海明威刀锋战士鱼竿 《刀锋战士》Blade

                                blade
                                -----





                                  by
 
                            david s. goyer













     darkness, blood-curdling screams. presentation credits roll as we
     fade up on:

     int. hospital, inner-city trauma ward - night

     it"s 1967, the summer of love and --

     boom! entry doors swing open as paramedics wheel in a female bleeder,
     vanessa (20s, black, nine months pregnant). she"s deathly pale,
     spewing founts of blood from a savagely slashed throat -- 

     a shock-trauma team swarms over her, inserting a vacutainer into an
     artery to draw blood, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her
     arm --

                           nurse #1
                    (with stethoscope)
               she"s not breathing!

                           senior resident
               intubate her!

     the respiratory therapist feeds an endotracheal tube down the woman"s
     ruined throat, attaches that to an amblu bag --

                           resident
               blood-pressure"s forty and falling --

     the woman starts spasming violently. it takes three staff members
     just to hold her down.

                           senior resident
               jesus, her water"s broken --
                    (calling for help)
               she"s going into uterine contractions --

     camera pushes in on the woman as she bolts upright, screaming to wake
     the dead. we plunge into the darkness of her mouth and find
     ourselves --

     inside her bloodstream

     the sound of a heart beating, pounding as we whip-snake through --

     corpuscles 

     floating in amber plasma. erythrocytes, leukocytes, neutrophils and
     eosinophils. 

     the rhythmic expansion of the artery walls, pulsing with each
     successive surge of blood as the heart beats faster and faster,
     taking us --

     in utero,

     a child, alive but unborn, shifting in a sea of amniotic fluid,
     surrounded by the white, protective substance known as vernix
     caseosa. the heartbeat races like a locomotive now. the unborn child
     shifts, turns its head towards us --

     -- and opens its eyes.

     cut to:

     a swordblade

     cleaving the darkness, radiant light slicing across gleaming damascus
     steel. words acid-etched in the weapon"s fine-tempered surface:

     blade

     main credits end.

     ext. inner city, industrial ghetto - night

     a decaying no man"s land populated by condemned buildings and hungry
     homeless. steam rises from manhole covers, drifting across the
     litter- lined streets. suddenly --

     a black mercedes 850 appears over the crest of a hill, roaring past
     us, stereo system belting out filter.

     int. mercedes - night

     raquel, a wasp-wasted woman, sits behind the wheel. 20s, rich,
     sickeningly attractive. hungry eyes. 

     squirming around in the passenger seat is dennis, a model/actor boy-
     toy with a sub-zero iq and a "fuck me sideways" grin. 

                           dennis
               so where we going?

                           raquel
               it"s a surprise. 

                           dennis
               i likes surprises. 

     raquel eyeballs dennis -- "if looks could devour". 

                           raquel
               what do you have down there, little 
               man?

                           dennis
               heat-seeker.

                           raquel
               i"ll bet.

     raquel slides a manicured hand up his thigh, squeezes his groin.
     dennis moans. she pulls her hand away, downshifts.

     ext. vacant lot - night

     the 850 threads a narrow alley into a vacant lot, brakes hard. raquel
     and dennis climb out. she leads him into --

     ext. meat packing plant - night

     industry never sleeps, and certainly not this grisly facility. raquel
     leads dennis around the back of the plant, where a host of workers
     are loading refrigerated trucks with product.

                           dennis
               what the fuck are we doing here?

     raquel just smiles, heads on into the plant via a loading door. the
     workers ignore her.

     int. meat packing plant - night

     dennis follows raquel through the bowels of the plant, catching
     glimpses here and there of carcasses being rendered or hacked apart. 

     through one partially open door we see what might be a line of
     bodybags being trundled into the back of a truck via a hook and chain
     pulley-system. but dennis doesn"t have enough time to be disturbed by
     the vision, because he"s being pulled away by raquel, led down --

     a stairwell

     we are in the basement now. at the end of the hall is a steel door,
     with perhaps, just the faintest hint of music heard coming from
     beyond. raquel knocks.

     a "peep-hole" slat opens and a black light shines into raquel"s eyes.
     a voice behind the door offers a verbal challenge, speaking a
     language we"ve never heard, laced with a devilish cadence. 

     raquel responds in kind. the door opens. raquel gives dennis a
     knowing wink, enters. dennis follows. 

     int. club - night

     raquel and dennis move past a hulking doorman, making their way down
     a narrow stairway. dennis is suitably impressed.

     the club 

     is elite, underground -- an "abattoir-chic" version of an old-time
     juke joint with a greasy, dangerous vibe. white-tiled walls and
     floors for easy hosing, chromed fittings, run-off gutters, drains. no
     bar.

     bodies 

     writhe on the strobe-lit dance floor. a heavy s&m scene. leather.
     latex. tattoos. body-piercings.

     a d.j. wearing head-mounted spotlights orchestrates the tunes on
     twin- decks. music assaults us -- a beat so heavy it could jar the
     fillings from your teeth. brutal "darkcore" along the lines of
     prodigy or underground. 

     raquel pulls dennis out onto the dance floor. they sway. 

     a lupine-featured gaultier girl with a streak of white running
     through her raven hair moves in behind dennis, pressing up against
     him. rachel williams as the angel of death -- we"ll call her mercury.

     mercury flicks her tongue against dennis" ear -- it"s been pierced
     with a silver post which clicks against her teeth. tattooed across
     her back in black is a swirling, tribal vortex. 

     dennis is now sandwiched between raquel and mercury, the three of
     them dry-humping their way to every man"s glory. 

     the beat gets louder. the action heavier. the atmosphere more
     narcotic. people are stripping off their clothes, sweating like
     fiends. it"s a virtual orgy.

     dennis laughs, reveling in the hedonism. everything rises to a fever
     pitch --

                           dennis
                    (over the music)
               fuck, i need a drink!!!

     raquel just smiles -- then dennis notices a drop of something spatter
     his hand. it looks like blood. dennis looks up, concerned --

     -- more blood droplets are falling. raquel"s face is sprinkled with
     them now. dennis stops dancing. what is this? some kind of fucked up
     performance art?

     raquel turns her face toward the ceiling, as if washing herself in a
     summer shower, now the other club goers are looking up too --

     blood showers down

     from sprinkler heads in the ceiling, drenching the dancers. the club
     goers love it, thrusting their heads back, mouths open wide to
     receive the crimson offering. 

     horrified, dennis recoils, turning towards --

     raquel,

     whose face morphs into a preternatural snarl. her canines extend,
     tapering to razor-sharp points. her tongue flicks, lizard-like as
     fingernails sharpen into claws. all this while the whites of her eyes
     bleed red, pupils oscillating hypnotically. 

