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[[A/N: This is SATIRE. I do NOT think this, and in fact find these opinions abhorrent - I am merely satirizing the kind of people who would actually hold views this ignorant]] Computers are bad!! i hate the computer!! i dont care for the rush of insertion in the USB hole. when i see PS/2 ports i dont softly say "brilliant" to myself - i spit and become angry. Ugh. dont talk to me about computers
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Mar 17, 2015 20:27
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| # ? May 15, 2024 07:18 |
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this but unironically
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Mar 17, 2015 20:28
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i have a girlfriend
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Mar 17, 2015 20:29
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computers: can't live with them, can't live without them!
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Mar 17, 2015 20:29
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in your case it's fatire, op.
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Mar 17, 2015 20:43
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wow i dont care for this kind of humor! not one bit!!
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Mar 17, 2015 21:21
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wow I thought you loved computer ..
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Mar 17, 2015 21:54
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this is triggering me
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Mar 17, 2015 22:02
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oh hey g0m's back
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Mar 17, 2015 22:25
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(with irony) i hate yospos,. and if there's one thing worse than a forum about computers, it's got to be computers themselves. the loving whriring sound they make for god knows why....the blinking lights - why are they blinking? why don't they slow down? i cant stand them.
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Mar 17, 2015 22:59
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computers real bad
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Mar 17, 2015 23:07
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umm,look there are some thing you just dont joke about. you might think your being "edgy" and "satire". these kinds of jokes normalize the idea that computers are in fact not good, but bad. just think about that
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Mar 17, 2015 23:20
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this, but ironically unironic
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Mar 18, 2015 00:02
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Widdiful posted:i have a girlfriend What is the man's name?
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Mar 18, 2015 00:04
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where do you still see ps/2 ports in 2015, op?
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Mar 18, 2015 00:56
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A Wheezy Steampunk posted:where do you still see ps/2 ports in 2015, op? This guy knows his poo poo
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Mar 18, 2015 01:12
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i hate the computer. the tactile feedback and reassuring 'clunk' when i put a floppy in its drive disgust me. the soft humming of the fans that tell you everything is all right is like nails on a chalkboard
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Mar 18, 2015 01:16
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Please don't gently caress the computer
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Mar 18, 2015 02:12
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edit: i understand now, he's joking. im calm
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Mar 18, 2015 07:02
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Widdiful posted:i have a girlfriend I've a wife and two cool little kids way better than a computer and contrary to what THC thinks are even better and provide more satisfaction and value to my life than an iPad Air 2
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Mar 18, 2015 07:06
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echinopsis posted:I've a wife and two cool little kids I hope you get stabbed to death by a homeless man
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Mar 18, 2015 07:10
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Larry Parrish posted:I hope you get stabbed to death by a homeless man homelessness affects women, too
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Mar 18, 2015 07:11
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Flat Daddy posted:homelessness affects women, too That's a myth
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Mar 18, 2015 07:12
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no they will not posted:[[A/N: This is SATIRE. I do NOT think this, and in fact find these opinions abhorrent - I am merely satirizing the kind of people who would actually hold views this ignorant]] Computers are bad!! i hate the computer!! i dont care for the rush of insertion in the USB hole. when i see PS/2 ports i dont softly say "brilliant" to myself - i spit and become angry. Ugh. dont talk to me about computers 
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Mar 18, 2015 08:41
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Knuc U Kinte posted:What is the man's name?
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Mar 18, 2015 09:19
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Quickly and repeatedly inserting and removing a USB drive, simulating sex with the computer, would possibly cause data loss, please be careful.
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Mar 18, 2015 10:00
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Knuc U Kinte posted:What is the man's name?
