Sorry, I actually dislike first-class restaurants, you know...
No problem, me too. May be even more. Many people discourage them and not because they are poor. That's too primitive reason. [Adjusts the served order, continues] The very point is System [Abruptly stops, sipping the drink]
CAROLINE, just having sipped too, glancing at JUDE's drink:
Well, it's not a weekend, so no
You drink only on weekends?
Nope, now too [Sips the drink]
Dodger... So what do your tattoos actually mean? Pretty complicated
Those on the neck's sides... Well, every express my remonstrance somehow
CAROLINE, after a mutual pause:
I'm recently curious about odd skinheads, walking around. Hope, it wouldn't be dangerous to walk some evening
JUDE, pursing the lips thoughtfully:
Me too... But let's put it apart
JUDE's phone calls.
[Man, hasn't she revealed your Confederate cross yet while fuckin'?]
JUDE, bending under the table:
I left my phone on solely for urgent calls, now keep on fumbling in ears [Reverting to CAROLINE] Sorry, a cheeky friend of mine
I don't catch privacy [Now examining the ring] Fabolous, Jude. Platinum-mounted
My pleasure. Order somethin' more?
I would like to go. Actually I have a pressing business soon, so...
No, thanks. I'll call you a few hours later
Both leave the snack-bar.
EXT. SNACK-BAR ENTRANCE - CONT'D
JUDE walks some distance, looks back and gets into backstreet. He faces some man not older than him in a black hood. Both speak low.
Can't you really last without me for some time?
Man, Bodo is a bungler, just locked up with two girls after huge beer
I'll make him intelligent. Let's go
Both rush to secret address.
INT. SECRET ADDRESS - CONT'D
JUDE and ROOSTER enter the lodgings, filled with youth. Some hot, drunken debates, several felt asleep. JUDE flies some distance and unlocks a room by a pin from the pocket. BODO, late 20s, with two 20-some girls taken aback.
I ordered you to keep an eye on folks till my return, now I'm sorry
Ordered? Jude, are you still joking?
Unfortunately no. We are on secret address so far, learn managing the people. I don't like when a trustworthy lets down. The girls now pass to me, as settled.
BODO is at loss. JUDE and girls get out of room.
Now listen. This is not just punch-and-kicks nor lame street brawls. It's a clash of ideologies. From this moment our slackness would lead to adversity. A friend of mine now finishes working on permanent retreat to the underground. The more bigger the city is, the more wider are its underground venues. So take notice
DAY 1. EXT. CITY, FAIR WEATHER - MORNING
SUBTITLE: Washington D.C., four years later
Transition from overview to some impressive building.
INT. U.S. SUPREME COURT - MORNING
A SPOKESMAN, early 30s, is approaching a high doors in the hallway. He encounters a bit older official in a dress as strict as his one.
SPOKESMAN, insuring himself as he does not see the collocutor's face:
Associate Justice Emerson?
A badly lit man thoughtfully turns, like unaware. The tall man sees his bald skull, reflecting the specks of mild daylight. Indeed, it is him.
ASSOCIATE JUSTICE, calmly:
The decision was approved unanimously
The SPOKESMAN stands still for a while. He then sticks his sight to the smooth marble floor.
Well, let them expect the last day
The SPOKESMAN understands the spur to announce the Court decision.
DAY 1. INT. NEW YORK CITY, WILLIAM'S APARTMENT - MORNING
Alarm clock jingles. A ripe man WILLIAM kisses his sleeping wife RANDY, wakes up, washes, then walks in his T-shirt and boxers into a high-tech kitchen. 3D holographic wall screen turns on automatically. WILLIAM prepares breakfast, breaking to switch canals. Ultimately stops on some, continues doing the meal. Camera sticks to the screen, while WILLIAM flashes by. Some news interview with a certain MAN going on.
[...I think there is no place for such things even in spirit. But troubles never come singly - we have numerous militant counter-cultures worldwide: urban car arsonists in France, nationalists in Germany and so on. All of them are weird and dangerous as never before. When the computers evolved, nobody was thinking a cyber terrorism would appear. Similarly, our community at the dusk of the 21st century has reached a point, favorable for what was once called `the sum of all evil'. Each country faced huge problems unique to itself, which hinders the common efforts. Still I believe it's not a Judge Dredd's world, but we shouldn't waste the time].
[Do you assume it's all about the counter-cultures, not crime as well?]
