| Please note: this script has been freely adapted from William Gibson's Burning Chrome. It is printed here only for educational and personal purposes. I make no dispute that the storyline and characters herein are the copyright of the respected holder. This adaptation is my own and I assert authorship of this adaptation. |
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To make a very long story quite short - at one time I had what I believed was verbal permission from William Gibson to do a film studenty thing and adapt one of his early short stories, which at one point the options had all lapsed on. As he suggested, I got in touch with his agent.
One small detail, however. Burning Chrome, which was cast, and an effects technician was already working on building a prosthetic robot arm for Jack, and a crew had been assembled, and we'd had a grand old dinner to kick off our imminent good fortune... And then there was this thing. My film school owns co copyright on all thesis films. Unfortunately, part of my agreement to adapt this was that no one could profit commercially from it in any manner.
So it fell apart and I went back to the U.S. What remains here is how I intended to adapt the story; and all I can say is that I saw it as something fast and sleek and shot in subway tunnels or in alleyways and buses at night. If anything I had no intention of crafting a science fiction piece - I wanted to explore two men in love with the same woman, for all the wrong reasons; and that stark twilight world you end up in maybe a little lost in your mid twenties. Old enough to be really callous and cynical, but still hoping for that one big score... I had moved to Los Angeles and London successively coming from a small town, and the one thing I recognized in Gibson was the shock of that, the shock of modernity, the shock of just how lonely the most crowded places are. I still want to make this...
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
JACK (V.O.)
It was hot, the night we burned
Chrome.
BOBBY QUINE, 27, lanky, pale, sharp cheekbones, shaved head.
Quick now - Bobby gets some saline paste out of a tube. Rubs
it against his temples. Puts some electrodes to his head. He
reaches for a long, thick cable on his desk with a standard
looking 3/4 inch plug, and jacks it into the base of his
skull.
His eyes roll a moment, he cracks his fingers, places them
above an unfamiliar and overly complex keyboard array.
We look around Bobby's workspace - a cluttered desk full of
custom electronics, loose wiring, empty plastic sandwich
containers, and top prize above all - a customzied ONO SENDAI
MARK VII CYBERSPACE DECK.
It looks like a Mac G4 on steroids. Lining it are custom
electronics rigs set into vertical rails, some with their
guts open, some black and sleek.
An ARTIFICIAL ARM grasps his shoulder. A robotic piece of
machinery made of interlocking metallic plates, graphite
colored, like the shell of an insect.
ON BLACK:
THE CHROME RUN T MINUS 00:08:00:00
JACK
Go for it.
We see the man holding his shoulder, AUTOMATIC JACK, built
like a brick shithouse, 29, heavy features, with a
myoelectric artificial arm extending from his right elbow. He
takes his robotic hand away. The fingers twitch, fluttering
like some exotic fin, servoelectrics whining.
And Bobby, with a crazy grin, slams a thick black cartridge
the size of a VHS tape into a slot on the Ono Sendai...
Push in on the DIGITS on black, counting down from eight
minutes.
Bobby inhales, sharply, goes rigid in his chair, his eyes
close...
JACK (V.O.)
It was hot, the night we burned
Chrome.
RUN TITLES OVER:
SPLIT SCREENS. This sequence is fast, a barrage of
information.
In one corner the digits count down. In other screens we go
through the hack, images running over and with each other -
PUSH IN on the ONO SENDAI as the machine begins to whir like
a small helicopter -
TRACKING QUICK along bundles of cables into the walls, now
faster, underground, through an exchange cluster, digital
tones cascading, getting louder -
PUSH IN on a row of computers in a nondescript office, who
spring to life -
In another part of the screen we see their monitors light up
and read -
Bobby's fingers dance on the keyboards -
Official documents from the Eastern Seaboard Fission
Authority begin filling themselves out -
Quick flash jumps in a complex sea of three dimensional
representational data, heading towards a cold blue pyramid,
seemingly surrounded by geometrically perfect walls of ICE -
Bobby's face, strained, patient, eyes closed -
A connection is made between the ESFA and a place called THE
HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS. It is a probe searching for usage data
on this month's electrity bill -
PUSHING IN ON: The facade of the House of Blue Lights, an
upscale blue neon front in a sea of urban seediness.
Extremely large and openly armed bouncers flaunt their poses
outside. Jump cutting inside, still moving, to -
CHROME - face like a fourteen year old girl, but some sense,
some weariness that she is much older. She seems timeless,
hard. Large wraparound sunglasses in the dim blue neon of the
House of Blue Lights. She's propped up at the bar watching
the night's action -
JACK (V.O.)
Chrome: her pretty childface smooth
as steel. They said her eyes looked
like something from the bottom of
the Atlantic.
JUMPING past her through several doors - following a man
being led into a chamber filled with small doors like a
mortuary, lit cold blue - we turn away and keep moving into
the mainframe room, where the computers work overtime and a
monitor displays that there is incoming traffic from a ESFA
probe - a connection is made.
JACK (V.O.)
They said she was so made she could
cook up custom cancers that would
take years to kill you.
Chrome surveys the room, takes a pull on a slim cigarette,
and exhales cold blue smoke -
JACK (V.O.)
They said a lot of things about
Chrome, none of them good.
And a display indicates the probe has been denied.
JUST NUMBERS NOW - 00:07:02:34, running down.
TITLES END
DISSOLVE TO:
MONTAGE
Fleeting glimpses, Rikki's face never very clear, always
edging out of focus or into the dark.
JACK (V.O.)
So I blotted Chrome out with a
picture of Rikki. Rikki who was
Bobby's tarot card of good fortune.
Stretching her arms standing in a shaft of sunlight coming
through the glass roof of The Studio, baring a bit of her
stomach.
JACK (V.O.)
Rikki. Who was alive, totally real,
human, hungry, bored, beautiful...
Rummaging through a bag, bent over in some loose halter top,
the curve of her back perfect.
Smiling, and fading out of focus...
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Bobby's fingers dance to and fro, some twitch addict locked
into a feedback loop, like an expert videogame player. He
gets a cocky smile on.
BOBBY
Son of a bitch.
JACK
What?
BOBBY
Her ICE caught the probe out. But
we got the connection and now we're
a tax audit and three subpeonas
from the Hague. Shit's gonna go
haywire now. Hang on to your ass,
Jack.
Bobby goes into overdrive, eyes closed, feeling the
consensual hallucination of cyberspace - his mind jacked
directly into the sea of information computers communicate
with.