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Mar 18, 2015 15:25
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INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1 THE EYE 2 It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments surround the undulating center. The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers fluctuations of the iris. The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits on a table between two men. The man talking is big, looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool. The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all business, except for the sweat on his face. The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans whir above their heads. LEON Okay if I talk? Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on the machine. LEON I kinda get nervous when I take tests. HOLDEN Don't move. LEON Sorry. He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help a sheepish smile. LEON Already had I.Q. test this year -- but I don't think I never had a... HOLDEN (cutting in) Reaction time is a factor in this, so please pay attention. Answer quickly as you can. Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly. Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke response. HOLDEN You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you look down and see a... LEON What one? It was a timid interruption, hardly audible. HOLDEN What? LEON What desert? HOLDEN Doesn't make any difference what desert -- it's completely hypothetical. LEON But how come I'd be there? HOLDEN Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want to be by yourself -- who knows. So you look down and see a tortoise. It's crawling towards you... LEON A tortoise. What's that? HOLDEN Know what a turtle is? LEON Of course. HOLDEN Same thing. LEON I never seen a turtle. He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin. LEON But I understand what you mean. HOLDEN You reach down and flip the tortoise over on its back, Leon. Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers slightly. LEON You make these questions, Mr. Holden, or they write 'em down for you? Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking up the pace. HOLDEN The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not without your help. But you're not helping. Leon's upper lip is quivering. LEON Whatcha mean, I'm not helping? HOLDEN I mean you're not helping! Why is that, Leon? Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach. Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction, FIRES at the machine on the table. There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins to blink, faint but steady. EXT. DESERT - NIGHT 3 The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe the end, of the beginning of a day. The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400 miles an hour. INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 4 No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long, insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed lighting, coloured to soothe,and empty, except for the passenger half way down. His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but the face has seen some time -- not all of it good. INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT 5 Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat. INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 6 Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans closer and peers through the glass. Out there in the black a sign flashes past: SAN ANGELES, THREE MINUTES. EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT 7 The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with- out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the sweltering night. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 8 Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow passage under orbs of yellow light. EXT. TERMINAL - NIGHT 9 Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ig- nition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool things off. DECKARD (V.O.) It was 97 degrees in the city and no hope of improvement. Not bad if you're a lizard. But two hours earlier I was drinking Acquavit with an Eskimo lady in North East Alaska. That's a tough change to make. It was so good, I didn't want to leave, so I left a day early. A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes- sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio. DECKARD Contact. This is Blade Runner One calling Com-fast 27. The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female voice that answers. VOICE Blade Runner One, stand by please. A pause. Followed by a husky male voice. VOICE Deckard. DECKARD Yah, Gaff. GAFF (VOICE) Where the hell you been? DECKARD You know where I been. I been on vacation. GAFF Next time you go on vacation, do me a favor, let us know where it is. DECKARD What's up? GAFF Holden got hit. There is a pause. That was bad news. DECKARD Bad? GAFF Severed spine. You'd better get in here. Bryant's waiting for you. DECKARD I'll see you in a minute. The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot. INT. THE HALL OF JUSTICE - NIGHT 