                           raquel
               what"s wrong, baby?

     dennis screams, pushes away from raquel, only --

     -- mercury has fangs now too. in fact, everyone in the club does,
     with the exception of poor dennis. that"s because they"re all
     vampires.

     dennis tries to run, but the burly doorman blocks his exit, brutally
     smashing his fist into dennis" face. 

     dennis falls, dazed. the club-goers close in around him. they make a
     game of it, shoving him from one person to another, their pale faces
     leering like twisted jack-o-lanterns.

     the strobe lights quicken to a seizure-inducing intensity. dennis
     spins, tumbling into raquel"s arms. she shoves him forward -- dennis
     lands on the floor, falling at someone"s boot-clad feet. he looks up.
     a dark figure sits in the shadows, unnoticed until this moment. the
     figure stands, moves into the light as time screeches to a halt -- 

     a black man, 

     towers above dennis, wearing dark glasses and a leather longcoat -- a
     sneer of cruel contempt etched upon a face tempered by a lifetime of
     horror. his name is blade.

     blade whips open his long coat, shrugging it off, revealing an
     arsenal of high-tech weapons strapped to his body: 

     6-point adjustable body armor, a modified car-15 assault rifle with
     an ultra-violet entry light, two casull .454 revolvers, a "demon"
     automatic cross-bow, a bandoleer of mahogany stakes, an indian-style
     katar punching dagger -- and last, but certainly not least, his
     namesake -- a silver sword which is secured in a back-scabbard.

     close on blade

     a gaze as cold and pitiless as a midnight sun. the vampire club-goers
     stare back. nuclear silence. and then --

     all hell breaks loose. with a snarl, raquel charges at blade, moving
     at superhuman speed, practically a blur -- 

     blade draws his casulls, fires in multiple directions --

     macro bullet shot 

     as a round roars through the air towards raquel. a silver-tipped dum-
     dum bullet which explodes on contact.

     wham! the round punches a fist-sized hole through raquel"s chest,
     continuing on into the vamp behind her! vampire blood fountains. both
     creatures tumble forward, their bodies liquefying into puddles of
     black oil which go gurgling down the run-off drains.

     blade continues firing, then -click!- magazines empty. next. he
     holsters the casulls, swings up his assault rifle, calmly flicks on
     the uv entry light mounted above --

     mercury 

     leaps twenty feet straight up into the air. we"ve never seen anything
     move so fast. she crashes through a glass skylight, disappearing into
     the night just as --

     -- a shaft of blinding uv "sunlight" cuts across the vampires. they
     rear back, skin smoking from the light"s corrosive effects. blade
     opens fire, pumping round after round of wooden fragmentation bullets
     into the crowd -- vampire genocide.

     the strobe lights flicker as the mayhem mounts. some of the vampires
     try to flee, scurrying up the stairs, but the exit quickly becomes
     clogged with liquefying bodies -- 

     -- then blade"s car-15 jams. the remaining club-goers see their
     opening, surge forward en masse -- 

     blade drops the rifle, reaches over his shoulder and -schinggg!-
     unsheathes his sword with a double-handed grip. 

     the sword

     four acid-etched feet of blood-soaked damascus steel. an edge so
     sharp it could cleave a shadow in two.

     blade moves like lightning, hacking his way into two charging
     vampires. blade spins again, cuts another vampire clean in half --

     on the far end of the club,

     a latex-clad vamp makes a break for it. blade flings his sword,
     sending it spinning end over end -- thunk! the sword punches into the
     vampire"s heart. the hellish creature convulses, dies.

     beat. blade retrieves his sword, then senses --

     something big

     rising up behind him. in a flash, blade swings his sword downward,
     cutting off the vampire"s right hand at the elbow. the severed limb
     falls to the floor -- 

     -- but it doesn"t slow the hulking creature down. it slams into
     blade. blade flies backwards thirty feet, tumbling over tables,
     slamming into the rear wall so hard that plaster rains down from the
     ceiling. 

     blade suddenly finds himself wrestling with a feral-faced six-foot-
     something nightmare named quinn. the vampire rears back its head,
     jaws stretching wide. every inch of his face is covered with ritual
     scarification patterns and maori-like tribal tattoos. 

     blade forces an elbow against quinn"s throat, trying to keep him at
     bay. with his other hand he reaches to his bandoleer, pulls out a
     stake -- crunch! blade shoves the stake through the vampire"s larynx.
     quinn gurgles, clutches at his throat. 

     blade rolls out from under, unholsters the cross-bow secured to his
     leg. with a flick of a switch the arms of the bow -snap!- open,
     drawing the bow-string taut. blade fires -- 

     the bolt hits quinn in the shoulder, throwing him backwards and
     nailing him to the wall. as quinn reaches over with his other hand to
     pull out the stake --

     blade fires again. a second bolt slams into quinn"s other arm,
     effectively pinning him like a butterfly to a board.

     up above, 

     mounted in one of the corners, is a security camera. blade fires a
     cross-bow bolt straight into the lens. 

     blade strides over, placing his sword against quinn"s chest.

