英文片名: Blade

中文片名: 刀锋战士

上映: 1998

                                BLADE

                                -----

                                  by

                            David S. Goyer

     Darkness, BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAMS. Presentation credits roll as we

     FADE UP ON:

     INT. HOSPITAL, INNER-CITY TRAUMA WARD - NIGHT

     It's 1967, the Summer of Love and --

     BOOM! Entry doors swing open as PARAMEDICS wheel in a FEMALE BLEEDER,

     VANESSA (20s, black, nine months pregnant). She's deathly pale,

     spewing founts of blood from a savagely slashed throat --

     A SHOCK-TRAUMA TEAM swarms over her, inserting a vacutainer into an

     artery to draw blood, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her

     arm --

                           NURSE #1

                    (with stethoscope)

               She's not breathing!

                           SENIOR RESIDENT

               Intubate her!

     The RESPIRATORY THERAPIST feeds an endotracheal tube down the woman's

     ruined throat, attaches that to an Amblu bag --

                           RESIDENT

               Blood-pressure's forty and falling --

     The woman starts spasming violently. It takes three staff members

     just to hold her down.

                           SENIOR RESIDENT

               Jesus, her water's broken --

                    (calling for help)

               She's going into uterine contractions --

     CAMERA PUSHES IN on the woman as she bolts upright, SCREAMING to wake

     the dead. We PLUNGE INTO the darkness of her mouth and find

     ourselves --

     INSIDE HER BLOODSTREAM

     The sound of a HEART BEATING, pounding as we whip-snake through --

     CORPUSCLES

     floating in amber plasma. Erythrocytes, leukocytes, neutrophils and

     eosinophils.

     The rhythmic expansion of the artery walls, pulsing with each

     successive surge of blood as the HEART BEATS FASTER AND FASTER,

     taking us --

     IN UTERO,

     A CHILD, alive but unborn, shifting in a sea of amniotic fluid,

     surrounded by the white, protective substance known as vernix

     caseosa. The HEARTBEAT races like a locomotive now. The unborn child

     shifts, turns its head towards us --

     -- and opens its eyes.

     CUT TO:

     A SWORDBLADE

     cleaving the darkness, radiant light slicing across gleaming Damascus

     steel. Words acid-etched in the weapon's fine-tempered surface:

     BLADE

     Main credits end.

     EXT. INNER CITY, INDUSTRIAL GHETTO - NIGHT

     A decaying no man's land populated by condemned buildings and HUNGRY

     HOMELESS. Steam rises from manhole covers, drifting across the

     litter- lined streets. Suddenly --

     A black Mercedes 850 appears over the crest of a hill, ROARING past

     us, stereo system belting out FILTER.

     INT. MERCEDES - NIGHT

     Raquel, a wasp-wasted woman, sits behind the wheel. 20s, rich,

     sickeningly attractive. Hungry eyes.

     Squirming around in the passenger seat is DENNIS, a model/actor boy-

     toy with a sub-zero IQ and a "fuck me sideways" grin.

                           DENNIS

               So where we going?

                           RAQUEL

               It's a surprise.

                           DENNIS

               I likes surprises.

     Raquel eyeballs Dennis -- "if looks could devour".

                           RAQUEL

               What do you have down there, little

               man?

                           DENNIS

               Heat-seeker.

                           RAQUEL

               I'll bet.

     Raquel slides a manicured hand up his thigh, squeezes his groin.

     Dennis MOANS. She pulls her hand away, downshifts.

     EXT. VACANT LOT - NIGHT

     The 850 threads a narrow alley into a vacant lot, BRAKES hard. Raquel

     and Dennis climb out. She leads him into --

     EXT. MEAT PACKING PLANT - NIGHT

     Industry never sleeps, and certainly not this grisly facility. Raquel

     leads Dennis around the back of the plant, where a host of WORKERS

     are loading refrigerated trucks with product.

                           DENNIS

               What the fuck are we doing here?

     Raquel just smiles, heads on into the plant via a loading door. The

     workers ignore her.

     INT. MEAT PACKING PLANT - NIGHT

     Dennis follows Raquel through the bowels of the plant, catching

     glimpses here and there of carcasses being rendered or hacked apart.

     Through one partially open door we see what might be a line of

     BODYBAGS being trundled into the back of a truck via a hook and chain

     pulley-system. But Dennis doesn't have enough time to be disturbed by

     the vision, because he's being pulled away by Raquel, led down --

     A STAIRWELL

     We are in the basement now. At the end of the hall is a steel door,

     with perhaps, just the faintest HINT OF MUSIC heard coming from

     beyond. Raquel knocks.

     A "peep-hole" slat opens and a BLACK LIGHT shines into Raquel's eyes.

     A VOICE behind the door offers a verbal challenge, speaking a

     language we've never heard, laced with a devilish cadence.

     Raquel responds in kind. The door opens. Raquel gives Dennis a

     knowing wink, enters. Dennis follows.

