Post by Dachan-da (shiznit) on Oct 14, 2009 11:49:24 GMT -6
TERMINATOR
A1 TITLE SEQUENCE - SLITSCAN EFFECT A1
1 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 1
Silence. Gradually the sound of distant traffic becomes
audible. A LOW ANGLE bounded on one side by a chain-link
fence and on the other by the one-story public school build-
ings. Spray-can hieroglyphics and distant streetlight sha-
dows. This is a Los Angeles public school in a blue collar
neighborhood.
ANGLE BETWEEN SCHOOL BUILDINGS, where a trash dumpster looms
in a LOW ANGLE, part of the clutter behind the gymnasium.
A CAT enters FRAME. CAMERA DOLLIES FORWARD, prowling with
him through the landscape of trash receptacles and shadows.
CLOSE ON CAT, which freezes, alert, sensing something just
beyond human perception.
A sourceless wind rises, and with it a keening WHINE.
Papers blow across the pavement.
The cat YOWLS and hides under the dumpster.
Windows rattle in their frames.
The WHINE intensifies, accompanied now by a wash of frigid
PURPLE LIGHT. A CONCUSSION like a thunderclap right over-
head blows in all the windows facing the yard.
C.U. - CAT, its eyes are wide as the glare dies.
1A/FX ANGLE - DUMPSTER 1A/FX
ELECTRICAL DISCHARGES arc from the dumpster to a water
faucet and climb a drain pipe like a Jacob's Ladder.
CUT TO:
2 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 2
SLOW PAN as the sound of stray electrical CRACKLING subsides.
FRAME comes to rest on the figure of a NAKED MAN kneeling,
faced away, in the previously empty yard.
He stands, slowly.
The man is in his late thirties, tall and powerfully built,
moving with graceful precision.
C.U. - MAN, his facial features reiterate the power of his
body and are dominated by the eyes, which are intense, blue
and depthless. His hair is military short.
This man is the TERMINATOR.
He glances down, taking calm inventory of himself, and
notices that a fine white ash covers his skin. He brushes
at it unconcernedly as he walks toward the fence, scanning
his surroundings.
CUT TO:
2A/FX CRANE SHOT - SCHOOLYARD/CITY - NIGHT 2A/FX
CAMERA MOVES UP as Terminator approaches the schoolyard fence
beyond which is an embankment rolling down in darkness to the
cityscape below. The school is perched at the edge of a pro-
montory offering a respectable view of the urban sprawl teem-
ing and glistening under a sullen sky. The night clouds are
shot through with occasional flashes of LIGHTNING, presaging
a thunderstorm.
Terminator stands, hands on hips in prefect symmetry, gazing
down at the city as the CAMERA REACHES FULL HEIGHT.
CUT TO:
3 EXT. PLAYGROUND - NIGHT 3
A beer bottle SMASHES on the ground. PULL BACK to include
its ex-owner and his two compatriots, YOUTH GANG MEMBERS,
lounging on the jungle gym of a deserted playground. They
sport nondescript PUNK REGALIA...torn T-shirts, fatigue
pants, combat boots or high-top sneakers, leather jackets.
The leader notices something and sits up.
LEADER
(pointing)
Hey, hey...what's wrong with
this picture?
ANGLE - REVERSE, seen past the lounging toughs, Terminator
walks naked into a pool of streetlight, striding purpose-
fully toward them.
ANGLE - OVER TERMINATOR'S SHOULDER, as he approaches them.
They slide from their perches and drop easily to the ground
liquid shadows.
LEADER
Nice night for a walk, eh?
Terminator stops right in front of them.
TERMINATOR
(without inflec-
tion)
Nice night for a walk.
They surround him, all swagger and malign good humor.
SECOND PUNK
Washday tomorrow, huh? Nothing
clean, right?
Terminator eyes them without expression, unhurried.
Reptilian.
TERMINATOR
Nothing clean. Right.
LEADER
This guy's a couple bricks
short.
Terminator turn to the second punk, ignoring the
others.
TERMINATOR
Your clothes. Give them to me.
The punks exchange glances, dismayed.
TERMINATOR
(coldly)
Now.
SECOND PUNK
(bracing)
Fuck you, asshole.
Without warning Terminator hammer-punches him in the temple
with blinding speed. The blow flings him with a CLANG into
the jungle gym. He drops to the ground in a still heap,
eyes open, twitching.
The leader whips out his SWITCHBLADE and slashes in one
motion. Terminator ducks back and catches the knife-
wielder's wrist in an inhuman grip. Then he punches the
leader with piledriver force just below the breastbone.
ANGLE - PAVEMENT, as the knife clatters down. The punk's
combat boots are on tiptoe, barely touching the ground.
ANGLE - TWO SHOT, Terminator and the leader are close
together as if dancing, but motionless. Their bodies are in
total shadow. The punk's eyes are wide, his veins distended
with an agonizing pressure. Terminator jerks his fist back
with a WET SOUND and the other drops OUT OF FRAME.
The last tough is stumbling away, gaping with terror. He
backs into a chainlink fence, turns to run along it, finds
he is in a corner.
Terminator takes a step toward him, his gaze ominous.
The punk begins shakily stripping off his clothes.
Thunder peals overhead.
CUT TO:
4 EXT. STREET/NEARBY - NIGHT 4
A light RAIN begins to fall.