WILLIAM finally sits to glance.
[Decidedly yes. For the nowadays countercultures eclipse the crime. You think they are nowhere, but they are everywhere, ready to vanish from any place you'd point. They are ghosts, blunting your vigilance, still being elusive].
WILLIAM's little daughter MEGAN appears.
MEGAN, coming to food-preparing device:
So you got an `A' yesterday?
MEGAN nods.
Mom said I'm little Mozart. I don't look like him though
Mom meant you are a nugget like him
MEGAN goes outside after saying `goodbye'.
DAY 1. INT. U.S. SUPREME COURT - LATE MORNING
A semicircle on the smooth, homogeneous floor, faceted due to closed shutters of hidden automatical chairs. Only two out of chairs towered above: black and blue, fitting to bodies thanks to their material, with a Court logo on backs. Two judges, sitting on them. First, cross-legged with hands entwinned on his knee, second with the hands casted backwards, over the chair's back, with the head lowered.
FIRST JUDGE, breaking the silence:
Some vagueness felt still
I mean I hope we'll uproot it soon, not just cut it off
FIRST JUDGE glances over the room: a smooth, dark walls, slightly bended ceiling 50 m above, an exit somewhere and no one else.
FIRST JUDGE, still looking around, now sniffing:
Looks like we are making history anyway.
Looks at the watch then, continues:
The two are leaving the room unhurried.
Some say Washington is nicer than NY
A matter of taste. Or residency
Both laugh.
Any city is quite pretty at night though - all those important buildings nearly 3,000 feet high, flared with xenon...
The two enter a dining hall. Almost everything is computer-aided, also serving individual eating cells, used optionally for privacy.
NY is tough enough, that's not my judicial point. [Nibbles a reddish apple, cont'd]. A friend of mine used to work there as a skyscraper engineer in 2082. Almost every vital stuff is extremely firm. That doesn't belittle the urban beauty though. And it just disguises the real firmness... Some soda?
No, I'm just waiting for 7Up, a new party's loading
DAY 2. EXT. NEW YORK AVENUE - MORNING
MEGAN passes a distance by sidewalk before facing a densely tattoed skinhead STRANGER, 20s, in a vest.
STRANGER, barring the way:
MEGAN confused. An African-American ROE, 30s, visible somewhere behind the STRANGER. MEGAN eyes him all over uncertainly:
ROE starts coming near.
Your dad is the federal marshals' chief, eh?
ROE, shouts, speeding his stride:
STRANGER, pursing the lips:
So he is. William, right? [Squats down, cont'd] You know, men are really created equal, but some think they should be as equal as others. That's the chip. People are different. But they are some who don't get it. They level each soul.
STRANGER, aware, after short pause:
So where does hatred come from, princess?
MEGAN notices ROE now being too close to the STRANGER. MEGAN awes as ROE grabs the STRANGER from behind, pushing him to the ground. Scuffle blasts out. ROE strikes some blows onto the opponent's face, bloodying it well. The STRANGER squeezes ROE's throat, hitting his solar plexus. ROE fades down as STRANGER wakes up to hit him with boot. MEGAN runs away. ROE ultimately finds enough force to cut down the STRANGER and press him down.
Know who you are?! A sheet from my big, fat ass!
STRANGER, hardly, but smiling:
Say it loud, darkey! Let us hear that!!
ROE strikes two hard blows so that his opponent becomes unconscious. More blood spills on the ground. ROE then rests on the back for a while.
ROE, turning on walkie-talkie:
William? It's militia. Watch out now. Looks like they've found the joint in the armour
DAY 3. EXT. NEW YORK CITY - DAWN
A big open ground somewhere and a chilly air. About 200 tall, robot-like men of the Group `Sierra' in a massive smooth black-and-red suits, covering the necks till the stout, equipped belts. The heads are concealed into the black, iridescent helms with a non-reflective grayish eyeshades. The `federal marshal' inscription is on the half's top of every suite. The close order is foremosted by MARCUS LODD, 32, aside in a similar suit and roughly of the same height, but with his eyeshade lifted.
Ok, I'm not here to make a high-flown speech. Nor am I here to waste the time. The goal of ours remains as plain as you were explained before. Plain, but decisive. Group `Tango' will take care of the rest. So let God have mercy on us. For we don't
MARCUS waves. The group scatters to four huge blackish vehicles with the red-and-blue blinkers, turned on. The vehicles go in a row at high speed through the city. Some futuristic architecture and mirrorish skyscrapers, flashing by.
