Conflicts of the last progenitors

Lo-Cheun reaches into his leg pocket, withdraws a springblade and hands it to the Female Bullet.

LO-CHEUN

Four blades left in there.

FEMALE BULLET

Grazi, Sir.

The lights flicker by less rapidly as the train slows. All three soldiers stare through the windows, the tunnel lights painting their faces alternately yellow and bright green.

The train stops. The doors open.

22.

INT. STERNUM G / CENTRAL PASSAGEWAY - SAME

Lo-Cheun and his recruits warily walk out of the train, up the mint-colored foam hallway. Yellow lights shine from beneath a glass runner in the center of the passage, one bulb before each of the seventy turquoise doors.

The three soldiers tread softly in their foam-soled boots; their weapons are in hand and their eyes flicker about, alert.

Without warning, all of the lights turn off...except for one bulb fifty feet down the hall. Lo-Cheun and his soldiers note the door the lone light shines upon. An instant later, all of the lights flicker back on.

The trio hastily walks up the hall, their foam-soled boots barely audible. (The Indian Bullet limps, but strides apace.) They pass doors and vents and tubing, but always keep their focus on the previously noted portal up ahead.

Lo-Cheun reaches the specified turquoise doorway, upon which is written ‘Fleischwerk Bundle 338-Y’; he motions for the Bullets to stand behind him. They listen for a moment.

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)

Pones aqui. En la mitar de este

cerebro con-

MALE VOICE (V.O.)

Un momento.

Lo-Cheun nods to his two recruits; they nod in response.

Lo-Cheun reaches his Fleischwerk arm toward the door; he presses the hairless, nail-less gray digits to the foam, gripping his skull-adorned black cylinder in his other hand.

INT. FLEISCHWERK BUNDLE ROOM 338-Y - SAME

Contained within convex domes throughout the long, narrow room are masses of heavily-veined, pulsating Fleischwerk; the glass hemispheres holding the brain matter in place are reinforced by steel latticeworks. Within the enclosure are two SPANIARDS, thirty years-old each, one male and one female. An open toolbox sits on the power generator between them.

MALE SPANIARD

Isabel...escucha. Yo creo-

23.

The door swings open; Lo-Cheun and his recruits race inside.

The Indian Bullet lands badly on his twisted ankle and THUDS

to the floor.

The female Spaniard plunges her hand into the toolbox; Lo-Cheun fires his black tube at her, FWIT: a metal spiral strikes and corkscrews into the woman’s neck.

The Chinese man presses the spark button on his coilgun, CLICK; the coil FLASHES; the woman CRIES out and projectile vomits; her eyes roll up. She falls backwards, SMACKING

against the floor...a large red burn mark surrounds the metal spiral in her neck.

The male Spaniard points his own coilgun at Lo-Cheun; Lo-Cheun tumbles and rolls behind a generator, safely obfuscated.

The Female Bullet aims and presses the fire button on her springblade, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

Four serrated blades (shaped like tongue-depressors) speed toward the male Spaniard: one blade CLANGS against the metal wall; one blade buries into his shoulder; one blade slices into his lower cheek, glides through his mouth and tears out through the opposite cheek (and CLANKS against a glass dome); one blade THUNKS into his wrist, causing him to drop his coilgun.

The Female Bullet tries to fire again, but the springblade CLACKS, empty.

The Spaniard, spitting blood, charges her; she sets her feet and raises her fists in a defensive boxing position.

Clambering up from the floor, the Indian Bullet fires at the oncoming Spaniard, FWIT; his coil misses, striking and twisting into the Female Bullet’s thigh.

FEMALE BULLET

Don’t spark!

The Indian Bullet removes his finger from the spark button.

Lo-Cheun lunges out from behind the generator to intervene, his black coilgun upraised, FWIT, FWIT. Both coils strike and twist into the Spaniard’s nape. Lo-Cheun CLICKS the spark button.

The male Spaniard CRIES out, vomits and collapses face-first to the ground with a wet CRACK; a red and purple blister surrounds the coils in the rear of his neck; his eyes look like pale prunes.

24.

INDIAN BULLET

(to Lo-Cheun)

You kill them both?

LO-CHEUN

Not her. Yet.

The Female Bullet, limping from the coil embedded in her thigh, walks over to the tool box atop the generator. She looks inside.

FEMALE BULLET

Christ. Bleach grenades.

INT. GLASS-CEILING AMPHITHEATER - LATER

A little more than NINE HUNDRED PEOPLE in dark blue jumpsuits (all single and dual stars) sit in the hemicircular foam bleachers of the massive concave amphitheater. The five-foot-thick glass above admits a view of the stars outside and iridescent solar winds.

At the bottom of the declining rows, the focal point of the entire amphitheater, is a massive panorama screen. Beside it, seated upon raised benches, are twenty-nine three-star SENIORS-- five with red stars (including Lo-Cheun), five with green stars (including Neredth) and nineteen with blue stars.