KR2010 Script Act One

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <B><IMG SRC="4e27e3d0.jpg" border=0 width="126" height="61" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> <A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2010 Synopsis/Promotional P"><U><B>SYNOPSIS/PROMOS</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id61.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2010 Frequently Asked Quest"><U><B>FAQ</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR2010 Where are they now?"><U><B>WHERE ARE THEY NOW?</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id62.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR2010 Script Act One"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 1</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id63.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2010 Act Two"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 2</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id64.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2010 Script Act Three"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 3</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id82.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR2010 Script Act 4"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 4</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id83.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR 2010 Script Act 5"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 5</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id84.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR2010 Script Act 6"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 6</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id85.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="KR2010 Script Act 7"><U><B>KR2010 SCRIPT ACT 7</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id65.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2010 Gallery"><U><B>KR2010 GALLERY</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider Cast"><U><B><IMG SRC="047644b0.jpg" border=0 width="100" height="75" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider Cast"><U><B>KNIGHT RIDER</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id47.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2000 Cast"><U><B><IMG SRC="049644b0.jpg" border=0 width="100" height="75" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id47.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider 2000 Cast"><U><B>KNIGHT RIDER 2000</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Team Knight Rider Cast"><U><B><IMG SRC="04d66370.jpg" border=0 width="102" height="55" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Team Knight Rider Cast"><U><B>TEAM KNIGHT RIDER</B></U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>KNIGHT RIDER 2010</B></div> <div> <B>ACT ONE</B></div> <bR> <div> FADE IN:</div> <bR> <div> A BILLBOARD</div> <bR> <div> FILLS THE SCREEN. An American Eagle soars through a crystalline blue sky. A slogan reads: <U>THANKS AMERICA, FOR FIVE WONDERFUL SMOKE FREE YEARS</U>. The fearsome roar of a monster engine pushed to the absolute max comes up loud and -</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T.</div> <bR> <div> A seventh-generation Knight Rider vehicle, hurtles past at ninety mph, disappearing in a blurred split-second. HOLD on the billboard, then -</div> <bR> <div> EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. thunders down a dark deserted avenue, its wet emptiness nervously illuminated by a flashing rainbow of multi-lingual neon lights. Jets of steam rise from the subterranean sewers like smoke through a smile. A SUPER FADES IN:</div> <bR> <div> SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA METRO DISTRICT, 2010</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T.'S POV</div> <bR> <div> The image of the city streets appears brightly digitized. K.I.T.T.'S SYNTHESIZED VOICE echoes with the metallic ring of a machine:</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. (V.O.)</div> <div> Suspect eastbound on Sunset.</div> <bR> <div> The margins of the FRAME are crammed with columns of rapidly changing data. The on-board camera ZOOMS IN,  past a shuttered GAS STATION -</div> <bR> <div> INT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT - DISPLAY</div> <bR> <div> THROUGH several vacant lots TO an UNDERPASS TUNNEL, then THROUGH the CEMENT WALLS of the tunnel itself. An ANIMATED OUTLINE  of the SUSPECT'S VEHICLE fills the screen.</div> <bR> <div> WOODYARD</div> <div> Intercept?</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. (V.O.)</div> <div> Sunset and Figueroa.</div> <bR> <div> EXT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> In the intermittent play of neon light and shadow, we can just make out a YOUNG MAN behind the wheel.</div> <bR> <div> INT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> Early-thirties, powerfully built, the Young Man's face is dominated by intensely sympathetic blue eyes. This is DAMIAN WOODYARD, KNIGHT RIDER, STATE OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.</div> <bR> <div> EXT. UNDERPASS TUNNEL - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> An immaculately white VAN screams from the tunnel. Like a ghost, it is devoid of decoration or logo, its black rubber tires the only counterpoint to its white enamel finish.