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click on pic to see largerOVER BLACK, A VOICE:
VOICESWEEP LOW through CLINGING HIGHLAND MISTS that shroud a land still in its infancy. Cathedral spires of granite. Cradled lakes. A solitary vastness.
IN THE DAYS BEFORE MEMORY, THERE WERE THE IMMORTALS.
WE WERE WITH YOU THEN, AND WE ARE WITH YOU NOW.VOICE (cont'd)ANCIENT CASTLES dot the landscape, whisper of battles long forgotton.
WE HAVE BEEN WORSHIPPED AS GODS MISTAKEN FOR DEMONS AND REVILED AS WITCHES.
WE ARE THE SEEDS OF A MILLION LEGENDS BUT OUR TRUE ORIGINS ARE UNKNOWN.
WE SIMPLY ARE.VOICE (cont'd)TWO FIGURES clash with broadswords atop the tallest promontory.
WE ARE DRIVEN BY THE CEASELESS FIGHT TO ENDURE. NO LIMIT,
IT IS A BATTLE THAT KNOWS NO BOUNDRY OF TIME OR PLACE.VOICE (cont'd)MATCH MOVE to the top of an ULTRA-MODERN SKYSCRAPER. Swordsmen continue to battle.
TO THE WINNER COMES AN UNKNOWABLE PRIZE.
YET AN IMMORTAL CAN FIND NO COMFORT IN VICTORY.VOICE (cont'd)Loser falls to the other's sword as the HEAVENS CLEAVE in a TITANIC RUPTURE OF SIGHT AND SOUND. Like the birth of a brand new universe.
BECAUSE IN THE END, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.BEGIN/END TITLES:
EXT - MANHATTAN, PRESENT-DAY ESTABLISHING - DAWN
Teeming millions. Yawning concrete spires. Blare of traffic.EXT - ANTIQUE STORE - DAWN
Engraved into a brass plaque: MACLEOD & ELLENSTEIN ANTIQUES (FORMERLY RUSSELL NASH LTD) A FACE reflects in the window glass. It's RACHEL ELLENSTEIN, early 60's now, a graying, maternal beauty. She moves to the front door, reaches out to unlock it. It falls open at her touch. Even though the hanging placard is still flipped to "WE’RE CLOSED"Rachel hesitates. Draws a shallow breath and steps inside.
INT - ANTIQUE STORE
All those sublime European antiquities now drip with menace. Celtic harp. Scottish targe. Brooding statuary. She moves deeper into the shadowed recesses, flicks on a lamp. Her gaze settles on the one exception to the impeccable order of things. An open wooden case, empty. Just the felt impression of a missing broadsword.RACHEL (icy dread)She crosses to the foot of the staircase. Listens. A MUSIC BOX spools a faint, tinny madrigal. She climbs the stairs, padding softly upward. The music grinds EVER LOUDER in its maddening repetitions. Every so often, it's punctuated by a CHILD'S GIGGLE.
Connor...?AT THE SECOND FLOOR LANDING Rachel edges around the corner. Her breath catches in her throat. BEFORE HER stands a locked wooden cabinet. It's been cleaved nearly in half by the BROADSWORD that still juts hilt-first from the base of the splintered front panel.
PHOTO ALBUMS and leather-bound DIARIES have been shredded and scattered across the floor--except for several selected PHOTOGRAPHS, skewered onto the sword tip like a Medieval message spike. Rachel struggles to breathe. Like she's taken that sword in her own gut.
INSIDE THE CABINET A TELEVISION flickers with videotape of GRAINY HOME MOVIES.
VIDEO A LITTLE GIRL (RACHEL) is entranced by a PORCELAIN MUSIC BOX held out by an AGELESS CONNOR MACLEOD. YOUNG RACHELRachel stands frozen, watching her life with Connor flash by in RAGGED FILM CLIPS:
Let me see, Connor! Let me see!CONNOR teaching RACHEL to ride a horse. CONNOR with RACHEL outside an English boarding school. In a train station. At her college graduation. CONNOR and RACHEL in a laughing embrace that only hints at something deeper. In each new clip, Rachel has aged further. Connor has not.
Rachel steps up to the broadsword, wraps both hands around the grip and jerks it clean of the cabinet. THE SKEWERED PHOTOGRAPHS (flutterd to the floor like dead leaves) THE VIDEOTAPE ENDS, CLICKS OFF...and a NEW IMAGE burns itself onto the screen in perfect digital clarity. Rachel. Staring back at herself, terror-stricken. She hadn't even noticed it before now. The tiny CAMCORDER on the shelf above the TV with the glowing red light. MOVE IN ON THE TV as Rachel SLOWLY BACKS AWAY. Keep moving in on the TV until the PIXELS SWIM...THE PHONE RINGS shattering the stillness. The old rotary phone on the little Louis XIV stand. It's not just beckoning her. It's taunting her. Gathering up the photos and hugging them to her breast, Rachel slowly approaches the phone. Any second now, you'd expect it to stop ringing, nobody home. But whoever's on the other end knows better. It keeps right on RINGING. Insistant. Trembling fingers reach out for the receiver. Slowly lift it off the hook.
