AEON BABEL - THE GENESIS SAGA RICK REMIS (22) - A young, gawky, unconfident sad-sack loser with a bad haircut and a cheap polo shirt. He's perpetually morose, always frowning. WILLIAM DiGURT (50) - A tough old scientist with disheveled hair, perpetual five o'clock shadow and bent spectacles. He's completely dismissive of and disinterested in Rick. SATSUKI DIMITU (19) - She's a drop-dead sexy girl of indiscriminate Asian descent who has an air of detachment and distance about her. Satsuki is always looking a thousand yards away, even when involved in a conversation. Satsuki bleaches her hair, giving her a platinum blonde look. MEGAN MORDANT (20) - A tall, thin, knockout blonde with the face that'd launch a thousand ships. She's always the center of attention, the hottest girl in the world and knows it, she's always smirking and looking down her nose at everybody. ALICE ATO (35) - She's a woman who doesn't look a day over twenty, a radiant beauty with hair so dark and dense that even light can't escape. She's wearing a black woman's skirt suit and nylons. She looks like she just came from a funeral. A glittery silver crucifix hangs with a set of battered, tarnished dog tags on a bead chain around her neck. TRISTAN DELACOEUR (25) - Tristan is a tall man, six foot three with GQ good looks, an expensive coiffeur, debonair clothes and a confident, cocksure smirk and stride. He's holding a martini glass full of manhattan. KATHERINE NORMAN (18) - An adorable girl with straight brown hair and spectacles. She's wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pleated skirt. She's adorable and perky and is always smiling, the exact opposite of the perpetually- morose Rick. NOVEMBER 01, 2012 - THURSDAY EXT. SPACE - LUNAR ORBIT Two HUMONGOUS MECHA, approximately sixty feet in height float suspended in weightlessness in orbit around the lunar regolith. The mecha are humanoid in shape, incredibly feminine, they have a body style like a professional ballet dancer. Each has heavy armor around their chest, waist and hips. Their heads are wrapped in a face- obscuring helmet. Their chest armor is adorned with what appear to be high-domed bra cups. While both machines' armor is uniquely-designed, both are styled to resemble the faceted, sharply- angles of an Abrams tank or an Nighthawk stealth fighter/bomber. One is painted in a gaudy purple-on-yellow color scheme and is marked with the designation X1, the other in a flashier blue-on-white color scheme and is marked with the designation X3. Both are clutching robot-sized long arms in hand, X1 carrying a dual- tube rocket launcher and X3 a weapon closely resembling a contemporary military rifle. Both have a holster bolted to their legs, containing robot-sized automatic handguns resembling contemporary military pistolss These are the AEONS, biomechanical fighting machines piloted by hotblooded young stick jockeys, each seated within a sealed cockpit compartment deep within their machine's torso. The Aeons are equipped with a large backpack-mounted propulsion unit, a large tank with two arms protruding from the sides. The arms are studded with rocket thrusters, cowlings and ductings. Whenever an Aeon moves, twists, turns or rotates, the rockets fire in concert with their motions. INSERT - AEON X1's COCKPIT TRISTAN DELACOEUR (25) is at the controls. He's wearing a flight suit closely resembling a contemporary U.S.A.F. high altitude pressurized suit, complete with face- obscuring helmet with protruding air supply hose. Attached to his gloves are a type of wireless controller mechanism which rests in each palm. Along the leading edge of the control sticks are a series of buttons that correspond with each of his fingers, at the thumb is a rocker switch and several molly-guarded toggle switches. As Tristan moves his hands around in front of him, his Aeon moves its hands in analog, this of course, allows for subtle control of the complicated mechanism's motor functions. He's surrounded with tactical displays, on board diagnostics displays, buttons, switches and controls, much like the cockpit of a contemporary high-tech fighter jet. His heads-up display shows a spherical representation of his