                           blade
               where is deacon frost?

     quinn glares, trying to speak, gagging on the stake still lodged in
     his trachea --

                           blade
               got something in your throat.

     blade yanks the stake free. the vampire laughs, air whistling through
     his ruined larynx. 

                           quinn
               fuck you, day-walker, i ain"t saying 
               shit --

                           blade
               frost.

     quinn responds with a slew of rapid-fire vampire invectives. blade
     sees he"s getting nowhere fast, calmly sheathes his sword. he unclips
     a white phosphorous grenade from his combat harness -- 

                           quinn
               you won"t stop him, blade. the tide"s 
               rising, the sleeper"s gonna --

     blade shoves the grenade in quinn"s mouth, pulls the pin. whoosh!
     quinn goes up like a roman candle. blade turns, surveying his work,
     ignoring the howling pyre behind him:

     all evidence of the vampires is gone -- with the exception of a few
     oily-black puddles. clothes, jewelry -- it"s all been burned away by
     the acidic process of the creatures" accelerated decomposition.

     dennis sits huddled in a corner, having pissed his pants. as blade
     approaches, he cringes back --

                           dennis
               please don"t --

     blade simply grabs dennis by the jaw, tilting his head upward,
     rotating it from side to side -- looking for bite marks. there aren"t
     any.

     blade moves on, leaving dennis alone amidst the carnage. as blade
     starts up the stairs, he pauses in mid-step --

     a cockroach

     scurries out from underfoot. 

     blade adjusts his footfall, sparing the roach. he continues on up the
     stairs, disappearing in the smoky haze. 

     cut to:

     int. city hospital, autopsy room - night

     camera follows a bagged corpse as it"s rolled into the autopsy room
     by an assistant. 

                           assistant
               brought you a baked potato, nice
               and crispy. still warm, too.

     curtis webb, the forensic pathologist (30s, white bread, a little on
     the smarmy side) steps forward, unzips the bag --

     it"s quinn, what"s left of him, anyway. burnt to a charcoal
     briquette, limbs twisted horribly, oozing fluids.

     curtis turns his head, grimacing, wafting the air.

                           curtis
               jesus, that"s rank -- 

     curtis turns back, makes note of the blackened stump where quinn"s
     arm used to be, the ruined throat -- 

                           curtis
               what"s his story?

                           assistant
               paramedics said he was still screaming 
               when they found him. looks like some 
               joker had stapled him to a wall.

                           curtis
               pretty.

     cut to:

     int. hospital, hematology lab - night

     microscope pov

     of a slide-mounted blood smear stained with wright stain (blue ink).
     what we see is a collection of donut-shaped pink things (red blood
     cells) intermingled with some small blue specks (platelets) and the
     occasional larger, light-blue blobs (white blood cells).

     karen jansen (20s), a fine-featured hematologist with a social life
     in suspended animation, sits back from the microscope, stumped. next
     to her is julie whitaker, a cheerful chemtech. 

                           karen
               you took this off a doa?

     curtis sits on a stool nearby, slowly nodding.

                           karen
               this isn"t human blood.

                           curtis
               then what is it?

                           karen
               i don"t know --
                    (re: microscope)
               look at this blood smear -- 

     curtis takes a look for himself.

                           karen
               the red blood cells are biconvex, 
               which is theoretically impossible. 
               they"re hypochromic, there"s virtually 
               no hemoglobin in them. 
                    (shaking her head)
               look at the pmns, they"re binucleated, 
               they should be mononucleated.

                           curtis
               what about the chemistry panel? 

     karen looks to julie, who reaches for a computer print-out.

                           julie
               blood sugar level is three times the 
               norm, phosphorous and uric acid are 
               off the scales.
                    (shrugs)
               like the woman said, impossible.

     karen removes her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

                           karen
               curtis, it"s three in the morning. i"m 
               really not in the mood for one of your 
               practical jokes.

                           curtis
                    (insistent)
               it"s not a joke. i"ve got the stiff 
               sitting in the morgue right now -- 
               look, just come up and see him, okay? 
               five minutes, that"s all i ask.

                           karen
               i thought you promised to give me some 
               distance?

                           curtis
               this is purely professional curiosity, 
               karen, i swear.

     karen rolls her eyes, lets loose a tired sigh.

                           karen
               five minutes, not a second more. and i 
               don"t want to hear a word about "us".

                           curtis
               no problem.

     int. hospital morgue - night

     the dead of night, not a mouse in the house. curtis and karen, each
     garbed in a mask, stand on either side of quinn"s body, which now
     rests on the autopsy table.

     quinn"s body

     a preliminary exploratory y-incision has been made across the chest,
     stretching from shoulder to shoulder, then continuing on down the
     abdomen. ribs and cartilage have been cut open to expose the heart
     and lungs.

                           karen
               you haven"t started in on the internal 
               organs?

                           curtis 
               just the blood sample from the 
               pericardial sac.

     curtis pauses, studying quinn"s disfigured face -- the features seem
     much less damaged now -- almost as if the corpse were healing itself.

                           curtis
               that"s weird --

                           karen
               what?

                           curtis
               he looks different now, burns are less 
               extreme, some of these wounds have 
               closed up -- 

     curtis pulls out a penlight, flicks it on. he leans over quinn,
     shining the light into one of his eyes.

                           curtis
               tell me something, honestly, you ever 
               have second thoughts about us?

                           karen
                    (grudgingly)
               sometimes --

     curtis looks up from the corpse, grinning beneath his mask.

                           karen
               -- but then i remember what an 
               ass-hole you were and i"m snapped back 
               to reality. 

