ALIENS Vs.PREDATOR

Dark Horse Prod. Presents

ALIENS Vs.PREDATOR

EXT. DEEP SPACE

We OPEN on TOTAL BLACKNESS, a sea of stars spread across the infinite depths

of space. As the TITLES ROLL, we notice that three of these specks seem to

be moving; one of them picking up acceleration and racing toward us. Our

perspective changes, and we catch a quick glimpse as it HURTLES past, and

into the gravitational pull of a large brownish planet. Kicking up SPARKS of

FRICTION as it hits atmosphere. It seems to be manmade. Or at least

artificial.

EXT. PLANET SURFACE - DAY

The planet is dead, barren. Death Valley on a grand scale. We watch the

object plummet through the wispy cloud-cover, emitting a few last burning

embers before falling to ground way-off in the distance. A BOOMING ECHO

resonates across the dusty plains, before settling back into an eerie

silence.

EXT. FISSURE CANYON - DAY

We're looking into a deep gorge, dark and sinister. A howling wind whips

dust into a sandstorm, reducing visibility to almost zero. About seventy

feet down there's a hole in the rock-face that just might be a cave entrance,

and near is a peculiar SHIMMERING in the air. We hear a mechanical BEEPING

and the SHIMMERING disappears, replaced by FIVE humanoid SHAPES clinging to

the sheer rock - each well over seven feet tall. They are PREDATORS, a race

of intergalactic big-game hunters on permanent safari; their clothing and

weaponry a bizarre mix of aborigine and ultra-hi-tech. In their hands are

circular metal discs; 'smart weapons' which cut into the stone and give them

purchase.

PREDATOR-VISION. From their P.O.V., we see the fissure reduced to THERMAL

HEAT SOURCES. The entrance registers as a black gaping void.

INT. FISSURE NEST TUNNEL

The five hunters climb inside the rim of the tunnel, out of the wind's

banshee wailing. The lead PREDATOR reaches up to his headgear, pulling at

the coupling pipes connecting it to a hidden breathing-apparatus. He removes

the helmet, clips it to his rear utility pack, and takes a deep breath of the

air. A curious speckled pattern runs across his wide forehead, marking him

different to the others; in addition, one of the fangs of his mandibles has

been sheared away. We'll call him BROKEN TUSK, he's the leader of the

hunting party. He reaches out a hand to caress the wall of the tunnel.

Several feet in from the rim, it changes from rock to a textured

biomechanical surface; a swirling mass of disturbing shapes. He hurries

forward in response to the GURGLING-HISS of one of his team who has found

something.

The other PREDATOR holds a telescopic spear up for scrutiny. Skewered on the

end is a shriveled FORM with eight spindly legs and a segmented tail; it's

a FACEHUGGER, the first stage of the deadly ALIEN lifeform. BROKEN TUSK

HISSES a caution to his party; they respond by pulling spears and

elaborately-shaped swords. Several shoulder-mounted plasma cannons slide up

to firing position, tracking with their owners' helmets. Thus armed, they

move cautiously ahead...taking no chances. One helmeted PREDATOR pauses,

scanning the area.

PREDATOR-VISION. He switches through a variety of different views; infra-

red, ultra-violet, enhanced motion-tracking. Nothing.

He's so pre-occupied with this task, he totally fails to notice the skeletal

ALIEN loom up behind him, emerging from the biomechanical growth on the

floor. A barbed tail skewers the PREDATOR straight through the neck,

splashing luminous blood across his chestplate. A gargled DEATH-RATTLE

issues from his throat, the band of PREDATORS spinning around in time to see

him being dragged below the ground. The band of extraterrestrial hunters

have no time to come to his aid; they themselves are set upon by a half-

dozen ALIEN WARRIORS. The carnage is swift and terrifying, a blur of motion.

Steel blades and serrated biomechanical limbs scythe the air, alive with the

CRIES and HISSES of both adversaries. One PREDATOR is pinned against the

tunnel wall, his spear out of range. The ALIEN claws away his face mask,

and he finds himself dodging the ALIEN's toothed tongue, extended toward him

with pile-driver speed. He reaches down, grasping the 'smart-weapon' hanging

from his belt and brings it up in an arc that terminates at the ALIEN's

grinning face. Big mistake. The two are in such close proximity that the

ALIEN's acidic blood sprays across the PREDATOR's head. While their

technology seems to be resistant to it, their bodies aren't: the viscous

yellow liquid begins burning into the PREDATOR's skin. He kicks the skeletal

corpse away with a HIDEOUS PIERCING SCREAM, clawing at his seared face.