BOBBY
I'm there, Jack. Her ICE. I feel
it.
JACK (V.O.)
So long, Rikki. Maybe now I see you
never.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Rikki walking alone, down a dark city street at night,
turning to look back over her shoulder.
FADE TO BLACK.
EXT. GENTLEMAN LOSER - NIGHT
The Gentleman Loser is so underground it should be on vinyl.
It's the hacker hangout, but not for poseurs. Real work gets
done here, real information is swapped. In an world where
computation has become ubiquitious, these are the people who
peer at the dark side of cyberspace, the sea of information
and interaction we all take for granted.
We're walking through the place, scanning the human activity.
BLACK MYRON and CROW JANE sit at a table, discussing a virus
they've seen floating around. BIG KROM entertains some
friends with a story about a legendary hack.
Bobby sits at a table near the door, scanning the crowds
walking by.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I was a cowboy. A cracksman. A
burglar. Bobby Quine and Automatic
Jack, a good partnership. Bobby's
me, the one with dark glasses.
Jack walks up with some drinks.
BOBBY (V.O.)
Jack's the mean looking guy with
the myoelectric arm. Bobby's
software and Jack's hard. I punch
console and Jack makes all the
little things that give you an
edge. It was a good partnership.
The two sit in silence, used to each other's company. Bobby
just keeps looking out the door.
BOBBY (V.O.)
But there was talk. That I was
losing my edge, slowing down.
Twenty eight now, and that's old
for a cowboy. There was talk about
this kid in Jersey, 15, went by the
handle Ithaqua - and he was now a
priority for the feds after he'd
had a look see inside the Pentagon.
A woman walks by the outside of the Loser. Bobby follows her
with his eyes, slowly. Can't make her face out.
BOBBY (V.O.)
We were good at what we did, but
somehow that one big score wouldn't
come down for us. I couldn't find
any motivation. There's what you
can do, and why you want do it, and
that's what I was missing.
Now he sees her face. She's not the one. He looks
dissapointed.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I wanted a girl, a good sign. My
private tarot, the one thing that
could get me moving, some
replacement for the emptiness
inside. I was hungry for a girl,
something real. I spent a lot of
time in the Loser that summer,
scanning the faces outside, nights
when the bugs were at the neon and
the air smelled of perfume and fast
food. And then I saw Rikki, and I
knew she was the wild card, the
luck changer. The one.
Slightly out of focus, walking towards the door of the loser,
someone tall and slender and 20. Bobby takes his sunglasses
off.
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack is at his workbench, soldering some circuit board. His
hand has been replaced by a small laser stylus.
Bobby comes in. Followed by a girl.
RIKKI, 20. Tall, slender. Deep brown eyes. A mix of
possibilites, dressed urban and trying to blend in, but laced
with a certain naivete. Something hidden there deeper,
though. A momentum.
BOBBY
Isn't it way past your bedtime?
JACK
Hey.
Rikki walks right up next to Jack. He looks at her askance a
minute, feels uncomfortable with strangers watching him work
this way. She just watches. He goes back to soldering. Bobby
comes up behind her and puts his arm around her waist.
BOBBY
Automatic Jack, Rikki. My
associate.
RIKKI
Hi.
Bobby starts rooting around for some CDs. Jack unclips his
arm.
JACK
I'm on my way, cowboy.
Rikki watches him put his hand back on, sort of fascinated,
but not ghoulishly.
RIKKI
Can you fix things?
JACK
Anything, anything you want.
Automatic Jack'll fix it.
He snaps his hand home in its socket and snaps his fingers.
Rikki pulls a little simstim deck from her coat. It looks
like a minidisc player, some piece of consumer electronics
designed by Sony. She shows him the broken hinge on its
cover.
JACK
Tomorrow. No problem.
Jack gets up to leave.
JACK (V.O.)
Bobby read his future in women. His
girls were omens, changes in the
weather. I remember thinking that
if Bobby's system worked, with a
fortune cookie like Rikki, our luck
was bound to change.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Rikki walks down a street at night, empty. She stops to look
over her shoulder.
JACK (V.O.)
But now when I see her sometimes
when I'm trying to sleep, I see her
somewhere out on the edge of all
this sprawl of cities and smoke...
EXT. CITY AT NIGHT - MONTAGE
Various shots of Bobby and Rikki walking through the night,
the whole undeground tourist trip, Bobby there to show her
how the city really functions. Shopping arcades, underground
malls, train platforms, market stalls...
BOBBY (V.O.)
One of the things I liked most
about Rikki was that all this was
new to her. Jack and I were
nocturnal veterans, knew the city
inside out. Rikki made it new for
me, cause I had to think real hard
about what to show her and figure
out what it meant and what its
history was. Rikki was a sign of
how everything could change, things
had to change. And the map I kept
in my head of the city was full of
signs, and I had to decipher them
for her.
Bobby and Rikki run through subway tunnels, chasing each
other. Bobby points out people at a bar and gives their
story. Bobby and her sit next to each other and eat, honestly
content in each other's company. They ride a night bus and
she sleeps on his shoulder, and he stares at her.
INT. GENTLEMAN LOSER - NIGHT
Bobby and Rikki and Jack sit at a regular's table at the
Loser, having a few drinks.
RIKKI
What happened to your arm?
JACK
Hang gliding. Accident.
BOBBY
Hang gliding over a rice field.
Place called Taiwan. Our Jack's
hanging there in the dark, with
fifty kilos of radar jammer between
his legs, and some mainland Chinese
asshole accidently burns his arm
off with a laser.
Jack's uncomfortable.
JACK
That was where we met. Bobby and
me.
RIKKI
In the war?
BOBBY
No. Taiwan, after. I was looking
for some family, an old girlfriend.
Jack helped me.
RIKKI
Did you find them?
BOBBY
No. But I met this lugnut. Been
partners in crime ever since.
Bobby shoots Jack an earnest smile.
INT. THE STUDIO - DAY
Jack and Rikki alone in the Studio. There's a distant rumble
of thunder. Jack looks up at the skylight. Stands there a
moment.
Rikki touches his shoulder. Runs her painted black fingenails
down his arm to the elbow. Traces her finger along the scar
tissue where the Duralum arm joins. They look at each other.
JACK (V.O.)
Most girls, they touch me there,
they go on to the shoulder, the
neck.