                           curtis
               jesus, karen, you"re breaking my heart 
               here --

     quinn suddenly bolts up from the autopsy table, sinking his fangs
     into curtis" jugular. he snaps the man"s neck in two for easier
     access, sucking in blood like a living vacuum. 

     karen stumbles backwards, sending autopsy tools clattering.

     quinn

     rises from the table, flinging curtis" twitching body aside. he curls
     his blood-soaked lips back, baring viper-like fangs, emitting a
     guttural growl --

                           quinn
                    (crazed by thirst)
               -- more -- blood --

     karen backs into the corpse drawers, but quinn is upon her in a half-
     second, wrapping a hand about her throat. his mouth opens/morphs
     disturbingly wide as if to swallow her head whole, caustic saliva
     dripping from his canines -- 

     karen tries to turn her head away, but quinn"s grip is vise-like. she
     finds herself staring into his eyes -- pupils pulsing rapid-fire,
     opening and closing, hypnotic --

     as quinn sinks the tips of his fangs into karen"s carotid artery and
     starts to nurse --

     bang!!! a load of mahogany buckshot chews into quinn"s side. he howls
     in pain. another load catches him full in the face. he drops karen.
     she falls to the floor -- 

     karen"s pov

     the sound of rushing blood pounding through her skull. everything
     spinning. she struggles to move, turns her head, finds herself eye to
     eye with curtis" corpse.

     on quinn

     rising, his face torn up, smoking. whip pan to --

     blade, 

     standing at the entrance to the morgue, a streetsweeper auto-shotgun
     in hand, sizing quinn up.

                           blade
               now don"t we look dapper?

     quinn bellows with rage, ripping one of the heavy steel refrigeration
     doors from its hinges, flinging it at blade like it was lawn
     furniture --

     blade rolls to the side as the door crashes against the wall. quinn
     runs, moving through the morgue like a human tornado, heading for the
     windows at the end of the room --

     smash!!! out goes quinn, taking half the wall with him. blade rushes
     to the decimated window, looks down --

     blade"s pov

     quinn lands on the roof of an ambulance parked four stories below,
     caving it in. he springs off, loping across the tarmac on three
     limbs, then -screech!-thwump!- rolling up onto the hood of an
     oncoming car, before disappearing into the night --

     back up above,

     blade spins, sees karen bleeding her life away on the floor. she
     reaches a hand out to him, beseeching --

     blade pulls away from her grasp, takes a step towards the exit --
     then hesitates. 

     a flicker of doubt washes across blade"s face. he looks down at karen
     once more, wrestling with his conscience, finally making a decision.
     he kneels, scoops karen up into his arms. just then, 

     two policemen 

     rush into the morgue, weapons drawn --

                           uniform #1
               hold it, ass-hole!

     blade ignores them, turning to face the window before him. it"s a
     good thirty feet to the roof of the adjacent building, a parking
     structure -- and damned if blade doesn"t seem to be considering the
     jump.

     the police close in, agitated. blade crouches, switches karen to a
     one-handed grip --

                           uniform #1
               i said hold it!!!

     -- and jumps.

     ext. hospital/rooftop parking structure - night

     blade clears the impossible distance -- almost. he snags the ledge of
     the adjacent parking structure with his left hand even as karen slips
     from the grasp of his right --

     -- a last-second save, his fingers clamping around her wrist, is all
     that stands between karen and street pizza. she screams anyway,
     dangling below him --

     blade grunts, swinging karen like a pendulum, heaving her up and over
     the ledge as if she were a sack of potatoes. she lands on her
     shoulder, clutching it in pain --

     blade heaves himself up, crouching beside her.

                           karen
                    (gasping)
               my shoulder -- dislocated --

     blade places a hand on her shoulder, another around her elbow and
     without any consideration to discomfort -crack!- brutally pops it
     back in place. karen screams again as he scoops her up once more and
     heads for --

     his "69 oldsmobile 442, 

     which is parked nearby. midnight-black. the definitive high-
     performance heavy-metal muscle machine with an engine big enough to
     power an apollo rocket. 

     int. blade"s olds - night

     blade sets karen down in the passenger seat, climbs behind the wheel,
     keys the ignition. the engine roars to life, belching fumes through
     the dual exhaust. blade floors it, burning serious rubber as the olds
     vanishes from sight. 

     back at the demolished morgue window 

     as the two policemen stare numbly in open-mouthed astonishment.

     cut to:

     ext. city streets - night

     blade pilots the olds down the streets, moving through a series of
     increasingly degenerating neighborhoods, coming at last to the
     sprawling warehouse district.

     ext. abandoned factory - night 

     the olds approaches a mammoth industrial facility that"s been
     cordoned off by cyclone fencing and razor wire. ultra-violet
     floodlights illuminate the area, while an army of security cameras
     keep a watchful eye. 

     int. blade"s olds - night

     blade glances at karen, cursing himself for giving into his emotions.
     he hits a remote secured to the sun visor --

     ext. blade"s olds/abandoned factory - night

     a gate grinds open. 

     we follow the olds as it cruises around the back of the building,
     heading down a concrete loading ramp. at the bottom of the ramp, a
     heavy iron door rises. blade"s olds disappears into the darkness.

     int. abandoned factory, industrial elevator - night

     more uv lights flicker on. we"re in a massive loading elevator which
     hums as it ascends, eventually reaching its destination with a
     booming clang. the doors at the rear glide open. blade guides the
     olds out.

     int. abandoned factory, whistler"s workshop - night

     set up in an old ironworks, the place looks like a cross between an
     auto junkyard and an armory. equipment is strewn everywhere --
     lathes, mills, old furnaces, gutted vehicles, an ad hoc surgical
     theater -- all of it jerry-rigged in a brutal, oily-tech.

     blade climbs out of the olds. he opens the passenger door and pulls
     karen out, carries her in his arms. 

                           blade
               whistler!

                           whistler (o.s.)
               are we bringing home strays now?

     abraham whistler (60s)

     hobbles out of the shadows, leaning heavily on a cane. gimlet-eyed,
     bitter, his right leg encased in a metal brace. though his face is
     lined with wrinkles and his hair has long since gone gray, we sense
     he could kick the living shit out of any man half his age. 

                           blade
               she"s been bitten.

                           whistler
               you should"ve killed her, then.