10 An enormous grey vault of a building. A businesslike Deckard strides down a long corridor with his brief- case and police ID pinned to his coat. DECKARD (V.O.) I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6, The Tyrell Corporation's new pride and joy. Holden was administering the Voight-Kampff test when one nailed him. The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks through. DECKARD (V.O.) The Nexus-6 must be fast because Holden was as quick as they come. The report said there were six of them. Three males and three female. Led by a combat model called Roy Batty. INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE - NIGHT 11 The INSPECTOR is in his fifties. The deep creases in his face, the broken capillaries in his nose say brawler, spoiler, drinker, but the diplomas on the wall say something else. Bryant's kneeled at his safe trying to open it. Deckard it sitting on the edge of the desk reading the print-out. DECKARD (V.O.) They escaped from the colonies two weeks ago. Killed twenty- three people and jumped a shuttle. An aerial patrol found the ship in the desert. No crew. Bryant gets the safe open and brings out a bottle of whiskey. DECKARD (V.O.) Bryant's got a liver problem. A couple years back he handed me a bottle and said have a drink for another man. I been drinking for him ever since. Deckard sets down the report and takes the shot Bryant just poured for him. DECKARD Six, huh? BRYANT Five. Three nights ago one of them managed to break into the Tyrell Corporation. Killed two guards and got as far as the Genetic Sector before he got fried going through an electro- field. DECKARD What was he after? BRYANT There wasn't much left of him, so we can't be sure. But bio- chemical data and morphology records of the Nexus-6 were reported missing. Going on the possibility they might try to infiltrate we send Holden in to run Voight-Kampff tests on the new employees. Guess he found himself one. A grim pause. DECKARD You got a machine on it yet? BRYANT We're using Esper -- a 231 -- that picked up Holden's alarm. Its guess is that all five are in the city. DECKARD Where do we start? Bryant's back at the safe locking up his bottle. BRYANT The Tyrell Corporation has a demo model. Check it out on the Voight-Kampff. There's a chance the Nexus-6 is beyond out ability to detect. If that's the case, everybody's up poo poo creek. DECKARD What was the cover on the one that got Holden? BRYANT Industrial refuse. DECKARD Garbage man? Bryant nods. DECKARD Did personnel have an address on him? Bryant fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket, copies down a number and hands it over. DECKARD I'll go take a look. Deckard stands and holds up his drink. DECKARD Thanks. Like a sick boy looking out of the window, Bryant watches Deckard down the whiskey. Deckard puts down the glass and turns to leave. DECKARD (V.O.) The big incentive to emigrate was still free labor. If the public found out that their door-prizes might kill them, they might not be so hot to go up there. This was one of the worst one's we had and Bryant was worried. He wanted to tell me to be discrete or something. But I didn't give him a chance. EXT. LEON'S HOTEL ENTRANCE - NIGHT 12 An electrical storm is brewing. Deckard stands out- side the entrance to an old hotel holding an umbrella, as people scuttle into doorways to avoid the sudden downpour. INT. LEON'S HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT 13 A heavy metal maze of cubicles and perilous iron balconies, peopled with rejects from the surface world; Mato Grosso Indians in white man's clothes and other lower echelon welfare recipients. Drop city is crowded, cramped and darkly alive. Deckard steps out of an elevator and moves through the crowd. A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating as two old men, clad in towels descend a flight of stairs under a neon sign that says bath house. A musty subterranean wind ripples Deckard's clothes as he turns into an alcove. He stops in front of a door that says, MANAGER and pushes the buzzer. It's opened by an emphysema victim with an oxygen tank lashed to his hip. Deckard flashes his ID and speaks some words which are inaudible due to the TUBA MUSIC down the hall. The man grabs a key from his wall, hands it over and shuts the door. INT. LEON'S HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT 14 The companion ways below deck of a big ship are no more bewildering than the ups and downs and ins and outs of this establishment. But Deckard finds the door he's looking for. He pauses a moment, listens, then knocks. He inserts the key and with a hand on his gun opens it. INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 15 An empty room. A cot and not much else. He steps in and stands quiet as a hunter sensing the signs. For a place surrounded by greasy hovels it is surprisingly clean. Spartan in fact. The towel by the spotless basin is perfectly folded. Deckard runs two fingers over a shelf. No dust. He looks in the waste basket. Wadded up candy wrappers. The bed by the window is neatly made. Deckard looks under it, then runs his hands along both sides of the mattress. The closet. There's one suit in it. He