Rikki runs her hand down the arm, running in the grooves of
the machinery. She spreads her fingers and places her hand in
the massive robotic hand. Jack's artificial fingers close
slowly, softly around her hand. Slight servoelectric whine.
CLOSE ON: the skylight, rain falling and drumming on the tin
and glass roof. You can barely hear Rikki sigh.
INT. GENTLEMAN LOSER - NIGHT
Jack approaches Bobby at a table. Some kind of silence.
JACK (V.O.)
I'd known him since the war. The
debts were unpayable between us,
debts we'd have to settle in the
next life.
BOBBY (V.O.)
He was like my older brother. He
was the one thing in my life that
represented reality.
JACK (V.O.)
Crazy sometimes. I needed that to
even myself out.
BOBBY (V.O.)
Pragmatic. I needed that sometimes.
Jack looks away.
BOBBY
I need you to check out what's
available in hot software.
JACK
Sure thing.
BOBBY
Take the money out of the joint
account. Where's Rikki?
JACK
Don't know.
BOBBY
Later, pardner.
JACK
Later, cowboy.
EXT. THE FINN'S - NIGHT
A run down Victorian store front in some bombed out part of
London. Faulty HOLOGRAM flickers ME RO HOLOGRAFIX in the
window, behind which one can only see dust and piles of
cardboard boxes. It looks like it's never open, but Jack
walks right up and opens the door.
INT. THE FINN'S - NIGHT
Jack passes through an antique (late twentieth century)
airport style metal detector which goes crazy.
JACK
Finn, what the fuck? How do you
expect paying customers like me get
through the door with that thing
around.
THE FINN - vaguely ancient, slimy, with a face like a
burrowing mammal shaped for speed. He shuts off the detector.
THE FINN
Glad you came around. Gotta see
this. You need a gun. I got the new
Smith and Wesson, the four oh eight
tactical. Got this xenon projector
slung under barrel, see, batteries
in the grip. Throw you a twelve
inch high noon circle in the pitch
dark at fifty yards. Light source
is so narrow, it's impossible to
spot. Like voodoo in a nightfight.
Jack is spotlighted by a blinding amount of light. He covers
his eyes with his robotic arm. Looks into the room, can't see
anything.
JACK
Goddamit, turn on the lights.
Dim flourscents come on, barely making the room visible. It's
like a combination comic book and military surplus store -
exotic looking plastic containers and bulky steel cases with
piled up old National Geographics and porno mags.
We get a good look at THE FINN as he puts the gun away. Jack
walks up to his counter. Puts his robot arm right down and
starts drumming the fingers while looking around. It sounds
like mosquitoes. The Finn grimaces.
He taps the arm with a chewed up felt pen.
THE FINN
You looking to pawn that? Maybe get
something quieter?
JACK
I don't need any guns, Finn.
THE FINN
Okay, okay. So, what you called
for. I only got this item, and I
don't even know what it is. I got
it off these bridge and tunnel kids
in Birmingham last week.
JACK
So when did you ever buy anything
you didn't know what it was, Finn?
THE FINN
Wise ass.
The Finn pulls a clear plastic mailing envelope out from
under the counter. Something large, black, and bulky inside.
THE FINN
They had a passport. They had
credit cards and a watch. And they
had that.
JACK
They had the contents of somebody's
pockets, you mean.
The Finn nods.
THE FINN
Passport was Belgian. It was also
bogus, looked to me, so I put it in
the furnace. Put the credit cards
in with it. The watch was okay, a
Porsche, nice watch. Fucking
clockwork mechanism, though. Bitch
to maintain.
The Finn pulls back his sleeve and shows it off.
Jack opens the envelope up and has a look. Flat black brick
of plastic and metal, like an enormous rifle magazine.
THE FINN
I'll give you a bargain on it,
Jack. For old time's sake.
Jack smiles.
JACK
Finn, what gives. You never give
anyone a bargain. What you been
hearing?
THE FINN
Not true! The Finn is reuptable,
and likes to cut his friends a
break.
Jack drums his fingers again. The mosquito whine.
THE FINN
There's loose talk. Bout you boys
getting old. Losing the touch.
Never pulled down a big score, and
I always had a good feeling about
ol' Bobby Quine and Automatic Jack.
Word is you might be up to
something big. And it ain't that
kind of talk - you know Bobby, good
kid, but he likes to pop wheelies
any chance he can get.
Jack stops drumming his fingers.
JACK
Well if that's true, Finn, then you
should know we're running pretty
low on capital right about now so
it'll have to be a hefty bargain.
THE FINN
Look at the damn thing, willya?
JACK
Looks Russian. Probably the
emergency sewage controls for a
Leningrad suburb. Just what I need.
THE FINN
You know, I got a pair of shoes
older than you are. Sometimes I
think you got about as much class
as those yahoos from Jersey. What
do you want me to tell you, it's
the goddamn keys to the Kremlin?
You figure out what the goddamn
thing is. Me, I just sell the
stuff.
Jack and The Finn size each other up for a moment. The Finn
pulls back his sleeve.
THE FINN
Nice watch...
CUT TO:
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack enters the studio with a coat on. He walks up to Bobby's
desk.
On Bobby's monitors are various displays - running numbers
and code, communication relay details... And on the largest
monitor, an elaborately complex sliver of 3D neon, pulsing,
rotating. It looks like an electron microscope image of a
virus, made of ice and chrome.
Jack turns the monitor off. Hangs up his coat. Goes over to
his workbench.
Rikki's things are scattered there - her bag, some clothes, a
pair of boots, Japanese simstim magazines. He scans them
before putting them away.
Jack takes his arm off. Nothing left but a stump. He's
forgotten that the package he bought from the Finn is in his
right hand pocket, so he has to fumble it out left handed.
Then he places it in a vise.
He attatches a new arm, one which ends swiss army knife style
in various robotic tools. He swings a magniying glass on a
hinged arm over the package and turns on some equipment. - an
interferometer, an electron scanning array, a voltometer, a
miniature Farraday cage.
He picks up a laser. The claw sags a little. He rotates a
dial on his arm. It lifts a bit.
Montage - Jack works the package, slowly attempting to
subvert its outside without damaging the interior.
JACK (V.O.)
It took eight hours to crack. Three
hours with the laser and waldo and
four dozen taps...
Jack works the laser, bright arcing blue lighting up his
face.
Jack is on the phone now, the case is open, revaling a piece
of laminate chipboard lined with very organic silicon
structures and wiring.