                           blade
               she hasn"t turned yet. 
                    (pointedly)
               you can help her.

     blade and whistler stare each other down. finally, whistler turns and
     heads over to the operating theater.

                           whistler
               no promises. you watch her close. she 
               starts to turn, you finish her off.

     blade nods, lays karen down on the operating table. whistler turns on
     an overhead light. karen is sheathed in sweat, ashen. she"s lost a
     lot of blood.

     whistler snaps on a pair of surgical gloves, probes the wound in
     karen"s neck with an antiseptic swab -- there"s capillary damage
     around the perimeter of the wound, the tissue looks bruised,
     gangrenous. 

                           whistler
               localized necrosis. she"s borderline. 
               another hour and she"d be well into 
               the change.

     whistler cracks open a smelling salt capsule and waves under karen"s
     nose. as she starts to stir --

                           whistler
               can you hear me, woman? 

     karen"s eyes open wide. she"s scared, disoriented --

                           karen
               what -- ?

                           whistler
               you"ve been bitten by a vampire. we"ve 
               got to try and burn out the venom, 
               just like a rattlesnake bite --

     whistler reaches for a massive syringe filled with caustic-looking
     fluid. karen sees the syringe, resists --

                           whistler
               hold her. 

     blade forces karen back. whistler readies the syringe.

                           whistler
                    (reading her name tag)
               "dr. karen jansen". listen close, i"m 
               going to inject you with an antidote 
               made from allium setivum -- garlic. 
               this is going to hurt. a lot. 

     whistler sinks the needle into karen"s neck and depresses the
     plunger. "hurt" doesn"t begin to describe what karen experiences
     next. imagine undergoing childbirth while someone pumps battery acid
     through your veins.

     karen shrieks, her body going into uncontrolled paroxysms. the wound
     on her neck begins to smoke as the antidote attacks the poisonous
     vampire venom.

     karen clutches at blade"s arms, digging her nails in. she stares up
     at him with unflinching intensity, like a child desperately searching
     for assurance. 

     on blade,

     uncomfortable playing the roll of nursemaid. he"d like nothing more
     than to be done with this, but the only thing he can do is hold karen
     while she rides out the seizures. 

     karen"s pov

     growing darker by the moment. the last thing she sees is blade
     staring down at her -- then the night closes in. 

     int. house of erebus, meeting room - night

     close on a monitor featuring footage taken at the vampire club
     massacre. blade turns and stares into the camera, fires his cross-
     bow. the screen cuts to static.

     a withered, clawed hand

     moves into frame, holding a remote. with a tap of a button, the
     monitor goes dark. 

     pull back to reveal a large, minimalist conference room -- the house
     of erebus, seat of the vampire race"s legislative assembly.

     gathered around a massive table are the twelve vampire elders,
     representing a "rainbow" of racial colors -- names like pallintine,
     von esper, ashe, bava. two of them, the faustinas, are identical
     twins -- lethal-looking women with alabaster skin. 

     chilled carafes filled with blood are situated along the table. from
     time to time, a member will pour themselves a glass, or perhaps, help
     themselves to the bowls of human finger bones which serve as snacks.

     at the head of the table is gaetano dragonetti, current vampire
     "overlord". blood-red eyes, parchment skin stretched over skull-like
     features. incalculably ancient, but still deadly and virile as a
     viper. 

     dragonetti speaks. he uses the "secret tongue" -- the ancient vampire
     language which utilizes consonants human vocal chords are incapable
     of reproducing. 

                           dragonetti 
                    (subtitled)
               blade. once again, our interests have 
               fallen victim to his ridiculous 
               crusade. he must be destroyed.

                           frost (o.s.)
                    (in english)
               you"re wrong, dragonetti. 

     all heads turn. who would dare such impudence?

     deacon frost, 

     a mere "underlord" in the vampire hierarchy, steps forward.
     strikingly handsome, younger, less conservative than his superiors,
     fueled with a passionate intensity. amongst the vampire community
     he"s known as an agitator. he"s also the vampire equivalent of a
     racial supremacist.

                           frost
               the day walker represents a unique 
               opportunity. we"d be fools to waste 
               it by killing him. 

                           dragonetti
                    (subtitled, taking umbrage)
               deacon frost. you refuse to speak our 
               language, you insult the house of 
               erebus by using the humans" 
               gutter-tongue, have you no respect 
               for tradition? 

                           frost
               why should i respect something which 
               has outlived its purpose?

     this causes quite a stir amongst the other vampires. frost might as
     well have slapped dragonetti in the face.

                           dragonetti
                    (simmering)
               i see. and what would you have us do 
               with this "half-breed"?

                           frost
               study him. unlock the secrets of his 
               dna. he"s the key we"ve been looking 
               for. 

                           dragonetti
               he is an abomination! 

     dragonetti slams his fist down, toppling a carafe, spilling blood
     across the tabletop. frost looks to the others --

                           frost
               why should we spend our lives 
               cringing from the daylight when his 
               blood offers us an alternative? 
               enough talk. it"s time we stepped out 
               of the shadows!

     dragonetti looks apoplectic. elder pallintine, a five-hundred year-
     old vampire inhabiting the body of a prepubescent boy, interjects.

                           pallintine
               you"re out of line, frost.

                           frost
               am i? or am i just the first to say 
               out loud what we"ve all been 
               thinking? 

     the fact that no one answers is telling. dragonetti glowers at the
     other elders, sensing the tide turning.

                           dragonetti
               the shadows suit us, frost. we"ve 
               existed this way for thousands of 
               years. who are you to challenge our 
               ways?

                           frost
               someone who"s sick of living off 
               scraps. the coming age belongs to us, 
               not the humans! 
                    (to the others)
               when the final war between our races 
               comes, who do you want leading the 
               charge? 

     frost stabs an accusing finger at the overlord.

                           frost
               some withered up fossil ready to snap 
               like a brittle bone at the first sign 
               of change?

     dragonetti growls like an beast, raking his claws across the tyro
     vampire"s face, knocking him to the ground. 