pats it down. Nothing. A show box on the floor. He stoops, takes out what looks like a pen from his pocket and care- fully traces it over the box. Assured of its harm- lessness, he lifts off the lid. It contains a little stack of photos bound with a rubber band. Deckard removes them, goes to the lamp by the balcony window and turns it on. A touching collection of family snapshots. The kind of anonymous stuff sold by the bunch in dusty junk shops. The family dog. Junior on the pony squinting in the sun. Uncle Ben clowning with the kids. The faded polaroid of Christmas morning. Simple pictures of simple folks celebrating the family bond. A curious collection for the likes of Leon and Deckard studies them with interest. EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 16 Oblivious to the cloudburst, a blue-eyed albino stands in the doorway, peddling candy and artificial flowers looking like he'd never been touched by the light of day. Leon is standing behind him, staring up at his room, watching Deckard at the window. He's still wearing his coveralls, but he looks different. His face is more intent, smarter and angry. EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 17 For one seething moment it looks like Leon might mash something, but suddenly he swings away and disappears into the crowd. INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 18 Deckard pockets the pictures and moves away from the window. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 19 Leon's got a neck like a fire hydrant and legs to match, but he's a graceful runner. Looks like he could do it for days. And he could. He's put a lot of alley behind him and he's not out of breath. EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT 20 Slowing down he cuts into an opening and comes out onto a narrow street. The Asian Quarter. INT. CHOP SUEY HOUSE - NIGHT 21 A seamy as well as steamy little place. Counter and small tables. Old slant-eyed enders humped over their fuming bowls jabbering and slurping. The only voice coming out clear is from the big three- D TV on the back wall. As the mellow-mouthed TV announcer delivers the message, a Latin-looking beauty in a well-fitted maids uniform does a twirl, flashes a beguiling smile and glides OUT OF FRAME. ANNOUNCER'S VOICE Choose from a variety of seventy nine different personality types. Each and every one a loyal trouble- free companion given to you upon your arrival absolutely free... The Latin beauty is replaced by an impeccable Ray Bolger type gentleman's gentleman who clicks his heels, snaps to attention and struts off to make room for the next. ANNOUNCER'S VOICE To use as personal body servant to tireless field hand -- the custom tailored humanoid robot, designed especially for your needs. The Chinese are paying no attention, but the man and the woman seated at the table by the window are. The woman is pretty, a touch of gray in her hair, kind and blue-eyed. MARY looks like an American dream mom, right out of "Father Knows Best." The man also resembles a tradition: the gym instructor, short cropped hair with the body of a drill sergeant, but the eyes are grey and chilling. ROY BATTY is a presence of force with a lazy, but acute sense of what goes on around him. Leon has just come through the door behind them. Try- ing not to be the bull in a china shop, he approaches their table and kneels . Batty doesn't bother to look at him, which amplifies the note of sarcasm in his quiet voice. BATTY Did you get your precious 'things'? LEON Somebody was already there. BATTY Police. LEON Just a man. BATTY Police man. Leon looks sullen. BATTY Why don't you have a seat. There's one next to him. Leon pulls it over and sits. BATTY Enjoy the view. From the pot on the table, Mary pours tea and they sit so quiet and still in this noisy place that they seem almost invisible. The view they're "enjoying" is through the window. Outside the neon side in the win- dow directly across the street says: HANNIBAL CHEW, MEMBERS. INT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S SHOP - NIGHT 22 Chew is a spindly old man of precision, his veiled eyes are shrewd and Chinese, but the rest of him looks like a Charles Dickens invention. He's got a jewelers' glass stuck in his eye, lurched over a lamp, squinting at something in his hand. After a moment his lips peal back into a sour, belligerent smile. CHEW Well, you're right. This little honey has a couple of defective cones. He snaps off the lamp and swings round to face his client. SEBASTIAN'S face is almost young, but something has gone too far, too fast. Premature old age has made his bones brittle and his co-ordination slow. The house may be dark but there's a light on in it. Se- bastian is a closet genius. CHEW You're a regular perfectionist, Sebastian. Sebastian's apologetic, especially around the acerbic Mr. Chew. SEBASTIAN It's gotta be right for my customer. CHEW Your customer, eh? Chew snickers and beckons. Sebastian follows his down a high narrow hall to a heavy insulated door. There's a moth-eaten full length fur coat hanging by it. Chew tugs it on and they go through. The big door slams shut behind them. INT. COLD STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT 23 Except for the work table with its sharp gleaming in- struments, the room is as barren and sterile as a morgue. The glass-doored compartments in the walls look like crypts. Some of them small as post office boxes. From one of the Chew removes a vacuum, packed box. Carefully separating the seal, he reaches into the purple jell and with a pair of tweezers extracts an eye. Through the jeweler's glass, which he has not bothered to remove, Chew holds the eye up to the light and studies it a moment. His other hand searches through his pockets. CHEW You got a pocket-charger, boy? Quick to accommodate, Sebastian removes a pencil-like device from a row of such things in his breast pocket and steps closer. The back of the eye is touched with the pencil and the pupil moves. Suddenly its staring back at them. CHEW Is that good enough for your customer? Anxious to leave, Sebastian nods. Chew reseals the eye taking his time. He can afford to, he's wearing his coat. CHEW How much is he paying you? In place of an answer, Sebastian clears his throat, stares at the bag like he didn't hear. CHEW Well, when do you get paid? SEBASTIAN Soon as I finish the job. CHEW When might that be? SEBASTIAN Day after tomorrow. CHEW Oh! Day after tomorrow. Sebastian nods. Chew stares at the poor bastard, con- cerned in spite of himself. CHEW The rich hate to pay, Sebastian. A guy like Tyrell keeps you waiting. Pay the little guy last. You should charge twice as much. It'll make him feel better. Sebastian nods his head like that's exactly what he'll do. Chew sees it's hopeless and hands him the bag. SEBASTIAN Thanks, Mr. Chew. Chew pulls the door open for him and Sebastian goes through quick as a dog. EXT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S STORE - STREET - NIGHT 24 Sebastian may lack co-ordination but he got what he came for and there's a hopeful spring to his walk as he heads for his truck. INT. SEBASTIAN'S AMBULANCE - NIGHT 25 It's an old panel job with ambulance siren and lights. The lettering on the side reads "J.R. SEBASTIAN - ANIMOID EXPRESS." Sebastian gets in, starts up the engine and suddenly realizes he's not alone. It's a jolt that causes him to yelp. PRIS is sprawled on the seat next to him, and wakes up with a yelp of her own. They stare at one another for a startled instant, and she jumps out and starts walk- ing. But she's forgotten her little beat-up overnight case. Sebastian puts the truck in gear, drives next to her and opens the door. SEBASTIAN Hey! You forgot your... He holds up the bag. Hesitantly she reaches for it. SEBASTIAN How come you were in my truck? PRIS I was tired and didn't have any place to go. She stares at him, hand on her case, looking lost. Sebastian isn't good at this, but he tries. SEBASTIAN You can get back in if you want... She can't make up her mind. SEBASTIAN Don't worry, I won't hurt you. She gets in. Both of them are silent. People are not Sebastian's medium -- usually he's too shy, but this girl is shyer still, plus they're about the same age -- it gives him courage. SEBASTIAN What's your name? PRIS Pris. SEBASTIAN Mine's J.F. Sebastian. PRIS Hi. So pleased with the way that went, he forgets for a while what comes next. SEBASTIAN Oh! Where do you want to go? She shrugs. That leaves him a lot of responsibility. He throws her side-long glances, but she's not helping. SEBASTIAN You want to go home? PRIS I don't have one. SEBASTIAN Oh. What do you do with a teenage beauty who looks like she's lost out of some "Welcome to Sunny Arizona" poster? SEBASTIAN Where are your folks? PRIS They left. SEBASTIAN What about friends? PRIS I have some, but I have to find out where they are staying. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the dash. Her body would win prizes, from any angle. SEBASTIAN Well, where should I take you? She looks at him,a shadow of enticement in her clear blue eyes. PRIS We scared each other pretty good didn't we? SEBASTIAN We sure did. She giggles and laughs. PRIS I'm hungry, J.F. SEBASTIAN I've got stuff. If you wanna go to my place? PRIS I was hoping you'd say that. Sebastian's face is normally on the grey side, but it just turned red. He turns on the ignition and they pull away from the curb. INT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 26 Speeding along the freeway. The terminal in the com- munications console lit. Deckard's right hand just finished a punch-up. The screen flashes back. REQUEST Deckard punches up. Letters flash across the screen: ESPER Screen flashes back: CLEARANCE Deckard punches up. BLADE RUNNER ONE CODE ML-33 Pause. Screen flashes: STAND BY. Deckard's voice has been heard over the preceding. DECKARD (V.O.) Machines can be helpful sometimes, but they can also be a pain in the rear end. Ask for a trace on a forger and you might wind up at a steel- mill. I don't mind a bum-steer once in a while -- it's their personalities that usually get me. Somebody once said that man makes machines in his own image. If that's true, whoever made Esper should have been shot. ESPER This is Esper and I'm ready. Go ahead please. Esper's deep melodious voice is anxious to please, and oiled with a touch of self-pity. DECKARD You