PREDATORS
by
Robert Rodriguez
Current Revisions by
Mike Finch and AlexLitvak
July 12, 2009
Ragged BREATHING over it, rising in intensity and volume. Heart POUNDING, POUNDING, POUNDING, like a jackhammer, threatening to tearitself out of the rib cage.
And a voice, calm,measured, eerily juxtaposed against the rest of the soundtrack.
VOICE (V.O.) The jungle creed says the strongest feed on any prey they can. And I was branded beast at every feast before I ever became a man.
WHAM, the first shotof the movie assaults us in the form of a man EXPLODING intoframe -- powerful, dangerous, the kind of cat who can killyou with a hard look. But now he’s scared, running asif hell itself was behind him.
Around him a nameless city towers like a concrete jungle.
With the fugitive,moving, handheld, frenetic, jarring, echoing his stateof mind.
PREDATOR POV: Theprey in infrared, seen from above.
The man glances back, sees nothing -- redoubles his already punishing pace.
Turns the corner --left or right, split second to decide -- he goes left -- powers along the street, arms pumping like pistons, shoes SLAPPING the shit out of the pavement, a staccato rhythm --trips, falls -- staggers back on his feet, using a chainlinkfence for purchase.
SOMETHING LUNGES ATHIM FROM THE SHADOWS ON THE OTHER SIDE!
A leashed pitbull-- its jaws SNAP a few inches away from our guy’s face.
He reels, gun up --the hound SNARLS, trying to get at the intruder -- but whatever is chasing him is much worse -- he recovers, rushes away, an adrenaline-powered juggernaut, the dog’s BARK chasinghim like a stream of obscenities.
Alley, alley, deadend, shit! He spins, scanning for exits, there are none, double shit, about to backtrack--
In the distance thedog abruptly SHUTS UP.
He freezes. Back against the wall. Pistol pointed at the mouth of the alley,held in a shaky grip. The look of a man about to face a sixfoot spider with a toothpick.
Street light BUZZES,flickering in and out of existence. An unsettling strobingeffect.
The man waits, sucking air, finger on the trigger... waits... waits...
Nothing.
He relaxes just abit.
WHAM, he’s JERKEDupward as if plucked by an invisible hand.
Make it a noose. Hedangles from it, losing the gun in the process, tips of histoes scraping the ground. A liquid, brown and viscous,SPLASHES from above, drenching him.
He chokes. FOOTSTEPS. The hunter approaches. We fully expect to see Predator...
Guess again. Or rather it is a predator of a different kind.
Call him ROYCE. ASteve McQueen face, hard but not unhandsome. Barelybroke a sweat. Takes off Raptor infrared goggles.
The man stares athim, eyes wide with terror. GURGLING. Mouth trying to form wordsthat never come.
It doesn’t matter.Royce’s heard it all before. The voice from the opening shot:
He lights a matchagainst his finger. Tosses it into the spreading puddle.Walks away without looking back.
WHOOSH! The man lights up like a bonfire. SCREAMS as he burns alive.
Royce keeps walking.
SUDDENLY
An electric wind SWEEPS along the street.
POP, POP, POP, lights BLOW out in quick succession.
Royce spins, sensingsomething coming up from behind a split second before--
IMPACT. SMASH TO BLACK. Blood red letters.
PREDATORS
An ocean of white.A body PLUMMETS toward it, almost peaceful, a fallenangel...
TEARS through theclouds.
ROYCE
Eyes snap open, disoriented, panicked. Mind behind them races, coming backonline, trying to regain its bearings. Discovering that heis--
IN FREEFALL
That’s right. He’splummeting through the void at 160 mph, an earthbound missiledressed in the same clothes he wore a moment ago, twisting, tumbling, SCREAMING, wind HOWLING, whipping mercilesslyat his hair and flesh.
Just like the nightmare we’ve all had.
Except this. IS. FUCKING.HAPPENING.
Reality is a washer/dryer in a spin cycle. With each rotation we catch a glimpseof blue above, a vast expanse of green below, the latterclosing fast.
An altimeter of foreign design is hooked to a harness crossing Royce’s chest. LED flashes in a degrading sequence... a countdown... and then the thing cracks!
Parachute deployswith a POP. Much like the altimeter that triggered its release, its design is unfamiliar to us.
Royce goes from terminal velocity to 30 in less than a second, decelerationjerking him up. Jungle looms. IMPACT.
Royce CRASHES through the double canopy at a 45 degree angle, BASHING against trunks, CLIPPING branches, before finally--
Hitting the ground.HARD.
Beat. Royce climbsto his feet. Tries to steady his ragged breathing. Uncouplesthe chute’s harness with shaky fingers. Takes in his surroundings.
He’s in a small clearing framed by monstrous tropical trees, plants and bushes,obscuring vision in all directions. Shafts of light stream fromopenings in the foliage a hundred feet above. The steadyBUZZ of insects, punctuated by occasional CRIES of birds andmonkeys, breaks the eerie silence.
It’s haunting. Humid. And hot as hell.
Royce stares in astate of shock. One question:
CRASH! A chute-ladenfigure duplicates Royce’s descent.
VOICE (in Spanish) Fuck! FUCK! FUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!!!!
Royce watches. Allhe can do is watch.
The man lands a fewfeet away. Twin Uzis are strapped to his back. An intricatewebwork of scars and tattoos covers his torso. His age unplacable. His real name immaterial. But in places like Juárezand Tijuana he’s known as--
CRASH! A body SMASHES on the ground like a cannon ball, stealing their attention. This one won’t be getting up.
POP, the dead man’schute unfurls. Too little too late.
He hears muted voices. Moves, confusion pushing up against something harder onthe inside.
He tries to follow,gets tangled in the chute lines. They jerk him back. Curses some more. We leave him to it.
With Royce, slicingthrough thick vegetation toward voices, panicked, SHOUTINGin languages we don’t understand.
Parachutes strewnabout. NIKOLAI, a frightening bear of a man in VDV fatigues withno identity badges or insignias, armed with GShG-7.62 --a four barreled gas powered rotary machine gun, its barrel still smoking -- is yelling in Russian at--
ISABELLE, jeans andbutton down shirt, pretty if she ever bothered to smile,her own Heckler & Koch PSG1 sniper rifle pointed at the bigman, as she yells back in French.
What we have hereis a failure to communicate.
Heads and weaponsturn to Royce, as he appears. Both yell at him for a change.
He raises his hands,indicating intention rather than surrender.
Branches CRACK. Leaves rain down. All spin toward the source.
Fifteen feet aboveSTANS -- shaved head, scorpion tattoo on his neck, orange jumpsuit with the faded words “San Quentin” stenciled into thefabric -- is cutting through the lines of his chute with a prison shiv.
Drops. Lands on hisfeet like a cat. Backs away from the others, feral, stabbing at the air.
And stops, hand wrapped around his mouth, blade pressed firmly against hiscarotid artery.
Their owner, MOMBASA, materializes behind Stans with the silent swiftness ofa ghost. Black. Early 20’s. But in the part of the worldhe comes from, he’s considered old.
The confused grouptake one another in with weary eyes. Paranoia. Panic. Ahairline away from a trigger pull.
Nikolai is about tosay something. Royce motions for him to keep quiet.
Royce doesn’t talk.He listens.
And then he’s movingagain.
Cuchillo emerges outof the bushes. Surveys the new arrivals.
She starts after Royce.
Nikolai ignores him,follows. Cuchillo is not far behind.
Mombasa looks after.Realizes the futility of his threat. Shoves Stans aside.
Mombasa. Stans. Looks exchanged. The kind that promise “this isn’t over”.
Mombasa strides offin the same direction. Stans backstabs him with a glare.Weighs his options. Trails after.
We linger on the nowempty clearing.
A figure steps outof the bushes. Has been there the entire time. Name’s HANZO.Japanese, slender, dark suit, white shirt, Beretta 92FSin a worn shoulder holster. Look closer, and you’ll see he’smissing two finger tips on his left hand.
Considers. Walks after the others.
SQUISH, his dressshoes sink into mud.
Hanzo -- utterly undeterred -- takes them off. Then the socks. Lays down theitems neatly on the ground. Resumes the journey.
We stay on the shoes.
Royce pushes throughthe foliage. Stops.
A shallow creek runsin front of him. To the right, sitting on a rock, his backtoward Royce, is a small unassuming man. Caucasian, glasses,beige slacks, white T.
This is EDWIN.
He stares at the water with the wonder and innocence of a child. Turns, takingin Royce and the others.
A trickle of bloodtravels slowly along the side of his face.
Edwin’s fingers comeaway red and wet. He studies them absentmindedly.
“Creepy” doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Royce takes the reigns. To all:
Mombasa nods. Samehere.
We pan across theirfaces.
On Stans. A thoughtforming. Doesn’t happen often.
That gives everyonepause. Obviously a possibility they haven’t considered.Stans begins to freak out.
Good point. Still,
Royce’s attentionis elsewhere.
A leaf in his hand.Water in it. A small sliver of metal floats on a smallerleaf. A makeshift compass.
The metal-bearingleaf spins madly, refusing to settle.
Hanzo drifts out ofthe bushes. Sidelines. A silent nod.
They take him in.That dreaded question again:
On Royce. He’s heardenough.
They look toward him, eager for solutions, for answers, for something, anything,to make sense again. Brass tacks:
They move down thecreek. Together. For the moment.
Sun beats down without mercy. The stream -- wider now -- runs to the left, as Royce, on point, hacks a path through lush vegetation with even, surgeon-like strokes.
The rest of the crewis spread out behind him.
All around them ajungle labyrinth, towering and vast, SOUNDS, shadows, thesense of something just outside of our field of vision.
Something dangerous.
Stans keeps glancingup, hunched over, uncomfortable, as if feeling the weightof the open space on his shoulders.