Terminator emerges onto the street from the playground,
pausing in the pool of light under a streetlight to hike
the collar of the punk's jacket.
The rain streams down over his face, running into
and over his eyes. They do not blink.
CUT TO:
5 EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET/ALLEY - NIGHT 5
Another part of the city. Seedy apartments and storefronts.
The streets glisten, hissing with sporadic late night traffic.
SLOW PAN AND DOLLY into the mouth of a narrow alley lined
with trash containers and fire escapes. From a recessed
doorway, two filthy legs sprawl out onto the wet pavement.
An angry, inarticulate DRUNKARD'S MONOLOGUE rises occasionally
above the rain sounds.
ANGLE - DOORWAY, The derelict rouses from his bitter stupor
as a brilliant purple glare lights up the wet brickwork
around him. A shockwave hurls trash into the air.
Painted over windows shatter.
Rat scurry, blinded.
A FIGURE drops INTO FRAME as if out of the sky and smacks
the pavement with a muddy splash.
C.U. - DERELICT, as he blinks at the fading glare, amazed.
A NAKED MAN, compact and muscular, rises in a defensive
crouch. KYLE REESE is 22, but his face has been aged by
ordeal, the mouth hard, eyes grim. A crinkled burn scar
traverses one side of his face from chin to forehead. Other
scars, from burns and bullets, mar his hard-muscled body.
The rain washes a fine coating of white ash from his skin
as electrical ARCS lace back and forth between the fire
escapes behind him, HISSING and SPUTTERING. The sound
fades, then stops altogether, to be replaced by a rising
scream of animal agony.
Reese lurches to his feet and sprints across the alley.
CUT TO:
5A/FX OMITTED 5A/FX
6 OMITTED 6
7 EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT 7
CAMERA MOVES WITH REESE as he leaps to the fire escape and
clambers up to the first landing to crouch beside another
NAKED MAN who appears to be entangled in the ironwork. The
man is contorted with pain as his screams die to a shivering
gasp. CLOSER ANGLE reveals that he has been skewered through
the abdomen by the horizontal iron slats and through the
shoulder by a railing. He has materialized in the same
space occupied by the fire escape structure. The figure
slumps, motionless.
Reese quickly checks for signs of life. The man is dead.
Reese descend to the alley floor and crosses to the drunk
huddled in the doorway.
A pair of flamboyantly dressed women, obviously working
girls, passes by the alley mouth. They do a double take
when they see Reese, but walk on without breaking stride,
completely jaded. He's certainly not a potential customer.
Reese crouches down as if to speak to the drunk.
DERELICT
Say, buddy...did you see a
real bright light?
CUT TO:
8 EXT. ALLEY/SAME - NIGHT 8
A brilliant white glare stabs into the alley mouth as an
LAPD cruiser glides slowly by on the street. The search-
light illuminates the figure of Reese, crouching over the
sprawled drunk, just pulling on the other's trousers.
The cruiser chirps to a stop. The doors fly open and two
cops leap out.
FIRST COP
Hold it, right there!
Reese hitches his pants and bolt like a shot. The cops
draw their guns and race into the alley after him.
HANDHELD CAMERA or PANAGLIDE, rushing with Reese along the
narrow alley. He vaults a pile of tumbled trashcans.
Whips around a corner. Leaps the hood of a parked car in
the cross alley.
PANAGLIDE PRECEDING COPS, as they snake through the night
maze.
CUT TO:
9 EXT. CROSS ALLEY - NIGHT 9
PANAGLIDE WITH REESE as he hits a chain link gate at a
dead run and scrambles over it.
10 EXT. ALLEY JUNCTION - NIGHT 10
WHIP PAN ON COPS, skidding to a stop at the corner in time
to see Reese vault the fence. They separate.
DOLLY WITH SECOND COP, as he runs to the gate.
CUT TO:
11 EXT. ALLEY/NEARBY - NIGHT 11
LOW PANAGLIDE WITH REESE, running full tilt, displaying
incredible agility.
REESE'S POV, the alley walls blur by. The view of a hot-
wired rat in an urban maze.
C.U. - REESE, CAMERA hugging him as he sprints and turns,
alternately front-lit, side-lit and silhouetted as the
electric glare of the city wheels about him.
ANGLE - ALLEY MOUTH, Reese flashes though intermittent
cross-lighting in the B.G.
Another unit arrives out front and Reese melts back into
the alley, only to see a cop round the corner behind him.
Sandwiched. Reese crashes into a steel door, rending the
lock, and vanishes into the darkness within.
The newly arrived cops are a K-9 unit. They open the back
door of the squad car to release a large black Doberman.
CUT TO:
12 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 12
Reese finds himself among the display racks of a discount
department store. A searchlight stabs in the front
window as he dashes into the maze of aisles.
Three cops enter behind him through the shattered door.
FAST PANAGLIDE WITH REESE, as he crab-runs low among the
moving shadows where flashlights quarter the darkness. He
bolts the open space behind a display window. Sees the
outside searchlight sweep toward him. Freezes.
ANGLE - REESE, his feral face frozen among the smooth-
featured, smiling mannequins. As the light passes, Reese
silently moves on.
