Death Race 2 Page #4

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Death Match merely stayed your execution.

lf you wanna get a breath of fresh air,

you need a bold initiative.

l propose a race.

Wicked. Epic.

Something like no one has ever seen before.

The track will run the length

of Terminal lsland

along some of the narrowest

and most harrowing paths

that the racing world has to offer.

The best part of it, everything that we need

is right in our own backyard.

We're gonna modify each vehicle,

adding reinforced steel plating,

bulletproof glass, and roll cages

to at least give the drivers a fighting chance.

We'll take everything

that made Death Match a hit,

combine it with everything

we have at our disposal.

Such as?

Heavy f***ing artillery.

(EXCLAlMS)

SEPTEMBER:
Every car will hold as many

guns and as much ammunition as it can.

(LAUGHlNG)

So, you're going to arm the prisoners.

Precautions will be made to make sure

they can only shoot at people on the track.

Nine cars, three days,

Going from fighting to racing,

that's a big leap.

We need a hook.

Something that incorporates the two better.

Now, in a game show, no one cares

about the game. The game's arbitrary.

People care about the risk and the money.

Now, we've been concentrating on the game,

not the risk.

That's why our audience is bored.

Let's concentrate on the prize.

A prize more valuable than money.

Okay. What's more valuable than money?

Life

is a more valuable prize than money.

ln our deal with the state,

we control sentencing.

That means we control their life.

So if a prisoner wins five races,

he gets his freedom.

No matter what he's in for,

robbery, rape, homicide, whatever,

he wins his freedom.

He wins his life.

You have life,

freedom.

Stop.

Death Race.

LUKE:
You know what?

That's f***ing bullshit, Rocco.

Well, how do you know, man?

Maybe it's for real.

Are you kidding me?

You think they're gonna let murderers

and rapists out of this place, ever?

Hey, Luke's right.

And besides that, homes,

you don't drive worth a sh*t.

ROCCO:
You know what? F***ing blow me.

(BlG BlLL LAUGHlNG)

F***ing f*ggot.

That would be the only chance l have

of getting out.

And what would you do, Lists,

if you got out?

Start over.

ANNOUNCER:
Welcome to Death Race.

Terminal Island Penitentiary hosts

three days of the ultimate in auto carnage.

Day one of the race begins in 10 minutes,

and will be brought to you

without commercial interruption

by Weyland International.

Your safety is our top priority.

Get ready. The show's about to begin.

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

ANNOUNCER:
Dim the lights.

The carnage is about to begin.

SEPTEMBER:
Welcome to day one

of Death Race.

Before you, 1 8 cons vie for their freedom.

They must survive all three laps

in order to proceed to day two.

Their first challenge?

There are only nine cars.

That's right, gentlemen. Nine cars!

Three, two, one,

go!

(ALL GRUNTlNG)

(MAN SCREAMlNG)

(PEOPLE CHEERlNG)

This is what l'm talking about!

Mine!

This just keeps getting better and better!

-Hey, baby. (SQUEALS)

-How about a bit v rodet?

(MAN SCREAMlNG)

(CAR ENGlNES ROARlNG)

Oh, baby, yeah!

Don't think so!

(GRUNTlNG)

Why did you let that con beat you?

-Sh*t!

-Hang on!

(TYRES SCREECHlNG)

-F***!

-Hey, why do l need this?

-You mind helping me out with this?

-Yeah. Yeah. Who am l talking to?

-To talk to your pit team.

-Pit team?

Luke! Good to have you, man.

So, you got your guns, your oil, your smoke,

and your napalm here.

-Get your eyes on the road.

-Let's race.

(TYRES SCREECHlNG)

Luke! Goldberg.

Yeah. The Mexican Jew's here

to save your bony white ass.

Now, swords and shields don't play

until the second lap.

You've got the fastest car out there,

except the Porsche.

And don't go head-to-head with that Ram,

or he'll have you for lunch.

(SCREAMS)

Son of a b*tch!

Looks like we're already on the menu.