No response.
Royce waves towardthe jungle.
Stans bristles, stalks away.
Off Nikolai’s puzzled look, speaking from experience:
Close on a bloomingplant. Others pass it. Isabelle pauses for a look, takenby its structure.
Its pedals are bright, delicate, almost hypnotic in their appearance. She reaches out to touch them...
Edwin’s hand intercepts hers.
She recoils from histouch.
Edwin smiles, usedto the effect. Flicks out a surgical scalpel. Gingerlyextends it toward--
SNAP, the pedals close around the blade like a bear trap.
He withdraws the scalpel. Yellow pus drips off the steel.
A clarification:
Another mystery. They shake it off. Keep walking.
It becomes a river.They follow its course.
From high above ourguys look like ants crawling along a thin blue thread. Nothingbut jungle in all directions.
Royce appears in thedistance, heading toward us. Suddenly stops, eyes on theground. Isabelle notes his concern.
Faint outlines youand I would miss. Royce kneels by them.
He touches the ground, trying to determine what creature could have made them. Almost to himself:
Royce rises. Lookshim square in the eye.
He resumes the trek.
Hanzo is last. Leansover the current. Splashes some H2Oon his face.
HIS POV, obscuredby the dripping water: Jungle across the river. Something moves. Quick. Like a spectre. And then it’s gone.
Hanzo stares. Offhis expression,
Light’s dimmer now.Sounds seem louder and closer. And more malevolent.
Aching muscles. Sweat stains. The journey is taking its toll, and it shows. Thecrew is taking a brief respite.
Cuchillo eyes themuddy stream.
Mombasa pulls downa thick vine. THWACK, severs it with his knife. A trickle ofwater emerges. He drinks.
Beat. They rush tofollow his example, guzzle greedily.
Stans watches Isabelle. The predatory gleam in his gaze promises nothing buttrouble.
She feels his eyeson her. Turns.
Stans grins.
She doesn’t. If looks could kill, Stans would be a dead man.
Gradually Stans’ssmirk curdles like milk. He looks away.
Isabelle settles down next to Royce. PUSH IN on them, forsaking the others.
Royce looks at herfor a beat.
He shrugs. In hisPOV, panning over the faces of their companions, readingthem like a coloring book:
Settling on Edwin,who’s raptly examining a beautiful monarch butterfly that’s landed on his arm:
Finally returningto Isabelle. A nod toward the sniper rifle:
Silence. It hangsthere. Like a noose.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
Sonic boom CRASHESover the clearing like a tsunami.
Something large streaks overhead, too fast to make out.
Earth SHAKES. Bushescompress. Our crew is knocked down, ass over teacups.
And then it’s gone,just as suddenly as it appeared, a path of destruction visible through the jungle.
The tumult fades.They dust themselves off. Shaken but unhurt.
They trade glances.For the first time there’s something new in their eyes, shining through grime and exhaustion.Hope.
No words are exchanged. They move into the jungle, following the trail.
We linger on the nowempty campsite.
The monarch butterfly writhes in the dirt, trying to take flight. In vain. Itswings have been pulled off.
On the road again.The jungle seems denser, more impenetrable, as ifit’s determined to stop our heroes.
View from the trees,looking down as the crew approaches.
They descend intoa ravine. Slow, treacherous going.
Mombasa’s foot snagssomething. He trips, falls.
Stans brushes past.Grins.
A massive tree trunk, suspended by vines, SWINGS toward him like a fist of God!
He rolls out of theway, barely.
The others scatter,tripping more wires in the process.
WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, three makeshift spears spin toward them from as manydirections, pincushioning foliage and earth.
Cuchillo dodges one,only to trigger the next trap -- a branch, adorned withcarved spikes. It LASHES OUT!
They duck, the thingpassing INCHES above their heads.
Isabelle rushes forward, trying to get out of the kill zone. Inexplicably PLUNGESstraight through the ground--
Into a camouflagedpit. Catches its edge. Hangs there, literally clingingto life by her fingernails.
A row of razor sharpPunji sticks await at the bottom.
Battling gravity.Losing. Her hold... gives!
Royce catches her.Reels her back in.
They freeze, eyesand barrels searching for targets. Await the next attack.
Silence. None seemsforthcoming.
Isabelle raises therifle, trying to control her breathing.
HER POV: Scanning...scanning... snapping back toward--
A glint of something.
Royce is already inmotion. Vanishes into the bushes.
The rest spread out,follow.
With Royce, moving,fast, soundless, light. He’s at his best now -- alone.
He crests a smallridge. Stops. Stares. We spin around, using Royce as a pivot,revealing the object of his attention.
A CORPSE
Desert fatigues, dirty and torn to shreds. Chest cavity like an inward implosion,fused, cauterized, a gaping wound. Eyes open. Staring upward. Into nothingness.
The rest of the crewconverge, breathing ragged, still jacked up on adrenaline.Take in the eerie sight.
Cuchillo crosses himself, a reflex.
Nikolai leans overthe body. Sizes him up in a glance.
Checks his pockets,quick, efficient, a pro. Maps. Foreign currency. Papers.His face registers confusion.
All eyes on him.
He points to the SEAL’s decimated chest.
This time there’sno answer.
He strides away.
Nikolai takes offhis jacket. Covers the corpse. Soldier to soldier.
One by one, they trail off. Mombasa is last. Suddenly stops.
Slowly he turns back. Freezes, staring into the jungle. As if sensing somethingwithin its depths.
Something he can’tname or see. Watching. Waiting...
A shimmer in the foreground. Like a heat wave dancing off the pavement of a deserthighway.
A branch sways. Except there’s no wind.
Mombasa is jerkedback to reality. Eyes on Royce, pupils dilated, a man snapping out of a trance.
He moves on. Roycelooks after. Then follows.
The crew is on edge,alert, aware of every sound, every step, every second. Jungleenvelops them from all directions, prehistoric, stark,keeping its secrets.
Isabelle sidelinesRoyce.
She nods, acceptingthe terms. They keep moving. Drift off them to--
Cuchillo clutchesa rosary, lips moving in a silent prayer.
Motion in the bushes. They react--
SOMETHING takes flight, swoops over their heads, SCREECHES, vanishes in the distance. Whew...
Stans begins to unravel.
Looking around, panic building:
No volunteers.
Abruptly Stans lunges. Shiv at Mombasa’s throat, drawing blood.
He might as well beholding a feather duster.
CLICK. That was Mombasa’s 45. Hammer cocked. Pointed at Stans’s heart.
A standoff.
SUDDENLY--
An eerie SILENCE descends like a fast falling curtain. Even the BUZZING and CLICKING of insects have CEASED.
They read it. Weapons snap up. Stans and Mombasa disengage. Trade glares. Another time.
White knuckle tension. Seconds feel like an eternity.
They hear it beforethey see it. A low, growling SOUND. The kind that makes yourskin crawl.
A POV of somethingCRASHING through jungle at speed, SNAPPING branches like twigs.Deep, heavy panting. Whatever it is, it’s fast. Powerful.And lethal.
Royce CLICKS off thesafety on his AA-12 shotgun.
Isabelle RACKS thebolt of her rifle.
Cuchillo PULLS theslides of his Uzis.
Nikolai’s chaingunbegins to WHIR.
They wait. Louder.Closer...
The thing’s POV again. Human forms ahead.
Closer...
A blur of motion tothe left! A shape -- large, lean, four legs, leathery skin-- LAUNCHES out of bushes, changing colors, chameleon-like.
A cross between atiger, a boar and your worst nightmare.
Royce OPENS UP. Short, accurate bursts. Mombasa UNLEASHES with the AK. Hanzo-- three point stance, steady rate of fire, as if he wasat a pistol range. Cuchillo’s Uzis BLAZE.
All of the above ismuted by the ROAR of Nikolai’s chaingun. Its barrel spits outa foot of flame. Stream of high velocity rounds -- every fifth a tracer -- digs into the creature.
It SQUEALS as bullets tear it apart. A geyser of black blood. Still, it crawls toward them, barbed tail lashing spastically.
Nikolai - fuck me-- keeps firing.
Finally the monstrosity halts. Marks its killers with crimson eyes, as the lightin them dims... and expires.
More are coming. Could be three, could be six. Hard to tell. They are swift, vicious, closing in from three directions.
Our crew -- fightor flee -- flee it is -- retreat toward the only avenue of theescape, laying cover fire, re-painting green with black.
Still, they come.
Stans’s had enough,breaks, vanishes into the jungle.
A thing LUNGES forIsabelle, baring rows of jagged teeth.
She tracks it, taking her time... and...
BAM! A 30. Magnumhollow point BLOWS its head apart mid-air. Black mist.
It lands, digginga furrow that ends at her feet.
She moves, pullingEdwin. Another hellhound gives chase.
The rest of the crewspread out. Every man for himself.
With Hanzo, running,pushing through thick foliage.
Movement ahead.
He swings at--
Royce, his own gunlined on Hanzo.
Split second relief.
Instantly they shiftaim, as one of the beasts appears.
Both FIRE. CLICK,Royce runs dry.
It hears the sound,knows what it means, heads for Royce, even though Hanzois closer.
10 feet. Royce dumpsthe gun.
5. He draws a machete.
Almost on top of him. Leaps--
Royce drops underits attack, blade held high.
The monster sailsover him. WHACK, its momentum splits it open from stem tosternum.
Black blood dripsoff cold steel.
Stans sprints, branches SLASHING his face and hands. Way past giving a shit. Glances back.
Foliage RIPPLES behind him. A shape, closing fast.
ITS POV: Stans. Breathing, amplified, distorted.
Stans pours everything he’s got left in the tank into a hundred yard dash.Checks his tail again.
Nothing there.
He has a split second to contemplate his luck before--
WHAM, the thing hitshim bodily from the front.
They roll, kickingup leaves and dirt.