RACHELEXTREME CLOSE ON PHONE: TINY ELECTRIC CLICK is the last thing Rachel hears before--
Hello?EXT - ANTIQUE STORE - WIDE
--A BLISTERING EXPLOSION blows out the entire second floor. Rachel Ellenstein is obliterated right along with her own treasured history. Linger on the FLAMES as we TRANSITION TO:
FLASHBACK I EXT - SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS (1565) - DAY
A MOUND OF BURNING CORPSES They crackle and twist in the fire that feeds off them. It takes a moment to realize they're LIVESTOCK-- oxen, pigs, goats, sheep-- piled like burning refuse. A CRUDE, WOVEN- STRAW HUMAN EFFIGY stands astride the pile, engulfed in flame. BEYOND THE FIRE Connor MacLeod and his young wife, HEATHER, watch from the steps of their simple, isolated home. Connor betrays no emotion. Heather looks on in horror.HEATHER(no response)
My God, what are they?CONNOR
Farm animals. Dead of the plague.HEATHER
Why do they torment us with their dead cattle?Connor...?A deeper fear now grips Heather.CONNOR
They think I've brought this upon them. It's a warning.HEATHERConnor turns away from the flaming heap.
A warning?! They drove you from your home! They cut you off from your own people! What else could they want?!CONNORCUT TO: CONNOR swinging astride his horse.
Someone to blame.HEATHERTHUNDER RUMBLES in the distance.
(dread)
Don't go back there.CONNORHeather looks off. Shivers.
I have no choice.HEATHER
Please--CONNOR
They can't hurt me. And they know it. But they can still hurt the ones I care about.HEATHERConnor leans forward, takes her face in his hands.
I'm afraid.CONNORShe grips his hands. Desperately.
I love you, Heather. More than anything in this world.CONNOR (cont'd)(kisses her)
Do you believe me?HEATHER
Yes.CONNOR
Then you needn't be afraid.Nothing can ever keep us apart.DISSOLVE TO: EXT - SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, VARIOUS - DAWN
Connor travels a primeval landscape of jagged peaks and fog-shrouded valleys.CONNOR'S VOICECUT TO: EXT - RIDGE ABOVE GLENFINNAN - TWILIGHT
Nothing...
He gazes down at the tiny hamlet of Glenfinnan, nestled between castle and shimmering loch. Breathes deep the forgotten smell of home.INT - HUT - EVENING
CAIOLIN MACLEOD, ravaged by neglect and despair, strokes her son's face as if confirming his reality.CAIOLINConnor lifts her from the tattered bed, spins her around several giddy times and sits her upright in a chair.
I thought you might be the water horse come to take me on his back and drown me in the loch.CONNOR
(smiles)
Maybe I am, Mother.CAIOLIN
(touches his hair)
Then come, let me grab hold of your golden mane and off we go.CONNORHe rummages through her shelves looking for food. Finds painfully little.
Not before we put some meat on those bones.CONNOR (cont'd)Connor crouches at her feet.
No one comes to look after you?CAIOLIN
They're all afraid of me. They think I bedevil their children because I've lost my own.CONNOR
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...CAIOLIN
Tiny minds and sour dispositions. I don't need them, Connor. Any of them.CONNORCaiolin blinks back her disbelief.
Then it's settled. You're coming with me. There's somebody I want you to meet.
She's nearly as beautiful as you.CAIOLIN(lifts up her shoes)
You're sure?CONNOR (cont'd)
We leave tonight. Let's start packing.CAIOLIN
I'm already packed.THE SLATTED WOODEN DOOR swings OPEN. A YOUNG MAN stands in the doorway. He's strong and severe, dressed in clergyman's black. But that's not what draws the eye. Even though it's cold enough to fog his breath-- he's sweatinq. Connor looks up, guarded.CONNORConnor feels the tension in Kase's voice.
Jacob--KASE
You shouldna come back, Connor.CONNORFATHER ALASDAIR RAINEY, the local priest and inquisitor, steps inside, bent over a silver cane. He's gross, corpulent and perpetually short of breath. A nasty NOSE BOIL figures prominently in his overall appearance.VILLAGERS of varying stripe crowd nervously behind them.
Surely as a friend you can look the other way just this once... For old times' sake...KASE
You knew. You knew what would happen if you came back. I am not to blame for this.CONNOR
What?(beat)
What have you done?
KASE
God help you.FATHER RAINEYThe townsmen jostle in place, each trying to squeeze backward behind the other.
In the name of the Holy See and the rule of law, you are hereby charged, Connor MacLeod, with heresy and the practice of black magic.
(turns to the villagers)
Take him.FATHER RAINEY (cont'd)Two of the bolder men move forward, gripping Connor by the elbows. Once its clear they haven't sucked up any demons, the others SWARM HIM.
(squints)
Heresy is not contagious.EXT - STONE HUT - NIGHT
Caiolin SCREAMS as Connor's dragged outside and driven to the ground by a relentless battery of sticks and clubs.CUT TO: INT - STONE CELL - NIGHT
Connor stirs awake in a centuries-old dungeon, a dark hole, crumbling and damp. VOICES seem to drip through the porous mortar. Taunting, vengeful, expectant. He crosses to the barred window that affords him a narrow, ground-level view of THE TOWN COMMONS where a well-attended EXECUTION is now underway. Connor squints, craning to make out the identity of the condemned. TOWNSPEOPLE mingle and mill in front of him, obstructing his line-of-sight. Even as A FAMILIAR VOICE rises above the surrounding chatter.JACOB KASE'S VOICESeveral villagers STEP ASIDE to reveal: CONNOR'S MOTHER bound to an UPRIGHT STAKE atop a mound of shorn timber. CONNOR siezes with the impossible horror of recognition.