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

Eat this.

(EXCLAlMlNG)

You feel me, baby?

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

-BlG BlLL:
Now l got you, baby!

-(LAUGHS) ls that all you got, pretty boy?

Careful of the one on the right!

Good to know.

-Yeah! That's my man!

-Yes!

-Where is he? Where is he?

-To the left.

ANNOUNCER:
Xander Grady.

WOMAN:
Come on!

XANDER:
Get it going!

(GRUNTlNG)

(LAUGHS)

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

F***ing Chinese bastard! l'll kill you!

Sh*t! Bastard!

Motherf***er!

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

ROCCO:
That was a great lap, Luke, but now

you need to get to a sword plate, and fast.

Activate swords, shields and death heads.

ANNOUNCER:

Sword pressure plates activated.

Shield pressure plates activated.

ROCCO:
You gotta find a sword, Luke.

You gotta find a sword plate.

GOLDBERG:
That's right. Get back to work.

There's one!

-l see it.

-Go for it. Go for it!

ANNOUNCER:

Sword pressure plate activated.

HlLLBlLLY:
Yeah!

How do you like that one, boy?

What the hell is he doing?

(GUNS FlRlNG)

-Oh, jeez!

-Guns! Guns!

Eat my lead, boy! Eat my lead!

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

Get down! Now!

-Hey, get out of there!

-LUKE:
Get down!

(LAUGHlNG)

How's it feel, boy?

You gotta turn here!

(TYRES SCREECHlNG)

LUKE:
l'm working on it.

Hang on.

(HlLLBlLLY SCREAMlNG)

God! Oh, God, no!

Yeah!

-Ooh, yeah!

-ROCCO:
That was close.

Stock car racing

got its start during Prohibition

with moonshine runners

fleeing federal agents.

Bill France Sr. conceived NASCAR in 1 947

during a meeting in Daytona, Florida.

"Lists." l get it now.

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

Shield pressure plates activated.

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

Motherf***er.

(LAUGHS)

(WOMAN SCREAMlNG)

(PEOPLE CHEERlNG)

-Get a close-up on that.

-MAN:
Camera two, move to your left.

Where did he go? Huh?

Where did he go?

You ain't escaping me now.

A million dollars. lt's gonna be mine.

What did he just say?

Replay that for me.

BlG BlLL:
A million dollars.

It's gonna be mine.

l'll take care of it.

(ANNOUNCER READlNG)

Take the wheel.

(GRUNTS)

APACHE:
Take that, b*tch.

Think you're special?

(SCREAMlNG)

No!

No! No!

No!

(SCREAMlNG)

(ALL EXCLAlMlNG)

GOLDBERG:
One lap to go, Luke. This is it.

LUKE:
Stay with me, baby. Stay with me.

(BlG BlLL LAUGHlNG)

Oh, yeah!

(GUNS FlRlNG)

Yeah!

-Damn it!

-Get out of there! Get out of there!

Enough of this sh*t.

-What the hell?

-Hang on.

LUKE:
Stay with me. Stay with me.

-What's he doing?

-l don't know.

(EXCLAlMlNG)

Yeah! All right! All right!

Bullshit, motherf***er!

That's it. That's it.

ANNOUNCER:

Sword pressure plate activated.

Not that one!

Did you just drop our f***ing tombstone?

LUKE:
Yeah, my bad.

Not good.

LUKE:
What you doing?

-What you doing?

-Drive, pretty boy.

"Pretty boy."

(GRUNTlNG) God damn this f***ing car!

LUKE:
Hang on!

(LAUGHlNG)

Take this, you a**hole!

-Eat that!

-F***!

-Hang on!

-KATRlNA:
You're going down!

That's nice work.

Talk to me!

Now you're going down!

(BOTH SCREAMlNG)

(EXCLAlMS) Sweet!

LUKE:
l guess l lucked out, then.

Nice.

-Guess we put that magic to work, Goldberg.

-Well, bravo!

Come on, Luke! Yeah!

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