JACK (V.O.)
Two hours on the phone to a contact
in Colorado...
Jack has the package connected to various external leads
which all run into his equipment. He works an old battered
computer.
JACK (V.O.)
... And three hours to run down a
lexicon disc that could translate
eight year old technical Russian...
The monitor lights up, text scrolling down it, subverting
itself, becoming English. Jack looks at it, with a pen in his
mouth.
JACK (V.O.)
There were a lot of gaps where the
lexicon ran up against specialized
military acronyms, but now I had an
idea what I'd bought from the Finn.
PUSH IN: The pen falls out of Jack's open mouth.
JACK (V.O.)
I felt like a punk who'd gone out
to buy a switchblade and come home
with a small neutron bomb. The
thing under the dust cover was out
of my league. It was a military
icebreaker, a killer virus program,
written by the best in the world,
the Russians.
Jack paces the room. Sits down heavy. Looks at the little
chipboard, awed by its simple power.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. THE STUDIO - DAY
Jack is asleep in his chair, bag of takeaway in his lap.
Bobby walks in. Jack wakes up, feels his jaw. Offers Bobby
the bag.
JACK
You want to eat?
Bobby brushes the bag aside, puts his wicked little grin on.
Walks over to his cyberspace deck and turns the monitor back
on. Still there, the ice mandala weaving itself, pulses of
light flowing from and to it.
JACK
Whose is that?
Bobby stares at the monitor for awhile.
JACK (V.O.)
I'd fallen asleep wondering if I
should tell him about the program.
Maybe I should try to sell it
alone, keep the money, maybe go
somewhere new. Ask Rikki to go with
me.
BOBBY
It's Chrome's.
Jack's arm starts to twitch. The mosquito whine. He drops the
bag of takeout, cartons spilling noodles on the floor.
JACK
You're stone crazy.
BOBBY
No. You think she rumbled it? No
way. We'd be dead already. I locked
on to her through a triple-blind
rental system in Mombasa and an
Algerian comsat. She knew somebody
was having a look-see, but she
couldn't trace it. If she traced
it, you and I both know there'd be
commando goons dropping through the
ceilings hours ago, and we'd be
dead. They would've got you at The
Finn's, five minutes from knowing
about it.
JACK
Why her, Bobby? Just give me one
reason.
CUT TO:
INT. GENTELMAN LOSER - NIGHT
PUSHING through the crowd, coming to rest at a middle aged
woman with a fourteen year old's face, sitting alone by the
door.
JACK (V.O.)
Chrome. I'd seen her maybe half a
dozen times in the Loser. Maybe she
was slumming, or checking out the
human condition, one she didn't
exactly aspire to. She was as ugly
a customer as the street ever
produced, but she didn't belong to
the street anymore.
A pretty girl walks into the Loser. Chrome eyes her. Dead,
bottom of the Atlantic eyes. Looks straight into her,
assessing her. The girl tries to look away.
JACK (V.O.)
She was one of the Boys, a member
in good standing with the Mob and
Triads, going all the way back to
Rome and New Shanghai.
Chrome walks the streets. Heavies flank her. No one dares
walk near her.
JACK (V.O.)
She'd gotten started as a dealer in
synthetic pituitary hormones, back
when they were illegal. But she
hadn't had to do that for a long
time now.
PUSH IN on the facade of the House of Blue Lights.
JACK (V.O.)
Now she owned The House of Blue
Lights.
And Chrome back in the Loser, exhaling blue smoke into the
neon tinger air outside.
CUT TO:
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack rolls his chair closer to Bobby.
JACK
You'e flat out crazy, Quine. Give
me one sane reason for having that
stuff on your screen. You ought to
dump it, and I mean now.
BOBBY
Talk in the Loser. Black Myron and
Crow Jane. Jane, she's up on all
the sex lines, claims she knows
where the money goes. So she's
aruging with Myron that Chrome's
the controlling interest in the
Blue Lights, not just some
figurehead for the Boys.
JACK
The Boys, Bobby. That's the
operative word there. You still
capable of seeing that? We don't
mess with the boys, remember?
That's why we're still walking
around.
BOBBY
That's why we're still poor,
pardner.
Bobby settles into his chair, unzips his shirt, and scratches
at his skinny pale torso.
BOBBY
But maybe not for much longer.
Puts on the wild grin again, but this time totally feral and
focused.
He starts slamming commands into his deck, fast and easy. The
ice block on his monitor reshapes, reconfigures, layers
peeling away revealing pits in the dark heart of the ice,
chasms.
BOBBY
Now. There, see it? Wait. There.
There again. And there. Easy to
miss. That's it. Cuts in every hour
and twenty minutes with a squirt
transmission to their comsat. We
could live for a year on what she
pays them weekly in negative
interest.
JACK
Whose comsat?
BOBBY
Zurich. Her banker's. That's her
bankbook, Jack. That's where the
money goes. Crow Jane was right.
CLOSE ON Jack's arm. No longer twitching.
BOBBY
So how'd you do at the Finn's,
pardner? You get anything that'll
help me cut ICE? We're going to
need whatever we can get.
Jack looks right at Bobby. PUSH IN on the program in the
vise.
JACK (V.O.)
Wild cards. Luck changers.
JACK
Where's Rikki?
BOBBY
Friends of hers. Kids, they're all
into simstim. I'm going to do it
for her, man.
JACK
I'm going to think about this,
Bobby. You want me to come back,
you keep your hands off the board.
BOBBY
I'm doing it for her. You know I
am.
And Jack heads out the door.
INT. NOODLE POP CAFE - NIGHT
A Malysian cafe set in some subterranean shopping arcade
where it always feels like night. Bad flourescents, slick
tiling, plastic booths, garish neons.
JACK
They say there's two types of
people in the world now. Guys like
Bobby and me, active, we're the
rare breed.
Rikki sits at a table with TIGER, LO FAN, and GRAEME. Dance
or theater students, celebrity psychophants. Simstim addicts
and wannabes. They're thumbing through celebrity magazines
about their favorite simstim stars. Jack walks up.
JACK (V.O.)
Then there's stimmers. Those who
groove on simulated stimuli.
Passive, wanting to watch the
world, take it in.
Rikki is tearing a picture out of one of the magazines. She
holds it up to her face, covering her eyes. The perfect azure
blues of Tally Isham.
