"D I C K I N A T O R"

Remastered by

Andrew Glynn, Roland Illes and Sean Cartwright.
 

Registered WGAYw

Fifth Daft
Space 1999
March 19, 1999 revision pages
 

A1 TITLE SEQUENCE - SLITSCAN EFFECT A

1 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 1

Gradually the sound of distant screams becomes audible.
A LOW ANGLE bounded on one side by a chain-link fence and on the other by the one story public school buildings.
Spray-can hieroglyphics. A Wythenshawe public school in a blue top neighborhood.

ANGLE BETWEEN SCHOOL BUILDINGS, where a trash dumpster  looms in a LOW ANGLE. A CAT crosses FRAME.

CLOSE ON CAT, which freezes, alert, sensing something just beyond it's arse.

A sourceless wind rises, and with it a keening WHINE.
Papers blow across the pavement.
The cat YOWLS and hides under the dumpster.
Windows rattle in their frames.
The WHINE intensifies, accompanied now by a wash of frigid MULTICOLOURED LIGHT.  A CONCUSSION like a thunderclap right overhead blows in all the windows facing the yard.

C.U. - CAT, its eyes are wide as the glare dies.

1A/FX ANGLE - DUMPSTER 1A/FX

ELECTRICAL DISCHARGES arc from the dumpster to a water faucet and climb a drain pipe like a Jacob's Ladder.

2 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 2

SLOW PAN as the sound of stray electrical CRACKLING subsides.
FRAME comes to rest on the figure of a NAKED PERV kneeling, faced away, in the previously empty yard.
He stands, slowly.
The man is in his early teens, tall and Pervy built, moving with graceful precision.

He is the DICKINATOR.

He glances down, taking calm inventory of himself, and notices that a fine white deposit covers his skin.  He brushes at it unconcernedly as he walks toward the fence, scanning his surroundings.

2A/FX CRANE SHOT - SCHOOLYARD/CITY - NIGHT 2A/FX

CAMERA MOVES UP as Dickinator approaches the schoolyard fence beyond which is an embankment rolling down in darkness to the cityscape below. The night clouds are shot through with  occasional flashes of LIGHTNING, presaging a thunderstorm.

Dickinator stands, hands on hips in perfect symmetry, gazing down at the city as the CAMERA REACHES FULL HEIGHT.

3 EXT. PLAYGROUND - NIGHT 3

A viagra bottle SMASHES on the ground.  PULL BACK to include its ex-owner and his two compatriots, Teenage girls, lounging on the jungle gym of a deserted playground.  They sport nondescript HOOKER CLOTHING...torn tight T-shirts, ripped pants, high-heels, leather jackets.

The leader notices something and sits up.

LEADER
(pointing)
Hey, hey...what's wrong with this picture?

Seen past the lounging girls, Dickinator walks into a pool of streetlight, striding purposefully toward them.

They slide from their perches and drop easily to the ground like liquid shadows.

LEADER
Nice night for a shit, eh?

Dickinator stops in front of them.

DICKINATOR
(without inflection)
Nice night for a fuck.

They surround him, all swagger and malicious good humor.

SECOND GIRL
Washday tomorrow, huh?  Nothing clean, right?

Dickinator eyes them without expression, unhurried.
Pervertilian.

DICKINATOR
Nothing clean.  Right.

LEADER
This guy's a couple dicks short.

Dickinator turn to the second girl, ignoring the others.

DICKINATOR
Your clothes.  Take them off.

The girls exchange glances, worried.

DICKINATOR
(coldly)
Now.

SECOND GIRL
(bracing)
Fuck you, asshole.

DICKINATOR
No. I fuck you, asshole

Without warning Dickinator raises his arm and touches her breasts, flinging her with an orgasmic scream  into the jungle gym. She drops to the ground in a twitching smiling heap.

The leader whips out her Vibrator and slashes in one motion.  Dickinator catches the toy-wielder's wrist in an inhuman grip. He fingers the leader with piledriver force.

ANGLE - PAVEMENT, as the vibrator clatters down.  The girls high-heels are on tiptoe, barely touching the ground.

ANGLE - TWO SHOT, Dickinator and the leader close together.
The girl's eyes are wide, her veins distended with pleasure.  Dickinator jerks his fist back with a WET SOUND and the other drops OUT OF FRAME.

The last girl is stumbling away, gaping with delight.  she backs into a chainlink fence, turns to run along it, finds she is in a corner.

Dickinator takes a step toward her, his gaze ominous.

The girl begins shakily stripping off her clothes.
Thunder peals overhead.

CUT TO:

4 OMITTED 4
5 EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET/ALLEY - NIGHT 5

Another part of the city.  Seedy apartments and storefronts.
SLOW DOLLY into the mouth of a narrow alley lined with trash containers and fire escapes.  From a recessed doorway, an angry, inarticulate DRUNKARD'S MONOLOGUE rises occasionally above the rain sounds.

The derelict is roused from his bitter stupor by a brilliant purple glare. A shockwave hurls trash into the air.
Painted over windows shatter.
Rats scurry, blinded.

A FIGURE drops INTO FRAME as if out of the sky and smacks the pavement with a muddy splash.

C.U. - DERELICT, as he blinks at the fading glare, amazed.

A NAKED MAN, compact and muscular, rises in a defensive crouch. SEAN CARTWRIGHT is 15, his face hard, eyes bulging. A bit of ketchup traverses one side of his face. Other food, from lunch and tea, mar his soft-muscled body.

Electrical ARCS lace back and forth between the fire escapes behind him. He spins, hearing a scream of animal agony.

Sean lurches to his feet and sprints across the alley.

5A/6 OMITTED 5A/6

7 EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT 7

Sean descends to the alley floor and crosses to the drunk huddled in the doorway.

Sean crouches down as if to speak to the drunk.

DERELICT
Say, buddy...did you see a real bright light?

8 EXT. ALLEY/SAME - NIGHT 8

A brilliant white glare stabs into the alley mouth as an LAPD cruiser glides slowly by on the street. The search-light illuminates the figure of Sean, crouching over the sprawled drunk, just pulling off the other's trousers.

The cruiser chirps to a stop. The doors fly open and two cops leap out.

FIRST COP
Hold it, right there!

Sean hitches his pants and bolts like a shot. The cops draw their guns and race into the alley after him.