</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. bursts from a rising cloud of steam, driving up the van's rear end. As both vehicles disappear around a corner -</div> <bR> <div> EXT. CONSTRUCTION SITE - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> The street ends, replaced by a mountain of scaffolding, concrete prefabs and other construction material.</div> <bR> <div> A billboard announces: NEW HOME OF THE INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION LOS ANGELES DODGERS, OPENING SPRING 2011…FIRST HOME GAME, APRIL 10… DODGERS VERSUS EASTERN EUROLEAGUE CHAMPION SIBERIAN HUSKIES.</div> <bR> <div> The can tries to maneuver away, K.I.T.T. dogs it.</div> <bR> <div> INT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT - ON DISPLAY</div> <bR> <div> Animated outlines of both the van and K.I.T.T. appear on the screen. The words: ELECTROMAGNETIC DAMPENER -ENGAGED, flash. K.I.T.T. shoots a pulse of energy at the van -</div> <bR> <div> BACK TO SCENE</div> <bR> <div> The pulse of energy instantly disables the van's electrical system and the van grinds to a standstill. K.I.T.T. brakes and -</div> <bR> <div> Knight Rider leaps from his car, in a long brown duster, automatic weapon in his hand. He advances cautiously toward the van. The ASIAN DRIVER steps out, his hands raised.</div> <bR> <div> WOODYARD</div> <div> Open it.</div> <bR> <div> The Driver shakes his head. He neither understands nor speaks the language. Steam wafts up and around the sides of the van, creating a diffused otherworldly atmosphere.</div> <bR> <div> WOODYARD</div> <div> (in Japanese)</div> <div> Open her up.</div> <div> (no response; in Korean) </div> <div> Open her up.</div> <div> (no response; in Chinese)</div> <div> Open her up.</div> <bR> <div> The driver nods in final understanding and leads Woodyard around to the rear of the van. As the Driver unlocks the rear door -</div> <bR> <div> It's an ambush! FOUR ARMED THUGS burst from the van, massive automatic weapons BLAZING AT CAMERA!</div> <bR> <div> Woodyard dives under the can, rolling out the other side. The Thugs leap down, continuously FIRING.</div> <bR> <div> Woodyard expertly picks off one of the four Thugs. The Knight Rider shoots, ducks, fires again, vaults over scaffolding and throws himself over a wall of bricks. As GUNFIRE rains down around him, a VOICE BOOMS OUT -</div> <bR> <div> VOICE</div> <div> Throw down your weapon! Surrender your car!</div> <bR> <div> WOODYARD</div> <div> K.I.T.T. -</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. hurtles forward, FIREPOWER ricocheting off its metal surface as the Knight Rider clambers over and through a mound of sand and gravel, making a run for the car. Woodyard is three feet from K.I.T.T. when -</div> <bR> <div> He is cut down by a rain of bullets from the scaffolding overhead. It's an automated GATLING GUN.</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T.'S DIGITIZED POV</div> <bR> <div> Woodyard slowly rises to his feet, blue eyes riveted STRAIGHT INTO CAMERA. A silent moment. Then he pitches face-forward into the dust, dead before hit hits the ground.</div> <bR> <div> BACK TO SCENE</div> <bR> <div> An eerie quiet envelopes the scene. A SILHOUETTED FIGURE steps from the darkness through the clouds of cordite.</div> <bR> <div> He speaks in a not quite recognizable Eastern European accent with a definite American twang. This is ILYA DUBROVNA.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div> The car.</div> <bR> <div> The men respond instantly, advancing on K.I.T.T., armed with high-tech breaking and entering tools.</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. (V.O.)</div> <div> Perimeter violation. Step back.</div> <bR> <div> INT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT - ON DASHBOARD DISPLAY</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T.'s digitized POV. The thugs surround the car.</div> <bR> <div> K.I.T.T. (V.O.)</div> <div> Final warning.</div> <bR> <div> EXT. K.I.T.T. - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> The first thug grabs the driver's side door.</div> <bR> <div> With a loud, flat BARROOM, the car self-destructs. The screen WHITES OUT with the explosion.</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> A LASER BURST</div> <bR> <div> splashes against a camouflage-patterned shirt, photoelectrically changing it to a bright orange. WIDEN TO -</div> <bR> <div> EXT. U.S. MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT - WOODS - DAY</div> <bR> <div> White sunlight filters through dense trees overhanging a narrow dirt trail as an N.D. Cadet, wearing a blue arm band, disappointedly looks down at his now orange shirt.</div> <bR> <div> Before a Second N.D. Cadet, also in a blue arm-band, can level his weapon to return fire, a SECOND LASER BURST converts his camo-patterned shirt to orange.</div> <bR> <div> A PAIR OF STANDARD ISSUE ARMY BOOTS</div> <bR> <div> EXIT FRAME, running. We note their long effortless stride and economy of motion as they follow the yellow flags marking the parimeter of the “battlefield.” A SUPER FADES IN:</div> <bR> <div> UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT</div> <bR> <div> THE RUNNER - CADET KATHERINE DENISE HACKETT (“K.D.”)</div> <bR> <div> slides down an embankment, half-running, half-falling. She's mid-twenties, in camo fatigues, a RED arm-band, and armed with a laser pistol.