DAY 3. INT. ONE OF THE VEHICLES WITH FEDERAL MARSHALS, GOING BY HIGHWAY - EARLY MORNING
Two opposite rows of the marshals, sitting fastened. The eyeshades are still lowered so it is not possible to determine where one looks at. The two talking marshals are Brian and Jeff, sitting opposite. The voices are muffled a bit, coming through slits.
How do you feel yourself?
Hopefully. I have no patience left
BRIAN understandably slaps the Jeff's shoulder.
Cut to BRIAN, as seen from the inside of Jeff's eyeshade.
Many militiamen and volunteers, cops and national guardsmen were recently killed. That shouldn't be ominous, huh?
EXT. HIGHWAY - CONT'D
The vehicles still go on a high speed with the blinkers twinkling. Suddenly a distant flare somewhere, RPG rushes with a smoky trace. Closeup of the one of the vehicles as the missile hits it's left side. Bo-o--m-m-m! Instant outburst, the blaze is reflected on the vehicle's black surface, but there is no injury. The vehicle just reels, ultimately swaying aside. It lies on the right side, three other vehicles stop ahead. They then turn rapidly backwards to shield the tossed vehicle in an upside U form.
The front door of the tossed vehicle opens, the driver FRANK emerges. A slight door dent is visible.
Got it? A hit at one hundred mph!
JEFF gets out to help from another vehicle along with the others.
JEFF, narrowing the eyes:
Just a stubborn amateur with a sound-guided RPG... A pretty long way from another borough, though on emergency lane
MARCUS approaches, looks around:
Whoever they are, that doesn't befit to any side. Faster, recover!!
DAY 3. EXT. NEW YORK STREET - EVENING
Some SKINHEAD in a hood, 20s, walks by the sidewalk with the arms in a pockets. He finally enters a small tech store. One SALESMAN, 50s, by the counter.
I need some mighty boombox, not lame
SALESMAN gets out, gazes around for a few seconds before putting two portable boomboxes nearby.
Two devil's pieces, dude. One is a bit simpler with a bitrate amplifier up to five hundred. Ninety hours all-sufficiently. Both crashproof, with stereo subwoofers, hot buttons and other stuff.
SKINHEAD weighs both on the shoulders. Then chooses one to weigh again.
SKINHEAD nods. Both go to a separate, soundproof room. SALESMAN chooses some default piece, turns on. A dreadful stereo sound bursts out, slight vibration of something is visible. The SKINHEAD recoils.
SKINHEAD, trying to outvoice, but vainly:
The boombox still plays for a few seconds before getting turned off by the SALESMAN. They go back to the counter.
SKINHEAD, surveying the tested one:
Catches the nod, pays.
EXT. NEW YORK, WILLIAM'S APARTMENT - EVENING
Some streamlined car stops on its private parking. WILLIAM steps to the house. He passes the finger-print and iris scan, then enters the house.
INT. HALL, WILLIAM notices RANDY.
They approach to hug.
Not only me was waiting for you
She points to table, crammed with some food.
RANDY, as WILLIAM goes to sit down:
Will, why your lads, not just police or SWAT?
The cops are now pawns. SWAT sturdies don't fit, it's a touch-and-go for them. And all infiltration attempts failed
Wow... So what's actually goin' on now?
WILLIAM, watching the news on a 3D holographic screen:
The racists decided to strike the ultimate blow before gettin' smashed for good. One out of two groups will deal with that as the beasts are about to invade the Bronx. Another group will swoop their heart. We have a SCOTUS' and mayor's approval. The beasts have passed themselves a sentence. Wish goodluck to Marcus' guys. If the SWAT is Themis' sword, we are her machine gun
DAY 3. EXT. NEW YORK - NIGHT
Fancy Lamborghini, going tardily. CAROLINE, now 23, sitting in. Other vehicles driving along.
INT. LAMBORGHINI - CONT'D
A GPS, helping out CAROLINE. Some sophisticated electronics. CAROLINE glances at GPS display. She finally notices the luminous detour signs and divided transport streams. The girl swells out a gum bubble and decides to drive straight. She proceeds several yards before hearing some driver's slack voice:
No way further, the Bronx access' on hold!