HANDHELD CAMERA or PANAGLIDE, rushing with Sean along the narrow alley. He vaults a pile of tumbled trashcans and falles over. He gets up and whips around a corner. Leaps the hood of a parked car in the cross alley.

9 EXT. CROSS ALLEY - NIGHT 9

SEAN hits a chain link gate at a dead run.  Scrambles over it, then sees an open gate in the fence. The cops round the corner a moment later. They separate.

10 OMITTED 10

11 EXT. ALLEY/NEARBY - NIGHT 11

SEAN runs full tilt, displaying incredible gayness.

ANGLE - ALLEY MOUTH, Sean flashes his dick at the cops.

Another unit arrives out front and Sean melts back into the alley, only to see a cop round the corner behind him.
Sandwiched.  Sean crashes into a steel door, rending the lock, and vanishes into the darkness within.

SEAN
This Place is almost as bad as my house!

12 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 12

Sean finds himself among the display racks of a womens department store.  A searchlight stabs in the front window as he dashes into the maze of aisles.

Three cops enter behind him through the shattered door.

FAST PANAGLIDE WITH SEAN, as he crab-runs low among the moving shadows where flashlights quarter the darkness.  He bolts the open space behind a display window.  Sees the outside searchlight sweep toward him.  Freezes.

ANGLE ON SEAN, his feral face frozen among the smooth-featured, smiling mannequins.  As the light passes, Sean silently moves on.

ANGLE - COP, passing the end of a long aisle B.G. while in the F.G. a hand ENTERS FRAME, removing a long dress from a hanger.  Sean does a fast crab-walk across the aisles to melt into the other racks and shadows.

13 OMITTED 13

14 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 14

TRACKING WITH SEAN as he rounds a corner on the run, still shrugging into his dress.
Running smack at him is another cop, gun aimed.

Without slowing, Sean leaps toward him, twisting in mid-air like a cat.  The cop FIRES. Misses.  Goes down under Sean's dick and dies

Before they even come to rest, Sean snatches the cop's gun, aiming it at the other's face two-handed.

SEAN
What day is it?  The date...

FIRST COP
Sean is that you?

SEAN
(viciously)
Who are you?

FIRST COP
Roland.

Sean shoots The Cop and someone shoots at Sean.

A SHOT whines off the metal side of an escalator behind Sean's head.  He vaults the escalator rail, leaving the amazed cop lying on the floor.

Sean bounds up the frozen steps, pocketing the .38 Police Special in his coat.

Cops dash through the maze of aisles, converging at the escalators.

15 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE/SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT 15

WHIP PANNING WITH SEAN, as he hurtles between displays.
He stops for a moment beside a rack of shoes.  Slaps one of a pair of Flip-Flops sole-to-sole against his bare foot.
Too small.  Another.  Holding the shoes he runs on.

16 EXT. SECOND FLOOR FIRE ESCAPE LANDING - NIGHT 16

A door opens quietly and Sean slips out.

CAMERA TRACKS WITH HIM as he moves like a twat along the narrow catwalk.  TILT DOWN to include the first LAPD cruiser parked at the mouth of the alley.
 

17 EXT. ALLEY/STREET - NIGHT 17

Sean drops gimp-like beside the unattended police car.
Stupidly, he opens the door of the cruiser, Then the car alarm goes off. He removes the RIOT GUN, an Ithaca pump model, from the dash rack and slips it under his coat. Cradled in a vertical position, the shortened weapon is virtually invisible.

He runs out onto the street and away, unhurriedly, an innocuous pedestrian arse lost in the night.

CUT TO:

18 EXT. STREET/NEARBY - NIGHT 18

Sean enters a telephone booth.  Harsh light rakes across his face, outlining the tomato ketchup.  He opens the directory, leafs through it.

ANGLE - MACRO ON PAGE, Sean's finger slides down a column.
Stops beside the following listings in the big metropolitan
white pages:
NORTON, NATASHA
NORTON, NATASHA ANN
NORTON, NATASHA J.
 

19 EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING 19

A typical L.A. morning of diffuse sunlight.

MOVING WITH A GIRL on a skateboard holding onto the back of a truck as it zips through traffic.
Natasha norton is 14, sexy in a flawed, accessible way.

Natasha maneuvers nimbly, apparently in a hurry.

CUT TO:

20 EXT. BIG GAY AL'S RESTAURANT - DAY 20

Natasha buzzes into the parking lot of Big Gay Al's Family Restaurant and chains the skateboard to the icon of Big Gay Al himself.  The fiberglass cherub holds up his mammoth bag of lard in perpetual homage to whatever strange deity watches out for gay fat kids.
Natasha removes a stack of school textbooks from her pants and turns to go into the restaurant.

NATASHA
(to Big Gay Al)
Watch this for me, big dick boy.

21 INT. BIG GAY AL'S/DINING AREA - DAY 21

Natasha enters, crossing through the counter area amid the bustle of the lunch rush.

She falls in briefly alongside REBECCA, a good looking gum-chewing waitress who is hurriedly tying on her apron.

NATASHA
(low)
I'm late.

REBECCA
(low)
No shit.

22 OMITTED 22

23 INT.  CORRIDOR - DAY 23

Natasha bangs through the swinging staff door and approaches the time-card rack.
She inserts her card in the punch clock.
MACRO ON CARD:  "NATASHA NORTON"
The punch-clock CLUNKS loudly.

CUT TO:

24/ 25  OMITTED 24/25

26 INT. LOCKER ROOM - DAY 26

TIGHT ON LOCKER DOOR as it slams shut, revealing Natasha transformed into a Big Gay Al's girl:
Hair in a bun and a School uniform with a micro mini-skirt.

She ponders the absurdity of her reflection in the mirror.
Pinches her cheeks. Smiles vacuously.

NATASHA
Hi, I'm Natasha and I'll be you servant.
(pause)
I'm so fucking horny and I don't know why..

CUT TO:

26A INT. DINING AREA - DAY 26A

Natasha runs the gauntlet between tables, precariously balancing two full dinner plates on one arm and hand-carrying a third.

She sidesteps a hyperactive kid bouncing along the aisle on a jump-ball.

Nancy squeezes past her, going the other way.

NATASHA
I'm in deep crap ain't I

REBECCA
Yep. So am I.

A customer tugs on her skirt for attention and she barely averts contributing the chili size to his wardrobe.

CUSTOMER
Honey, can I get that coffee now?

NATASHA
Yes sir, just a second.