The curse that afflicts one generation will invariably pass its mark onto the next. The ties of blood cannot be severed by word or deed, if in fact your blood is that of your son.CONNORJACOB KASE Makes the sign of the cross as he reads from a writ of execution. He stands atop a primeval CELTIC MONOLITH worn down to the form of a pedestal. Father Rainey wobbles behind him, sniffing ammonia to spell his chronic angina.
No.. . NO! !KASECaiolin lifts her head, pale and beatific.
Through the infinite compassion of our Lord God, you are entitled one final opportunity to renounce all that is unholy, to declare Connor MacLeod not of your loins and help put an end to the darkness that has been cast upon this land. How say you, Caiolin MacLeod?CAIOLINShocked murmers of outrage shudder through the crowd. Kase steps up and RIPS AWAY Caiolin's cherished silver CRUCIFIX, with its distinctive wooden Christ figure.
If your god should persecute me into the next world, then I shall simply have to find myself another.KASECONNOR grabs at the iron window-bars. Shakes them until the mortar chips from their moorings. THE RUDDY-FACED EXECUTIONER solemnly approaches Caiolin. Unseen by the bloodlusting crowd, he takes out a small leather sack and drapes it around her neck by the drawstring. He tucks it under her coarse woolen robe and pats it flush against her chest.
(holding up Caiolin's crucifix)
You won't need this where you're going.EXECUTIONERCaiolin nods. He steps down off the pyre. Reaches for a BURNING TORCH. CONNOR strains against the bars like a madman. Mortar continues crumbling until one bar actually RIPS AWAY COMPLETELY. THE EXECUTIONER touches torch to kindling. It ALIGHTS. CONNOR tries to squeeze through the window gap. Too tight. So he winds back with the iron bar and swings with mindless fury. Iron strikes unyielding stone, SPARKING and CHIPPING...THE PYRE BENEATH CAIOLIN ENGULFS IN FLAME. Heat ripples her face, distorts her body. CONNOR hammers harder, quicker, louder. Bits of stone fly everywhere. But the bulk of it remains spitefully intact. Still, it's enough to convince ALL FOUR GUARDS to intervene. They throw open the heavy iron door and descend upon Connor with swords and axes. Wielding the iron bar like a battle mace, Connor splits the first guard's head, catches his sword mid-air and slices into the next. Third guard's axe catches on a ceiling beam. Connor runs him through like an overstuffed feedsack. The fourth guard drops his sword and BOLTS. THE PYRE is now fully ABLAZE. Caiolin looks out through the rippling wall of flame...and smiles weakly.
(softly)
Black powder. It will make short work of your suffering.CAIOLINAS CONNOR splits the crowd like a battering ram. He reaches the pyre, hurling flaming timbers aside with his bare hands. Initially stunned, the townsfolk shrink back, watching Connor desperately scatter the fire. Caiolin buries her face in her shoulder, biting back the agony as...Sword in hand, Connor stretches upward, hacking away the ropes that bind her, oblivious to the fire now crawling in serpentine coils around his own arms and legs. Freed of the ropes, Caiolin begins to slump forward. Connor grabs for her arm as THE BLACK POWDER EXPLODES in a CONCUSSION of FIRE that renders any further hope of rescue futile. Connor stands atop the burning pyre, wicked tongues of flame leaping off his back and shoulders like fiery wings. He throws back his head and HOWLS to the heavens. Fire dances across Connor's skin and clothing as he raises his broadsword and steps down into the crowd. PANDEMONIUM breaks out. This isn't just a common witch. This is one of Hell's very own. Those few foolish enough to attack are cut down where they stand. The rest scatter in mindless PANIC. Father Rainey blocks Connor's path. Lifts his cross... as he's CUT DOWN by the blind SLASH of Connor's sword. Connor steps over Rainey's body and keeps coming, driving the mob fleeing into their dwellings. Kase crouches blustering over Rainey.
My water horse...KASE(tries to staunch the bleeding)
Father... Father, please--Father--!Rainey's eyes open slightly.RAINEYRainey stares back as if a veil has suddenly been lifted. And what he now sees terrifies him to death.
Who are you...?KASE
Your son. It's your son-- Jacob.RAINEYHe stops. Rainey's eyes are frozen. Dead. CONNOR returns to the flaming pyre, refueling his rage with the sight of his mother's blackened corpse. KASE scoops up a discarded sword, leaps to his feet and CHARGES CONNOR, bellowing like a madman. Connor whirls around with his sword, making Kase IMPALE HIMSELF on the blade. ase stares wide-eyed and gagging at Connor's smoldering visage-- the depthless black pools of hate that shroud his eyes. t's the last thing Jacob Kase will ever see. Connor opens his fingers and lets him DROP, the sword hilt still jutting from Kase's chest. Gathering up several chunks of flaming timber, Connor HEAVES them onto the straw-covered rooftops, setting them instantly ABLAZE. In short order, the village is transformed into a giant swirling INFERNO. Silhouetted against the crimson sky, Connor lifts Caiolin's body and turns his back on Glenfinnan for the last time.