Jaws SNAP. He pushesagainst the beast’s neck with one hand, keeping fangs at bay. Drives the shiv into its side with the other. Over and overagain. With every stab:
Black blood spattershis jumpsuit.
He SCREAMS, as thecreature digs its claws into his shoulder, ripping flesh. Keepsstabbing.
Primal. Brutal. Twoanimals. The only question, who’ll kill the other first.
The thing finallyoverpowers Stans. Angles for his throat.
WHAM, a boot SMASHESagainst its head, forcing it to the ground. Barrel tothe ear. BOOM!
Silence. The monstrosity twitches, colors shifting, fearsome even near death.
Stans looks up. Mombasa looms over.
Isabelle slings therifle, push-pulls Edwin toward a tree.
He does. She’s a step behind. And not a moment too soon...
A hellhound EXPLODESinto view, as if born out of the jungle itself. Tears offa piece of her boot.
She grabs a branch.UNLOADS with the handgun. Full clip.
Slugs tear into thething’s head, bounce off the skull, leaving bloody grooves. Don’t improve its looks. Nor do they stop it.
Two more beeline toward Royce and Hanzo.
The monster coils.Vertical leap. Yanks Isabelle off.
She falls. Lies there, dazed.
Slowly the demon approaches. Teeth dripping saliva. Death incarnate.
Royce grips the machete tighter. Hanzo DRIVES in a fresh clip. Last stand.
Isabelle reaches forher fallen pistol.
The beast lets her.Just keeps advancing. We’re close enough to smell its wet carnivore stink, feel its hot breath...
She considers. Points the gun at her own head. About to pull the trigger...
A WHISTLE
High pitched, piercing, inhuman, washes over them.
The result is immediate and dramatic.
The creature slidesto a stop, claws digging into dirt. Stares at Isabelle,muscles quivering.
And then, just likethat, it turns and vanishes into the jungle, as swiftlyas it appeared.
The other two facingRoyce and Hanzo retreat as well.
Nikolai -- breathingheavy -- his chain gun sweeps the area, seeking targets. There are none.
Stans clutches hisbleeding shoulder, locks eyes with Mombasa. Unspokenquestion.
Pause.
Isabelle lowers thegun. Her hand shakes. It takes her a supreme effort ofwill to steady it.
SOUND. She draws--
Then Mombasa and Stans.
Royce and Hanzo approach from the other side.
Finally, Nikolai,dragging a chewed up carcass behind them. Drops it. THUD.
Everyone’s too drained to speak. Finally,
They digest, mindsreeling. Refusing to comprehend.
Beat. What comes next is a chilling observation, even more disturbing than theprevious discovery.
Heads turn. Indeed,they seem to be one short. Namely--
They react.
The crew emerge. Stop at the edge of a clearing.
Cuchillo, his backtoward them, head lolling to the side, sits slumped in thecenter of a barren swath of dead earth.
Isabelle steps forward. Royce’s hand stops her.
Royce picks up a rock. Tosses it out into the field.
It bounces once. Twice.
A SUDDEN blur of steel, as something lashes out from beneath the ground. DICESTHE STONE TO SMITHEREENS.
A chilling, bottomless beat. Like standing on the edge of an abyss. And lookingdown.
Disgusted with himself, with the world, a confession:
Pause.
Off their looks,
For once Stans isright. A confirmation:
He turns.
Royce weighs the moment and her mettle.
Angles back into thejungle. One by one, the others pull away, follow in silent agreement. A decision they all have to live with.
We stay on Isabelle.Her eyes. Something welling behind them.
Her entire being iswrecked with silent tension.
Until,
She snaps up the rifle, aims, FIRES, all in one liquid move.
The GUNSHOT washesover them. A few react. Royce doesn’t. Just puts one footin front of the other.
Isabelle lowers thebarrel.
Cuchillo’s body isnow on its side.
She turns to leave.
She SPINS back toward--
On Isabelle. She’sseen and dealt death on many occasions. She’s rarely beenafraid.
She is now.
Hurries after theothers.
PREDATOR POV: A viewfrom above. Everything in infrared, but sharper, more focused than we’ve ever seen. Isabelle recedes in the distance.
Panning to Cuchillo.A pool of blood glows around the body, becoming more faint,as it cools.
And then a RATTLE.Like rats scampering over broken glass.
This is not your father’s Predator.
Royce in the lead,the rest trailing. Isabelle at the rear.
They push out of jungle. Ten meters above, a barren, rocky ridge line looms.
They head toward it.
Slowly, as if clawing his way out of the ground after being buried alive, Royceappears over the horizon.
The others step upnext to him. All stare out at the view before them, silent,their expressions unreadable.
THEIR POV: Sky asfar as the eye can see. Below it, jungle stretches out formiles in every direction.
Beyond it, visiblein the great distance, are massive, angular chunks ofan alien planet, floating in space. A dying, shattered world.
Kansas it ain’t.
On Cuchillo, jerkingupright. His head swings around, dead eyes staring at us.
A blade -- long, sharp, covered in strange runes -- touches the crown of his head, about to scalp him. Off that,
The crew are spreadout on the ridge, exactly where we left them.
Only Stans faces us,looking away from the alien landscape, as though by ignoring it, it might somehow go away, rocking slowly back and forth, muttering:
Edwin takes in thestrangeness, the grandeur of it all, the slightest hint ofa smile creasing his features.
Mombasa, a few pacesaway, Nikolai next to him, both lost in thought.
Hanzo reloads hisgun.
Isabelle stares backin the direction of Cuchillo, still living the moment,the kill, the voice.
And Royce, alone,apart, an outcast among outcasts.
No one answers. Then,
A grim beat, as they process their probable fate. Finally,
In response, Roycepoints to a jungle matted hillock in the distance.
In its center, breaking the tree line, something vertical and tall. Something...unnatural.
Deep shadows. Dyingsun -- burnt orange -- peeks through the heavy jungle canopy.Decides to stay out.
The crew advances,cautious, ready to rumble, ready for anything. Or so theythink.
CREAKING, soft andsteady. Growing stronger as they approach.
And then they see...
HELL
A half dozen creatures, skinned, rotting, all large, all alien, and, judgingby their looks, all dangerous, hang by their feet from along horizontal pole, CREAKING, as they sway in the breeze.
On the ground nextto the carcasses, a flock of birds -- monstrous, otherwordly, carrion eaters -- feast on offal -- guts, brains, eyes,organs. There’s plenty of chow for everyone, but theyfight anyway, just for the hell of it.
Hides are strung over rough wooden frames, curing.
A fire smolders, sending up thin wisps of gray smoke.
A collection of polished skulls -- many with spinal cords still intact -- isdisplayed on tree stumps and stakes.
These are hard, dangerous men who’ve seen and done more than their share of evil.Still, they stare, transfixed, their faces descending into a state of abject horror and revulsion.
All except one.
Edwin’s gaze is akinto that of a man looking up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Edwin’s fingers runalong a row of skinning knives, crusted with multi-coloredblood. Feeling their sharp edges.
They pass a largepit, its bottom lost to the shadows.
Something big, fast,gunmetal grey SWOOPS by Nikolai, making the same SCREECHINGsound they heard earlier in the jungle.
They advance further.
In the center of thecamp, a 150 feet high METALLIC TOTEM POLE, all barbs andblades, covered in arcane hieroglyphics, rises out of the earth like an exclamation point.
We can see that there is something attached to the other side. Just not what.
With our crew. Coming around for a look. Then stopping cold. Pan off their stunned, speechless faces toward--
Stretched out on thetotem is a PREDATOR. CRUCIFIED.
It hangs helplessly,head slumped, making no sound, past any threshold of paina man could endure. Florescent green blood, glowing in the gathering twilight, covers its many wounds. Its helmet is off,armor stripped, shoulder mount smashed and dangling loosely offthe shoulder.
It’s dead. Or closeto it.
At the base of themonument is a pile of discarded Predator armor, shattered weapons and cleaved skulls.
Shock and awe without the bombs.
Mombasa mutters something in his native tongue. No translation required.
Hanzo shakes his head, incredulous, unable to process.
Isabelle takes a step back.
Bumps into Royce.Their eyes meet. In them, he sees something. Fear? Confusion? No. Recognition.
The Russian stepsforward, chaingun held out. Slowly, carefully he pushesPredator’s head upward with its barrel, trying to get a better look.
SUDDENLY
The thing’s bloodshot eyes snap open. Mandibles flare. It ROARS! Nikolai andeveryone else jump back.
Nobody needs to betold twice. They start backing away.
The carrion birdsEXPLODE into the sky.
Guns swivel in theirdirection.
Tense. Sweat beading. Hearts POUNDING. Terror building.
They see...
They relax.
Mombasa doesn’t. Eyes wide with confusion.
With no warning--
A CLOAKED SPEAR --visible only thanks to the red chalk outline of Mombasa'sblood -- BURSTS out of his chest, driven right through himfrom behind.
His blood paints Stans’s face.
Mombasa’s finger depresses the trigger, a dying reflex. His AK BELCHES lead onfull auto.
The other react, panic FIRE.
The fury of theirweapons surges in the direction of the attack, riddling thecamp and the jungle.
Crucified Predatoradds its ROAR to the CACOPHONY.
There’s nothing toshoot at. Not even the classic Predator shape. Just a faintshimmer.
Firing stops. Theyback away -- more of a herd than a unit.
Royce’s eyes pan,looking for movement, motion, anything.
Isabelle, rifle up,searching.
Nikolai sweeps thechaingun in a wide arc, back and forth.
Nothing.
Slowly Royce’s handdrops to one of the grenades clipped to Mombasa’s harness.
CLICK.
That was the pin.Royce heaves the explosive into space. Rapid throws threemore, spacing them around the camp ground at regular intervals.
Split second of calmbefore the storm.