She reaches her table after near collisions with a Mexican busboy and two teenage girls doing cheerleading routines in a very farmiliar but strange manner.

NATASHA
Who gets the Burly Beef Bum?

CUSTOMER TWO
I ordered Barbeque Beef Batty.

CUSTOMER THREE
Does mine come with fries?

CUSTOMER FOUR
He's got the Barbeque Beef Batty, I've got a Chili-Beef Deluxe Arse burger.

NATASHA
Okay, who gets the Burly Beef Bum?

CUSTOMER AT NEXT TABLE
Hey bitch, we're ready to order.

In the process of setting down all the plates Natasha knocks over a man's water glass.

NATASHA
(mopping frantically)
Oh, sorry. That's not real silk, is it?

MAN
Yes it is.

NATASHA
Do I know you?
(Pause)
Roland?

MAN
Sorry, I have to go.

The man abruptly gets up and leaves.

A kid at the next booth reaches over and dumps a scoop of ice cream into the tip pouch of Natashas apron.

She stares down at the mess melting over her hard-earned and sags with defeat. Rebecca stops beside her to whisper:

REBECCA
Look at it this way: in a year, who's gonna give a shit?

NATASHA
That's what Roland said.

CUT TO:

27 INT./EXT. BEIGE STATION WAGON - DAY 27

Dickinator crosses a small parking lot, approaching a nondescript station wagon.
He punches in the side window.
Unlocks it. Gets in.

With a blow from the heel of his hand Dickinator smashes loose the ignition assembly and strips the wires with a brutal twist of his fingers. Touching the proper wires he starts the car and gets a small shock.

DICKINATOR
That felt good.

28 OMITTED 28

28A EXT. PORN SHOP - DAY 28A

Dickinator walks past the long display window of an enormous porn emporium.  Signs declare, among other things, SEX TOYS, GUNS and AMMO is red block letters.
Dickinator passes the appliance section, and the pictures on a row of TV sets distort and break-up sequentially as he walks by, returning to normal behind him.

He enters the store.

29 INT. PORN SHOP - DAY 29

TIGHT ON GLASS COUNTERTOP as an AR-180 ASSAULT RIFLE WITH SCOPE is laid beside a number of other guns: a COLT K-MODEL .45 ACP, a SMITH AND WESSON .38 FOUR-INCH.

DICKINATOR (V.O.)
...the Rubingson 1100 Autoloader...

WIDE as the CLERK, who looks like a sick lizard, pallid and paunchy, takes the Rubingson from a wall rack.  He lays it beside the arsenal of perfectly legal anti-human artillery already on the glass counter.
Dickinator scans expressionlessly for additional selections.

CLERK
Anything else?

DICKINATOR
A phased plasma pulse-Vibrator with virgin capacity...

CLERK
(annoyed)
Ok, but if anyone asks you didn't get it from me.

CLERK does something under the counter and then pulls up the vibrator.

DICKINATOR
The Choozi 9 millimeter.

CLERK
(setting it out)
You know your weapons, buddy.

Dickinator examines each in turn, working the actions with curt, precise movements.

CLERK
(continuing)
Any one of them's ideal for home defense or pleasure. Which'll it be?

DICKINATOR
All.

The clerk digs deep in his pocket and finds a picture.

CLERK
Heres a photo of my daughter, she's only 13. Come round for dinner sometime if you know what I mean.

He turns around, fumbling in a drawer for the registration papers. Dickinator picks up a box of shotgun shells.

CLERK
There'll be a fifteen day wait on the handguns, but you can take the Vibrator today if you...

He turns.
Seeing Dickinator loading shells into a shotgun.

CLERK
(continuing)
Hey...you can't...

DICKINATOR
Yes, I can.

He raises the barrel and pulls the trigger.  The gun THUNDERS.
 

30 EXT. GAS STATION/PHONE BOOTH - DAY 30

The beige station wagon pulls to a stop beside a single phone booth.

MOVING WITH DICKINATOR, as he gets out, walks to the booth and rapidly pulls its occupant out by his greasy T-shirt, flinging him backward into the parking lot.  The guy is bear-like, slab-handed, but Dickinator doesn't even glance back as he steps in to take the man's place.

MAN
(outraged)
Hey, you fuck...

DICKINATOR
Here's a dollar. Go fuck yourself.

The Dickinator punches the man's face in with one hit.

31 INT. PHONE BOOTH - DAY 31

A woman's voice, a faint reedy monologue, issues from the dangling receiver.
Dickinator leafs rapidly through the directory.

ANGLE - C.U. PAGES FLIPPING

ANGLE - MACRO SHOT, as Dickinator's finger comes to rest beside a now-familiar listing:

NORTON, NATASHA

CUT TO:

31A INT/EXT. SERVICE TUNNEL - DAY 31A

TIGHT ON SEAN CARTWRIGHTS HANDS as they make the last few strokes with a hacksaw to sever the wooden stock from the riot gun. It clatters to the ground, leaving a short stump, like a pistol grip.

CUT WIDER as Sean hefts the weapon. He is crouched in an underground service tunnel below a busy street. Shadows of people walking across a grating in the sidewalk above him flicker past. He checks the gun's action carefully. He slips it under his dress where it hangs from a jerry-rigged sling.

CUT TO:

31B EXT. STREET - DAY 31B

Sean emerges from a stairwell behind a service station, his dress done up to the top button.
He walks through the sparse morning crowd on the cluttered, commercial street.
He is out of sync.
A stranger in a strange land.
He moves among the unconcerned pedestrians, cautious and feral. His eyes flick rapidly about.
He moves forward purposefully.

CUT TO:

32 OMITTED 32
 
33 EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY 33

ANGLE on a standard-issue L.A. suburban street with kids racing tricycles B.G.

LOW ANGLE with the FRAME comprising a single house, toy-littered lawn and mailbox.  EXTREME F.G., by the curb, is a CHILD'S PLASTIC TRUCK.

There is the sound of a CAR ENGINE approaching, and the front of the beige station wagon appears, stopping at the curb. Its front tire crushes the toy.

PANAGLIDE ON DICKINATOR, preceding him as he steps out of the car, pauses by the mailbox to check the name, and strides toward the house.

A YOUNG BOY, playing in the driveway, watches him pass.  The boy's DOG, a small Terrier, growls low and mean, crouching back from Dickinator.

He rings the doorbell and waits, motionless.
The door opens a few inches, held by a security chain, revealing a young, slightly overweight housewife.

