOTANIST:

You could have made a real contribution.

GEOLOGIST:

Helped to reclaim the planet...

ZOOLOGIST:

As well as reducing your sentence.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

The question is, Cole -- "Do you want

another chance?"

COLE stares at them, trying to figure out what they mean.

INT. CONCOURSE/AIRPORT - DAY (THE DREAM)

The BRUNETTE runs up the concourse, her back to YOUNG COLE, as

frightened PASSENGERS duck for cover, SHOUTING!

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Hey! Who's that?

INT. CELL - ETERNAL NIGHT

COLE opens his eyes. Where is he? Silence as he examines the

tiny cell. Bare cement walls. High ceiling. Same color and

size as the isolation room at the county hospital.

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Hey, Bob...what's your name?

COLE looks around frantically. Up, down. Where is the VOICE

coming from? Maybe from that tiny vent high in the wall...

COLE:

Where are you?

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

You can talk! Wah'dja do, Bobby boy?

Volunteer?

COLE:

My name's not "Bob".

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Not a prob, Bob. Where'd they send you?

COLE:

Where are you?

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Another cell. ... Maybe.

COLE:

What do you mean, "maybe"? What's that

supposed to mean?

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Maybe. Means "maybe" I'm in the next cell,

another "volunteer" like you -- or "maybe"

I'm in the Central Office spying on you

for all those science bozos. Or, hey, "maybe"

I'm not even here. "Maybe" I'm just in

your head. No way to confirm anything.

Ha Ha. Where'd they send you?

COLE doesn't answer.

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Not talking, huh, Bob? That's okay

I can handle that.

COLE:

1989.

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

89! How was it? Good drugs? Lotsa

p*ssy? Hey, Bob, you do the job? D'ju

find out the "big info"?...Army of the

Twelve Monkeys...where the virus was

prior to mutation?

COLE:

It was supposed to be 1995.

RASPY VOICE (o.s.)

Science isn't an exact science with

these clowns. You're lucky you didn't

end up in ancient Egypt!

INT. LAB - ETERNAL NIGHT OF THE FUTURE

COLE is strapped on a gurney. SCIENTISTS hover near-by,

whispering. The walls of the gloomy chamber are damp, sweating.

GEOLOGIST:

No mistakes this time, Cole.

ASTROPHYSICIST:

Stay alert. Keep your eyes open.

ZOOLOGIST:

Good thinking about that spider, Cole.

Try and do something like that again.

MICROBIOLOGIST:

Just relax now -- don't fight it. We

have to know exactly what's there so we

can fix it.

The gurney is being wheeled into a crudely welded steel tube...

reminiscent of the cat scanner in County Hospital.

COLE'S POV:
a last glimpse of anxious FACES, then the chamber

door is CLANGED shut.

EVERYTHING IS BLACK. A HUM BUILDS. THE BLACKNESS VIBRATES, THE

HUM REACHES A DEAFENING LEVEL, THEN DIMUENDOS. WE BEGIN TO HEAR

BURSTS OF MACHINE GUN FIRE, VOICES SHOUTING IN FRENCH, A SUDDEN

HUGE EXPLOSION! THEN...

EXT. TRENCH/FRANCE - DAY

DRIZZLING RAIN. And SCREAMS. COLE'S in a deep trench, naked,

eyes wide with terror. What's going on? Where is he? SOLDIERS

in gas masks push urgently past him rushing toward their injured

COMRADES who've been ripped apart by the shell that just hit

fifteen yards away. Muffled VOICES shout through gas masks...

in FRENCH. COLE doesn't know it, but this is World War I!

Suddenly, a SERGEANT confronts him, shouting in French.

SERGEANT:

(FRENCH, subtitled)

Where's your mask?! And your clothes...

and your weapon, you idiot?!

COLE:

What? What??

COLE looks around desperately. A horribly WOUNDED MAN is being

stretchered past them in the narrow trench. Machine guns chatter

close at hand. AAK AAK AAK. A grenade EXPLODES. Reacting to the

foreign word, the SERGEANT jams his bayonet into COLE'S ribs...

SERGEANT:

(FRENCH, subtitled)

Captain! A Kraut! We got a Kraut!

COLE:

I don't understand. Where am I?

The CAPTAIN hurries over, snapping at COLE in German.

CAPTAIN:

(GERMAN, subtitled)

How'd you get here, soldier? What's

your rank? Where are your clothes?

COLE:

I...don't understand.

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