Blade II Page #11

CUT TO:

EXT. ROOFTOP - NIGHT

Blade, Whistler, and the Bloodpack are gathered on a rooftop

overlooking a derelict city block.

THE HOUSE OF PAIN

Rises before them, a Gothic Revival hotel marred by graffiti

scrawls and boarded up windows. There's a large neon "HOTEL"

sign on the side of the building.

NYSSA:

From what we can gather, the Reapers

hunt in packs, targeting places where

vampires congregate. So far, they've

attacked bloodbanks, safehouses,

underground clubs like this --

WHISTLER:

I don't see any traffic, no vampire

glyphs --

Whistler lifts up a pair of night-vision binoculars and scans

the building.

WHISTLER'S POV (THROUGH BINOCULARS)

He scans the graffiti scrawls, doesn't see anything.

NYSSA:

Look closer. Because of your efforts,

we've had to re-think our habits,

tighten our security.

WHISTLER'S POV (THROUGH BINOCULARS)

Whistler switches to infra-red. A previously unseen Vampire

GLYPH is now revealed, hidden amongst the haphazard graffiti.

Just beneath the glyph are a pair of loading doors set flush

into the concrete sidewalk.

WHISTLER:

(lowering binocs; to Blade)

Let's put this clusterfuck in gear.

Reinhardt reaches for Whistler, stopping him.

REINHARDT:

You're not going anywhere, greenjeans.

You won't be able to pass for us.

WHISTLER:

Like I give a sh*t.

Before things can escalate, Blade steps between them.

BLADE:

(to Whistler; sotto)

He's right. They'll smell that you're

human. Stay here, watch our backs.

WHISTLER:

(bristling)

I don't like it.

BLADE:

I'm not giving you a choice, old man.

Whistler considers Blade's words, then reluctantly nods.

Blade rejoins the vampires. Reinhardt grins.

REINHARDT:

You don't keep that dog of yours curbed,

Blade. We might have to do it for you.

Blade pulls out the remote for the flechette in Reinhardt's

head, holding it up for view.

BLADE:

Keep pushing, a**hole.

INT. HOUSE OF PAIN - UNDERGROUND ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Nyssa leads the group into a loading area. The only light is

coming from a series of burning trashcans. VAMPIRE SENTRIES

crouch on the steps, watching, smelling Nyssa's group as they

move past. Adjacent areas are walled off with sheets of

vinyl. We hear the pulsing, bass-heavy beat of MUSIC coming

from beyond the sheeting, beckoning us onward.

INT. HOUSE OF PAIN - UNDERGROUND HALLWAY - NIGHT

The MUSIC is louder. Neon-lit, corridor-long steel counters

line both walls, displaying various surgical instruments

offered as party favors. As Blade's scans the area, we SEE

the deadly instruments reflected in his sunglasses. Nyssa

looks to him.

NYSSA:

This is our world you're entering. You

may see things -- feeding.

(off Blade's inscrutable face)

Just remember why you're here.

BLADE:

(cryptic)

I haven't forgotten.

They reach a steel loading door emblazoned with warning signs

-- the kind that is split horizontally, one-half retracting

into the ceiling, the other into the floor.

PRIEST:

So what are we looking for, exactly?

ASAD:

Anyone who looks suspicious.

On that portentous note, Nyssa hits a button. The hydraulic

doors open on into --

BLADE:

You gotta be kidding me.

INT. HOUSE OF PAIN - BALLROOM - NIGHT

A high-ceilinged ballroom packed with SWAYING BODIES.

Retrofitted into a trance-dance hall. Off to the sides,

people are being pierced, tattooed, ritually scarred. Silver

trays piled high with razor blades are passed through the

writhing crowd. Everyone looks suspicious.

AN ELABORATE S&M STAGE SHOW

is under way. Joel Peter Witkin channeled by Julie Taymor.

A SHE-VAMPIRE hangs from the ceiling, her body supported by

steel pins which have been hooked through her flesh. THREE

PVC-clad spindly FIGURES minister to her.

TWO VAMPIRES:

French kiss, exchanging razor blades with their tongues.

BLADE:

(to Nyssa)

What is it with you people and pain?

NYSSA:

We need it. Sensations are addictive

and pain cuts the deepest.

(off his look)

Tattoos, piercings, tribal scarring --

because we regenerate, none of it's

permanent. So we have to take it to the

next level. To remind us we're alive.

The Bloodpack fans out through the trancing crowd.

ON BLADE:

Drifting through the press of flesh. Feral faces flash by

us, distorted by the stroboscopic lights. A SHE-VAMPIRE

latches onto him. He shoves her aside, keeps scanning faces.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to cut loose.

BLADE:

You reading me, Scud?

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

A nondescript van with primer blotches is parked nearby.

SCUD (O.S.)

Loud and clear, B.

INT. OPERATIONS VAN - NIGHT

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