He looks back over his shoulder as he rides, but sees nothing.
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The Gunslinger loping along easily.
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The Gunslinger’s world. Following an easy set of black hoofprints in a red world.
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Martin rides along the upper rim of a canyon. He is moving fairly quickly.
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The Gunslinger some distance behind. He looks up, sees Martin on the ridge. He reins up.
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Martin riding along.
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The Gunslinger. He takes out his rifle, holds it to his eye.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. It’s a red world with Martin a tiny speck in the distance. Snap zoom closer. Then again . . . then again . . . super concentric circles, a bull’s-eye.
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The Gunslinger. He fires.
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Martin. His hat flies off his head; he looks back.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view of Martin. A tiny speck.
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Martin riding off more quickly.
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The Gunslinger riding off slowly.
SALESMAN (voice over): . . . In the end, we constructed three great fantasy environments: the rugged lawlessness of the American West;
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The Salesman giving his pitch in the same opulent conference room we’ve previously seen.
SALESMAN: the romantic chivalry of medieval Europe;
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The listening audience. It’s different this time. Every businessman is Japanese.
SALESMAN (voice over): the decadent parodies of Imperial Rome. The principle was that all this was like television or movies—
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The Salesman.
SALESMAN: except that you didn’t watch it, you participated in it. You were part of it. We believed that modern men, living in a civilized world, needed to escape into—
Abruptly, the Salesman stops. Cold, rigid, frozen.
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The Japanese businessmen, startled.
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The Salesman, still frozen in his last words, unmoving.
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The room, as everyone stands in confusion, and a man in a white coat enters from the back and says:
MAN: I’m sorry, gentlemen, but there has been a breakdown in power supplies and we have to cancel our meeting. If you’ll come this way, we will escort you back to your helicopters . . .
The Japanese men reluctantly start to leave.
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The Man at the door, as the Japanese leave, smiles politely, nods. Another man in a white coat comes up and speaks in his ear.
SECOND MAN: We’re still not able to get power to the underground control center. Their exit doors are jammed and unless we can start oxygen and air conditioning in a few minutes, they’re going to expire.
FIRST MAN: What’s going on on the surface?
SECOND MAN: Total panic. I think most of the guests are dead. The machines are running on batteries.
FIRST MAN (utterly calm): I think we might as well evacuate all of our personnel in this unit until we have some better understanding of the situation.
SECOND MAN (not calm): You mean walk out—
FIRST MAN (hissingly quiet): That’s exactly what I mean.
To confirm his point, he jerks his head over his shoulder back toward the stage. The Second Man looks.
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The robot Salesman, frozen in mid-gesture.
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The two Men at the door. The last of the Japanese leave, and they leave too, closing the door behind them.
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A long shot from the back of the deserted conference room toward the stage. The Salesman remains frozen. We expect something to happen, but nothing does.
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Martin entering another canyon, with high rocks above him on both sides. He rides and looks up.
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The Gunslinger just riding along. Pan with him and as he passes us we see the same canyon in front of him. He rides on.
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Martin looking back as he rides. He has passed a sharp-angle bend in the canyon wall, and so is out of vision of anyone following him. Abruptly, he leaves the path, rides up a short distance, dismounts, and positions himself for an ambush.
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The Gunslinger on the far side of the bend. The Gunslinger rides casually forward, body relaxed, apparently unaware of any danger. He approaches the bend . . . and then stops. We move in close on Gunslinger’s face as he stares forward intently.
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Gunslinger’s point of view. A bizarre world of red, with flashing parameters and guidelines. And a hissing sound. Pan back and forth—the parameters alter, shift, turn—as he tries to locate the sound.
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Martin waiting, gasping for breath more out of tension than fatigue. He isn’t breathing very hard, but this is the sound the Gunslinger is picking up.
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The Gunslinger’s face in profile. Push in on his ear and he smiles and
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What the Gunslinger sees now: Paralle lines bouncing off walls, and focusing down for him to a point around the corner.
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The Gunslinger riding forward a few steps toward the bend. Then he dismounts and takes his rifle out of his saddle sling.
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Martin waiting tensely, blinking with sweat and strain . . . waiting . . . waiting . . . And suddenly he is inundated with murderous gunfire; all around him the rocks spit up fragments like live yellowstone geysers. He presses his face to the ground but the shots are almost continuous and the spray of chips from the rocks is frightening and so he gets up and makes a break for it. He mounts and rides off while the shots continue.
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Martin riding.
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Martin as he rides away from us, out of sight.
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The Gunslinger getting lazily back on his horse, and riding forward in pursuit. He comes around the bend, and goes directly to the spot where Martin tried to ambush him. He stops and peers down at the site.