It all seems to be over as quickly as it began; there can be no question as

to who were the victors. The PREDATORS stand amidst a sea of biomechanical

limbs strewn around like a charnel house. As his companions begin to

carefully decapitate the ALIEN skulls, BROKEN TUSK steps over the corpses

to examine his fallen comrades. The first PREDATOR to be attacked was killed

instantly; he crosses to the other. What he finds causes him to react with

pity and disgust. His fallen comrade is only just alive; mandibles clicking

frailly, half his head burnt away. BROKEN TUSK watches the ailing PREDATOR

slide a steel blade from it's sheath and offer it to him. He takes it,

knowing what has to be done. Rolling the knife quickly over the back of his

hand - the sort of elaborate trick seasoned Green Berets perform - he plunges

it downward into the fallen hunter. This unpleasant task accomplished,

BROKEN TUSK straightens up and activates his wrist-computer. A dark shape

blots out the light coming from the entrance; a small PREDATOR shuttlecraft,

sleek and elegant. It hovers in the air with little more than a loud HUM,

and extends a ramp. The surviving PREDATORS leap aboard, carrying their

trophies with the reserved silence of men returning from combat.

One more thing need to be done. BROKEN TUSK bends down and flips a sequence

of keys on the dead PREDATOR's wrist. A countdown is displayed in some

unknown character-set, accompanied by a HIGH PITCHED BEEPING. He then turns

and swiftly boards the craft which takes smoothly to the air, it's undergear

retracting.

EXT. PLANET SURFACE - DAY

A white-hot fireball erupts out of the fissure, the result of the PREDATOR's

suicide-destruct mechanism. The shuttlecraft pulls quickly away,

disappearing into the clouds.

EXT. SPACE

A large spacecraft is suspended in orbit around the planet; the PREDATOR

Mothership. The shuttle heads swiftly towards it.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - DOCKING BAY

An airlock RUMBLES open and the PREDATORS file NOISILY into the Mothership's

docking bay. An OLD PREDATOR crouched against a strut takes time out from

carving something into a block of wood to briefly look up at them. Like the

PREDATORS themselves, the ship is a curious mixture of old and new. An

elaborate frieze written in alien script runs around the wall, with racks of

sophisticated equipment recessed into it. Hatches lead off to various parts

of the ship; we see BROKEN TUSK carry his ALIEN head off down one of them.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The gallery seems to be more mechanical than the rest of the ship. BROKEN

TUSK enters, pausing next to a kind of readout device: a cylindrical tube

containing a substance similar to mercury which constantly changes it's mass

into shapes and alien text. He peers over the protective railing.

WHAT HE SEES is magnificent: a captive QUEEN ALIEN, the nucleus of the ALIEN

society, fed by giant intravenous pipes. Each of it's limbs is tethered by

restraining clamps preventing any movement. To the rear, it's giant egg-sac

glows and throbs, suspended by a jury-rigged sling. A SCANNING MECHANISM

hangs above the EGGS the QUEEN lays, seemingly defying gravity. As each EGG

is scanned by a blue triangular beam - similar to a PREDATOR gun-sight - it

becomes translucent, giving us a view of the pulsing FACEHUGGER inside. This

done, a manipulator are carefully loads several eggs onto a pallet, which

then sinks into a hatchway in the floor. It's an assembly-line of almost

frightening mechanical efficiency.

EXT. SPACE

We see a pod ejected from the Mothership, rocketing away from the planet into

deep space. The inference is obvious; the PREDATORS are seeding worlds with

ALIENS to hunt.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The blue beam slides across one of the eggs, and suddenly changes to red,

BEEPING rapidly. BROKEN TUSK sees the flowing display-tank alter from a

rotating simulation of an ALIEN WARRIOR skull to a representation of a

QUEEN's head. The manipulator arm swiftly grasps the EGG in question and

moves it over to a protrusion on the floor. The causes the QUEEN to go

berserk, straining at her bonds and SHRIEKING ferociously. She's obviously

been through this before and knows what's about to happen. The protrusion

splits open, spilling out an intense white light: an energy-filled blast

furnace. The manipulator claw opens, the EGG drops in, and is no more.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - LIVING QUARTERS

An orange light plays across a wall of skulls, casting dark shadows into

long-empty orbs. BROKEN TUSK sprawls lizard-like across a flat slab of rock

in the center of the room, inspecting his formidable arsenal of weaponry.