</div> <bR> <div> In contrast to her feverish pace, her face reflects a quiet determination. This young woman is at peace with who she is, what she does, and what she wants to be.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. re-cons the terrain, scanning for “enemy” troops, then trots toward a huge, ancient, moss covered oak tree. Without warning -</div> <bR> <div> CADET LINCOLN PANKOW</div> <bR> <div> Steps from behind the tree, in her path. Mid twenties, dark and devilish-looking, with something of the outlaw about him. He wears a BLUE arm-band. Like K.D., he's armed with a laser pistol. It's aimed at her chest.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> You're dead, Hackett.</div> <bR> <div> She weighs her options, then drops her weapon at her feet. She removes her black beret with a flourish, loosing a head full of honey blonde hair. Then, one-by-one, she starts to pop the Velcro closures of her shirt.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Where's your self-respect?</div> <bR> <div> Without a change of expression, she continues to undress, inching toward him.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Don't beg.</div> <bR> <div> He can't take his eyes off her chest. Her slow, but steady softly hip-swinging approach backs him into the tree.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> This is definitely conduct unbecoming an officer.</div> <bR> <div> She smiles, with flirtatious familiarity. He responds with a slow licentious grin that speaks volumes. He's got her right where she wants him.</div> <bR> <div> A split-second is all it takes for K.D. to grab Lincoln's wrist and turn his own pistol on him, shooting him point blank in the chest. The laser turns his camo-patterned  shirt bright orange. He looks down at his shirt, shaking his head - he really should move his brains above his belt.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (buttoning her shirt)</div> <div> You're dead, Pankow.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Just when things were getting interesting.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> You're out of the game. Get off the field.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. gives him a “get with the program” look and races off down the trail.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <bR> <div> The moment K.D. disappears from view, he strips off his orange shirt to reveal a second camo shirt underneath. As he discards the first shirt and takes off -</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> ANOTHER PART OF THE TRAIL</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln waits in hiding as several red team cadets pass. Then, he jogs several yards down the trail, veers off past a tree and out of bounds.</div> <bR> <div> ON THE TREE</div> <bR> <div> A splash of light hits it. K.D. fires again, missing in her fury. She races after Lincoln.</div> <bR> <div> ANOTHER PART OF THE TRAIL</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln, too damned amused for his own good, bursts into low brush, running smack into the red team cadets he avoided only moments earlier. He turns on his heels, to see K.D. rapidly approaching. With a burst of laughter, he takes off recklessly in the direction of --</div> <bR> <div> EXT. FIRING RANGE - DAY</div> <bR> <div> Cadets, in combat stance, wearing sound muffling headsets, empty ROUND after ROUND of live ammunition into MOVING TARGETS: silhouetted figures that run, turn and pivot.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <bR> <div> throws a look over his shoulder at a furious K.D., still on his heels. He sends her an “I dare you look” and -</div> <bR> <div> --recklessly darts across the firing range. Refusing to be outdone by him, an equally reckless K.D. follows, both ducking and dodging LIVE FIRE, running parallel to the moving targets.</div> <bR> <div> CADETS - THEIR POV</div> <bR> <div> Still firing, they do a quick double -take as Lincoln and K.D. appear in-between the </div> <div> silhouetted targets.</div> <bR> <div> GUNNERY SERGEANT (V.O.)</div> <div> Cease-fire! Cease-fire!</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN AND K.D.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. pursues Lincoln, firing as she goes, hotfooting it up the far hill to -</div> <bR> <div> THE FINISH LINE</div> <bR> <div> INSTRUCTOR MAYHEW  is there with two squads of orange-shirted cadets - BLUE arm bands on one side, RED arm bands on the other. These are the “dead.”</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln breezes across the line, barely sketching a salute to the grin-faced Mayhew.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. cranks a hard left back into bounds, “innocently” racing up to the finish line along the yellow flag-marked path, crisply saluting the Instructor who hasn't seen her chat. She tosses a look at Lincoln, then pulls his discarded orange shirt from her pocket and hands it to Mayhew who reads the label in the shirt collar.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEANT MAYHEW</div> <div> (re: the shirt)</div> <div> Cadet Pankow. You lose something beside this game?</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln looks from Mayhew to K.D.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Thank you, Sir, I've been looking for that shirt for a week.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. shakes her head, her eyes losing their anger in favor of an amused inner rumination.