surroundings. He and his partner's Aeons show up on the radar as blue icons, in the distance is a menacing red icon, flashing and pulsing. A vector line shows the red icon's path, traversing right through the two Aeons. TRISTAN: Think you're ready? A window pops up on Tristan's H.U.D., video from his partner's cockpit displaying his partner's helmeted head. Her voice crackles out over the radio, it sounds distant and tinny. MEGAN (VOX): I was born ready. EXT. SPACE - LUNAR ORBIT The two Aeons float, weapons at ready, with their backs to the foreground. Their propulsion modules flutter and burn with tiny pulses. In the distance, between the two, a glittering speck of white is moving toward them, growing larger, coming closer by the second. TRISTAN (VOX): This isn't anything like the F22 you trained on. MEGAN (VOX): I'm aware, I took the same training as you. So you don't have to treat me like I'm a baby. TRISTAN (VOX): Well, you are a baby. MEGAN (VOX): Oh yeah, I'll show you who's a baby! TRISTAN (VOX): Here's your chance, object codenamed "Ladon," ten thousand meters and closing, should be in range now. Aeon X3 shoulders its rifle, taking a Weaver stance in space, the robot is peering straight down the rifle's sights, lining them up with the rapidly-approaching highly-reflective white object. The robot's finger hovers tantalizingly over the weapon's trigger. INSERT AEON X3's COCKPIT MEGAN MORDANT (19) wearing a similar flight suit and helmet as Tristan, only cut and colored more suitably for a thin woman's frame, pantomimes holding a rifle out in front of her. Megan's strong-side index finger is hovering over the button on the control stick. A video window displaying Tristan is likewise on her H.U.D. MEGAN: Ready to fire. TRISTAN (VOX): Let off a burst. MEGAN: Firing. Megan presses the trigger. EXT. SPACE - LUNAR ORBIT Aeon X3's index finger clamps down on the rifle's trigger then instantly releases, letting out a quick burst. Bright blue tracers spit from the rifle, tracking the path of the hypersonic railgun projectiles it fired. The three tracers intersect with the reflective object in the distance. TRISTAN (VOX): Direct hit! MEGAN (VOX): I told you this wasn't kid's play. Aeon X1 points its finger toward the reflective object! TRISTAN (VOX): Don't celebrate just yet, it's still coming at us! MEGAN (VOX): Firing another burst. TRISTAN (VOX): Fire! Aeon X3 lets off another burst of blue ribbon railgun slugs. Again, each of these tracers impacts the object directly, with no result. INSERT - X1's COCKPIT TRISTAN: Three thousand meters and closing! We should have visual! MEGAN (VOX): Telescope to thirty two power, I've got a clear image. (beat) Oh my God..! EXT. SPACE - LUNAR ORBIT We finally get to see the object that has been menacing Our Heroes, LADON. Ladon is a likewise giant biomechanoid that in shape also resembles the long, lean feminine curves of a professional dancer; however this monster lacks the same gentle grace and artificial lines as the Aeons. It is a horrific visage of sharp gnashing teeth and spiked horns, an eyeless face and wide, smoke-belching nostrils. The creature's hands are terminated in long, jagged blades and it has a ridge of metallic spikes like the teeth on a circular saw running down its back. The creature is adorned with overlapping scales and studded with hundreds of eyes, each peering around accusatorily, each independent of the others. Ladon's hide bears the marks of several punctures, oozing a luminescent purple ichor. TRISTAN (VOX): Ladon! MEGAN (VOX): (incredulous) I... I hit it with both bursts... How is it still..? TRISTAN (VOX): You didn't really expect it to be this easy, did you? MEGAN (VOX): I was kind of hoping. TRISTAN (VOX): Eight hundred meters, get ready to earn your paycheck! INSERT - X3's COCKPIT. Aeon X3 fires a long burst at Ladon, dumping the magazine. From Megan's POV, looking down the Aeon's shouldered rifle, brilliant blue tracers zip through the inky blackness of space, directly into Ladon's torso. Railgun slugs punch holes straight through the dragon, not even slowing it down. Megan's shouting, you can hear it in her voice that she's really enjoying this. MEGAN: (shouting) YEEEEAH! GET SOME! The burst ends with the mecha's rifle's bolt locking back on the last round, indicating an empty magazine. TRISTAN (VOX): You're empty! Transition! EXT. SPACE. Aeon X3 simply lets go the rifle, allowing it to float away from its hands, the rifle is retained by a self-retracting strap, as soon as the Aeon releases the weapon, the rifle's lanyard retracts, causing the rifle to snap to a secure, out-of-the-way position at the Aeon's waist. X3's right hand snaps down to its pistol holster and like a quick-draw champion, skins that smokewagon and has it pointed in the general direction of the approaching Ladon. Too late though! Ladon, fist outstretched in a Superman pose plows straight into Aeon X3, its bladed hand piercing straight through X3's torso. Both tumble end-over-end from the impact, X3's rocketpack firing like mad, trying to regain attitude control. Megan lets out a bloodcurdling scream, her Aeon clutching at Ladon's blade-fist, trying to extract it. INSERT - X1's COCKPIT: Megan is screaming, her voice so loud it's causing feedback. Inside the video window on the HUD, Tristan can see that Megan is doubled-over in pain, clutching her chest, right below her heart. TRISTAN: (shouting) Mordant! Speak to me! Are you all right? Speak to me! MEGAN (VOX): Oh God, oh God, I'm going to... TRISTAN: No you're not, you're okay! You're just picking up the Aeon's neuro-link feedback! MEGAN (VOX): Oh God it hurts... I'm going to die... TRISTAN: Remember your training, you'll pull through! EXT. SPACE. Ladon and Aeon X3 tumble in microgravity, X3 kicking at Ladon, its hands tugging at Ladon's blade-fist. Luminescent purple fluid with the viscosity of gear lube gushes under high pressure from the wound in X3's chest. Megan is screaming, bawling, it hurts her so very badly, as if she herself were run through. Aeon X1 blazes through space on a column of fire toward the tumbling, kicking, spinning zero-G catfight. TRISTAN (VOX): I'm coming, hold tight! MEGAN (VOX): I... I can't... It h... h... h... Tristan's Aeon X1 raises its dual-tube rocket launcher at the duo. INSERT - X1's COCKPIT Tristan's POV is dominated by the Aeon's dual-tube rocket launcher, his targeting reticule is upon Ladon and flashing red. Tristan's finger slowly begins to squeeze down on the control stick's trigger button. In the reticule, Ladon can be seen bringing its other blade-fist up to swipe at X3's head. X3 pushes and wrestles with Ladon, trying to extricate the blade-fist from its ribcage. Both X3 and Ladon are smeared with greasy purple fluid. MEGAN (VOX): (screams) I can't... I can't take it anymore..! TRISTAN: God dammit. Too close for missiles... EXT. SPACE. TRISTAN (VOX): Switching to guns. Aeon X1 lets go of the dual-tube rocket launcher, it, like X3's rifle zips along a spring- loaded retention lanyard to an out of the way position at X1's back. Aeon X1 draws its pistol and dives toward X3 and Ladon, firing the whole way. X1's pistol fires little spring-loaded gyrojet rockets, whose motors engage a meter or so beyond the pistol's muzzle. The gyrojets leave white smoke trails behind them as they plow into Ladon, making small, robot fist-sized explosions as they impact. Ladon turns its attention momentarily to Aeon X1, averting its gaze from X3. TRISTAN (VOX): Now Mordant! Use your missiles! INSERT - X3's COCKPIT. Megan, her hands posed to correspond with her Aeon's flips the molly-guards from a toggle switch on each hand's control stick. She presses the toggle button. Ladon's snapping jaws and glistening blade-fists dominate her cockpit's external view. EXT. SPACE. Aeon X3's arms push Ladon away, as far as possible given the fact that Ladon's blade-fist is still run straight through X3's chest. A roar of smoke emits from around X3's chest armor bra-cups. These cups, seemingly only lurid decoration on the already feminine Aeons begin to extract themselves from X3's chest on columns of fire, revealing themselves not to be decor, but active missiles. A corresponding set of flame-jets erupt from Aeon X3's back, the missiles' rocket motor exhaust escaping as the missiles themselves erupt from X3's chest cavity, straight into Ladon's center