Then BOOM! BOOMBOOMBOOM!!!
A cloud of dirt andshrapnel tears through the air in a concussive wave--
Washing over a fastmoving form, making it visible for a brief moment.
We don’t see much.But we do see this.
It. Is. Fucking. Big. Think Predator on steroids.
Nikolai sees it, UNLOADS on the thing with the chaingun, the ROAR of the weaponmatched by his BATTLECRY.
PREDATOR POV: Bulletsstream toward us in ghastly slow motion. Targetingsystem tracks each projectile, reads their telemetry, locks on.
And then the creature OPENS UP with a chaingun of its own.
An ERUPTION of flame. The thing is a monster. Makes Nikolai’s BFG look like a child’s toy.
Human and Predatorrounds COLLIDE mid-air, CLATTER on the ground. Chaingun vs.chaingun.
Everyone else retreats, seeking cover and distance.
Nikolai stands hisground, still ROARING, barrel white hot and smoking.
CLICK, he runs dry.Hauls ass after the others.
Predator keeps FIRING.
They scatter, as rounds tear by. “Black Hawk Down” time.
Isabelle aims at themuzzle flashes, puts a round above them. It ricochets off some unseen metal.
Bullets arc towardsher. Only the grace of God and a dead tree save her. Shedives, as branches and bark get PULVERIZED. Pinneddown.
Royce -- still inmotion -- sees it -- shotgun on full auto.
The monster reelsfrom the barrage.
A single drop of blood lands on the ground.
Royce sees it.
And then the thingturns its undivided attention toward him.
He cuts behind a rowof hanging carcasses. Depleted uranium slugs turn meat intocharnel in his wake.
Hands grab Isabelle.Edwin’s. He pulls her up, hauls her toward the tree line.
With Royce, sprinting, as if hell itself was on his heels -- which, in many ways,it is -- others doing same, as the jungle’s literallySHREDDED behind them, bushes disintegrating, leaves turning to pulp, wood into splinters.
To Royce’s left, seen only in silhouette and for the briefest of moments, we catcha glimpse of an alien ship -- burnished angular steel, lethal, sleek and intimidating.
Everyone else is running blind, stumbling, falling, picking themselves up, living from one breath to the next.
RAT TAT TAT TAT TAT,the slugs cut through the base of a massive tree trunklike a scythe. Timber!...
Its falling shadoweclipses our guys -- the arc of the bullets swings toward them -- crushed or shot, pick your poison -- OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII--
The ground beforethem disappears, and they
DROP!
Six bodies TUMBLEdown a steep slope, an avalanche of flailing arms andlegs, SMASHING into stones and roots, weapons CLATTERINGaway, a long painful way down.
With Royce, the world spinning. An outcropping looms. He bounces off it, goesairborne.
Which is where theride gets interesting.
He’s falling... falling... something dark and foreboding below, coming up fast.
IMPACT!
Royce PLUNGES underwater. Comes up in time to see Isabelle and Edwin SPLASH behind him. Stans careens in, SCREAMING.
All washed away, fast.
Nikolai descends.Disappears. Doesn’t come back up.
HITS bottom. Currentpulls him along, raking over rocks.
The weight of thechaingun holds him down, drowning him.
He thrashes, tryingto ditch the thing. An exercise in futility. Lungs screaming for oxygen, getting none.
Suddenly a form appears out of the murk.
HANZO
His knife slices through the chaingun’s harness. Both men shoot for the surface.
Break it, suckingair, only to get swept away toward rapids. From the frying pan...
Six heads bob in theriver’s fury. Still water ahead.
They hit it. Suckeddown, out of frame.
Edwin is pulled through some unseen vortex, Isabelle behind him.
HER POV: Edwin jerkedto the left, disappears. Beat, and she sees where.
An underwater tunnel, dark and slimy, like a path to hell.
And she’s tumblingthrough it, walls rotating around her, jagged rocks, sand,plants, fish, all a blur.
An underwater rollercoaster -- nightmarish, dizzying, claustrophobic. Abruptly--
She pops back up.Royce. Hanzo. The others.
PREDATOR POV: Thecrew -- glowing thermal shapes in churning black water -- glidetoward us. And then, inexplicably--
We are airborne, circle over the prey, then accelerate away. That same SCREECHINGsound.
That’s because weare seeing through the eyes of--
PREDATOR FALCON
Segmented wings, barbed alloy, a biomechanical meld of machine and organictissue. Death from above.
Predator Falcon descends toward the ridge overlooking the river. Wings extend,braking. Settles... on nothing. Wings retract. Just sitsthere, perched in mid air.
Light distorts. Theair undulates, shifts. A form SHIMMERS into view.
We don’t get the money shot.There’ll be time for that later. Just a few glimpses,from the back. The rest, mercifully, is covered in shadows.One thing for sure...
If Predators werefrightening, this thing is TERRIFYING.
A familiar RATTLE.
Meet BLACK SUPER PREDATOR.
Twenty yards to hisleft a SECOND SUPER PREDATOR de-cloaks.
Across the river andfifty yards downstream, a THIRD.
This is the huntingparty.
BLACK SUPER PREDATORturns toward us.
Under a ferocious,almost tribal mask, red eyes, like a pair of blood rubies, burnwith cold malevolence.
Nikolai drags himself out of the current. Collapses in a shallow pool set bya white sand beach.
Hanzo’s next. Edwin.Stans. Heaving. Drenched. Alive.
Isabelle’s fingersgrasp rocks, find purchase. She pulls herself in. Suddenlya shadow looms over.
ROYCE
Yanks her to her feet. Hand on her throat. Cold fury.
Others approach. Stare.
Her eyes search forsupport. Find none.
Beat. A long one.
Trying to make senseof it herself:
Morale of the story:
Everybody thinkingthe same thing:
They can feel hairson the backs of their necks standing up.
The sun -- a bloodred orb -- sinks below the horizon. Tidal wave of shadows washes over, drowning them.
Lets them processthis.
Becoming unglued:
Nail on the head.
Beat.
Looks exchanged. Thekind that say “you are fucking nuts”.
Seen from afar. Still. A cliff wall, peppered with small caves, looms in thedistance.
Moon and stars illuminate the jungle landscape, muting its hard edges.
A SHRIEK in the distance. We don’t even want to guess what creature could havemade it, let alone meet it in person.
An insect scurriesalong. A leathery tongue shoots into frame, grabs it, snaps back like a rubber band inside the mouth of somethingresembling an oversized tree frog.
It chews on the catch. A bird swoops, devours the amphibian whole mid-meal.
Survival of the fittest.
We travel upward.Toward the tree tops. Different predators. Different prey.
A form manifests inthe foliage. Hanzo, twenty feet off the ground, rests in thecrook formed by trunk and limb.
Stans is perched onanother tree.
Edwin, across fromhim, scrapes moss off the tree onto a leaf. Waiting fordawn.
Isabelle clutchesthe stock of her rifle. Stares out into the alien jungle beyond.Her mind elsewhere.
Royce. Eyes closed.Asleep. Or so we think.
She incinerates himwith a glare.
Beat.
She doesn’t answer.He doesn’t expect her to. Then,
He finally opens hiseyes. Every word, every syllable of the following bought andpaid for in full:
A hanging beat. Neither one looks at the other. Off that,
Isabelle nods off.Snaps back to consciousness.
HER POV: A breezesweeps through the jungle. Branches RIPPLE, like the surface ofa lake after a stone throw, the effect spreading into thedistance. Until it reaches--
One particular branch, 250 yards out.It doesn’t move.
She reacts, startled, opens her mouth--
Royce’s hand wrapsaround it. Shakes his head. Lets go.
Isabelle snaps upthe rifle.
HER POV: Night vision. The branch is already gone.
She shakes her head.Royce points.
Deep in jungle, thefaintest sense of motion.
She tracks it.
HER POV: A glimmer.There one moment, gone the next.
CLICK, she drops thesafety. Others hear it, react, tensing.
Something fast andagile cuts into frame, arcing left. Circling our guys.
In the trees, everyone’s alert, looking out in different directions, waitingfor an attack.
A bug lands on Stans’s neck. He crushes it, eyes never leaving the jungle.
Isabelle. Glued tothe scope. A whisper:
She glances at him.Shakes her head. She doesn’t have a shot. And they can’t sithere forever.
Beat.
Slowly Royce putsdown his weapon. Ammo. Side arm. Lightening the load.
Isabelle. Royce. Reading one another.
On Royce -- running.
Fifty yards to hisleft, a blur, moving parallel, matching pace.
Royce keeps running,leaping logs, ducking low branches.
ISABELLE’S POV: Royce, sprinting. Rapid shifts to his pursuer. Now fortyyards out and closing. Two trains on a collision course.
Back to Royce. Heangles left.
The hunter adjustsaccordingly.
ISABELLE’S POV: Itsform -- still largely unseen -- strobes through the bushes.Too fast to draw a bead on.
Royce -- he can hearit approaching -- still, he never looks back, never skipsa beat -- just hauls ass.
Eight yards out...Six...
Isabelle’s fingertenses on the trigger.
HER POV: Four yards... Two...
Royce -- the creature almost upon him.
Talons -- long, black, jagged -- SLASH!
BANG! Thing’s blownoff to the side and out of frame.
Royce drops to theground, exhausted.
Isabelle lowers therifle, her expression unreadable.
Royce stands overthe slain monster, doubled over, sucking wind. The others approach.
Royce manages a nod.
Royce motions overhis shoulder toward the body.
We finally get a good look.
The creature resembles a stick bug, multi-jointed limbs protruding from itsexoskeleton, carapace covered in sharp bone blades. Definitelynot a Predator. More importantly,
A harness stretchesover its chest. In the center, a broken altimeter.
Isabelle approaches.
She ignores him. Checks the tree trunk next to the corpse.
