Figment Daily Themes: Child

Tell this story

"And why do we have to bring a twelve-year-old to a crime scene?!"

​The boy smiled faintly and replied, "Detective, I am here for your protection."

http://www.wallpaperup.com/189760/architecture_buildings_warehouse.html

INT./EXT. POLICE CAR #54 HURTLING THROUGH NEW ORLEANS - EVENING

A POLICE CAR zips down a futuristic urban street, slipping between other cars on the four-lane road with almost no room to squeak on either side. Buildings loom and throw back the echoes of the warbling SIREN.

An oncoming intersection is still red, lit from below as well as the traditional signal. Irate drivers honk.

The police car BLIPS, unseen wheels revealed as ornate spheres, glowing red and blue, and the vehicle rises just far enough to pass over roofs and beneath the street wiring.

CAPTION: New Orleans, 2235, 7:47pm.

This is the police car of the future. The interior is smooth and grey, with recessed grips and PANELS with back-lit lighting. The DASHBOARD sports no fewer than six touch-sensitive INTERFACES, with the current location (speeding through downtown New Orleans) mapped constantly on one of them. Everything is sleek and integrated, with only a hunt of chunky reinforcement at the edges that give that "yes, it's upgraded" feel.

OFFICER DANIELS drives, hands lightly on the control yoke, seat tilted back enough to look casual. He's done this a few times. There's a cocky smile trying to break through a professional demeanor.

His partner, OFFICER LASTRAND, look like he would rather say "I'm getting too old for this shit." His five-point seat belt, already buckled, gets checked again as Daniels throws the car over another INTERSECTION. One hand remains clutching the shoulder strap.

Daniels glances over.

DANIELS

I just want you to know, you chose this.

Lastrand flushes, starting to talk just before Daniels takes a 90o turn which pushes the car up on it's side a moment.

LASTRAND

I chose the car, mon. I didn't choose --

Fuck!

-- you. You, I don't like.

DANIELS

Total lie. You love me, man. You love me! Where else would you find a partner --

The car slips underneath a STORM-DRAIN TUNNEL to the side of the main thoroughfare barely large enough to fit the car.

DANIELS

-- who knows the city and can fly like this?

Lestrand looks paler than a black man as dark as he should be capable of.

LASTRAND

(disgusted)

Architecture students. Why did we have to recruit an architecture student?

A brown-tousled-hair head bounces up in the back seat and grins widely through the reinforced glass. NESHAN WILKINS is having the time of his wide-eyed life.

NESHAN

You majored in architecture, Officer Daniels? Cool! My uncle was an architect.

(beat)

Well, he blew up some buildings. That's kind of the opposite, but whatever, right?

LASTRAND

He blew up some buildings? Jesus, kid ...

The car whips through the city. The map display runs a count-down to arrival: 6 minutes.

DANIELS

Officer Oliver Lastrand, meet Neshan Wilkins. Nephew of Roderick Wilkins you might remember from a few decades back.

Lestrand tries not to give himself whiplash as his head turns during a 3D power slide.

LASTRAND

The terrorist? We're going to a crime scene with a terrorist's kid? That ain't right, mon.

NESHAN

(indignantly)

Activist! The New Confederacy was right!

(more considered)

Okay, terrorist. He was kind of a dick to my mom. My dad kind of liked him, though.

LASTRAND

Great family, kid. But that don't explain --

NESHAN

Officer Daniels, the bridge is up.

Daniels smiles, a genuine grin.

DANIELS

That's why I went this way.

The nearly inaudible whine of the drive inside the car takes a few steps up as the BRIDGE suddenly looms in the windshield, canted up almost 80o before the car itself lunges and twists, shooting straight up the concrete wall and arcing with delicate grace to angle for the raised other side.

Countdown flicks from 5min to 2min.

Daniels notices.

DANIELS

They're really going to have to fix the estimation on this GPS. Not used to the new lift system, I guess.

Lestrand is clutching both shoulder straps. Neshan seems to be loose in the back seat, grinning like a wildman in the momentary weightlessness.

A beat and they flick along the downwards surface and almost, almost, scrape along the lowered barrier on the other side.

LASTRAND

(whispered)

Fucking architecture students.

NESHAN

Holy crap! That was awesome!

Daniels lets the cocky smile break through almost all the way.

DANIELS

Yeah. Kinda awesome.

Traffic is lessened on this side of the river. The car hums along the roadway, almost normally.

LASTRAND

And why do we have to bring a twelve-year-old to a crime scene?

Neshan smiles.

NESHAN

Detective, I am here for your protection.