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEANT MAYHEW</div> <div> (to K.D.)</div> <div> Keep chasing him, Hackett, and one day, you won't make it across the firing line.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Yes, Sir.</div> <bR> <div> As Mayhew turns back to the other cadets streaming across the finish line, K.D. and Lincoln share a surprising, co-conspiratorial grin. These two play their own game by their own rules. Off their look -</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> EXT. U.S. MILITARY ACADEMY, ADMINISTRATION BUILDING - DAY</div> <bR> <div> An heroically sculped American Eagle perches over the broad age-scared doorway, its wings spread over the words: DUTY, HONOR, COUNTRY.</div> <bR> <div> INT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING - MAIN HALL -DAY</div> <bR> <div> Suddenly, the lobby doors burst open and every cadet in the graduating class, in cadet gray, jogs and jostles their way down the long sunlit corridor lined with portraits of America's greatest soldiers…Grant, Eisenhower, Lee, Patton…over to a -</div> <bR> <div> BULLETIN BOARD</div> <bR> <div> where an N.D. MAJOR has just posted the final class rankings. An anxious cadets crowd around -</div> <bR> <div> Amid the chaos and paranoia, we FIND K.D. and Lincoln, cool as cucumbers, strolling, bringing up the rear.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> There go the bearers of the crucible of all that is good in America.</div> <div> (to a passing Cadet)</div> <div> Read `em and weep, Hochberg.</div> <bR> <div> The Cadet throws Lincoln a terrified look, then continues to team toward the bulletin board.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Like being number one in the class will make him a general.</div> <div> (smiles to K.D.)</div> <div> General Hackett, Sir.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> You're a fraud, Pankow.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> 2.0 and go.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. and Lincoln arrive at the bulletin board, muscling their way to the front.</div> <bR> <div> THEIR POV     </div> <bR> <div> As Lincoln points to their names on the class list. K.D. is number one in the graduating class.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Hackett, Katherine D. No surprises there…Pankow, Lincoln.</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln's finger drifts up several lines from the bottom.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> 431 out of 434. I guess it was that “B” I got in English Lit.</div> <div> (to K.D.)</div> <div> Think there's still time for me to hack into the computer and lower my grade?</div> <bR> <div> K.D. shakes her head, an N.D. PLEBE rushes up.</div> <bR> <div> N.D. PLEBE</div> <div> Cadet Hackett, General Starling wants to see you in his office on the double.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> On my way.</div> <bR> <div> The N.D. Plebe exits. K.D. pondering the implications, looks at Lincoln.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I want that Washington posting so bad I can taste it.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> (a la Knute Rockne)</div> <div> Show him you got iron in your soul, Hackett.</div> <bR> <div> He fixes K.D. with a confidence-building grin. She exits down the hallway to -</div> <bR> <div> INT. ANOTHER HALLWAY - DAY</div> <bR> <div> TRACK with K.D. to a doorway at the end of the hall.</div> <bR> <div> A SIGN</div> <bR> <div> on the smoked glass door reads: GENERAL WILLIAM S. STARLING, COMMANDER UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <bR> <div> takes a deep breath and steps inside -</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING (O.S.)</div> <div> Cadet Hackett. Good morning.</div> <bR> <div> INT. GENERAL STARLING'S OFFICE - DAY</div> <bR> <div> A classic example of old-fashioned Army spit, polish and tradition. GENERAL WILD BILL STARLING, 51, perches casually on the corner of his desk, with an open folder in his hand. K.D. salutes and stands at attention.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Good morning, General Starling.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> At ease, Hackett. Take a seat.</div> <bR> <div> She sits.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> On the basis of your record, I've recommended you for a staff position with the Joint Chiefs.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. reacts, proudly delighted.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Thank you, Sir.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> But something's come up, and I've got a problem.</div> <div> (off her look)</div> <div> The Domestic Defense Agency has lost four Knight Riders in the last six months.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Yes, Sir. I heard about Woodyard in California.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> He was a good man. Top of his class…The Knight Riders wouldn't be looking at such a high casualty rate, if they ran by the book. </div> <div> (beat)</div> <div> They need a replacement. They want you.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. is stunned into silence. This is more than she could have ever hoped for.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> I'm not here to make your decision for you. But frankly, there's no telling how far you can go in Washington.