A ragged hole in it.The confirmation she needed.
OH SHIT!!
They react -- sitting ducks -- can practically feel another incoming round screaming toward them...
Instead, a low, quiet rasp:
VOICE Over here.
They spin toward it.
Nothing.
Behind them now:
VOICE Over here.
Everyone, save Royce, reflexively swings that way.
Royce -- fool me once -- stays put, eyes panning slowly...
The tip of a burnished barrel brushes his ear.
He turns. Finds himself facing the business end of a long rifle. Only alienand much more badass.
At its terminus, jungle. And two eyes.
VOICE What are you?
Beat.
The barrel pulls away.
Jungle seems to shift. A camouflaged form, composed of leaves and vines, steps forward. The ultimateGhillie suit. The kind that hunters wearto blend into their surroundings.
Its hood is pulledback to reveal--
NOLAND. 60’s. Hardopen face, battered by elements and age. Scars. Burn marks.It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.
Takes in our crew.Doesn’t like what he sees. His voice has the cadence of a manwho hasn't used it in a very long time.
Starts to walk away.
Off his look,
The sound of his ownname seems almost unfamiliar to him:
He strides back intothe jungle. Our crew trade glances. Wisely decide to follow.
High stone walls loom. Noland heads for them, moving with the practiced precisionof a seasoned hunter.
An odd sight aheadstops them in their tracks.
Three Predator skeletons -- ancient, bones bleached, rib cages pulverized,skulls shattered -- lie on the ground.
The forth is fusedwith a Super Predator skeleton, blades -- not even a speck ofrust, even after all these centuries -- driven into one another, locked in an eternal struggle.
They take in the eerie tableau, staggered by it.
Noland just brushespast it. He’s seen it all before.
THUNDER CLAPS in thedistance.
Plants begin to close up. Bulbs retract, as thick, fibrous leaves wrap aroundthem protectively. Soon we’ll know why.
Noland picks up thepace. To our crew:
Drops start to fall.Sizzle on the skeletons.
One hits Stans’s shoulder, burns through fabric. He YELPS.
Make that acid rain.Figures.
Dead end ahead. Noland marches toward it, undeterred. Rounds an outcropping. Pulls back a heavy camouflage net.
Cave entrance behindit. He disappears inside. Our heroes trail. All save--
Edwin. Frozen. Something in his expression we haven’t seen since we’ve met him.Terror.
Edwin tries. Can’t.
Shaking, on the verge of hyperventilating -- his creepy calm veneer cracking likeice -- at the moment he’s nothing but a stranger in a strange land, stranded, scared, pathetic.
More drops fall. Theground smolders. If Edwin stays outside, he’s toast.
Isabelle takes pity.Steps back out.
He does. Deer in theheadlights.
Slowly and with supreme effort, Edwin complies.
They enter--
Nikolai pulls a Claymore from his pack. Plants it, about to string a trip wire.
He moves off intodarkness. Clearly knows every inch of this place. The passagecontinues ahead, curving to the left.
Noland pushes up against a wall. A hatch opens up.
Isabelle and Edwinare last to arrive. Noland pulls a heavy trap door closed behind them, secures it with alloy rods.
Turns up a dial onsome strange device. Light washes over, illuminating--
The space is largeand spartan. Thee hatch. A cot next toit. Makeshift table andbench. Hard living.
Everywhere, bits andpieces of gear, some man made, most alien. A scavenger'sden.
Noland puts down therifle. As he peels off his Ghilliesuit:
Royce nods.
An armored plate beneath it. Think alienKevlar. Stans eyes it, greedy, envious.KNOCKS on it, liking the sound.
Another suit underthe plate, this one made out of the hide of some creature.Off their looks,
Noland motions toa wall.
Thousands of linescarved into stone. Thousands of days.
Nikolai shakes hishead.
Noland nods to anearthen bowl. Edwin peeks inside. Looses his appetite veryquickly.
All ears.
They trade glances.
Time's passed. Lights are low. Noland's asleep on his cot. The crew is arrayedaround the cave. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Just time tokill. And ponder.
Hanzo’s eyes takein a pile of weapons in the corner. Some we recognize -- apump action ten gauge, a katana, a CAR-15, a flare gun, DirtyHarry’s Magnum. Some whose origins we can only imagine.
Hanzo picks up thekatana. Studies it with reverence. Pulls the blade half wayout of the scabbard.
His eyes are reflected in the steel.
They react, both tothe statement and the fact that he’s finally broken hissilence.
Hanzo lifts up hisdiminished hand.
Nikolai laughs. Nota sound you hear often in this place.
Stans chuckles aswell. To Edwin:
He chuckles. Edwindoesn’t.
Stans’s smile fades.
Isabelle and Royce,in the far corner, apart from the rest.
He doesn’t respond.She doesn’t expect him. A reversal.
Eyes full of pain.
Midnight of the soul:
Beat. Hollow. Crushing. It hangs there. Until,
Heads turn to thecot. Empty.
Royce moves to thehatch, tries to pull it open. No dice, it’s sealed from theother side.
No response.
Off their reactions,
As a confirmation,smoke -- grey-green and thick -- begins to pour in through holes in the floor.FUBAR.
They react. Some tryto cover their mouths. Others attempt to plug the vents. Bothplans appear futile.
Royce -- spur of themovement -- JACKS in a green shell into his shotgun.
Royce levels the weapon toward the far wall.
Everyone dives forcover.
BOOOM! That was aFrag-12 round. Effectively turning the shotgun into a rocket launcher.
Muffled concussion.A few rocks slide. Otherwise it’s quiet.
SUPER PREDATOR POV:Keying in on falling rocks. Tracking them back to the source.Detecting a hot spot on the cliff face, radiating from theinside.
Our guys pick themselves up, ears ringing, dust and debris covering their bodies.
Noland stands outside, stoking a fire, smoke wafting upward, into his cave. Hears. Knows.
Books for the exit.
Too late.
Framed at the mouthof the cave, the outline of a monster.
Noland takes a stepback... and raises his hands. Calmly:
BLAM, a plasma roundPLASTERS him all over the wall.
The Super moves pastthe charbroiled corpse.
Royce and the otherscrouch by the hatch. Smoke still billows, then shifts, as something approaches from the other side.
Wait for it... Waitfor it...
WHAM, WHAM, WHAM,the Super RAMS the door. Hatch BUCKLES inward. Rivets POP.The thing barely hangs in its hinges.
They back away, gunstrained on the entrance.
And then the attackceases, as abruptly as it began.
They trade glances.
He grabs a flare gun. Sticks it into the breach. Pulls the trigger.
WHOOSH, the projectile steaks down the passage.
SUPER’S POV: A glowing globe heads toward us, its heat accentuated by theinfra red. EXPLODES. A mini supernova.
Super’s momentarilyblind. Reflexively grabs its eyes. Ten second window.
All the time our heroes need. They dash past.
And we’re runningagain. Twisting and turning corridors of jagged rock, illuminated only by the tactical flashlight mounted on Royce’sshotgun.
SUPER PREDATOR POV:Filters kick in to compensate. Vision returns. It chasesafter our crew.
With the crew, sprinting like their lives depend on speed. At the moment, they do.
FOOTFALLS behind them.
Royce and Nikolai,at the rear, lay cover fire. Muzzles flash. Slugs sparkand ricochet off stone.
They run some more.Spread out. Tighten up. Always in motion. Stop and you die.
Walls glisten withcondensation. Close in.
So does the demonbehind them.
Ahead, the passagedrops down into darkness.
They keep going, blind, slipping down the slime covered incline, into--
A cathedral of stone. Something black and alive undulates on the ceiling like some enormous organism.
No cover. No exit.End of the line.
They cast about, frantic, searching for options. Finding none.
The sound of waterSLOSHING in the distance, drawing near.
Guns swing in itsdirection.
They gets ready.
Closer... Closer...Inside the cave.
Which is when Roycerotates his weapon, FIRES!
Not at the Super.At the ceiling. We might have a split second to ponder what he has against it. Maybe not. Cause--
Hundreds, nay, thousands of bats EXPLODE from it in all directions. A screeching maelstrom of motion and wings CRASHES over the Super, veering around it, framing its outline, making itvisible once again.
SUPER PREDATOR POV:A CACOPHONY of high pitched SQUEALS. It practically RIPS APART its ear drums. Targeting system goes berserk, locking inon everything and nothing.
Super HOWLS in pain,claws at its skull, FIRES blindly.
In a word, pandemonium.
Amidst all this Royce moves, low and fast, others trailing.
Some of the bats escape upward. We track their flight path.
A natural chimneyrises up at a 45 degree angle, previously obscured by the nesting bats. A way out. They rush toward it.
Super recovers. Targets our crew.BAM!
Plasma round SCORCHES Nikolai, sends him sprawling.
Isabelle spins toward him.
Nikolai -- on theground, hurt bad -- eye contact.
Nikolai simply shakes his head. Then looks away.
Royce grabs her. Shedoesn’t move. A thousand miles away.
She snaps back toreality. Shoves Royce aside.
Resumes running. Royce follows. Into the chimney they go.
Nikolai remains. Props himself up against the wall. Clutches his chest. Waits...
Super de-cloaks intoview.
Massive. Armored.Unblinking ruby red eyes burn under a ghoulish death mask.A walking nightmare.
SNAP, its wrist blade extend, gleaming in low light. Wolverine would bejealous.
Drives them into Nikolai’s mid-section. Lifts the big man off the ground like arag doll.
EYEBALL TO EYEBALL
Super studies Nikolai like a bug under a microscope. Wanting, waiting for him tocry out. To beg. But all it gets is:
CLICK. Super’s eyessnap down to Nikolai’s chest.
Two Claymores. Andhe just pulled the safeties.
Nikolai starts tolaugh -- eerily similar to Billy’s iconic laugh in the original.
KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
With out guys, shimming upward, as--
World seems to convulse. Rocks shift. Chunks dislodge, fall.
Royce looks down.
HIS POV: Fireballblossoms from below, moving toward them with a concussiveROAR.
He barely has timeto pull himself over an outcropping and press into a crevicebefore--
Flame WASHES OVERhim -- a flash of fury, heading for the surface.
And then it’s gone.
Looking up, Roycesees the others. Smoldering. Singed. But alive.
They keep climbing.We rise above them, through the chimney, over the exit, as--
Something STREAKSpast the camera. A familiar SCREECH.
Royce reaches thesurface. Collapses.
A barren plateau stretches out like an island of stone, surrounded by jungleon all sides.
Almost in disbelief:
He peers down thechute. Practically dancing a jig:
He grabs his package.
BOOM! Plasma casterNAILS Stans in the back, blowing him out of frame. Revealing--
Black Super Predator. Finally unveiled in his full glory.
Heavy jet black armor -- a hellish mix of medieval knight and samurai -- envelopsits hulking frame like the Grim Reaper’s shroud.
Desiccated remainsof its victims hang around its neck and belt.
A triple headed plasma caster rests on its mount. Cruelly curved blades at theelbows. Spikes on shoulders, knees and heels. Even its dreadlocks are weapons, each strand ending with a razor-sharptip weaved into the hair.
That same chillingRATTLE again.
Laser sight extends,painting Royce’s forehead.
On Royce. Resigned.Ready. No sign of fear.
BLACK’S POV: Royce,in infrared. A mass of color. Keying in on his beating heart. Measuring its steady rate.
ROYCE’S POV: Nothingso fancy. Taking in the monstrosity before him. Givingit nothing. An eye fuck.
Game over in 3-2-
WHAM, Stans -- notquite as dead as we figured -- LEAPS on it from behind. PLUNGEShis shiv into the thing’s neck.
Black’s turn to suffer. Round intended for Royce goes wild.
Stans -- his backa scorched, bloody mess, Noland’s alien Kevlar exposed underthe shredded fabric of his prison jumpsuit -- a holethrough the armored plate, but it bought him the next few precious seconds of life -- hangs on to Black like a pitbull,stabbing, punching, slashing, ROARING!
We finally see whyhe was chosen. He’s a fucking animal.
They run for it.
Black -- its own ROAR drowns Stans’s -- DRIVES a bladed elbow into his side, WHAM,WHAM. Its plasma caster SWIVELS, tracking the fugitives.
Stans -- bleeding,dying, fuck you, he eats that for breakfast -- grabsthe shoulder mount, twists it the other way, pointing thebarrel toward the fucker’s head.
Black -- can’t firewithout blowing its own brains -- re- focuses his attention on Stans. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Finally Stans expires, still clinging on to his opponent, even in death.
What’s left of ourcrew -- Royce, Isabelle, Hanzo, Edwin -- keep moving.
Stans’s body HITSthe ground.
Black Super Predatorlooms over. Levels its heavy gaze on the jungle.
Another Super SHIMMERS into view alongside him. Locks in on the same direction.
Black BELLOWS!
It’s the cry of ahunter. Stirring fear in the heart of its prey.
And then the two creatures move, fast, efficient strides, heading after theirprey, fading to invisibility.
The screen is a microcosm of leaf, crystal drops of precipitation refracting the moonlight, stone and emerald green moss. We hearthe JUNGLE. Some distant BIRDS. HUM of insects. The whisperof the WIND.
Royce -- a flash --streaks into frame. Disturbing no leaves, breaking no branches, making no sound. Isabelle and Edwin behind him, Hanzotrailing.
Same spot. DistantRUSTLING. It gets closer and louder.
We don’t see BlackSuper Predator. We can only feel its passage by the vibration of the drops. As they fall--
A forty yard sheetof rocks. Royce leaps onto it, keeps running.
Black Super PredatorSHIMMERS into view. Scans the area with the clinical detachment of a crime scene forensic. Shifts its gaze toward the ground.
BLACK SUPER PREDATOR’SPOV: Tracks end at the stretch of rock. Exponentialmagnification in rapid snaps. Times 4. 8. 16. 32. Depressionsin the stone. Deviations in topography. “Enemy Of The State”time.
But no good track.Which is exactly what Royce intended.
Undeterred, BlackCYCLES through different vision modes, like a camera changinglenses. Ultraviolet. Terahertz. Gamma. Finally settles on--
Chemical sensor. Ourheroes’ scent still lingers in the air in the form of theirdistorted silhouettes. It’s like looking back in time and seeing a pheromone imprint left by the person who occupiedthe space minutes ago.
Black follows it,fading back to invisibility, certain as death and taxes.
We understand thegame being played. A duel of hunters. Technology againstsurvival skills. Terminator vs. Rambo.
The totem rises overthe jungle canopy in the distance.
Royce emerges outof bushes. Swamp to the left. Solid ground to the right.
Others stumble behind. Sucking air. Suffering the effects of the run.
Royce puts his earto the ground. The thing might be invisible. But it’snot immaterial. And it is heavy.
He can sense theirpursuer approaching in the distance.
Into the swamp theygo. Brackish, foul smelling water rises up to meet them.
BLACK’S POV: Moving.The pheromone trail lies before us like an illuminated path.Then... nothing. It just gets abruptly erased mid-air, overwhelmed by the stench of the swamp.
Black RATTLES in frustration.
ITS POV cycles backto infrared.
Revealing the secondSuper, standing a few feet away, invisible in the previous spectrum.
A look between them.Something passes.
Second Super cutsinto the swamp.
Black skirts aroundit, trying to outflank our guys. A vise.
Royce and the otherspush through knee deep water, going on fumes and desperation.
SECOND SUPER’S POV:Moving, stopping. Panning around. Cycling modes. Nothing.
As any hunter knows,it’s impossible to track over water.
Or is it?....
MACRO CLOSE on thesurface of the swamp. Detecting INFINITESIMAL RIPPLES, reverberating from our heroes’ fading footsteps. Calculating the distance from the source.
And then we are moving again.
With our crew, running, their feet SLASHING rhythmically against the water.
In Super’s POV, following their wake.
Royce, still on themove, grabs a passing tree limb.
Splash! Splash! TheSuper, seen only via the afore-mentioned effect, rushes through the same spot, glued to the trail.
Which is why it doesn’t see the vine stretched an inch above the bottom. An improvised trip wire. Snags it--
WHAM, the tree limbuncoils, WHIPLASHES it into next week.
SPLASH!!! Somethingheavy tumbles into the swamp.
Beat. The creatureclimbs back on its feet, blue sparks coursing around itsflickering form. Cloak is on the fritz. Then gives out completely.
Super PUSHES controlpanel buttons on its gauntlet. No joy. Tries the vision modes. Same.
And then it HISSESlike a pissed off cat.
Royce climbs out onto a muddy embankment, others in tow.
Ten yards out, anocean of tall grass. Savannah. They head for it.
Everyone collapses,exhausted beyond words. For a while the only sounds we hearare the wind and their ragged breathing. Then,
Break’s over.
Star splattered sky.Grass sways in the breeze.
Four silhouettes,seen from afar, move through it.
One STOPS.
Royce glances back.
Hanzo stands in thecenter of the clearing. Tired of running.
Looks at the survivors. A simple nod.
All they can do iskeep going.
Slowly, meticulouslyHanzo removes his shirt. Folds it neatly. Lays downon the ground. Just like the shoes.
The body beneath covered in irezumi. Full body Yakuza tattoos. Dragon. Tiger. Images of violence made somehow beautiful throughart.
He unsheathes thekatana. Holds it loosely, blade pointed downward, TakakuraKen style.
He waits.
Over his shoulder,as Second Super approaches.
Targeting beam triangulates Hanzo’s face. Then drops downward toward the tattoos.
SUPER’S POV: Data,first on the man -- vital organs, musculoskeletal structure, nervous system -- then on the blade -- measurements, chemical composition -- scrolls.
Hanzo waits.
The beam disappears.
Slowly the Super unstraps its caster. It THUDS on the ground.
Walks towards Hanzo,picking up pace, as he goes.
SNAP. SNAP. Twin WRIST BLADES -- acid etched alien steel covered by glyphsand kill notches -- extend.
Two master swordsmenfrom different sides of the galaxy.
Super charges. A freight train.
Hanzo stands his ground.
IMPACT. Steel on steel. Sparks fly. A flurry of moves -- slashes, stabs, blocks and counterattacks -- too dazzling to comprehend -- a dance of death, a duel of equals.
They disengage. Circle. Looking for openings.
Suddenly lunge. CLASH. Swords LOCK, GRIND along each other.
The eyes of theirowners are linked as well.
Slivers of metal SHEER. A shower of sparks.
Super flexes its massive arms, driving Hanzo back. SLASH!
A line of red wellsacross Hanzo’s shoulder.
Super flicks off itsopponent’s blood.
Hanzo nods. Switcheshis stance. High guard.
Super considers. Hisown blade hangs low.
Hanzo adjusts hisgrip. Shifts his balance. A coiled spring.
SUPER’S POV: Computercalculates Hanzo’s weight dispersal. Muscle tension. Predicting where he’s going to strike next.
They charge towardone another.
A BLUR of steel, asthey pass. SWISH! SLASH!
Then stop.
Beat. We can’t tellwho got whom. Until...
Super gurgles blackblood. Slides apart, split from shoulder to thigh.
Hanzo DRIVES his sword into the ground. An echo ofKurosawa.
His hand on the hilt. Blood flows freely down the wrist.
He looks up at thesky. Collapses.
A beautiful death.
Royce cuts betweenleafy plants, pushes into a small clearing. Three miles out, the totem. Nearing home stretch.