EXT. RUN DOWN WAREHOUSE PARKING LOT - EVENING

Lestrand and Daniels eye the lot from across the street while wearing FUTURISTIC TACTICAL GEAR. Lightweight ceramic armour plates. Over-the-ear comm cup. Flatscreen tactical panels on one gauntlet. Sexy boots.

Neshan pokes his head out from behind them with a critical eye. He notices the yellow POLICE TAPE shimmering with yellow "keep away" warnings running down its length, changing languages every few seconds.

NESHAN

I thought you guys said it's clear. This place was robbed a couple days ago, right?

Daniels extends a curved DISPLAY SURFACE from the comm cup and looks through it at the lot. HEAT MAPPING shows some tire tracks and such coming in and out, and the door is slightly warmer than the wall.

DANIELS

I did. It was. But something's not right. Someone's driven a car or truck into the lot and there's been some kind of machinery running in there. The door's warmer than it should be.

LASTRAND

Couldn't that just be some people in there?

DANIELS

Nah, too cool for that. It's gotta be some lightweight machinery.

LASTRAND

One guy, maybe?

Daniels considers before sliding the panel back into the cup.

DANIELS

Maybe. Could have just been forensics here for a second shoot.

LASTRAND

Then we'll be careful, not reckless. You got me, mon? Not reckless.

He pulls an enormous HAND-CANNON from his thigh holster and checks the MAGAZINE, which seems to be full of dull grey ROUNDS the size of carrots. Lestrand grunts in satisfaction and pops it back into place with a very muted *chak*.

NESHAN

Yeah, careful! Not at all like your driving. Or your walking. Or --

Neshan takes note of the fact that they're in the very barest possible position of concealment.

NESHAN

You know what? I'll be careful. Follow me.

And he heads across the road with the cheery comfort of the young, oblivious, or supremely secure.

DANIELS

I like this kid's style.

Daniels saunters out after Neshan as if on a Sunday stroll.

Lastrand sighs.

LASTRAND

I and I have no interest in meeting no gods today, friend.

He puts his hand on his hip, not quite directly over the butt of his gun, and crosses behind the other two.

INT. SECURITY ROOM INSIDE THE WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS

The VIEW PANELS are low and dim, barely shapes. A RED LED flickers on as Daniels and Lastrand pass through the lot's fenced gate entrance underneath the yellow police line.

Almost out of our sight, another PANEL shows a hint of movement and some PRESSURE CASES with tops askew venting MIST.

INT. WAREHOUSE OFFICES - CONTINUOUS

Neshan walks down a very clean, very kept office hallway, with low, cream carpet and inoffensive off-grey paint. The RECEPTIONIST'S DESK prominently displays a logo:

"Weyand and Yamagatchi Import/Export"

Daniels and Lastrand come in behind him. Lestrand has given up all pretense and has his hand-cannon in his hand. Daniels looks a little disappointed.

DANIELS

For a place busted for illegal drug distribution, this is some up-scale digs.

LASTRAND

Their usual business is biologicals. You know, agricultural stuff. Some fine ganja, mon. You should try it.

Daniels pushes on the handle of one of the offices.

Locked.

Fishes around in one of his pockets and whips out a thin RFID CARD. Holds it to the LOCK. Lights flicker around the card a moment and the lock *chuks*.

DANIELS

It's good to be a gangsta.

LASTRAND

Cop. You're a cop.

Neshan sticks his head around the corner ahead.

NESHAN

Architect!

DANIELS

Ex-architect. Ex-gangster, technically.

Lastrand gives him a confused scowl.

DANIELS

Heads of my firm were taken down for insider trading and corporate piracy. Corporate espionage, too!

(musing)

Good times. Good times, man.

LASTRAND

Fuck. My partner's a pirate mercenary spy.

DANIELS

Ex-pirate, ex-mercenary, ex-spy.

He pushes the office door open and steps inside.

DANIELS

Okay, maybe spy not so ex. But it's for the cops now, so it's cool, right?

Inside, the office is as dull as an import/export welcome office might be. Simple HOLOGRAPHIC DISPLAY, off. Drawers, closed. Imposing desk, not friendly.

Daniels works his fingers on the old-school KEYBOARD and the holo wakes right up.

DANIELS

Good thing we didn't cut the power.

LASTRAND

We cut the power, Daniels. We always cut the power from the grid after forensics leave.

DANIELS

Always?

Lastrand's gun-up position blocking the doorway and covering the hall intensifies.

LASTRAND

Always, mon. Always always. Power ain't free.