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I've been trained to serve my country, Sir -</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> (delighted)</div> <div> Wonderful. The Joint Chiefs want a face-to-face at the end of the week.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I can make a bigger difference as a Knight Rider, Sir.</div> <bR> <div> General Starling's smile freezes then fades.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> We're in a war, Hackett. With international crime. The armistice will be negotiated in Washington, not on the streets. One man can't make a difference.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (stubborn dedication)</div> <div> But maybe one woman can.</div> <bR> <div> A defeated Starling recognizes his Waterloo.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> It's your career. You leave for California in the morning.</div> <div> (off her look)</div> <div> Is that a problem?</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> It could be, Sir. I'd like to take Cadet Pankow along with me.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> As what?</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> My computer tech.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> Cadet Pankow's facility with the computer sciences is totally outweighed by his lack of military discipline. Request denied.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Request permission to contact Knight Rider Command directly, Sir.</div> <div> (off his look)</div> <div> It's my car. My technician. My call, Sir.</div> <bR> <div> General Starling can't help but think this gal's got balls.</div> <bR> <div> GENERAL STARLING</div> <div> Okay. I'll put in a call to Brady right now. But when he asks about Pankow, don't expect me to pull any punches.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. nods. General Starling keys in a code on his -</div> <bR> <div> DESKTOP VIDEO PHONE</div> <bR> <div> SOUND of AUTOMATIC DIALING over PICTURE. Several moments, then the image of DANIEL BRADY, seated behind a desk, pops up on the display screen. In his late forties, Brady's face is a road map of too many wrong turns. Part man, part legend, he took Wilton Knight's dream and made it a reality.</div> <bR> <div> This is the man who made the Knight Riders.</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> EXT. ADMINISTRATION BUILDING - GRASS QUAD - DAY</div> <bR> <div> K.D. steams across the quad, her neutral expression betraying no hint of the outcome of her phone conversation.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <bR> <div> moves in on her from behind a tree, flashing her a breezy smile -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> When do we leave for Washington?</div> <bR> <div> Their eyes meet. The best K.D. can manage is an innocent “plans have changed” shrug. Lincoln stops cold. Off his clear look of disappointment and betrayal-</div> <bR> <div> DISSOLVE TO:</div> <bR> <div> INT. WEST POINT, DORM ROOM - COMMON - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> We hear K.D. ad-lib goodnights and farewells to unseen cadets in the hallway, then the door is opened, flooding the room with a sliver of light. K.D., dressed in civvies for a night on the town, enters, closing the door behind her.</div> <bR> <div> She throws a glance at Lincoln's closed door, then steps over a G.I. duffle bag - her name, rank and serial number stenciled on the side - skirts a footlocker also bearing her name and crosses over to a modular computer terminal and display.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (softly)</div> <div> Power up.</div> <bR> <div> Instantly, the computer responds with a soft hum, the display with a soft light. K.D. casually tosses her jacket on top of her duffle. She disappears into her adjoining bedroom for a moment, then reappears with a red computer diskette in hand.</div> <bR> <div> She sits down at the computer and starts to upload the data from the disk into the computer. She keys in several codes and -</div> <bR> <div> HER POV - DISPLAY</div> <bR> <div> Dual images of K.D. pop up - a photographic image of her face, eyes closed, on one-half of the screen <U>and</U> a computer generated image of her face, eyes also closed, on the other half.</div> <bR> <div> Multicolored bars of data too small and moving too rapidly to discern, stream from the photographic image to the computer-generated image.</div> <bR> <div> Her fingers fly over the keyboard. Her POV ZOOMS IN, CLICKING DOWN to the streams of data running between the two faces, now playing out frame-by-frame in multiple strips running in a blur from left-to-right like images on a contact sheet.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <bR> <div> Her look, a mixture of anger and disappointment, drifts over to Lincoln's door -</div> <bR> <div> INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> Bare chested in camo patterned boxer shorts, hands behind his bead, Lincoln stares a hole in the ceiling. His eyes drift toward the door and -</div> <bR> <div> INT. DORM ROOM, COMMON - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> K.D. selectively erases certain of the blurring strips with a wireless mouse. Halfway down the third screen, she stops -</div> <bR> <div> HER POV - DISPLAY</div> <bR> <div> An IMAGE from her dreams and fantasies: a pattern of light and shadow crosses K.D. as she reaches out and grabs Lincoln's hand, drawing him to her, face-to-face. Their lips melt together, her eyes open, his tightly closed. Suddenly, with complete abandon, they tumble backwards onto a bed -</div> <bR> <div> INT. LINCOLN'S BEDROOM - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln rises to sit on edge of his bed. He's struggling with his feelings of betrayal and disappointment, and his genuine affection for K.D. He hangs his head.