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 down. 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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O:
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.
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Martin running down a corridor with red lights along the walls. We recognize it: the corridor to Medieval World. He pauses at the end, looks up.
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The Gunslinger stalking Martin.
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Medieval World. Martin comes above ground into near darkness. He is surprised at the change. He looks off.
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Martin’s point of view of the medieval castle at dusk.
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Martin enters the banquet hall. Except for the light change, it is as we last saw it. The Knight-guest is dead, the Queen is on the stairs, unmoving, her battery run down. The Black Knight is staring off into the distance, his battery also run down. Martin enters the room, looks around. He brushes against the Queen, who falls off the stairs onto the floor.
Martin can’t decide what to do, when the Gunslinger arrives, his acid-scarred face grinning hideously. Martin moves cautiously back, crouching like a street-fighter. He circles the room.
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The Gunslinger, also wary.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. In infrared, the torch-lit room is confusing, especially with any movement.
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Martin. He realizes the Gunslinger is confused. He figures it out, and moves back toward the torches on the walls.
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The Gunslinger. He frowns.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view. He can’t find Martin among the torches for a moment. Martin’s heat merges with the torch heat.
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Martin standing beneath one torch, staring at the Gunslinger just a few feet away. The Gunslinger is like a blind man. He turns his head one way and the other, trying to find the human heat source which he knows is in the room. But the Gunslinger is confused. The moment goes on, with unbelievable tension. Martin and the Gunslinger, just a few feet apart, but Martin effectively concealed.
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The Gunslinger’s point of view, which will visually make the point.
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Martin and the Gunslinger as the Gunslinger finally apparently gives up, and turns to walk away. Martin sighs and drops his hands, making a banging noise against the wall. Instantly, the Gunslinger whirls—it was a trick, his turning away—and leaps for the source of the sound. And Martin does the first thing that comes to mind, which is to grab the torch over his head and bring it down on the lunging Gunslinger.
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The Gunslinger as he bursts into flames. He spins around the room.
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Martin as he runs off.
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Martin runs down the castle corridor, past the elderly guest.
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The Gunslinger, roaring with flames, engulfed.
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Martin running down another corridor, when he hears a cry for help. He pauses, turns.
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The castle dungeon. Martin enters the room and sees a girl chained to the wall. His back is to us. She cries intermittently for help. Martin approaches her; she hears him and turns. She is exquisitely, arrestingly beautiful.
GIRL: Help me . . .
Martin hesitates.
GIRL: Help me, please . . .
Martin releases the Girl from her manacles. She rubs her wrists.
GIRL: Oh, thank you.
Her knees start to buckle. He catches her as she falls. He helps her over to a stone bench, then crosses the dungeon to get her some water from a casket. As he crosses the dungeon back and forth, we have plenty of chance to notice the rack.
Martin holds water to the Girl’s lips in a metal ladle. She shakes her head, refusing it.
GIRL: No water . . . no water . . .
MARTIN: Go ahead and drink.
GIRL: No . . . no water.
MARTIN: Go ahead.
GIRL: No, please.
Martin, figuring she is delirious, presses her.
MARTIN: I’m trying to help you.
GIRL: No, please . . .
The water spills down her chin and suddenly sparks drip and sputter from her hair. She has short-circuited. Martin is stunned but he doesn’t have much chance to reflect on it because he hears a sound behind him and turns and sees:
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The Gunslinger. A charred mass, barely humanoid, moving forward.
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Martin and the Gunslinger as they have their last fight in the castle dungeon, to the death.
The Gunslinger, moving with stunning speed, gets Martin around the throat. Martin kicks him away; the
re are char marks around his throat. The Gunslinger falls back, recovers and attacks again.
Delos 1 - Westworld Page 8