ANGLE - COP, passing the end of a long aisle B.G. while in
the F.G. a hand ENTERS FRAME, removing a knit shirt from a
hanger. Reese slips the shirt on quietly and does a fast
crab-walk across the aisles to melt into the other racks
and shadows, CAMERA MOVING LOW with him.
CUT TO:
13 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE/AISLE - NIGHT 13
With a shocking GROWL the police dog hurtles out of the
shadows, LEAPING RIGHT AT CAMERA.
ANGLE - REESE AND DOG, a dark blur with teeth, extremely
Doberman, flies toward Reese. He spins. Catches it by
the throat in mid-air. Arcs it to the floor with unflinching
precision.
C.U. - DOBERMAN, suddenly on its back and held by the throat,
THE DOG YELPS and stares at Reese, who leans very close.
Inches from its eyes he fixes it with a gaze of uncompromis-
ing dominance. Some ancient communication seems to pass
between the two.
Reese releases the animal and turns his back on it, selecting
a long overcoat from a rack. The dog backs away from him,
stiff-legged and confused.
CUT TO:
14 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 14
TRACKING WITH REESE as he rounds a corner on the run, still
shrugging into his long coat.
Running smack at him is another cop, gun aimed.
Without slowing, Reese leaps toward him, twisting in mid-air
like a cat. The cop FIRES. Misses. Goes down under Reese's
tackle and they slide together on the polished floor.
Before they even come to rest Reese snatches the cop's gun,
aiming it at the other's face two-handed.
REESE
What day is it? The date...
COP
Thursday...uh...May twelfth.
REESE
(viciously)
What year?
A SHOT whines off the metal side of an escalator behind
Reese's head. He vaults the escalator rail, leaving the
amazed cop lying on the floor.
Reese bounds up the frozen steps, pocketing the .38 Police
Special in his coat.
Cops dash through the maze of aisles, converging at the
escalators.
CUT TO:
15 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE/SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT 15
WHIP PANNING WITH REESE, as he hurtles between displays.
He stops for a moment beside a rack of shoes. Slaps one of
a pair of tennis shoes sole-to-sole against his bare foot.
Too small. Another. Holding the shoes he runs on.
CUT TO:
16 EXT. SECOND FLOOR FIRE ESCAPE LANDING - NIGHT 16
A door opens quietly and Reese slips out.
CAMERA TRACKS WITH HIM as he moves like a panther along the
narrow catwalk. TILT DOWN to include the first LAPD cruiser
parked at the mouth of the alley.
CUT TO:
17 EXT. ALLEY/STREET - NIGHT 17
Reese drops cat-like beside the unattended police car.
Cautiously, he opens the door of the cruiser, removes the
RIOT GUN, an Ithaca pump model, from the dash rack and slips
it under his coat. Cradled in a vertical position, the
shortened weapon is virtually invisible.
He walks out onto the street and away, unhurriedly, an
innocuous pedestrian soon lost in the rain.
CUT TO:
18 EXT. STREET/NEARBY - NIGHT 18
Reese enters a telephone booth. Harsh light rakes across
his face, outlining the long scar. He opens the directory,
leafs through it.
ANGLE - MACRO ON PAGE, Reese's finger slides down a column.
Stops beside the following listings in the big metropolitan
white pages:
CONNOR, SARAH
CONNOR, SARAH ANN
CONNOR, SARAH J.
DISSOLVE TO:
19 EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING 19
The night's rain has given way to a typical L.A. morning
of diffuse sunlight.
MOVING WITH A GIRL on a MOPED as she zips through traffic.
SARAH CONNER is 19, small and delicate-featured. Pretty in
a flawed, accessible way. She doesn't stop the party when
she walks in, but you'd like to get to know her. Her vulner-
able quality masks a strength even she doesn't know exists.
Sarah maneuvers nimbly, apparently in a hurry.
CUT TO:
20 EXT. BIG BOB'S RESTRAUNT - DAY 20
Sarah buzzes into the parking lot of Big Bob's Family
Restaurant and chains the moped to the icon of Big Bob
himself. The fiberglass cherub holds up his mammoth
hamburger in perpetual homage to whatever deity watches
out for fat kids.
Sarah removes a stack of college textbooks from the luggage
carrier and tuns to go into the restaurant.
SARAH
(to Big Bob)
Watch this for me, big buns.
CUT TO:
21 INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA 21
HIGH WIDE SHOT prominently featuring a VIDEO SURVEILLANCE
CAMERA F.G. as Sarah enters below. She passes under another
video eye as she crosses the main floor of the wholesomely
appointed eatery. Sarah goes through the swinging STAFF
doors under a third camera.
CUT TO:
22 INT. MANAGER'S OFFICE 22
The office is closet-like, lit by the glow of several
security monitors. CHUCK BREEN, day manager, pimply and
officious,watches Sarah in an overhead view of the service
corridor. He punches a switch and reaches for a microphone
on a studio gooseneck.
CUT TO:
23 INT. SERVICE CORRIDOR 23
Sarah glances up as Breen's voice rasps from a ceiling speaker.
BREEN (V.O.)
Sarah?
She answers the empty hallway.
SARAH
Yes, Chuck?
BREEN
Come to the office, please.
She turns back toward the office door at the end of the
corridor.
CUT TO:
24 MANAGER'S OFFICE 24
Sarah opens the door to Breen's closet control center.