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Gunslinger’s point of view: a cluster of boulders, streaked by ricochets, and blood on the ground. Zoom in and out intermittently to observe details.
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The Gunslinger as he smiles, turns his horse and rides away from us.
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Another desert area. Martin, riding along, very tired now. He looks over his shoulder.
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Martin’s point of view. An empty desert. No sign of the Gunslinger.
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Martin riding up onto a sort of ridge, to get altitude to look back.
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Martin’s point of view. No sign of the Gunslinger.
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Martin turning away, looking forward down the ridge and staring at a man in coveralls fixing a flat tire on an electric cart of the sort we’ve previously seen. The Man is obviously a resort employee. Martin rides down to him, quickly, pulling up by the cart.
MARTIN: Hey.
The coveralled Technician turns, and is terrified.
TECHNICIAN: Don’t shoot me—
He starts to run around the other side of the van.
MARTIN: Hey—
He rides his horse around the van after the man.
MARTIN: Hey, wait a minute—
He comes around and finds the van Man cowering.
MARTIN: What’s the matter with you?
TECHNICIAN (frowning): Hold out your hands.
Martin holds out his hands: no ridges.
TECHNICIAN (astonished): You’re a guest.
The Technician slumps back against the van.
TECHNICIAN: You really gave me a scare. Everything’s broken d
own. The machines have gone crazy. I thought I’d escape to the far exit of the dome, but then the cart broke down . . . (he gestures)
MARTIN: You know about the machines?
TECHNICIAN: I repair ’em.
MARTIN: There’s one chasing me now. A gunslinger.
The Technician becomes oddly enthusiastic, almost delighted, as he talks.
TECHNICIAN: Gunslinger . . . Must be a model 404, maybe a 406. Excellent machine. If he’s a model 406, he’s got everything . . . ultrasonic and low frequency hearing, regular visual discrimination and zoom magnification, and of course infrared discrimination, too. Beautiful machines . . . So . . . elegant.
MARTIN (desperate): He’s after me.
TECHNICIAN: I don’t doubt it. You know the model 406—if that’s what it is, a 406—has a new integration unit. Amazing little thing, fits back behind the neck, allows tracking and fixed orientation on an order never before possible.
Martin realizes he is not getting through to this man.
MARTIN: What can I do?
TECHNICIAN: Do?
MARTIN: Yeah . . .
TECHNICIAN: There’s nothing you can do. If he’s after you, he’ll get you. They’re going to get us all. You haven’t got a chance.
MARTIN: But there must be—
TECHNICIAN: Listen, fella. Don’t kid yourself. The best scientific brains in the world built that machine, and they did a good job. There are things you could try—knocking out his systems. Go someplace noisy for his hearing. Acid would kill the visual system, if you could hit him with acid. Infrared . . . go someplace uniformly hot . . .You could try, but believe me, he’d always be one jump ahead of you.
MARTIN: I’m going to try.
TECHNICIAN: Sure, try. We can all try. But you haven’t got a chance.
MARTIN: Yes, I do.
The Technician laughs ruefully, shakes his head, and having finished changing the tire, climbs aboard his van, starts the engine. Martin rides off. We stay with the Technician. A moment later, his glass windshield is shot out. The Technician staggers out of the cab. A bullet punctures the metal of the van side. Another bullet hits the Technician, slamming him back against the van. A third bullet blows out the tire again. The Technician sees it and a moment later is killed by a final gunshot.
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The Gunslinger arriving at the cart, looking off in the direction in which Martin has left.
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Another area of the desert. Martin rides forward through the same kind of desolation we have already seen. Ahead of him is a high rock wall. As he moves toward it, he notices a sign at the foot of the rock wall. The sign reads (in five languages) LEAVING WESTWORLD. GUESTS PROCEED NO FURTHER.
Martin pauses. He looks up the rock wall. He hears wind sounds, and then something else: an odd, mechanical pftt . . . pftt . . . pftt . . .
He rides up the rock wall. The sound becomes louder.
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A green forest area. Martin rides over the top of the ridge, and is immediately splattered with water.
We now see that it is a sprinkler system: he is coming down into a green field, all artificially watered. He rides through it, then stops. He looks ahead.
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Martin’s point of view of Roman World in the distance.
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Martin riding forward into an area of trees. He comes to a streambed.
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Martin riding along the streambed. We notice the wind makes a continuous hissing sound. The trees blow, giving dappled light patterns. The water rushes.
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The Gunslinger riding down the sprinkler-field area, toward the trees.
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The Gunslinger among the trees.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view of a world made undecipherable by hissing sounds, the gurgling sounds—too many inputs.