mass. The missiles push Ladon away from Aeon X3. Ladon's blade-fist pulling straight out amid a gush of the luminescent purple gear lube. Ladon tumbles end over end away from X3. Megan screams, her Aeon clutching at the sucking wound in its chest. Sparks and lightning flash from the wound. INSERT - X1's COCKPIT. Tristan watches as Ladon is driven away from Megan's Aeon on twin columns of smoke and fire. Tristan takes a deep sigh, she's safe, for now. TRISTAN: Megan? Megan? Are you okay? Come back, Megan! MEGAN (VOX): (weakly) Y... yeah... I'm h-here. Windows pop up on Tristan's HUD depicting a graphic representation of Megan's Aeon and the damage thereof. The entire center of Aeon X3's torso flashes red, the words "CRITICAL" flash menacingly. TRISTAN: Megan, I need you to listen to me. Ecks Three took a direct hit to the reactor core. She's going to blow. You need to eject. Ladon, now several hundred meters away from Aeon X3 brushes the missiles aside, they spiral lackadaisically away from the monster then erupt in massive spherical fireballs. MEGAN (VOX): No way, I'm not leaving her! Ladon resumes its course, flying through space back toward Aeon X3, looking to strike the coup de grace. INSERT - X3's COCKPIT. Red lights flash and warning sirens bleat. All around Megan, displays read "CRITICAL" and "DANGER" and "REACTOR BREACH" Directly ahead, Ladon is flying straight on toward Aeon X3, its fist outstretched in the same Superman pose as before. TRISTAN (VOX): God dammit, Mordant! Eject! That's an order! Eject! Twitching in agony, Megan brings her right hand up to the left side of her uniform shirt. She clutches at the fabric and begins to tug, wincing the whole time. TRISTAN (VOX): What the hell are you doing! EXT. SPACE Aeon X3's hand matches the same motion as Megan's in the prior scene. X3's fingers dig into the armor plate at its chest and tugs. Cracks appear, splintering away from the already-damaged portions of armor. As she tugs, sparks fly and lightning arcs from the gaping wound in the Aeon's chest. Aeon X1 is firing its handgun at the charging Ladon, the little gyrojets mainly whiz by with the occasional projectile striking the monster, accomplishing about as much as had it missed. MEGAN (VOX): (strained) You hungry? INSERT - X1's COCKPIT Tristan looks down at the video window into Megan's cockpit. Megan tears her flight suit, ripping it from shoulder to navel, exposing her perky zero-G juggs while in analog motion X3 yanks its armor clean off, exposing its perky, spark-emitting, lightning- belching reactor core. MEGAN (VOX): Then eat this! X3 has both its hands in front of it, middle fingers upraised, pointing directly at Ladon. Just as Ladon makes its second impact with Aeon X3. Boom. EXT. SPACE In the soundless void of space, an atomic explosion fills the sky with an intense white blaze. The silhouettes of Aeons X1 and Ladon can be seen shielding themselves from the blast whereas Aeon X3 is apparently consumed by the flash. As quickly as it appeared, the brilliant white flash dissipates, leaving Ladon and Aeon X3's charred corpses floating limply in lunar orbit while Aeon X1 maintains the pose it took as X3's reactor went critical. TRISTAN (VOX): M... Meg... M... A distant, tinny, soft cough and a giggle comes back through the VOX. MEGAN (VOX): (quiet, in pain) I-is sh-she oh-okay? FADE OUT SNAZ CREDITS SEQUENCE NOVEMBER 02, 2012 - FRIDAY INT. RICK'S BEDROOM. Rick's bedroom is a fairly pedestrian affair, bed, computer desk, dresser, bookcase full of DVDs, small television sitting on a box in the middle of the floor. RICK REMIS, a twenty year old with a chiseled physique and GQ hair is laying on his back, a MADDENINGLY-FOXY GIRL in a cheerleader's outfit is riding him cowgirl- style. The room is brightly-lit and shot with a star filter, The Girl's hair and body glisten and sparkle. Rick is smiling huge as the girl writhes around on top of him, thrusting her hips in time with his. RICK: So, how great am I? GIRL: Totally great, amazing. I've never had it so good. God you're huge. RICK: Goddamn right. Suddenly, Rick's cell phone rings, buzzing across the desk. Instantly, Rick's bedroom becomes gloomy and gray, dimly-lit