SARAH
Mission control to Chuck,
come in...
BREEN
(without looking
up)
You're late.
Sarah is undaunted.
SARAH
Aren't I worth waiting for?
BREEN
Not really. Do you think you
can get here on time if I put
you on the floor as a waitress?
SARAH
(grinning)
I don't know. I kinda had
my heart set on being a
cashier the rest of my life.
BREEN
The pay's the same but you'll
make more in tips.
SARAH
Thanks, Chuck. I need the
money. Can I still work the
hours around my classes?
Breen turns to punch up a display on the restaurant's
small accounting computer. Sarah looks over his shoulder
as he modifies the week's schedule.
BREEN
Mmm. Same schedule's okay.
SARAH
Alright!
BREEN
(gravely)
Can you handle it?
SARAH
It's not brain surgery,
Chuck.
Breen hands her an apron ceremoniously.
BREEN
Here you go. You're a
Bob's Girl now. Nancy
will check you out.
SARAH
I won't let the fat kid down.
CUT TO:
25 OMITTED 25
26 INT. LOCKER ROOM - DAY 26
ANGLE - TIGHT ON LOCKER DOOR as it slams shut, revealing
Sarah transformed into a "Bob's Girl".
Her hair is in a bun.
White blouse. Short flared skirt and apron with a bow.
She resembles a suburbanized peasant maid looking for a
goat to milk.
Sarah confronts her reflection in the mirror, pondering
its absurdity.
She pinches her sheeks.
Smiles vacuously.
SARAH
Hi, I'm Sarah and I'll be
you waitress.
(pause)
I'm so wholesome, I could
puke.
CUT TO:
27 EXT. PARKING LOT - DAY 27
TIGHT ON CAR SIDE WINDOW, as a figure approaches, reflected
in the glass. A fist punches through the window, shattering
it. The thief unlocks the door and gets behind the wheel.
It's Terminator.
CUT TO:
28 INT. YELLOW MAVERICK - DAY 28
With a blow from the heel of his hand Terminator smashes loose
the ignition assembly and strips the wires with a brutal
twist of his fingers. Touching the proper wires he starts
the car.
CUT TO:
28A EXT. PAWN SHOP - DAY 28A
Terminator walks past the long display window of an
enormous pawnshop emporium. Signs declare, among other
things, GUNS and AMMO is red block letters.
Terminator passes the appliance section, and the pictures
on a row of TV sets distort and break-up sequentially as
he walks by, returning to normal behind him.
He enters the store.
CUT TO:
29 INT. PAWN SHOP - DAY 29
TIGHT ON GLASS COUNTERTOP as an AR-180 ASSAULT RIFLE WITH
SCOPE is laid beside a number of other guns: a COLT K-
MODEL .45 ACP, a SMITH AND WESSON .38 FOUR-INCH, a BERETTA
.225 ACP.
TERMINATOR (V.O.)
...the Remington 1100 Autoloader...
WIDE as the CLERK, who looks like a sick lizard, pallid
and paunchy, takes the rifle from a wall rack. He lays it
beside the arsenal of perfectly legal anti-human artillery
already on the glass counter.
Terminator scans expressionlessly for additional selec-
tions.
CLERK
Anything else?
TERMINATOR
A phased plasma pulse-laser in
the forty watt range...
CLERK
(annoyed)
Just what you see, pal.
He indicates the display case and wall racks with a
minimal gesture.
TERMINATOR
The Uzi 9 millimeter.
CLERK
(setting it out)
You know your weapons, buddy.
Terminator examines each in turn, working the actions with
curt, precise movements.
CLERK
(continuing)
Any one of them's ideal for
home defense. Which'll it be?
TERMINATOR
All.
The clerk digs deep and finds a scrap of a smile.
CLERK
Maybe I'll close early.
Cash or charge?
Instead of replying, Terminator takes a box of shotgun shells
from a stack on the display case.
CLERK
Sorry, I can't sell the ammo
with the guns. You'll have
to---Hey!
Terminator has calmly begun feeding the shells into the
shotgun.
CLERK
(continuing)
You can't to that...
TERMINATOR
(evenly)
Wrong.
He raises the barrel and pulls the trigger. The gun THUNDERS.
CUT TO:
30 EXT. GAS STATION/PHONE BOOTH - DAY 30
The yellow Maverick pulls to a stop beside a single phone
booth.
MOVING WITH TERMINATOR, as he gets out, walks to the booth
and rapidly pulls its occupant out by his greasy T-shirt,
flinging him backward into the parking lot. The guy is
bear-like, slab-handed, but Terminator doesn't even glance
back as he steps in to take the man's place.
MAN
(outraged)
Hey, man...
CUT TO:
31 PHONE BOOTH
A woman's voice, a faint reedy monologue, issues from the
dangling receiver.
Terminator leafs rapidly through the directory.
ANGLE - C.U. PAGES FLIPPING
ANGLE - MACRO SHOT, as Terminator's finger comes to rest
beside a now-familiar listing:
CONNOR, SARAH
CUT TO:
32 INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA
Sarah is bustling about, trying to service the start of
the dinner rush. In waitress parlance, she's 'in it'.
She runs the gauntlet between tables, precariously balancing
two full dinner plates on one arm and hand-carrying a
third. A customer tugs on her apron for attention and she
barely averts contributing the chili size to his wardrobe.