</div> <bR> <div> INT. COMMON - NIGHT</div> <bR> <div> K.D. continues to erase the images of her and Lincoln. Before she's finished, Lincoln's door swings open.</div> <bR> <div> She quickly saves and exits the program, dropping the poker sized red diskette into a plastic disk file containing multiple red diskettes. The dual images remain on the screen, as -</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln, studiously avoiding her eyes, crosses over to a mini-refrigerator. He grabs a glass off the top and inserts it into a recess in the enamel surface.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> (to the fridge)</div> <div> Mega Cola. Double caffeine.</div> <bR> <div> Cola pours into the glass. He starts back toward his room -</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I was thinking -</div> <bR> <div> He stops.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> -- about our AI project.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> (interrupting)</div> <div> I always said it'd be easier to cram the computer's personality into your brain than your personality into the computer. I'm going to look for a new subject with some emotions.</div> <bR> <div> He picks up the disk file and tosses it to her.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (grabbing it, but not taking his bait)</div> <div> You'd let four years of hard work go down the drain?</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> You're the one who's bugging out.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. stands, trying to bury her rising anger.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Balls in your court, Pankow. Don't break up the team.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Build your own damn car.</div> <bR> <div> An angry Lincoln storms back toward his room.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I can't do it alone.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.'s admission brings Lincoln to a cold stop. A long moment of silence passes before he turns back to face her.</div> <bR> <div> Their eyes meet.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> I was selfish. I'm sorry. It's just…when Starling told me the Knight Riders wanted me, I was suddenly less concerned about your welfare than mine.</div> <div> (beat)</div> <div> Lincoln, I cleared you through channels. Come with me. We'll build the car. We'll finish the AI project -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> (pseudo-mocking)</div> <div> Is it true California's expecting the “Big One” in 2011?</div> <bR> <div> She glares at him, forcing him to consider her attempt at genuine honesty and human emotion. He wants more.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Is that your best offer?</div> <bR> <div> K.D. nods, affirmatively. He runs a hand through his hair, weighing his options. Finally -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> You've got yourself a deal.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (brightening)</div> <div> Great. I knew you'd come around.</div> <div> (off his look)</div> <div> I'm going to turn in. I'll see you in the morning?</div> <bR> <div> It's Lincoln's turn to nod. K.D. flashes him a smile, then disappears into her bedroom. Lincoln slumps into the desk chair. A beat. Lincoln reaches out his hand to --</div> <bR> <div> K.D.'S IMAGE ON THE DISPLAY SCREEN</div> <bR> <div> He touches the cold glass, trying to touch K.D. HOLD a beat, then -</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> EXT. LOS ANGELES - NIGHT -ESTABLISHING</div> <bR> <div> City of Angels. City of Light. City of Darkness. A dark but peaceful city street suddenly explodes with light and terror. Blazing GUNFIRE from a white ghost van, excaping from a pursuing police car, cuts down innocent bystanders.</div> <bR> <div> Los Angeles, 2010</div> <bR> <div> CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> CLOSE - A BLACK RUBBER TIRE</div> <bR> <div> rotating. CAMERA WIDENS SLOWLY TO INCLUDE the spokes of the wheel, the polished metal a machined spider web…</div> <bR> <div> The oiled rods, pistons and gears moving in a synchronized ballet of motion. We HEAR a whiskey and cigarette ruined VOICE -</div> <bR> <div> BRADY (V.O.)</div> <div> Everything you've ever heard about the Knight Rider's is a lot of crap.</div> <bR> <div> CAMERA CONTINUES TO WIDEN TO -</div> <bR> <div> INT. KNIGHT RIDER COMMAND, SOUTHWEST - MOTOR POOL - DAY</div> <bR> <div> and a high-tech wheel chair, occupied by</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> Except the parts about me -</div> <bR> <div> The sun streams in through open doors hazily lighting this cross between a Mercedes Benz Service Department and a hangar at LAX. K.D. and Lincoln follow Brady in his wheelchair, around the skeletal chassis of the K.I.T.T. 2100, sitting on a platform in the middle of the garage.