                           dragonetti
               get out!!!

     frost picks himself up, touches the gashes on his cheek. looks at his
     fingers, licks the blood from them. 

                           frost
               careful, old fang. you might wake up 
               one day and find yourself extinct.

     frost smiles at dragonetti and calmly exits the room.

     int. whistler"s workshop, blade"s cell - day

     on karen as she comes to. her wounds have been bandaged. she rises, a
     little shaky, takes in her surroundings -- she"s in a spartan room,
     like a monk"s cell. on the wall is a collection of knives and
     daggers. some of them wooden, their hilts inscribed with bizarre-
     looking runes. in the center of these weapons rests --

     blade"s sword,

     hanging like a cross in a chapel, dominating all else. karen touches
     it. then her eyes drop to a silver locket which dangles from the hilt
     by a tarnished chain. she reaches for it, opens it --

     the locket features a photo, old and faded. it"s the black woman we
     saw in the prologue, vanessa, standing in the sunshine. 

     karen moves towards the door, cautious -- 

     int. whistler"s workshop - day

     we hear voices now, coming from beyond a series of black-out
     curtains. karen pushes one aside and sees --

     blade

     strapped into some kind of inquisition-esque restraint chair. his
     shirt is off, his body slick with sweat. whistler finishes strapping
     blade in, then stands back, holding up a gas-powered pistol injector,
     hesitant --

                           whistler 
               i had to increase the dose. you"re 
               building up a resistance to the 
               serum --

                           blade
                    (impatient)
               just do it, old man.

     whistler nods, fitting blade with a bite guard. then he presses the
     pistol-injector against blade"s carotid artery. 

     blade shakes violently, grinding his teeth through the bite guard,
     veins cording in his neck. he clutches whistler"s hand, holding it
     tightly as he fights his way through the hellish seizure. to his
     credit, whistler never lets go.

     mentor and student stare at one another as the mysterious serum runs
     its violent course. we understand that these shared moments, oddly
     private in their horror, are the glue which binds the two vampire
     hunters together. finally, blade slumps forward in his restraints,
     exhausted. 

     karen

     she draws back, instinctively knowing that she"s just witnessed
     something she shouldn"t have. she looks for an exit, sees another
     doorway. she makes for it -- 

     int. whistler"s lab - tank room - day 

     a dusty, darkened hole of a room, no windows, just shadows, crumbling
     concrete, rust stains, and --

     a large tank

     filled with swirling blood plasma, choked with electrical leads and
     biomedical sensors. something floats within, suspended in the murky
     fluid -- a child , two or three years of age, drifting about like a
     medical oddity preserved in formaldehyde -- 

     thump! the child slams up against the glass. karen backpedals,
     startled. its eyes are open now, pupils blown. it snarls, revealing a
     mouthful of razored fangs, trailing mouth-slime across the glass as
     it futilely tries to chew its way through to karen.

     karen stifles a sob, turning and running right into --

     blade,

     who now blocks the exit, sword in hand. karen retreats a step,
     wary --

                           blade
               you shouldn"t be here.

                           karen
               i"m sorry, i --

                           whistler (o.s.)
               wandered off the beaten path, doctor?

     whistler has entered the room from a second doorway. karen looks from
     whistler to blade, trapped between them --

                           karen
               who are you people?

                           whistler
               my name is abraham whistler.
                    (re: blade)
               this is blade. as for our little 
               homunculus here --

     whistler limps over to the tank, rapping his cane against it. the
     creature snaps at it reflexively, following the silver tip back and
     forth like a fish after a lure.

                           blade
               -- he"s a vampire.

                           karen
               you"re joking --

                           whistler
               not at all. you"re looking at a prime 
               specimen of the homines nocturna. 

     whistler toys with the feral creature, engaging in a certain amount
     of sadistic delight as its efforts grow increasingly more frenzied.
     suddenly, it surges towards the top of the tank, clawing at the
     lid --

     karen becomes alarmed -- but then a massive electrical jolt shocks
     the creature back into submission. 

                           whistler
               if blade hadn"t brought you here, you 
               would"ve wound up like him.

     karen brings a hand to her bandaged neck, recalling the events of the
     previous night. she looks to blade.

                           karen
               why did you help me?

     blade scowls, his gaze flickering to whistler.

                           blade
               stupidity.

                           whistler
                    (appraising her)
               maybe not. i did some checking, she"s 
               a hematologist. knowledge like that 
               might come in handy.

                           blade
               it"s not worth the risk. we can"t 
               trust her.

                           karen
               why?

                           blade
               because you"re tainted. the venom"s 
               still inside you. you could still 
               turn on us.

                           karen
               what happens then?

     blade looks to whistler -- as far as he"s concerned, the debate"s
     over.

                           blade
               then i have to take you out, just 
               like any other bloodsucker.

     blade turns and exits. whistler and karen follow.

     int. whistler"s workshop - day

     beyond the grimy outer windows, we can see that the day is closing --
     long shadows, amber light. karen lingers in the doorway, reeling from
     information overload. 

     blade begins suiting up for his nightly hunt -- strapping on body
     armor, loading ammunition. he strings the tarnished locket around his
     neck as if it were an amulet that could ward off evil, then pauses to
     inspect a modified pistol, sighting down the length of it.

                           blade
               we hunt them, moving from one city to 
               the next, tracking their migrations. 
               they"re hard to kill. they tend to 
               regenerate.

     clack! blade pulls the trigger on an empty chamber, then checks his
     next weapon --

                           karen
                    (sarcastic)
               so what do you use, then? a stake?

                           whistler
                    (nodding)
               some of the old wives" tales are true 
               -- they"re severely allergic to 
               silver, various types of wood. feed 
               them garlic and they"ll go into 
               anaphylactic shock -- 

     whistler picks up a customized rifle with a uv entry light, flicking
     on the beam.

