Pitch Black

INT. MAIN CABIN

A CRYO-LOCKER BLOWS OPEN, spitting out...

CAROLYN FRY. She hits the deck of the main cabin: Four crew

lockers in a forward section, countless more in back. But the

deck is canted at a sick angle and ALARMS SCREAM everywhere:

The world is dying around her.

Legs wobbly, shivering like a flu victim, Fry stumbles to the

next forward locker. It's riddled with holes. One DEAD CREWIE

is seen through fractured plexi, body pocked and bloodied. But

in the next cryo-locked...

The CAPTAIN is struggling awake. Fry's face floods with relief.

Slapping an intercom:

FRY:

Hear me? Cap'n? Some kinda compromise to

the hull...holding for now, but...Goddamn,

I'm glad you're alive. Gotta pull your

E-release...no, red handle, red handle.

I'll get the warm-ups out while --

PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT: Particles bore through the cabin,

blasting open the captain's chest, shattering plexi, DETONATING

INSTRUMENTS on the opposite wall and leaving CONTRAILS

HISSING in the air.

Fry lands on her ass, horrified. Suddenly...

Another LOCKER BLOWS OPEN. A body falls right on top of Fry --

but this one's still alive. Disoriented, frantic:

OWENS:

Why did I fall on you?

FRY:

He's dead. Cap'n's dead. Christ, I was

looking right at him when --

OWENS:

I mean, I mean, chrono shows we're 22

weeks out, so gravity wasn't supposed to

kick in for another 19. I mean, I mean,

I mean, why did I fall at all?

FRY:

You hear me? Captain's dead. Owens too.

OWENS:

Oh, no. Not Owens, not.... Wai', wai',

wait. I'm Owens. Right?

They swap nightmare looks, momentarily unsure of their own

identities.

FRY:

Cryo-sleep. Swear to God, it sloughs

brain cells.

INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN

They stumble into nav-bay. ALARMS CONTINUE. Fry grabs warm-up

suits out of storage, pitches one to Owens, checks her screens.

FRY:

1550 millibars, dropping 20 MB per minute,

sh*t, we're hemorrhaging air. Somethin'

took a swipe at us.

OWENS:

Just tell me we're still in the shipping

lane. Just show me all those stars, all

those bright, beautiful, deep-space....

Owens activates an exterior view: A planet rushes up at us.

That's why they have gravity.

FRY:

Jesus God....

EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY

The SHIP PLOWS through the upper atmosphere, antennae pylons

already disintegrating.

INT. PASSAGE TO FLIGHT DECK

Heart battering her ribs, Fry runs forward, using hand-holds to

steady herself. Over a headset:

OWENS (V.O.)

They trained you for this, right? Fry?

FRY?

She doesn't answer.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Fry harnesses in, starts running switches -- but fumbles a few

times, making mental errors. Finally she gets crash-shutters

open to reveal...

CLOUD STRATA sweeping up past the windscreen like floor-lights

on a dropping elevator. We're shedding big altitude.

INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN

OWENS:

... crisis program selected Number Two of

this system because it shows at least some

oxygen and more than 1,500 -- would you

SHUT THE F*** UP!

(hammers a button,

SILENCES ALARMS)

-- more than 1,500-millibars of pressure

at surface-level. Okay, so maybe the ship

did something right for a change....

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

As Fry runs more switches.

INT. SHIP - DAY

As JETTISON DOORS CLOSE around the ship.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

As Fry flips up a security-latch -- and thumbs the switch below.

EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY

MULTIPLE SHOTS:
EXPLOSIVE BOLTS RAPID-FIRE around the ship's

skin, blowing away non-essentials that hinder aerodynamics --

including big deep-space drives. But this last separation puts

the ship into a dangerous roll.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Out the windscreen, cloud strata roll vertiginously. Fry throws

actuators...

EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY

And airbrakes deploy. She manages to kill the roll. But the

ship's still coming in nose-high.

INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN

OWENS:

...showing no major water bodies...maximum

terrain, 220 meters over mean surface...

largely cinder and gypsum with some

evaporite deposits....

JETTISON DOORS CLOSE behind Owens, segregating him from the

passenger compartment. It scares him for a new reason.

OWENS:

Fry? What're you doing?

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Fry flips up a new security-latch. INTERCUTTING:

OWENS:

Fry?

FRY:

Can't get my nose down...too much load

back there....

OWENS:

You mean that "load" of passengers?

FRY:

So what, we should both go down too?

Out of sheer f***ing nobility?

Tortured silence. Fry's thumb moves to the switch that will

jettison the passenger cabin. Jettison 50 people.

INT. MAIN CABIN

SELECTED SHOTS of faces inside cryo-lockers, among them JOHNS.

He's prime-of-life, badge on display, some kind of cop. Shaken

awake, he clears condensation to check the locker directly across

from his, finding...

RIDDICK. Small black goggles hide his eyes. A metal bit wedged

in his mouth lends a perpetual grimace. A read-out admonishes

"LOCK-OUT PROTOCOL IN EFFECT. ABSOLUTELY NO EARLY

RELEASE."

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

OWENS:

Look, Fry. Company says we're responsible

for every one of those --

FRY:

Company's not here, is it?

OWENS:

When captain went down, you stepped up --

whether you like it or not. Now they

train you for this, so --

FRY:

And there wasn't a simulated cockroach

alive within 50 clicks of the simulated

crash site! That's how they train you!

On a f***ing simulator!

Owens unbuckles from his chair.

OWENS:

Don't touch that switch!

Overcome by guilt, Fry retracts her thumb of mass destruction.

But a HUGE JOLT puts the thumb right back.

FRY:

I'm not dying for them.

She pushes it. But this time...

EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY

No bolts fire. Nothing separates from the SHIP THAT SCREAMS DOWN

through the clouds.

INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN

Now we see why:
Owens reopened the jettison doors locally -- and

blocked them open.

FRY:

Owens!

OWENS:

70 seconds! You still got 70 seconds to

level this beast out!

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Seething anger and guilt, Fry pops more airbrakes, shedding more

speed, more heat. The ship does level -- but it's still being

pounded hellishly. She tries to get a stable view out...

The windscreen. We're breaking through cloud-bottoms. There's

just a glimpse of landscape before...

EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY

An airbrake fails. It shears off and pinwheels into...

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

The windscreen. It cracks into a thousand spiderwebs -- but

impossibly it holds. For now.

OWENS (V.O.)

What the sh*t was that?

Sunlight flares from every fractured edge: It's like looking

into burning diamonds, and Fry can only get an impression

of the outside world. Now she has to rely on...

A ground-mapping display. 120 meters altitude. And dropping.

INT. CRYO-LOCKER - DAY

INTERCUT Johns. Realizing he's in some kind of sh*t-storm, he

claws at safety restraints.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Ground-mapper:
60 meters. COLLISION ALARMS kick in.

Out the fractured windscreen, we see a huge dark mass rise up

into view. Land.

40 meters...30...20...10....

Fry braces.

IMPACT. The WINDSCREENS IMPLODE. AIR HURRICANES in.

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