CUSTOMER
Honey, can I get that coffee
now?
SARAH
Yes sir, just a second.
She reaches her table after near collisions with a Mexican
busboy and two teenage girls doing cheerleading routines
in lock-step.
SARAH
Who gets the Burly Burger?
CUSTOMER TWO
I ordered Barbecue Beef.
CUSTOMER THREE
Does mine come with fires?
CUSTOMER FOUR
He's got the Barbecue Beef,
I've got a Chili-Beef Deluxe.
SARAH
Okay, who gets the Burly Beef?
CUSTOMER AT NEXT TABLE
Miss, we're ready to order.
In the process of setting down all the plates Sarah knocks
over someone's water glass.
SARAH
(mopping fran-
tically)
Oh, sorry. That's not real
leather, is it?
As she cleans up the spill, a kid at the next booth reaches
over and dumps a scoop of ice cream into the top pouch of
Sarah's apron
She stares down at the mess melting over her hard-earned
and sags with defeat. NANCY, a plump, gum-chewing waitress,
stops beside her to whisper.
NANCY
Look at it this way: in a
hundred years, who's gonna
care?
CUT TO:
33 EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY
ANGLE on a standard-issue L.A. suburban street with kids
racing Big Wheels B.G.
LOW ANGLE with the FRAME comprising a single house, toy-
littered lawn and mailbox. EXTREME F.G., by the curb, is
a CHILD'S PLASTIC TRUCK.
There is the sound of a CAR ENGINE approaching, and the
front of the yellow Maverick appears, stopping at the curb.
Its front tire CRUSHES the toy.
PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding him as he steps out of the
car, pauses by the mailbox to check the name, and strides
toward the house.
A YOUNG BOY, playing in the driveway, watches him pass. The
boy's DOG, a small Terrier, growls low and mean, crouching
back from Terminator.
He rings the doorbell and waits, motionless.
The door opens a few inches, held by a security chain,
revealing a frail MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN in apron and rubber
cleaning gloves.
TERMINATOR
Sarah Connor?
WOMAN
No, she's upstairs. Who
shall I say is--
Terminator breaks the chain and pushes past her as if she
didn't exist.
CUT TO:
33A INT. HOUSE/FOYER 33A
PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding his as he crosses the
foyer and mounts the stairs. The woman starts after him.
WOMAN
What do you think you're--
My God!
She gasps and stops in her tracks as Terminator smoothly
pulls the .45 from under his jacket and snaps the cocking
slide.
WOMAN
(screeching)
Oh my God...Sarah!
CUT TO:
33B INT. BEDROOM 33B
Installed on her bed for an afternoon of 'soaps' is the
WRONG SARAH CONNOR. ELECTRODE PADS exercise her doughy
thighs as the 35 year old divorcee watches "GENERAL HOSPITAL".
She calls out distractedly:
WRONG SARAH CONNOR
What is it, Mom?
She jumps as the door BANGS open. And stares in dumb
amazement as the good-looking, intense-eyed man in the
strange clothes raises a pistol.
And aims it at her face.
It all seems less real than "GENERAL HOSPITAL" in that
half-second before he FIRES.
CUT TO:
33C INT. FOYER 33C
The mother is fumbling with a telephone when she hears
the SHOT. The silence stretches for several BEATS. Then
FIVE MORE SHOTS are heard.
The woman screams and drops the phone as she stares upward.
ANGLE ON CEILING above her. With each successive shot a
chuck of plaster explodes off the ceiling.
CUT TO:
33D INT. BEDROOM 33D
LOW ANGLE ON TERMINATOR, standing with the .45 aimed
down at the dead woman, just OUT OF FRAME on the floor.
He unhurriedly removes the spent clip, reloads the weapon
and replaces it under his jacket.
Crouching down, he turns the woman's body over, confirming
that she is dead.
CUT TO:
33E INT. FOYER 33E
The mother is frantically dialing the phone. She mis-
dials, starts over. Then stops as she hears the bedroom
door open.
Terminator stands at the head of the stairs.
His hand is bloody where he grasped the dead woman's
shoulder.
He starts down the stairs.
The mother stands paralyzed, unable to breathe.
He reaches the main floor and walks toward her.
She edges into a corner, eyes wide.
He reaches out.
And wipes his hands clean on her apron.
Terminator walks out, without expression, leaving the
woman to sag to the floor in a faint.
CUT TO:
34 INT./EXT. SERVICE TUNNEL - DAY 34
TIGHT ON KYLE REESE'S HANDS as they make the last few
strokes with a hacksaw to sever the wooden stock from
the riot gun. It clatters to the ground, leaving a short
stump, like a pistol grip.
CUT WIDER as Reese hefts the weapon. He is crouched in
an underground service tunnel below a busy street. Shadows
of people walking across a grating in the sidewalk above
him flicker past. They can't see him in the darkness below
their feet as he checks the gun's action carefully. He
slips it under his overcoat where it hangs from a jerry-
rigged sling.
CUT TO:
35 EXT. STREET - DAY 35
Reese emerges from a stairwell behind a service station,
his overcoat done up to the top button.
He walks through the sparse morning crowd on the cluttered,
overbuilt commercial street.
He is out of sync.