equipped for random questions? ESPER Why, yes, of course. DECKARD You start. ESPER The five in question are third generation Nexus Sixes, constructed of skin-flesh culture, selected enogenic transfer conversion capable of self-perpetuating thought, para-physical abilities and developed for emigration program. Are you with me? DECKARD How do I stop one? ESPER Unlike a five, they can sustain massive traumas to several parts of the body without debilitating another. Sever a leg and it will perform quicker on the remaining leg than the fastest man can run, DECKARD Okay, but... ESPER I'm coming to that. Vulnerable zone is the base of the skull, the occipital bone. A direct hit is a positive retirement. The communication is interrupted by a BELL which is immediately followed by a stern, MECHANICAL VOICE. VOICE You are in violation of traffic ordinance M-139 statutory freeway limit restricted by one-hundred and eighty kilometers. In his rear view mirror Deckard sees two black-clad motorcycle cops coming up behind him like the hounds of hell. They draw silently alongside. Deckard presses his I.D. to the window. The cop tosses a salute to Deckard and he and his partner accelerate, vanish in the night. And Deckard's car does too. EXT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT 27 A district of silence and ruin. The street is strewn with refuse. The building looks vacant. A ten storey condo gone to poo poo. The vandals have come and gone long ago. Sebastian's little white ambulance parked at the curb. MR. DEETCHUM, the old Watchman, sitting in the building entry in a straight backed chair, is reading a comic book. INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 28 Well stocked with items of survival, all labeled and stacked. And shelved along the walls and hung from the ceiling is a menagerie of animoids. Like so many broken toys awaiting resurrection from Sebastian's wise hands. Sebastian is seated at a large work-table, bent over a stereo scope. The tool in his right hand is a sensor probe and he's using it with the delicacy of an en- graver. The object of his concentration is a maze-like chip configuration no bigger than a thumbnail, but magnified under the scope, it looks like an aerial view of a large city. The needle-like sensor probe moves care- fully over the contours of the configuration, testing the bonds. Suddenly a blue flash erupts from one of the junctures. SEBASTIAN Oh! Pris is light on her feet. She's standing behind him with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand. PRIS Whatcha doin'? SEBASTIAN You scared me. But he's happy to see her. SEBASTIAN I'm working. She's changed her dress and made up her face. Looks a little older and sexier. SEBASTIAN You look... better. PRIS Just better. SEBASTIAN Beautiful. PRIS Thanks. He watches her as she prowls around the room, looking at this and that, eating her sandwich. PRIS And you live in this building all by yourself? SEBASTIAN Yeah, I live here pretty much alone right now... Trying to make light of it. SEBASTIAN No housing shortage around here... plenty of room for everybody. She sprawls on the couch studying him. PRIS How old are you? He can't meet her eyes. SEBASTIAN Twenty. PRIS What's your problem? It's not an easy subject. His voice is barely audible. SEBASTIAN Methuselah Syndrome. PRIS What's that? SEBASTIAN My glands. They grow old too fast. PRIS Is that why you're still here? SEBASTIAN Yes. I couldn't pass the test. There is a silence. He steals a glance at her. PRIS I like you just the way you are. Under the desk he bats his knees together. SEBASTIAN Ah, you get hold of your friends? PRIS As a matter of fact I did. They've got some work to do tonight, but they're gonna come tomorrow. SEBASTIAN Good. The implications catch up. SEBASTIAN I can sleep on the couch. A little gray mouse on the shelf above his head bobs up. MOUSE Don't let the bed bugs bite! Taking their cue from the mouse, some of the more talented animoids toot, flap and wheel about. INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 29 It's dark except for the glow of the terminal. A tired Deckard sits in front of it. Esper sounds like he's been talking for hours. ESPER Nexus designated Leon: incept date April 10th, 2015 -- to be used in military experiments to determine how hyper metabolism functions in deep space. Nexus designated Batty incept data April 10th, 2015, combat model, level of self-sufficiency, optimum. A long pause. ESPER Here's something you might find interesting. They have been built to emulate the human in every way except in its emotional spectrum. However, after a period of time it is only logical that such a 'mechanism' would create its own emotional responses, hate, love, fear, anger, envy. DECKARD I know all that. ESPER What about a summary then. DECKARD I think we're through for the night. Deckard starts to reach for the panel. ESPER Mr. Deckard. Hesitates. DECKARD Yes? ESPER Do you have something against science? DECKARD Not if it works. ESPER And what in your estimation works? DECKARD The umbrella. Deckard picks up the umbrella and with it stabs the terminal off button before Esper can respond and the machine goes dead. He sits there for