RIKKI
Jack, how'd I look with a pair of
these? Zeiss Ikons, the best.
She takes the page away, expectant. Jack eyes her soft brown
eyes.
JACK
You still window shopping for eyes?
RIKKI
Tiger just got some.
Jack looks at Tiger. Couldn't be stronger opposites - Tiger
is all popstar clean shaven youthful androgyny. Jack eyeballs
him like a piece of hardware.
JACK
Sendai's, right?
Tiger nods. He leans back in his chair and tries to fix Jack
in a stare.
TIGER
I could be recording right now.
Jack notices him looking at his arm.
TIGER
They'll be great on peripherals
when the muscles heal.
Tiger reaches for his iced coffee, almost cautiously.
JACK
I don't know much about simstim,
and I don't mean to rain on your
parade, but as a hardware man I'm
just warning you to watch out -
Sendai optics are known for depth
perception flaws.
Tiger stops posing, shoots Jack a nasty look.
JACK
And warranty hassles. I had this
wacked Sendai HDTV, was on hold for
must've been a month about that.
RIKKI
Jack, don't be mean. We're
celebrating. Tiger's leaving for
Hollywood tomorrow.
LO FAN
Don't forget us!
The boys embrace Tiger in fawning hugs. Sincere in their
playing at the fantasy of great success.
JACK
Then maybe Chiba City, right? Got
an offer, Tiger? Know an agent?
Tiger ignores him.
TIGER
Rikki, I got you a goodbye present.
New Tally Isham.
SHELLEY
Watch it yet?
GRAEME
Oh god, yes. It's amazing.
RIKKI
Tiger, how can you afford this?
TIGER
Hollywood, Rikki. Don't need worry
bout that anymore.
Tiger hands over the plastic cartridge.
TIGER
Gotta go. Gotta hit the clubs, then
I gotta pack.
He gives everyone a continental kiss on the cheek, except for
Jack.
Rikki puts the simstim deck up on the table. Like a tiny
minidisc player. She runs a thin cord into a jack at the base
of her skull. Closes her eyes. Hits PLAY.
THE SIMSTIM SEQUENCE
Simstim is short for Simulated Stimuli. Edited and tweaked
sensory input from simstim stars, like Tally Isham, European
superstar, giving you her world direct from the gleaming
lights of Chiba City.
We are the camera in this sequence, experiencing everything
as undiluted input straight from someone's senses. Despite
the jumps in time and space this should appear as one
unbroken shot. The camera should float like a steadicam but
have an edgier motion to it.
The other thing is that simstim is recorded reality, but
better. The editing gurus in Chiba City can take the feeling
of a breeze on Tally Isham's cheek and dial it up to 11, make
it feel like a hurricane. Or they can tweak it until it's the
best breeze you ever felt, a cool refreshment on a summer's
day. Since we can't feel that, we see it - everything's been
tweaked. There are signs here and there that this isn't
exactly real, it's better. The weather's perfect. No one's
ugly or even plain.
Every wall, every texture, every light should be glossy and
beautiful, like a daydream polished by Hollywood technicians.
We're walking down Old Bond street. Our arms are heavy with
shopping. We hail a cab. As soon as our arm goes up a Rolls
Royce is ready and waiting. The driver even gets out and
helps us in.
SIMON CARVER, fellow simstim star, gets in with us. His
conversation is scintillating, gossipy, witty. Something
seems strange - the landscape passes by at unnatural speed.
There's no traffic, no stoplights.
The cab ride takes mere moments. Suddenly the driver is
opening the door. You don't pay in Tallyworld. A bellboy is
in attendance to take the shopping from us. Still moving now,
we go through the doors of a four star hotel. The concierge
smiles and does a little bow. Somehow we walk straight into
our room, time and space dissolving. Simstim isn't full of
waits in elevators or laborious stairs. The shopping bags are
already laid out at the foot of the enormous bed.
We go to the mirror. We look perfect enough already. We try
on a new outfit...
INT. NOODLE POP CAFE
Rikki sits in the plastic booth, head turning this way and
that, feeling it all. She runs her hands across her chest.
RIKKI
I love cashmere...
Jack looks right at her, can't take his eyes off her.
JACK
I'm looking right at Rikki, and I
think, and it's stupid and I
shouldn't... I think that maybe
this is right for her, maybe her
big simstim dreams aren't for
nothing, just in the way she looks
at the world. All the experience is
new to her, inaccessible to her,
neither money nor heritage adding
up. But when she gets a chance to
look every sense seems multiplied,
enlarged. She feels ten times more
of the world than we do. And
simstim was the only way most of us
could afford that.
SIMSTIM SEQUENCE
Now we're looking in the mirror, as Tally again, hand running
across our chest. Already perfect makeup. Simon enters the
room and stands behind us, flowers in hand.
SIMON
You look perfect.
We smile at ourselves, then turn and walk away, out of the
room... Jumping forward in time again, into another sleek car
heading through London at night, pulling up in front an OPERA
HOUSE. There is a press of photographers waiting, but they're
not vicious, they give us breathing space. Simon leads us
inside, offering his arm.
Into perfect seats and just as we sit, the curtains go up and
Ave Maria begins...
INT. NOODLE POP CAFE
Rikki goes for a button on her deck. Graeme puts his hand
over hers.
GRAEME
Don't fast forward.
Rikki sits back in her chair.
DISSOLVE TO:
SIMSTIM SEQUENCE
We hear Grame's voice like it's at the bottom of the ocean, a
mild intrusion.
GRAEME
Just watch.
We're dissolving now between passages from the opera, back to
Rikki sitting in the booth, her head lolling as one with
Tally Isham.
The opera finishes and we're standing now, applauding wildly.
The diva looks right at us and blows a kiss and takes a deep
bow as rose petals shower the stage from above - not just a
fanfare, some surreal rain of rose petals and...
Everything is so right, the notes so right and dulcet, the
reds of the theater and the roses and the Diva's blood red
dress and we're wildly applauding, we can almost faintly hear
our chest thumping, our heart about to burst with the beauty
of it all...
INT. NOODLE POP CAFE
And Rikki is in her seat, she slowly unplugs herself from the
deck and removes her eyephones and her face is stained by
tears.
RIKKI
That was good.
POV on the friends, all huge smiles, conspirators in the
sensation because they've played it and they know.
Rikki smiles and wipes at her eyes, not sad, just entranced.
Jack looks at her...
