Demolition Man Page #4

SMITHERS (IMAGE)

Incontrovertibly and unequivocally,

yes. The prisoners are ice cubes.

They do not move. They have no

thoughts, they have no feelings...

The tedium is permanent,

Lieutenant.

INT. CRYO-PRISON - MAIN ROOM - MID LEVEL - DAY

Smithers is striding along, the conversation projected in

the air in front of him from the HoloSet he's wearing.

HUXLEY (IMAGE)

I find this lack of stimulus truly

disappointing... Don't you think?

INT. LENINA'S POLICE CAR - DAY

Smithers peers at her almost suspiciously.

SMITHERS (IMAGE)

I try not to. However, you are

young, think all you want. Things

don't happen anymore, we've taken

care of all that. I'll fiber-op

you back after the morning non-

parole hearings. Have a peachy

day, Lieutenant. BE well...

The Warden's image poofs.

INT. CRYO-PRISON - MAIN ROOM - DAY

Tugging off his headset, Warden Smithers clacks to a

checkpoint wall at the end of the grating. Smithers

puts the back of his hand on a screen in the wall.

FEMALE COMPUTER (V.O.)

Coding accepted. Retina Confirm.

Smithers leans into a peephole.

INSIDE PEEPHOLE:

A harmless red laser flickers over an EXTREME CLOSEUP of

the Warden's eye.

INT. CRYO-PRISON - CONFERENCE AREA - DAY

The wall slides open and Smithers enters into a ceiling-

less space beneath the awesome tiers of cryo-cells.

FEMALE COMPUTER (V.O.)

Thank you and be well, Warden

William Smithers.

Smithers grumbles past a barely conscious cryo-prisoner,

who is strapped atop a sleek, thin, and uncomfortable

"wheelchair." Two Guards flank the hunched over and

dripping convict as Smithers plops behind an industrial

chic table and flicks on his CompuClipboard.

SMITHERS:

Twenty-nine years ago, the parole

system, as you know it, was

rendered obsolete. Federal

Statute 537-29 requires we go

through the formality of a

hearing for all prisoners

incarnated before the repeal

of the parole laws.

Cocteau Behavioral Engineering,

B.E. will continue rehabilitation

by altering your behavior through

synaptic suggestion during

cryogenic sleep. Nightie night.

Your hearing is now over. You

are to be returned to your cryo-

cell immediately... 'Mr. Horace

Bateman.' Do you understand what

I've said...

Eyes half open, the Cryo-prisoner unsuccessfully gropes

for a syllable.

SMITHERS:

Guards, nod his head for him...

(yawning)

Ne-xt.

As the pathetic Cryo-prisoner is wheeled off, the

Warden's VOICE ECHOES electronically from ---

INT. CRYO-PRISON - DEFROSTING CHAMBER - DAY

-- a steel intercom box on the wall. Two Med Techs load

a still unconscious prisoner into another wheelchair. We

don't see him. Just a hint of a well muscled black arm

and a head still lolling unconscious on a shoulder, with

blond hair...

INT. LENINA'S POLICE CAR - MOVING - DAY

Huxley finishes primping. Hits a button. The dash

unfolds, a steering wheel emerges, locks into place.

Lenina calls out as she activates her badge.

HUXLEY:

Huxley, Lenina. Coding on.

A serenely annoying VOICE answers her

CAR COMPUTER (V.O.)

No police presence is requested

in the city at this time. Report

to the station. Good morning,

Officer Huxley.

HUXLEY:

(groans)

Ahhh...

CAR COMPUTER (V.O.)

I detect a promoted level of

stress in your tone. Would you

like me to prescribe a

foodaceutical to...

HUXLEY:

No! What are you, my mother?

(then; calmer)

No. No, thank you though.

She rolls her eyes. Waits to see if it's going to scold

her again. After letting her sweat it out, the car

doesn't ---

HUXLEY:

All right, I'll be reporting in...

EXT. ANOTHER SAN ANGELES STREET - DAY

Huxley's police car glides by. A beat. In front of one

perfect building is a small object the size and shape of

a COFFEE CAN. As we PUSH IN TO it, we find, it's

TICKING. We can see the escape wheel ratcheting back and

forth. It's very crude, very 1920's clockwork. Four

ink-filled quadrants on a wheel inside. The yellow

quadrant rotates into position.

A small sharp EXPLOSION. Like an ink jet, the yellow ink

is flung through a nozzle against the wall in an 8 x 20

foot swath. The red ratchets and FIRES, the blue as

well. Now we can see the graffiti bomb has screened a

message on the wall -- "Life Is Hell." The black

EXPLODES. Little Death's Heads are sprinkled around the

message. The ink jet MACHINE BLOWS itself up.

Pedestrians gather and stare at the message. Mouths

open, dumbstruck.

Two shock poles emerge from hidden panels in the side of

the building. A sheet of LIGHTNING FLASHES between

them. The message turns to ash and falls to the ground.

The poles tuck back into their boxes. A small rabbit-

sized VACUUM SWEEPER emerges, ZINGS along on its own

power and SUCKS up the ash.

EXT. A DIFFERENT SAN ANGELES STREET - DAY

Near the chaos, we discover this whole thing's been a

diversion. Up from a manhole comes a strange-looking

pipe. A crude periscope.

PERISCOPE POV:

watching as a food delivery truck pulls up to a loading

dock. Food pallets are unloaded.

PAYNE (O.S.)

All right, that's it.

(beat)

Twelve hours there'll be another...

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