A stranger in a strange land.
He holds himself tightly reined, cautious and feral as he
moves among the unconcerned pedestrians.
His eyes flick rapidly about.
He is seeing this Babylon for the first time.
Reese stops at a hole-in-the-wall take-out stand. He
watches people walk away with food. Moves closer.
Scrutinizes the next man as he orders.
TAKE-OUT CUSTOMER
Gimme a falafel with yogurt
dressing and, uh, Baco-bits.
The counterman hands him his food and change wordlessly
as Reese steps up.
REESE
Gimme a falafel with, uh,
yogurt and Baco-bits.
The counterman barely looks up as he passes the mess
through the window.
COUNTERMAN
That'll be one-sixty.
He glances up and Reese is gone. He leans half out the
window.
COUNTERMAN
(continuing)
Hey! Son-of-a-bitch.
CUT TO:
35 EXT. ALLEY - DAY 35
Reese crouches in an alley, out of sight of passersby,
wolfing his food. The sauce runs down his sleeve but he
doesn't notice.
CUT TO:
35A INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA - DAY 35A
An old man with a shrunken, ungenerous face scowls at
the menu as Sarah wipes the tabletop in front of him.
SARAH
I haven't seen you in here
lately, Mr. Miller.
MR. MILLER
What's it to ya?
SARAH
You must have a girlfriend.
MR. MILLER
That's none of your business.
SARAH
Aha! Is she young?
Mr. Miller lowers his menu and glares at her.
MR. MILLER
Compared to me she is. How
come you're not at the cash
anymore? They catch ya steal-
ing?
SARAH
(smiling)
What's it to ya?
When she leaves, the old man is grinning, behind the menu,
where no one can see him.
CUT TO:
36 INT. BIG BOB'S/SERVICE CORRIDOR 36
Sarah rounds the corner, walking fast as she undoes her
apron. She calls out to the walls without looking up.
SARAH
I'm on break, Chuck. Carla's
got my station.
As she approaches the locker room where the girls take
their coffee breaks, the door bursts open and Nancy
beckons to Sarah.
NANCY
(excitedly)
Hurry up. It's about you...
I mean sort of...Come on!
CUT TO:
37 INT. BIG BOB'S/BREAK ROOM 37
Nancy guides Sarah to the small black and white portable
TV in the corner. Two other girls, smoking cigarettes
with their shoes off and nyloned feet on the table, are
already watching. One glances at Sarah.
WAITRESS
Hey, Sarah. This is weird.
They huddle around the set, intent on a newscast in progress.
TV ANCHORWOMAN
...and a police spokesman at
the scene refused to speculate
on a motive for the execution-
style slaying of the Encino
housewife. He did however say
that an accurate description of
the suspect has been compiled
from several witnesses. Once
again, Sarah Connor, thirty-five,
mother of two, brutally shot to
death in her home this afternoon.
As the news grinds on, Sarah gazes unseeingly at the screen.
Nancy claps her on the shoulder, laughing.
NANCY
You're dead, honey.
CUT TO:
38 EXT. HEALTH CLUB - DUSK 38
Sunlight is dying when Sarah swings her moped to the curb
in front of the 'GOOD LIFE SPA', a large, crowded health
club.
CUT TO:
39 INT. HEALTH CLUB/AEROBICS STUDIO 39
MUSIC BOOMS and masses of leotarded cellulite sway in close
F.G. as CAMERA DOLLIES along a row of panting, stretching
women. In deep B.G. Sarah slips in through the door and
waits against the wall while the human dynamo, GINGER VENTURA,
leads the class energetically. Ginger, Sarah's roommate,
is a party-stopper. Red-haired, athletic, sensuous. She's
pretty enough when still, but stunning in motion. And she's
in motion.
Ginger yells commands and cheerfully dives into contortions
to the BEAT of a MOTOWN FAVORITE.
MARCO, a handsome, well-defined guy wearing a tight STAFF
T-shirt, strolls up for a drink at the water fountain next
to Sarah.
MARCO
Hi. I've seen you around.
You're cute. Cute I remember.
SARAH
I'm Sarah. Ginger's roommate.
MARCO
Yeah, right. I'm Marco.
The dance tape ends.
GINGER
...and three aaand four! And
that's it ladies! Now, didn't
that feel good?
The group collapses ensemble. A chorus of groans.
GINGER
Let's think positive or next
time I'll play the FM version.
Ginger walks over to Sarah as the class disperses. Marco
is leaning on the wall next to Sarah, who is enjoying the
attention.
SARAH
...yeah, really? Say some-
thing in Italian.
Before Marco can reply, Ginger pulls the front of his gym
shorts out and peers down. She shakes her head.
GINGER
You're wasting your time, kiddo.
Let's go.
She grabs Sarah by the arm and pulls her out the door.
Sarah catches a glimpse of Marco's expression over her
shoulder as the door closes.
CUT TO:
40 INT. HEALTH CLUB/STAIRS AND CORRIDOR 40
PANAGLIDE WITH THE TWO GIRLS, as they descend to the first
floor and enter a hallway
Sarah is gasping with laughter.
SARAH
(weakly)
I don't believe you did that.
Ginger is adjusting her ever-present WALKMAN-TYPE CASSETTE
PLAYER at her hip. She slips on the earphones as they walk
along.