Satisfied, he reaches out to run a finger across the jaw of his ALIEN trophy

in an almost-erotic gesture. He regards it for a long moment as if coming

to a decision of some kind, before finally getting to his feet.

INT. PREDATOR MOTHERSHIP - VIEWING GALLERY

The lights in the gallery are dimmer when BROKEN TUSK enters. He watches the

cherry-red beam of the gliding SCANNING MECHANISM lock onto one of the EGGS,

then runs his hand in sequence over the control board. The manipulator arm

swings over, seizing the egg and loading it onto a waiting pallet.

BROKEN TUSK points his finger at the QUEEN and makes a guttural CLICKING

SOUND from deep in his throat. The effect is not unlike that of a child

firing an imaginary gun. As if reading BROKEN TOOTH's thoughts, the QUEEN

lifts her crested head upwards and emits a venomous HISS of contempt.

EXT. SPACE

In CENTER FRAME, the planet sits still and green, awash with nebulous clouds.

A hulking METAL FORM ROLLS RIGHT-TO-LEFT across our view, sunlight glinting

from it's surface. It's a rectangular satellite-construction comprised of

hundreds of communication dishes in a latticework of steel tubing. We hear

FILTERED HUMAN VOICES O.S. Subspace chatter.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - MIDDAY

Imagine a world where every square mile is covered by a canopy of treetop

foliage, and you've just drawn yourself a picture of the planet Ryushi.

Nestled amongst this lush rainforest is the Yutani-Templin Communications

Relay Station. Several inverted-'U'-shaped suspension cranes painted bright

yellow look down over a collection of preassembled buildings and roadways

raised above the swamp on platforms, much like a truncated oil-rig. A

navigation beacon flashes intermittently from a tall gantry tower above,

while dominating the view is the sloping face of a communications array

several storeyes high. Off to one side of the platform is a gigantic many-

wheeled haulage vehicle. A flock of bird-like creatures fly past.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

We're in the dark womb of a split-level command center alive with clusters

of video readouts, somewhat reminiscent of a futuristic air-traffic control

tower. On the upper tier, a large circular holo-display currently projects

an image of the satellite we just saw. Thin trailers of paper flutter gently

in the current coming from the air conditioning ducks, though beads of sweat

still dot the foreheads of the people manning the consoled here. We move in

on CASSIE DOLLANDER and ROB PARSONS, two monitoring technicians occupying a

control bank. CASSIE listens carefully to something on her headset.

CASSIE

Ah, negative on that request commercial

freighter 'Nan-Shan'. I've already got

an inbound on that approach pending a

beacon-fix. Hold on my mark until I get

back with some confirmation. Rimward

Traffic Control out.

She thumbs a button and leans over to PARSONS.

CASSIE (CONT'D)

How's it looking?

PARSONS worriedly shakes his head.

PARSONS

That's the second time I ran it, and it

still reads the same.

CASSIE

Better tell the boss.

PARSONS pulls out a coin.

PARSONS

Toss you for it.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - EXECUTIVE OFFICE

HIROKO NOGUCHI is sweating heavily, a black forelock of hair falling across

her Oriental features. Her eyes flicker warily from side-to-side as she

holds the smooth length of the sword before her, trying to assess from where

the next attack will come. She doesn't have to wait long; two NINJA

SWORDSMEN drop to the floor in front of her, striking without hesitation.

She expertly avoid the blows, parrying relentlessly. A persistent TONE

begins to intrude O.S., like a telephone RINGING. She tries to ignore it,

but her concentration is clearly broken. A THIRD SWORDSMAN appears from out

of nowhere, his sword SWISHING towards her chest. The blade plunges deep

into her stomach, emerging from her back. She glances down in annoyed

disbelief.

HIROKO

Fuck! Holo off.

The SWORDSMEN immediately flicker and disappear. She sheathes the sword with

one precise movement and crosses the wooden paneled floor to her desk.

Mopping her face with a towel, she thumbs a stud. The RINGING TONE stops,

the corporate logo on her flat-screen desk panel replaced with a black girl's

face.