(eyes widen)
Who are YOU?KASE
I'm your--DISSOLVE TO: EXT - ANCIENT STONE MONASTERY - NIGHT
Standing outside the massive door is a MONK clad in dark, hooded monastic garb. Nothing in the panorama would suggest we've just jumped four centuries into an uncertain future...Until--A PACK OF MOTORCYCLISTS chew their way up the rubbled slope. Fishtail to a stop. THE LEADER, a tall eclectically-dressed Jamaican, dismounts and approaches the hooded monk.
JAMAICANMonk unshoulders a PUMP-ACTION SHOTGUN.
You people are extremely hard to find.HOODED MONK(pumps shotgun)
We like it that way.Now go.The other six INTRUDERS surround the monk. His eyes flick from one to the next-- a buffet of different nationalities, all big.JAMAICANAnd sure enough, he GAGS before his next trigger-pull. A very nasty SERRATED BLADE retracts into a wooden hilt.
Take your pick. Before you squeeze the trigger a second time, you'll be dead.
Easy choice. Monk levels his gun and BLOWS the Jamaican right off his feet.
Monk drops in a heap as his assailant, a WIRY ASIAN, turns for the door, joined by the others. IN THE VERY NEXT INSTANT The heavy oak-and-iron door SWINGS OPEN with a BARRAGE of AUTOMATIC GUNFIRE--The intruders are CUT DOWN where they stand. THREE MORE HOODED MONKS appear in the doorway, wielding ASSAULT RIFLES. They grimly regard the bodies.MONK #1Saws and cleavers are pulled by the other two guards while Guard #l keeps his gun trained on the corpses.
Take the heads. Just in case.VOICEA FIGURE stands in shadow, his face UNSEEN. We catch only a brief glimpse of a PRIEST‘S COLLAR. Guard #l whips his rifle toward the Stranger. Stranger diverts it with the tip of his sword. Bullets go nowhere. One slash and the guard is gone. Two more slashes and his comrades fall. Stranger kicks the body of the dead Jamaican as he steps through the open doorway.
Don't bother. Really.STRANGERINT - MONASTERY - NIGHT
Don‘t be long.
FOLLOW THE STRANGER through a maze of chambers and DOWN into serpentine catacombs. He KICKS THROUGH a DOOR into AN INNER ROOM Cavernous and dripping, where even the air seems septic. A few dim candles illuminate A DOZEN MEN bound to complicated, almost Giger-esque chairs. Arms, legs and faces have been immobilized by crossing flats of metal BOLTED into flesh and wood. From the wild overgrowth of hair and beard, and the impossibly long, curled fingernails, it's a good guess none of them have moved a muscle in years. Except for a pale CUSTODIAN standing in a corner, trembling silently. Stranger stands at the threshold, his face obscured by flickering shadows. He scans the living corpses.
STRANGERHe moves slowly among them.
So it's true.STRANGER (cont'd)He pauses to lift up a downcast head. Gazes into the shackled face. The eyes are covered by strips of rusted iron, the face by tangled beard.
What sacrifices they made of you all. Warehoused, like rotting pieces of meat.STRANGER (cont'd)One by one, THE RECENTLY-DEAD INTRUDERS filter into the room, led by the Jamaican. Blood stipples their clothes, streaks their faces. But they are, in every other sense, fully-restored. Stranger straightens, swivels around to the terrified Custodian. Custodian backpeddles into the wall.
Tell me-- is this the better way? I'm sure you've had some time to reflect on it.STRANGER
Which one is Connor MacLeod?CUSTODIAN
I-- I don't know... They never told me names...STRANGER
(low, seething)
Don't. Lie. To. Me.Stranger grabs him under the chin, lifts him to his toes.
CUSTODIAN
I swear. I don't know...STRANGERThe Custodian stares back, uncomprehending.
You need to understand one thing, my gimpy friend. I don't care about the Game. I don't care about the rules. I don't even care about these other pathetic souls you lock away as a barrier to the Prize.STRANGER (cont'd)(squeezes his throat)I want Connor MacLeod. Give me MacLeod and I'll leave. And you can go right on pretending that what you do here actually matters.The custodian lifts a shaking finger. RACK FOCUS TO: THE PRISONER IN THE LAST CHAIR Even with an iron slat across his eyes, he is unmistakably Connor MacLeod. Stranger lets go of the custodian, turns...STRANGERConnor strains to lift his head. His voice comes weak and drug-heavy.
Long time.CONNORGLINT OF A SWUNG BLADE--
Who are you...?STRANGER
You'll know soon enough.CUT TO: EXT - MONASTERY - NIGHT
An unearthly LIGHT pulses through slitted windows and cracked mortar. TENDRILS of RAW ENERGY vein the ancient building, growing BRIGHTER until--THE WINDOWS EXPLODE OUTWARD with a keening, animal-like HOWL. ABOVE The sky responds with SCREAMING WIND and TORRENTS of RAIN.CUT TO: EXT - PARIS - NIGHT
WIND HOWLS over the City of Lights, slicing up the Seine to. . .DUNCAN MACLEOD'S BARGE docked at the quay.EXT - BARGE - NIGHT
PUSH IN on DUNCAN MACLEOD, cross-legged in meditation atop the deck. He JOLTS from a series of SUDDEN VIOLENT IMAGES. A FACE, bolted immobile, wrenched in agony. A SWORDBLADE slashing into flesh. FINGERNAILS clawing wood. BLOOD flecking tile. ESSENCE. PHONE. Ringing. Duncan snaps up the receiver, sweat drenched.DUNCANTiny electric CLICK.... . . then the HISS of an overseas line.