Sarah feigns outrage.
SARAH
(continuing)
I had him hooked. He was
just about to ask me out.
I could tell.
GINGER
That guy's a jerk. I did
you a favor.
SARAH
I'll do the same for you
sometime.
Sarah laughs and claps her friend on the back. They turn
in at a door marked WEIGHT ROOM.
CUT TO:
41 INT. WEIGHT ROOM 41
SEVERAL ANGLES, on glistening arms, legs, torsos merging
into bio-mechanical kinetic sculptures with the chrome-steel
levers and tubes. The CRASH and SQUEAL of metal against
metal.
In F.G., two Conan-esque arms thrust upward, glistening.
Ginger's boyfriend, MATT McCALLISTER, the assistant manager
of the club, strains out his last reps, bench-pressing
enormous weight on the Nautilus machine.
Despite his imposing appearance, Matt is one of the warmest
people you'd ever want to meet.
His face is contorted, muscles knotted for the last push.
He heaves it up with a guttural cry.
Lowering his weights with a CLANG, Matt lies panting, arms
dangling at his side, eyes closed.
A pair of female legs appear.
GINGER (V.O.)
What's this? Sleep therapy?
Matt opens his eyes.
GINGER
(continuing)
You think somebody's gonna
do this for you? Look at
those shriveled bi's. And
you haven't worked lat's or
ab's since Wednesday.
MATT
(smiling)
Hello, sweetheart. Had a
rough day?
GINGER
(softening)
Come here, wimp.
She leans down as he sits up and they meet in a kiss that's
bad for the other guys' discipline.
Sarah waits until they break the clinch to speak.
SARAH
Hi, Matt.
Matt look backwards over the bench, and replies, upside-down.
MATT
(grinning broadly)
Heeey! It's my favorite
Sarah. Hi, babe.
Ginger pulls the pin on Mat's weights and re-inserts it
beneath the entire stack, the maximum weight.
GINGER
Alright, warm-ups are over.
Back to work, Bunky.
Ginger readadjusts her headphones as the two girls walk away.
MATT
'Bye beautiful. You too,
Ginger.
Two weightlifters nearby look at each other, than at Matt.
WEIGHTLIFTER
Bunky?
CUT TO:
42 EXT. HEALTH CLUB/STREETS - DUSK 42
Sarah lurches away from the curb on her moped, almost
spilling Ginger who is attempting to ride double. They
swing out onto a main thoroughfare and careen through
the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Sarah maneuvers deftly though overloaded and unstable.
Ginger doesn't know whether to laugh of scream at the
near-misses.
She does both.
CUT TO:
43 OMITTED 43
44 EXT. STREET/CONSTRUCTION SIGHT - DUSK
On a side street the girls pass an excavation site between
high-rises. They pass OUT OF FRAME as CAMERA HOLDS on the
construction area and Ginger's shrieks fade.
In the F.G., under an overpass, Reese sits is a car watching
the powerful machines moving earth.
He's in a late-model non-descript GREY SEDAN, one of a row
of cars gathering dirt beside the construction site.
Crab-armed back-hoes and massive caterpillars ROAR through
a curtain of dust, under intense floodlights. A power-shovel
moves its great arm, lighting its own way with an arc-light.
CUT TO:
45 INT. GREY SEDAN 45
Reese sits motionless in the dark. Waiting. The clock in
the dash ticks quietly.
He flips on the radio. A fatuous POP ROCK STATION.
Reese fishes a magazine off the dirty floor. His over-
coat is off, draped over the shotgun on the seat beside
him.
His bare arms are sinewy and scarred.
Reese flips the page of COSMOPOLITAN.
He look at the glossy photos, the glossy women.
Fantasy women. Svelte and seamless.
The ads fascinate him too: Caribbean vacations and blended
whiskeys.
His head sags against the door.
He gazes dully at the tracks of a passing CATERPILLAR as they
chew through the dirt.
The ROAD and CLATTER of treads intensifies as his eyes close.
CUT TO:
46 EXT. MELTED RUINS - NIGHT 46
TIGHT ON A GLEAMING STEEL TREAD as it grinds through debris.
The debris is ferroconcrete, girders, and jackstraw heaps of
HUMAN BONES, burned black.
There is the sound of EXPLOSIONS, distant, and an intermittent
electronic WHINE. Incredibly bright searchlights play over
the ground. PANNING with the moving treads through twisted
wreckage, F.G.
The screen WHITES OUT with a BLAST, very close. As the
debris clatters down, a helmetted head snaps up into FRAME,
EXTREME F.G.
The visor of the HIGH-TECH HELMET is shattered, presumably
by the explosion. The wearer rips it off, revealing a
younger Reese, minus his burn scar.
His face is bathed in sweat, lit by the glow from a CRT
SCOPE-SIGHT on a strange-looking rifle.
The sound of SCREAMS and HOARSE SHOUTS not far off, and a
continuous low murmuring of RADIO CHATTER, grid coordinates,
casualties, unit placements, medic requests.
Reese looks over his shoulder at his teammate, a GIRL
of about sixteen, gaunt, dirty, heavily armed like himself.
DOLLYING as they start to belly crawl through the bones
and wreckage.
Reese looks up.
