FADE IN:

EXT. BLACK SKY - NIGHT

Dark, ominous clouds of smoke. A beat of semi-calm.

And then... A long blast of TRACER FIRE cuts through.

And another. And another. We TILT DOWN to discover we

are --

EXT. LOS ANGELES - AIRBORNE - MOVING - NIGHT (1998)

A city on fire. A block here, block there. More TRACER

FIRE. A cross between the LA riots and Gulf War. A

SUPERED TITLE:
LA RIOT III. And then FADING IN BELOW:

MONTH 4. We CONTINUE MOVING ABOVE the ravaged city --

VOICE #1 (V.O.)

(filtered)

You imagine what it was like when

they had to fly choppers through

this shit?

VOICE #2 (V.O.)

Not even.

Gliding totally silently INTO FRAME is the biggest,

darkest, midnight blue blimp you've ever seen. Small

gold letters on the side -- LAPD. Fully armored beneath.

Woven kevlar on the sides. BULLETS REBOUND with a long

ZZZZZIP off the sides. PING SOFTLY off the plastic armor

on the bottom.

VOICE #1 (V.O.)

I don't understand where we're

going and why the hell we're

bothering anyhow...

A new voice responds. This one brooks no discussion --

SPARTAN (V.O.)

Because there's anger and there's

frustration, and then there's pure

fucking evil...

INT. BLIMP POD - CONTINUOUS ACTION - NIGHT

JOHN SPARTAN peers down into the fiery landscape.

SPARTAN:

Where we're going is pure fucking

evil.

(beat)

Thirty people who were riding that

muni bus are still missing. I've

got this bad hunch about who took

them and where they are...

EXT. EXTREME SOUTH CENTRAL LA - FROM ABOVE - AIRBORNE -

NIGHT:

Way up ahead, amid the flames, is a fortress. A square

city block. Walled. Something out of the middle ages.

The walls are entirely made from stacked abandoned cars.

INT. BLIMP POD - NIGHT

Spartan is dragging a heavy bag up towards the door.

PILOT #2 looks at him curiously.

PILOT #2

How come they call you Demolition

Man? Are you with the bomb squad?

Spartan gets his bag into position.

SPARTAN:

I just...

(shrugs

apologetically)

... demolish things.

He checks out the window. They're not quite there.

SPARTAN:

I do my job, shit happens.

(to Pilot #1)

Get a thermo.

The PILOT takes a thermogram of the building in the

middle of the compound. We see a series of heat-outlined

figures moving inside.

PILOT #1

Six. One still, in the middle.

The rest moving around. I don't

see any thirty people.

SPARTAN:

(checking the thermo)

What's that?

To the naked eye, out the window, tucked against the

wall of cars, a large tarp. To the thermo, the still

warm inner workings of the muni bus. Faint outlines of

the engine, drive train, even seats and frame. Bingo.

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