Wet CLICKING SOUNDS. A BEAM of purplish ULTRA-VIOLET LIGHT
reveals a mosaic of moving forms... COCKROACHES. They skitter
restlessly under the beam's intensity. SERIES OF SHOTS -- the
UV Beam passing over various parts of the space. Pipe webs,
walls, girders -- all covered with the insects. Thousands of
PULL BACK TO REVEAL
INT. SEWER SYSTEM
Innards of steel. A vast maze of tunnels.
A GROUP OF FIGURES advances through the tunnels with handheld
The figures are dressed in gray air-tight NEOPRENE SUITS,
their faces hidden by skin tight MASKS and bug-like NIGHT
VISION GOGGLES. In the dense silence, respirator valves HISS-
CLICK at the corner of their lips in mechanical rhythm.
The scene has a dream-like, choreographed quality.
Eerie, aquatic green. The horde of insects appear to be some
kind of sea-life, crawling over the floor of a dead ocean.
THE TEAM OF FIGURES
From their midst appears another FIGURE, its neoprene suit a
flat WHITE. Female, clearly the TEAM LEADER.
She carries a stainless steel CONTAINER filled with twenty
small compartments, each bearing a large, heavy-shelled roach
with a different BARCODE on their back.
She kneels and opens the
TCHK!! A dozen of the Judas roaches are released. They slide
through into the area.
THE NEARBY ROACHES
react instantaneously. In a rustle of tiny legs, they begin
to stream toward the Judases.
Jostle and fight each other for position to mate with them.
They even crawl over the Team Leader in an effort to reach
the Judases. The Team Leader makes no effort to brush them
off. Patient, almost godlike, she watches the MATING.
A MANHOLE has been opened above. CHAINS are dropped down and
attached by a Team Member to A 100-GALLON DISPOSAL DRUM.
REVEAL the floor of the tunnel, carpeted with the still forms
of the roaches, now all DEAD.
The Team Members quietly shovel the tiny corpses into other
At their feet skitter the only survivors of the massacre:
the bar-coded Judas Roaches.
In a crunch of machinery, the first disposal drum is lifted
by the chains through the manhole to
EXT. A CITY STREET - DAY
MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. A cacophony of SOUND and LIGHT.
Dirty snow drifts over Bryant Park. Emergency lights blink
everywhere. A wall of cars sits on Sixth Avenue, stopped
dead. Exhaust fumes hang in the air. Jaded TRAFFIC COPS send
the cars on crosstown detours.
Mounted policemen patrol a line of yellow sawhorses near
dozens of Department of Public Health vehicles, angle-parked
in a military phalanx.
A monumental ribcage-like scaffolding has been erected in the
middle of the street, "sealing" the area with amber plastic.
Inside, UNIFORMED WORKERS take the disposal drum of roaches
and toss it into one of a number of huge DUMPSTERS.
The Team Leader watches from nearby, exhauster. Her mask is
off. We see her face: Enthomologist SUSAN WYETH, 28.
An ARM gently drapes over her shoulder.
How we doing?
She looks over at DR. PETER TYLER, 34, bespectacled. A
HEADSET around his neck, a coat emblazoned with the
DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH logo. He has the look of a man who's
just fought a long battle and come out victorious.