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> I am the meanest sonofabitch you'll ever meet.</div> <bR> <div> With a gentle touch totally at odds with his words and manner, Brady runs a calloused hand along the tubular steel frame.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> I know why you're here, Hackett. You want to make a difference. Forget it.</div> <bR> <div> K.D. buries her reaction as Lincoln smirks.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> Fifty-eight Knight Riders against an army of criminals can't do squat.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> So what's the point?</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> Uncorruptable honor in a otherwise corrupt world. Any other questions?</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> What kind of mileage do you get in that chair?</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> (ignoring; to K.D.)</div> <div> The only partner a Knight Rider has is his car.</div> <div> (musing)</div> <div> Most people take their cars for granted. That's a mistake. The automobile changed the world more than any war. Take the Model T. It changed the economic base of this country. Caused a moral revolution. It's the single most important technology in the history of mankind - more than the atomic bomb, more than computers.</div> <bR> <div> Lincoln reacts, not buying it.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> And the greatest car ever built - you're looking at it - the Knight 2100. The day I find a Knight Rider whose as good as this car, that's the day I hang it all up.</div> <div> (beat)</div> <div> Woodyard came close.</div> <div> That's why you're going to hit the ground running and not stop `til you find those bastards who killed him.</div> <bR> <div> Brady, with a gentle gesture completely at odds with his tone, runs his hand across the raw metal of the chassis.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> (to K.D.)</div> <div> You can do anything you want with the outside of this car…</div> <div> (to Lincoln)</div> <div> But nobody screws with the perfection within.</div> <bR> <div> He turns toward the door to leave, gesturing at a desk mounted computer -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> You mean I can't modify the Knight Microprocessor?</div> <bR> <div> This is the first time Brady turns directly to Lincoln and talks to him.</div> <bR> <div> BRADY</div> <div> If you rewire one circuit, I'll have you charged with treason. And when they go to hang you, I'll kick the stool out from under your feet. Understood.</div> <bR> <div> Without waiting for a response, Brady rolls out of the room. As Lincoln watches him go:</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> (good natured criticism)</div> <div> You make a terrific first impression.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> It's a gift.</div> <div> (beat)</div> <div> Besides, what does he know about state-of-the-art computer technology? Wilton Knight designed this car.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> While you were sucking your thumb, Daniel Brady created the Domestic Defense Agency -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> (cutting her off)</div> <div> and put a Knight rider on the road in every state. I know. But now he's an old man with old ideas…Given the chance, I could make this horse and buggy the Model T of the 21<FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Arial" >st</FONT> Century.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> That's not why you're here.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> I'm here to build your car.</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Don't make me pull rank.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Go ahead. I can take it.</div> <bR> <div> A long silent moment passes between them. Finally K.D. smiles at Lincoln -</div> <bR> <div> K.D.</div> <div> Ok, I'm the Knight Rider. Brady's my superior. And you're here to follow orders. You happy?</div> <bR> <div> He stares at her, still angry.</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Thanks for putting our relationship in perspective.</div> <bR> <div> He crosses over to a work station. Without looking at her -</div> <bR> <div> LINCOLN</div> <div> Let's get this car built so you can get on with your career and I can get on with my life.</div> <bR> <div> She shakes her head, there's no winning with the guy. And off her look --</div> <bR> <div> CLOSE ON -  ILYA DUBROVNA</div> <bR> <div> son of Mikhail and Anna Dubrovna, machinist and homemakers, respectively; born in Kiev in 1968; emigrated to the United States, the land of unlimited opportunity and fabulous wealth.</div> <bR> <div> In the twenty plus years he has been in this country, Ilya has recast himself in a new pattern of red, white and blue. He is a Russian Arnold Swartzenegger. INTO CAMERA --</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                All the heroes I grew up with were Americans...real men with a                     smoldering cigarette dangling from the corner of their mouths.</div> <bR> <div> WIDEN TO INCLUDE --</div> <bR> <div> INT. WAREHOUSE - SOMEWHERE NEAR LOS ANGELES - DAY</div> <bR> <div> stacked with dwindling supplies of illegal cigarettes. SERGEI SEVERIN strolls alongside Ilya.