Blade: Trinity Page #8

CUMBERLAND:

Lock it down! Keep them contained!

On the rooftops above, various SWAT SNIPERS take position.

INT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

Blade BRAWLS with a half-dozen agents, sending them flying in

all directions. He grabs one agent, HEAD-BUTTS him, THROWS

him into the path of two others --

Then he reaches for another, THROWING him THROUGH a window at

the rear, out into the river which runs below --

ON WHISTLER:

as he moves with increased urgency. The armory is filling up

with tear gas. Coughing and half-blind, he hurries to a bank

of computers, types in a series of commands --

THE VARIOUS COMPUTER MONITORS

around him synch up, showing the same protocol message:

Data protection routine enabled

--Server 1 protection enabled...

--Server 2 protection enabled...

In response, a rack of network storage equipment and removable

hard drives EXPLODES. Then a second rack of equipment

EXPLODES as well.

EXT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

From their vantage point below, Cumberland and the others can

hear the explosions. Cumberland is on his radio, SHOUTING:

CUMBERLAN D:

What's going on in there?

AGENT'S VOICE

(over radio)

Some kind of self-destruct program!

They're fragging their hard drives!

INT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

Whistler keeps moving. An agent gets a clear shot at him,

FIRES -- Whistler is hit in the chest.

Blade SEES Whistler take the hit, but he's cut off from the

old man, being swarmed by agents --

BLADE:

WHISTLER!

Whistler staggers, keeps moving. He makes it to another bank

of computers, launches the same protocol.

ON MORE MONITORS

Erasing information, purging themselves. We see commands:

--Workstation 1 protection enabled

--Workstation 2 protection enabled

With each successive command, the workstations themselves

begin self-destructing, EXPLODING one after another.

Another agent gets a bead on Whistler, FIRING a round into

Whistler's thigh. Whistler SCREAMS --

ON BLADE,

in anguish as he sees his mentor being slaughtered. Then two

agents are RUSHING HIM, tackling Blade. As one they fall

backwards, into another bank of windows --

EXT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

CRASH! The three of them come FLYING DOWN in a spray of

glass, landing atop one of the police cruisers below. The

roof buckles under their weight, windows SHATTERING --

CUMBERLAND:

Take him down!

An FBI AGENT raises a CODA net gun atop his shoulder, taking

aim. BA-BANG! Four projectiles expand out from the barrel,

carrying a STEEL NET which has been strung between them.

The netting hits Blade, wrapping around him, restricting his

movements. Immediately, a small army of agents DIVE on top of

him, PUMMELING AWAY, trying to beat him into submission --

INT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

On the verge of losing consciousness, Whistler props himself

against a piece of machinery. He's bleeding, been shot to

hell. One of his hands is closed, clutching something.

Agents warily close in around him, guns raised.

AGENT:

Move a finger and you're dead.

WHISTLER:

(flipping them off)

How 'bout this one?

Whistler lets his other hand uncurl. He's got a REMOTE in his

palm, with a tiny digital timer counting-down.

AGENT #2

He's got something in his--

00:
03. 00:02. 00:01. The timer reaches zero.

A SERIES OF EXPLOSIONS

rock the workshop, knocking the agents back.

EXT. BLADE'S REFUGE - BOAT HOUSE - NIGHT

CLOUDS OF FIRE and FLAMING DEBRIS MUSHROOM OUTWARD, catching

all unawares, sweeping them up off their feet with a hurricane

force. In the midst of the conflagration --

-- Blade briefly manages to tear free of his captors --

BLADE:

WHISTLER!!!

-- but the wall of FIRE and LIGHT is rushing onward, sweeping

up everything in its path, turning the world to white.

INT. POLICE STATION - INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT

FADE IN. We are CLOSE ON Blade's perspiration-beaded face.

His eyelids flutter as he slowly regains consciousness.

CUMBERLAND (O.S.)

Rise and shine, sleepyhead.

PULL BACK. We are in a room with a one-way mirrored window.

Blade sits, hands cuffed behind him, BRIGHT LIGHTS shining

down on him. He looks disoriented, battered. Very weak.

Cumberland and Hale are sitting across from Blade.

BLADE:

Who --?

CUMBERLAND:

Special Agents Ray Cumberland and Wilson

Hale, FBI. We've been tracking you for a

long time.

BLADE:

Whistler --

HALE:

Dead. Just like all of your victims.

Blade shuts his eyes -- as if he could just wish them away.

CUMBERLAND:

How many people have you killed? Thirty?

Forty? A hundred?

BLADE:

Those were familiars -- people who worked

for them --

CUMBERLAND:

And by "them" you mean vampires, right?

I suppose next you'll be telling us that

Bigfoot's in on the conspiracy too? So

what kills these bloodsu~kers, tough guy?

Maybe you can give us some pointers.

(counting on his ringers)

You can stake 'em, right? Then there's

sunlight -- what about crosses, Wilson?

Do those still work?

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