Holli Castillo
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  • Angel Trap Screenplay


    a screenplay

    (The formatting is a little screwy from copying and pasting; the original is in proper screenplay format.)


    FADE IN:


    SUPER:  Midgard Galaxy, Planet of Fairweather, the year 2780

    A modern but run down hospital building bustling with activity.  Worn-out emergency vehicles fly into a rooftop landing bay.

    Several tired, depressed-looking employees wait on a corner.   

    BERNIE ANGEL, female, mid-twenties, physically fit, waits with the group.  She wears a white lab coat, carries a medical bag, and continuously checks her watch. 

    A flying shuttle covered with graffiti arrives at the corner, grounds while the group boards.



    Bernie grabs a seat in an empty row, drops the medical bag on the seat next to her.  She leans back, closes her eyes.

    A hologram image on the back of each seat shows a cyborg reading the news, images of explosions in the background.

    Loud BEEP.

    Bernie jumps, presses a button on a device in her ear. 

    In front of Bernie, a hologram of a teenage girl, PETRA, replaces the cyborg hologram.  Petra holds a box decorated like a child's gift.  

    Sorry I'm running late, Petra.  There was another attack.

    No problem.  This was just dropped off, looks like another birthday present.  I sent Liam to his room to make sure you didn't mind him opening it. 

    Bernie sighs, not pleased. 

    It's way past his bedtime.

    He begged to stay up so you could tuck him in.  But I'll put him to bed if you want --

    No, it's fine.  Is there a message?  I wasn't expecting anything else.  

    Petra passes her hand over a scanner on the box.

    (electronic voice)
    Good -- bye.

    Bernie frowns.  The frown turns to panic.

    Put the box down, you and Liam get out of the house.  Right now. 

    Waves of energy radiate from the box, pass through Petra.   

    Petra dissolves to nothing as the waves spread out.

    Bernie gasps, grabs the seat in front of her.

    The hologram turns to black.  The news reappears.



    The shuttle stops in a pristine modern neighborhood.

    Bernie jumps out, runs down the sidewalk, stops suddenly.

    OLEN MAX, male, mid-thirties, athletic but slightly effeminate, leans against a tree in front of a modest house.  He wears a black uniform and a fully stocked weapons vest.

    Bernie runs at him full force.

    Where is my son?

    Olen smiles. 

    With your babysitter.

    Bernie screams, pounces on him.   

    Olen enjoys the fight.  He lets Bernie pound on him for a few seconds, dodges a few of her blows. 

    When he's had enough fun, he overpowers her, straddles her on the ground, runs his finger over her lips.

    You're so exhilarating I'm tempted to keep you.

    Bernie spits in his face.

    Or maybe not.

    He yanks Bernie up by the hair, pulls a dangerous looking plasma gun and holds it against her head.

    He presses his mouth to her ear. 

    You should have known better than to cross the Templars.

    Bernie reaches into her lab coat pocket, comes out with a surgical knife, plunges it into Olen's crotch. 

    Olen screams, drops the guns, falls to his knees.

    Bernie dives for the gun, comes up shooting.

    The white flames from the gun set Olen on fire.

    Bernie runs into the house as Olen's body burns.



    SUPER:  Planet of Tacitus, two years later

    A multi-story glass and metal medical facility.

    Numerous red spacecraft hover above, a larger red ship parked outside.  The ships display the Red Templar Crest, a gold shield with a dagger and a cross.

    Several lines of armed, red-uniformed soldiers with deep, vertical facial scars stand at attention.



    A lab furnished with elaborate medical and computer equipment.

    Olen stands inside a glass chamber in a state of hypersleep, held upright by wires embedded throughout his body.  Smooth, silver metal integrates with the skin on his torso and limbs.

    The DOCTOR, male, sixties, wears a white lab coat, sweats and fidgets in front of a wall-size 3-D image of Olen. 

    The TEMPLAR COMMANDER, male, heavily armed in a red uniform adorned with numerous medals, glowers next to him.  The network of deep, red vertical facial scars indicates his seniority. 

    You realize he may not survive.

    The doctor glances at the Commander's weapons, wrings his hands.

    We've never used cybernetic technology to repair injuries of this magnitude before.  It's highly experimental. 

    He removes a cloth from his pocket, wipes his face. 

    Not to mention the prosthetic organs and muscles.  He'll be more machine than man.  There could be a host of issues we haven't contemplated.

    The Commander grabs the doctor's jaw in his hand, pulls the doctor's face close to his and squeezes it.

    Wake him.

    The doctor's fingers tremble as he presses a series of codes on a holographic key pad on the 3-D image.  In the upper right corner, statistics blink, numbers change. 

    The statistics freeze, blink final results.

    The wires pop out of Olen's body, fall to the floor. 

    Olen twitches inside the chamber.  The twitches escalate to spasms, the spasms to a seizure.  The seizure winds down.

    His mouth opens in a scream unheard through the chamber glass.

    The Commander glares at the doctor. 

    The wakening from stasis can be painful.  It's completely normal. 

    Olen's mouth closes, his eyes open.  He blinks, peers through the glass, looks around the lab.

    The doctor pulls a switch.  The glass chamber dematerializes.

    Olen takes a tentative step forward.

    The doctor rushes to him with a hand held scanner.

    The Templar Commander pulls his sword, skulks behind the doctor.