Daniels frowns as if just getting mustard on his second-favourite shirt. A small DATA CHIP is pressed into the surface receptacle on the keyboard, an ICON blooms into an APP on the holo, and he rakes surrounding ICONS into the slowly-rotating MAW of the app.

DANIELS

We're going to be a few minutes, here. This is a lot of stuff. Like, a lot a lot.

Lastrand throws a look over his shoulder at the front door, propped open with a TACTICAL SAND BAG and pushes off down the hall.

LASTRAND

I'm going to go check on the kid. It's too quiet down there.

DANIELS

Don't worry too much about him. He's probably exactly where he wants to be.

INT. WAREHOUSE STORAGE - CONTINUOUS

It's dark, with only sunlight sneaking in through high windows at a low angle being reflected down by huge white (well, dingy off-white) panels. PRESSURIZED CRATES sport self-contained environmental sealing. STANDARDIZED CRATES look remarkably like the half rail-crates of today. Even a few WOODEN CRATES are mixed in.

There's a labyrinth of STACKS and RACKS, partially lit by bars of reflected sunlight, with shadows hiding mainly along the back side.

Neshan is turning a corner, flicking his gaze up and down the rows. It looks like he's actively searching for something.

There.

The opened pressure crates.

They look like they've toppled off one of the racks, bumped by an AUTOMATED FORKLIFT with eight-fingered hands at the ends of the lifting tines. It sits, crooked in the row, behind the crates.

Some humped MASSES lie, rolled out of the crates. Some of them look damaged, crushed at one end. The MIST from the crates makes it hard to tell.

NESHAN

(softly)

That's not good.

SOMETHING watches Neshan from the top of a nearby rack. It's like HEAT VISION.

The thing leaps to another rack, closer. Neshan is standing there, looking behind him, gauging the distance back to the nearest door.

Another rack-top, making a creaking, clicking sound. Neshan isn't very bright and fairly small, moving slowly back the way he came.

NESHAN

Guys? Officers? You might want to think about going, now. Now might be a good time.

He looks up at the racks, scanning along them. A clacking echoes and he swivels, crouching down, smaller than before. Slowly pulling back.

The thing is directly over him. It sees his motion.

It clacks to itself.

*BOOM*!

The thing looks up just in time to see the HEAT-BRIGHT FORM of Lastrand firing his hand-cannon!

LASTRAND

Get out of there, kid!

*BOOM*! BOOM! BOOM!

Neshan dives forward ahead of the thing crashing to the brushed concrete between him and Lastrand! There's thrashing, then stillness save for a low, harsh HISS.

Lastrand moves further out of the doorway and we see he has the curved sensor exposed from his comm cup, scanning the room with gun extended like a turret.

LASTRAND

You okay, kid? I and I gonna get you out of here. Everything irie.

NESHAN

You sound really Jamaican when you get stressed, Officer Lastrand.

LASTRAND

That's cuz I am Jamaican! Now git!

Neshan looks at the piled heap of the FALLEN THING. It's glossy and chitinous, long-limbed and segmented. The head is long, oblate, eye-less, with a small mouth full of long, metallic-appearing teeth. In the grazing light of the falling sun, thin tendrils of SMOKE or STEAM rise from the concrete underneath and around it. And up the side of the rack from which it fell.

NESHAN

(softly)

Aw. Fuck.

(louder, concerned)

Officer Lastrand, you definitely want to get Daniels and get out of here. Now!

Lastrand moves further into the room, gun up tight and swiveling hard.

LASTRAND

Kid, I'm coming to get you out! Hold tight!

Row, clear.

Row, clear.

Another THING looks down at the brightly glowing shape of Lastrand. It leaps onto a stack of crates on his blind side, but the noise attracts his attention and BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Neshan edges up the row toward the mounded lumps. He's bent forward almost double, moving on hands and feet, keeping tucked tight.

The mounds resolve through the mist as RUBBERY EGGS. At least two of them have SPLIT OPEN at one end and trail some kind of VISCERAL GOO.

NESHAN

That's very bad.

(shouting)

Officer Lastrand! There's at least one more of those things in here! You need to Get. Out!

More sounds of creaking skittering from the top of the racks, and one THUDS hard into another, toppling the pair and spilling CRATES everywhere along those aisles.

Lastrand looks in multiple directions and hesitates before committing. He sprints hard toward the sound of the crashing crates, gun like an extension of his arm.

One of the THINGS paces him from above, near-silent, watching him stark against the floor.

Lastrand stops suddenly. The thing above him tries, but is on unstable boxes which give way under its feet. Lastrand looks up, seeing it curl in mid-air like a cat, unfurling long front legs with claws and a wicked barbed tail to get leverage again, clinging face-down at the cop.