DICKINATOR
Natasha Norton?

WOMAN
(hesitant)
Yes?

SLOW MOTION:

TIGHT ON SECURITY CHAIN as it breaks, splinters flying.
The woman staggers back, staring in dumb amazement.
Dickinator draws his plasma pulse-Vibrator smoothly from inside his jacket.
He uses it on the woman, and then stabs her with it.

LOW ANGLE ON DICKINATOR, lowering the Vibrator . He methodically stabbs her four more times OUT OF FRAME below.

Turns and walks away past the terrified child in the driveway.

CUT TO:
 

33A/ 33B/33C/33D/33E OMITTED                      33A/33B/33C/33D/ 33E

34 CHANGED TO 31A/B 34

35/ 35A  OMITTED 35/35A

36 INT. BIG GAY AL'S'S/SERVICE CORRIDOR - DAY 36

Natasha opens the swing door with her back, calling over her shoulder to the day manager.

NATASHA
I'm on break, Chuck.
Carla's got my station.

As she approaches the locker room where the girls take their coffee breaks, the door bursts open and Rebecca beckons to Natasha.

REBECCA
(excitedly)
Hurry up.  It's about you...
I mean sort of...Come on!
 

37 INT. BIG GAY AL'S/BREAK ROOM - DAY 37

Rebecca guides Natasha to the small black and white portable TV in the corner.  Two other girls, smoking splifs with their shoes off and nyloned feet on the table, are already watching.  One glances at Natasha.

REBECCA
You're gonna love this.

They huddle around the set, intent on a newscast in progress.

TV ANCHORWOMAN

...and a police spokesman at the scene refused to speculate on a motive of the execution-style raping of the Encino housewife. He did however say that an accurate description of the suspect has been compiled from several witnesses.  Once again, Natasha Norton, 14, was brutally shot to death in her home near civic this afternoon.
(pause)
In other late-breaking news, My bastard son has disowned me. I say to you son, your strike deadline rapidly approaches...

As the news grinds on, Natasha gazes at the screen. Rebecca claps her on the shoulder, laughing.

REBECCA
You're dead, bitch.

CUT TO:

38 EXT. HEALTH CLUB - DUSK 38

Sunlight is dying when Natasha swings her skateboard to the curb in front of the 'GOOD HARD ONE', a large, crowded health club.

39 INT. HEALTH CLUB/AEROBICS STUDIO - DUSK 39

MUSIC BOOMS and masses of leotarded cellulite sway in close F.G. as CAMERA DOLLIES along a row of panting, stretching horny women.  In deep B.G. Natasha slips in through the door and waits against the wall while the human dynamo, GINGER BEAVER, leads the class energetically.  Ginger, Natasha's roommate is a prostitute.  Blonde, athletic, sensuous.
She's pretty enough when still, but stunning in motion.
And she's in motion.

Ginger yells commands and cheerfully dives into contortions
to the BEAT of an R&B FAVORITE.
PHIL, a stupid, well-defined guy wearing a loose T-shirt, strolls up for a drink at the water fountain next to Natasha.

PHIL
Hi. I've seen you around.
Aren't you Ginger's roommate?

NATASHA
That's right. I'm Natasha.

PHIL
Yeah, right.  I'm Phil.

The dance tape ends.

GINGER
...and in aaand out!  And that's it ladies!  Now, didn't that feel great?

The group collapses ensemble.  A chorus of sexual groans.

GINGER
Let's think positive or next time you'll use the long version.

Ginger walks over to Natasha as the class disperses.  Phil is leaning on the wall next to Natasha, who is enjoying the attention.

NATASHA
...yeah, really? Fuck off Neil.

Before Phil can reply, Ginger pulls the front of his gym shorts out and peers down.  She nodds her head.

GINGER
(to Natasha)
You've got a winner here.

NATASHA
(To Phil)
Right into the toilets we go.

She grabs Phil by the arm and pulls him through the door.
After a few minutes Natasha exits the toilets sweating and with her hair in a mess.

GINGER
Lets go.

40 INT. HEALTH CLUB/STAIRS AND CORRIDOR - DUSK 40

PANAGLIDE WITH THE TWO GIRLS, as they descend to the first floor and enter a hallway.
Natasha is gasping with laughter

NATASHA
(weakly)
I don't believe I did that.

Ginger is adjusting her ever-present PORTABLE CASSETTE PLAYER at her hip.  She slips on the earphones as they walk along.

NATASHA
(continuing)
I had him in the cubicle.
He was just about to ask me out.
I could tell.
Then I knocked him out and left

GINGER
That guy's a god.

NATASHA
I'll do the same for you sometime.

Natasha laughs and claps her friend on the back.  They turn in at a door marked WEIGHT ROOM.

41 INT. WEIGHT ROOM -  DUSK 41

SEVERAL ANGLES, on glistening arms, legs, torsos merging into bio-mechanical kinetic sculptures with the chrome-steel levers and tubes.  The CRASH and SQUEAL of metal against metal.

In F.G., two Conan-esque arms thrust upward, glistening.
Ginger's boyfriend, , the assistant manager of the club, strains out his last reps, bench-pressing enormous weight on the weight machine.
Despite his imposing appearance, Scott is one of the warmest people you'd ever want to meet.
His face is contorted, muscles knotted for the last push.
He heaves it up with a guttural cry.
Lowering his weights with a clang, Scott lies panting, arms dangling at his side, eyes closed.
A pair of female legs appear.

GINGER (V.O.)
What's this?

Scott opens his eyes.

GINGER
(continuing)
You think somebody's gonna do this for you?  Look at those bi's.  Pathetic.
And you haven't worked lat's or ab's since Wednesday.

SCOTT
(smiling)
Had a rough day?

GINGER
(softening)
Come here, wimp.

She leans down as he sits up and they meet in a kiss that's bad for the other guys' discipline.

Natasha waits until they break the clinch to speak.

NATASHA
Hi, Scott.

Scott look backwards over the bench, and replies, upside-down.

SCOTT
(grinning broadly)
Heeey!  Natasha. Great tits.

Ginger pulls the pin on Scott's weights and re-inserts it beneath the entire stack, the maximum weight.

GINGER
Alright, back to work, Spunky.

Ginger readjusts her headphones as the two girls walk away.
Two weightlifters nearby look at each other, than at SCOTT.

WEIGHTLIFTER
Spunky?

