" T E R M I N A T O R "
by
James Cameron
Registered WGAw
Fourth Draft
April 20, 1983
--------------------------------------------------------------------
TERMINATOR
A1 TITLE SEQUENCE - SLITSCAN EFFECT A1
1 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 1
Silence. Gradually the sound of distant traffic becomes
audible. A LOW ANGLE bounded on one side by a chain-link
fence and on the other by the one-story public school build-
ings. Spray-can hieroglyphics and distant streetlight sha-
dows. This is a Los Angeles public school in a blue collar
neighborhood.
ANGLE BETWEEN SCHOOL BUILDINGS, where a trash dumpster looms
in a LOW ANGLE, part of the clutter behind the gymnasium.
A CAT enters FRAME. CAMERA DOLLIES FORWARD, prowling with
him through the landscape of trash receptacles and shadows.
CLOSE ON CAT, which freezes, alert, sensing something just
beyond human perception.
A sourceless wind rises, and with it a keening WHINE.
Papers blow across the pavement.
The cat YOWLS and hides under the dumpster.
Windows rattle in their frames.
The WHINE intensifies, accompanied now by a wash of frigid
PURPLE LIGHT. A CONCUSSION like a thunderclap right over-
head blows in all the windows facing the yard.
C.U. - CAT, its eyes are wide as the glare dies.
1A/FX ANGLE - DUMPSTER 1A/FX
ELECTRICAL DISCHARGES arc from the dumpster to a water
faucet and climb a drain pipe like a Jacob's Ladder.
CUT TO:
2 EXT. SCHOOLYARD - NIGHT 2
SLOW PAN as the sound of stray electrical CRACKLING subsides.
FRAME comes to rest on the figure of a NAKED MAN kneeling,
faced away, in the previously empty yard.
He stands, slowly.
The man is in his late thirties, tall and powerfully built,
moving with graceful precision.
C.U. - MAN, his facial features reiterate the power of his
body and are dominated by the eyes, which are intense, blue
and depthless. His hair is military short.
This man is the TERMINATOR.
He glances down, taking calm inventory of himself, and
notices that a fine white ash covers his skin. He brushes
at it unconcernedly as he walks toward the fence, scanning
his surroundings.
CUT TO:
2A/FX CRANE SHOT - SCHOOLYARD/CITY - NIGHT 2A/FX
CAMERA MOVES UP as Terminator approaches the schoolyard fence
beyond which is an embankment rolling down in darkness to the
cityscape below. The school is perched at the edge of a pro-
montory offering a respectable view of the urban sprawl teem-
ing and glistening under a sullen sky. The night clouds are
shot through with occasional flashes of LIGHTNING, presaging
a thunderstorm.
Terminator stands, hands on hips in prefect symmetry, gazing
down at the city as the CAMERA REACHES FULL HEIGHT.
CUT TO:
3 EXT. PLAYGROUND - NIGHT 3
A beer bottle SMASHES on the ground. PULL BACK to include
its ex-owner and his two compatriots, YOUTH GANG MEMBERS,
lounging on the jungle gym of a deserted playground. They
sport nondescript PUNK REGALIA...torn T-shirts, fatigue
pants, combat boots or high-top sneakers, leather jackets.
The leader notices something and sits up.
LEADER
(pointing)
Hey, hey...what's wrong with
this picture?
ANGLE - REVERSE, seen past the lounging toughs, Terminator
walks naked into a pool of streetlight, striding purpose-
fully toward them.
ANGLE - OVER TERMINATOR'S SHOULDER, as he approaches them.
They slide from their perches and drop easily to the ground
liquid shadows.
LEADER
Nice night for a walk, eh?
Terminator stops right in front of them.
TERMINATOR
(without inflec-
tion)
Nice night for a walk.
They surround him, all swagger and malign good humor.
SECOND PUNK
Washday tomorrow, huh? Nothing
clean, right?
Terminator eyes them without expression, unhurried.
Reptilian.
TERMINATOR
Nothing clean. Right.
LEADER
This guy's a couple bricks
short.
Terminator turn to the second punk, ignoring the
others.
TERMINATOR
Your clothes. Give them to me.
The punks exchange glances, dismayed.
TERMINATOR
(coldly)
Now.
SECOND PUNK
(bracing)
Fuck you, asshole.
Without warning Terminator hammer-punches him in the temple
with blinding speed. The blow flings him with a CLANG into
the jungle gym. He drops to the ground in a still heap,
eyes open, twitching.
The leader whips out his SWITCHBLADE and slashes in one
motion. Terminator ducks back and catches the knife-
wielder's wrist in an inhuman grip. Then he punches the
leader with piledriver force just below the breastbone.
ANGLE - PAVEMENT, as the knife clatters down. The punk's
combat boots are on tiptoe, barely touching the ground.
ANGLE - TWO SHOT, Terminator and the leader are close
together as if dancing, but motionless. Their bodies are in
total shadow. The punk's eyes are wide, his veins distended
with an agonizing pressure. Terminator jerks his fist back
with a WET SOUND and the other drops OUT OF FRAME.
The last tough is stumbling away, gaping with terror. He
backs into a chainlink fence, turns to run along it, finds
he is in a corner.
Terminator takes a step toward him, his gaze ominous.
The punk begins shakily stripping off his clothes.
Thunder peals overhead.
CUT TO:
4 EXT. STREET/NEARBY - NIGHT 4
A light RAIN begins to fall.
Terminator emerges onto the street from the playground,
pausing in the pool of light under a streetlight to hike
the collar of the punk's jacket.
The rain streams down over his face, running into
and over his eyes. They do not blink.
CUT TO:
5 EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET/ALLEY - NIGHT 5
Another part of the city. Seedy apartments and storefronts.
The streets glisten, hissing with sporadic late night traffic.
SLOW PAN AND DOLLY into the mouth of a narrow alley lined
with trash containers and fire escapes. From a recessed
doorway, two filthy legs sprawl out onto the wet pavement.
An angry, inarticulate DRUNKARD'S MONOLOGUE rises occasionally
above the rain sounds.
ANGLE - DOORWAY, The derelict rouses from his bitter stupor
as a brilliant purple glare lights up the wet brickwork
around him. A shockwave hurls trash into the air.
Painted over windows shatter.
Rat scurry, blinded.
A FIGURE drops INTO FRAME as if out of the sky and smacks
the pavement with a muddy splash.
C.U. - DERELICT, as he blinks at the fading glare, amazed.
A NAKED MAN, compact and muscular, rises in a defensive
crouch. KYLE REESE is 22, but his face has been aged by
ordeal, the mouth hard, eyes grim. A crinkled burn scar
traverses one side of his face from chin to forehead. Other
scars, from burns and bullets, mar his hard-muscled body.
The rain washes a fine coating of white ash from his skin
as electrical ARCS lace back and forth between the fire
escapes behind him, HISSING and SPUTTERING. The sound
fades, then stops altogether, to be replaced by a rising
scream of animal agony.
Reese lurches to his feet and sprints across the alley.
CUT TO:
5A/FX OMITTED 5A/FX
6 OMITTED 6
7 EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT 7
CAMERA MOVES WITH REESE as he leaps to the fire escape and
clambers up to the first landing to crouch beside another
NAKED MAN who appears to be entangled in the ironwork. The
man is contorted with pain as his screams die to a shivering
gasp. CLOSER ANGLE reveals that he has been skewered through
the abdomen by the horizontal iron slats and through the
shoulder by a railing. He has materialized in the same
space occupied by the fire escape structure. The figure
slumps, motionless.
Reese quickly checks for signs of life. The man is dead.
Reese descend to the alley floor and crosses to the drunk
huddled in the doorway.
A pair of flamboyantly dressed women, obviously working
girls, passes by the alley mouth. They do a double take
when they see Reese, but walk on without breaking stride,
completely jaded. He's certainly not a potential customer.
Reese crouches down as if to speak to the drunk.
DERELICT
Say, buddy...did you see a
real bright light?
CUT TO:
8 EXT. ALLEY/SAME - NIGHT 8
A brilliant white glare stabs into the alley mouth as an
LAPD cruiser glides slowly by on the street. The search-
light illuminates the figure of Reese, crouching over the
sprawled drunk, just pulling on the other's trousers.
The cruiser chirps to a stop. The doors fly open and two
cops leap out.
FIRST COP
Hold it, right there!
Reese hitches his pants and bolt like a shot. The cops
draw their guns and race into the alley after him.
HANDHELD CAMERA or PANAGLIDE, rushing with Reese along the
narrow alley. He vaults a pile of tumbled trashcans.
Whips around a corner. Leaps the hood of a parked car in
the cross alley.
PANAGLIDE PRECEDING COPS, as they snake through the night
maze.
CUT TO:
9 EXT. CROSS ALLEY - NIGHT 9
PANAGLIDE WITH REESE as he hits a chain link gate at a
dead run and scrambles over it.
10 EXT. ALLEY JUNCTION - NIGHT 10
WHIP PAN ON COPS, skidding to a stop at the corner in time
to see Reese vault the fence. They separate.
DOLLY WITH SECOND COP, as he runs to the gate.
CUT TO:
11 EXT. ALLEY/NEARBY - NIGHT 11
LOW PANAGLIDE WITH REESE, running full tilt, displaying
incredible agility.
REESE'S POV, the alley walls blur by. The view of a hot-
wired rat in an urban maze.
C.U. - REESE, CAMERA hugging him as he sprints and turns,
alternately front-lit, side-lit and silhouetted as the
electric glare of the city wheels about him.
ANGLE - ALLEY MOUTH, Reese flashes though intermittent
cross-lighting in the B.G.
Another unit arrives out front and Reese melts back into
the alley, only to see a cop round the corner behind him.
Sandwiched. Reese crashes into a steel door, rending the
lock, and vanishes into the darkness within.
The newly arrived cops are a K-9 unit. They open the back
door of the squad car to release a large black Doberman.
CUT TO:
12 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 12
Reese finds himself among the display racks of a discount
department store. A searchlight stabs in the front
window as he dashes into the maze of aisles.
Three cops enter behind him through the shattered door.
FAST PANAGLIDE WITH REESE, as he crab-runs low among the
moving shadows where flashlights quarter the darkness. He
bolts the open space behind a display window. Sees the
outside searchlight sweep toward him. Freezes.