                           whistler
               -- and of course there"s always 
               sunlight, ultra-violet rays. 

     karen shakes her head, incredulous -- 

                           karen
               and you honestly expect me to believe 
               all this?

                           blade
               i don"t care what you believe. i 
               saved your life once, i don"t plan on 
               making a habit of it. you want my 
               advice, you"ll be out of the city by 
               nightfall. if you"re stupid enough to 
               stay, that"s your business.

                           karen
               i can"t just leave. i have a life 
               here, a career --

                           blade 
               not anymore. you"ve seen one of them. 
               you won"t be allowed to live after 
               that. 

     karen stares at blade. whistler gestures to the windows --

                           whistler
               there"s a war going on out there. 
               blade, myself, a few others -- we"ve 
               tried to keep it from spilling over 
               onto the streets. 
                    (beat)
               sometimes people like yourself get 
               caught in the cross-fire. 

     whistler shrugs. as far as he"s concerned, there"s nothing else to
     say. karen is still protesting, though. 

                           karen
               i can go to the police. i have blood 
               samples back at the hospital. i can 
               show them. 

                           blade
               do it. you"ll be dead before you can 
               file the complaint.

                           karen
               that"s ridiculous! no one"s that 
               powerful. 

     whistler sighs. he doesn"t suffer fools gladly.

                           whistler 
               you"re talking about a brotherhood 
               that predates the catholic church by 
               thousands of years. their survival 
               depends on their ability to blend in. 
               chances are, you"ve encountered them 
               and not even known it. on the subway, 
               in a bar --

     blade slings his car-15 onto his shoulder, impatient. he starts
     towards the olds, gesturing.

                           blade
               get in. you抮e leaving.

                           whistler
               wait.

     whistler tosses a small metal canister to karen.

                           whistler
               consider it a parting gift. vampire 
               mace -- silver nitrate, essence of 
               garlic. 

                           karen
                    (in disbelief)
               so that"s it? you guys just patch me 
               up and send me on my way?

                           whistler
               there is one other thing. i"d buy 
               yourself a gun if i were you. if you 
               start becoming sensitive to the 
               daylight, if you start becoming 
               thirsty regardless of much you"ve had 
               to drink -- then i suggest you take 
               that gun and use it on yourself. 
               better that, than the alternative.

     karen stares at whistler, horrified, as we --

     cut to:

     int. the vampire archives - day

     we are deep in the narrow stacks of a sepulchral archive. exactly
     what and where this place is will become more clear later on. 

     but for now, the camera drifts through the warren of aisles. along
     the way, we catch a glimpse of a hulking silhouette cowering behind a
     series of japanese shoji screens. later on, we find --

     frost

     tucked away in a carrel, surrounded by books and scriptures, with
     only the sickly glow of his laptop to provide light.

                           dragonetti (o.s.)
               what are you doing here?

     frost pauses, seeing dragonetti emerge from the shadows.

                           dragonetti
                    (outraged)
               these archives are restricted to 
               members of the house of erebus.

                           frost
               please. you and the other elders 
               wouldn"t know what to do with these 
               texts if your lives depended on it. 
                    (cryptically)
               which, of course, they do.

                           dragonetti
               you"re wasting your time, frost. far 
               greater scholars than you have tried 
               to decipher these words. whatever 
               secrets they hold have been lost.

                           frost
               perhaps.

     frost studies dragonetti, a self-satisfied grin on his face. if the
     act was intended to unnerve dragonetti, it succeeded, though the
     ancient vampire would never admit it.

                           dragonetti
               what are you up to, frost?

     frost shuts the lid on his laptop, rising, drawing intimidatingly
     close to dragonetti.

                           frost"s voice
               wouldn"t you like to know, old fang?

     a beat as the young turk stares his elder down. dragonetti is the
     first to lose his nerve. frost smiles and exits, leaving the old
     vampire to lick his wounds.

     camera drifts back to the hulking silhouette, which has been
     eavesdropping on the conversation. it quivers in fear.

     int. blade"s olds (on karen"s street corner) - day

     blade brings the car to a stop. karen looks at him. his eyes are
     hidden behind his glasses, his expression stone.

                           blade
               remember what we said. keep your eyes 
               open. they"re everywhere.

     ext. karen"s apartment building - day

     as karen climbs out, blade swings the door shut behind her. the olds
     roars off down the quiet residential street. 

     int. apartment building, lobby - day

     karen crosses the lobby, stepping into an elevator. just as the doors
     are closing, a woman and two men duck in alongside her. 

     int. elevator - day

     silence, the uncomfortableness of an elevator ride magnified tenfold.
     karen can feel the eyes of her fellow passengers upon her. finally
     succumbing to paranoia, she hazards a glance -- would she be able to
     tell if these people weren"t human? the woman turns to karen,
     smiles --

     karen surreptitiously fishes the "vampire mace" from her pocket,
     clutching it -- and now one of the men turns to look at her,
     nodding --

     int. karen"s apartment building, hallway - day

     the elevator doors open. karen hurries out, heads left, finds herself
     in a deserted hallway. she looks back --

     -- then skips a heartbeat as the trio also step out! as karen raises
     the canister of mace --

     -- the trio turn and head down to the right. karen breathes a sigh of
     relief, shakes her head.

     int. karen"s apartment - day

     karen enters quickly, bolting the door behind her. she picks up the
     phone, dials 911 --

                           karen
               i need the police. this is an 
               emergency --

     as karen waits to be connected, she moves to the back entrance and
     checks the locks -- then the windows, then the fire escape --
     finally, a voice comes on the other end.

                           karen
               hello? my name is karen jansen, i was 
               with curtis webb at mid-town hospital 
               last night -- that"s right, i 
               witnessed the attack --
                    (listening)
               115 aurora, apartment 3g. yes, i"ll 
               wait here. please hurry.

     karen hangs up the phone and turns -- 

     a shaft of bright sunlight

     streams in through a window. karen forces herself to look at it and
     winces, shielding her eyes. again, she brings a hand to the bandaged
     wound on her neck. she moves to the window, pulling the shade down,
     frightened.