A form glides intoview. Predator Falcon. That same SCREECHING sound again. Noting Royce’s reaction:
The master can’t befar behind.
Royce casts about,searching for an out. Cover is sparse. They stay on the ground, they’re dead.
His gaze travels upward, toward the jungle canopy. Isabelle tracks it. Reacts.Shit. And she thought running was bad.
She doesn’t. Edwinpales a bit.
He nods. Then, tapping into some hidden reservoir, a hint of steel beneath hismeek exterior:
They begin to climb,using branches, vines, outcroppings, anything they canfor purchase.
The Falcon continuesto circle.
We zero in on itseye. Then PULL BACK. Except we’re now--
On the eye of itsmaster. Bird’s POV reflected in the pupil.
Black can see whatthe Falcon sees. A biomechanical link.
With our guys, nosafety lines, pushing themselves upward, fighting for everyinch, and now it’s a race, cause--
BLACK’S POV: Knowsexactly where they are, and he’s hauling ass!
Climbing. The canopylooms above. A shield of green. We draw toward it, slowlybut surely.
BLACK’S POV: Goingflat out at punishing pace, strong, effortless, a machine.
At last they reachthe top. Royce looks down.
Bushes RIPPLE, asif a small tornado was passing through them. Closing rapidly on their position.
Isabelle, just below, reacts to his expression.
That they do.
A mad dash throughan intricate latticework of tree limbs, so thick and intertwined they form a kind of hidden, treacherous catwalk, broken upby gaps and crevices. A vertigo-inducing experience.
As they pass, we descend through the foliage, streak toward the ground below toward--
Black -- a shimmer-- fifty feet down and a hundred yards behind -- relentless, gaining.
ITS POV: Leaves obscure the view of the prey. No matter.
The Falcon SWOOPSfrom above, and we’re now in its POV, with our guys again, sprinting, struggling forward, unaware that--
Black’s plasma caster WHIRS into motion.
BLACK’S POV: Aimingthrough the bird’s eyes. Matching their movements, anticipating where they are going to be in the split second it’lltake the rounds to reach their marks.
The Falcon -- aheadof the quarry -- keeps a constant lock.
Black Super -- hasthem dead to rights -- about to fire, as--
BAM, BAM, BAM! RoyceOPENS UP on the Falcon.
It’s forced to evade. Tracer rounds STREAK by.
BOOM! Black’s blast-- targeting lock disengaged -- misses, blowing chunks outof a tree.
The bird dips, trying to recover, coming around for another pass.
Royce keeps pouringrounds at it. Keeps missing.
It’s ducking, weaving, constantly changing altitude, impossible to hit.
BOOM! Another blastERUPTS through the canopy, closer now.
The concussion knocks Royce back. He loses the shotgun.
It plummets below.
FALCON’S POV: targetlock re-acquired.
CRACK!
Falcon -- a mid-airexplosion of feathers and metal -- corkscrews into atree like a shot down Messerschmitt.
Bullseye.
Isabelle lowers thesmoking barrel.
BLACK’S POV: The linksevered. Everything goes black. BELLOWS in pain and rage!
Royce -- a simplenod to Isabelle -- keeps moving.
BLACK’S POV: Visionreturning slowly. Panning across the canopy. No sign ofthe prey.
And then it reallyRATTLES!
Royce drops into frame, descending from the tree. Isabelle is next. Then Edwin.
He takes two stepsand--
THWACK!
Edwin SCREAMS.
A barbed vice -- analien bear trap -- is locked onto his ankle, bronze alloystained red.
Isabelle rushes toward him. Drops to her knees. Strains to pull the jaws open.Can’t.
Royce doesn’t move.
She glares. Continues to struggle. Eventually they give just enough for Edwin topull his leg free. He collapses.
She examines the wound. Edwin winces.
He doesn’t even lookat the wound. He doesn’t have to.
Cold hard truth. Bothbarrels of it:
Beat. Both know he’sright.
Royce takes out hishandgun. Ejects the clip. Leaving--
He tosses the pistolto Edwin.
Isabelle explodes,the total tonnage of everything she’s been through in the last36 hours unleashing like a broken dam.
Royce’s calm matchesher fury.
Beat.
Brass tacks:
Starts walking away.
He slows. Turns. Meaning every word:
Royce processes this.
And then he’s gone,consumed by jungle.
Beat.
She grabs Edwin’shand, pulls him to his feet.
WHOOSH!
Something knocks them out of frame.
A HEAVY ALLOY MASHNET
They lying on theground, wrapped in it like a cocoon.
THEIR POV: Black materializes. Looms over. Off that,
Moving through it.
Shell casings litterthe ground. Trees pocked with bullet holes. Earth marredby grenade blasts. A battle zone.
Three remaining Predator hunting dogs lunge at the bars of their cages, foamingat the mouth, choking on BARK like vomit, trying to getat someone just beyond their reach.
Predator still hangson the totem. Snaps back to consciousness.
PREDATOR POV: Roycestanding before him. Close. Too close.
Picks up an axe froma pile of discarded Predator weapons at the thing’s feet.Feels its weight in his hand.
Beat.
Crucified Predatorfocuses on him with bloodshot eyes.
Crucified Predatorstudies Royce for a long beat.
Then, a nod.
Slowly Royce raisesthe blade...
THWACK! He cuts thecreature’s bond. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
Predator falls tothe ground.
Moment of truth.
Predator rises tohis feet. Massive. Imposing, even despite his injuries. Or perhaps because of them.
Royce stares at him,tensing, ready to fight and die.
And then the thingROARS!
It is a cry rippedfrom the depths of its soul. Fierce. Primitive. Timeless.
Isabelle and Edwinare DRAGGED along the jungle floor. Captives.
The ROAR washes overthem. Birds SCREECH. Animals HOWL. It’s as if the jungle itself is reacting to the creature’s call.
Black’s head snapstoward the sound.
The space is darkand dormant as a crypt. Bulkheads. Machinery. Grates.Spartan. Efficient. Lived in.
CLOSE ON a Lexan panel. A gauntlet covered Predator hand glides along
Lights FLICKER on.A WHIR emanates from somewhere deep inside the ship’s core. Grows stronger.
Holographic displaymaterializes.
Star charts cyclethrough. Finally settling on--
A familiar blue planet.
It reflects in Royce’s eyes.
Another panel flashes, red, insistent.
A second hologrammanifests. Ground proximity sensors. On it, three forms -- onemassive, two smaller, entwined -- approaching.
Predator hand reaches down. Picks up the original, old school plasma caster resting on the floor. Lowers it onto his shoulder mount.
Caster CLICKS intoplace. SWIVELS. GRINDS to a halt.
Predator SLAMS hisshoulder against a bulkhead. Caster swivels again, thistime clean, even. Malfunction fixed.
Payback time.
Predator -- fullyarmed, fully armored, a warrior restored to his former glory --pushes out toward the exit.
Royce looks after.
Predator exits theship, hitting a panel on his way out.
The hell that is this planet is erased from view, as the bulkhead SEALS SHUT,leaving Royce very much alone.
Isabelle and Edwinlie next to the pit, still wrapped in the net. Black’s footpushes them in.
We fall with theminto--
They land. HARD.
Isabelle cranes herneck, looks up.
The walls of the pittower above her like a silent scream. Marked by claws, talons and finger tracks of all shapes and sizes -- a rainbowspatter of dried blood -- left by the many pairs of frenziedlimbs of those came before her.
The earth RUMBLES.Bits of rock and dirt tumble down.
A few skulls RATTLE.
Black’s eyes snaptoward them. Then to the totem.
Predator’s gone, bonds cut.
Black swings aroundin the direction of his ship...
And DIVES, as a plasma bolt WHIPS by.
Instantly fades toinvisibility, triple targeting beams searching for theshooter.
Movement. Black UNLOADS, tearing the jungle to pieces.
Return fire scorchesground, Black’s form bracketed by debris. Clearly hisopponent can see through the cloak.
Black reacts, firingfast, running faster.
Above him, Predator-- a blur -- leaps from tree to tree, BLASTING back.
Rounds COLLIDE, EXPLODING mid air. A fireworks show in the dim pre-dusk light.
With Black, stillin motion, as a form CATAPULTS out of the jungle toward himon an intercept course.
IMPACT!
Predator vs. SuperPredator. Original vs. Upgrade. Clash of the fucking titans.
We’re tight, closequarters, hand to hand. Think snarling pitbulls rolling along, ripping each other apart.
Isabelle moves onearm. Manages to pull a knife out of her boot. Starts to sawthrough the mesh.
Metal frays. Soundsof the fight above.
Engines spool up.Everything vibrates. Autopilot begins the countdown.
Royce straps himselfin. Time to go home.
Two forms BASH eachother against cages. Predator and Super Predator sized dents. Cloaks fry.
Gauntlets SMASH intoone another. Armored fist against armored fist. BloodSPATTERS.
Predator gets tossedagainst an empty cage. Steel BUCKLES.
Dogs tear at the bars, trying to get at him.
Black’s chaingun whip-draws itself -- locks onto--
Predator, as he leaps, pushing the weapon upward.
It fires aimlessly,swiss cheesing the sky.
Predator SLICES itsbarrels off with his wrist blades.
White hot metal falls.
SNAP, a strand ofalloy mesh breaks. Isabelle starts sawing through another.
The walls are shaking, both with the fury of the battle above and the rising ROARof the engines.
Tight on Royce. Lastman standing.
He’s alive. He madeit. Nothing to do now but sit back and enjoy the ride. Butvictory has a hollow taste...
Predator -- Black-- wrist blades locked. A contest of strength, neitherone willing to back down. WHAM, Black delivers a viciousHEADBUTT that craters the other guy’s helmet.
The hole is now bigenough to wiggle out. Metal tears at Isabelle’s skin, asshe pulls herself free.
Helps Edwin out. Henods, grateful.
