Aggressive: Cut To

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vicious, 

aggressive beings, just like us?

Bfjgeafjadfbsdbfkshfkwehifhksmdnvasc noooowegotthatboomm booookm nbboooom


yeahbw efgoijng fcrazuy.

How could that possibly happen?

Anything's possible, Mario.

You just gotta believe.

I do believe. I believe

the rent is three months overdue.

That's what I belie They

resolve into two DEEP SUBMERSIBLES, free-falling toward us like express

elevators.

One is ahead of the other, and passes close enough to FILL FRAME, looking

like a spacecraft blazing with lights, bristling with insectile

manipulators.

TILTING DOWN to follow it as it descends away into the limitless blackness

below. Soon they are fireflies, then stars. Then gone.

CUT TO:

ve.

- Hey, turn left here.

- Fine, fine.

Left! I said left!

- What are you doin'?

- I don't know, Mario.

Just trust me, I got a good feeling

about this alleyway. I don't know.

- What?

- My instincts tell me this would be faster...

Breathe in, big brother,


we'll get there.

Luigi!

You know, I read that sea turtles

navigate thousands of miles on instinct.

Not in New York traffic

they don't.

What're you complainin' about?

Come on, we're here, aren't we?

- You're getting worse.

- I'm gettin' worse?

How did we1 BLACKNESS

Then two faint lights appear, close together... growing brighter.

2 EXT./ INT. MIR ONE / NORTH ATLANTIC DEEP

PUSHING IN on one of the falling submersibles, called MIR ONE, right up to

its circular viewport to see the occupants.

INSIDE, it is a cramped seven foot sphere, crammed with equipment. ANATOLY

MIKAILAVICH, the sub's pilot, sits hunched over his controls... singing

softly in Russian.

Next to him on one side is BROCK LOVETT. He's in his late forties, deeply

tanned, and likes to wear his Nomex suit unzipped to show the gold from

famous shipwrecks covering his gray chest hair. He is a wiley, fast-talking

treasure hunter, a salvage superstar who is part historian, part adventurer

and part vacuum cleaner salesman. Right now, he is propped against the CO2

scrubber, fast asleep and snoring.

On the other side, crammed into the remaining space is a bearded wide-body

named LEWIS BODINE, sho is also asleep. Lewis is an R.O.V. (REMOTELY

OPERATED VEHICLE) pilot and is the resident Titanic expert.

Anatoly glances at the bottom sonar and makes a ballast adjustment.
CUT TO:

3 EXT. THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

A pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. It gets brighter, lit from above, as MIR

ONE enters FRAME and drops to the seafloor in a downblast from its

thrusters. It hits bottom after its two hour free-fall with a loud BONK.

CUT TO:

4 INT. MIR ONE

Lovett and Bodine jerk awake at the landing.

ANATOLY:

(heavy Russian accent)

We are here.

EXT. / INT. MIR ONE AND TWO

5 MINUTES LATER:
THE TWO SUBS skim over the seafloor to the sound of

sidescan sonar and the THRUM of big thrusters.

6 The featureless gray clay of the bottom unrols in the lights of the subs.

Bodine is watching the sidescan sonar display, where the outline of a huge

pointed object is visible. Anatoly lies prone, driving the sub, his face

pressed to the center port.

BODINE:

Come left a little. She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen.

Thirteen... you should see it.

ANATOLY:

Do you see it? I don't see it... there!

Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship

appears. Its knife-edge prow is coming straight at us, seeming to plow Latinum (Latin)

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