Blade Page #4

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HIS '69 OLDSMOBILE 442,

which is parked nearby. Midnight-black. The definitive high-

performance heavy-metal muscle machine with an engine big enough to

power an Apollo rocket.

INT. BLADE'S OLDS - NIGHT

Blade sets Karen down in the passenger seat, climbs behind the wheel,

keys the ignition. The engine ROARS to life, belching fumes through

the dual exhaust. Blade floors it, burning serious rubber as the Olds

vanishes from sight.

BACK AT THE DEMOLISHED MORGUE WINDOW

as the two policemen stare numbly in open-mouthed astonishment.

CUT TO:

EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

Blade pilots the Olds down the streets, moving through a series of

increasingly degenerating neighborhoods, coming at last to the

sprawling warehouse district.

EXT. ABANDONED FACTORY - NIGHT

The Olds approaches a mammoth industrial facility that's been

cordoned off by cyclone fencing and razor wire. Ultra-violet

floodlights illuminate the area, while an army of security cameras

keep a watchful eye.

INT. BLADE'S OLDS - NIGHT

Blade glances at Karen, cursing himself for giving into his emotions.

He hits a remote secured to the sun visor --

EXT. BLADE'S OLDS/ABANDONED FACTORY - NIGHT

A gate grinds open.

We follow the Olds as it cruises around the back of the building,

heading down a concrete loading ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, a

heavy iron door rises. Blade's Olds disappears into the darkness.

INT. ABANDONED FACTORY, INDUSTRIAL ELEVATOR - NIGHT

More UV lights flicker on. We're in a massive loading elevator which

HUMS as it ascends, eventually reaching its destination with a

BOOMING CLANG. The doors at the rear glide open. Blade guides the

Olds out.

INT. ABANDONED FACTORY, WHISTLER'S WORKSHOP - NIGHT

Set up in an old ironworks, the place looks like a cross between an

auto junkyard and an armory. Equipment is strewn everywhere --

lathes, mills, old furnaces, gutted vehicles, an ad hoc surgical

theater -- all of it jerry-rigged in a brutal, oily-tech.

Blade climbs out of the Olds. He opens the passenger door and pulls

Karen out, carries her in his arms.

BLADE:

Whistler!

WHISTLER (O.S.)

Are we bringing home strays now?

ABRAHAM WHISTLER (60s)

hobbles out of the shadows, leaning heavily on a cane. Gimlet-eyed,

bitter, his right leg encased in a metal brace. Though his face is

lined with wrinkles and his hair has long since gone gray, we sense

he could kick the living sh*t out of any man half his age.

BLADE:

She's been bitten.

WHISTLER:

You should've killed her, then.

BLADE:

She hasn't turned yet.

(pointedly)

You can help her.

Blade and Whistler stare each other down. Finally, Whistler turns and

heads over to the operating theater.

WHISTLER:

No promises. You watch her close. She

starts to turn, you finish her off.

Blade nods, lays Karen down on the operating table. Whistler turns on

an overhead light. Karen is sheathed in sweat, ashen. She's lost a

lot of blood.

Whistler snaps on a pair of surgical gloves, probes the wound in

Karen's neck with an antiseptic swab -- there's capillary damage

around the perimeter of the wound, the tissue looks bruised,

gangrenous.

WHISTLER:

Localized necrosis. She's borderline.

Another hour and she'd be well into

the change.

Whistler cracks open a smelling salt capsule and waves under Karen's

nose. As she starts to stir --

WHISTLER:

Can you hear me, woman?

Karen's eyes open wide. She's scared, disoriented --

KAREN:

What -- ?

WHISTLER:

You've been bitten by a vampire. We've

got to try and burn out the venom,

just like a rattlesnake bite --

Whistler reaches for a massive syringe filled with caustic-looking

fluid. Karen sees the syringe, resists --

WHISTLER:

Hold her.

Blade forces Karen back. Whistler readies the syringe.

WHISTLER:

(reading her name tag)

"Dr. Karen Jansen". Listen close, I'm

going to inject you with an antidote

made from allium setivum -- garlic.

This is going to hurt. A lot.

Whistler sinks the needle into Karen's neck and depresses the

plunger. "Hurt" doesn't begin to describe what Karen experiences

next. Imagine undergoing childbirth while someone pumps battery acid

through your veins.

Karen SHRIEKS, her body going into uncontrolled paroxysms. The wound

on her neck begins to smoke as the antidote attacks the poisonous

vampire venom.

Karen clutches at Blade's arms, digging her nails in. She stares up

at him with unflinching intensity, like a child desperately searching

for assurance.

ON BLADE,

uncomfortable playing the roll of nursemaid. He'd like nothing more

than to be done with this, but the only thing he can do is hold Karen

while she rides out the seizures.

KAREN'S POV

growing darker by the moment. The last thing she sees is Blade

staring down at her -- then the night closes in.

INT. HOUSE OF EREBUS, MEETING ROOM - NIGHT

CLOSE ON a monitor featuring footage taken at the vampire club

massacre. Blade turns and stares into the camera, fires his cross-

bow. The screen cuts to static.

A WITHERED, CLAWED HAND

moves into frame, holding a remote. With a tap of a button, the

monitor goes dark.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL a large, minimalist conference room -- the House

of Erebus, seat of the vampire race's legislative assembly.

Gathered around a massive table are the TWELVE VAMPIRE ELDERS,

representing a "rainbow" of racial colors -- names like PALLINTINE,

VON ESPER, ASHE, BAVA. Two of them, the FAUSTINAS, are identical

twins -- lethal-looking women with alabaster skin.

Chilled carafes filled with blood are situated along the table. From

time to time, a member will pour themselves a glass, or perhaps, help

themselves to the bowls of human finger bones which serve as snacks.

At the head of the table is GAETANO DRAGONETTI, current vampire

"Overlord". Blood-red eyes, parchment skin stretched over skull-like

features. Incalculably ancient, but still deadly and virile as a

viper.

Dragonetti speaks. He uses the "secret tongue" -- the ancient vampire

language which utilizes consonants human vocal chords are incapable

of reproducing.

DRAGONETTI:

(subtitled)

Blade. Once again, our interests have

fallen victim to his ridiculous

crusade. He must be destroyed.

FROST (O.S.)

(in English)

You're wrong, Dragonetti.

All heads turn. Who would dare such impudence?

DEACON FROST,

a mere "Underlord" in the vampire hierarchy, steps forward.

Strikingly handsome, younger, less conservative than his superiors,

fueled with a passionate intensity. Amongst the vampire community

he's known as an agitator. He's also the vampire equivalent of a

racial supremacist.

FROST:

The Day Walker represents a unique

opportunity. We'd be fools to waste

it by killing him.

DRAGONETTI:

(subtitled, taking umbrage)

Deacon Frost. You refuse to speak our

language, you insult the House of

Erebus by using the humans'

gutter-tongue, have you no respect

for tradition?

FROST:

Why should I respect something which

has outlived its purpose?

This causes quite a stir amongst the other vampires. Frost might as

well have slapped Dragonetti in the face.

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