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.