Good Guys Never WinA Screenplay by Rowanna
A very short script. Supposed to be a manuscript about a conversation between a hostage taker and the police. It really isn't, though. English homework.
(It is a dark, perfectly cylindrical tunnel. The walls are made of an old grey stone and moss frequents the way in moderate patches. The only source of light is from the occasional flickering torch mounted to the walls with rusted metal frames. What appears to be a thin mist floats continuously from east to west along the tunnel. Suddenly a yawn echoes in the previously silent atmosphere. A slightly muscled young man in his late twenties, Jack Garland, comes out of a small, dark green tent that has been pitched on a somewhat larger patch of moss. He is wearing a Hollister San Clemente polo shirt in Green and a pair of Topman Chinos in a Mustard colour and Skinny Carrot fit. He has short brown hair and stubble framing a chiselled face and eyes the same colour as his shirt. He sets out a blanket the same colour as the tent and sits down with a thermo-flask of coffee. He isn’t wearing any shoes or socks. Not long after, another man comes out of the tent. This man, Andrew Chilcott, is in his mid forties and of a rather more muscular build than his younger friend. He has dark brown, unkempt shoulder length hair and a small gold hoop in one ear. His eyes are a chocolate brown and he has a soul patch the colour of his hair. A large scar runs all the way down the left hand side of his face, crossing his eyebrow and narrowly missing his eye. He wears a simple, unlabelled outfit of jeans and a t-shirt, again dark green, like the tent and the blanket and carries his own thermo-flask and an unlabelled off-white plastic box.)
Chilcott: Mince pie?
Chilcott: I still don’t understand why they chose to send you with me. You’re very inexperienced - you didn’t even graduate from the police academy, for god’s sake - and now you’re being sent on this mission. I’m not saying that you can’t cope with it, but there are much more qualified men out there to choose from.
(There is a pause as Garland wordlessly eats his mince pie, ignoring Chilcott’s expectant stare as he waits for some sort of explanation from the boy, before deciding that he really didn’t know; Any normal person would have given up by now, irritated by his consistency.)
Chilcott: Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I mean, you can use a firearm, and as long as we get the job done.
(There is another silence. Chilcott looks a little irritated and fishes a mince pie for himself out of the box.)
Chilcott: We’re getting low on food.
(Still, Garland says nothing.)
Chilcott: (Frustrated) Say something, boy!
Garland: We’re almost there.
Chilcott: (Surprised) What? How can you possibly tell?
Garland: The moss near that turn has been disturbed, someone’s been there recently.
Chilcott: (Worried) What do you mean? How recently?
Garland: While we were sleeping.
Chilcott: (Frightened) We should have had a watch, you have no idea what kind of danger we could have been in!
Garland: I have an idea.
Chilcott: Whatever. This means we should wear uniform today.
Garland: (Enthusiastically) Well done!
Chilcott: (Irritated) No need for sarcasm, boy!
Garland: (With a wonky smile) That wasn’t sarcastic, Sir.
Chilcott: (Furious) Go change, now!
(Garland returns to the tent with the wonky smile still upon his face, then returns a short amount of time later, in police uniform, still with the wonky smile upon his face. Chilcott then echoes his actions, except with a furious expression upon his face. Chilcott then goes as if to lead the way, east along the tunnel, but Garland puts a hand out to stop him.)
(Chilcott looks a little off-put, but nods in thanks and steps over it before continuing around the corner. Two ornate metal doors form a circle at the end of the tunnel. In the centre of each door is a large metal knocker and around the outside of the doors are thirteen twisting snakes, forming somewhat a circle with their tails inside the other’s mouths. Each man loaded their guns and Chilcott tried the door. When it refused to budge, the two men glanced at each other and after a mental agreement, Chilcott raised one hand and knocked three times on the knocker on the right hand door. There was a while, then no reply.)
Chilcott: We’re going to have to break it down.
Garland: We can’t, it’s too well built.
Chilcott: How do you know? It’s worth a try.
Garland: No, there has to be some other way in.
Chilcott: Are you telling me that we’ve trudged through this stupid tunnel for weeks "
Garland: Three days.
Chilcott: Ok, for three days, just to come across a door that we can’t get in?!
Garland: No, what I’m saying is that a door is a door and that there is always a way through it. We don’t need to break it down. No one makes a door that they can’t get through "
Chilcott: Why not? It seems like a pretty good idea to me, a one-way door. In fact, don’t people already make them?
Garland: What I’m saying is; what if someone from the inside were to get stuck on the outside of a one-way door, then unless there is a way in nearby, they’re stuffed. These people are not stupid, there has to be a way in. There are no cameras or any form of identification, so unless there’s some sort of secret knock code, which requires there to be someone else on the inside at all times, which is unlikely, there must be some other way in, nearby.
Chilcott: That seems a little too much like a guess to me.
Garland: We aren’t knocking the door down.
Chilcott: Whatever. Nerd.
(Garland paused, thoughtfully, before feeling the walls for a loose brick or something alike. After a while he gave up and tried the door. At last he found a catch in the snake at the top of the door’s eye. He pressed it down. All the snakes retracted their heads from the others’ tails and turned their heads to face the two policemen.)
(The doors slowly opened to reveal a large hall with a wooden floor. The floor was shaped like a tridecagon, but the stone walls managed to from a somewhat smooth dome. Opposite them is another round, ornate door. In the centre of the room, a massive spiral staircase lead seemingly out of the roof.)
Chilcott: Freaky s**t.
Garland: You take the stairs, I’ll try the door.
(Chilcott obediently walks toward the stairs while Garland walks across the room to the door. Garland’s steps are light and he easily and noiselessly reaches the door. Chilcott, being heavier, has difficulty getting across the creaking floorboards and has to move slowly and carefully. Therefore they both reach their destinations at around the same time. Garland slips through the door and Chilcott carefully steps onto the staircase. Instantly the loud groaning of ancient mechanics starts up and the stairs begin to wind upward like a spiral escalator. Chilcott freezes in fear on the moving stairs and shuts his eyes tight in anticipation.)
(Chilcott opens his eyes to find himself at the top of the staircase, in a large, spherical room. It took a while for him to realise that the room was made of glass, as they were underground and all you could see through the walls was ice and the occasional bit of running water. Directly in front of Chilcott is a thin man, with a young complexion and incredibly pale skin. Long, thick, silver hair falls across his shoulders and large blue eyes stare eerily from beneath long, dark lashes. His feet are bare and he wears a white robe like he’d come straight from the hospital that should have made him look weak, but a strange menace emanated from his otherwise blank expression, which completely negated that, and Chilcott subconsciously lowered his eyes. He is sitting on a glass chair that has been built into the wall.)
Chilcott: (Quietly) Peter Moore.
Moore: We’ve been expecting you.
Moore: We’ve been expecting you.
Chilcott: Yeah, I know what you said, but how did ya’ know it was me coming?
(Moore laughs but does not reply.)
(Garland enters a long hall. Down
each side of the hall are cages with various humans, some of whom can be
recognised from reports of missing people or previous hostage events and some
of whom have been mutilated beyond recognition. Most are leaning weakly against
the bars, staring out with a zombie-like expression. Trolleys with odd
chemicals are placed near some of the especially mutilated characters. Garland
feels ill as he looks at each person. There are a few who are still sane and
within recognition, screaming and sobbing in their own cages, trying
desperately to get out. He noticed in pair of cages that one person was happily
chewing the arm of their neighbour through the bars, and in a few cages on his
right that some had limbs or other body parts cut off, and that these were in the
cages of their many neighbours. Garland gagged and pause to look over his
shoulder before moving swiftly forward. He must have passed hundreds of these
people before he reached the end of the hall. Across the wall was an odd piece
of machinery. It wasn’t clear what it did, but large, moving gears stuck out of
it in odd places, and through a glass window he saw an odd, bubbling chemical.
To his right was a fifteen-year-old girl savaging someone’s leg. She was pale,
had her hair shaven off and had muscular arms that were covered in scars. At
first she had just looked like a slightly worse off version of everyone else,
but then Garland notices a band tattooed around her left ankle and pauses. He
knows it could just be anyone but he feels a leap of excitement and pauses.
After a while she lifts her head and Garland sees vacant eyes in a shockingly
dark brown and perfect red lips, all complimented by protruding cheekbones. He
stops in his tracks and walks slowly up to the bars, placing one hand
delicately on them.)
(The girl glances at his hand, then at the rotting piece of meat she’d been previously chewing on, before jumping up and hungrily seizing his hand to chew some fresher meat.)
Garland: Rosalie! No! Stop! It’s me!
(In the glass room.)
Moore: Well I suppose I had better show you what is to become of you.
Chilcott: What do you mean?
Moore: Well you didn’t think you’d actually be able to leave, now, did you?
Chilcott: (Indignant) Yes, I most certainly did. We know you’re the one who’s been holding Miss Bishop hostage, and we have every right to arrest you. If you needed money, you shouldn’t have wasted it on all this useless machinery.
Moore: (Laughing) You have much to see, friend.
Chilcott: (Defiantly) I am not your friend.
(Two men jump down from the ceiling. Their skin has been painted white and they are shaven and wear white robes, much like their master. Their grey eyes are vacant and they seize Chilcott obediently with powerful, muscular arms. They then pull Chilcott down the stairs, following Moore as they lead him into the room that Garland was in.)
(The ‘guards’ throw Chilcott into a vacant cell and Moore laughs mercilessly before walking to the end of the hall where Garland stood still, silently praying not to be noticed. Moore pulls a lever and turns to leave.)
Moore: You have ten seconds of sanity left. Enjoy it while you still can.
(Moore turns and leaves. Gas begins to fill the room.)
Chilcott: Why are you asking me? You’re the nerd, think of something!
Garland: It’s kind of hard to think when you’re getting your hand chewed off.
Chilcott: Whatever, just do something, this gas is making me drowsy.
Garland: I might be able to reach the lever from here.
Chilcott: You’ve got legs, you idiot, move them!
Garland: But I don’t want to disturb her meal!
Chilcott: Of your hand?! You’re a freaking nutcase!
Garland: Don’t worry, I think I can reach it!
(Garland stretches, his fingertips just reach the lever, but he is feeling tired. Rosalie, full and tired herself, suddenly lets go of Garland’s hand and slumps in the corner. Garland falls down, but can no longer get up. He reaches up toward the lever.)
Chilcott: Hurry up, I don’t want to be one of these freaks!
Garland: I’m trying, I think I can still reach the lever… If I just…
(Garland lunges, grabs the lever and allows his weight to pull it back down, before laying panting on the floor.)
Chilcott: Now get me out of here, boy. Quickly! We need to get backup.
(Garland pulls himself onto his hands and feet and crawls limply over to Chilcott’s cell. He pulls a picklock out of his pocket and fumbles for a while with the lock. The air is clearing and he feels his energy returning. He manages to open the lock and then hauls himself onto his feet as Chilcott bursts out of his cell and runs for the door without a word of thanks. Garland goes to run after him, but then pauses and glances over at Rosalie. He can hear footsteps; Moore has heard the commotion. Garland runs over to Rosalie’s cell and begins to fumble with her lock. In his panic and rush, he drops the picklock. He quickly picks it up and starts again on the lock. The door opens and Moore storms in.)
Moore: There were two of you. I should of known.
Garland: You’re messed up in the head, man.
Moore: I know. She your girlfriend?
Garland: Was. I thought she was dead, you psycho. We were just fifteen. She’s still just fifteen. You had no right.
Moore: I’m sure I didn’t, but I had to get my bodies from somewhere.
Garland: Just let her out, please!
Moore: She doesn’t even recognise you.
Garland: She will.
Moore: She won’t. She doesn’t exist anymore. That’s just an empty shell.
Garland: I don’t believe you.
Moore: Your friend’s gone.
Garland: Yes, he went to get backup.
Moore: Backup? Doesn’t he realise that my numbers far outnumber his?
Garland: What do you mean? You only have two guards?
Moore: What do you think all these people in cages are for?
Garland: They have guns.
Moore: They won’t have a chance in hell. Maybe some of mine will be shot down, but who cares? I’d love twenty or so fresh bodies!
Garland: Get away from me.
Moore: You should have saved yourself.
Garland: I’m not leaving her.
Moore: Well then you’re going to be here for a very long time, mate. Or not. You can be her meal. You might last a few days.
(Moore fishes out some keys and unlocks Rosalie’s cell. Garland seizes the opportunity and punches Moore hard in the face " a punch that would knock any average man out " to no effect. Moore opens the door briefly and pushes Garland in before locking it. Rosalie pounces on him and begins to savage the rest of his arm. Moore leaves with the keys.)
© 2012 Rowanna
Added on January 3, 2012
Last Updated on May 19, 2012
Norfolk, United Kingdom
AboutI am continually rewriting and improving chapters and stories. I have many handwritten stories that still need typing up. I have started on several novels that are currently for my eyes only, but wh.. more..