《终结者II》Terminator2

'terminator 2: judgment day'

a screenplay

by

james cameron

and

william wisher

revised final shooting script

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1 ext. city street - day

downtown l.a. noon on a hot summer day. on an extreme long lens the

lunchtime crowd stacks up into a wall of humanity. in slow motion

they move in herds among the glittering rows of cars jammed bumper to

bumper. heat ripples distort the torrent of faces. the image is

surreal, dreamy... and like a dream it begins very slowly to

dissolve to:

2 ext. city ruins - night

same spot as the last shot, but now it is a landscape in hell. the

cars are stopped in rusted rows, still bumper to bumper. the

skyline of buildings beyond has been shattered by some

unimaginable force like a row of kicked-down sandcastles.

wind blows through the desolation, keening with the sound of ten

million dead souls. it scurries the ashes into drifts, stark

white in the moonlight against the charred rubble.

a title card fades in:

3 angle on a heap of fire-blackened human bones. beyond the mound is a

vast tundra of skulls and shattered concrete. the rush hour crowd

burned down in their tracks.

4 we dissolve to a playground... where intense heat has half-melted the

jungle gym, the blast has warped the swing set, the merry-go-round

has sagged in the firestorm. small skulls look accusingly from the

ash-drifts. we hear the distant echo of children's voices... playing

and laughing in the sun. a silly, sing-songy rhyme as we tracks

slowly over seared asphalt where the faint hieroglyphs of hopscotch

lines are still visible.

camera comes to rest on a burnt and rusted tricycle... next to the

tiny skull of its owner. hold on this image as a female voice speaks:

voice

3 billion human lives ended on august 29th, 1997.

the survivors of the nuclear fire called the war

judgment day. they lived only to face a new

nightmare, the war against the machines...

a metal foot crushes the skull like china.

tilt up, revealing a humanoid machine holding a massive battle rifle.

it looks like a chrome skeleton... a high-tech death figure. it is

the endoskeleton of a series 800 terminator. its glowing red eyes

compassionlessly sweep the dead terrain, hunting.

the sounds of roaring turbines. searchlights blaze down as a

formation of flying hk (hunter-killer) patrol machines passes

overhead. pan with them toward the jagged horizon, beyond which we

see flashes, and hear the distant thunder of a pitched battle in

progress.

5 ext. battlefield - night

the battle. human troops is desperate combat with the machines for

possession of the dead earth. the humans are a ragtag guerrilla

army. skynet's weapons consist of ground hks (tank-like robot

gun-platforms), flying aerial hks, four-legged gun-pods called

centurions, and the humanoid terminators in various forms.

sequence of rapid cuts:

5a explosions! beam-weapons firing like searing strobe-light.

5b a gunner is an armored personnel carrier fires a law rocket at a

pursuing aerial hk, bringing it down in a fiery explosion.

5c another apc is crushed under the treads of a massive ground hk.

5d a team of guerrillas in a intense fire-fight with terminator

5e endoskeletons in the ruins of a building. three terminator

5f endoskeletons advance, firing rapidly. another (complete cyborg),

with flesh ripped open and back broken, gropes for a rifle on the

ground.

5g a centurion overruns a human firing position. soldiers are cut

down as they run. fiery explosions light the ranks of advancing

machines.

6 in a blasted gun emplacement at the edge of battle, a man watches

the combat with night-vision binoculars. he wears the uniform of a

guerrilla general, and a black beret. he is still amid running,

shouting techs and officers.

c.u. man, pushing slowly in as the battle rages o.s. he lowers the

binoculars. he is forty-five years old. features severe. the left

side of his face is heavily scarred. a patch covers that eye. an

impressive man, forged in the furnace of a lifetime of war. the name

stitched on the band of his beret is connor. we push in until his

eyes fill frame, then...

dissolve to:

fire. slow, boiling, enormous. filling frame.

voice (sarah connor)

skynet, the computer which controlled the machines,

sent two terminators back through time. their

mission: to destroy the leader of the human

resistance... john connor. my son.

the first terminator was programmed to strike at

me, in the year 1984... before john was born.

it failed.

the second was set to strike at john himself,

when he was still a child. as before, the

resistance was able to send a lone warrior. a

protector for john. it was just a question of

which one of them would reach him first...

dissolve to:

7 ext. truckstop - night

wild fingers of blue-white electric arcs dance in a steel canyon

formed by two tractor trailers, parked side by side in the back lot

of an all-night truck stop. then...

the strange lightning forms a circular opening in mid-air, and in

the sudden flare of light we see a figure in a sphere of energy.

then the frame whites out with an explosive thunderclap!

through the clearing vapor we see the figure clearly... a naked man.

terminator has come through. physique: massive, perfect. face:

devoid of emotion. terminator stands and impassively surveys its

surroundings.

8 int. truck stop diner - night

on a back route to north l.a. a handful of local truckers hunch over

chili-sizes, cat hats pushed back on their heads. three bikers are

playing a game of pool in the back, their miller empties lining the

table's rail. the dive's owner, lloyd, a fat, aging biker-type in a

soiled apron, stands behind the bar. nothing much going on...

then the front door opens and a big naked guy strolls in -- that

doesn't happen every night. all eyes simultaneously swivel toward

terminator. its emotionless gaze passes over the customers as it

walks calmly through the room. everyone frozen, not sure how to

react.