HIROKO (CONT'D)

Noguchi.

CASSIE

(O.S., onscreen)

Something just came up on Deep Space

Tracking.

HIROKO

What kind of 'something'?

CASSIE

(O.S., onscreen)

Easier if you come down and look.

HIROKO

I'm on my way.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - MIDDAY

An eight-wheeled articulated crawler rolls noisily through the rain, climbing

an access ramp leading from the swamp to the outpost's empty main-street. A

group of rhinos - brown two-horned quadrupeds indigenous to Ryushi -

restlessly stir in their corral at it's approach. The crawler's pneumatics

HISS gently as it comes to a halt, while somewhere off in the distance a dog

BARKS. DON KAMEN, a lean man in his forties. climbs down from the cab

mounted five feet above the ground and squints up at the main relay antenna.

He adjusts the cowboy hat on his head against the drizzle and crosses the

street towards one of the buildings, ignoring a Pepsi sign CREAKING in the

gentle breeze. A glass-paneled door SWISHES automatically open before him.

INT. RYUSHI STATION - COMMAND CENTER

KAMEN steps into the command center, nodding familiarly to the DUTY

PERSONNEL. A long-haired labrador rushes up to KAMEN, wagging it's tail.

Her name is BREWSTER. She's the base mascot. KAMEN reaches down and ruffles

it's fur. He climbs the few stairs to the monitoring tier, pulling the

French-plaited hair of ANNIE URIOSTE, an Italian systems-mechanic with her

hands buried in a disassembled console.

URIOSTE

You didn't wipe your feet coming in.

KAMEN

Well, it's okay. You didn't tell me it

was monsoon season going out.

PARSONS looks up at KAMEN and grins.

PARSONS

Hey, buenos dias, cowboy. When d'you

blow in?

KAMEN places his hat on PARSONS' head and THUMPS it down.

KAMEN

Just got back. Missed anything?

URIOSTE

(snorts)

Yeah. We're almost out of beer.

PARSONS

Ahh, don't pay any attention to Urioste.

She's still pissed that Noguchi wouldn't

let her go off on your hunting trip.

KAMEN pours himself a cup of coffee from a BUBBLING percolator.

KAMEN

Wasn't my trip, I just did the driving.

'Sides, freezing my butt off out in the

wet taking pot-shots at the local wildlife

isn't _my_ idea of a good time, either.

He sips gingerly from the cup of scalding liquid.

PARSONS

Where'd you leave them?

KAMEN

Camped out by the navi-beacon out on Linson's

Range. They're making their own way back

tomorrow.

CASSIE

MarsCo went belly-up on the Dow Jones.

KAMEN

Shit. When?

CASSIE

Yesterday. We got the Network feed from

Gateway; it was the top story on 'Sixty

Seconds'. Biggest market crash since

twenty-four.

KAMEN looks ill.

KAMEN

Fucking great. I invested some money in

them.

CASSIE

You win some, you loose some.

KAMEN

I lose 'em all, that's why I'm still out

here on this rock. Anything else you

wanna ruin my day with?

CASSIE

No, but I got something that might interest

you.

HIROKO enters, pulling on a leather jacket.

HIROKO

What've you got?

KAMEN nods to her and receives a quick smile for his trouble. They turn to

watch the display clear, replaced with a computer simulation of the

neighboring solar system.

CASSIE

A pair of incomings. They popped-up on

the medium-range about thirteen twenty-

four local time.

PARSONS

We figured on it being a magnetic anomaly,

but we ran a back-trace just to make sure.

CASSIE

Yeah. Turns out they dropped straight

out of hyperspace.

The simulation ZOOMS IN, revealing two unidentified objects heading towards

the planet in the center of the display. Computer notations accompany them.

CASSIE (CONT'D)

Curious thing is, the mass detector says

they're too small to carry a deep-space

drive.

HIROKO

Sounds like a couple of escape shuttles.

PARSONS

That's what we thought.

HIROKO

Have you got an updated Lloyds' Almanac

to cross-reff them through?

PARSONS

Done it already. Nothing matches.

CASSIE

And if you thought that was interesting,

watch this...

HIROKO watches the course of the two objects simultaneously change.

KAMEN

Jesus.