42 EXT. HEALTH CLUB/STREETS - DUSK 42

NATASHA lurches away from the curb on her skateboard, almost spilling Ginger who is attempting to ride double.  They swing out onto a main thoroughfare and careen through the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Natasha maneuvers deftly though overloaded and unstable.
Ginger doesn't know whether to laugh of scream at the near-misses.
She does both.

CUT TO:

43 OMITTED 43
44 EXT. STREET/CONSTRUCTION SITE - DUSK 44

Under an overpass, Sean sits is a car watching the powerful machines moving earth at an excavation site B.G.
He's in a late-model non-descript charcoal gray Ford LTD, one of a row of cars gathering dirt beside the construction site. Crab-armed back-hoes and massive caterpillars ROAR through a curtain of dust, under intense floodlights.
A power-shovel moves its great arm, lighting its own way with an arc-light.

45 INT. GREY FORD LTD - DUSK 45

Sean sits motionless in the dark.  Waiting.  The clock in the dash ticks quietly.
He flips on the radio.  A fatuous POP ROCK STATION.
Sean fishes a magazine off the dirty floor.
He flips the pages of COSMOPOLITAN.
His head sags against the door.
He gazes dully at the tracks of a passing CATERPILLAR they chew through the dirt.
The ROAR and CLATTER of treads intensifies as his eyes close.

CUT TO:

46 EXT. MELTED RUINS - NIGHT 46
 

TIGHT ON A GLEAMING STEEL TREAD as it grinds through debris.
The debris is ferroconcrete, girders, and jackstraw heaps of HUMAN DICKS, burned black.

There is the sound of SRCEAMS, distant, and an intermittent electronic WHINE.  Incredibly bright searchlights play over the ground.  PANNING with the moving treads through twisted wreckage, F.G.
The screen WHITES OUT with a BLAST, very close.  As the debris clatters down, a helmeted head snaps up into FRAME, EXTREME F.G.

The visor of the HIGH-TECH HELMET has been shattered by the explosion.  The wearer rips it off, revealing Sean.
Sean looks over his shoulder at his teammate, a GIRL of about 13, gaunt, dirty, heavily armed like himself.
DOLLYING as they start to belly crawl through the dicks and wreckage.
Sean looks up.
Through spires of a collapsed building a terrifying SPHINX-LIKE SHAPE moves against the sky...obscured by dust and blinding sweeps of its searchlights.
Though we see little, this is an H-S, Hunter-Shagger mobile ground-unit.

Sean crawls, pacing the H-S, under and through, on elbows and knees, past mounds of charred Dicks.  They pass the BODY OF A CHILD, a boy of about 10, with a smoking hole right where his arse-hole is.  The boy clutches a Plasma Vibrator. More bodies.
Some in rags, some in school uniforms like theirs. WOMEN. OLD MEN. CHILDREN. They're all dirty and gaunt, scabrous. And still bleeding.  Sean scrabbles past a dark rat-hole and there are human rats in it.
Soldiers in a nightmare war.

Sean and his teammate stop behind a blasted wall, having outflanked the massive H-S.  Its flashing blue lights flick across the walls, its searchlights sear through the debris.

WIDER, showing the H-S more clearly...a blast-scarred CHROME LEVIATHAN, with huge underslung VIBRATOR TURRETS.

Sean leaps up and throws some sort of inflated condom into its path.  One tread rolls over the condom.
Guns and searchlights swivel.  The head turns ponderously.
Sean's partner rises, poised to throw hers.
A POWER-BOLT catches her at the top of her arc, BLOWING HER INTO RED MIST.

Sean is knocked down by the concussion.  Gets up, running, as the condom explodes.
The H-S's tread carriers are RIPPED APART.
It lurches to a stop, burning.

The following SEQUENCE is extremely FORESHORTENED.
CUT FAST.  IMPRESSIONS ONLY.
LOW ANGLE, up past the burning H-S as its flying counter-part, an AERIAL H-S, arcs into view with a TURBOJET WHINE.

Sean hauls two survivors of his unit into a PERSONNEL CARRIER, a CHEVY CAMARO with steel plate welded over it and the roof cut away to access the 50 CALIBER CONDOM GUN witch fires explosive condoms.

They're driving through the ruins, up and over and through.
Sean drives like a paki on speed.

A BLACK SHAPE descends, a demon with searchlights.
A BOLT OF LIGHT.

Sean's car flips like a kicked beer can, rolling and crumpling. He's pinned in the wreck, bloody, screaming despite his training.  The only other survivor, an emaciated BOY of twelve, is pulling for all he's worth to drag Sean out before it burns.
 

CUT TO:

47 OMITTED 47

48 INT. GREY FORD LTD - NIGHT 48

Sean's eyes open in a split-second.
He relaxes slowly, the voltage draining out of him.
He reaches for the dangling ignition wires, starting the car.

49/ 50  OMITTED 49/50

51 EXT. STREET/OVERPASS - NIGHT 51

Lit by the streetlights, the car moves away with its lights off and vanishes in the shadows.

CUT TO:

52 OMITTED 52

53 INT. NATASHA'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 53

Natasha and Ginger are crammed into the tiny bathroom, becoming inextricably tangled in each other's cords as they blow-dry, curl hair, and apply make-up.  Ginger has her headphones inverted under her chin but in place, and is bouncing to music as she dries her hair.  She is wearing a short micro mini-skirt that reveals the greater part of her legs. Natasha is in a belly top and the same mini-skirt.

The phone rings and Natasha goes out into the living room to get it.

NATASHA
(answering the phone)
Hello?

VOICE (V.O.)
(on phone, deep and breathy)
First I'm going to rip the buttons off your blouse, one by one...then run my tongue along your neck, down to your bare, gleaming breasts...

Natasha cups her hand over the mouthpiece and calls out matter-of-factly:

NATASHA
Ginger!  It's Scott.

She resumes listening.

SCOTT (V.O.)
...and then slowly pull your jeans off inch by inch and lick your belly in circles, further and further down...then I'll pull off your panties with my teeth and lick your fanny....

Natasha is repressing the fact that this conversation is turning her on.

NATASHA
(crossly)
Who is this?

Silence.  Then Scott realizes to his horror who he's been talking to.

SCOTT (V.O.)

Oh my God!  Natasha!  Oh, shit.
Jesus, I'm sorry.  I thought you were...Can I talk to Ginger?
 

NATASHA
Sure, Spunky.