8a terminator pov. a digitized electronic scan of the room, overlaid

with alphanumeric readouts which change faster than the human eye

can follow. in pov we move past the staring truckers, past the

owner and the awestruck waitress, and approach a large nasty-looking

biker puffing on a cigar. his body is outlined, or 'selected', and

thousands of estimated measurements appear. his clothing has been

analyzed and deemed suitable...

8b terminator

i need your clothes, your boots, and your

motorcycle.

the big biker's eyes narrow. he takes a long draw on this cigar,

the tip cherry-red hot.

cigar biker

you forgot to say please.

he grinds the cigar out on terminator's chest. which produces not

the slight reaction of pain. terminator calmly, and without

expression, grabs cigar by his meaty upper arm...

cigar screams from the hydraulic grip.

terminator doesn't see cigar's friend, behind him, holding his pool

cue by the narrow end like a louisville slugger. the heavy send

whistles in a powerful swing and cracks in two across the back of

terminator's head.

terminator seems not to notice. doesn't even blink. without

releasing his grip on cigar, he snaps his arm straight back and grabs

pool cue by the front of his jacket. suddenly the heavyset biker

finds himself flying through the nearest window. craassh!

terminator hurls cigar, all 230 pounds of him, clear over the bar,

through the serving window into the kitchen, where he lands on the

big flat grill. we hear a sound like sizzling bacon as cigar

screams, flopping jerking. he rolls off in a smoking heap.

the third biker whips out a knife with a eight-inch blade and slashes

at terminator's face.

terminator grabs the arcing blade with his bare hand. holding it by

the razor-sharp blade he jerks is from the guy's hand.

ultra-fast here: he flips it. grabs the handle like you're supposed

to hold a knife. grabs the biker and slams him face-down over the

bar. then brings the knife whistling down, pinning the biker's

shoulder to the bar top with his own steel.

9 int. kitchen

the doors bangs open and terminator strides in.

the mexican cook does a fast fade as terminator walks toward cigar,

who is cursing in pain on the floor.

with his deep-fried fingers he struggles to get out the .45 auto

tucked under his leather jacket. but he can't even hold onto it.

terminator takes it from him. instead of pointing it at him,

terminator carefully examines weapon, analyzing its caliber and

operating condition. terminator never threatens... that's a human

thing. he just takes.

cigar senses what he must do when the emotionless eyes come back to

him. he slides the keys to his bike across the floor to terminator's

foot. then painfully starts getting out of his jacket.

10 int. truck stop

terminator strides from the kitchen, fully clothed now in a black

leather jacket, leather riding pants, and heavy, clean boots. he

moves toward the moaning biker pinned to the pool table. without

slowing his stride he jerks the knife out. the guy slumps to the

floor, groaning, behind him.

terminator continues toward the front of the diner, passing lloyd,

the owner. at the door, he comes abreast of two truckers who sit

frozen like a snapshot in mid-bite. one of the truckers finally

nods.

trucker

evening...

terminator impassively stares back. then moves on out the door.

11 ext. truck stop

terminator walks out, surveying the parked harleys. sticks the .45

in his belt and swings one leg over a massive custom electro-glide.

he slips the dagger in his boot and the key in the ignition. kicks

over the engine. it catches with a roar and he slams the heavy iron

into gear with a klunk.

lloyd appears at the diner's door with a sawed-off 10-gauge

winchester lever-action shotgun. he fires into the air and jacks

around round in fast, aiming at terminator's back.

lloyd

i can't let you take the man's wheels, son.

now get off or i'll put you down.

terminator turns and considers by coldly. he eases the shifter up

into neutral. rocks the bike onto its kickstand. swings him leg

over and walks calmly toward the guy.

terminator strides right up to lloyd, staring straight into the

shotgun's muzzle. lloyd starts sweating, trying to decide is he's

going to kill a man in cold blood. he's still trying to decide when

terminator's hand blurs out like a striking cobra and is somehow

suddenly holding the shotgun.

lloyd gapes, knowing he's screwed. then...

terminator reaches toward him. oh shit...

and slips the sunglasses out of lloyd's shirt pocket. puts them on.

strides back to the harley and roars off in a shower of gravel.

12 ext. freeway - night

terminator roars down the freeway, heading for l.a. cold neon flares

across the chrome of the big bike. the 10-gauge is jammed through

the clutch and brake cables, across the handlebars. the lights flow

over terminator's wrap-around sunglasses like the tracks of tracer

rounds.

cut to:

13 ext. overpass - night

the first street bridge. rusting chain-link fence and graffiti-

covered walls. an l.a.p.d. black-and-white cruises the empty street.

a tremendous blue-white glare suddenly spills out between the columns

of the overpass. the young uniformed cop in the car whips his head

around at the source of the light. he pulls over quickly, in time

to see...

13a the powerfully arcing electrical discharge reaches its peak between

the columns. lightning climbs the chain-link fence and light

standards, lighting up the night, and papers swirl in a blasting

whirlwind.