Yeah?WOMAN'S VOICECUT TO: A PAYPHONE, SOMEWHERE IN LOWER MANHATTAN
(filtered)
He's dead.DUNCAN
Who?
In a driving RAIN. A woman's hand holds the receiver to her face, obscuring her features.WOMANINT - DUNCAN'S BARGE
Connor MacLeod. He was killed last night.
Duncan reels with a sudden flood of emotions.DUNCANEXT - PAYPHONE
Who is this?!WOMAN'S VOICE
A friend.
The unidentified woman slowly lowers the receiver and sets it back in the cradle.CUT TO: EXT - PARIS, ESTABLISHING, SUNRISE
Shadows crawl across the Parisian skyline as an ENGINE REVS TO 8000 RPM.STREET LEVEL POV:
We PUNCH through the ARC DE TRIOMPHE and up the CHAMPS ELYSEE with a throaty FERARRI HOWL. On a WICKED DOWNSHIFT, we SQUEAL HARD RIGHT onto the PONT NEUF, stopping on a franc atEXT - NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL - DAY
Duncan hops out of his Ferrari 355 Spyder, pauses before the massive Gothic edifice, then disappears inside.
click on pic to see largerCLOSE ON A CROUCHING STONE GARGOYLE
perched atop the highest balustrade. MOVE SIDEWAYS TO REVEAL A SECOND CROUCHING FIGURE, this one human. To many he'll be instantly familiar. He‘s METHOS, oldest of all Immortals, gazing down in quiet contemplation. Methos keeps staring at the ground below, sipping bordeaux from a paper cup, even as Duncan joins him at the edge.DUNCANMethos' darkens. Another one lost.
Methos.METHOS
so-- What brings you up here to the aerie of the lesser gods?DUNCAN
I need your help.METHOS
I'm out of the help business. No future in it.DUNCAN
I was told Connor MacLeod was killed last night.DUNCAN (cont'd)
I just want to know who did it.METHOS(sighs)
In our world, does it really matter?DUNCANMethos looks down at the clotted life below.
It does to me.METHOS(looks up)
Did I ever tell you I once kept a vineyard on the very spot where they built this monstrosity? Glorious, the wine.When did you see him last?DUNCAN
Almost ten years ago.METHOS
What did you talk about?DUNCAN
Nothing much.METHOS
Think back.
FLASHBACK II FLASH TO:INT - PUB (FROM HIGHLANDER 1) - DAY
Connor and Duncan hunch over the bar, pounding scotch.DUNCAN
We mostly just sat around, downing shots, staring at the beer lights above the bar. When he finally got up to go, he looked at me like it was the last time I'd ever see him again. No goodbye. No handshake. Just got up and left.BACK TO SCENE:
Duncan blinks back the memory.DUNCAN (cont'd)FLASH: CONNOR'S FACE
Nobody's seen him since.METHOS
Describe the look.DUNCAN
What do you mean?METHOS
Describe it.DUNCAN
It was like...DUNCAN (cont'd)BACK TO SCENE:
. . . Like every death he'd ever caused had come back to haunt him.
Methos takes a thoughtful sip from his wine.METHOS(beat)
For an Immortal who comes to abhor bloodshed, there's a solution-- a way to be removed from the Game forever. The price is unimaginably high, but you are, for all practical purposes, protected from the violence within yourself. It's called The Sanctuary.DUNCAN
I don't understand.METHOS
Think of those Buddhist monks who came to cherish life so much that to step on a single insect, to harm a blade of grass was a violation of their creed. They placed themselves into an extreme form of protective custody. A sanctuary of sorts.What I'm talking about is something similar. But one that doesn't allow for a change of heart.He opens his fingers and watches his cup plummet to the plaza below. Wine SPLATTERS like blood on white marble.METHOS (cont'd)EXT - ABOVE THE ATLANTIC - DAY
Apparently it was wiped out last night.DUNCAN
By who?METHOS
I don't know.
A 747 cruises at 40,000 feet.METHOS (O.S.)INT - 747 - DAY
He left no witnesses.
Duncan stares out the passenger window as the FLIGHT ATTENDANT sets a DRINK down. He lifts the little plastic COCKTAIL SWORD from the glass. Yanks it out of the olive...
FLASHBACK III TRANSITION TO: A BROADSWORD being jerked from a fallen warrior. EXT - 17TH CENTURY BATTLEFIELD - DAWN
FOLLOW THE SWORD swinging above a PAIR OF HIDE-BOOTED FEET that tramp across uneven ground littered with CORPSES. FEET STOP at a BLOOD-CAKED BODY, swathed in the shredded colors of a defeated army. On a SWIFT KICK TO THE RIBCAGE--DUNCAN MACLEOD JERKS UPRIGHT, flailing in spastic fits.DUNCANHe blinks thickly, as if routed from a deep, disorienting slumber. Gapes up at--A SILHOUETTE that ECLIPSES the rising sun.
GAHHHHHHH! !SILHOUETTEDuncan puts a hand to his chest, touches the worst of his several lethal wounds. Utter confusion stitches his face.
You've better things to do than lie there collecting flies.SILHOUETTE (cont'd)The figure extends a hand to Duncan. Duncan hesitantly reaches up...