and in sharp focus. The Girl is gone, leaving a scrawny, pale, soft Rick alone in his room with an awful haircut. True Rick is laying on his bed, sheet pulled up around his waist. His left hand is under the sheet, quite obviously engaged in self-abuse, his right is clutching a stained frilly undergarment. Rick sighs and reaches for his phone, he looks at the display, it read "DAD CELL". RICK: Goddammit. Rick picks up the cell and flips it open. RICK: Yeah, what do you want? WILLIAM (VO): Rick, it's your father. RICK: I know, I have caller ID. WILLIAM (VO): I need you to attend a function at the Tower tonight. Your presence is mandatory. RICK: I got stuff to do. WILLIAM (VO): No you don't. Dress nice, no polo shirts. RICK: If you didn't want me to wear polo shirts, you wouldn't buy them for me. WILLIAM (VO) Patrick, you're twenty years old, I haven't bought you a shirt in four years. RICK: Dad, I can't make it. I'm really... busy tonight. WILLIAM (VO): No you aren't. If you've not checked in at the security desk by seventeen hundred hours, I'm sending security to detain you. Don't make me do that. RICK: Well Jesus dad, if it's that important to you, I'll be there. WILLIAM (VO): Good, don't let me down. RICK: I won't... (click) RICK: ...dad. Rick sighs and closes the phone. He returns his hand back under the sheet to carry on where he left off. He finds that he's become flaccid. RICK: (annoyed) Now I gotta start all over... CUT TO: INT. TOWER OF BABEL, EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM. The Executive Boardroom is dominated by a large round table, at which only WILLIAM DiGURT (50) - A tough old scientist in a white lab coat is seated. He has disheveled hair, perpetual five o'clock shadow and bent spectacles. At each seat is a flat panel monitor and web cam, upon each is a backlit silhouetted figure, of the kind seen in hard-hitting investigative journalism shows where the interviewee wishes to maintain anonymity. Each silhouetted figure is represented by a number in the bottom quarter of the monitor, ascending from 1 to 12. The Boardroom is completely dark with spotlights shining down upon DiGurt and the twelve flat panel monitors. William drops his cellular phone upon the table, its face glows for a short moment then goes dim as William leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. He clasps his hands under his chin and smiles. WILLIAM: Soon... (beat) he (beat) ...shall awaken. #1's VOICE: He'd better awaken soon, we've only forty two days until The End Day. #4's VOICE: Assuming the prophecy is even true in the first place. #1's VOICE: If you don't believe in the prophecy's veracity, why have you invested so much time and money in the project? #4's VOICE: It's not that I disbelieve, I just have the faintest glimmer of hope that we're wrong. WILLIAM: We've all seen enough to know better. #4's VOICE: That may be true, but people need hope. WILLIAM: Hope and prayers are nothing more than wishes. Fill one hand with wishes and the other with shit, and which fills up faster? No, gentlemen, the preparations are almost complete, we're going to welcome December the Twenty-First, The End Day with open arms. We have the tools, we have the technology, we have the talent to force this thing to go our way. All we need is The Chosen One's participation. #1's VOICE: And you're certain you'll be able to ply his cooperation? WILLIAM: He's desperate for my accolade; he'll do anything I ask of him if he thinks it'll win my approval. #7's VOICE: Of course he will, which is why you had to threaten him with violence to get him to come to the Tower. #1's VOICE: And there's no guarantee that he'll be a willing participant in The Project, he very well may learn of its intricacies and simply run away. WILLIAM: Naturally, I've devised a contingency to that. Satsuki, will you come out please? From the shadows steps SATSUKI DIMITU (19) - She's a drop-dead sexy girl of indiscriminate Asian descent and bleached hair, giving her a platinum look. She has an air of detachment and distance about her. She takes a position next to William's seat, arms hanging limply at her side, eyes forward, looking to some indeterminate