Alien: Resurrection

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EXT. DEEP SPACE SILENT BLACK.

We sweep slowly across an endless tapestry of stars. Finally she comes

into view:

the U.S.S. AURIGA. A massive research vessel that sits majestically

just beyond Pluto's orbit.

We TRACK ALONG the side of the ship, and

INT. AURIGA

along the silent, empty corridors, coming at last to a door with two

guards standing rigid in front of it. Full armour, powerful

shockrifles, expressions empty and cold.

INT. MEDLAB

Along a row of screens, where we see the first signs of life readouts,

lights, data -- all shifting and collating on the blinking screens.

As we move ALONG them, a figure-in a labcoat passes through the frame,

then another,leading us along the lab to settle on what looks like a

Cryogenic tube, not big enough for a human.

Still TRACKING around it, we glimpse inside some vague, fetal mass

encased in a clear, aspic-like gel.

Tubes and cables a attached to the mass, running out of the machine.

As we still CIRCLE, the shape begins to be more coherent, till we can

see what might even be a face.

Eyes, shut tight. Sleeping. Dreaming.

ANGLE:
WHEAT.

A birds eyes view of a field, the soft golden waves filling the screen.

Sharp contrast to what we have seen before.

There is a woman wandering through the field. Beside her a girl, seven

or eight, in dingey sundress. Both have black, tousled hair.

GIRL'S VOICE

My mom always said there were no monsters -- no, real ones -- but there

are.

The girl stops, looks around her. The wheat comes all the up to her

chest, and nothing else is visible as far as she see.

She looks back at the woman but the woman is already more than fifty

yards away.

The girl's expression becomes perplexed.

She slaps a bug on the back of her neck. Pulls it off and is HUGE,

wriggling fleshily in her hand. Her expression becomes even more

distraught, but she cannot muster forth a shout.

The sound of insects-fills the air. Another bug lands on her, another.

She looks down in growing horror and sees:

Blood. At her feet, rising, filling the field, rising above the wheat,

a sea of blood now, dark, thick.

The girl tries again to scream, raises her arms. She is completely

covered in insects, a skittering black shroud of them, and when she

finally does SCREAM they flood into her mouth.

CUT TO:

INT. LAB

Instruments show a jolt in heart rate, blood pressure.

Scientists note it down, look over at the thing in aspic.

We can tell that time has passed because it is much bigger, nearly the

size of a man, and in a new case.

The camera moves in on the cardiograph, then moves down, to show a

second one. Tracking a smaller, much faster heartbeat.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLLWAY

Tiny. dark, and we are moving through it at impossible speed turning

into another without slowing, up into an air vent, still moving, moving

until we reach a chamber, some place where all we can see is a mass of

dark, moving, inhuman fle it welcomes us in, envelops us...

ANGLE:
RIPLEY Lying somewhere, maybe the dark-chamber -- in the dream

it keeps shifting.

She opens her eyes, but they are dark, whiteless.

She reaches for her chest and begins scratching . Hard.

Tearing at it, as blood wells up, spilling over her sides.

CUT TO:

INT. OPERATING CHAMBER

And the cause of this dream becomes apparant:

ANGLE:
RIPLEY'S CHEST

being cut open with a lasersaw.

We see her body still has a layer of the aspic-slime clinging to it.

And her skin is unnaturally blue. But as we PAN from her chest to her

face her identity is unmistakable.

Around her are several men in operating masks. Cutting her GEDIMAN, a

young and enthusiastic scientist. One man, seemingly in charge, stands

a bit off, watching. This, by tag on his coat, is DR WREN.

WREN:

Careful ... ready with the amnio...

Gediman finishes cutting. Another man steps in with a clamp. Sets it.

Pulls apart the chest.

GEDIMAN:

There she is...

He says it like he's found a lost kitten. He reaches in an pulls out a

sleeping, fetal but nearly ready to burst ALIEN. Others work at

severing umbilical threads that tie it to Ripley's chest.

GEDIMAN:

Here we go.

He holds it up and others step in with the amnio, a sort of incubator

filled with amniotic fluid.

The alien SCREAMS, its tiny mouth full with teeth, and wriggles out of

his grasp.

WREN:

Watch it!

Everybody panics -- but before the thing can get completely away from

him, Gediman grabs it and sticks it in the amnio. Someone shuts the

top rapidly.

Everybody looks at each other for a moment.

GEDIMAN:

Well ...

WREN:

The host?

A surgeon looks at Ripley's readings.

SURGEON:

Doing fine.

Gediman looks at Wren, hopefully. Wren nods.

WREN:

Sew her back up.

Gediman and the surgeon get to work, as the others carefully remove the

alien.

GEDIMAN:

Well, that went as well as could be expected--

Ripley's hand LASHES OUT, GRABS the surgeon's forearm. He yells in

pain as her fingers dig into him, the others scramble knocking things

over and we HEAR HIS BONE CRACKING.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. RIPLEY'S CELL

Sudden stillness.

Ripley crouches in the middle of a small, dark chamber. She's wide

eyed, staring straight ahead in a state of near catatonia. Hair tangled

and wild. But at least she's not so blue as before.

The only light on her comes from directly above, from a thick pane of

glass in the center of the ceiling.

ANGLE:
ABOVE THE CELL

A guard stands on the floor above, looking into the cell through the

square of glass in the floor, directly above Ripley.

(We see other panes of glass lining the floor, indicating more cells

below.)

ANGLE:
RIPLEY

She is still for a long while. Then she lifts her hands, looking at

them.

Touches her face, her skin.

She fingers her tunic, pulls down the neck. There is a scar running

along her chest.

She fingers it thoughtfully. -

She looks at her forearm. Tattooed near the crook of her elbow is the

number 8.

She looks up, her face unreadable.

CUT TO':

INT. LAB

Ripley is sitting on a table as Gediman draws blood from her.

He deposits it in a test beaker, studies her eyes.

Wren enters, looking at a chart.

WREN:

How's our number Eight today?

GEDIMAN:

Appears to be in good health...

WREN:

(noticing his tone)

How good?

GEDIMAN:

Extraordinary. As in, completely off our projected charts.

(shows him some photos) Look at the scar tissue. See the recession?

WREN:

This is from --

GEDIMAN:

Yesterday!

WREN:

This is good. This is very good.

GEDIMAN:

I'd like to run some tests: strength, coordination... We're not

looking at a normal cloning arc.

WREN:

Approved.

Wren goes up to Ripley, studies her face with satisfaction.

WREN:

Well, it looks like you're going to make us all very proud.

She grabs his throat with dazzling speed, applying deadly pressure as

she brings his face to hers. Her eyes are burn but lost.

RIPLEY:

Why?

GEDIMAN:

Oh my God...

He is as wide eyed as WREN, and he isn't having his windpipe crushed.

After a moment the shock wears off and he slams his hand into the

alarm.

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