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