CAROLINE, loud, but doubtfully:
She keeps driving until noticing a huge traffic sluices, closing up. The big laser `Welcome to Bronx' inscription fades out in the air meanwhile. CAROLINE looks at the info bar below GPS: `Manhattan-Bronx routes closed temporarily by NYC authorities. Detour lanes opened'.
CAROLINE, disappointedly:
She chooses a number, calls.
Hi, it's me. Listen, the borough thoroughfare is shut...
CAROLINE'S GRANDPA, interrupting:
[I know. The whole access is blocked, they just don't want a harm. SCOTUS prepares a big wiping!]
CAROLINE, after some pause, knowingly:
Yep. Everybody's advised staying at home, not just blacks. Turn home too, the mob have already rushed
CAROLINE, clasping the tongue:
She looks around deliberately to turn onto the detour lane.
DAY 4. EXT. NEW YORK - BEFORE DAWN
A huge counter-culture mob advances, many 20s-30s, bare-trunked, showing intense tattoos. Some skinheads, some punk-styled. Others hooded, with a mouth bands. Almost everyone is armed. Cut to some rap-styled 20s, rushing out of blocks to flow into the mob. Back to mobsters, armed with huge chain hammers, crushing the nearby cars. Others with baseball bats, spiny clubs and firearm. A mobster untwists his chain hummer and hits one elder woman. Poo-o-o! The head smashes like a melon. Others scratch the cars, pierce the tyres. Several break the shop windows, stealing some goods.
Finally a police road block becomes visible with the NYPD helicopter, soaring out with a search light. A certain mobster kneels, aims with RPG, hits the block and the helicopter subsequently. Explosions light up the mob for a while.
EXT. JAMMED DETOUR LANE - CONT'D
INT. LAMBORGHINI
CAROLINE waits reclining as the car stands. She ultimately gets out, securing the vehicle distantly. CAROLINE proceeds to the street lavatory, stumbles on counter-culture couple beyond the unlocked door. A Goth-like girl STEPHANIE, 19, sits on the laps of a GUY, 20s.
CAROLINE, touching her nape confusedly:
Turns round as the guy reaches her.
No, no, no, you've probably not got it... It's Stephanie, be acquainted. [Comes face to face, whispers, grasping CAROLINE's nates]. We've patently found the common language
DAY 4. EXT. BRONX - CONT'D
A portable boombox roars, rending the air with some song. The mob approaches the borough. A knocked down police officer evades a maul, which crashes the ground. He falls with a back shot instantly, trying to escape.
The mob enters the deserted Bronx, leaving the fires, shambles and dead behind. A skirmishes occur with some hardcore African-Americans. A pack of black criminals retreats into some house, where a stout, senior teeth-armed Afro seats on a chair near the stairs. The pack locks up in apartment as the mob chases them. The sitting Afro opens intense fire and the pack begins covering him from the house. Afro gets numerous shots to the flak jacket before being crushed by the mob's press. The racists finally burst into the house, slaughtering all criminals.
Cut to a huge, tall, tattoed skinhead leader BODO, 30s, browless, going in front of the crowd's body. BODO stops the goers via outstretched arms. A thunderous music still plays though. Big Confederation flags and the Ku Klux Klan's fiery crosses tremble in mob.
Welcome us, the Big Apple's Worm
Cut to 200 federal marshals, distinctly outnumbered, but nearing to in their polished suits. The metal sleeves slide apart beneath and the submachine guns emerge with a chirp. The marshals step further, arranging one continuous row several yards ahead the mob. The eyeshades gleam blindly.
A microphone wire stretches out on the MARCUS's helm. The emitted voice is slightly echoed.
In the name of the United States Supreme Court you are hereby subdued to unconditional surrender. Lay down arms now!
BODO takes an extended bottle and rag. He shows the rag in the right hand for a while so that the SCOTUS logo on it becomes recognizable to the opposite side. BODO then tucks the rag into the bottle and fires it up, making the Molotov cocktail.
He leans back and throws out the burning bottle far off.
The cocktail smashes onto a certain marshal's suit. A glassy outburst as the fiery gasoline spills down the suit. The marshal bursts into flame, recoiling. Nonetheless the fire withers in a few seconds as the fluid burns away on a proof suit. The marshal takes his stand again.
MARCUS, observing, as his eyeshade mirrors the blaze:
I knew it gonna be a raunchy date
BODO purses his lips, gives a sign to rush. The mob rushes amuck on marshals and adjacent apartments, aiming to assault the walled up windows and doors.