ANGLE - REESE, his feral face frozen among the smooth-
featured, smiling mannequins. As the light passes, Reese
silently moves on.
ANGLE - COP, passing the end of a long aisle B.G. while in
the F.G. a hand ENTERS FRAME, removing a knit shirt from a
hanger. Reese slips the shirt on quietly and does a fast
crab-walk across the aisles to melt into the other racks
and shadows, CAMERA MOVING LOW with him.
CUT TO:
13 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE/AISLE - NIGHT 13
With a shocking GROWL the police dog hurtles out of the
shadows, LEAPING RIGHT AT CAMERA.
ANGLE - REESE AND DOG, a dark blur with teeth, extremely
Doberman, flies toward Reese. He spins. Catches it by
the throat in mid-air. Arcs it to the floor with unflinching
precision.
C.U. - DOBERMAN, suddenly on its back and held by the throat,
THE DOG YELPS and stares at Reese, who leans very close.
Inches from its eyes he fixes it with a gaze of uncompromis-
ing dominance. Some ancient communication seems to pass
between the two.
Reese releases the animal and turns his back on it, selecting
a long overcoat from a rack. The dog backs away from him,
stiff-legged and confused.
CUT TO:
14 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - NIGHT 14
TRACKING WITH REESE as he rounds a corner on the run, still
shrugging into his long coat.
Running smack at him is another cop, gun aimed.
Without slowing, Reese leaps toward him, twisting in mid-air
like a cat. The cop FIRES. Misses. Goes down under Reese's
tackle and they slide together on the polished floor.
Before they even come to rest Reese snatches the cop's gun,
aiming it at the other's face two-handed.
REESE
What day is it? The date...
COP
Thursday...uh...May twelfth.
REESE
(viciously)
What year?
A SHOT whines off the metal side of an escalator behind
Reese's head. He vaults the escalator rail, leaving the
amazed cop lying on the floor.
Reese bounds up the frozen steps, pocketing the .38 Police
Special in his coat.
Cops dash through the maze of aisles, converging at the
escalators.
CUT TO:
15 INT. DEPARTMENT STORE/SECOND FLOOR - NIGHT 15
WHIP PANNING WITH REESE, as he hurtles between displays.
He stops for a moment beside a rack of shoes. Slaps one of
a pair of tennis shoes sole-to-sole against his bare foot.
Too small. Another. Holding the shoes he runs on.
CUT TO:
16 EXT. SECOND FLOOR FIRE ESCAPE LANDING - NIGHT 16
A door opens quietly and Reese slips out.
CAMERA TRACKS WITH HIM as he moves like a panther along the
narrow catwalk. TILT DOWN to include the first LAPD cruiser
parked at the mouth of the alley.
CUT TO:
17 EXT. ALLEY/STREET - NIGHT 17
Reese drops cat-like beside the unattended police car.
Cautiously, he opens the door of the cruiser, removes the
RIOT GUN, an Ithaca pump model, from the dash rack and slips
it under his coat. Cradled in a vertical position, the
shortened weapon is virtually invisible.
He walks out onto the street and away, unhurriedly, an
innocuous pedestrian soon lost in the rain.
CUT TO:
18 EXT. STREET/NEARBY - NIGHT 18
Reese enters a telephone booth. Harsh light rakes across
his face, outlining the long scar. He opens the directory,
leafs through it.
ANGLE - MACRO ON PAGE, Reese's finger slides down a column.
Stops beside the following listings in the big metropolitan
white pages:
CONNOR, SARAH
CONNOR, SARAH ANN
CONNOR, SARAH J.
DISSOLVE TO:
19 EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING 19
The night's rain has given way to a typical L.A. morning
of diffuse sunlight.
MOVING WITH A GIRL on a MOPED as she zips through traffic.
SARAH CONNER is 19, small and delicate-featured. Pretty in
a flawed, accessible way. She doesn't stop the party when
she walks in, but you'd like to get to know her. Her vulner-
able quality masks a strength even she doesn't know exists.
Sarah maneuvers nimbly, apparently in a hurry.
CUT TO:
20 EXT. BIG BOB'S RESTRAUNT - DAY 20
Sarah buzzes into the parking lot of Big Bob's Family
Restaurant and chains the moped to the icon of Big Bob
himself. The fiberglass cherub holds up his mammoth
hamburger in perpetual homage to whatever deity watches
out for fat kids.
Sarah removes a stack of college textbooks from the luggage
carrier and tuns to go into the restaurant.
SARAH
(to Big Bob)
Watch this for me, big buns.
CUT TO:
21 INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA 21
HIGH WIDE SHOT prominently featuring a VIDEO SURVEILLANCE
CAMERA F.G. as Sarah enters below. She passes under another
video eye as she crosses the main floor of the wholesomely
appointed eatery. Sarah goes through the swinging STAFF
doors under a third camera.
CUT TO:
22 INT. MANAGER'S OFFICE 22
The office is closet-like, lit by the glow of several
security monitors. CHUCK BREEN, day manager, pimply and
officious,watches Sarah in an overhead view of the service
corridor. He punches a switch and reaches for a microphone
on a studio gooseneck.
CUT TO:
23 INT. SERVICE CORRIDOR 23
Sarah glances up as Breen's voice rasps from a ceiling speaker.
BREEN (V.O.)
Sarah?
She answers the empty hallway.
SARAH
Yes, Chuck?
BREEN
Come to the office, please.
She turns back toward the office door at the end of the
corridor.
CUT TO:
24 MANAGER'S OFFICE 24
Sarah opens the door to Breen's closet control center.
SARAH
Mission control to Chuck,
come in...
BREEN
(without looking
up)
You're late.
Sarah is undaunted.
SARAH
Aren't I worth waiting for?
BREEN
Not really. Do you think you
can get here on time if I put
you on the floor as a waitress?
SARAH
(grinning)
I don't know. I kinda had
my heart set on being a
cashier the rest of my life.
BREEN
The pay's the same but you'll
make more in tips.
SARAH
Thanks, Chuck. I need the
money. Can I still work the
hours around my classes?
Breen turns to punch up a display on the restaurant's
small accounting computer. Sarah looks over his shoulder
as he modifies the week's schedule.
BREEN
Mmm. Same schedule's okay.
SARAH
Alright!
BREEN
(gravely)
Can you handle it?
SARAH
It's not brain surgery,
Chuck.
Breen hands her an apron ceremoniously.
BREEN
Here you go. You're a
Bob's Girl now. Nancy
will check you out.
SARAH
I won't let the fat kid down.
CUT TO:
25 OMITTED 25
26 INT. LOCKER ROOM - DAY 26
ANGLE - TIGHT ON LOCKER DOOR as it slams shut, revealing
Sarah transformed into a "Bob's Girl".
Her hair is in a bun.
White blouse. Short flared skirt and apron with a bow.
She resembles a suburbanized peasant maid looking for a
goat to milk.
Sarah confronts her reflection in the mirror, pondering
its absurdity.
She pinches her sheeks.
Smiles vacuously.
SARAH
Hi, I'm Sarah and I'll be
you waitress.
(pause)
I'm so wholesome, I could
puke.
CUT TO:
27 EXT. PARKING LOT - DAY 27
TIGHT ON CAR SIDE WINDOW, as a figure approaches, reflected
in the glass. A fist punches through the window, shattering
it. The thief unlocks the door and gets behind the wheel.
It's Terminator.
CUT TO:
28 INT. YELLOW MAVERICK - DAY 28
With a blow from the heel of his hand Terminator smashes loose
the ignition assembly and strips the wires with a brutal
twist of his fingers. Touching the proper wires he starts
the car.
CUT TO:
28A EXT. PAWN SHOP - DAY 28A
Terminator walks past the long display window of an
enormous pawnshop emporium. Signs declare, among other
things, GUNS and AMMO is red block letters.
Terminator passes the appliance section, and the pictures
on a row of TV sets distort and break-up sequentially as
he walks by, returning to normal behind him.
He enters the store.
CUT TO:
29 INT. PAWN SHOP - DAY 29
TIGHT ON GLASS COUNTERTOP as an AR-180 ASSAULT RIFLE WITH
SCOPE is laid beside a number of other guns: a COLT K-
MODEL .45 ACP, a SMITH AND WESSON .38 FOUR-INCH, a BERETTA
.225 ACP.
TERMINATOR (V.O.)
...the Remington 1100 Autoloader...
WIDE as the CLERK, who looks like a sick lizard, pallid
and paunchy, takes the rifle from a wall rack. He lays it
beside the arsenal of perfectly legal anti-human artillery
already on the glass counter.
Terminator scans expressionlessly for additional selec-
tions.
CLERK
Anything else?
TERMINATOR
A phased plasma pulse-laser in
the forty watt range...
CLERK
(annoyed)
Just what you see, pal.
He indicates the display case and wall racks with a
minimal gesture.
TERMINATOR
The Uzi 9 millimeter.
CLERK
(setting it out)
You know your weapons, buddy.
Terminator examines each in turn, working the actions with
curt, precise movements.
CLERK
(continuing)
Any one of them's ideal for
home defense. Which'll it be?
TERMINATOR
All.
The clerk digs deep and finds a scrap of a smile.
CLERK
Maybe I'll close early.
Cash or charge?
Instead of replying, Terminator takes a box of shotgun shells
from a stack on the display case.
CLERK
Sorry, I can't sell the ammo
with the guns. You'll have
to---Hey!
Terminator has calmly begun feeding the shells into the
shotgun.
CLERK
(continuing)
You can't to that...
TERMINATOR
(evenly)
Wrong.
He raises the barrel and pulls the trigger. The gun THUNDERS.
CUT TO:
30 EXT. GAS STATION/PHONE BOOTH - DAY 30
The yellow Maverick pulls to a stop beside a single phone
booth.
MOVING WITH TERMINATOR, as he gets out, walks to the booth
and rapidly pulls its occupant out by his greasy T-shirt,
flinging him backward into the parking lot. The guy is
bear-like, slab-handed, but Terminator doesn't even glance
back as he steps in to take the man's place.
MAN
(outraged)
Hey, man...
CUT TO:
31 PHONE BOOTH
A woman's voice, a faint reedy monologue, issues from the
dangling receiver.
Terminator leafs rapidly through the directory.
ANGLE - C.U. PAGES FLIPPING
ANGLE - MACRO SHOT, as Terminator's finger comes to rest
beside a now-familiar listing:
CONNOR, SARAH
CUT TO:
32 INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA
Sarah is bustling about, trying to service the start of
the dinner rush. In waitress parlance, she's 'in it'.
She runs the gauntlet between tables, precariously balancing
two full dinner plates on one arm and hand-carrying a
third. A customer tugs on her apron for attention and she
barely averts contributing the chili size to his wardrobe.
CUSTOMER
Honey, can I get that coffee
now?
SARAH
Yes sir, just a second.
She reaches her table after near collisions with a Mexican
busboy and two teenage girls doing cheerleading routines
in lock-step.
SARAH
Who gets the Burly Burger?
CUSTOMER TWO
I ordered Barbecue Beef.
CUSTOMER THREE
Does mine come with fires?
CUSTOMER FOUR
He's got the Barbecue Beef,
I've got a Chili-Beef Deluxe.
SARAH
Okay, who gets the Burly Beef?
CUSTOMER AT NEXT TABLE
Miss, we're ready to order.
In the process of setting down all the plates Sarah knocks
over someone's water glass.
SARAH
(mopping fran-
tically)
Oh, sorry. That's not real
leather, is it?
As she cleans up the spill, a kid at the next booth reaches
over and dumps a scoop of ice cream into the top pouch of
Sarah's apron
She stares down at the mess melting over her hard-earned
and sags with defeat. NANCY, a plump, gum-chewing waitress,
stops beside her to whisper.
NANCY
Look at it this way: in a
hundred years, who's gonna
care?
CUT TO:
33 EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY
ANGLE on a standard-issue L.A. suburban street with kids
racing Big Wheels B.G.
LOW ANGLE with the FRAME comprising a single house, toy-
littered lawn and mailbox. EXTREME F.G., by the curb, is
a CHILD'S PLASTIC TRUCK.
There is the sound of a CAR ENGINE approaching, and the
front of the yellow Maverick appears, stopping at the curb.
Its front tire CRUSHES the toy.
PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding him as he steps out of the
car, pauses by the mailbox to check the name, and strides
toward the house.
A YOUNG BOY, playing in the driveway, watches him pass. The
boy's DOG, a small Terrier, growls low and mean, crouching
back from Terminator.
He rings the doorbell and waits, motionless.
The door opens a few inches, held by a security chain,
revealing a frail MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN in apron and rubber
cleaning gloves.
TERMINATOR
Sarah Connor?
WOMAN
No, she's upstairs. Who
shall I say is--
Terminator breaks the chain and pushes past her as if she
didn't exist.
CUT TO:
33A INT. HOUSE/FOYER 33A
PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding his as he crosses the
foyer and mounts the stairs. The woman starts after him.
WOMAN
What do you think you're--
My God!
She gasps and stops in her tracks as Terminator smoothly
pulls the .45 from under his jacket and snaps the cocking
slide.
WOMAN
(screeching)
Oh my God...Sarah!
CUT TO:
33B INT. BEDROOM 33B
Installed on her bed for an afternoon of 'soaps' is the
WRONG SARAH CONNOR. ELECTRODE PADS exercise her doughy
thighs as the 35 year old divorcee watches "GENERAL HOSPITAL".
She calls out distractedly:
WRONG SARAH CONNOR
What is it, Mom?
She jumps as the door BANGS open. And stares in dumb
amazement as the good-looking, intense-eyed man in the
strange clothes raises a pistol.
And aims it at her face.
It all seems less real than "GENERAL HOSPITAL" in that
half-second before he FIRES.
CUT TO:
33C INT. FOYER 33C
The mother is fumbling with a telephone when she hears
the SHOT. The silence stretches for several BEATS. Then
FIVE MORE SHOTS are heard.
The woman screams and drops the phone as she stares upward.
ANGLE ON CEILING above her. With each successive shot a
chuck of plaster explodes off the ceiling.
CUT TO:
33D INT. BEDROOM 33D
LOW ANGLE ON TERMINATOR, standing with the .45 aimed
down at the dead woman, just OUT OF FRAME on the floor.
He unhurriedly removes the spent clip, reloads the weapon
and replaces it under his jacket.
Crouching down, he turns the woman's body over, confirming
that she is dead.
CUT TO:
33E INT. FOYER 33E
The mother is frantically dialing the phone. She mis-
dials, starts over. Then stops as she hears the bedroom
door open.
Terminator stands at the head of the stairs.
His hand is bloody where he grasped the dead woman's
shoulder.
He starts down the stairs.
The mother stands paralyzed, unable to breathe.
He reaches the main floor and walks toward her.
She edges into a corner, eyes wide.
He reaches out.
And wipes his hands clean on her apron.
Terminator walks out, without expression, leaving the
woman to sag to the floor in a faint.
CUT TO:
34 INT./EXT. SERVICE TUNNEL - DAY 34
TIGHT ON KYLE REESE'S HANDS as they make the last few
strokes with a hacksaw to sever the wooden stock from
the riot gun. It clatters to the ground, leaving a short
stump, like a pistol grip.
CUT WIDER as Reese hefts the weapon. He is crouched in
an underground service tunnel below a busy street. Shadows
of people walking across a grating in the sidewalk above
him flicker past. They can't see him in the darkness below
their feet as he checks the gun's action carefully. He
slips it under his overcoat where it hangs from a jerry-
rigged sling.
CUT TO:
35 EXT. STREET - DAY 35
Reese emerges from a stairwell behind a service station,
his overcoat done up to the top button.
He walks through the sparse morning crowd on the cluttered,
overbuilt commercial street.
He is out of sync.
A stranger in a strange land.
He holds himself tightly reined, cautious and feral as he
moves among the unconcerned pedestrians.
His eyes flick rapidly about.
He is seeing this Babylon for the first time.
Reese stops at a hole-in-the-wall take-out stand. He
watches people walk away with food. Moves closer.
Scrutinizes the next man as he orders.
TAKE-OUT CUSTOMER
Gimme a falafel with yogurt
dressing and, uh, Baco-bits.
The counterman hands him his food and change wordlessly
as Reese steps up.
REESE
Gimme a falafel with, uh,
yogurt and Baco-bits.
The counterman barely looks up as he passes the mess
through the window.
COUNTERMAN
That'll be one-sixty.
He glances up and Reese is gone. He leans half out the
window.
COUNTERMAN
(continuing)
Hey! Son-of-a-bitch.
CUT TO:
35 EXT. ALLEY - DAY 35
Reese crouches in an alley, out of sight of passersby,
wolfing his food. The sauce runs down his sleeve but he
doesn't notice.
CUT TO:
35A INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA - DAY 35A
An old man with a shrunken, ungenerous face scowls at
the menu as Sarah wipes the tabletop in front of him.
SARAH
I haven't seen you in here
lately, Mr. Miller.
MR. MILLER
What's it to ya?
SARAH
You must have a girlfriend.
MR. MILLER
That's none of your business.
SARAH
Aha! Is she young?
Mr. Miller lowers his menu and glares at her.
MR. MILLER
Compared to me she is. How
come you're not at the cash
anymore? They catch ya steal-
ing?
SARAH
(smiling)
What's it to ya?
When she leaves, the old man is grinning, behind the menu,
where no one can see him.
CUT TO:
36 INT. BIG BOB'S/SERVICE CORRIDOR 36
Sarah rounds the corner, walking fast as she undoes her
apron. She calls out to the walls without looking up.
SARAH
I'm on break, Chuck. Carla's
got my station.
As she approaches the locker room where the girls take
their coffee breaks, the door bursts open and Nancy
beckons to Sarah.
NANCY
(excitedly)
Hurry up. It's about you...
I mean sort of...Come on!
CUT TO:
37 INT. BIG BOB'S/BREAK ROOM 37
Nancy guides Sarah to the small black and white portable
TV in the corner. Two other girls, smoking cigarettes
with their shoes off and nyloned feet on the table, are
already watching. One glances at Sarah.
WAITRESS
Hey, Sarah. This is weird.
They huddle around the set, intent on a newscast in progress.
TV ANCHORWOMAN
...and a police spokesman at
the scene refused to speculate
on a motive for the execution-
style slaying of the Encino
housewife. He did however say
that an accurate description of
the suspect has been compiled
from several witnesses. Once
again, Sarah Connor, thirty-five,
mother of two, brutally shot to
death in her home this afternoon.
As the news grinds on, Sarah gazes unseeingly at the screen.
Nancy claps her on the shoulder, laughing.
NANCY
You're dead, honey.
CUT TO:
38 EXT. HEALTH CLUB - DUSK 38
Sunlight is dying when Sarah swings her moped to the curb
in front of the 'GOOD LIFE SPA', a large, crowded health
club.
CUT TO:
39 INT. HEALTH CLUB/AEROBICS STUDIO 39
MUSIC BOOMS and masses of leotarded cellulite sway in close
F.G. as CAMERA DOLLIES along a row of panting, stretching
women. In deep B.G. Sarah slips in through the door and
waits against the wall while the human dynamo, GINGER VENTURA,
leads the class energetically. Ginger, Sarah's roommate,
is a party-stopper. Red-haired, athletic, sensuous. She's
pretty enough when still, but stunning in motion. And she's
in motion.
Ginger yells commands and cheerfully dives into contortions
to the BEAT of a MOTOWN FAVORITE.
MARCO, a handsome, well-defined guy wearing a tight STAFF
T-shirt, strolls up for a drink at the water fountain next
to Sarah.
MARCO
Hi. I've seen you around.
You're cute. Cute I remember.
SARAH
I'm Sarah. Ginger's roommate.
MARCO
Yeah, right. I'm Marco.
The dance tape ends.
GINGER
...and three aaand four! And
that's it ladies! Now, didn't
that feel good?
The group collapses ensemble. A chorus of groans.
GINGER
Let's think positive or next
time I'll play the FM version.
Ginger walks over to Sarah as the class disperses. Marco
is leaning on the wall next to Sarah, who is enjoying the
attention.
SARAH
...yeah, really? Say some-
thing in Italian.
Before Marco can reply, Ginger pulls the front of his gym
shorts out and peers down. She shakes her head.
GINGER
You're wasting your time, kiddo.
Let's go.
She grabs Sarah by the arm and pulls her out the door.
Sarah catches a glimpse of Marco's expression over her
shoulder as the door closes.
CUT TO:
40 INT. HEALTH CLUB/STAIRS AND CORRIDOR 40
PANAGLIDE WITH THE TWO GIRLS, as they descend to the first
floor and enter a hallway
Sarah is gasping with laughter.
SARAH
(weakly)
I don't believe you did that.
Ginger is adjusting her ever-present WALKMAN-TYPE CASSETTE
PLAYER at her hip. She slips on the earphones as they walk
along.
Sarah feigns outrage.
SARAH
(continuing)
I had him hooked. He was
just about to ask me out.
I could tell.
GINGER
That guy's a jerk. I did
you a favor.
SARAH
I'll do the same for you
sometime.
Sarah laughs and claps her friend on the back. They turn
in at a door marked WEIGHT ROOM.
CUT TO:
41 INT. WEIGHT ROOM 41
SEVERAL ANGLES, on glistening arms, legs, torsos merging
into bio-mechanical kinetic sculptures with the chrome-steel
levers and tubes. The CRASH and SQUEAL of metal against
metal.
In F.G., two Conan-esque arms thrust upward, glistening.
Ginger's boyfriend, MATT McCALLISTER, the assistant manager
of the club, strains out his last reps, bench-pressing
enormous weight on the Nautilus machine.
Despite his imposing appearance, Matt is one of the warmest
people you'd ever want to meet.
His face is contorted, muscles knotted for the last push.
He heaves it up with a guttural cry.
Lowering his weights with a CLANG, Matt lies panting, arms
dangling at his side, eyes closed.
A pair of female legs appear.
GINGER (V.O.)
What's this? Sleep therapy?
Matt opens his eyes.
GINGER
(continuing)
You think somebody's gonna
do this for you? Look at
those shriveled bi's. And
you haven't worked lat's or
ab's since Wednesday.
MATT
(smiling)
Hello, sweetheart. Had a
rough day?
GINGER
(softening)
Come here, wimp.
She leans down as he sits up and they meet in a kiss that's
bad for the other guys' discipline.
Sarah waits until they break the clinch to speak.
SARAH
Hi, Matt.
Matt look backwards over the bench, and replies, upside-down.
MATT
(grinning broadly)
Heeey! It's my favorite
Sarah. Hi, babe.
Ginger pulls the pin on Mat's weights and re-inserts it
beneath the entire stack, the maximum weight.
GINGER
Alright, warm-ups are over.
Back to work, Bunky.
Ginger readadjusts her headphones as the two girls walk away.
MATT
'Bye beautiful. You too,
Ginger.
Two weightlifters nearby look at each other, than at Matt.
WEIGHTLIFTER
Bunky?
CUT TO:
42 EXT. HEALTH CLUB/STREETS - DUSK 42
Sarah lurches away from the curb on her moped, almost
spilling Ginger who is attempting to ride double. They
swing out onto a main thoroughfare and careen through
the bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Sarah maneuvers deftly though overloaded and unstable.
Ginger doesn't know whether to laugh of scream at the
near-misses.
She does both.
CUT TO:
43 OMITTED 43
44 EXT. STREET/CONSTRUCTION SIGHT - DUSK
On a side street the girls pass an excavation site between
high-rises. They pass OUT OF FRAME as CAMERA HOLDS on the
construction area and Ginger's shrieks fade.
In the F.G., under an overpass, Reese sits is a car watching
the powerful machines moving earth.
He's in a late-model non-descript GREY SEDAN, one of a row
of cars gathering dirt beside the construction site.
Crab-armed back-hoes and massive caterpillars ROAR through
a curtain of dust, under intense floodlights. A power-shovel
moves its great arm, lighting its own way with an arc-light.
CUT TO:
45 INT. GREY SEDAN 45
Reese sits motionless in the dark. Waiting. The clock in
the dash ticks quietly.
He flips on the radio. A fatuous POP ROCK STATION.
Reese fishes a magazine off the dirty floor. His over-
coat is off, draped over the shotgun on the seat beside
him.
His bare arms are sinewy and scarred.
Reese flips the page of COSMOPOLITAN.
He look at the glossy photos, the glossy women.
Fantasy women. Svelte and seamless.
The ads fascinate him too: Caribbean vacations and blended
whiskeys.
His head sags against the door.
He gazes dully at the tracks of a passing CATERPILLAR as they
chew through the dirt.
The ROAD and CLATTER of treads intensifies as his eyes close.
CUT TO:
46 EXT. MELTED RUINS - NIGHT 46
TIGHT ON A GLEAMING STEEL TREAD as it grinds through debris.
The debris is ferroconcrete, girders, and jackstraw heaps of
HUMAN BONES, burned black.
There is the sound of EXPLOSIONS, distant, and an intermittent
electronic WHINE. Incredibly bright searchlights play over
the ground. PANNING with the moving treads through twisted
wreckage, F.G.
The screen WHITES OUT with a BLAST, very close. As the
debris clatters down, a helmetted head snaps up into FRAME,
EXTREME F.G.
The visor of the HIGH-TECH HELMET is shattered, presumably
by the explosion. The wearer rips it off, revealing a
younger Reese, minus his burn scar.
His face is bathed in sweat, lit by the glow from a CRT
SCOPE-SIGHT on a strange-looking rifle.
The sound of SCREAMS and HOARSE SHOUTS not far off, and a
continuous low murmuring of RADIO CHATTER, grid coordinates,
casualties, unit placements, medic requests.
Reese looks over his shoulder at his teammate, a GIRL
of about sixteen, gaunt, dirty, heavily armed like himself.
DOLLYING as they start to belly crawl through the bones
and wreckage.
Reese looks up.
Through spires of a collapsed building a terrifying
SPHINX-LIKE SHAPE moves against the sky...obscured by dust
and blinding sweeps of its searchlights.
Though we see little, this is an H-K,Hunter-Killer
mobile ground-unit.
Reese crawls, pacing the H-K, under and through, on elbows
and knees, past mounds of charred skulls. They
pass the BODY OF A CHILD, a boy of about 10, center-
punched with a smoking hole. The boy clutches a rifle.
More bodies. Some in rags, some in uniforms like theirs.
WOMEN. OLD MEN. CHILDREN. They're all dirty and gaunt,
scabrous. And still bleeding. Reese scrabbles past a
dark rat-hole and there are human rats in it. Some of them
are sobbing, or screaming.
Another EXPLOSION.
The GLARE lights the huddled few.
Human vermin with mud-caked weapons that haven't been
invented yet. Soldiers in a nightmare war.
Reese and his teammate stop behind a blasted wall, having
outflanked the massive H-K. Its flashing blue lights flick
across the walls, its searchlights sear through the
debris.
WIDER, showing the H-K more clearly...a blast-scarred
CHROME LEVIATHON, with hydraulic arms folded mantis-like
against its 'torso', and huge underslung GUN TURRETS.
Reese leaps up and straight-arms a satchel-charge into its
path. One tread rolls over the explosive.
Guns and searchlights swivel. The head turns ponderously.
Reese's partner rises, poised to throw hers.
A POWER-BOLT catches her at the top of her arc, BLOWING
HER INTO RED MIST.
Reese is knocked down by the concussion. Gets up, running,
as the charges blow.
The H-K's tread carriers are RIPPED APART.
It lurches to a stop, burning.
The following SEQUENCE is extremely FORESHORTENED.
CUT FAST. IMPRESSIONS ONLY.
Running.
Explosions light the ruins like flashbulbs.
ENERGY WEAPONS criss-cross the night like tracers.
LOW ANGLE, up past the burning H-K as its flying counter-
part, an AERIAL H-K, arcs into view with a TURBOJET WHINE.
Reese hauls two survivors of his unit into a PERSONNEL
CARRIER, a CHEVY CAMARO with steel plate welded over it and
the roof cut away to access the 50 CALIBER MACHINE GUN.
It's stripped and rusted and bullet-riddled, glassless.
The TIRES are OFF-ROAD and very gnarly.
They're driving through the ruins, up and over and through.
Reese drives like a demon. Under other circumstances it
would be considered insane. Here it is merely very good.
The machine gun CHATTERS.
A BLACK SHAPE descends, a demon with searchlights.
A BOLT OF LIGHT.
Reese's car flips like a kicked beer can, rolling and
crumpling. He's pinned in the wreck, bloody, screaming
despite his training. The only other survivor, an
emaciated BOY of twelve, is pulling for all he's worth
to drag Reese out before it burns.
CUT TO:
47 EXT. STREET/GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 47
CLOSE ON A BOY, about twelve, clean and healthy, wearing
a blue plastic DODGERS HELMET. He reaches through the
window of the sedan.
BOY
Hey, mister...?
CUT TO:
48 INT. GREY SEDAN 48
Reese's eyes open in a split-second, and suddenly there
is a SHOTGUN MUZZLE AIMED RIGHT AT US.
Reese quivers with a curious spasm, similar to the tremors
of his arrival, and blinks at the boy.
The boy is white-faced, staring down the bore. He backs
away. We see that he is straddling a bicycle.
CUT TO:
49 EXT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 49
The boy's SISTER, slightly younger and also on a bicycle,
can't see the shotgun from where she's waiting.
SISTER
(taunting)
See, I told you he wasn't
dead. You owe me Baskin
Robbins.
The boy rides past her list a shot.
BOY
(urgently)
Come on. Just come on.
CUT TO:
50 INT. GREY SEDAN 50
Reese relaxes slowly, the voltage draining out of him.
INSERT - MACRO, Reese's finger on the trigger is white
with pressure. He slips the safety to the OFF position.
The gun can now be fired.
He sets it on the seat and reaches for the dangling ignition
wires, starting the car.
CUT TO:
51 EXT. STREET/OVERPASS - NIGHT 51
Lit by streetlights, the car moves away with it lights
off and vanishes in the shadows.
CUT TO:
52 OMITTED 52
53 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT 53
Sarah and Ginger are crammed into the tiny bathroom,
becoming inextricably tangled in each other's cords as
they blow-dry, curl hair, and apply make-up. Ginger
has her headphones inverted under her chin but in place,
and is bouncing to music as she dries her hair. She is
wearing a short terry-cloth bathrobe that reveals the
greater part of her legs. Sarah is in a skirt and bra.
The phone rings and Sarah goes out into the living room
to get it.
SARAH
(answering the
phone)
Hello?
VOICE (V.O.)
(on phone, deep
and breathy)
First I'm going to rip the
buttons off your blouse, one
by one...then run my tongue
along your neck, down to your
bare, gleaming breasts...
Sarah cups her hand over the mouthpiece and calls out
matter-of-factly:
SARAH
Ginger! It's Matt.
She resumes listening.
MATT (V.O.)
...and then slowly pull your
jeans off inch by inch and
lick your belly in circles,
further and further down...
then I'll pull off your panties
with my teeth...
Sarah is repressing laughter.
SARAH
(crossly)
Who is this?
Silence. Then Matt realizes to his horror who he's been
talking to.
MATT (V.O.)
Oh my God! Sarah! Oh, shit.
Jesus, I'm sorry. I thought
you were...Can I talk to Ginger?
SARAH
Sure, Bunky.
As Ginger approaches, Sarah hands her the receiver and
goes into the bedroom.
GINGER
Hello?
MATT (V.O.)
First I'm gonna rip the buttons
off your blouse...
CUT TO:
54 BEDROOM
Sarah picks up four blouses on hanger lying on the bed
and goes back into the hallway.
CUT TO:
55 INT. LIVING ROOM
Ginger is still listening to Matt, nodding, as Sarah enters
and starts holding the blouses against herself one by one
for Ginger's inspection.
SARAH
What do you think?
GINGER
(covering mouth-
piece)
Great.
Sarah hold up another one.
SARAH
How about this?
GINGER
Great.
SARAH
You're a big help.
GINGER
(advisory tone)
Alright, the beige one.
SARAH
I hate the beige one.
GINGER
(same advisory
tone)
Don't wear the beige one.
Sarah gathers up the blouses and walks out.
SARAH (V.O.)
This guy's probably a schmuck
and I don't care what I wear.
A couple of BEATS, and she's back in the doorway with
a concerned expression.
SARAH
(continuing)
You think the beige?
CUT TO:
56 EXT. VENICE STREET - NIGHT
An unmarked car with a clamp-on light and siren blaring
screeches to the curb behind two marked black-and-whites
in front of a funky Venice apartment building. A small
crowd is gathered around the front steps. LIEUTENANT
ED VUKOVICH, Homicide Division, gets out of the car and
strides through the crowd. He's fiftyish, short, but
square and solid, a human bulldog gone a little to paunch.
He chews Juicy Fruit gum like a maniac: a chain-chewer.
He's homely as an old boot. And he's not a smart cop, he's
a wise one; rarer still. The onlookers, gathered patiently
for their ten second glimpse of something under a sheet,
separate for him to pass.
CUT TO:
57 INT. VENICE APARTMENT BUILDING/STAIRWELL/APARTMENT
CAMERA PANAGLIDES AHEAD OF VUKOVICH, as he climbs the switch-
back staircase two steps at a time. He passes TWO UNIFORMED
COPS at the doorway of a second-floor apartment, and enters
to find a quiet flurry of activity. Several DETECTIVES and
a PHOTOGRAPHER prowl around, taking evidence, taking pictures.
In the center of the living room floor is the body of a
young woman, crumpled face down in a small lake of blood.
Two bags of groceries lie split open on the floor in front
of her.
Vukovich glances up as he is joined by DETECTIVE SGT.
TRAXLER. Traxler is black, lean and very jaded.
VUKOVICH
Give me the short version.
TRAXLER
Six shots at less than ten
feet. Weapon was a large
caliber--
Vukovich is looking at the body.
VUKOVICH
No shit.
Traxler turns to a passing DETECTIVE.
TRAXLER
Come on. man. Don't track
it all over. It's un-
professional.
He turn back to Vukovich, gesturing at the body.
TRAXLER
(continuing)
Okay, let's see...Got a pos-
itive on her. She's Sarah
Connor, works as a legal--
VUKOVICH
(interrupting)
That can't be right. That's
the name of the one Valley
Division mopped up this after-
noon.
Traxler slips something off his clipboard and hands
it to the Lieutenant.
TRAXLER
Here's her driver's license.
VUKOVICH
(pondering)
You gotta be kidding me. The
new guys'll be short-stroking
it over this one. A one-day
pattern killer.
TRAXLER
I hate the weird ones.
CUT TO:
58 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT/BATHROOM 58
Sarah poses with Ginger in front of the mirror. They are
dressed, made-up, hair-styled and READY.
GINGER
(studying their
reflection)
Better than mortal man deserves.
Sarah grins and goes into the other room.
CUT TO:
59 INT. LIVING ROOM
Sarah walks around the room, searching for something.
SARAH
(calling)
Ginger, have you seen Pugsley?
Ginger enters, stopping beside their phone answering machine.
GINGER
Not lately. Did you check
messages?
SARAH
(still looking)
I thought you did.
She checks under the couch, then behind the drapes. She
bends down.
SARAH
(from beside cur-
tains)
Come here young man. Mind
your mother.
C.U. - PUGSLEY, as the GREEN IGUANA cocks its head, blinking
vapidly.
RESUME WIDE, Sarah lifts the three foot long lizard from his
perch on the windowsill. She gives the complacent reptile
a kiss on its blunt snout.
GINGER
(groaning)
Totally nauseating.
Sarah drapes the lizard across her shoulders where it sits
contentedly as she looks for her purse. Ginger has been
rewinding the message tape. She punches PLAY and a MALE
VOICE is heard.
VOICE
(recorded)
Hi, Sarah...Stan Morsky.
Uh, something's come up and
it looks like I won't be able
to make it tonight. I'm really
sorry. Call you in a day or so.
Sorry. 'Bye.
Sarah stands still, crestfallen.
GINGER
That bum. So what if he has
a Porsche, he can't treat you
like that...it's Friday night
for crissakes.
SARAH
(slumping)
I'll live.
GINGER
I'll break his kneecaps.
Sarah resignedly slips Pugsley off her shoulders.
SARAH
You still love me, don't
you, Pugsley?
She places Pugsley in a large terrarium with a 'BEWARE OF
DOG' sign taped on the side.
SARAH
(continuing)
I'm going to a movie, kiddo.
See ya'. You and Matt have
a good time.
GINGER
(as Sarah exits)
We will, kiddo.
CUT TO:
60 INT. PARKING GARAGE - NIGHT
Sarah is a small figure in the shadowed echoing garage of
her building.
CONVERGING DOLLY, PACING HER, as she passes the stalls with
their inky shadows.
The light near her moped is out.
She fumbles in the dark to unlock the chain.
She looks up.
Did she hear something...masked by the rattle of the chain?
POV - SARAH, there is no movement for the length of the
garage.
ON SARAH - C.U., inexplicably nervous.
She stows the chain and starts the bike. It whines
reassuringly.
Sarah jumps on and whirs out of the garage.
CUT TO:
61 INT. CAR/NEARBY - NIGHT 61
Sarah is visible through the windshield as she pulls onto
the street.
PAN WITH HER to reveal Kyle Reese, hunched down in shadow,
watching. He puts the car in gear and pulls out to follow
her receding tail-light.
Streetlights flash across his face, in stark-lines profile.
Mouth cruel where the scar tugs at it.
CUT TO:
62 INT. DIVISION HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT 62
DOLLYING WITH VUKOVICH and TRAXLER, as they pass through a
group of REPORTERS. Mostly newspaper stringers but there
is also one bored local TV MINICAM CREW.
REPORTER
...Lieutenant, are you aware
that these two killings occurred
in the same order as their listings
in the phone book?
VUKOVICH
No comment.
He and Traxler enter their office and shut the door.
CUT TO:
63 VUKOVICH'S OFFICE 63
Vukovich drops his gun in the wastebasket, picks up a cup
of coffee from his desk and uses it to wash down a handful
of aspirins. Traxler grimaces.
TRAXLER
That stuff's two hours cold.
VUKOVICH
(nodding ab-
sently)
I know.
TRAXLER
(eyeing him)
I put a cigarette out in it.
Vukovich, lost in thought, turns on him suddenly.
VUKOVICH
Did you reach the next girl
yet?
TRAXLER
No. Keep getting an answer-
ing machine.
VUKOVICH
Send a unit.
TRAXLER
I already did. No answer at
the door and the apartment
manager's out. I'm keeping
them there.
VUKOVICH
Call her.
TRAXLER
I just called.
VUKOVICH
Call her again.
Traxler picks up the phone and begins to dial her number
as Vukovich sets down his coffee cup, unwraps a stick of
gum and pops it in his mouth.
VUKOVICH
(continuing)
Got a cigarette?
CUT TO:
64 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 64
CLOSE ON PHONE, connected to the answering machine. The
outgoing message trigger after the second ring.
GINGER'S VOICE
(machine V.O.)
Hi there.
(long pause)
Ha ha ha, fooled you. You're
talking to a machine, but don't
by shy, it's okay. Machines need
love too, so talk to it and Ginger,
that's me, or Sarah will get back
to you. Wait for the beep.
As the message plays, CAMERA DOLLIES OFF the phone machine
and down the corridor of the dark apartment. As the bedroom
door draws near, Ginger's recorded voice fades and is super-
ceded by CRIES and MOANS.
CUT TO:
65 INT. BEDROOM 65
FULL SHOT, framed against the streetlit curtains, Ginger and
Matt from a beautiful tableau of lovemaking in silhouette.
Their perfect bodies glisten with backlight as they strain
in passion.
CLOSER - TIGHT TWO, revealing that Ginger is wearing her
earphones. Matt, without breaking rhythm, reaches out to
the night table and thumbs the volume higher.
Ginger cries out louder, apparently enjoying his sure touch
on her volume control.
CUT TO:
66 INT. DIVISION HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT 66
Traxler hangs up the phone.
TRAXLER
Same shit.
VUKOVICH
I can hear it now, it's gonna
be the goddamned 'Phone Book
Killer'.
TRAXLER
I hate the press cases.
Especially the weird press
cases. Where you going?
VUKOVICH
(heading for
the door)
To make a statement. I'm gonna
give them the name. Maybe the
jackals can help us out for
once.
He looks at his watch, then straightens his tie.
VUKOVICH
(continuing)
If they can get this on the
tube by eleven, she may just
call us.
(pause)
How do I look?
TRAXLER
Like shit, boss.
Vukovich goes out and the Minicam light hits him as the
door closes.
CUT TO:
67 INT. PIZZA PARLOR - NIGHT 67
TIGHT ON A TV SCREEN, a news cast in progress.
ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
...police had no further comment
on the apparent similarity between
the shooting death of an Encino
woman earlier today...
CUT WIDE to show Sarah watching the TV which is suspended
over the bar. The place is a crowded, post-movie hangout,
raucous with laughter and videogames. The newscast
continues, ignored by all except Sarah.
ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
(continuing)
...and this almost identical
killing two hours ago of a
Venice resident with virtually
the same name. Sarah Ann Connor,
a 24 year old legal secretary, was
pronounced dead at the scene in
her beachfront apartment...
A customer gestures for the bartender's attention.
CUSTOMER
Hey, can we change this and
catch the ball scores.
BARTENDER
(reaching for the
knob)
Sure.
Sarah leaps half over the bar, startling everyone.
SARAH
(shouting)
Leave it where it is!
ANCHORMAN (V.O.)
...no other connections between
the two victims has been estab-
lished.
(pause)
On a lighter note, these was
cause for celebration at the
L.A. Zoo today, as...
Sarah leaves her half-finished pizza and beer, getting up
in a daze. Followed by puzzles glances, she makes her way
through the crowd.
CUT TO:
68 INT. PIZZA PARLOR HALLWAY 68
In the crowded hallway by the restrooms, Sarah goes to the
single payphone and seizes the directory. She flips rapidly
through it, then stops, looking down.
She sees that her name is next on the list.
The book slips out of her fingers.
Sarah turns and scans the crowd.
She's getting looks, covert and otherwise, like any unaccom-
panied girl on a Friday night. But is that all they mean?
Sarah back into the women's restroom.
CUT TO:
69 INT. RESTROOM 69
Sarah stumbles numbly to the sink.
She splashes her face with cold water. In the mirror
her terrified reflection looks back. Why me?
She hears a loud clatter and spins around.
It's just a drunken woman fumbling with a toilet stall door.
Sarah edges back out into the corridor.
CUT TO:
70 INT. HALLWAY 70
Sarah walks stiffly to the pay phone.
It's OUT OF ORDER.
CUT TO:
71 EXT. STREET/SIDEWALK - NIGHT 71
Sarah exits the pizza place into the sparse crowd on the
sidewalk. As she passes a figure leaning against the wall
just outside, the man turns his head to watch her.
It is Reese, his gaze impassive.
Streetlight catches the burn scar on his cheek.
He is motionless, sinister in his long coat.
Sarah shudders.
She walks on.
POV - SARAH, ON CROWD, moving toward and through approaching
groups of pedestrians. They seem to be glancing at her.
Was it always like that and she just never noticed?
C.U. - SARAH as she look over her shoulder.
POV - SARAH, ON PIZZA PARLOR DOORWAY. Reese is gone.
She resists the urge to run.
On the opposite side of the street an LAPD cruiser glides
slowly by. Sarah is about to call out but a bus blocks
her view and when it had passed, the car is turning away
down a side street.
She passes a large window with STOKER'S written on it, and
ducks quickly through the door.
CUT TO:
72 INT. STOKER'S - NIGHT 72
ANGLE THROUGH WINDOW, SARAH F.G., as Reese approaches.
Her knuckles clench white as he reaches the entrance and
walks by, unhurriedly, without a glance inside.
She turns and scan the gloomy interior, which reveals itself
to be less than savory. Pool tables and upper-middle lowlife
in submarine depths of smoky haze.
Sarah draws stares, menacing in their own right, as she
weaves between the pool tables to the back of the bar.
her hands are trembling as she drops a dime in the pay
phone and dials.
VOICE (V.O./RECORDED)
You have reached the Los Angeles
Police Department Emergency Number.
All lines are busy. If you need
a police car sent out to you, please
stay on the line...
Sarah holds the receiver pressed to her ear, glancing
around, fear feeding on frustration.
CUT TO:
73 EXT. SARAH'S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 73
An LAPD black-and-white sits at the curb in front of Sarah's
building with two cops inside, drinking coffee. Through
the open window we hear the dispatcher's voice on the
radio.
DISPATCHER (V.O.)
...two eleven in progress at
Seven-Eleven market, Third and
Tamarac. One suspect believed
to be armed...
The car pulls out with lights and siren on.
A moment later, Terminator rounds the corner of the building
and climbs the stairs to the entryway.
He surveys the bank of call buttons, then turns to consider
the barred security gate.
CUT TO:
74 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 74
PANAGLIDE WITH GINGER as she ties her terry-cloth robe and,
leaving Matt in a dead sleep, pads through the dark apartment.
Down the hall, past the phone with Traxler's message.
Through the dark living room.
She has her Walkman in the pocket of her robe and bops to
herself in the silent gloom as she enters the kitchen.
When she opens the refrigerator to remove snack fixings, the
light briefly illuminates the kitchen and in that moment,
SOMETHING MOVES in the F.G.
TIGHT ON GINGER, MOVING WITH HER as she backs toward the
counter with her arms full of snack stuff.
A SUDDEN CRASH. A flurry of motion behind her.
She spins, dropping half her load.
Ginger fumbles for the lightswitch.
Revealing Pugsley, sitting there blinking innocently among
overturned spice bottles on the counter-top.
GINGER
Shoo. Go on. I'll make a
belt out of you.
Pugsley disappears into a large fern by the window and Ginger
sets about her task, slathering crunchy peanut butter on
stalks of celery.
CUT TO:
75 INT. BEDROOM 75
MEDIUM ON MATT, as rustling curtains play patterns of street-
light over his sleeping face.
The sound of a faint breeze.
In the B.G. is the balcony, empty. The sliding door is open.
TIGHT ON MATT, as his eyes open at the sound of a quiet,
repeated CLICKING.
UP ANGLE - PAST MATT, as the five-inch blade of an industrial
razor-knife reaches full extension in Terminator's hand,
right above him.
It slashes viciously downward.
Matt rolls and the pillow is SLIT OPEN where his throat had
been.
MATT
Whoah!
Terminator catches him by the hair and slashed down again.
Matt grabs the wrist in both hands.
The enormous muscles of his arms, which seem capable of bench
pressing a Chrysler, strain and knot against the pressure of
the killer's single arm...
And still the blade moves closer to his throat.
With a final heave Matt deflects the down-pressure sideways
and the blade snaps with a CLINK against the headboard.
HANDHELD WITH MATT as he rolls off the bed, spins and slams
his fists together into Terminator's temple. He picks up a
brass deco lamp and brings it down with piledriver force.
Unperturbed, Terminator knocks the lamp away and hurls Matt
over the bed.
CUT TO:
76 EXT. BALCONY - NIGHT 76
Matt crashes through the glass doors and slams against the
balcony railing.
CUT TO:
77 INT. KITCHEN 77
Oblivious to the noise, Ginger croons in rock-and-roll
ecstasy, singing to a celery stalk as if it were a micro-
phone.
CUT TO:
78 EXT./INT. BALCONY AND BEDROOM - NIGHT 78
Matt heaves himself up, powerful body gleaming with sweat
and hurls himself upon the intruder.
The titans CRASH INTO A DRESSER, reducing it to kindling.
Then into the closet door, EXPLODING THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR.
Terminator places one hand on either side of Matt's barrel
chest. SINKS HIS FINGERS INTO THE FLESH. An inhuman grip.
Matt is raised off the floor, contorted with agony, above
the other's head.
CUT TO:
79 INT. HALLWAY 79
DOLLY PRECEDING GINGER as she returns from the kitchen with
a plate full of celery stalks and a glass of milk. CAMERA
passes the closed bedroom door and STOPS, as Ginger pauses
to set the plate on top of the glass, freeing one hand to
open the door.
AN EXPLOSION OF SPLINTERS in close F.G. as a shape smashes
through the door right in front of her...Matt's body
propelled halfway through the door by enormous force.
Ginger shrieks and leaps back, flinging milk and all into
the air.
The door begins to open the pressure of Matt's body
creates resistance.
Ginger SCREAMS and back away.
The door is wrenched open and Terminator steps through with
the massive .45 drawn.
HANDHELD WITH GINGER, the walls blur by as she runs.
TIGHT ON TERMINATOR as the pistol RISES INTO FRAME, aligning
with his eyes. BOOM!
LOW FAST DOLLY WITH GINGER as the bullet punches into her
shoulder, pitching her on her face outside the bathroom door.
LOW WIDE ANGLE as she crawls forward, gasping, drowning.
The implacable figure looms behind her.
Her expression is agony and reeling, nauseating terror.
And incomprehension: Why am I suddenly dying?
Her eyes roll, showing the whites, like a horse tethered in
a burning stable.
CUT TO:
80 INT. BATHROOM 80
Ginger scrabbles pathetically for a grip on the tile floor
as she pulls herself into the bathroom.
She clutches the rim of the toilet.
LOW ANGLE PAST HER, ON TERMINATOR, as he stands behind her.
PAN UP, off her. He takes aim.
And empties the clip.
He calmly reloads.
CUT TO:
81 INT. HALLWAY/BEDROOM 81
CLOSE ON PHONE MACHINE, as the telephone rings loudly in the
ensuing silence.
Terminator spins, drawing an instantaneous bead on the source
of the sound, but doesn't fire.
GINGER'S VOICE
(recorded)
Hi there.
(pause)
Ha ha ha, fooled you. You're
talking to a machine...
C.U. - TERMINATOR, motionless, listening.
GINGER'S VOICE
(recorded, continuing)
...but don't be shy, it's okay.
Machines need love too...
Terminator turns abruptly back to Ginger's body. He turns
it over, assuring himself that she is dead.
GINGER'S VOICE
(continuing, recorded)
...so talk to it and Ginger, that's
me, or Sarah will get back to you.
Wait for the beep.
There is a loud tone and the incoming call is heard.
SARAH'S VOICE
(on machine)
Ginger, this is Sarah...
Terminator's head snaps back and he freezes, listening.
He rises slowly as Sarah's voice continues.
TIGHT ON HIS UNBLINKING EYES.
SARAH'S VOICE
(on machine, contin-
uing)
...I'm in this sleazy bar called
Stoker's on Pico but I'm too
scared to leave. I'm really
scared, kiddo...
CUT TO:
82 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 82
Sarah cups the telephone's mouthpiece with her hand and
glances around frequently.
SARAH
(continuing, into
phone)
...I think somebody's after me
and I sure hope you play this
soon 'cause I need you and Matt
to come pick me up. The police
keep transferring me around, but
I'm going to try them again.
CUT TO:
83 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT/BEDROOM - NIGHT 83
SARAH
(continuing, B.G.)
The number here is 468-9175.
Call me, kiddo. I need you.
It's Stoker's on Pico. Bye.
Terminator is rapidly and methodically rifling the contents
of Sarah's small desk. SIREN'S WAIL, approaching.
He picks up a small card.
E.C.U. - CARD. It is Sarah's college I.D. card, complete with
color photo of her.
MACRO ON PICTURE.
E.C.U. - TERMINATOR'S EYES as he tosses the card down,
after a fraction of a second's scan. Picks up something else.
TIGHT ON SARAH'S ADDRESS BOOK, Terminator pockets this and
slips out the balcony door. Climbing over the railing, he
is gone.
CUT TO:
84 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 84
Sarah is huddled, back to the wall, beside the phone.
SARAH
(on phone, upset)
...look, Lieutenant...uh,
Vukovich, don't put me on
hold and don't transfer me
to another department...
CUT TO:
85 INT. VUKOVICH'S OFFICE - NIGHT 85
VUKOVICH
(on phone)
I won't. Now just relax.
Where are you?
(pause)
Yeah, I know it...on Pico.
Are you alright?
CUT TO:
86 INT. STOKER'S BAT - NIGHT 86
SARAH
(on phone)
Yes, but I don't want to
leave. I think this guy's
following me.
CUT TO:
87 INT. VUKOVICH'S OFFICE - NIGHT 87
VUKOVICH
(on phone)
Alright, Ms. Connor. Listen
carefully. You're in a public
place, you'll be safe 'til we
get there. Stay visible.
Don't go outside or in the
restroom. I'll be there in
a few minutes.
He hangs up and grabs his coat, motioning to Traxler.
VUKOVICH
Let's roll.
CUT TO:
88 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 88
Sarah takes a seat at a booth near the bar, and picks up
a dog-eared menu, but can't concentrate on it. She looks
at her watch and glances around.
CUT TO:
89 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 89
The yellow Maverick hurtles along an empty street.
CLOSER ANGLE as streetlight glare slashes across Terminator's
face in flaring pulses.
CUT TO:
90 INT. PLAIN CAR - NIGHT 90
Vukovich draws his Colt Python .357 Magnum and check the
load. Traxler is driving.
VUKOVICH
Let's see how this guy likes
playing hard-ball.
CUT TO:
91 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 91
The waitress set a cup of coffee in front of Sarah.
WAITRESS
Anything else?
Sarah shakes her head "No" and contemplates her trembling
hands. She half-turns, catching a glimpse of herself in
the mirror behind the bar.
TIGHT ON SARAH, reflected in the mirror. In the F.G. a
man at the bar looks up from his beer, straight into her eyes.
It is Reese.
He gazes at her coolly for a moment, then glances away.
C.U. - SARAH, feeling trapped, frantic.
ANGLE ON FRONT DOOR as it opens and a figure stands silhou-
etted briefly against a streetlight.
Reese turns, his eyes flickering to the mirror, the figure.
C.U. - REESE as he mechanically raises his beer. His knuckles
are white. He slowly undoes the top button of his overcoat.
There is a glint of metal in the shadows within.
Reese turns slowly on his barstool as the figure brushes past
him, out-of-focus F.G.
Sarah looks up.
E.C.U. - REESE'S HAND sliding slowly along polished steel,
a caress. His finger slips through the triggerguard of the
riot gun.
MEDIUM ON SARAH, as the man stops in front of her in close F.G.
He sits slowly in the booth opposite her. The angle is OVER
HIS SHOULDER.
SARAH
(uncertainly)
Lieutenant Vukovich?
REVERSE ANGLE - It is not Lt. Vukovich.
Terminator sits motionless for a BEAT.
Blue eyes so pure and deep. The eyes of a saint, perhaps.
The .45 is out and cocked and AIMED DIRECTLY AT CAMERA, almost
in one motion.
The bore seems enormous.
BACK ON SARAH, over the gun barrel, her eyes go wide. We hold
a BEAT, like a frozen slice of nightmare.
MEDIUM ON REESE as he whips the riot-gun to a hip-firing posi-
tion, his overcoat falling back with a snap. HE FIRES.
ON TERMINATOR, as the shotgun blast hits his arm and he FIRES,
simultaneously. Sarah screams as the .45 round blows stuffing
out of the booth seat inches from her face. Her hair is
singed by burning gunpowder. An involuntary cry is punched
out of her by the double concussions.
Reese is stroking up another shell as Terminator half-rises
from booth.
OVER REESE'S SHOULDER, as he fires, cocks the slide, fires
again, advancing on Sarah's booth.
Terminator is blown backward over the center divider,
crashing through the glasses and pitchers of beer on the
table opposite, and onto the floor.
Sarah is screaming, scrunched down in the booth.
Terminator is lying on his back at the feet of a table-
full of drunk patrons.
He has two rifled 12 gauge slugs in his chest and one
in the arm.
The bar customers are frozen in the weird tableau, cowering,
gaping.
Sarah stops screaming.
Reese stand motionless, gun aimed.
In the sudden silence, the sound of him cocking the shotgun
is abnormally loud.
ON TERMINATOR, very still.
Then he smoothly rolls to a crouch and slips the UZI machine
pistol from beneath his overcoat, where it has been hang-
ing on a shoulder strap.
He doesn't seem too impaired as he swings around to fire.
Reese rolls like a cat and comes up firing.
A burst from the UZI rakes the bar where he stood.
An orgy of shattering glass.
Total pandemonium.
SEVERAL ANGLES as patrons of the bar run, scream or dive
for cover, depending upon their level of intelligence.
Reese slides through the glass to Sarah's booth and seizes
her wrists.
ON TERMINATOR, kneeling amid the chaos, raising the UZI
one-handed.
Reese tugs viciously on Sarah's arm and she sprawls across
the booth seat a moment before the divider and seat cushion
erupt with hits from the UZI.
ANGLE ON A RUNNING PATRON as a burst of 9mm fire catches
him in the chest. He pitches into Sarah's booth, pinning
her.
Reese fires, ducks, fires again.
Tables crash over.
A window is blown out.
A table candle rolls into a pool of high-proof alcohol
behind the bar.
It ignites with a WHOOSH.
Reese feed two shells into the riot-gun.
TIGHT ON TERMINATOR, an island of slow, precise movement
amid the confusion. He drops a spent clip. Reaches for
another with his bloody hand.
MOVING WITH REESE as he vaults the row of booths and starts
firing. At point blank range he unloads the shotgun into
Terminator's belly.
CUT TO:
92 INT./EXT. STOKER'S/STREET - NIGHT 92
Terminator crashes backwards through two tables and a plate
glass window into the street.
CUT TO:
93 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 93
The roaring fire behind the bar is spreading very quickly.
The air is thick with smoke.
Reese tosses the UZI, for which he has no ammo, into the
fire. He hauls the dead man off Sarah and reaches for her.
TIGHT ON SARAH, shrinking away from Reese, hysterical.
When he grabs her wrist she struggles, eyes wide.
C.U. - REESE, very intense.
REESE
Come with me if you want
to live.
She looks where he is pointing.
CUT TO:
94 EXT. STOKER'S BAR/STREET - NIGHT 94
Terminator is rising unsteadily to his feet. Shattered
glass rains from him, except where it sticks to his blood-
drenched shirt and coat.
C.U. - TERMINATOR, as he slowly look up, his blue eyes
riveting STRAIGHT INTO THE CAMERA.
CUT TO:
95 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 95
C.U. - SARAH, feeling a lightning blot of terror greater
than she could ever imagine as the cold gaze fixes on her.
SARAH
(awed whisper)
Oh my God...
CUT TO:
96 INT./EXT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 96
PANAGLIDE PRECEDING TERMINATOR as he clambers back through
the window and starts through the burning bar.
CUT TO:
97 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 97
PANAGLIDE MOVING IN ON REESE AND SARAH as he runs, drag-
ging her with him, toward the back.
REVERSE ON TERMINATOR, DOLLYING as he crashed through the
wreckage in the swirling smoke, hurling burning tables out
of his way.
CUT TO:
98 INT. KITCHEN/HALLWAY/EXIT CORRIDOR 98
PANAGLIDE FOLLOWING REESE AND SARAH, running headlong
through the cluttered kitchen, then down a narrow back
hallway. Sarah stumbles and Reese brutally pulls her to
her feet without slowing.
He hits a closed door, which crashes open.
Hauls Sarah through, into another corridor.
Slams and blot-latches it.
An instant later an impact from the far side tears the
latch-screws half out of the wall.
They run on.
CUT TO:
99 INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT 99
Terminator takes a step back from the closed door and
slams into it again. It starts to give way.
behind him the flames engulf a CAN OF CLEANING SOLVENT.
CUT TO:
100 INT./EXT. EXIT CORRIDOR/ALLEY - NIGHT 100
Reese and Sarah pelt down the narrow corridor, fling open
the outside door and spin out into the alley.
TIGHT ON DOOR at far end. It splinters open and Terminator
sprints down the corridor.
CUT TO:
101 INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT 101
The cleaning solvent EXPLODES.
CUT TO:
102 INT. EXIT CORRIDOR - NIGHT 102
DOLLYING AHEAD OF TERMINATOR, very fast, as he runs full-
throttle. Behind him a fireball of superheated gas hurtles
down the narrow hallway. He clears the outer door an
instant before the tongue of flame roars out into the alley.
CUT TO:
103 EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF STOKER'S - NIGHT 103
Vukovich's plain car arrives, slewing to a stop in the
glass-littered street in front of the blazing building.
He leaps out, Traxler right in behind him.
VUKOVICH
(shouting)
What the fuck is going on?
TWO LAPD UNITS arrive behind them. He motions to the
nearest one.
VUKOVICH
(continuing)
Cover the alley in back.
He heads for the inferno at a run.
CUT TO:
104 EXT. ALLEY BEHIND STOKER'S - NIGHT 104
DOLLYING WITH REESE AND SARAH as they run through the
dark alley. Sarah stumbles over trashcans.
Reese pulls her along mercilessly.
WHIP-PANNING as they clear a corner.
The B.G. is a blur.
The night-maze is a blur in all of these shots.
No static angles.
Relentless forward motion.
CUT TO:
105/FX EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 105/FX
Behind them Terminator is moving with inhuman speed,
bounding like a panther, leaping trash cans and other
obstacles.
TRACKING C.U. - TERMINATOR, catching the faintest glimpse
of a red glow in the pupils of his eyes as he passes through
total shadow.
CUT TO:
106/FX EXT. ALLEY/POV - TERMINATOR (HANDHELD) - NIGHT 106/FX
We know this is Terminator's POV because Sarah and Reese
are just ahead of us. But the image is bizarre, alien.
Bright and hyper-real. There is a hint of digitization,
and the fleeing figures ahead are more luminous than the
background, suggesting infra-red.
The margins of the FRAME are crammed with columns of CRT-
type characters: columns of numbers and acronyms. The
data changes more rapidly than any human eye could follow.
There is no doubt that we are seeing as a machine would see.
The sound effects are bright and clear, as if they are
digitized and enhanced as well.
CUT TO:
107 EXT. ADJOINING ALLEY - NIGHT 107
Reese and Sarah turn a corner by caroming off the wall
without slowing and pelt down a narrower alley. This
one is lined with a row of parked cars and connects to
the street. There is little room to run.
Reese is reloading on the run, dropping shells.
Behind them Terminator enters the alley, gaining.
LOW ANGLE, FAST PANAGLIDE ahead of the fleeing pair.
As they breast the last car Reese shoves Sarah hard,
pitching her on her face to the pavement.
He flings open the car door...a shield.
Drops to the ground.
Fires into the gas tank of a car further back in the row
just before Terminator reaches it.
The car EXPLODES, filling the alley with fire. An inferno
funneled between the enclosing walls.
ANGLE ON REESE AND SARAH behind the car door as flames
roar over the hood.
ON TERMINATOR, as he slides to a stop, cut off by the
wall of flame.
Reese doesn't waste any time stuffing Sarah into the car.
Climbing in after and over her he twists two wires together
and we recognize it as his stolen GREY SEDAN.
The engine catches.
A SILHOUETTE rockets out of the flames.
Terminator, leaping from the roof of the blazing car ahead,
impacts on the hood of Reese's car. His hair and coat are
burning.
CUT TO:
108 INT./EXT. GREY SEDAN/ALLEY - NIGHT 108
Reese jams reverse and nail the throttle.
The car backs down the alley.
Terminator draws back his fist.
Punches into the windshield.
Inside, Sarah is sprayed with glass as the killer's fist
shoots through.
The lacerated fingers grope for her.
WIDE as the car shoots backwards out of the alley onto the
street, narrowly missing an arriving LAPD CRUISER.
Sarah plasters herself tightly into the seat as the
fingers grasp her blouse and pull.
Reese cranks the wheel hard.
CUT TO:
109 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 109
The sedan skids, slewing sideways into a parked car.
Terminator rolls down off onto the pavement.
Reese's car shoots forward.
PANNING WITH SEDAN as it roars past Vukovich, the gathering
minions of the burning building, an arriving fire
truck...shoots through a red light and continues to accel-
erate.
Terminator gets to a kneeling position, then slowly stands.
He pats out his smoldering clothing as he watches his quarry
escape.
CUT TO:
110 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 110
ON VUKOVICH as he runs to his car, exhorting the nearby
LAPD guys to give pursuit, while Traxler grabs the radio.
VUKOVICH
(shouting)
Go! Go! He's got her.
TRAXLER
(overlapping)
Suspect westbound on
Olympic. Grey sedan. Has
hostage, repeat...
CUT TO:
111 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 111
LOW WIDE ANGLE on the empty street, which is narrow and
tightly lines with parked cars.
The ROAR of an engine builds.
The sedan, like a night-demon, hurtles out of the shadows
with its lights off, doing ninety plus.
CUT TO:
112 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 112
Sarah is in a daze.
Paralyzed. Face bloodless.
She is shivering silently, uncontrollably.
Her eyes are wide, and it seems likely that she doesn't
quite comprehend the roaring blur outside her window.
REESE
(calmly)
Hold on.
CUT TO:
113 EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT 113
WIDE ANGLE, CLOSE TO SEDAN, and following it as it hurtles
around a corner in an expertly controlled slide.
Then a high speed sprint down the cross-street.
Reese squirrels the vehicle between a slow-moving car
ahead and oncoming traffic.
A dive into another dark side street.
CUT TO:
114 INT. GRAY SEDAN - NIGHT 114
Reese drives with total, nerveless absorption. His eyes
flick to the mirror, to the road, over his shoulder, back
...and the world spins outside.
With occasional glances to Sarah, he speaks to her in a
clipped, military voice.
REESE
Are you injured? Are you
shot?
No response.
He reaches over and runs his hands over her arms, legs,
chest. Sarah flinches.
She feels the BLIND PANIC BOILING UP WITHIN HER.
She pushes his hand away and opens the door.
Reese slams her back in the seat and slaps her. Hard.
REESE
(continuing)
Do exactly what I say.
Exactly. Don't move un-
less I say. Don't make a
sound unless I say. Do
you understand?
As he speaks he is locking the door and fastening Sarah's
seatbelt over her, cinching it very tightly, like you would
for a child. She doesn't answer.
REESE
(continuing/
shouting)
Do you understand?
SARAH
(a whisper)
Yes. Don't hurt me.
REESE
I'm here to help you. Reese,
Sergeant/Tech-Com, DN38416...
Sarah stares numbly at his outstretched hand. With zero
strength she automatically returns his handshake.
REESE
(continuing)
Assigned to protect you.
You've been targetted for
termination.
CUT TO:
115 EXT. SIDE STREET/ALLEY - NIGHT 115
The walls of a narrow alley, inky black, frame a police
cruiser parked on the street beyond. Firelight from the
back of Stoker's lights the street garishly.
A young cop stands beside the car talking via radio with
the mike cord pulled through the side window. He speaks
with a distinctive twang--a displaced southerner.
COP
...I don't know, it looks
like it might spread to this
furniture warehouse across
the alley, the paint on the
wall's starting to blister
up...
The sweeping headlights of a turning car momentarily illuminate
the face of Terminator, motionless in the dark right in
front of us.
Eyes open. Listening.
COP
(continuing)
Better get another truck
round to this side.
Terminator's silhouette emerges from the blackness and
strides purposefully toward the cop, CAMERA following.
The officer whirls and reaches for his gun but Terminator
flings him brutally into the side of the car, steps over
him and opens the door.
Before getting in he notes the unit number on the roof: 143.
Then he slides behind the wheel, slips the squad car into
gear, and pulls out.
CAMERA PRECEDING CAR, HIDE WIDE ANGLE, as it accelerates
rapidly, until the lines across the street are flashing
under it in a staccato rhythm.
CUT TO:
116 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 116
Sarah is slumped way down in the seat, turned away from the
window, trying not to see the landscape reeling outside.
SARAH
(hoarse whisper)
This is a mistake. I haven't
done anything.
REESE
No. But you will. It's
very important that you
live.
Sarah closes her eyes, as if to shut it all out.
SARAH
I can't believe this is happen-
ing. How could than man get up
after you...
Reese's tone is equal parts hatred and respect as he replies.
REESE
Not a man. A Terminator.
Cyber Dynamics Model 101.
CUT TO:
117 INT. SQUAD CAR - NIGHT 117
Terminator drives expressionlessly, monitoring the babble
from Central Dispatch. He hears his number.
DISPATCHER (V.O.)
(filtered)
...Suspect vehicle sighted on
Motor at Pico, southbound.
Units Two-Zero-Six and Five-
Seven, attempt intercept.
Unit One-Four-Three, come in.
Terminator picks up the mike. He speaks in a
simulation of the young cop's southern twang.
TERMINATOR
This is One-Four-Three. West-
bound on Olympic, approaching
Overland.
CUT TO:
118 EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT 118
The grey sedan moves through traffic like a hell-bent
wraith. Reese has the hammer down. He handles the
car with nerves of steel.
CUT TO:
119 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 119
Below, Reese's sedan snakes along at 110 plus. The
chopper, F.G., drops toward it.
PILOT (V.O.)
(filtered)
Air-unit Two. We're on him.
Westbound Santa Monica at 405.
CUT TO:
120 INT. GREY SEDAN - NIGHT 120
SARAH
A machine? You mean, like
a robot?
REESE
Not a robot. Cyborg.
Cybernetic Organism.
They have to yell over the roar of air through the broken
windshield.
SARAH
But...he was bleeding.
At that moment a blinding light sears down on them from
above. Reese looks over his left shoulder and sees a
CHP cruiser coming alongside.
REESE
Just a second. Keep your
head down.
CUT TO:
121 EXT. FREEWAY - NIGHT 121
The helicopter is right above the, its spotlight burning
on Reese. The cruiser flanks them, closing. Reese peels
off to the right, inches in front of a tractor-trailer rig,
brakes hard and slides into a four-wheel drift through a
curving off-ramp.
The helicopter banks, following.
The cruiser swaps ends trying to maneuver and slams broad-
side into the guardrail. Out of action.
CUT TO:
122 EXT. OFF RAMP/INTERSECTION - NIGHT 122
The sedan roars across the street without slowing
and vanishes down a tree-lined side street.
CUT TO:
123 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 123
DOWN ANGLE - AERIAL past the chopper, F.G., as its searchlight
sweeps over the close-knit treetops.
CUT TO:
124 EXT. SIDE STREET/INTERSECTION - NIGHT 124
The sedan skids around a corner, F.G., as the searchlight
filters in shafts through the trees further down the street,
sweeping futility back and forth.
CUT TO:
125 EXT. POLICE HELICOPTER - NIGHT 125
It hovers indecisively, then banks off.
PILOT (V.O.)
(filtered)
Lost him |