point ten miles in the distance. WILLIAM: May I introduce Satsuki Dimitu, a member of my staff, devoted one hundred percent to me and The Project. She was engineered from preconception, raised, educated and trained, her very existence devoted completely to assuring Patrick's willingness and complicity. SATSUKI: (distant, detached) That is correct. I am wholly devoted to The Project and its goals. It is my singular reason for being, I shall not allow it to fail. #4's VOICE: Well Jesus Christ, DiGurt, I've got Dennis Hof's personal cell number on me. I could have forwarded it to you, saved you both a lifetime of time, effort and money. WILLIAM: Young Patrick is the Chosen One. You all decided. You need him more than I do, it's only my job to assure his involvement in The Project. Were it up to me, I'd leave him to his own devices. CUT TO: INT. RICK'S BATHROOM. The shower is running, the room full of steam. From behind the opaque shower curtain, Rick's hand protrudes, holding a Fleshlight. He places the flashlight-sized-and-shaped device down upon the bathroom sink, next to a disposable razor, a frazzled old toothbrush and an uncapped stick of deodorant. RICK: Best thirty bucks I ever spent. INT. RICK'S BEDROOM. Rick is buttoning his shirt, a longsleeved plain white shirt. He has the buttons misaligned. RICK: Aw dammit. Who's brightass idea was it to not have these buttons go all the way down to the bottom? Rick quickly unbuttons his shirt. Rick's cell phone rings. He digs into his pleated slacks pocket for it, he looks at the display. RICK: Huh, I don't recognize that number. Rick flips the cell open and presses the phone against his ear. RICK: (hesitantly) H-hello? SATSUKI (VO): Patrick Remis? RICK: Y-yeah, who is this? SATSUKI (VO): Your father sent me. You are to attend a function at The Tower. RICK: Figures, only my dad calls me "Patrick." Can you give me five minutes, I'm still getting ready? SATSUKI (VO): You're to meet me outside of your apartment complex in five minutes. Any deviation will result in my contacting the authorities to have you detained and brought in. RICK: Yeah all right, I'm on my way. Say, who are you? I don't recog... (click) RICK: (continuing) ...nize your voi... How come nobody ever wants to even bother engaging in a full conversation with me today? EXT. OUTSIDE RICK'S APARTMENT - DAY. Rick is fussing with his necktie, trying to recall how to tie it as he pushes through the door. RICK: (to himself) Okay so it's around this part, then up this way, then back around like this and down... God dammit. Rick looks up to see Satsuki in a chic Little Black Dress, leaning against the fender of a sleek Japanese import sports car. She's staring straight through Rick, looking a mile beyond him. Rick comes to a dead stop on the stairs, eyes wide like saucers. SATSUKI: Patrick Remis? RICK: Y-yeah? SATSUKI: Get in. I'm to take you to The Tower. Satsuki leans off the car's fender and casually walks to the drivers' side door and climbs in. She turns the ignition and closes the door simultaneously, she's efficient like an automotive assembly robot. The car roars, she revs the motor. RICK: You can take me anywhere. Rick tugs at the passengers' side door. It's locked. Rick raps on the glass with his knuckle and points through the window at the lock stud, still in the "down" position. RICK: Uh, you wanna unlock the door for me? Satsuki, eyes locked forward simply moves her hand to the control panel on her door and presses the "unlock" button. She's completely detached from her surroundings, looking forward creepily. Rick opens the door and slips in. RICK: Thanks. So uh, I'm Rick, and you are..? SATSUKI: Running late. Satsuki slaps the gear shift into first and stomps on the gas, not even bothering to look at her mirrors, let alone over her shoulder to check traffic. The car lurches out into traffic, slipping right between two moving cars and falling instantly in rank with them. Horns blare and unintelligible invectives are spouted from the drivers behind Satsuki. TRANSITION EXT. TOWER OF BABEL - DAY. The Tower of Babel is a mindbogglingly-huge structure, stretching up to kiss the very face of Heaven. It's a long cylinder