DAY 4. INT. DIXIES' HIDDEN ASYLUM - DAWN
JUDE sits on stool, sipping the beer amid artless interior. A cellphone rings. Ku Klux Klan's leader STARKY, 40s, is on that side.
Man, this gets grave now. Hip-hopish bonzes assailed. There is no drunken metallists and hoi polloi for us anymore, got it?!
Then we are afforded the honour. Come here, it's time to talk
I said `come here'!! Otherwise Dixies will tear your hooded bugaboos at one!
JUDE quits, smashes down the beer bottle.
DAY 4. INT. WILLIAM'S BEDROOM - DAWN
WILLIAM can't sleep, resting on chest with the arm, touching floor. He finally ups, goes to MEGAN'S bed as RANDY flutters drowsily. WILLIAM adjusts the comforter on sleeping daughter, stands for a while, and goes to some room. RANDY awaits him nearby. She approaches him closely.
Who will guard the guards?
WILLIAM, exchanging glances, promptly:
We. By ourselves. Sleep easy, Megan stays at home `til my decision
WILLIAM instantly goes back to bed. RANDY continues standing, lost in reverie.
INT. DIXIES' HIDDEN ASYLUM - CONT'D
Broad-shouldered STARKY passes through the half-lit corridor. He finally stops as a Dixie guide going behind now points the entrance.
JUDE reads something on his palmtop when notices STARKY.
STARKY sits down on chair, wipes out the sweat. He then folds the arms, waiting for more.
DAY 4. EXT. BRONX OUTSKIRTS - DAWN
Six Dixies squatting and standing. The squatting are the one holding his slashed, bloody eyebrow, and that with the conked nose. The eyes of one's, standing expand as he sees several armed blacks in rap outfit, running to them.
Now kick the bucket, mazfuckas!
A bullet shower pins Dixies down to ground. A reciprocal fire is opened. One skinhead's gun becomes out of ammo and the nail driver is applied. All Dixies turn dead ultimately and the blacks come closer. One Afro is lethally pierced by nails, another drags his punctured leg. A certain black squats down to a body, taking out the knife:
My producer will pay me a bonus for your ears, you know?
DAY 4. EXT. BRONX - CONT'D
The clash continues. The suits remain proof almost to any weapon as marshals fight in the mob's heart. They are clubbed, fired, pricked, but only small dents appear. The mob is driven mad, chopped by the arm tenons as marshals are out of ammo now. Several marshals curb the mobsters, who are assaulting the houses and damaging the cars.
Cut to the crowd, falling upon fighting marshals to press some down. Wigs on the green. The marshals ward off lying, covered with enemy blood, then wake up as the mob thins out. Other marshals end dealing with vandals, securing the steadfast houses.
The depleted mob recedes.
INT. DIXIES' HIDDEN ASYLUM - CONT'D
STARKY, jerking the head:
Man, just say where's your heroic kidnapper now, huh?
JUDE gets nervous again. He takes a medium Confederate flag and stretches it out in front of STARKY.
STARKY sits as previously, not stirring.
JUDE (cont'd after few seconds):
JUDE puts the flag away then.
DAY 4. INT. CAROLINE'S APARTMENT - MORNING
CAROLINE stands in the bathroom, curing the grazes by the mirror. She then washes her face and brushes the teeth. Next she goes towards the bed and sits down on it. Caroline dials her grandpa.
Yes, me too. Did you get home safely?
CAROLINE, slightly confused:
She abruptly cancels the talk. CAROLINE smacks the lips and checks out the kitchen. She goes out for shopping after a quick dressing. CAROLINE walks through some streets, enters the mall. She buys some food, goes out. CAROLINE glances round cautiously while going, but everything is quite ordinary. She enters apartments back, arranges the goods and begins reading the web news. A headline is visible on flat display: `The foolhardy resistance erupts as law enforcement proceeds in South'. Another line crawls up then: `The counter-cultures align no more'.
DAY 4. EXT. SOUND HOUSE - MORNING
Security stands by as Dixies and KKK members arrive afoot. The guards are gripping the guns, but are pelted by flick-knifes to throats as racists enter the chic hip-hop studio interior. An instant slaughter occurs, only few racists die. The mob accommodates in the studio. The KKK-s are still in their white hoods, roaming like ghosts.
Dixie BOB plumps into the elegant coach: