All I ever wanted in my sorry-ass life
was a single thing worth fighting for.
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND BAR -- NIGHT
THE BOUNCER hurls Jake out the door, sending him SPRAWLING on
the pavement. A moment later, his chair CRASHES down on him,
banging across the alley, landing in the trash.
Jake struggles to rise on one elbow. He's bleeding and
bruised, but still crazed and ready to fight.
I hope you realize you've just lost a
He collapses onto his back, panting.
Candy ass bitch.
He stares upwards at the levels of the city. MAGTRAINS ROAR
overhead. It starts to RAIN. He just lies there, blinking --
then shouts jauntily to no one in particular --
If it ain't rainin' we ain't trainin'!
CAMERA PULLS BACK high and wide, as Jake lies spread-eagled
amongst the trash, getting drenched.
TWO LONG SHADOWS enter FRAME, coming to rest across him.
Jake sees two pairs of SHINY SHOES stop next to him. He
squints up at --
TWO MEN. Matching suits. Their features unremarkable and
blandly threatening in the way of FBI agents and auditors.
Are you Jake Sully?
Step off. You're ruinin' my good mood.
It's about your brother.
INT. MUNICIPAL CREMATORIUM - NIGHT
DOWN-ANGLE on a large rectangular cardboard box. HANDS ENTER
FRAME, pulling open the top to reveal a DEAD MAN'S FACE. He
looks EXACTLY like a clean-shaven version of Jake. His
IDENTICAL TWIN -- TOMMY.
The strong prey on the weak. A guy with
a knife took all Tommy would ever be, for
the paper in his wallet.
WIDER, showing Jake and the two agents in a high tech
CREMATORIUM -- a row of stainless steel furnaces. Jake
stares down at his own face.