of glittering steel and glass four hundred feet in diameter, stretching almost two thousand feet up. The Tower is surrounded by ten geodesic domes, each a power generation facility providing for The Tower's energy requirements. Satsuki's car arrives at a security checkpoint. She glides the car to a stop fractions of an inch away from the security checkpoint's yellow and black caution-striped drawbar. As a SECURITY GUARD bends down to the car's drivers' side window, Satsuki, without looking, produces an identification card and a folded piece of paper and hands them over to the guard. Satsuki stares forward, relating her dialog in a flat, plaintive, disinterested tone. SECURITY GUARD: How's it goin' today, Miss Dimitu? SATSUKI: Well. The Security Guard looks across Satsuki to Rick. The Guard's face lights up. SECURITY GUARD: Hey Rick! Long time no see! RICK: (nervous) Oh, hi. SECURITY GUARD: It's been years since you've been to The Tower, how you been, kiddo? RICK: Pretty all right, I guess. SATSUKI: If you'll excuse us, I have a schedule to which I must adhere. SECURITY GUARD: Yeah, right, here are your papers. The Security Guard hands Satsuki back her papers then leans away from the car's window, which rolls up with an electric hum. The Security Guard hitches a thumbs-up to another guard behind the security checkpoint. The black and yellow striped drawbar barricade rises up, and the car takes off underneath the drawbar, just barely squeezing underneath it and roaring toward The Tower. Rick leans forward, toward the windshield and looks up at The Tower, looming impressively in front of him. RICK: So that's The Tower, huh? I've never been so close to it. I mean, not since it was finished. Satsuki just ignores Rick, staring forward, as if Rick doesn't even exist. RICK: It's pretty impressive, huh? Rick looks over at Satsuki, her left hand on the steering wheel, right on the gear shift lever, eyes forward, staring directly ahead, not reacting to anything going on around her. RICK: Uh, hello? Are you listening to me? SATSUKI: I am, I choose not to respond. RICK: Why not? SATSUKI: What you are saying has no relevance to The Project or its goals. RICK: "The Project?" What's that? SATSUKI: I am not at liberty to divulge, only to assure your arrival at our destination. The car roars around a corner and into the entryway into a large underground parking structure. SATSUKI: And now we've arrived. Satsuki twists the keys out of the ignition and opens her door. She steps out of the auto as Rick stares intently at her with eyes like saucers. Rick blinks, trying to peel his gaze off of her physique and over at the door, where he scrabbles for the handle. INT - TOWER OF BABEL, UNDERGROUND PARKING. Satsuki's car is parked elegantly between the lines on an empty floor. Its passenger door opens and Rick stumbles out. Satsuki is standing with her back to Rick. SATSUKI: Let's go. Satsuki begins to walk away from her car toward an elevator. RICK: Hey, wait. What project? What's this all about? I'm not going any further until you tell me what's going on! Satsuki comes to a complete stop. RICK: That's right! I'm not moving from this spot until you tell me why my father wants me here. There's nothing you can do to make me. Satsuki is still looking forward, not bothering to turn around to engage in dialog with Rick. SATSUKI: Are you absolutely certain there's nothing I could do? RICK: (smiles) Oh well, I'm certain there's something you could do. CUT TO: INT. TOWER OF BABEL - EXECUTIVE CORRIDOR An elevator rings and an arrow pointing down signals the elevator car's arrival. The doors slide open and at the instant they're wide enough to let her through, Satsuki steps out. She's followed by Rick, who is clutching his nose, blood gushing out and running down his chin and spiraling down his arm like a barber pole. The two converse as they walk down a corridor. The corridor is warmly-decorated with floor-to-ceiling paintings of scenes from the American Frontier. The corridor is trimmed in gloss-varnished dark wood and carpet so plush their shoes sink into it. RICK: You didn't have to hit me. SATSUKI: You said there was something I could do. RICK: Yeah, I