I suppose you're wondering how a knock- kneed swordsman with your obvious lack of skill keeps living to fight another day.DUNCANDuncan‘s hand RECOILS--
(squints)
Are you an angel?SILHOUETTE
I've been called that. And worse.SILHOUETTE (cont'd)He hoists Duncan to his feet. Duncan gazes for the first time ever upon the face of CONNOR MACLEOD Who smiles back with the gift of untold secrets.
Rest assured, I'm neither.CONNOR
I'm Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. And like you, I have a hard time dying.TRANSITION BACK TO: INT - 747 - DAY
Duncan's now sitting upright in his seat as the FLIGHT ATTENDANT'S VOICE brings him back to the here and now.FLIGHT ATTENDANT (O.S.)WHEELS SMACK down onto the runway at JFK.
We'll be making our final descent into New York...CUT TO: A PHOTOGRAPH OF DUNCAN
PULL BACK and see it's his passport, held by a US CUSTOMS OFFICER. He lowers the passport and turns to the long metal case Duncan's brought with him from the plane.CUSTOMS OFFICERDuncan hands the Officer documentation as he sets it on the counter and opens it. Inside is an old, meticulously cared-for Japanese KATANA SWORD. Customs Officer studies Duncan's paperwork, smiles.
Would you open the case, please?CUSTOMS OFFICER (cont'd)Duncan shuts the case and continues on. Next MAN in line watches Duncan exit as he hands over his passport. Hang on the PHOTO. We'll remember those steel- gray eyes.
Get much use for this?DUNCAN
You'd be surprised.INT - CAB, DRIVING - DAY
Duncan watches the passing scenery. MUSIC and LANDMARKS familiar from the first "Highlander" sweep past.EXT - NEW YORK SIDE-STREET - DAY
Cab WIPES FRAME, leaving Duncan standing before the charred husk of Connor's antique store. Windows boarded, shreds of flapping police tape, the investigators have long since come and gone.INT - ANTIQUE STORE
Door SPLINTERS OPEN. Duncan steps inside In the aftermath of the firebombing, nothing has been spared. Rachel and Connor's richly-cultivated collection has been reduced to a bitter moonscape. One can only shudder at the degree of overkill that went into this attack. Duncan climbs the back stairs to THE SECOND FLOOR LOFT which is even worse. Ash and cinder are virtually all that remain of Connor's home. Pausing at the far wall, Duncan yanks down an old charred tapestry, revealing AN INNER DOOR deliberately hidden from view. He dips down, retrieves a key from under a loose floorboard and opens the heavily- reinforced door. ENTERING he finds himself in a LARGE CIRCULAR ROOM surrounded by a staggering display of ARTIFACTS drawn from centuries of personal history. We're looking at the sum total of Connor MacLeod's existance, stacked floor to ceiling. Duncan moves among the mementos, smiles as he lifts them; an old Scottish coin, pocket flask... a faded PHOTO of himself in a World War I uniform. He pauses at a painting of Connor's wife HEATHER, radiant in simple peasant garb, smiling serenely across the ages. Finally, a tarnished epee that he wields with instant familiarity.
FLASHBACK IV TRANSITION TO: INT - FENCING ACADEMY, RAVENNA ITALY (1627) - DAY
Duncan's LUNGE misses Connor by a mile. He stumbles upright in a grand hall streaked by SUNLIGHT from floor- to-ceiling windows. Duncan and Connor face off with duelling swords, sporting black waistcoats and knee breeches in the manner of the times. Several other elegant FENCING PAIRS spar in this most genteel version of the ancient bloodsport, a far cry from the corpse-littered battlefield seen earlier. A little mustachioed PUFFER darts between the duellists with lint brush, pail and towel as Connor and Duncan re- engage in a rapid series of strikes and parries.CONNORConnor executes a simple combination that sends'Duncan's sword flying one way, his body the other.
You've improved greatly.DUNCAN
You really think so?CONNORDuncan recovers, sets his feet. Puffer skitters over, brushes the dust off Duncan's coat, dabs his sweat and puffs the back of his hair. Duncan swats him away. They take en-garde position. Connor points his blade.
No. I'm just being gracious.CONNOR (cont'd)Duncan lunges again. Misses and hits the deck.
Remember, you're only immortal as long as your head remains attached to those shoulders.CONNOR (cont'd)He puts his blade to Duncan's neck. Humor evaporates.
Which in your case might not be long at all.CONNOR (cont'd)Duncan stares up at him, uncomprehending.
What we give up to our adversary in defeat, Duncan... is everythinq.CONNOR (cont'd)He takes Duncan by the arm, jerks him to his feet.
We call it "The Quickening"-- our strength, our knowledge, our life essence-- it all flows into the victor, feeds him, makes him stronger, in ways you can't possibly comprehend. It's what drives other Immortals to kill us. And what forces us to be better-- smarter-- than the rest.CONNOR (cont'd)Duncan goes on the attack. What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in determination. Almost. Connor sidesteps Duncan's next lunge, swats his blade flat across Duncan's ass and sends him plowing face-first into the floor. Duncan re-engages Connor in fighting stance. Puffer races up behind Duncan again, meticulously dusts his backside. Reaches around and plucks an unsightly piece of lint off his crotch with thumb and forefinger.
Survival. Learn it.DUNCANConnor clucks his tongue.
(whirls around)
You mind?!CONNOR (cont'd)He squares Duncan‘s shoulders and steps back. Considers.