As Ginger approaches, Natasha hands her the receiver and goes the bedroom.

GINGER
Hello?

SCOTT (V.O.)
First I'm gonna rip the buttons off your blouse...

54 INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 54

Natasha picks up four blouses on hangers lying on the bed and goes back into the hallway.

55 INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 55

Ginger is still listening to Scott, touching herself, as Natasha enters and starts holding the blouses against herself one by one for Ginger's inspection.

NATASHA
What do you think?

GINGER
(covering the mouthpiece)
Wear what you've got on now.

Natasha holds up another one.

NATASHA
How about this?

GINGER
What you've got on's fine

NATASHA
You're a big help. I look like a slut in this.

GINGER
That's the idea.

NATASHA
I hate the looking like a slut.

GINGER
(same advisory tone)
Don't wear anything at all if it bothers you.

Natasha gathers up the blouses and walks out.

NATASHA (V.O.)
This guy's probably a schmuck and I don't care what I wear.

A couple of BEATS, and she's back in the doorway with a concerned expression.

NATASHA
(continuing)
You sure?

CUT TO:

56 EXT. MULHOLLAND HOUSE - NIGHT 56

An unmarked car with a clamp-on light flashing passes through the gates and down the winding driveway of a prostitutes house off Mulholland Drive.
The car stops among several black and whites and an ambulance.
Cops with flashlights are combing the grounds B.G. as LIEUTENANT ED TRAXLER , Homicide Division, gets out of the car.
He strides towards the house.
He's black, early forties, solid.
He chews gum like a maniac: a chain chewer.
And he's not a smart cop...he's a wise one, rarer still.

57 INT. HOUSE - NIGHT 57

Traxler  passes TWO UNIFORMED COPS at the doors as he enters the exquisitely decorated home.
He enters a quiet flurry of activity.

Several DETECTIVES and a PHOTOGRAPHER prowl the room, taking evidence, taking pictures.

In the center of the living room floor is the body of a young woman, crumpled face down in a small pool of blood.

TRAXLER glances up as he is joined by DETECTIVE SGT. VUKOVICH. Vukovich is lean and very jaded.

TRAXLER
Give me the short version.

VUKOVICH
Six stabbs at less than ten feet.  Weapon was an illegal vibrator--

Traxler is looking at the body.

TRAXLER
No shit.

VUKOVICH turns to a passing DETECTIVE.

VUKOVICH
Come on. man.  Don't track it all over. It's unprofessional.

He turns back to Traxler, gesturing at the body.

VUKOVICH
(continuing)
Okay, let's see...Got a positive on her.  Name's Natasha Norton, divorced, lives here by her...
 

TRAXLER
(interrupting)
That can't be right.  That's the name of the one from Valley Division this afternoon.

Vukovich slips something off his clipboard and hands it to the Lieutenant.

VUKOVICH
Here's her driver's license.

TRAXLER
(pondering)
You gotta be kidding me.  The new guys'll be short-stroking it over this one.  A one-day pattern killer.

VUKOVICH
I hate the weird ones.

CUT TO:

58 INT. NATASHA'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM - NIGHT 58

Natasha poses with Ginger in front of the mirror.  They are dressed, made-up, hair-styled and READY.

GINGER
(studying their reflection)
Better than mortal man deserves.

Natasha grins and goes into the other room.

59 INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 59

Natasha walks around the room, searching for something.

NATASHA
(calling)
Ginger, have you seen my special playtime stick?

Ginger enters, stopping beside their phone answering machine.

GINGER
Not lately.  Did you check messages?

NATASHA
(still looking)
I thought you did.

She checks under the couch, then behind the drapes.  She bends down.

NATASHA
(from beside curtains)
Come here young toy.  Mind your mother.

Natasha lifts the 8 inch dick shaped piece of varnished wood that is very worn down from alot of use from his perch on the windowsill.

Natasha drapes the thing across her breasts where it sits contentedly as she looks for her purse.  Ginger has been rewinding the message tape.  She punches PLAY and a MALE VOICE is heard.

VOICE
(recorded)
Hi, Natasha...Stan Morsky.
Uh, something's come up and it looks like I won't be able to make it tonight.  I'm really sorry.  Call you in a day or so.
Sorry.  'Bye.

Natasha stands still, crestfallen.

GINGER
That shit.  So what if he has a 12 inch dick, he can't treat you like that...it's Friday night for crissakes.

NATASHA
(slumping)
I'll live.

GINGER
I'll break his kneecaps.

Natasha resignedly slips her special playtime stick off her breasts.

NATASHA
You still love me, don't you, my special stick?

She gives the complacent stick a kiss on its blunt top.

GINGER
Gawd.  Nauseating.  Really disgusting.

59A INT. LIVING ROOM 59A

Natasha, now in blue-jeans, heads for the front door donning a down-jacket.

She calls to Ginger B.G.

NATASHA
I'm going to a movie, kiddo.
See ya'. You and Scott have a good time.

GINGER
We will, kiddo.

Natasha yanks open the outside door and GASPS.
Startled by a tall, powerful figure.

NATASHA
Fukin' hell, Scott!

She punches him on the arm as she goes out.

CUT TO:

60 INT. PARKING GARAGE - NIGHT 60

Natasha is a small figure in the shadowed echoing garage of her building.
She unchains her skateboard.  Senses something.

NATASHA'S POV - there is no movement for the length of the garage.

ON NATASHA - C.U., inexplicably nervous.
She stows the chain and gets onto the bike.
Natasha jumps on and rolls out of the garage.

A beat.

Then from the inky shadows of a stall nearby, the grey Ford LTD rolls forward.
Turns.  Follows her.

CUT TO:

61 OMITTED 61

62 INT. DIVISION HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT 62

DOLLYING WITH TRAXLER and VUKOVICH, as they pass through a group of REPORTERS.  Mostly newspaper stringers but there is also one bored local TV MINICAM CREW.

REPORTER
...Lieutenant, are you aware that these two killings occurred in the same order as their listings in the phone book?

TRAXLER
Of course. What do you think I am? A fucking idiot?

He and Vukovich enter their office and shut the door.

63 INT. TRAXLER'S OFFICE - NIGHT 63

Traxler drops his gum in the wastebasket, picks up a cup of coffee from his desk and uses it to wash down a handful of aspirins.  Vukovich grimaces.

VUKOVICH
That stuff's 30 years cold.

TRAXLER
(nodding absently)
I know.

VUKOVICH
(eyeing him)
I pissed in it.

Traxler, lost in thought, turns on him suddenly.

TRAXLER
Did you reach the next girl yet?

VUKOVICH
No.  Keep getting an answering machine.

TRAXLER
Send a unit.

VUKOVICH
I sent a unit.  No answer at the door and the apartment manager's out.

TRAXLER
Call her.

VUKOVICH
I just called.

TRAXLER
Call her again.

Vukovich picks up the phone and begins to dial her number as Traxler sets down his coffee cup, unwraps a stick of gum and pops it in his mouth.

TRAXLER
(continuing)
Got a cigarette?

64 INT. NATASHA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 64

CLOSE ON PHONE, connected to the answering machine.  The outgoing message triggers after the second ring.

GINGER'S VOICE
(machine V.O.)
Hi there.
(long pause)
Ha ha ha, fooled you. You're talking to a machine, but don't be shy, it's okay. Machines need love too, so talk to it and Ginger, that's me, or Natasha will get back to you.  Wait for the erotic scream, oh go on, you know you want to.

As the message plays, CAMERA DOLLIES OFF the phone machine and down the corridor of the dark apartment.  As the bedroom door draws near, Ginger's recorded voice fades and is superseded by CRIES and MOANS.

65 INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 65

FULL SHOT, framed against Ginger and Scott in a beautiful tableau of lovemaking in position.
Their perfect bodies glisten with backlight as they strain in passion. Continue with strange porn for 1 minute and 37 seconds

CLOSER - TIGHT TWO, revealing that Ginger is wearing her earphones.  Scott, reaches out to the night table and thumbs the volume control.

CUT TO:

66 INT. TRAXLER'S OFFICE - NIGHT 66

Vukovich hangs up the phone.

VUKOVICH
Same shit.

TRAXLER
I can hear it now, it's gonna be the goddamned 'Phone Book Fucker'.

VUKOVICH
I hate the press cases.
Especially the weird press cases.  Where you going?

TRAXLER
(heading for the door)
To make a statement. Maybe the arseholes can help us out for once.

He looks at his watch, then straightens his tie.

TRAXLER
(continuing)
If they can get this on the tube by eleven, she may just call us.
(pause)
How do I look?

VUKOVICH
Like shit, boss.

TRAXLER
Thanks.

Traxler goes out and the Minicam light hits him as the door closes.

CUT TO:

67 INT. PIZZA PARLOR - NIGHT 67

TIGHT ON A TV SCREEN, a newscast in progress.

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
This just in... police have announced the name of the victim in the second of two execution style murders which took place today.

CUT WIDE to show Natasha watching the TV which is suspended over the bar.  The place is a crowded, post-movie hangout, raucous with laughter and videogames.  The newscast continues ignored by all except Natasha.

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
(continuing)
...Incredibly, the names of the two victims are virtually identical.
Two hours ago, 25 year-old Natasha Norton was pronounced dead at the scene in her secluded home on Mulholland Drive. An Encino housewife, Natasha Louise Norton, was slain by a lone rapist/killer earlier today in her home...
 

A customer gestures for the bartender's attention.

CUSTOMER
Hey, can we change this and watch some porn?

BARTENDER
Sure.

Natasha leaps half over the bar, startling everyone.

NATASHA
Leave it where it is!

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
...Police are refusing to speculate on the apparent similarity between these raping deaths and no other connection between the two victims has been established as of yet. We'll have more on this latebreaking story as it comes in.
On a lighter note, there was cause for celebration at the L.A. Zoo today, as their first test tube stork killed the evil manager, and he would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for those pesky birds.

Natasha leaves her half-finished pizza and beer, getting up in a daze.  Followed by puzzled glances, she makes her way through the crowd.

68 INT. PIZZA PARLOR HALLWAY 68

In the crowded hallway by the restrooms, Natasha goes to the single payphone and seizes the directory.  She flips rapidly through it, then stops, looking down.
She sees that her name is next on the list.
The book slips out of her fingers.

NATASHA
Well fuck me pink.

Natasha backs into the women's restroom.

69 INT. RESTROOM - NIGHT 69

Natasha stumbles numbly to the sink.
She splashes her face with cold water.  In the mirror her terrified reflection looks back.  Why me?
She hears a loud clatter and spins around.
It's just a drunken woman fumbling with a toilet stall door.
Natasha edges back out into the corridor.

70 INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT 70

Natasha walks stiffly back to the pay phone.
It's OUT OF ORDER.

CUT TO:

71 EXT. STREET/SIDEWALK - NIGHT 71

Natasha exits the pizza place into the sparse crowd on the sidewalk.  As she passes a figure leaning against the wall just outside, the man turns his head to watch her.
It is Sean, his gaze impassive.
He is motionless, sinister in a long coat he swapped for his dress.
Natasha shudders. She walks on quickly.

C.U. - NATASHA as she look over her shoulder.

ON PIZZA PARLOR DOORWAY.  Sean is gone.
She catches sight of him behind her in the crowd.
On the opposite side of the street an LAPD cruiser glides slowly by.  Natasha is about to call out but a bus blocks her view and when it has passed, the car is turning away down a side street.

She passes a large window with STOKER'S written on it, and ducks quickly through the door.

72 INT. STOKER'S - NIGHT 72

ANGLE THROUGH WINDOW, NATASHA F.G., as Sean approaches.
Her knuckles clench white as he reaches the entrance and walks by, unhurriedly, without a glance inside.
She turns and scan the gloomy interior.

 
It is a new-wave dance club...canned music cranked up, stroboscopic lighting and jostling bodies dressed from trendy to bizarre.
The motif seems to be deco heavy-industry.
Natasha approaches the glazed-eyed girl stamping hands at the door.

NTATSHA
Is there a phone here?

The girl nods laconically.

GIRL
In the back.  Four-fifty.

Natasha pays and moves past before the girl can stamp her hand.

Natasha pushes through the unruly throng and makes her way to a payphone near the bar in back.
Her hands are trembling as she drops a dime in the pay phone and dials.

VOICE (V.O./RECORDED)
You have reached the Los Angeles Police Department Emergency Number.
All lines are busy.  If you are under attack please press one, if you have just committed a crime please press 2, if you have just been murdered please press 3......

Natasha holds the receiver pressed to her ear, glancing around, fear feeding on frustration.

