Blade Page #5

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DRAGONETTI:

(simmering)

I see. And what would you have us do

with this "half-breed"?

FROST:

Study him. Unlock the secrets of his

DNA. He's the key we've been looking

for.

DRAGONETTI:

He is an abomination!

Dragonetti slams his fist down, toppling a carafe, spilling blood

across the tabletop. Frost looks to the others --

FROST:

Why should we spend our lives

cringing from the daylight when his

blood offers us an alternative?

Enough talk. It's time we stepped out

of the shadows!

Dragonetti looks apoplectic. ELDER PALLINTINE, a five-hundred year-

old vampire inhabiting the body of a prepubescent boy, interjects.

PALLINTINE:

You're out of line, Frost.

FROST:

Am I? Or am I just the first to say

out loud what we've all been

thinking?

The fact that no one answers is telling. Dragonetti glowers at the

other Elders, sensing the tide turning.

DRAGONETTI:

The shadows suit us, Frost. We've

existed this way for thousands of

years. Who are you to challenge our

ways?

FROST:

Someone who's sick of living off

scraps. The coming age belongs to us,

not the humans!

(to the others)

When the final war between our races

comes, who do you want leading the

charge?

Frost stabs an accusing finger at the Overlord.

FROST:

Some withered up fossil ready to snap

like a brittle bone at the first sign

of change?

Dragonetti GROWLS like an beast, raking his claws across the tyro

vampire's face, knocking him to the ground.

DRAGONETTI:

Get out!!!

Frost picks himself up, touches the gashes on his cheek. Looks at his

fingers, licks the blood from them.

FROST:

Careful, old fang. You might wake up

one day and find yourself extinct.

Frost smiles at Dragonetti and calmly exits the room.

INT. WHISTLER'S WORKSHOP, BLADE'S CELL - DAY

ON KAREN as she comes to. Her wounds have been bandaged. She rises, a

little shaky, takes in her surroundings -- She's in a spartan room,

like a monk's cell. On the wall is a collection of knives and

daggers. Some of them wooden, their hilts inscribed with bizarre-

looking runes. In the center of these weapons rests --

BLADE'S SWORD,

hanging like a cross in a chapel, dominating all else. Karen touches

it. Then her eyes drop to a silver locket which dangles from the hilt

by a tarnished chain. She reaches for it, opens it --

The locket features a photo, old and faded. It's the black woman we

saw in the prologue, Vanessa, standing in the sunshine.

Karen moves towards the door, cautious --

INT. WHISTLER'S WORKSHOP - DAY

We hear VOICES now, coming from beyond a series of black-out

curtains. Karen pushes one aside and SEES --

BLADE:

strapped into some kind of Inquisition-esque restraint chair. His

shirt is off, his body slick with sweat. Whistler finishes strapping

Blade in, then stands back, holding up a gas-powered pistol injector,

hesitant --

WHISTLER:

I had to increase the dose. You're

building up a resistance to the

serum --

BLADE:

(impatient)

Just do it, old man.

Whistler nods, fitting Blade with a bite guard. Then he presses the

pistol-injector against Blade's carotid artery.

Blade shakes violently, grinding his teeth through the bite guard,

veins cording in his neck. He clutches Whistler's hand, holding it

tightly as he fights his way through the hellish seizure. To his

credit, Whistler never lets go.

Mentor and student stare at one another as the mysterious serum runs

its violent course. We understand that these shared moments, oddly

private in their horror, are the glue which binds the two vampire

hunters together. Finally, Blade slumps forward in his restraints,

exhausted.

KAREN:

She draws back, instinctively knowing that she's just witnessed

something she shouldn't have. She looks for an exit, SEES another

doorway. She makes for it --

INT. WHISTLER'S LAB - TANK ROOM - DAY

A dusty, darkened hole of a room, no windows, just shadows, crumbling

concrete, rust stains, and --

A LARGE TANK:

filled with swirling blood plasma, choked with electrical leads and

biomedical sensors. SOMETHING floats within, suspended in the murky

fluid -- a child , two or three years of age, drifting about like a

medical oddity preserved in formaldehyde --

THUMP! The child SLAMS up against the glass. Karen backpedals,

startled. Its eyes are open now, pupils blown. It snarls, revealing a

mouthful of razored fangs, trailing mouth-slime across the glass as

it futilely tries to chew its way through to Karen.

Karen stifles a sob, turning and running right into --

BLADE,

who now blocks the exit, sword in hand. Karen retreats a step,

wary --

BLADE:

You shouldn't be here.

KAREN:

I'm sorry, I --

WHISTLER (O.S.)

Wandered off the beaten path, Doctor?

Whistler has entered the room from a second doorway. Karen looks from

Whistler to Blade, trapped between them --

KAREN:

Who are you people?

WHISTLER:

My name is Abraham Whistler.

(re:
Blade)

This is Blade. As for our little

homunculus here --

Whistler limps over to the tank, rapping his cane against it. The

creature snaps at it reflexively, following the silver tip back and

forth like a fish after a lure.

BLADE:

-- he's a vampire.

KAREN:

You're joking --

WHISTLER:

Not at all. You're looking at a prime

specimen of the homines nocturna.

Whistler toys with the feral creature, engaging in a certain amount

of sadistic delight as its efforts grow increasingly more frenzied.

Suddenly, it surges towards the top of the tank, clawing at the

lid --

Karen becomes alarmed -- but then a massive ELECTRICAL JOLT shocks

the creature back into submission.

WHISTLER:

If Blade hadn't brought you here, you

would've wound up like him.

Karen brings a hand to her bandaged neck, recalling the events of the

previous night. She looks to Blade.

KAREN:

Why did you help me?

Blade scowls, his gaze flickering to Whistler.

BLADE:

Stupidity.

WHISTLER:

(appraising her)

Maybe not. I did some checking, she's

a hematologist. Knowledge like that

might come in handy.

BLADE:

It's not worth the risk. We can't

trust her.

KAREN:

Why?

BLADE:

Because you're tainted. The venom's

still inside you. You could still

turn on us.

KAREN:

What happens then?

Blade looks to Whistler -- as far as he's concerned, the debate's

over.

BLADE:

Then I have to take you out, just

like any other bloodsucker.

Blade turns and exits. Whistler and Karen follow.

INT. WHISTLER'S WORKSHOP - DAY

Beyond the grimy outer windows, we can see that the day is closing --

long shadows, amber light. Karen lingers in the doorway, reeling from

information overload.

Blade begins suiting up for his nightly hunt -- strapping on body

armor, loading ammunition. He strings the tarnished locket around his

neck as if it were an amulet that could ward off evil, then pauses to

inspect a modified pistol, sighting down the length of it.

BLADE:

We hunt them, moving from one city to

the next, tracking their migrations.

They're hard to kill. They tend to

regenerate.

CLACK! Blade pulls the trigger on an empty chamber, then checks his

next weapon --

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