    The doctor points the device at Olen's head, scans his way down Olen's body.

    My God, this is going to make medical history.  Think of all the lives I'll save.  Commander, you have been most generous allowing this research.

    The Templar Commander raises the sword behind the doctor. 

    The Red Templars may not be quite as altruistic as I've led you to believe. 

    The Templar Commander swings the sword, chops off the doctor's head.  The doctor's body collapses, his severed head hits the floor with a THUD.  The Commander puts the sword away.

    Olen strokes the metal in his limbs and torso, fascinated. 

    Can you speak Olen?

    Olen kicks the doctor's head out of his way, steps over the body.   

    How long have I been in stasis?

    Two years.

    Is that woman still alive?

    I believe she is.  


    The Commander puts his arm around Olen's shoulder.

    We have a lot of catching up to do.  

    They stride out of the room.



    SUPER: Planet of Harborage

    Prostitutes work the streets in a neighborhood of seedy bars, pubs, and brothels.  The signs on the buildings light up the planet like a beacon.

    LAUGHTER and MUSIC as a door opens from a brothel with a sign, "Zeke's Zanadu." 

    Bernie slinks out in a brown hooded cape, medical bag in hand, heeds her surroundings as crosses the street.   

    A thug on the corner moves toward her. 

    She pulls a laser pistol from a tool belt slung low on her waist, lets the thug see the gun. 

    He backs off.   

    Bernie hastens down a block of booming establishments, stops at a dilapidated two story building.  A sign on the roof blinks, "Hotel."  She dashes through the doorless entranceway.



    The hotel looks like a pay-by-the-hour.  A balding CLERK yells at a ball game displayed on a fuzzy hologram.

    Bernie pounds on the desk several times. 

    Room number?

    The clerk's eyes never leave the game. 

    Hey Bernie.  That'd be two-fourteen.

    Bernie bolts up the stairs as the clerk continues. 

    Some guy having a heart attack.  Or stabbed, I don't know.

    MAN #1 in a khaki military uniform watches from a dark corner of the lobby, follows when Bernie nears the top of the stairs. 


    INSIDE ROOM 214 

    MAN #2 and MAN #3 in identical uniforms wait inside the room near the door, guns drawn.



    Bernie hurries down the hall, searches for the room number.

    At the far end of the hall, uniformed MAN #4 fiddles with an access scanner outside a room. 

    Man #1 pauses at the top of the stairs, signals to Man #4. 

    Bernie stops outside Room 214, beats on the door and leans in to an electronic metal eyeball in the center.  



    INSIDE ROOM 214 

    A distorted image of Bernie transmits on a cracked flat panel on the wall. 

    The men jump, point guns at the door.  Man #3 pulls the slide on his semi-automatic handgun.


    OUTSIDE ROOM 214   

    Metal CLICK-CLICK SOUND of the gun's slide. 

    Bernie's expression reveals she recognizes the sound.  She drops the medical bag, dives to the ground, comes up with a laser gun in each hand as she rolls out of the doorway.

    Bullets fly through the door.  Lasers strike over her head from both ends of the hall.

    Bernie fires simultaneously at the two men in the hallway.  They drop in seconds. 

    She fires repeatedly through the door and wall of room 214.  She stops firing and listens.  Silence.

    She shoots the access scanner outside the door.  Both doors slide open and stop 2/3 of the way, hung up on damage. 

    She removes a small can from the tool belt, presses a button, and tosses the can through the partially open door.



    Man #2 and Man #3 shield their heads, face down on the floor.  Man #2 signals to Man #3.  The can hits the ground between them and releases a fog.  The men pass out. 

    Moments later, the fog clears.

    Bernie enters between the partially open doors, medical bag in hand, picks up the guns, puts them in her belt.  She searches the meager room, finds nothing.  

    The men stir.  Bernie aims her gun at Man #2.

    Why were you shooting at me?

    MAN #2
    Kiss my ass.  

    She shoots him in the head and turns the gun on Man #3.  She makes an impatient gesture, waits for an answer.

    Man #3 puts his hands in the air.  

    MAN #3
    Easy there, sister. Some things you can't take back.

    She shoots him in the knee.  He screams. 

    MAN #3
    You won't get information from me if I'm dead.

    I'm not going to kill you.

    The man closes his eyes, exhales relief.

    Bernie pulls a knife, holds it up for him to see.

    You have all kinds of parts I can cut off without you actually dying.

    He moans.

    Whether you still want to live after I finish is an entirely different matter. 

    MAN #3
    I'm not getting paid enough for this.  Olen Max hired us.

    Impossible.  Max is dead.

    MAN #3
    Not dead enough, apparently. 

    Where is he?  

    MAN #3
    Insurrect.  We're supposed to meet him for payment when the job is done. 

    Exactly where on Insurrect?

    The man seizes, his eyes close. 

    Bernie kneels next to the man, feels for a pulse.

    The man flips a knife from his sleeve and plunges it into Bernie's chest.

    Bernie shoots the man in the forehead and collapses.

    Her breathing rate increases.  She removes an injection needle and four small vials from her belt.  She quickly eyeballs the vials, drops three, fills the needle from the fourth.

    She yanks the knife from her chest, injects the wound and removes the needle.  She presses her hand on the wound.  The bleeding stops, her breathing normalizes.  When she moves her hand, an ugly scar remains.


    Holli Castillo