was angling for like, a kiss. Satsuki comes to a stop, for the first time since we've met her, she doesn't appear distant or disinterested, rather confused. SATSUKI: I don't understand. RICK: You're like... you know? And since you were dragging me here kind of against my will, I was sort of hoping... you know? Satsuki returns to being completely detached and staring off into the distance. SATSUKI: No, I don't know. RICK: It's just that a beautiful girl could get a guy to do anything she wants if she just asks the right way. It's just that you wanted me here so badly, I just thought... SATSUKI: You think I'm beautiful? RICK: Well of course I do. SATSUKI: Your attraction to me is irrelevant to the goals of The Project. If you are to continue your involvement with The Project, you are to terminate that sentiment immediately. RICK: (confused) What..? SATSUKI: We've arrived. Make yourself presentable. Satsuki and Rick arrive at the end of the corridor, which is dominated by a large double- door of the same high-gloss dark wood as the corridor's trim pieces. Satsuki produces a keycard and inserts it into the reader. The reader's lights blink green and she pulls the door open. SATSUKI: After you. Rick walks past her, through the door into... INT. EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM The Executive Boardroom is brightly-lit, almost overpoweringly-so. William is seated at the end of the round conference table, opposite the door. Seated to either side are - ALICE ATO (35) - She's a woman who doesn't look a day over twenty, a radiant beauty with hair so dark and dense that even light can't escape. She's wearing a black woman's skirt suit and nylons. She looks like she just came from a funeral. A glittery silver crucifix hangs with a set of battered, tarnished dog tags on a bead chain around her neck. and TRISTAN DELACOEUR (25) - Tristan is a tall man, six foot three with GQ good looks, an expensive coiffeur and a confident, cocksure smirk. He's wearing a sharp, tailored blue Air Force Class A uniform. His uniform's breast is adorned with a board full of colorful decorations, designations and medals. The three stand up as Rick and Satsuki enter the room. Rick stands at the door, eyes full of uncertainty, his hand still clasped to his still-bleeding nose. Satsuki however breaks away from his side and takes a position next to Alice. WILLIAM: Ah, allow me to introduce my son, Patrick Remis. TRISTAN: (smirking) So you're the one? Patrick is it? Tristan and Alice walk around the table toward Rick. RICK: I... Uh... Call me "Rick." ALICE: All right, Rick. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Alice holds her hand out to shake. RICK: Uh, you'll have to excuse me if I don't. Is there uh, any place I can get cleaned up? TRISTAN: There's the little girls' room back down the hallway, third door to the right. RICK: All right, I'll uh, be right back. I'm sorry. Rick turns around and walks away quickly, almost running. TRISTAN: That's your Chosen One, huh? WILLIAM: Through him, The Project will bear its fruit. ALICE: Of course assuming the prophecy holds true. WILLIAM: We're to expect the worst but pray for the best. ALICE: I didn't take you for the praying type. WILLIAM: I'm not. Which is why we're expecting the worst. INT. EXECUTIVE WASHROOM. Blood-soaked paper towels are scattered in the sink. Rick places his hands under the faucet and waves them around. Rick's talking to himself, looking straight into his reflection's eyes, as if he's expecting a dialog. RICK: Stupid automatic... Come on already... Who's wise-ass idea was it to put these things..? God forbid someone actually need to run the water... The spigot intermittently releases a short jet of water, allowing Rick to bring water up to his face and scrub the blood from his lips and chin. RICK: I can't believe... Totally embarrassed... All right... Rick wipes the last of the caked, sticky blood from around his mouth and off of his hands. He gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror. No blood on his shirt, none on his chin or around his nose. Rick runs his wet hands through his hair, fiddling with the part. RICK: All right, let's get this over with.