At her deep brown eyes, no logo or trademark, luminous and
slightly tearing.
CUT TO:
EXT. OPERA HOUSE
Jack and Rikki strolling in the night, past the opera house.
JACK
That kid's optic nerves might start
to deteriorate inside six months.
You know that, Rikki? Those Sendais
are illegal in England, Denmark,
lots of places. You can't replace
nerves yet.
RIKKI
Hey Jack, no lectures.
JACK
I thought I was your advisor, kid.
RIKKI
Well then tell me this. How do I
get inside there?
She points to the opera house.
JACK
Well, can't say I've ever been, but
I'm guessing on a fat credit card,
to start with.
RIKKI
Yeah, well. Tiger's not too swift,
but everybody knows about Sendais.
They're all he can afford.
So he's taking a chance. If he gets
work, he can replace them.
JACK
With a pair of Zeiss Ikons? Could
go the opera for ten years for that
kinda money. You know better than
to take a gamble like that.
RIKKI
I want Ikons.
The moment hangs.
JACK
I gotta go, Rikki. If you're going
up to Bobby's tell him to sit tight
until he hears from me.
RIKKI
Sure. It's business?
JACK
Business.
EXT. PHONEBOOTH MONTAGE
Jack hits a dozen different phone booths, dialing numbers,
talking, riffing.
JACK (V.O.)
All in all, it took six weeks to
set the burn up, six weeks of Bobby
telling me how much he loved her. I
worked even harder, trying to get
away from that.
Bobby at his cyberspace deck, pounding the keys, trying out
options, defences, attacks.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I'd never done anything like this
before. Some part of me knew that
this was the thing to do, even
though it could get us killed. Part
of me kept saying that we wouldn't
pull it off, we'd die. But even
stronger was Rikki to me, thinking
about our life after, the big score
pulled down, luck changed for good.
Women were embelems on the map that
was my hustler's life, and Rikki
was the sure sign, the motivation
for what I was doing.
Jack at the phones again.
JACK (V.O.)
My fifteen initial and very oblique
inquiries seemed to breed fifteen
more. I was looking for a service
both Bobby and I imagined as a
requisite part of the world's
clandestine economy, but probably
never had more than five customers
at a time. It would be one that
never advertised.
Bobby at the deck again.
BOBBY (V.O.)
Rikki. What else did I have to
steer by? I didn't love money. I
wouldn't work for power over other
people. I had some basic pride in
my skill, but not enough to keep
pushing. Rikki. I kept her in my
head and she stayed there, and was
there somewhere in cyberspace,
whispering to me through the
fifteen hour sessions logged in.
Jack talking to someone in the Loser.
JACK (V.O.)
We were looking for the world's
heaviest fence, for a non aligned
money laundry capable of dry
cleaning a megabuck online cash
transfer and then forgetting about
it. I went up to see the Finn, to
buy a new blackbox rig cause we
were going broke paying for all
those calls.
INT. THE FINN'S
Daytime now, and The Finn doesn't look too happy about it.
THE FINN
Macao.
JACK
Macao?
THE FINN
The Long Hum family. Stockbrokers.
The Finn pulls out a piece of paper and a chewed up felt pen.
JACK (V.O.)
He even had the number. You want a
fence, ask another fence.
JACK
Finn. About those guns.
The Finn gets a large smile on his face, nods.
THE FINN
What for?
JACK
Backup plan.
INT. AIRPORT - DAY
Bobby with one small bag hustles through the corridors of the
airport, sunglasses on.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I had to make two shuttle runs to
Hong Kong, to keep the deal
straight. Time and money running
down, time away from Rikki. And
always Rikki, when it was all over,
so much time for her.
INT. THE STUDIO - DAY
Jack walks into the studio. Unloads a large military surplus
bag on the desk. Guns.
JACK (V.O.)
I don't know why I decided to go
along with it in the first place. I
was scared of Chrome, and I'd never
been all that hot to get rich. I
tried telling myself it was a good
idea to burn the House of Blue
Lights, because of one supremely
depressing evening I'd spent there,
but I didn't buy it.
Jack field strips a compact assault pistol. He knows exactly
what he's doing, like he's done this a million times before.
JACK (V.O.)
I thought we were going to die.
None of Bobby's good luck charms
could stop that.
Even with the killer program our
mathematical chances weren't too
good.
INT. THE GENTLEMAN LOSER - NIGHT
Jack talks to an urban nomad with dreadlocks in the Loser, a
streetfighter named MILES.
JACK
You follow Rikki that night, keep
her in sight, and phone me at that
time. If I'm not there, or don't
answer in a certain way, grab her
and put her on the first tube out.
Give her this.
Jack hands over a fat envelope.
MILES
No prob, Automatic Jack. Can't be
seen, or not at all seen, I take
care of it.
JACK
Thanks, Miles. At least... Make
sure she gets the note, all right?
Lemme buy you a drink.
JACK (V.O.)
We had to be prepared.
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Bobby writing code at his deck. Jack sits, slowly opening and
closing his myoelectric hand.
JACK
What if we blow it, Bobby?
BOBBY
We won't blow it, Jack. Think about
what happens when we do it. Jack, I
really do love her. She ever tell
you bout back home? No more life
like that for Rikki.
Jack looks away from him.
JACK
Buy her a pair of Ikons first, man.
She's serious about that simstim
scene.
BOBBY
Hey, she won't need to work. She's
my luck. She won't ever have to
work again.
JACK
Your luck. You seen your luck
around lately?
Bobby goes back to work.
JACK (V.O.)
He hadn't. But neither had I. We'd
both been too busy. I missed her.
INT. BAR - NIGHT
Jack pounds back tequilas. His robot arm slams on the counter
heavy with each shot. The BARMAN looks at him, disgruntled.
JACK (V.O.)
Missing her reminded me of my one
night in the House of Blue Lights,
because I'd gone there out of
missing someone else. I'd gotten
drunk to begin with.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Jack walks up, pretty mashed, to a shady looking DEALER on a
street corner. They do a transaction.
JACK (V.O.)
Then I'd started hitting
Vasopressin inhalers. Clinically,
they use the stuff to treat senile
amnesia.
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Jack with a bottle in one hand, inhaler in the other. Lying
down on the bed.
JACK (V.O.)
But the street finds its own uses
for things.
He takes a hit off the inhaler. He wheezes, head falls back,
eyes close.