Allow me.CONNOR (cont'd)He steps up and swivels Duncan around until he‘s facing the opposite way.
Unh uh.CONNOR (cont'd)He proceeds to take Duncan through a move that's dazzling in it's inherent simplicity-- a move that winds up with Duncan's blade whisking perilously close across Connor's throat.
If you should ever again find yourself backside to a blade... just keep this in mind.CONNOR (cont'd)He catches Duncan's sword-fist in his own, holds it immobile.
It's a coup de fin.CONNOR (cont'd)Duncan and Connor's eyes lock. They break.
Properly executed, even you cannot prevent your blade from finding its mark.DUNCAN
Properly executed, we'll never have this talk again.TRANSITION BACK TO: INT - CIRCULAR ROOM
Duncan suddenly SIEZES UP with a strange disquiet and ringing in the ears known as THE BUZZ. It's the sense of another Immortal. He swings around, reaches for his katana and steps back through the door, swinging it closed as A YOUNG WOMAN appears at the top of the stairs. She saunters toward him, glancing around. She takes her time checking out the place before stepping up to Duncan. The ragged crop of her hair and the slashing trowel application of makeup impart a kind of crazed anti- beauty. Like a post-nuclear Barbi doll. Duncan regards her, intrigued and wary.DUNCANThose two words instantly recall the mystery voice on the phone.
Who are you?YOUNG WOMAN
A friend.YOUNG WOMAN (cont'd)Memory jogs with a sudden lurch.
Or lover. Or wife. Take your pick.DUNCANShe runs a playful finger across his chest.
Kate?YOUNG WOMAN
Atta boy. 'cept I'm "Faith" now. Part of the makeover. Like it?FAITHShe takes him by the hands and leads him into an impromptu dance.
Funny how 'the time slips by, huh? You wake up one day and ohmigod-- Airplanes!DUNCAN
Why're you here?FAITH
Remember our wedding day, Duncan? I do.FAITH (cont'd)She spins under his arm, circles back into his embrace.
We danced the "Highland Fling."FAITH (cont'd)Her sinuous body moves in perfect sync with his.
I felt like we were flying.FAITH (cont'd)She spins out of his arms again--and SPIN KICKS him across the FACE. BLOOD spatters from his nose and mouth.
And that we'd never come down.FAITH (cont'd)(kicks him again) Crashinq. Duncan staggers backward into a concrete stanchion. Recovers. They stand facing each other across a gulf centuries wide.
Of course, we did come down. Didn't we?DUNCANDuncan tenses at--THE ROAR OF APPROACHING MOTORCYCLES. His eyes track the SOUND. It's directly BELOW him.
(spitting blood)
Why are you here?FAITH
Isn't it obvious? I wanted to see you again.
EXT - STREET OUTSIDE ANTIQUE STORE
THREE MOTORCYCLES hop the curb, SLICE through the open door to the antique store...INT - ANTIQUE STORE . . . and SPIRAL up the BACK STAIRS.
INT - LOFT
Duncan's eyes flick upward to a NEW SOUND, directly above him as--EXT - ROOF - DAY
A FOURTH BIKE VAULTS the NARROW GAP between buildings and LANDS. Knobby tires SLAM onto the rooftop, squirrelling wild across the tarred surface before shuddering to a stop. A jackbooted heel digs in and grinds to a stop. Biker suddenly BACKWHEELS around, BLASTS through the ROOF ACCESS DOOR and disappears inside. TWO MORE BIKERS follow suit, SLAMMING DOWN onto the roof like alien invaders.INT - LOFT
Duncan reacts. But it's not just the full-throttle howl of approaching bikes. It's the BUZZ of approaching IMMORTALS. THE BIKERS now crest the stairs and fan out into the loft-- Same group we saw outside the monastery. Tricked out in everything from Keds to chainmail, they drag a variety of weapons in their trailing hands-- sword, baseball bat, mace, dao and chain-whip. The tips make a scraping noise across the floor that's deliberately unsettling. They surround Duncan, cutting off any avenue of escape. Nobody moves or speaks. Just the low staccato growl of idling two-stroke engines. Duncan takes a step backward. Looks to Faith.DUNCANPAN THE FACES. CARLOS from Bed-Stuy, BUG from Kyoto, WINSTON from Jamaica, SARGE from Shreveport and CRACKER BOB from nowhere in particular.
Who're they?FAITH
More friends.
And then there's CALVIN. A swaggering Immortal from the he's traded brute force in on a brand new weapon of choice. A DIGITAL VIDEO CAMERA.CALVINBIKERS DISMOUNT and CONVERGE on Duncan, swinging their weapons to limber up. Duncan backs away. This is unheard of-- Immortals packing like jackals.
Make it pretty now. It's the bottom of the ninth.DUNCANTHREE IMMORTALS ATTACK. They're good. Duncan's better. About three times better. CALVIN jockeys his camcorder-- GOES IN TIGHT on Duncan.
What-- it's a team sport now?CALVIN
(zooming in)
Whole new ballgame.CALVINWINSTON, the tall Jamaican, stands off to one side watching, the lone holdout.
Sup with the new blood, huh? Who's gonna lay him out? Take his secret sauce?
(swivels around)
YOU, Winston?CALVIN (cont'd)INTERCUT - VIDEO VIEWFINDER
Nope. Too proud. Old school.
