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Inside the chain-link tunnel are a couple of SEC-OPS

TROOPERS, CORPORAL LYLE WAINFLEET and PRIVATE FIKE. Sec-Ops

is the colony's private security force. These guys are laid

back, hardened, and haggard.

WAINFLEET:

Look at all that new meat.

THEIR POV -- Jake rolls down the ramp.

FIKE:

Check it out, man. Meals on wheels.

WAINFLEET:

That is just wrong.

Jake, pumping his chair, looks around as --

A huge TRACTOR, taller than a house, ROARS past on muddy

wheels. He notices something sticking in the tires --

ARROWS. The neolithic weapons are jarring amid all the

advanced technology.

Beyond the tractor, two VTOL vehicles take off. Armored and

heavily armed, they are AT-99 "SCORPION" GUNSHIPS.

MITSUBISHI MK-6 AMPSUITS -- human operated walking machines 4

meters tall -- patrol the perimeter. They are heavily

armored, and armed with a huge rotary cannon called a GAU-90.

Beyond the outer fence stands a black wall of forest hundreds

of feet high. A SENTRY GUN OPENS FIRE from a tower. TRACERS

light up the twilight. A shadowy SHAPE SHRIEKS and drops off

the fence. It is an armed camp in a state of siege.

WAINFLEET and Fike give Jake and his chair the hairy eyeball

as he approaches.

JAKE:

What're you two limpdicks starin' at?

As Jake rolls past, SOMETHING SWOOPS down behind him and --

9.

K-KRASH! SMASHES against the chain-link right next to his

head.

A vicious AERIAL PREDATOR a meter across gnashes glass fangs

against the steel. It STABS at him through the chain link

with a tail ending in a glistening stiletto. A STINGBAT.

WAINFLEET casually BLASTS IT with his PISTOL. It drops off

the fence, tail still lashing.

WAINFLEET:

Seen a lotta guys leave this place in a

wheelchair. Never seen anybody show up

in one.

Jake stares at the gnashing fangs of the dying alien.

ON A WALKWAY of the OPS CENTER, seen from above, a UNIFORMED

FIGURE grips the railing, watching Jake pump his chair

through the tunnel below.

The hair is clipped short. The scalp is etched by long

parallel SCARS where some Pandoran denizen's claws raked

across it. The bare arms, below tightly rolled sleeves, seem

hewn out of some hard tropical wood. Criss-crossed by scars.

The MAN raises his masked face to look at the sky. He eyes

are an icy steel gray.

HIS POV -- the mighty POLYPHEMUS seems to fill the sky,

beyond the clouds.

MAN (V.O.)

You are not in Kansas any more...

CUT TO:

INT. COMMISSARY - TWILIGHT

THE MAN from the balcony -- COLONEL MILES QUARITCH -- is the

HEAD OF SECURITY for the Hell's Gate colony. A hundred new

arrivals watch raptly as he paces like a panther across the

front of the large cafeteria. He stops, stance wide.

Without his mask, we see that Quaritch's features are rugged

and handsome, except for the SCAR, which runs from scalp to

jaw down one side of his face. On one hip he carries a very

large PISTOL.

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