INT. APARTMENT - DAY
A sunny, normal day. Vivid, halo tinged flashback in
blisteringly rapid cuts. A woman, and all the things that go
with her. Washing her hair, making breakfast, throwing a
plate at the floor, a kiss, sleeping on the couch.
JACK (V.O.)
The alcohol makes you maudlin. The
Vasopressin makes you remember, I
mean really remember. I'd bought
myself an ultraintense replay of a
bad affair. Trouble is, you get the
bad with the good.
The woman is walking away, never looking back.
INT. THE HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS - NIGHT
Jack is being led from the lobby by an attendant. He passes a
tacky holographic waterfall. Led to the same room we've seen
from before, a room washed in blue with small doors like a
mortuary room.
JACK (V.O.)
I don't remember deciding to go to
the Blue Lights, or how I got
there. I had a lot of money that
night, somebody had given Bobby a
big roll for opening a three second
window in someone else's system. I
don't think the crew on the door
liked my good lucks, but my money
was okay.
INT. HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS BAR - NIGHT
Jack continues to drink, slow now. He keeps holding his head
with his left, good hand. Trying not to shut his eyes and
remember. Barman pulls a bill from his closed fist.
BARMAN
What's the matter, big guy? Didn't
you like it? Blue Lights has the
best.
JACK
It was great. It was... Awesome.
BARMAN
That's what I like to hear.
JACK
I had no idea... How we're all
closet necrophiliacs.
Another CUSTOMER at the bar, a huge guy comes close to Jack.
CUSTOMER
Gotta problem, war hero?
JACK
I don't like being called that, you
fucking necrophiliac.
The customer grabs Jack by his shirt. Jack throws the money
in his robotic fist in the man's face.
He grabs the man's huge hand in his. Breaks his fingers like
twigs.
A bouncer tags Jack from behind. It all goes black.
INT. HOTEL BED - NIGHT
Jack wakes up on the bed, bruised and bloody. Then he cries.
JACK (V.O.)
Some things are worse than being
alone.
Flashes, same images from before - Jack's old girlfriend
walking away, never looking back.
Rikki walking down a city street at night, turning to look
over shoulder.
JACK (V.O.)
But what they sell in the House of
Blue Lights is so popular it's
almost legal.
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
DIGITS ON BLACK - 00:00:02:31:54
PUSHING IN on Bobby, fingers flying now, head twitching.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I'm at the heart of Chrome's ICE
now. I ride the virus like a razor
of light, burning away at it.
Everything is quiet, but shadows
loom up from the ICE, reaching at
me, and I feel it like a hammer
tapped on my teeth.
QUICK FLASH - images from cyberspace, the complexity of ICE,
an organic form made of perfect polygons, walls of it
shattering away.
BOBBY
I'm in. I've cut open a window. We
have access.
Jack toggles switches on the racks, prepares the virus
payload.
BOBBY
Burn the bitch down! I can't hold
the thing back.
Jack closes his eyes...
Presses a button on the Russian program case.
Machinery in the room starts to explode in a shower of
sparks. Bobby bolts upright in his chair, screaming.
FLASH of cyberspace again, raw digital scream as it all
collapses, leaving nothing but a black sphere, pulses of
light running from and to it. A new connection is made.
Bobby comes out of it. Starts slamming the deck again like
nothing's happened.
BOBBY
Two minutes to transfer the
account.
JACK
I'm shutting down anything that's
not running now. System took a big
hit when her ICE retaliated a
moment ago.
Jack gingerly switches things off that are still sparking.
BOBBY
Oh shit. Shit. Jack. Plan C.
JACK
No, Bobby.
BOBBY
We can do it Jack. Two minutes.
Just keep me alive for two minutes.
JACK
No, Bobby.
BOBBY
They're going to be here any
minute.
JACK (V.O.)
Chrome's final defense. If you
can't kill what's virtual, kill
what's real. She was onto us. She
couldn't stop the burn, but she
could cut off our heads.
Jack runs, pure adrenalin now. His hand won't stop twitching.
The fear sends bad impulses to the myoelectric hand. He pulls
the surplus bag out from under his bench.
JACK (V.O.)
Everything's telling me to get out
of this room now, to run. But I
can't stop thinking about Rikki.
Bobby is completely calm, can't feel his body, needs to
concentrate fully. He starts some breathing exercises. He
puts in some earplugs.
JACK (V.O.)
I'm doing it for Rikki. I know I
am.
He readies guns along the desk.
The door to the studio blows in.
JACK (V.O.)
I haven't killed anybody since the
war. I don't want to. But I think
of Rikki. The rest is easy.
Two men rush in through the door and Jack drops them with
shotgun blasts. Jack looks over at Bobby, completely still in
the midst of the chaos.
Sees a red dot lining up on his head. Jack looks up.
Blasts the shotgun again. A man falls from the skylight into
the room. Only stunned, with body armor. He pulls out a
pistol and aims at Bobby.
Jack stands in the way and takes the hits.
THE DIGITS COUNT DOWN to 20 seconds.
Jack clicks on empty. Another goon walks in the door. Jack
walks straight at him as he fires. He shields himself with
his arm and the bullets bounce off it. He grabs the goon's
neck in his hand. The rest is easy.
THE DIGITS HIT 0
Bobby poises his finger over a key -
Presses it.
Jack collapses.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack gets himself up. Opens a black plastic case and jabs
himself with some needles.
Bobby unplugs himself, huge grin on his face, tearing up.
The Russian program is melted in its slot.
BOBBY (V.O.)
The burn had taken just under eight
minutes. We'd given the bulk of
Chrome's Zurich account to a dozen
world charities. There was too much
there to move, and we had to break
her, so she wouldn't come after us.
INT. LONG HUM HOUSE - DAY
A Chinese man gets off the phone, goes to his computer.
BOBBY (V.O.)
We took ten percent for ourselves,
which we shot through to the Long
Hum family. They took sixty percent
for themselves and kicked what was
left back to us through the Hong
Kong exchange.
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack walks over to Bobby, they close their hands together.
BOBBY
You all right, pardner?
JACK
I've been worse, cowboy.
The monitor reads out information on their new Swiss account.
Zeroes pile up behind a single seven.
BOBBY
We're rich.
Jack's phone rings. He holds his gut, bleeding seems to have
stopped.
MILES (O.S.)
Rode a bicycle.
JACK
Jack here... Shit, I mean... To all
tomorrow's parties.
MILES (O.S.)