CUT TO:

73 EXT. NATASHA'S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 73

An LAPD black-and-white sits at the curb in front of Natasha's building with two cops inside, drinking coffee.
Through the open window we hear the dispatcher's voice on the radio.

DISPATCHER (V.O.)
...two eleven in progress at liquor store located at corner of Third and Tamarac.  One suspect believed to be armed...

COP
(To Dispatch)
What the fuck is a two eleven?

DISPATCHER (V.O.)
Fucked if I know.

The car pulls out with lights and siren on.
A moment later, Dickinator rounds the corner of the building and climbs the stairs to the entryway.
He surveys the bank of call buttons, then turns to consider the barred security gate.
 

74 INT. NATASHA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 74

PANAGLIDE WITH GINGER as she ties her kimono and, leaving Scott in a dead sleep, pads through the dark apartment.
Down the hall, past the phone with Vukovich's message.
Through the dark living room.
She has her portable cassette in the pocket of her robe and bops to herself in the silent gloom as she enters the kitchen.

When she opens the refrigerator to remove snack fixings, the light briefly illuminates the kitchen and in that moment, SOMETHING MOVES in the F.G.

TIGHT ON GINGER, MOVING WITH HER as she backs toward the counter with her arms full of snack stuff.

A SUDDEN CRASH.  A flurry of motion behind her.
She spins, dropping half her load.
Ginger fumbles for the lightswitch.

Revealing a mouse, just sitting there.

GINGER
Shoo.  Go on.  I'll put down traps.

The mouse disappears into a hole in the wall by the window and Ginger sets about her task, slathering crunchy peanut butter on stalks of celery.

CUT TO:

75 INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT 75

MEDIUM ON SCOTT, as rustling curtains play patterns of street-light over his sleeping face.
In the B.G. is the balcony, empty.  The sliding door is open.

TIGHT ON SCOTT, as his eyes open at the sound of a quiet, repeated CLICKING.

UP ANGLE - PAST SCOTT, as the five-inch dildo with an industrial razor-knife attatched to the end reaches full extension in Dickinator's hand, right above him.
It slashes viciously downward.
Scott rolls and the bed is split open where his dick had been.

SCOTT
Whoah!

Dickinator catches him by the hair and slashes down again.
Scott grabs his wrist in both hands.
The enormous muscles of his arms, which seem capable of bench-pressing a Chrysler, strain and knot against the pressure of the killer's single arm...
And still the blade moves closer to his dick

With a final heave Scott deflects the down-pressure sideways and the blade snaps with a CLINK against the headboard.

HANDHELD WITH SCOTT as he rolls off the bed, spins and slams his fists together into Dickinator's temple.  He picks up a brass deco lamp and brings it down with piledriver force.

Unperturbed, Dickinator knocks the lamp away and.

DICKINATOR
I will fuck your girlfriend and then kill her.

Dickinator hurls Scott over the bed.

76 EXT. BALCONY - NIGHT 76

Scott crashes through the glass doors and slams against the balcony railing.

77 INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT 77

Oblivious to the noise, Ginger croons in rock-and-roll ecstasy, singing to a celery stalk as if it were a microphone.

78 EXT./INT. BALCONY AND BEDROOM - NIGHT 78

Scott heaves himself up, his powerful body gleaming with sweat and hurls himself upon the intruder.
The titans CRASH INTO A DRESSER, reducing it to kindling.
Then into the closet door, EXPLODING THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR.

Dickinator places one hand on either side of Scott's barrel chest.  SINKS HIS FINGERS INTO THE FLESH.  An inhuman grip.
Scott is raised off the floor, contorted with agony, above the other's head.

79 INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT 79

DOLLY PRECEDING GINGER as she returns from the kitchen with a plate full of celery stalks and a glass of milk.  CAMERA passes the closed bedroom door and STOPS, as Ginger pauses to set the plate on top of the glass, freeing one hand to open the door.

AN EXPLOSION OF SPLINTERS in close F.G. as a shape smashes through the door right in front of her...Scott's body propelled halfway through the door by enormous force.
Ginger shrieks and leaps back, flinging milk and all into the air.

The door begins to open but  the pressure of Scott's body creates resistance.
Ginger SCREAMS and back away.

The door is wrenched open and Dickinator steps through with a massive bazoka-looking launcher drawn.

HANDHELD WITH GINGER, the walls blur by as she runs.

TIGHT ON DICKINATOR as the Used Condom-Launcher RISES INTO FRAME, aligning with his eyes.  BOOM!

LOW FAST DOLLY WITH GINGER as the Condom punches into her shoulder, pitching her on her face outside the bathroom door.

LOW WIDE ANGLE as she crawls forward, gasping, drowning.
The implacable figure looms behind her.
Her expression is horny and reeling, nauseating orgasims.

GINGER
Why am I suddenly dying?

Her eyes roll, showing the whites, like a horse tethered in a burning stable.
 

80 INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT 80

Ginger scrabbles pathetically for a grip in the tile floor as she pulls herself into the bathroom.
She clutches the rim of the toilet.

LOW ANGLE PAST HER, ON DICKINATOR, as he stands behind her.
PAN UP, off her.  He takes aim.
And empties the launcher onto her.
He calmly reloads.
 

81 INT. HALLWAY/BEDROOM - NIGHT 81

CLOSE ON PHONE MACHINE, as the telephone rings loudly in the ensuing silence.
Dickinator spins, drawing an instantaneous bead on the source of the sound, but doesn't fire.

GINGER'S VOICE
(recorded)
Hi there.
(pause)
Ha ha ha, fuck you.  You're talking to a machine...

C.U. - DICKINATOR, motionless, listening.

GINGER'S VOICE
(recorded, continuing)
...but don't be shy, it's okay.
Machines need love too...

Dickinator turns abruptly back to Ginger's body.  He turns it over, assuring himself that she is dead.

GINGER'S VOICE
(continuing, recorded)
...so talk to it and Ginger, that's me, or Natasha will get back to you.
Wait for the beep.

There is a loud tone and the incoming call is heard.

NATASHA'S VOICE
(on machine)
Ginger, this is Natasha...

Dickinator's head snaps back and he freezes, listening.
He rises slowly as Natasha's voice continues.

TIGHT ON HIS UNBLINKING EYES.

NATASHA'S VOICE
(on machine, continuing)
...I'm in this place called Stoker's on Pico but I'm too scared to leave.
I'm really scared. Some bastards following me and I can't shake him....

To be continued.......