13b the cop climbs from his cruiser as the glow fades.

he sees vapor dissipating as he approaches the spot where he saw the

strange light. he draws his revolver and cautiously moves into the

shadows between the rows of pillars.

a naked man glides from a shadowed doorway behind the cop. nothing

special about him. certainly not built like a terminator. the flash

of light and fact that he is naked are pretty good clues that he

just arrived from the future. his features are handsome bordering

on severe. his eyes are gray ice. penetrating. intelligent.

the cop spins at a sound. too late. mr. x is already on him. the

blow is lighting fast and the cop drops like a bag of sand.

low angle as the unconscious cop hits the deck, his beretta 9mm

automatic clattering next to him. a hand enters frame and picks up

this pistol.

cut to:

13c highly polished black shoes rounding the rear tire of the police

cruiser. follow the shoes to the cruiser's door then move up as

mr. x, dressed now in lapd blue, climbs behind the wheel. he

looks and acts exactly like a cop. cool, alert, confident in his

power, his expression emotionless and judgmental.

mr. x, now officer x, puts the car in gear and drives into the night.

cut to:

14 int. suburban house/garage - day

tight on young john connor, who at his moment is ten years old and

busy reassembling the carburetor on his honda 125 dirtbike. he has

ripped levi's and long stringy hair. a sullen mouth. eyes which

reveal an intelligence as sharp as a scalpel. the ramones' 'i wanna

be sedated' blasts from a boom box next to him.

a woman, janella voight, stands in the doorway of the garage,

yelling over the music.

woman

...john? john! get in here right now and

clean up that pigsty of yours.

john's friend tim, a thirteen-year-old hispanic kid, watches as john

replies by turning up the volume on the boom box.

janelle gives up with a slam of the house's back door.

tim

your foster parents are kinda dicks, right?

john

gimme that phillips right there.

15 int. house - living room

janelle storms into the room. tod voight, her husband, watches

sports on the tv. they're both in their thirties. middle-class

working stiffs.

janelle

i swear i've had it with that goddamn kid.

he won't even answer me.

(neither does he)

todd? are you gonna sit there or are you gonna

do something?

he sighs. throws down the tv's remote and heads for the garage.

16 int. garage

john hops on the bike. kick-starts it. tim picks up john's nylon

bag, then climbs on the back. todd enters and shouts over the

engine, which john revs louder and louder.

todd

john! get your ass inside right now and do

what your mother says!

john pins todd with a defiant glare.

john

she's not my mother, todd!

he revs the engine and peels out of the garage, with tim almost

falling off the back. they take off down the street.

17 ext. vacant lot/drainage canal

john cuts through a vacant lot to a trail running beside a fenced-in

drainage canal. he guns the bike through a hole in the retaining

fence. tim's eyes go wide as they roar down the concrete embankment.

17a in the drainage canal john zig-zags along, throwing up a

roostertail of muddy water. tim shouts, pretending he didn't just

see his life flash before his eyes. he slaps john on the back.

tim

major moves, homes! so... where is your

real mom, anyway?

(john doesn't answer)

she dead or something?

it's hard to read john's expression.

john

she might as well be.

john twists the throttle angrily and the bike lunges forward.

cut to:

18 ext. pescadero state hospital - day

a sign on a chain link fence topped with concertina wire reads:

pescadero state hospital for the criminally insane. beyond it

squats an imposing four-story building. institutional brick.

barred windows. about as inviting as kgb headquarters. security

guards patrol the manicured grass.

19 int. hospital - maximum security wing

sunlight is a barred slash on the bare institutional wall. the room

is empty of all furnishings save the bed, a stainless steel sink,

toilet, and a dented metal mirror. we hear a rhythmic grunting,

small explosions of breath in perfectly-metered time.

pan to a bedframe leaned upright against the wall, legs facing

outward. a pair of sweaty hands grip one leg. tendons knot and

release as someone does pull-ups. a man of tangled hair hides the

face that comes into frame, dips out, comes back.

wider. a woman in a tank top and hospital pants in hanging from the

top leg of the vertical bedframe. her body is straight and taut.

knees bent so the feet clear the ground. the arms are lean and

muscular. the inmate, face hidden, pulls up, dips, pulls up. like

a machine. no change in rhythm.

20 int. hospital/corridor

figures move toward us down a corridor of polished tile and two-

tone walls. dr. peter silberman, a smug criminal psychologist,

leads a group of young interns. following laconically, are three

burly attendants.

silberman

the next patient is a 29-year old female

diagnosed as acute schizo-affective disorder.

the usual indicators... depression, anxiety,

violent acting-out, delusions of persecution.

(the interns nod judiciously)

here we are.

silberman stops at one of the soundproof steel doors. there is a two-

way speaker beneath a tiny window. silberman flips the intercom

switch.

21 int. cell

silberman's scrubbed and cheerful face at cell window. his voice

comes over the tinny speaker.

silberman

'morning, sarah.

reverse angle as she turns slowly into close up.

sarah connor is not the same woman we remember from last time. her

eyes peer out through a wild tangle of hair like those of a cornered

animal. defiant and intense, but skittering around looking for

escape at the same time. fight or flight. down one cheek is a long

scar, from just below the eye to her upper lip.

her voice is a low and chilling monotone.

sarah

good morning, dr. silberman. how's the knee?

22 int. corridor

silberman's smug composure drops a second. then returns.

silberman

fine, sarah.

(he switches off, speaks to

the interns)

she, uh... stabbed me in the kneecap with a

screwdriver a few weeks ago.

sarah watches them talking about her through the glass, but can't

hear them. she feels like a lab animal. the interns look in at her

through the glass as silberman talks. with her face drawn, eyes

haggard and hair wild, she looks like she belongs where she is.

silberman

the delusional architecture is interesting.

she believes a machine called a 'terminator',

which looks human of course, was sent back

though time to kill her. and also that the

father of her child was a soldier, sent to

protect her... he was from the future too...

(he smiles)

the year 2029, if i remember correctly.

(the interns chuckle)

let's move on, shall we?

as the interns walk on, silberman steps close to douglas, the head

attendant, and speaks low.

silberman

douglas, i don't like seeing the patients

disturbing their rooms like this. see that she

takes her thorazine, would you?

douglas is 6'4', 250 pounds and warm-hearted at a rattlesnake. he

nods, catching silberman's meaning, and gestures for the other

attendants to hang back as silberman moves on in his rounds.

23 int. cell

sarah looks up as the cell door opens. douglas walks in slowly,

idly tapping his police baton against the door in a ominous rhythm.

the other two orderlies ease in behind him. one of them carries a

stun baton (like a sawed-off cattle prod). the other has a tray with

cups of red liquid-thorazine.

douglas

time to take you meds, connor.

sarah faces him, weight centered. feral eyes darting from one to the

other.

sarah

you take it.

douglas grins, casual --

douglas

now you know you got to be good 'cause you up

for review this afternoon...

sarah

i'm not taking it. now i don't want any

trouble...

douglas

ain't no trouble at all --

he whips the baton in a whistling backhand, which --

whap! takes her square in the stomach. she doubles over and drops

to her knees, unable to breathe. douglas tips the bed and it slams

down with a crash, right new to her. he takes her stun wand from

the other attendant and walks forward.

tight on sarah, grimacing and struggling to breathe.

sarah

you... son of a... aaarrgh!!

the stun wand hits her between shoulder blades as she tries to rise.

it drives her to the floor, pinning her like a bug. little

electric arcs crackle as the baton makes her writhe in pain.

douglas grabs her by the hair and jerks her up to her knees. holds

the cup of thorazine in front of her lips.

douglas

last call, sugar.

gasping, she chokes the zombie juice down.

cut to:

24 ext. bank parking lot - day

john furtively hunches before a ready-teller machine at the rear of

a local bank while his friend tim stands lookout. john slips a

stolen atm card into the machine slot. it is something he's rigged

up, because trailing from the card is ribbon-wire which goes to

some kind of black-box electronics unit he's got in his ever-present

knapsack. he holds the pack between his knees and pulls out a

little lap-top keyboard, which is also connected to the black-box.

john enters a few commands and the plasma-screen displays the pin

number for that account. he quickly enters the number on the ready-

teller's keypad and asks it for 300 bucks. the machine whirs then

begins dispensing twenty-dollar bills. tim looks back over his

shoulder amazed.

john

easy money!

tim

where'd you learn all this stuff?

john collects the twenties as the machine kicks them out. a cool and

professional electronic-age thief at ten years old.

john

from my mom. my real mom, i mean. come on

baby...

(he grabs the last bills)

let's go!

they sprint around the corner to an --

25 ext. alley behind bank

they huddle behind the building as john counts out tim's share.

he folds five twenties and palms them to the other kid. when john

opens his wallet to put in his money, tim notices a picture in a

plastic sleeve.

tim

that her?

john reluctantly shows his friend the polaroid. it is a shot of

sarah. pregnant, in a jeep near the mexican border. john doesn't

know it now, but he will carry the photo with him for over 30 years,

and give it to a young man named kyle reese, who will travel back in

time to become his father. yes, that photo.

tim

so she's pretty cool, huh?

john

actually, no, she's a complete psycho. that's

why she's up at pescedero. she tries to blow up

a computer factory, but she got shot and arrested.

tim

no shit?

john

yeah, she's a total loser. c'mon, let's check

out the 7-eleven, whatya say?

john has tried to sound casual, but we see in his eyes that is really

hurts. he slaps tim on the shoulder and they jump onto his honda.

john fires up and they whine off down the alley.

cut to:

26 int. police cruiser - day

close on computer terminal, attached to the dash. a juvenile

division file. subject: john connor. below his arrest record are

his vital stats. mother: sarah connor. legal guardians: todd and

janelle voight. and below their names, an address: 523 s. almond.

reseda, ca.

officer x stares at the screen for a moment. then gets out the car.

27 int./ext. voight house - day

tight on front door as todd voight opens it, revealing the unsmiling

face of officer x beyond the screen door. todd greets him with a

weary sigh.

officer x

are you the legal guardian of john connor?

todd

that's right, officer. what's he done now?

officer x ignores the question. he casually scans the living room.

officer x

could i speak with him, please?

todd shrugs, showing the cop he's past his patience with the boy.

todd

well, you could if he was here. be he took off

on his bike this morning. could be anywhere.

you gonna tell me what his is about?

officer x

i just need to ask him a few questions.

janelle appears in the doorway behind todd, concerned.

janelle

there was a guy here this morning asking about

him, too.

todd

yeah, big guy. on a bike. has that got

something to do with it?

officer x registers the significance of that. he realizes who the

big guy must be. he smiles. reassuringly shakes his head no.

officer x

i wouldn't worry. do you have a photograph

of john?

todd stares unhappily at the cop. turns to janelle.

todd

get the album, janelle.

cut to:

28 ext. street

angle through an alley from the main street. we see john and tim

flash by on the honda a block away. hold a beat. then...

a big chrome wheel enters frame. boom up a leather-clad leg to

terminator's implacable face. it surveys the area slowly as the

bike idles, then kicks it into gear and moves on, scanning in a

slow shark-like manner, not aware that it missed its prey by

seconds.

cut to:

29 int. sarah's cell - day

close on sarah. she is shackled, hands and feet, to the bed.

sunlight falls across her pale face. a hand enter frame, gently

stroking her cheek. she wakes up to see --

kyle reese. sitting on the edge of her bed, looking exactly the

same as we last saw him in 1984. scruffy blonde hair and a long

raincoat.

sarah

kyle..? you're dead.

he gives her a gentle smile.

reese

i know. this is a dream, sarah.

sarah

oh. yeah. they... make me take this stuff...

he puts a finger to her lips. then silently unfastens her restraints.

they gaze into each other's eyes. and in the look that his death

and the horror she has been through since hasn't touched their love

at all.

sarah

hold me.

she melts into reese's arms. pulls him to her.

reese

i love you. i always will.

sarah

oh, god... kyle. i need you so much.

she kisses him passionately. they are locked together in a timeless

moment. push in tight on sarah as she buries her face in his

shoulder. she shuts her eyes tight. stay on sarah as reese speaks.

he voice is strangely cold.

reese (o.s.)

where's john, sarah?

sarah opens her eyes and he is no longer in her arms. he is standing

across the room. pinning her with an accusing gaze.

sarah

they took him from me.

reese

it's john who's the target now. you have to

protect him. he's wide open.

sarah

i know!

reese

don't quit, sarah. our son need you.

sarah

(struggling not to cry)

i know, but i'm not as strong as i'm supposed

to be. i can't do it. i'm screwing up the

mission.

reese

remember the message... the future is not set.

there is not fate but what we make for ourselves.

he turns toward the door.

sarah

kyle, don't go!

reese

(turning back to her)

there's not much time left in the world, sarah.

reese goes out the door. sarah jumps from the bed, frantic. yanks

the door open. follow her out.

30 int. corridor

sarah staggers from her cell. reese is already, impossibly, a

hundred feet away, striding down the dim corridor. a silhouette

in a long coat, disappearing around a corner.

sarah runs after him, her bare feet slapping the cold linoleum.

her hospital gown floats out behind her as she dream-runs along the

seemingly infinite corridor. she reaches the corner, slides around

it, and...

30a slams right into the arms of douglas and his three helpers. they

grab her as she struggles and screams. the silberman is there,

smiling soothingly. they force her down and she is pinned to

the floor, screaming. a new figure approaches... one even more

menacing.

terminator walks toward her, with heavy measured steps. backlit,

eyes concealed by the sunglasses, it stands over her like the angel

of death itself. it reaches down and...

takes her hand. lifts her up. leads her to a door. they go through

together. emerging into...

30b a beautiful sunlight morning. children are playing nearby... sliding

down slides, clambering through a jungle gym. sarah knows this

dream know... it's is the worst of all her nightmares. she starts

to scream but no sound comes out.

30c the sky explodes into white light. everything is seared by the unholy

glare, hotter than a thousand suns. the children ignite like

match heads. sarah is burning, screaming silently, everything silent

and overexposed. terminator's flesh and clothing are burning,

silently. it grips her hand, virgil to her dante in this tour of the

nuclear-age inferno.

30d the blast wave hits... a near-solid wall of compressed air followed

by 250-mph winds. the children, charcoal statues frozen in positions

of play, explode into black leaves of ash and swirl away. sound

hit now, with a thunderous roar. sarah's scream merges with the

howl of the wind as the blast hits her, exploding the flesh from her

bones. beside her, terminator is stripped of its burnt flesh,

becoming a smoking skeleton of steel.

30e then she wake up... in her cell, shackled to the bed. sunlight hurts

her eyes. she looks desperate and defeated. she knows the war is

coming. it visits her every time she closes her eyes. lost and

alone, sarah feels all hope recede for herself and for humanity.

cut to:

31 int. pescadero state hospital - interview room

tight on video screen, playing a previously-recorded session.

sarah is in a strait-jacket, talking softly.

video sarah

... it's... like a giant strobe light, burning

right through my eyes... but somehow i can still

see. look, you know the dream's the same every

night, why do i have to --

video silberman

please continue...

31a the real sarah dispassionately watches herself on the screen. her

expression is controlled. silberman watches her watching. they are

in a brightly-lit interview room. two attendants stands nearby.

31b video sarah

the children look like burnt paper... black,

not moving. then the blast wave hits them and

they fly apart like leaves...'

video sarah can't go on. real sarah watches herself cry on tape,

her expression cold. we hear silberman speak on the tape.

video silberman

dreams about cataclysm, or the end of the world,

are very common, sarah...

video sarah cuts him off, her mood shifting to sudden rage.

video sarah

it's not just a dream. it's real, you moron!

i know the date is happens!!

video silberman

i'm sure it feels very real to you --

video sarah

on august 29th 1997 it's going to feel pretty

fucking real to you, too! anybody not wearing

number two million sunblock in gonna have a

real bad day, get it?

video silberman

relax now, sarah --

video sarah

you think you're alive and safe, but you're

already dead. everybody, you, him...

(she gestures are the

attendant)

everybody... you're all fucking dead!

she is raving, half out of her chair. the orderly moves to inject

her with something.

video sarah

you're the one living in a dream, silberman,

not me! because i know it happens. it

happens!

31c silberman pauses the tape... freezing sarah's contorted face.

real sarah turns away from the screen, he expression stony.

sarah

i was afraid... and confused. i feel much

better, now. clearer.

silberman gives a calculated paternal smile.

silberman

yes. your attitude have been very positive

lately.

sarah looks up at him. her voice is hopeful.

sarah

it has helped me a lot to have a goal, something

to look forward to.

silberman

and what it that?

as she answers, we pull back, revealing that we have been looking

through a one-way mirror from an adjacent observation room. in the

shadows of the observation room we see that interns from the

earlier rounds, and a couple of staff psychologists. they smoke and

make the occasional note.

sarah

you said i could be transferred to the minimum

security wing and have visitors if i showed

improvement in six months. well, it's been six

months, and i was looking forward to seeing my

son.

silberman

i see. let's go back to what you were saying

about these terminator machines. now you think

they don't exist?

close on sarah. her voice sounds hollow.

sarah

they don't exist. i see that now.

silberman leans back, studying her. toying with her.

silberman

but you've told me on many occasions about how

you crushed one in a hydraulic press.

sarah

if i had, there would have been some evidence.

they would have found something at the factory.

silberman

i see. so you don't believe anymore that the

company covered it up?

sarah shakes her head no.

cut to:

32 ext. cyberdyne systems - day

the corporate headquarters of a mega-electronic corporation. as

imposing cubist castle of black glass.

33 int. second floor/elevators

the elevator doors slide open with a whisper and miles dyson strides

out. black. in his early thirties. the star of the special

projects division. he's brilliant, aggressive, driven. dyson walks

down the corridor, swinging his arms... a man in a hurry. a man

with much to do.

he reaches a solid security door and zips his electronic key-card

through the scanner. the door unlocks with a clunk.

the sign next to the door reads: special projects division:

authorized personnel only.

34 int. security station

he nods to the guards as he passes through the security checkpoint.

they can see all activities on the floor on their bank of monitors.

he unlocks another service door with his card and enters --

35 int. artificial intelligence (a.i.) lab

the lab is quite large, comprising banks of processors, disk drives,

test bays, prototype assembly areas. extremely high tech.

dyson

greetings, troops.

he is jokingly saluted by fellow members. not a lab coat in sight.

this is strictly jeans and sneakers crowd. all young and bright.

they sit at their consoles drinking coke and changing technology as

we know it. a young lab assistant rushes over to dyson. name tag

says he's bryant.

bryant

mr. dyson? the material teams wants to run

another test on the uh... on it.

dyson

yup. come on. i'll get it.

dyson produces an unusual-looking key from his pocket as they stride

through the lab. bryant has to hustle to keep up.

bryant

listen, mr. dyson, i know i haven't been here

that long, but i was wondering if you could tell

me... i mean, if you know...

dyson

know what?

bryant

well... where it came from.

dyson

i asked them that question once. know what

they told me? don't ask.

36 int. vault room

dyson enters with bryant. dyson and a guard stand together before

what looks like a high-tech bank vault. it requires two keys to

open, like the launch controls in a nuclear silo. the guard and

dyson insert their keys and turn them simultaneously. dyson then

enters a passcode at a console and the vault unlocks itself with a

sequence of clunks. the door swings open and dyson enters. bryant

stays outside with the guard, who notes dyson's name and item on a

clipboard.

37 int. vault

dyson walks to a stainless steel cabinet and opens it. inside is a

small artifact in a sealed container of inert gas. it -- a ceramic

rectangle, about the size of a domino, the color of liver. it has

been shattered, painstakingly reconstructed and mounted on a metal

frame.

dyson removes the artifact, it its insert-gas, and sets it on a

specially-designed cart. he handles it like the turin shroud.

dyson closes the cabinet. turns to the one next to it. opens its

door. in this cabinet is a larger object... an intricate metal hand

and forearm.

at the elbow, the metal is twisted and crushed. but the forearm and

hand are intact. its metal surface scorched and discolored, it

stands upright in a vacuum flask, as if saluting. this is all that

remains of the terminator sarah destroyed. dyson stares at it, lost

in thought. the he closes the cabinet, blacking out frame.

cut to:

38 int. interview room/observation room

we can see through the one-way mirror into the interview room where

sarah is still talking with silberman. the other psychologists are

still watching through the mirror. reviewing sarah's condition.

sarah

so what do you think, doctor? i've shown a lot

of improvement, haven't i?

silberman

you see, sarah... here's the problem. i know

how smart you are, and i think you're just

telling me what i want to hear. i don't think

you really believe who you've been telling me

today.

we go tight on sarah's reaction. and we see that silberman is right.

she was playing him and it didn't work. and she knows she's fucked.

her tone becomes quite pleading.

sarah

you have to let me see my son. please. it's

very important. he's in danger. at least let

me call him --

silberman pins her with his sweet reptilian gaze.

silberman

i'm afraid not. not for a while. i don't see

any choice but to recommend to the review board

that you stay here another six months.

sarah's eyes turn cold and lethal in one second. she knows she's

lost. she knows this guy is just playing with her, and she --

leaps across the table at him.

sarah

you son of a bitch!!

silberman jumps back and the attendants dive on her. she is writhing

and twisting like a bobcat. silberman whips open a drawer and pulls

out a syringe. he jabs it into her and she yells --

sarah

goddammit. let me go!! silberman! you don't

know what you're doing! you fuck! you're dead!

you hear me!!

silberman signals and the attendants drag her out.

he looks at the doctors behind the glass. shrugs.

silberman

model citizen.

cut to:

39 ext. 7-eleven store - day

officer x has stopped two young girls in front of a 7-eleven. he is

leaning out the cruiser window and showing them the picture of john.

the first girl nods.

first girl

yeah, he was here about fifteen minutes ago. i

think he said he was going to the galleria.

officer x

the what?

the second girl points toward a massive complex visible about the

houses several blocks away. officer x stares at it.

40 ext. street

terminator cruises slowly on the bike. scanning. he crosses an

overpass above a drainage canal and whips his head around at the

sound of a dirt-bike engine.

40a terminator pov -- of two kids on a bike down in the canal.

the image snap-zooms in. freezes on the driver's face.

'ident pos' flashes next to the blurry image of john.

40b terminator wheel the harley around, cutting onto a street which runs

parallel to the canal. terminator hauls ass at keep john in sight.

he catches glimpses of the kid through trees and houses. loses him.

catches one last glimpse of him heading into the parking lot of a

large shopping mall.

41 int. galleria - day

john works his way through a crowded video arcade. sees some guys he

knows. stops to talk, striking a pose. mall rats in the element.

we don't hear the dialogue.

42 int. galleria parking lot

terminator's idling harley shakes the parking garage walls. he stops

at a row of bikes near the escalators. john's little honda sits

proudly with the big street bikes. terminator parks.

43 int. galleria

officer x is moving through the flow of shoppers. the place is a zoo.

he stops some kids and shows them the picture. they shrug.

43a in a crowded video arcade john is lost in an intense battle, going for

a new high score at 'missile command'. he parries deftly at the enemy

icbms deploy their mirvs... the warheads stream down... it's more than

he can deal with. the world gets nuked. game over. he slouches

away from the game, looking for another. bored.

rack focus to officer x passing the entrance of the store behind him.

the cop moves on, down the concourse, out of sight.

john gets in an 'afterburner' simulator game.

43b on terminator, walking through the crowd in slow motion. scanning.

he moves with methodical purpose, knowing the target is close. we

see that he is, incredibly, carrying a box of long-stem roses. like

some hopeful guy with a hot date.

43c the cop is pointed toward the arcade by come kids hanging out at the

multi-cinema. he walks into the maze of kids engaged in synthesized

combat. cheap electronic effects blare above the crowd noise.

43d john is shooting down migs at mach 2. his friend tim slides up next

to him. taps him on the shoulder, trying to play it cool.

tim

some cop is scoping for you, dude.

john looks around the corner of the 'afterburner' ride. sees the cop

showing a picture to some of the kids. the kids point his way.

john ducks just as the cop glances over. he slinks out the other side

of the ride and heads for the back of the store, instinctively

retreating. sarah has taught him that cops are bad news.

the cop scans the crowded arcade. glimpses john, looking back as he

moves around a row of machines. starts toward him.

john sees the cop homing in and starts walking fast. looks back.

the cop is shoving through clots of kids. one of them is slammed to

the floor. as eddy of outrage behind the cop as he gains speed.

john breaks into run. so does the cop.

kids scatter like ten-pins as the cop charges after john.

john sprints through the arcade's back officer and store-rooms.

44 int. service corridor

john emerges through a firedoor into a long corridor with connects

to the parking garage. he's running full out, when around the corner

ahead of him comes...

terminator. time stretches to nightmarish crawl as john tries to

brake to a stop. terminator reaches into the box of roses.

slow motion. the cold back steel of the shotgun emerges at the box

falls open, the roses spilling to the floor. terminator's boot

crushes the flowers as it moves forward.

john, transfixed by terror, is trapped in the narrow featureless

shooting gallery of the corridor. the shotgun comes up. terminator

expressionlessly strides forward. jacks a round into the chamber,

slow and fluid.

john looks behind him for a place to run. sees the cop coming toward

him, pulling his beretta pistol. incredibly, john realizes the cop

is aiming his gun at him!

john looks back at terminator. he is starting into the black muzzle

of the 10-gauge now. aimed right at his head. he realizes he's

screwed. then something crazy happens...

terminator

get down.

john instinctively ducks. terminator pulls the trigger. kaboom!

the cop catches the shotgun's blast square in the chest just as he

fires the pistol. the pistol's shot goes wild.

terminator pumps another round into him. the another. and another.

advancing a step each time he fires, he empties the shotgun into the

cop, blowing his backward down the corridor. the sound is deafening.

then silence.

the cop lies still on his back.

44a terminator is now standing right over john. they both watch as the

cop, incredibly, sits up unharmed and gets to his feet. terminator

grabs john roughly by his jacket. clutches the kid to his chest

then spins around at the cop opens fire with the beretta.

44b the 'cop', who not only isn't a cop, he clearly isn't even human,

pulls the trigger so fast it almost seems like a machine-pistol.

on terminator's back, as the 9mm slugs slam into it, punching bloody

holes in the motorcycle jacket.

john is bug-eyed with fear, but completely unscratched. terminator's

body has blocked the bullets.

the beretta clacks empty. terminator turns at the sound.

shoves john behind a coke machine. drops the empty shotgun. starts

walking toward the 'cop'.

the empty magazine clatters to the floor.

the cop inserts another one. snaps back the slide.

terminator still has twenty feet to go.

he doesn't break his purposeful stride.

the cop opens fire. bullets rake terminator's chest. he doesn't

even flinch.

ten feet to go. blam blam blam blam! neither the cop nor terminator

show the slightest change in expression as the gun rips terminator's

wardrobe to shreds.

clack. the pistol empties again. terminator stops two feet in front

of the cop. the appraise each other for a second.

we realize now that the cop is a terminator too. we don't know the

details yet, but let's call him the t-1000 (since that's what he is).

a newer model than the one we've come to know so well (the 800

series 'arnold'). this guy's a prototype... and he's got quite a

few surprises.

t-1000 and terminator size each other up. terminator moves first.

he grabs t-1000 in his massive hands but the t-1000 snaps back with a

counter-grip. after about two seconds of intense slamming, the walls

on both sides of the corridor have all the plaster smashed in, and

the two battling machines have blasted through the wall and

disappeared.

john, totally stunned by all this, remembers to move. he staggers to

his feet. stumble-runs toward the parking garage.

44c third level concourse. a plate glass window explodes and terminator

crashes through to the tile floor like a sack of cement amid the

screaming crowd.

44d t-1000 turns without a word and heads back through the store after

john, accelerating slowly into a loping, predatory run.

44e terminator is totally still. a japanese tourist cautiously steps

forward and takes a picture of the body. suddenly, terminator's

eyes snap open. the stunned tourist backs away.

he sits up and looks around. gets his bearings. rises smoothly to

his feet. all servos seem to be working fine. the tourist's camera

whirs as the motor-drive runs on by itself, taking shot after show.

the owner isn't even looking through the eyepiece, he's so shocked.

45 int. parking garage

john is frantically pumping the kick-start of his bike, scared

shitless and the damned thing won't start. his hands are shaking so

badly he can't find the choke. he looks up to see --

the t-1000 running down the corridor toward him.

john fumbles with the choke. the bike catches. he slams it in gear

and spins the bike out into the main aisle of the garage.

john looks back... the t-1000 is behind him, running. he twists the

throttle and guns the little bike forward. incredibly, the t-1000

is gaining. this nightmare isn't happening. john races out the exit

ramp, and charges right into the street.

46 ext. street

john shoots into the busy traffic. cuts off a big-rig tow truck.

the driver swears. hits his air horn. what the driver doesn't see

is the cop, running faster than o.j. simpson at the airport, who

emerges onto the street and runs back at his truck.

46a in the truck. the driver hears a thump as something slams against his

door, then feels himself pulled right out. t-1000 slides in and

takes his place. the truck is still rolling along about 25 mph.

t-1000 accelerates after john without missing a beat. it can see him,

up ahead, weaving through traffic.

46b out of the garage entrance, terminator roars onto the street on the

harley.

he accelerates after the others.

47 ext. flood control channel

john slides his bike down the service ramp faster than he's ever done

it before. he races along the bottom of the canal, turning into a

narrower tributary which has vertical sides.

he looks back. no sign of pursuit.

47a suddenly he sees the sun blocked out by a great shadow.

the kenworth tow-truck... big as a house, all chrome and roaring

diesel engine... crashes through the fence and launches itself right

into the center of the canal.

it crashes down, 15 feet to the ground, going about 60, hits at an

angle and tears into the concrete wall with a hideous grinding of

metal. it ricochets back and forth between the walls then, bellowing

like a gunshot stegosaurus, it just keep on plowing forward, gathering

speed.

47b john looks back and sees this wall of metal almost filling the narrow

concrete canal and he milks every last bit of throttle the little bike

has. the kenworth is all muscle, tearing along the canal like a train

in a tunnel. its big tires send up huge sheets of muddy spray,

backlit in the setting sun. it looks like some kind of demon. and...

it's gaining.

47c above them, on the service road running parallel, terminator is

fighting to overtake them. he looks down and sees john with the tow-

truck from hell catching up to him. it is only about twenty feet

behind him and still gaining.

47d angle in the canal, looking back past a desperate john, at the wall

of metal filling frame behind him.

47e above, terminator cuts the bike suddenly hard to the left, leaving the

road. hitting an earth embankment just right, he jumps the bike into

the air like steve mcqueen in 'the great escape' and vaults the fence

bordering the canal. it slams down at the edge of the canal and tears

along, inches from the drop-off on a dirt path, accelerating past the

truck in the canal below.

47f john hits some water and slews momentarily, loosing speed. the

massive push-plate on the front of the truck slams into his back

fender. panicked, he pulls a little ahead. all this is happening at

about sixty miles and hour. top speed for the little dirt bike.

47g slow motion as terminator jumps the bike again. this time the 700-

pound harley sails out into space and drops into the canal. it arcs

down between the truck and john, hitting on its wheels. it bottoms

out, an explosion of sparks under the frame. only the ultra-fast

reflexes of a machine could keep the bike upright. terminator fights

for control.

47h he guns the throttle and the powerful bike roars up beside john's tiny

honda.

terminator sweeps the kid off his machine with one arm and swings hi