</div> <bR> <div> In his early fifties and outfitted in head-to-toe Euro-trash, Sergei is a diplomatic Consoul of the little known Eastern European Republic of Carpasia.</div> <bR> <div> A cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                Bogart. Cagney. Mitchum. Lancaster. They stepped into my life                     through a smoky haze.</div> <bR> <div> Sergei stares at him in cold silence. Ilya shrugs it off and walks through the stacks of cardboard boxes stenciled with cigarette brand names.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                As a kid in Kiev, I imitated them. The way they helda cigarette -                     how they blew the smoke. I consummated my every night of                     romance with a shared cigarette.</div> <bR> <div> In the BG, at the loading dock, workers load the back of another ghostly white delivery van with stenciled cardboard boxes.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                If someone had told me then that smoking would be banned in the                     U.S. of A., I would have said it was a communist conspiracy.</div> <bR> <div> Ilya shakes his head, ruefully amused.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                Me? I quit before Prohibition. America got healthy. I got healthy.</div> <bR> <div> Ilya takes a heavy stiff off Sergei's cigarette smoke.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                Not a day goes by I don't crave one.</div> <bR> <div> Sergei offers him one. Ilya declines with a shake of the head.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                Prohibition or no prohibition...Knight Riders or no Knight                          Riders...People are still going to sin. It's human nature.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEI</div> <div>                I don't give a damn about sin or human nature. I'm here about the                     cigarettes.</div> <bR> <div> A worker drives by on a forklift truck. Sergei lowers his voice.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEI</div> <div>                You won't find a more potent, addictive tobacco than in my                     country.</div> <bR> <div> Sergei stops in front of a stack of cigarette cartons. He whips a pack from the pile and fires up another cigarette.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEI</div> <div>                Your warehouses are empty. The Knight Riders wiped out two of                     your vans outside of Reno last night, raided a smokeasy up in                     Marin.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                Don't threaten me with yesterday's news. When can I expect the                     next load?</div> <bR> <div> SERGEI</div> <div>                When we have guaranteed delivery of a Knight Rider car. And, of                     course, there's that other little matter we discussed.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                I'm working on it.</div> <bR> <div> SERGEI</div> <div>                Then, the shipment will be delayed. You know the workers in my                     country -- strike, strike, strike.</div> <bR> <div> ILYA</div> <div>                In my country, three strikes and you're out.</div> <bR> <div> Ilya flashes a gracious grin at the silenced Sergei who is momentarily without a comeback. Chastened, the diplomat turns on his heels and exits toward --</div> <bR> <div> EXT. LOADING DOCK -DAY</div> <bR> <div> Sergei strides elegntly past the White Van to a waiting limousine decked with the diplomatic plates and flag of Carpasia. As a Uniformed Chauffeur jumps out and opens the passenger door --</div> <bR> <div>                                              CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> MONTAGE: THE BUILDING OF THE CAR</div> <bR> <div> K.D. and Lincoln build a car -- a raw steel hi-tech vehicle with the rough-edges of ROAD WARRIOR and the endless surprises of a SWISS ARMY KNIFE.</div> <bR> <div> In fragmented images and wild POVS, the titanium frame is shredded, exposed and wrapped in cables of computer wire.</div> <bR> <div> Customized devices fit into every crack, crevice and cranny. The car's fuselage is packed with state-of-the-art weapons of every variety, welded into the frame and concealed within the segmented metal panels.</div> <bR> <div> Computers, mini-modemmed to huge on-board data banks, solar powered back-ups and Virtual Reality Simulators are all tucked into place in the car. The windshield becomes a holographic screen.</div> <bR> <div> This act of creation is a labor of love for both K.D. and Lincoln, played without dialogue and cut to MUSIC. The sequence should be both passionate and fun, futuristic and familiar, a circus of visual wonder. K.D. and Lincoln create a startling new and different K.I.T.T. -- the most incredible automobile ever built.</div> <bR> <div>                                              CUT TO:</div> <bR> <div> EXT. MOTOR POOL - DAY</div> <bR> <div> The car EXPLODES from the garage and disappears down a stretch of deserted blacktop in a streaking blur.</div> <bR> <div>                                              FADE OUT.</div> <bR> <div> <U>END OF ACT ONE</U></div> <div> <A HREF="id37.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Knight Rider Multimedia Downloads"><U><B>GO TO ACT 2</B></U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>