Blade Runner

android (an'droid) adj. Possessing human features - n.

A synthetic man created from biological materials.

Also called humanoid. (Late Greek androeides,

manlike:
ANDR(O) - OID.)

THE AMERICAN HERITAGE

DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH

LANGUAGE (1976)

android (an'droid) n, Gk. humanoid automation. more at

robot./ 1. early version utilized for work too

boring, dangerous or unpleasant for humans.

2. second generation bio-engineered. Electronic

relay units and positronic brains. Used in space

to explore inhospitable environments. 3. third

generation synthogenetic. REPLICANT, constructed

of skin/flesh culture. Selected enogenic transfer

conversion. Capable of self perpetuating thought.

paraphysical abilities. Developed for emigration

program.

WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY

New International (2012)

FADE IN:

EXT. HADES - DUSK

We are MOVING TOWARD the Tyrell Corporation across a

vast plain of industrialization, menacing shapes on the

horizon, stacks belching flames five hundred feet into

the sky the color of cigar ash. The CAMERA MOVES INTO

a window in the large pyramid-shaped building. A man

is sitting at a table. Another man enters the room and

sits down. The following scene is reflected in the eye

until HOLDEN is seated.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION INTERROGATION ROOM - DUSK

The eye is magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of

green and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy fila-

ments surround the undulating center.

The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic

surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely

etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top

and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers

fluctuation of the iris.

The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits

on a table between two men. The man talking is big,

looks like an overstuffed kid. LEON it says on his

breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's uni-

form and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in his

lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.

The man facing him is lean, hollow-cheeked, and dressed

in grey. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop

or an accountant. His name is Holden and he's all

business, except for the sweat on his face.

The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk

are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large FANS

WHIRR above their heads.

LEON:

Okay if I talk?

Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on

the machine.

LEON:

I kinda get nervous when I take

tests.

HOLDEN:

Don't move.

LEON:

Sorry.

He tries not to move, but finally his lips can't help

a sheepish smile.

LEON:

I already had I.Q. test this year...

but I don't think I never had a...

HOLDEN:

Reaction time is a factor in this so

please pay attention. Answer as quickly

as you can.

LEON:

Uh... sure...

HOLDEN:

One one eight seven at Hunterwasser...

LEON:

Oh... that's the hotel.

HOLDEN:

What?

LEON:

Where I live.

HOLDEN:

Nice place ?

LEON:

Huh? Sure. Yeah. I guess. Is

that.. part of the test ?

Holden smiles a patronising smile.

HOLDEN:

Warming you up, that's all.

LEON:

Oh.

It's

HOLDEN:

You're in a desert, walking along

in the sand when....

LEON:

Is this the test now ?

HOLDEN:

Yes. You're in a desert, walking

along in the sand when all of a sudden

you lookdown and see a.....

LEON:

What one ?

It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.

HOLDEN:

What ?

LEON:

What desert ?

HOLDEN:

Doesn't make any difference what

desert.. it's completely hypothetical.

LEON:

But how come I'd be there?

HOLDEN:

Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want

to be by yourself.. who knows.

So you look down and see a

tortoise. It's crawling toward

you....

LEON:

A tortoise. What's that?

HOLDEN:

Know what a turtle is?

LEON:

Of course.

HOLDEN:

Same thing.

LEON:

I never seen a turtle.

He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.

LEON:

But I understand what you mean.

HOLDEN:

You reach down and flip the

tortoise over on its back, Leon.

Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials

in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers

slightly.

LEON:

You make these questions, Mr.

Holden, or they write 'em down

for you?

Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking

up the pace.

HOLDEN:

The tortoise lays on its back,

its belly baking in the hot sun,

beating its legs trying to turn

itself over. But it can't. Not

without your help. But you're not

helping.

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