Image lurches and jostles as Calvin mixes it up with the combatants.CALVIN (O.S.)CARLOS HURTLES THROUGH FRAME. Lands hard.
How 'bout you, Carlos? You good for it? Carlos--?CALVIN (O.S.)SWISH PAN TO:
I'll catch you later.
SWORD sparking off chainmail. HANDS AND FEET pounding flesh. BODIES slamming into walls. BLOOD. MAYHEM. PAIN. And Calvin, catching it all, up close and personal.CALVIN (cont'd)Carlos crawls to his feet, oozing blood and spite.
Sarge is down. Cracker Bob's down.
But Carlos got some kick. Still got some kick.CALVIN (cont'd)Carlos LUNGES--Duncan lays him out flat again, then swivels around to face--BUG who straightens up to his full five-foot frame.
Like the man says, you gotta play with the small hurts.CALVIN (cont'd)Bug brandishes a simple metal ROD with a woven grip. Nothing much to speak of...Until he squeezes the grip----and SIX BLADES EJECT SIMULTANEOUSLY. The two on each end are SWORD BLADES, one for piercing, one for slashing. Jutting perpendicular to the shaft, like an insane Swiss Army knife, are twin sets of DAGGERS-- two for stabbing and two sawtoothed SWORDBREAKERS. And then there's the shaft itself, if you're in need of a good old-fashioned battering ram.
Say hello to my man BUG and his ugly- stick.CALVIN (cont'd)Bug opens up a multi-pronged BARRAGE on Duncan. Duncan adapts to the first assault-- only to find himself reacting to an entirely new set of insane moves.
Like it? Came from a Tamaric swordsmith.
(grins)
Who smoked a lotta very wicked stuff.CALVIN (cont'd)Carlos cuts in yet again, swinging for the stands. He fans several times before Duncan backfists him across the nose and dumps him back onto the floor.
Uhp--- Say welcome back to Carlos...
Duncan spins back to Bug as the wiry Asian lifts his lethal metal rod again and grins. But this time as he SQUEEZES the release mechanism----Duncan KICKS IT, shoving it flush against Bug's chest. SNICK SNICK two PIVOTING DAGGERS slice into the dumbstruck Immortal. He falls backward WAILING like a stuck pig. A BOOMING VOICE freezes everyone in their tracks.VOICEAll eyes converge on: THE STRANGER who stands at a distance, cloaked in murky halflight.
That's enough.STRANGERDuncan lowers his katana, turns to the Stranger as--CARLOS painfully hauls himself upright and suddenly BULLDOZES Duncan clear through one of the immense loft windows. Duncan's launched AIRBORNE in a plume of shattered glass, still clutching his katana. Carlos hooks an arm around the empty window-frame and watches with unvarnished satisfaction as the body SPIKES onto an upright iron ROD jutting from the construction site below.
I'm sorry, Duncan. When it comes to discipline, the first hundred years are the hardest.STRANGERCarlos does his best to ignore him.
What was that?CARLOS
(squinting)
Full gainer with a quarter twist. Degree of difficulty-- not very.STRANGER
I thought I told you to stop.CARLOS
Yeah, well. I stopped.STRANGER (cont'd)
Are you challenging my authority?STRANGER (cont'd)In the split second it takes Carlos to turn back from the window, the Stranger is right there in his face.
Because the only way to challenge my authority is to kill me.CARLOS
(turns away)
Hey hey, take it easy, man.STRANGER (cont'd)
Is that clear?CARLOSStranger takes Carlos' sword and yanks it uo to his own neck -.
Shit!STRANGER
IS THAT CLEAR?STRANGER (cont'd)Carlos stares wide-eyed. Pride won't let him back down. Fear won't let him proceed.
Here's your chance.STRANGER (cont'd)We can FEEL the SUDDEN HAMMERING of Carlos' HEART.
Take it. You won't have another.CARLOS(rubs his neck across the blade)
You're crazy, man!STRANGER
Am I? Then go ahead...Stop the madness.(beat)CARLOS
Hey--STRANGER
Or walk away... in perpetual fear of your own shadow.Tell me, Carlos. Can you live with that? Can you live with the fear? Can you live with the weakness?THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP--STRANGER (cont'd)(savoring)
Weakness, Carlos. Isn't that why you're here with me? Isn't that why you‘re ALL here with me?! Face it, you're nothing but. . .. . . cattle.Blood POUNDS in Carlos' eyes. He YANKS back the sword, CRIES OUT and SLASHES for the Stranger's neck.CLOSE ON STRANGER'S HAND
as it catches his wrist and diverts the blade around to Carlos' own throat, wedging it up tight under his chin.STRANGER (cont'd)In one vicious UP-SLICE, Stranger cuts through bone and sinew, stopping just short of a clean sever. Carlos gags and gurgles in liquid protest.
God loves you. I don't.STRANGER (cont'd)SNICK--He sends Carlos' head tumbling to the floor.
(whispers)
They say the worst part, Carlos, is those last few seconds when you find yourself staring at your own headless body.STRANGER (cont'd)HOLD ON CARLOS' EYESstaring in pure, unknowable horror at his own body, twitching several yards away. A tiny ARC of electrical ESSENCE crackles from the neck...THE OTHERS bear mute witness to the GLOWING TENDRILS of ENERGY that stutter across the walls and ceiling.
Of course it's pure speculation, since nobody ever lives to tell about it.
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