     INT. CLUB - NIGHT

     Raquel and Dennis move past a hulking DOORMAN, making their way down

     a narrow stairway. Dennis is suitably impressed.

     THE CLUB

     is elite, underground -- an "abattoir-chic" version of an old-time

     juke joint with a greasy, dangerous vibe. White-tiled walls and

     floors for easy hosing, chromed fittings, run-off gutters, drains. No

     bar.

     BODIES

     writhe on the strobe-lit dance floor. A heavy S&M scene. Leather.

     Latex. Tattoos. Body-piercings.

     A D.J. wearing head-mounted spotlights orchestrates the tunes on

     twin- decks. MUSIC assaults us -- a beat so heavy it could jar the

     fillings from your teeth. Brutal "DARKCORE" along the lines of

     Prodigy or Underground.

     Raquel pulls Dennis out onto the dance floor. They sway.

     A lupine-featured GAULTIER GIRL with a streak of white running

     through her raven hair moves in behind Dennis, pressing up against

     him. Rachel Williams as the Angel of Death -- we'll call her MERCURY.

     Mercury flicks her tongue against Dennis' ear -- it's been pierced

     with a silver post which clicks against her teeth. Tattooed across

     her back in black is a swirling, tribal vortex.

     Dennis is now sandwiched between Raquel and Mercury, the three of

     them dry-humping their way to every man's glory.

     The beat gets LOUDER. The action heavier. The atmosphere more

     narcotic. People are stripping off their clothes, sweating like

     fiends. It's a virtual orgy.

     Dennis laughs, reveling in the hedonism. Everything rises to a fever

     pitch --

                           DENNIS

                    (over the music)

               Fuck, I need a drink!!!

     Raquel just smiles -- then Dennis notices a DROP OF SOMETHING spatter

     his hand. It looks like blood. Dennis looks up, concerned --

     -- MORE BLOOD DROPLETS are falling. Raquel's face is sprinkled with

     them now. Dennis stops dancing. What is this? Some kind of fucked up

     performance art?

     Raquel turns her face toward the ceiling, as if washing herself in a

     summer shower, now the other club goers are looking up too --

     BLOOD SHOWERS DOWN

     from sprinkler heads in the ceiling, drenching the dancers. The club

     goers love it, thrusting their heads back, mouths open wide to

     receive the crimson offering.

     Horrified, Dennis recoils, turning towards --

     RAQUEL,

     whose face morphs into a preternatural snarl. Her canines extend,

     tapering to razor-sharp points. Her tongue flicks, lizard-like as

     fingernails sharpen into claws. All this while the whites of her eyes

     BLEED RED, pupils oscillating hypnotically.

                           RAQUEL

               What's wrong, baby?

     Dennis SCREAMS, pushes away from Raquel, only --

     -- Mercury has fangs now too. In fact, everyone in the club does,

     with the exception of poor Dennis. That's because they're all

     vampires.

     Dennis tries to run, but the burly Doorman blocks his exit, brutally

     smashing his fist into Dennis' face.

     Dennis falls, dazed. The club-goers close in around him. They make a

     game of it, shoving him from one person to another, their pale faces

     leering like twisted jack-o-lanterns.

     The strobe lights quicken to a seizure-inducing intensity. Dennis

     spins, tumbling into Raquel's arms. She shoves him forward -- Dennis

     lands on the floor, falling at someone's boot-clad feet. He looks up.

     A DARK FIGURE sits in the shadows, unnoticed until this moment. The

     figure stands, moves into the light as time screeches to a halt --

     A BLACK MAN,

     towers above Dennis, wearing dark glasses and a leather longcoat -- a

     sneer of cruel contempt etched upon a face tempered by a lifetime of

     horror. His name is BLADE.

     Blade whips open his long coat, shrugging it off, revealing an

     arsenal of high-tech weapons strapped to his body:

     6-point adjustable body armor, a modified CAR-15 assault rifle with

     an ultra-violet entry light, two Casull .454 revolvers, a "Demon"

     automatic cross-bow, a bandoleer of mahogany stakes, an Indian-style

     katar punching dagger -- and last, but certainly not least, his

     namesake -- a silver sword which is secured in a back-scabbard.

     CLOSE ON BLADE

     A gaze as cold and pitiless as a midnight sun. The vampire club-goers

     stare back. Nuclear silence. And then --

     All hell breaks loose. With a SNARL, Raquel charges at Blade, moving

     at superhuman speed, practically a blur --

     Blade draws his Casulls, FIRES in multiple directions --

     MACRO BULLET SHOT

     as a round roars through the air towards Raquel. A silver-tipped dum-

     dum bullet which explodes on contact.

     WHAM! The round punches a fist-sized hole through Raquel's chest,

     continuing on into the vamp behind her! Vampire blood fountains. Both

     creatures tumble forward, their bodies liquefying into puddles of

     black oil which go gurgling down the run-off drains.