PARSONS

Yeah, exactly. Those're _pre-programmed_

course adjustments you're looking at.

KAMEN

Tactical nukes, maybe?

Everybody gives him a quick look, but nobody says anything. It's obviously

not an appealing thought.

HIROKO

Where're they headed?

CASSIE

We ran a trajectory simulation. If they

carry on along that path, it's possible

they'll make intra-orbital insertion.

There's a great exhalation of breath, and everyone swaps significant glances.

HIROKO seems worried. She scratches her forehead.

HIROKO

I don't know what to make of this. Get a

copy of the telemetry relayed back to

Antarctica Traffic Control. Better alert

the nearest RimCorp Base, too.

PARSONS nods, suddenly serious.

PARSONS

Fort Powell. What do we tell 'em?

HIROKO

Just give them the facts. They can leap

to their own conclusions.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - SWAMP - AFTERNOON

Down here in the swamp, the trunks of magnificent trees terminate in gnarled

roots and disappear into watery murk, much like a Louisiana bayou. A group

of attentive LEMUR-TYPE CREATURES suddenly bound for cover as a line of

bullets THUDS into the wood nearby. Seconds later, a loud HUMMING NOISE

intrudes O.S. and a pair of manta-ray-shaped hover-bikes with sleek lines and

garnish decals SLAMS into FRAME suspended two feet above the mire, their

powerful turbines kicking-up a swirl of spray. The two BIKERS skid to a

halt and watch the CREATURES scatter. ACKLAND and YORK - men who on Earth

might be called "good 'ol boys" - are both riding one-handed; powerful hi-

tech rifles gripped in the other.

YORK

(yelling)

You missed 'em, Ackland!

ACKLAND

Little fuckers move too fast. Let's do a

sweep and catch 'em on the other side.

YORK nods his head, pulling his goggles down over his eyes. The two bikes

ROAR off in pursuit.

EXT. LINSON'S RANGE - ENCAMPMENT - AFTERNOON

Up on a mud-bank, at the base of a sturdy gantry tower with two blinking blue

lights atop it, stands the camp. It looks a little like a Bedouin bivouac,

but up-close we can see the techno-fitted details. A hard-featured woman

seated next to a solid-fuel burner sips from a mug, while her Vietnamese

counterpart is manually loading large-caliber bullets into a belt-feed. They

watch as ACKLAND and YORK roar past WHOOPING. MINH scrambles out of the way

as a beer can lobbed by YORK CLATTERS to the ground near him.

MINH

Crazy idiots.

BEAUVAIS cups her drink with both hands, assessing him.

BEAUVAIS

Ahhh, they're just letting off some steam;

don't let 'em get to you. Ackland and York

aren't such bad guys when you get to know

'em. Just a couple of weekend warriors...

She peers curiously at the clunky cartridges MINH's thumbing into the belt

feed. On the ground next to him is a widebore weapon on an over-the-shoulder

guidance mechanism.

BEAUVAIS (CONT'D)

Nice howitzer you've got there.

MINH

Thanks.

BEAUVAIS

Good argument for gun-control. What are

you going after, rhino?

MINH

Nah. I just wanna squeeze off a few

rounds. 'Sides, they tagged the rhinos

for the migration project, so they're

protected. They'll dock you a month's

pay for just _mentioning_ it.

He peers into the belt and blows out some dirt.

MINH (CONT'D)

Sure wish there was something on this

planet with a bit of fight in it, through.

EXT. DEEP SPACE

Against a sea of stars, a small metal shape HURTLES towards us, followed

moments later by it's identical twin.

EXT. RYUSHI STATION - BIG BERTHA - AFTERNOON

A strand of HIROKO's hair falls forward into her face, slick with rain. She

brushes up at the miserable weather. She and KAMEN are standing on one of

the twelve-feet-in-diameter wheels of the gargantuan haulage vehicle we saw

outside the base earlier. Up on the side of the cab is painted a Nordic

Valkyrie with an impressive bustline, next to which is the legend 'BIG

BERTHA'. Two mechanics, JAN GUTTIEREZ and KEVIN DILLER, watch KAMEN point

something out to HIROKO from the vantage point of KAMEN's crawler parked in

the swamp nearby.

KAMEN

See that sheathing on the suspension?

Eaten away. Same thing with the pumps

on the base air purifiers. The algae

out here just isn't good on these new

plastics.