Jack, you all right? What's it all
about, with this girl of yours.
Kinda funny thing here.
It's hard to make out on the phone, but it sounds like sirens
and panic in the background.
JACK
What? Tell me.
MILES
I been on her, like you said, tight
bout out of sight. She goes to the
Loser, hangs out, then she gets a
tube. Goes to The House of Blue
Lights...
JACK
She what?
MILES
Side door. Employees only. No way I
could get past their security.
JACK
Is she there now?
MILES
No, man. I just lost her. It's
insane down here, like the Blue
Lights just shut down, looks like
for good, seven kinds of alarms
going off, everybody running, the
heat out in riot gear... Now
there's all this stuff going on,
insurance guys, real estate types,
vans with Fed plates...
JACK
Miles, where'd she go?
MILES
Lost her, Jack. Sorry.
JACK
Look, Miles, you keep the money in
the envelope, right?
MILES
You serious? Hey, I'm real sorry. I-
Jack hangs up.
Bobby rubs a towel on his chest.
BOBBY
Talked to The Finn. Doctor's coming
for you. Someone to get rid of
these. I figure we should move,
anyways. Wait'll we tell her.
JACK
You tell her yourself, cowboy. I'm
going for a walk.
EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT
Jack walks admist the crowds.
JACK (V.O.)
After awhile it all made sense. She
needed the money. I thought about
Chrome, too. That we'd killed her,
murdered her, as if we'd slit her
throat. The night would be hunting
her now, and she had nowhere to go.
She was back on the street again. I
doubted she'd live till dawn.
Jack walks by the Loser, looks in.
JACK (V.O.)
Finally I remembered the cafe, the
one where I'd met Tiger.
INT. NOODLE POP CAFE
Rikki is sitting in her usual booth, green tea in front of
her. She's wearing big wraparound sunglasses.
Jack sits down across from her. She takes the sunglasses off.
Blue eyes. Tally Isham blue. Close on the eyes now, ringed
with a Zeiss Ikon trademark around the iris.
JACK
They're beautiful. You made some
money.
RIKKI
Yeah, I did. But I won't make any
more. Not that way.
JACK
I think that place is out of
business.
RIKKI
Oh.
JACK
It doesn't matter. Bobby's waiting
for you. We just pulled down a big
score.
RIKKI
No. I've got to go. I guess he
won't understand, but I've got to
go.
Jack nods. His arm swings up to take her hand, battered now.
Her tiny hand closes in his, and the fingers slowly close.
RIKKI
I've got a one way ticket to
Hollywood. Tiger knows some people
I can stay with. Maybe I'll even
get to Chiba City.
JACK
One final piece from your advisor?
RIKKI
Sure.
JACK
That Tiger is a real dickhead.
Rikki smiles.
INT. THE STUDIO - MORNING
Rikki is packing her things. Jack sits in a big chair.
Doesn't move, sort of easy now. Bobby won't look away from
his deck, staring at the monitor and his new future.
Rikki goes out into the hallway.
RIKKI
I'm leaving now.
Bobby ignores her. Jack gets up and makes his way over to
her, brings her bags. He gives her a gentle kiss.
JACK (V.O.)
Something came up inside me. A
sudden stopping of the breath, in a
place where no word is. But she had
a plane to catch. At least she told
me her real name.
She picks up her bags, heads off.
Bobby puts his shades on.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I didn't understand. Jack told me
later that she'd served her
purpose, it was for the best. But I
didn't buy that. I was going to be
a legend now, we'd pulled one of
the Big Scores.
INT. THE GENTELMAN LOSER - NIGHT
Bobby Quine at the door again, watching the night's traffic
go by. Dressed better, shades on.
BOBBY (V.O.)
I didn't need good luck anymore. I
just wanted something new, and our
money couldn't buy that, and I'd
always be afraid that Rikki was the
one. That's all I really wanted.
The one.
INT. THE HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS - NIGHT
We're moving inside the House of Blue Lights again, and we go
back to that room we've seen before, but this time we walk
into it, and we go towards one of the doors like a mortuary
slab, passing through it, and inside is Rikki, naked, asleep.
In a small chamber lit blue.
RIKKI (V.O.)
You worked three hour shifts.
They'd hook you up to the machine
and give you something like REM
sleep.
We pass by her face, her closed eyes, tracking along her neck
and following a cable into a computer set in the wall. It
monitors her vital signs and indicates that she's in induced
sleep.
RIKKI (V.O.)
Your body and your reflexes took
care of business.
We're pulling away now, back along Rikki's body. She stirs
slightly, like a lover asleep in the middle of the night.
RIKKI (V.O.)
It's so popular, it's almost legal.
The customers need someone and want
to be alone at the same time, which
has always been the name of this
game, and then we had the
neuroelectrics to let them have it
both ways. And I'll forget the
House of Blue Lights over time, but
sometimes I remember orgasms,
little flares of silver on the edge
of sleep that were real.
And back out now, through closed doors and an empty House of
Blue Lights, and outside its closed and the lights are off
for good.
RIKKI (V.O.)
Sometimes I even miss Bobby.
Sometimes... I miss Jack. But that
part of my life, it's a dream.
INT. THE STUDIO - NIGHT
Jack picks up his phone.
JACK
I'd like the information on
Jennifer Lewis, flight 319 to LAX.
She's changing that. To Chiba City.
That's right. Japan.
He puts his credit card into the phone and punches in his PIN
number.
JACK
First class. Make that a return
ticket.
Jack puts some large bags on his shoulders, looks around The
Studio, empty now, rain falling through the broken skylight.
JACK (V.O.)
But I guess she cashed the return
fare, or else she didn't need it,
because she hasn't come back.
EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT
Jack is walking. Stops to look at some posters.
JACK (V.O.)
And sometimes late at night I'll
pass a window with posters of
simstim stars, all those beautiful,
indentical eyes staring back at me
out of faces that are nearly
identical, and sometimes the eyes
are hers...
CLOSE ON the posters, the homogeny of humanity displayed
there, the mammalian ritual of the need for celebrity and its
familiarity.
JACK (V.O.)
And sometimes the eyes are hers,
but none of the faces are, none of
them ever are...
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
As before: Rikki walks down an empty street at night. She
stops and turns to look over her shoulder.
JACK (V.O.)
And I see her far out on the edge
of all this sprawl of night and
cities, and then she waves goodbye.
And Rikki waves.
CUT TO BLACK.