                           karen
               get a grip on yourself, girl.

     she sinks down into a chair to wait, setting whistler"s vampire mace
     aside. then she shuts her eyes, massaging her temples. we see --

     a brief flash of

     quinn, his mouth opening wide, saliva dripping from his fangs. his
     pupils pulsating hypnotically. we rush into his gaping maw and --

     wham! we"re back to reality. karen wakes with a start, looks to the
     windows -- time has passed, it"s getting dark outside --

     -- and someone is knocking at the front door. karen reaches for the
     vampire mace, then moves to the door. she looks through the peephole,
     cautious --

                           karen
               who is it? 

     karen"s pov (fish-eye)

     a police officer stands in the hallway -- 30s, handsome, a knight in
     shining armor as far as she"s concerned. 

                           gideon
               sergeant gideon. i"m responding to a 
               911 call. 

     karen visibly relaxes. she opens the door and steps aside, allowing
     gideon to enter.

                           karen
               yes, that was me, i"m karen jansen -- 

     gideon smiles, takes a quick glance around the room, then studies
     karen"s face, the bandages on her neck.

                           gideon
               are you all right?
                    (off karen"s nod)
               i"m glad you called, ms. jansen, we"ve 
               been anxious to get a hold of you. you 
               disappeared on us for a while. 

                           karen
               i know. listen -- do you have any idea 
               what happened to curtis, the other 
               doctor?

                           gideon
                    (matter of fact)
               oh, he"s dead. but i wouldn"t worry 
               about that if i were you.

                           karen
                    (alarmed)
               why?

     gideon"s smile vanishes as he unholsters his gun. 

                           gideon
               because you"re dead too.

     karen gasps. she has a half-second to act -- in which she triggers a
     spray of vampire mace into gideon"s face. gideon stumbles back,
     blinded, cursing, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes -- 

     karen expects pyrotechnics -- but the end result is little more than
     an annoyance. a second later, gideon is simply blinking, sniffing his
     fingers, confused --

                           gideon
               garlic?

                           karen
               he said it would work against 
               vampires --

     gideon bursts out laughing.

                           gideon
               who said i was a vampire? 

     gideon shakes his head, still snickering. he forces karen against the
     wall, placing the gun against her head --

                           gideon
               thanks for the laugh. you can shut 
               your eyes if you want to.

     crash!!! the front door explodes open as blade comes flying through
     it! 

     gideon tries to bring his pistol up -- but blade grips the man"s hand
     and squeezes. gideon screams as his bones snap like kindling. the
     pistol falls from his grasp --

     blade fires his fist into gideon"s gut again and again, then flings
     the officer across the room, sending him smashing into a glass-cased
     cabinet. bleeding, battered, gideon struggles to stand --

     blade is all over him, kicking the shit out of the rogue cop until he
     sinks to the floor in a half-conscious haze.

     blade stands over gideon"s limp form, fists clenched, breathing
     heavily, touching down after his adrenaline high. finally, he looks
     to karen --

                           blade
               you okay?

     karen nods, glances at gideon --

                           karen
               how did you know?

                           blade
               figured they"d send someone after you. 
               thought i"d wait around and see who 
               showed up.

                           karen
               you used me as bait?!

                           blade
               it worked, didn"t it?

                           karen
               but, he could"ve --

                           blade
               he didn"t. get over it.

     blade kneels next to gideon. he turns the man"s head, inspects the
     neck, the skin behind the ear -- 

                           karen
               but he"s a policeman --

                           blade
               he"s a familiar. a human who works for 
               the vampires. see this mark?

     blade pushes aside gideon"s hair, revealing a tiny, cryptic symbol
     tattooed into the man"s scalp.

                           blade
               that"s a glyph, kind of like a vampire 
               cattle brand. that means officer 
               friendly here is someone"s property. 
               any of the other vampire"s try to 
               bleed him, they"ll have to answer to 
               friendly"s owner --
                    (studying the glyph)
               this glyph belongs to deacon frost. 
               we"ve been tracking him for a while 
               now --

                           karen
               why in god"s name would anyone want to 
               work for them?

                           blade
               because they"re vampire wanna-bes. if 
               they"re loyal, if they prove 
               themselves, then their masters will 
               turn them. 

                           karen
               and that"s a good thing?

                           blade
               for some. live forever, never get old. 
               the ultimate high. 

     just then, gideon moans. blade drags the man up so they"re eye to
     eye.

                           blade
               how "bout you, officer? you a good 
               little bloodhound?

     cut to:

     ext. karen"s apartment building - dusk

     blade and karen are now standing by gideon"s police cruiser which is
     parked outside karen"s apartment. blade shoves gideon against the
     hood of the cruiser. he finds gideon"s keys, moves to the trunk,
     opens it --

     in the trunk --

     a sophisticated medical cooling unit for transporting organs. blade
     opens the unit, coolant vapor hisses out. inside are plastic bags
     containing blood. 

                           blade
               looks like our friend was 
               blood-running.
                    (to gideon)
               where were you headed?

     gideon mumbles through a split lip and chipped teeth --

                           gideon
               mphuck you --

     wham! blade plants gideon"s face into the hood of the car. gideon
     groans, coughs --

                           gideon               holliston clinic --

     blade releases him, then reaches for his casull.

                           karen
               what are you doing?!

                           blade
               preventive medicine.

     karen steps in front of blade, shielding gideon.

                           karen
               you can"t do this, he"s human, it"s 
               murder.

                           blade
               it"s war, now get the fuck out of the 
               way!

     karen grabs blade"s arm, wrestling with him, trying to push his hand
     away. as the two of them struggle, gideon makes a break for it,
     stumbling across the lawn. blade pushes karen aside, takes aim,
     fires --

     -- but gideon ducks into an alley, disappearing from sight. blade
     spins on karen, enraged --

                           blade
               god-damnit!!! do you have any 
              
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