The mouth opens. Within, a smaller, spikier mouth extends on a long tube, side-lit by the fading sun. Bite. Bite!

DANIELS

(OS)

Really, xenos? Fucking xenos? This job sucks. You know that, Lastrand? This job sucks.

(beat)

Keep the car.

Daniels stands on top of a rack behind the XENO, a CLIMBING ROPE recoiling on his hip automatically. In his hands are smaller, but not really less intimidating PISTOLS.

The xeno whirls, tail-barb drawing SPARKS from the wall over Lastrand's head, forcing him to leap and roll back toward the door to the offices. There's no consideration as it leaps toward the cop.

Daniels whips down and backward, all the way to the floor, barely turning it into a tactical roll and taking the brunt of the pain in his left shoulder. Painfully making it to his feet in a scramble, leaving the snapped filter panel of his comm cup behind on the floor, he spins fast to face his attacker, pistol forward.

Neshan.

DANIELS

Well, that's okay then.

NESHAN

You better go, Officer. I've got it from here.

The xeno prowls over the two figures below, one red-hot and the other bluish, smaller, with a slight red core. The big one. Definitely the big one.

DANIELS

If you say so, Neshan. Tell your mom hi for me, okay?

NESHAN

Go.

DANIELS

Gone.

Daniels all-out sprints for the door.

The xeno sees him move and shifts, leaping, mid-air extended arms and legs, all claws and tail trailing behind.

Trailing something behind. The leap is going to fall short!

http://billynunez.com/Future-Face

Daniels turns as he reaches the door to see Neshan with both hands on the xeno's tail, braced on the floor.

As he watches, the boy's FORM BREAKS APART, SKIN separating into transforming SEGMENTS, MACHINERY underneath gleaming and metallic. He gains six inches, as his LEGS UNFOLD into DIGITIGRADE LIMBS. His ARMS extend DUAL ELBOWS, double-kinked. Cheerful FACE remains, though his LOWER JAW dislocates and FOLDS DOWN into a BLACK GAP.

NESHAN

(to Daniels, filtered, metallic)

You don't need to see this, officer. Get out.

Daniels doesn't bother to quip. He hits the door at a run and crashes through.

Neshan begins pulling the xeno toward him, arm over arm, hand over hand, like a rope. Xeno claws dig divots in the concrete as it tries to get away.

The xeno stares at the boy, now an incandescent radiance at the core and hot like molten iron in the limbs.

NESHAN

I think you and I need to have a little talk.

Hisses and thrashing are the only answer.

NESHAN

Okay, then.

And a whip-like motion throws the xeno to the rear of the warehouse! One of the racks is blasted with the acid blood of the landing, snapping one of the xeno's arms back at a terrible angle, and the supports collapse.

A SHOWER OF CRATES crush over the xeno.

The kid stalks forward toward the pile.

ANOTHER XENO moves in the rafters, gently creaking. Watching. The sun-bright boy is closing on its hive-mate.

EXT. RUN DOWN WAREHOUSE PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS

Lastrand and Daniels burst out of the front door as if chased by the demons of Hell. The sand-bag gets kicked and trips Lastrand who drops like a stone, but rolls to lie of his back, aiming between his knees at the now dark opening.

LASTRAND

What. The fuck. Was that?

Daniels has his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. His hair is disheveled.

DANIELS

Xeno. Alien. Lives to rape mouths, make babies, and kill. In that order.

LASTRAND

Not that.

DANIELS

Oh, the kid?

Lastrand gets to his feet heavily, one-handed, the other pointing the gun at the door as if on a steadycam.

LASTRAND

Yes, the fucking kid.

Daniels shrugs as he begins backing away. Lestrand goes, too, neither willing to turn their back on the building.

DANIELS

Cyborg. Uncle was a terrorist, dad was a sympathizer and organizer, and his mom was kind of a mad scientist. Good lay, too.

LASTRAND

What?

DANIELS

Connect the fucking dots, man. Terrorists get rumbled, dad uses son as human shield against the feds, terrorist blows up building, kid gets squished, and mom rebuilds crushed squidgy remains of kid into a killer combat cyborg with a heart of gold. Good old fashioned story.

They've made it into the car now, with Lastrand typing like a fiend on the interface.

LASTRAND

Dumping dupes of the imagery to the host, mon. I hope the right people see this.

(beat)

You fucked his mom?

DANIELS

Look, it was a stressful time. Stuff happened.

(gestures at interface)

Backup, backup! If there's more of these things in New Orleans, we might need to nuke the city. This is where I keep my stuff, man! Get on it!