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The Gunslinger’s face as he frowns.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view as he suddenly makes it clear by turning off his sound input. All the vectors are gone, but so is the sound—it’s silent now. Yet it is still confusing, because of the shifting pattern of light in the trees.
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The Gunslinger as he rides on, much more wary, hardly advancing forward. He senses a trap of some kind.
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Martin riding hard through the streambed, his horse’s hooves kicking up spurts of water.
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The Gunslinger still moving slowly.
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Martin reaching an impasse, dismounting, running up out of the streambed. As he goes, he passes an old concrete sewerlike structure, but takes no notice.
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Roman World. Martin runs amid the destruction and chaos. He passes the swimming pool where the female guest, now drowned, lies. All the people and all the machines seem to be dead. He passes the black slave, previously seen, who is now repetitively bowing and touching his forehead, bowing and touching his forehead, like a broken record.
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Gunslinger. He finds Martin’s horse abandoned, looks off.
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Martin running through Roman World, past images of death and destruction. He is really looking for some place to hide, some position of safety, but can see nothing.
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Forested area. Martin leaving Roman World. Still running hard. He passes another concrete structure, continues on.
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The Gunslinger as he is moving cautiously through Roman World.
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Martin. He passes still another concrete structure, and this time he stops, curious. He bends over, lifts a metal lid, looks in, looks back over his shoulder, crawls down and
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Martin, who drops to the ground at the far end of the dimly lit underground corridor. He looks around in surprise and confusion, then runs down the corridor. We stay with him all the way to the end of the corridor, where he stops.
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Martin’s point of view. Another corridor, identical to the first. He runs down it. He’s damned tired, but energized by fear. He reaches the end of this corridor.
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Martin stopped. He faces still another corridor.
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The Gunslinger moving through Roman World, looking at the ground.
Gunslinger’s point of view. He follows the red footprints Martin has left.
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The Gunslinger coming to the outskirts of Roman World, still tracking Martin.
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Martin. He has reached the better-lit central control area. He stares with fascinated puzzlement at the banks of computing equipment. Then he looks into the still-sealed central control.
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Central control. Everyone is dead, slumped over consoles.
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Martin, staring, then turning away. As he turns away, we pan up to a TV console, which shows the Gunslinger stalking through Roman World.
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The Gunslinger in Roman World, still tracking patiently. He comes to the concrete structure, pauses.
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Martin in underground locker room.
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The Gunslinger. He lowers himself down the concrete structure, entering the underground world.
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Robot-repair room as Martin enters it. This room is mostly bare, only three or four robots on the tables. Martin looks at the equipment by each. He finds a bottle of acid, grips it in his hand, and looks around the room, frowning. Suddenly he is electrified (so to speak) by a faint sound. We all listen hard.
It is distant footsteps, running.
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The Gunslinger, underground, running hard.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. It works well in this dimly lit underground corridor.
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The Gunslinger rounding a corner going out of sight.
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The robot-repair room as the Gunslinger enters at the far end, pauses.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. There is too much complexity in this room; the electrical equipment produces jagged interference.
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The Gunslinger pausing; wincing at too many inputs.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. A simpler set of inputs, but he is operating on less information, and the camera tracks forward cautiously.
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The Gunslinger moving down the tables, from side to side, cautious. His gun is out. He passes several robots on the tables. No sign of Martin.
Pan of Gunslinger passing.
We do not realize this shot is really Martin’s point of view until
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Martin lying on a table like a robot, only his eyes tracking and then Martin jumps up and
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The Gunslinger turning and seeing and
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Martin tossing the acid in a swift fling of his arm and
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The Gunslinger being hit with acid and his face instantly hissing, steam rising. He puts one hand to his face in an immediate gesture and the hand, too, begins to steam.
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Martin. He turns and runs, leaving the Gunslinger behind.
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The Gunslinger alone, pirouetting in the room, hissing steam. He moves toward one table, knocking over equipment, but gets running water, douses his face and his hand.
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Martin running around a corner, then stops, gasping for breath, convinced that he must have won. He grins a little.
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The Gunslinger. He turns away from the sink. His face is hideous, acid-etched, his eyes black burned-out spots. He looks off toward where Martin ran away.
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Martin gasping for breath, smiling.
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The Gunslinger taking out his gun, moving forward.
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Martin and the Gunslinger. The Gunslinger appears in the background and almost immediately fires, but there is no discharge.
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The Gunslinger’s gun. A red light in the handle winks “Battery.”
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The Gunslinger and Martin. The Gunslinger throws his gun away and comes for Martin, who runs off.
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The Gunslinger.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. Now operating only on infrared, it is an all red monochromatic world.
Westworld Page 7