Alien 3 script
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chamber, are decorated with official U.P.P. art, like a blend of Mexican
Socialists agitprop murals and Syd Mead techo-fantasy. She passes evidence of
brief violent struggle: a wall splashed with dried blood, a single shoe,
smashed equipment, ragged acid-scars in the deck.
She looks like a child now, moving through all this, small and alone. But not
helpless: she still moves with a cat's wariness, her gun ready.
Three face-huggers scuttle across at an intersection of corridors, tails
She comes to a door that opens onto Rodina's central hub, a large cylindrical
space surrounding a core of equipment. The door is ajar; she edges through...
Virtually the station's entire crew, perhaps a hundreds people, have been
cocooned along the multi-storey column, a bas-relief of human bodies and
She stares from a railing, appalled
, then slips through the door.
INT. ACHORPOINT -- OPS ROOM
Rosetti, Jackson, Bishop
I don't know what they did down there, but it's
screwed up internal comm-link for the whole
area; I can't raise 'em...
One of Jackson's consoles CHIMES; her central screen suddenly glows with a
hi-rez simulation of Rodina.
Rodina's got company...
Silent approach of the U.P.P. cruiser Nikolai Stoiko, a vicious-looking mile-
long slab of armament. Stoiko slows, comes to an ominous halt.
The commando bolts down a corridor. Total desperation. She's lost her gun.
A CRASH behind her. The beast's shrill RAGE. She throws herself through the
first available door -- and sees the interceptor waiting. She scrambles up a
ladder, through the hatch, and frantically begins to activate systems. Sirens
begin to SOUND in the laun
ch bay. The interceptor's hatch closes as the twin
gates of the bay begin to swing open -- and the beast is on her, striking at
the view-port in the hatch, inches from her face. She flips open a safety-
override on the interceptor's joystick and thumbs a red button.
Total overdrive: the interceptor BLASTS out through the half open gates in a
fireball of exhaust gases, the beast and the service ladder tumbling after
EXT. SPACE -- STOIKO
Something streak from the bow of the cruiser...
INT. ANCHORPOINT -- OPS ROOM
Jackson huddled over her screen.
EXT. SPACE -- RODINA -- INTERCEPTOR IN F.G.
The U.P.P. missile takes out the station. Whiteout of nuclear EXPLOSION; the
interceptor is a black blot tumbling toward us like a singed leaf in a
INT. OPS ROOM
The simulation of Rodina on Jackson's screen is surrounded by an expanding
blue sphere. The sphere stops expanding. The simulation blurs into digital
c, fades as the sphere begins to contract...
Nuked 'em! Twenty megs! That coded
I don't believe it! They send for help, their
own people nuked 'em!
Maybe they asked for it...
That's an order, Jackson!
Bishop looks at Rosetti as though he's about to offer an opinion, but doesn't.
Maybe they'll nuke us too...
No. They're leaving...
EXT. SPACE -- STOIKO
The cruiser begins to move, accelerates, is gone.
INT. OPS ROOM
Yeah. And they violated the fucking arms treaty,
too, didn't they? Well, Colonel Rosetti, how
about a situation update? We got, lessee, fifty-
six missing crew members as of fifteen hundred
INT. THE MALL
Deserted. The only SOUNDS are Muzak and the trickles of an artificial
waterfall. Some signs of trouble: an overturned trash canister, someone's
red nylon baseball cap on the polished concrete.
Walker strolls around a corner beside the bar with a pulse-rifle, grenades,
and assorted gadgetry slung across his chest. Goes to the bar entrance,
nudges the door open with the barrel of the rifle. Nobody there. Same soccer
game on the big screen, but the sound is off. Silent cheering crowd rising to
its feet, the flicker of the holo-game consoles. He glances around the mall,
enters. Crosses to the bar, checks behind it, then fishes up a bi
jug of liquor. Opens it, drink from the jug.
Behind him, a mug topples, CLATTERS on the floor. He slowly lowers the
liquor to the counter; just as slowly, he turns. A beast is there, waiting,
beyond the Glimmer of the holo-games.
Walker and the beast move simultaneously. But he doesn't go for his gun -- he
grabs the control unit hanging on his chest.
An unmanned power-loader walks straight through the glass facade, plowing
tables and chairs out of its way, big vise-grip claws extended. The Alien
SCREAMS, leaps for it, but the steel claws close and grip.
Walker twiddles the controls; the power-loader responds, pinning the Alien
against the wall. The Alien writhes and HISSES, striking furiously at the
hydraulic arm. Walker tightens the grip, locks the loader in place. Picks up
the jug of liquor and has another swallow.
Beat. As his satisfied grin is replaced by something else. The Change...
usk. Spence is crossing the mirco-meadow with a wire basket of
food the module's population of small primates. Moths flutter through
narrowing beams of sunlight as the louvers gradually close overhead. CRICKETS
in the long grass.
She enters the scaled-down forest, ducking branches, and Spanish moss. Begins
to make Tk-tk-tk sound, calling the lemur, the monkeys...
And stops. Suddenly aware of a stillness, an absolute silence. Even the
She turns -- gasps. The primates have been cocooned in the branches of a
tree. And screams as something pounces on her from above, the transformed
lemur: a very small Alien. She bats the thing away with the strength of
desperation. It hits the ground HISSING; she hurls the basket of food at it
and bolts from the forest, sobbing.
INT. A TUNNEL
WHINE of an approaching engine. The six-wheeled carrier come INTO VIEW,
Hicks driving, alone. His face is fixed, white. The carrier
the tunnel wall, strikes sparks, bounces off. He hardly seems to notice. He
plows into a row of big plastic crates, tumbling them like a child's blocks,
bringing the vehicle to a halt. Beat. He look up from the controls: the
doors of a freight elevator.
INT. A CORRIDOR OFF THE MALL
Automatic CHIME as elevator doors open, revealing Hicks and his gun.