Alien 3 script
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Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 Next page with a compliment of fifteen. A dozen marines, an android, a company representative, and the former warrant officer of a merchant vessel... TULLY So? JACKSON So, the bio-readout gives us the warrant officer, one -- count him -- marine, and a nine-year-old girl. Makes you wonder what happened out there, doesn't it? TULLY So ask 'em. Wake 'em up and ask 'em. Them, not me. JACKSON But that's the good news, Tully. Three hours before Sulaco turned up, we docked a priority shuttle out of Gateway. Two passengers. Milisci, Tully. Weapons Division. TULLY That the bad news? JACKSON They want the ship pulled in, with full biohazard precautions, by oh-eight-hundred hours. BioLab techs are priority for the deck squad. That's you Tully. The phone screen goes blank. TULLY (heartfelt) Shit. He begins to fumble through his sleeping bag, looking for his clothes -- disturbing SPENCE, a young technician, who sits up groggily, hugging the bag to her breasts. SPENCE What? What is it? TULLY It's called the military-industrial complex; it's called my ass out of bed; it's called jerking me around... Any way you wanna call it, it's the same bullshit... INT. CORRIDOR Tully, groggy and irritated, emerges from his cubicle, wearing a battered leather flight jacket, its sleeves plastered with embroidered logo-patches for various products. His photo, name, job description, and number are slotted on the door in a transparent envelope -- TULLY, CHARLES A. TECH-5, TISSUE CULTURE LAB. DISSOLVE TO: INT. ANCHORPOINT -- DRY DOCK A plai n of gray steel, the size of several carrier decks, walls lost in dark and distance. Service vehicles lumber past in the b.g. Massive floods on towers of raw scaffolding backlight twenty waiting figures, the Deck Squad. Their spacesuits are white, clinical; over these they wear disposable Biohazard Envelopes of filmy translucent plastic. Some are Colonial Marines, armed with pulse-rifles or flame-throwers. Others are scientists and technicians, carrying recording and sampling gear. Their voice, over helmet- radio are furred with STATIC. Something CLANGS and BOOMS overhead, metal thunder. OFFICER (V.O.) Deck Squad brace for pressure drop. She's in the cradle. She's coming in. A sudden WIND rushes across the deck, then dies. RUMBLE overhead as a monstrous hanger door rolls slowly open, revealing the naked stars. The dark hull of Sulaco blots out the stars as it descends. OFFICER (V.O.) (continuing) Entry team to secondary cargo lock. A cherry-picker vehicle, with extended boom, WHINES up to Sulaco. The lock SIGHS open on darkness. BUZZ of static, indistinct RADIO exchanges, as a half-dozen lights play over the drop-ship, the walls of the lock. Tully enters, stares around, eyes wide through his faceplate. Beside his is a MARINE with a pulse-rifle -- obviously psyched for combat. TULLY Lights, how come they got no lights? MARINE Hey, man... He shines his light on a blackened scar on the bulkhead. MARINE (continuing) Lookit that. Been some action in here... TULLY Action? MARINE Man, what the fuck you supposed to be doing here? TULLY Forging a new home f or mankind in the depths of space. The Marine isn't amused. Tully raises an instrument; it makes a SUCKING noise. TULLY (continuing) Collecting atmosphere samples. MARINE So just do it, right. He move away. TULLY Sure. But he doesn't want to be alone; hustles after the Marine. OFFICER (V.O.) Technician Tully to the hypersleep vault, atmosphere sample... MARINE Sounds like you. TULLY Yeah. MARINE Let's not keep the man waiting. INT. ENTERANCE TO HYPERSLEEP VAULT The Marine OFFICER holds up a tracker -- one of the small motion-sensors familiar from the previous film. Beside him are TWO MORE MARINES. The Officer raises the tracker and scans the face of the door. EXTREME CLOSEUP of tracker screen: zero. ANGLE OFFICER One sample, here. SOUND of Tully's device sucking air. OFFICER (continuing) Get another on the way in. Have they patched line in yet? SECOND MARINE Yessir. Lights on in there. The Officer presses a button. The door slides open. Bright, white. The aisle. Empty. The row of capsules. Tully's Marine is first through the door, gun ready, slow, careful. Tully steps in after him, raises his instrument, takes a sample. INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT The other two Marines move past Tully. Soft SCUFF of their boots on the deck. Tully doesn't know quite what to do. Lowers his sampler, hesitates. The first Marine reaches Newt's capsule. He lowers his rifle. MARINE (s omething startled, almost gentle in his voice) They're here... Eight inches of razor-sharp serrated tail plunges out through the back of his suit as he's lifted off his feet by something we can't see. Ugly RIPPING noise as the ALIEN withdraws its stinger -- blood tidily contained by the translucent membrane of the biohazard envelope. |
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