Through spires of a collapsed building a terrifying
SPHINX-LIKE SHAPE moves against the sky...obscured by dust
and blinding sweeps of its searchlights.
Though we see little, this is an H-K,Hunter-Killer
mobile ground-unit.
Reese crawls, pacing the H-K, under and through, on elbows
and knees, past mounds of charred skulls. They
pass the BODY OF A CHILD, a boy of about 10, center-
punched with a smoking hole. The boy clutches a rifle.
More bodies. Some in rags, some in uniforms like theirs.
WOMEN. OLD MEN. CHILDREN. They're all dirty and gaunt,
scabrous. And still bleeding. Reese scrabbles past a
dark rat-hole and there are human rats in it. Some of them
are sobbing, or screaming.
Another EXPLOSION.
The GLARE lights the huddled few.
Human vermin with mud-caked weapons that haven't been
invented yet. Soldiers in a nightmare war.
Reese and his teammate stop behind a blasted wall, having
outflanked the massive H-K. Its flashing blue lights flick
across the walls, its searchlights sear through the
debris.
WIDER, showing the H-K more clearly...a blast-scarred
CHROME LEVIATHON, with hydraulic arms folded mantis-like
against its 'torso', and huge underslung GUN TURRETS.
Reese leaps up and straight-arms a satchel-charge into its
path. One tread rolls over the explosive.
Guns and searchlights swivel. The head turns ponderously.
Reese's partner rises, poised to throw hers.
A POWER-BOLT catches her at the top of her arc, BLOWING
HER INTO RED MIST.
Reese is knocked down by the concussion. Gets up, running,
as the charges blow.
The H-K's tread carriers are RIPPED APART.
It lurches to a stop, burning.
The following SEQUENCE is extremely FORESHORTENED.
CUT FAST. IMPRESSIONS ONLY.
Running.
Explosions light the ruins like flashbulbs.
ENERGY WEAPONS criss-cross the night like tracers.
LOW ANGLE, up past the burning H-K as its flying counter-
part, an AERIAL H-K, arcs into view with a TURBOJET WHINE.
Reese hauls two survivors of his unit into a PERSONNEL
CARRIER, a CHEVY CAMARO with steel plate welded over it and
the roof cut away to access the 50 CALIBER MACHINE GUN.
It's stripped and rusted and bullet-riddled, glassless.
The TIRES are OFF-ROAD and very gnarly.
They're driving through the ruins, up and over and through.
Reese drives like a demon. Under other circumstances it
would be considered insane. Here it is merely very good.
The machine gun CHATTERS.
A BLACK SHAPE descends, a demon with searchlights.
A BOLT OF LIGHT.
Reese's car flips like a kicked beer can, rolling and
crumpling. He's pinned in the wreck, bloody, screaming
despite his training. The only other survivor, an
emaciated BOY of twelve, is pulling for all he's worth
to drag Reese out before it burns.
CUT TO:
47 EXT. STREET/GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 47
CLOSE ON A BOY, about twelve, clean and healthy, wearing
a blue plastic DODGERS HELMET. He reaches through the
window of the sedan.
BOY
Hey, mister...?
CUT TO:
48 INT. GREY SEDAN 48
Reese's eyes open in a split-second, and suddenly there
is a SHOTGUN MUZZLE AIMED RIGHT AT US.
Reese quivers with a curious spasm, similar to the tremors
of his arrival, and blinks at the boy.
The boy is white-faced, staring down the bore. He backs
away. We see that he is straddling a bicycle.
CUT TO:
49 EXT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 49
The boy's SISTER, slightly younger and also on a bicycle,
can't see the shotgun from where she's waiting.
SISTER
(taunting)
See, I told you he wasn't
dead. You owe me Baskin
Robbins.
The boy rides past her list a shot.
BOY
(urgently)
Come on. Just come on.
CUT TO:
50 INT. GREY SEDAN 50
Reese relaxes slowly, the voltage draining out of him.
INSERT - MACRO, Reese's finger on the trigger is white
with pressure. He slips the safety to the OFF position.
The gun can now be fired.
He sets it on the seat and reaches for the dangling ignition
wires, starting the car.
CUT TO:
51 EXT. STREET/OVERPASS - NIGHT 51
Lit by streetlights, the car moves away with it lights
off and vanishes in the shadows.
CUT TO:
52 OMITTED 52
53 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 53
Sarah and Ginger are crammed into the tiny bathroom,
becoming inextricably tangled in each other's cords as
they blow-dry, curl hair, and apply make-up. Ginger
has her headphones inverted under her chin but in place,
and is bouncing to music as she dries her hair. She is
wearing a short terry-cloth bathrobe that reveals the
greater part of her legs. Sarah is in a skirt and bra.
The phone rings and Sarah goes out into the living room
to get it.
SARAH
(answering the
phone)
Hello?
VOICE (V.O.)
(on phone, deep
and breathy)
First I'm going to rip the
buttons off your blouse, one
by one...then run my tongue
along your neck, down to your
bare, gleaming breasts...
Sarah cups her hand over the mouthpiece and calls out
matter-of-factly:
SARAH
Ginger! It's Matt.
She resumes listening.
MATT (V.O.)
...and then slowly pull your
jeans off inch by inch and
lick your belly in circles,
further and further down...
then I'll pull off your panties
with my teeth...
Sarah is repressing laughter.