On Royce. His eyes.He can walk away. He should. He must.
Predator staggers.Black DRIVES the wrist blades into his back, puncturing theskin at the base of the vertebrae.
Wraps its hand around it. Pulls with otherworldly strength.
RIPS out Predator’sspinal column.
It’s over.
Black -- covered inblood, green and black -- studies his slain opponent. Discards the grizzly object
Boosters FIRE, incinerating the ground below. Liftoff.
Black’s head snapstoward the ship in ample time to see it launch into space.Down force kicks up leaves, knocks over skulls. One helluvaexit.
Black’s eyes trackthe ascent. Twin points of pure hatred.
Isabelle watches asthe ship passes overhead. Disappears from view. In seconds,all that’s left is a contrail.
Edwin steps up nextto her, eyes on the sky.
Hope -- if there wasany left -- is gone.
Isabelle shifts herattention toward him.
Edwin’s staring directly at her.
Silence returns.
Black’s gaze pansover the camp. Something doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’sbecause--
The dogs are no longer barking.
BLACK’S POV: Zoomingin on one of the cages. A dog lies there, unmoving, itsform rapidly turning blue. Cooling off.
It’s dead.
The second cage. Same result.
Black’s plasma caster WHIRS to life, as he fades back to invisibility. At least tries to. Blue sparks course around its form, as it SHIMMERS in and out. Cloak is still on the fritz.
His hand SHOOTS out,rattle snake fast.
A cloud of the okra-colored powder washes over her.
She steps back, reflexively covering her face. Hands come away, stained withthe substance.
And then she feelsit.
HER POV: The worlddistorts just a bit. Edwin’s face seems to slide out of focus,becoming more sinister.
Her fingers suddenlyfeel like sausages. Knife falls to the ground.
BLACK’S POV: Tracking. Vision cycling through different modes.
A thermal shape inthe bushes. Gotcha! Targeting system locks on. Plasma round streaks toward it. Direct hit.
Isabelle backs away,as Edwin circles slowly, keeping close to the walls of thepit, face partially obscured by the shadows, fingers digging a little divot in the earth.
She stumbles back,grabbing the wall for support.
Edwin just watches.He likes to watch.
Black strides through the bushes to check on the kill.
ITS POV: Coming upon...
A dead body of itsown dog hangs off a tree. Wrapped in a hide of some creature. Bottling up the heat. Keeping it warm.
On Black. For thefirst time in its life, in some deep, dark recess of its gene-spliced, enhanced heart, it knows fear.
Isabelle fumbles forthe knife.
Edwin takes it away,gently, like a toy from a child, retreats back intoshadow, examining the blade as he moves.
Black spins, searching.
ITS POV: Motion behind it. Orange heat signature of a figure, moving low and fast,skirting the edge of the camp. Making a circle.
Targeting systemslocks on. About to fire--
Suddenly the heatsignature disappears.
That’s because--
A WALL OF FIRE spreads out in both directions. In seconds, the dead brush surrounding the camp is BURNING.
Heat on heat. Effectively depriving Black of its thermal vision.
BLACK’S POV: Nothing.Shifting modes. Smoke and ash obscure motion sensors. Hotwind washes away the scent. The sound of crackling wood obscures sound.
Amidst all this, afigure stands tall, backlit by the flames, staring at the confused creature.
ROYCE
Firelight flickersover the pit. Edwin, hidden in the shadows, flashes inand out of vision. A surreal image in a surreal setting.
ISABELLE’S POV: Thewalls shimmer, then ripple, then undulate. Edwin’sfeatures twist into a macabre sneer.
Advancing slowly toward her, as she backs away:
Black fades in andout of invisibility. An eerie echo of Edwin.
ITS POV: Obscured,panning. Drowning in the ocean of thermal red. Knowing something’s out there, just not what or where.
A shape lunges! Aflaming log SWINGS!
SMASH! Plasma casteris toast.
And then Royce isgone once again. A ghost.
She’s pressed against the wall now. Nowhere to run.
Her eyes flick about, desperate.
Knife catches a flash of firelight, glints.
BLACK’S POV: Frantically cycles through different modes. Audio sensor kicksin. Filtering out the CRACKLING of the fire, the SNAPPINGtwigs.
Until only one soundis left.
FOOTSTEPS.
Black spins towardthe source.
Royce -- coming upfor another strike -- sees it. Stops cold.
A pin dropping moment.
Black peers in Royce’s direction.
ITS POV: The audioreadout scrolls next to the visual feed. The line is flat.
Royce stands perfectly still.
BLACK’S POV: Audiosensors shift. Exponential magnification. Like a super-powerful zoom lens, only for sound. Times ten. Times a hundred. Andthen we hear--
Faint BREATHS, desperately held back. A BEATING HEART.
Black fires its wrist blades, like a ballistic knife.
Royce ducks. Two projectiles whip by, missing him by this much. The third catches him in the shoulder.
He scrambles behinda boulder. Slides against the stone, painting it red.
Edwin cups Isabelle’s face. Caresses it with a knife.
Royce, behind a boulder, blade protruding from his shoulder.
Suddenly he’s YANKEDoff the ground.
Black -- inevitable-- SQUEEZES, choking the life out of Royce.
Royce grabs the bloody blade. RIPS it out of his own body. RAMS into Black’sneck.
The thing roars, tosses Royce off to the side.
He scrambles backon his feet, runs.
BLACK’S POV: Royce’sblood trail glows on the ground, leading away.
Ash cascades intopit like snow. Edwin doesn’t seem to notice or mind. An echo ofthe cave:
Knife tip pushes upjust under her right eye, drawing a single drop of blood.
Black -- flickeringin and our of view -- follows the trail of Royce’s blood,passing by rows of hanging carcasses.
Wood CREAKS undertheir weight.
The blood trail leads to the base of the totem, stops by a mound of polishedskulls. Terminates abruptly.
Black Super turns,head panning, searching.
Unaware that--
Behind it, one ofthe carcasses SHIFTS--
ROYCE
Emerges from within,as if rejected by death itself, a fierce, primitivewarrior--
Black spins towardhim--
Royce SWINGS a Predator axe!
WHAM! Black’s headsnaps back. He staggers backward.
ITS POV: Hazy, distorted. Different modes strobe by, shuffling by themselves, like a deck of cards.
A blur of perspectives. One thing remains constant.
Royce is coming atus, axe held high.
IMPACT!
The thing’s helmetflies off, exposing its face for the first time.
Think Predator goneterribly wrong. A mutated version. No nose. Oversized mandibles. Slimy reptilian skin. Red eyes full of venom andhate.
Isabelle shakes herhead, pleading, desperate.
And then something... changes in Isabelle’s eyes.
Something not quitehuman. Rippling under the skin. As if some unseen creatureis stirring within.
And then Edwin knowsterror. Off his scream,
Black’s form careensinto frame.
It reaches for itsgauntlet. Starts PUNCHING in the self destruct code.
THWACK! The axe severs the arm at the elbow.
The creature HOWLS.
ITS POV: The lastthing it’ll see on the way to hell is Royce’s axe, as itdescends toward it.
We stay there fora beat, as Royce, more animal than man now, drives the axe intothe monster over and over and over again, long after it’s dead.
On Black Super’s smoking form.
Pull back to Isabelle, staring down at it.
Royce stands to theside in the ash covered camp, looking out over burnt trees anddead jungle, toward the horizon.
On Isabelle. A longbeat.
SMASH TO BLACK
*****ALTERNATE ENDING*****
She strains to whisper something. Inaudible.
Ear at her mouth.Three tiny word:
Something flashesin her hand, drawn from Edwin’s breast pocket.
HIS SCALPEL.
SLASH!
He dodges. Grins.
A thin line of bloodwells up on his neck. Nothing more than a paper cut.
In his own words:
On Edwin, comprehension dawning. And then...
The poison from theplant -- still coating the edge of the scalpel -- hits himlike a ton of bricks. His core temperature rising.Neurons firing. Brain boiling inside his own skull. Blood seeps from his eyes, lips, nose.
He SCREAMS. Convulses. Doesn’t go gentle into that good night.
All the torment inflicted upon his untold victims is visited upon Edwin ten fold.
Black’s form careensinto frame next to the totem.
It reaches for itsgauntlet. Starts PUNCHING in the self destruct code.
THWACK! The axe severs the arm at the elbow.
The creature HOWLS.
ITS POV: The lastthing it’ll see on the way to hell is Royce’s axe, as itdescends toward it.
Driving it backward.Into the spikes of the totem.
A newly born sun peeks over the horizon. The long night -- and the terror itbrought - are finally over.
The camp. Or ratherwhat’s left of it. Smoldering. Decimated. Post appocalytic.
The body of the Black Super Predator hangs off the totem, a spike driven throughthe side of its head. Poleaxed.
Royce and Isabellesit at the base of the monument. Bleeding. Battered. 12 rounds.Still standing.
Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said.
Silence.
Cut short by--
Ground begins to vibrate, barely perceptible at first. Growing stronger,rising in intensity and volume.
As if a freight train was coming toward them.
Slowly Royce standsup. Isabelle alongside him.
Ready for whatevercomes next.
Dust and ash swirlall around, obscuring vision in all directions.
Then the cloud settles, revealing--
A PREDATOR SHIP
This isn’t the Enterprise. Ugly. Battered. Functional.
They stare.
A form SHIMMERS intoview. A Predator. Another. More. About a dozen of them.
Royce and Isabelle.No energy to fight. No point to run. They simply wait.
Predators part likethe Red Sea. Their leader -- his armor different from therest, covered in trophies from untold hunts -- approaches.
Surveys up our duo.The devastation. Last but not least, the slain Black SuperPredator.
Slowly he removeshis helmet.
The face beneath itbelongs to--
DUTCH
The man. The myth.The legend.
SMASH TO BLACK