a moment then flips on the lamp. Leon's snap-shots are spread out before him. INT. SPINNER - DAY 30 A police marked spinner makes a sharp bank, drops into a steep curve and slides towards the Tyrell Corporation. DECKARD (V.O.) Every government that could was racing to populate their colonial territory. But emigrants needed incentive. Over-population and the greenhouse factor didn't seem to be enough; but owning a human look-a-like had lots of appeal. It was big industry, the competition was stiff and Tyrell was top of the line. EXT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 31 The spinner gently touches down. The hatch drops open and Deckard steps out. DECKARD (V.O.) His claim to fame was making a product more human than human and sometimes the 'more' turned out to be a problem. This wasn't just an escaped andy who broke his owner's arm -- there were twenty-eight people dead and the pressure was on. INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 32 Deckard walks up to a desk, hands his I.D. to a guard who checks it against a list on a screen. DECKARD (V.O.) But so far they'd always managed to keep it quiet. Not to say that once in a while there wasn't bad publicity. Some fanatic bitching about equal rights for andies or an occasional trade union proclaiming it was aun-American for automatons to take jobs away from humans on the colony. The guard hands Deckard back his I.D., pushed a button and Deckard walks away. DECKARD (V.O.) But what's more American than good old supply and demand? The Government needed them, industry made them and the church backed them. The big religious boys said that Androids, no matter how human, were objects; only God could make people. I'm not religious, but I was inclined to agree. Otherwise I'd be out of a job. The elevator door slides open. The young lady inside would look right standing on a cliff, hair blowing in the wind, looking out to sea in a 19th Century painting. RACHAEL Hello, Mr. Deckard. My name is Rachael. Deckard tips his head to her and steps in. INT. TYRELL CORPORATION ELEVATOR - DAY 33 No woman can be all things to all men, the Rachael comes closer than most. The only trouble is she's all busi- ness. Formidable without really trying. Some beauty is better avoided and Deckard looks straight ahead. INT. TYRELL CORPORATION CORRIDOR - DAY 33A The door slides open and they continue down the corri- dor. RACHAEL It seems your department doesn't believe out new unit is to the public benefit. DECKARD A humanoid robot is like any other machine, it can be a benefit or a hazard. If it's a benefit, it's not our problem. RACHAEL But because your department can't do an adequate job in detecting the miniscule number at large, it's a problem. Correct, Mr. Deckard? INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - AIR-FILTERED CORRIDOR - DAY 33B They pass into a canopied, air-filtered corridor. Deckard doesn't answer the question because he's looking at the animals. Small northern animals in neat "en- vironmental" cages. He looks at the rabbit, the raccoon and the squirrel, but the owl asleep on its perch stops him. The armed guard at the exit never takes his eyes off them. RACHAEL You like our owl? Deckard nods. Rachael claps her hands. The owl opens its yellow eyes and blinks at them. DECKARD It's artificial? RACHAEL Of course not. Hands thrust in her pockets, she strides off towards the exit without looking back. The exit is another tube. Just big enough for two. No room for excess. He tries to ignore her cool appraising stare. RACHAEL You're in a very unique position, Mr. Deckard. You could affect the future of this entire organization according to how you work your little test. Deckard has nothing to say. RACHAEL Are you apprehensive? DECKARD Why should I be? RACHAEL For the responsibility of your power. Being a police bureaucrat, you've got more than your share. The door slides open. Deckard looks down at her. DECKARD You got it wrong, girl. I work with the bureau not for them. He lets it sink in. DECKARD My job isn't to detect malfunctioning andies, it's to eliminate them. The more the better. He walks out of the elevator first. INT. INNER SANCTUM OF DR. TYRELL - DAY 34 The office is dimly lit, but highlights of resilience reside in the lus
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Mar 18, 2015 15:43
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this isnt the scifi thread!
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Mar 18, 2015 15:51
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Sniep posted:INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1 thx 4 ur post
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Mar 18, 2015 15:55
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I was worried there for a moment OP. I thought that maybe the computer had lost its charm. I enjoy reading about the computer on my computer.
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Mar 19, 2015 03:09
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Computer should be illegal !! !!!! God Hates Computer ! !
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Mar 19, 2015 03:16
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