     Blade continues FIRING, then -CLICK!- magazines empty. Next. He

     holsters the Casulls, swings up his assault rifle, calmly flicks on

     the UV entry light mounted above --

     MERCURY

     leaps twenty feet straight up into the air. We've never seen anything

     move so fast. She CRASHES through a glass skylight, disappearing into

     the night just as --

     -- a shaft of blinding UV "sunlight" cuts across the vampires. They

     rear back, skin smoking from the light's corrosive effects. Blade

     opens FIRE, pumping round after round of wooden fragmentation bullets

     into the crowd -- vampire genocide.

     The strobe lights flicker as the mayhem mounts. Some of the vampires

     try to flee, scurrying up the stairs, but the exit quickly becomes

     clogged with liquefying bodies --

     -- then Blade's CAR-15 jams. The remaining club-goers see their

     opening, surge forward en masse --

     Blade drops the rifle, reaches over his shoulder and -SCHINGGG!-

     unsheathes his sword with a double-handed grip.

     THE SWORD

     Four acid-etched feet of blood-soaked Damascus steel. An edge so

     sharp it could cleave a shadow in two.

     Blade moves like lightning, hacking his way into TWO CHARGING

     VAMPIRES. Blade spins again, cuts ANOTHER VAMPIRE clean in half --

     ON THE FAR END OF THE CLUB,

     a LATEX-CLAD VAMP makes a break for it. Blade flings his sword,

     sending it spinning end over end -- THUNK! The sword punches into the

     vampire's heart. The hellish creature convulses, dies.

     Beat. Blade retrieves his sword, then senses --

     SOMETHING BIG

     rising up behind him. In a flash, Blade swings his sword downward,

     cutting off the vampire's right hand at the elbow. The severed limb

     falls to the floor --

     -- but it doesn't slow the hulking creature down. It SLAMS into

     Blade. Blade flies backwards thirty feet, tumbling over tables,

     slamming into the rear wall so hard that plaster rains down from the

     ceiling.

     Blade suddenly finds himself wrestling with a feral-faced six-foot-

     something nightmare named QUINN. The vampire rears back its head,

     jaws stretching wide. Every inch of his face is covered with ritual

     scarification patterns and Maori-like tribal tattoos.

     Blade forces an elbow against Quinn's throat, trying to keep him at

     bay. With his other hand he reaches to his bandoleer, pulls out a

     stake -- CRUNCH! Blade shoves the stake through the vampire's larynx.

     Quinn gurgles, clutches at his throat.

     Blade rolls out from under, unholsters the cross-bow secured to his

     leg. With a flick of a switch the arms of the bow -SNAP!- open,

     drawing the bow-string taut. Blade FIRES --

     The bolt hits Quinn in the shoulder, throwing him backwards and

     nailing him to the wall. As Quinn reaches over with his other hand to

     pull out the stake --

     Blade FIRES AGAIN. A second bolt slams into Quinn's other arm,

     effectively pinning him like a butterfly to a board.

     UP ABOVE,

     mounted in one of the corners, is a security camera. Blade fires a

     cross-bow bolt straight into the lens.

     Blade strides over, placing his sword against Quinn's chest.

                           BLADE

               Where is Deacon Frost?

     Quinn glares, trying to speak, gagging on the stake still lodged in

     his trachea --

                           BLADE

               Got something in your throat.

     Blade yanks the stake free. The vampire laughs, air whistling through

     his ruined larynx.

                           QUINN

               Fuck you, Day-walker, I ain't saying

               shit --

                           BLADE

               Frost.

     Quinn responds with a slew of rapid-fire vampire invectives. Blade

     sees he's getting nowhere fast, calmly sheathes his sword. He unclips

     a white phosphorous grenade from his combat harness --

                           QUINN

               You won't stop him, Blade. The Tide's

               rising, the Sleeper's gonna --

     Blade shoves the grenade in Quinn's mouth, pulls the pin. WHOOSH!

     Quinn goes up like a roman candle. Blade turns, surveying his work,

     ignoring the howling pyre behind him:

     All evidence of the vampires is gone -- with the exception of a few

     oily-black puddles. Clothes, jewelry -- it's all been burned away by

     the acidic process of the creatures' accelerated decomposition.

     DENNIS sits huddled in a corner, having pissed his pants. As Blade

     approaches, he cringes back --

                           DENNIS

               Please don't --

     Blade simply grabs Dennis by the jaw, tilting his head upward,

     rotating it from side to side -- looking for bite marks. There aren't

     any.

     Blade moves on, leaving Dennis alone amidst the carnage. As Blade

     starts up the stairs, he pauses in mid-step --

     A COCKROACH

     scurries out from underfoot.

     Blade adjusts his footfall, sparing the roach. He continues on up the

     stairs, disappearing in the smoky haze.

     CUT TO:

     INT. CITY HOSPITAL, AUTOPSY ROOM - NIGHT

     CAMERA FOLLOWS a bagged corpse as it's rolled into the autopsy room

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