
Pitch Black
INT. MAIN CABIN
A CRYO-LOCKER BLOWS OPEN, spitting out...
CAROLYN FRY. She hits the deck of the main cabin: Four crew
lockers in a forward section, countless more in back. But the
deck is canted at a sick angle and ALARMS SCREAM everywhere:
The world is dying around her.
Legs wobbly, shivering like a flu victim, Fry stumbles to the
next forward locker. It's riddled with holes. One DEAD CREWIE
is seen through fractured plexi, body pocked and bloodied. But
in the next cryo-locked...
The CAPTAIN is struggling awake. Fry's face floods with relief.
Slapping an intercom:
FRY:
Hear me? Cap'n? Some kinda compromise to
the hull...holding for now, but...Goddamn,
I'm glad you're alive. Gotta pull your
E-release...no, red handle, red handle.
I'll get the warm-ups out while --
PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT-PHFUT: Particles bore through the cabin,
blasting open the captain's chest, shattering plexi, DETONATING
INSTRUMENTS on the opposite wall and leaving CONTRAILS
HISSING in the air.
Fry lands on her ass, horrified. Suddenly...
Another LOCKER BLOWS OPEN. A body falls right on top of Fry --
but this one's still alive. Disoriented, frantic:
OWENS:
Why did I fall on you?
FRY:
He's dead. Cap'n's dead. Christ, I was
looking right at him when --
OWENS:
I mean, I mean, chrono shows we're 22
weeks out, so gravity wasn't supposed to
kick in for another 19. I mean, I mean,
I mean, why did I fall at all?
FRY:
You hear me? Captain's dead. Owens too.
OWENS:
Oh, no. Not Owens, not.... Wai', wai',
wait. I'm Owens. Right?
They swap nightmare looks, momentarily unsure of their own
identities.
FRY:
Cryo-sleep. Swear to God, it sloughs
brain cells.
INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN
They stumble into nav-bay. ALARMS CONTINUE. Fry grabs warm-up
suits out of storage, pitches one to Owens, checks her screens.
FRY:
1550 millibars, dropping 20 MB per minute,
shit, we're hemorrhaging air. Somethin'
took a swipe at us.
OWENS:
Just tell me we're still in the shipping
lane. Just show me all those stars, all
those bright, beautiful, deep-space....
Owens activates an exterior view: A planet rushes up at us.
That's why they have gravity.
FRY:
Jesus God....
EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY
The SHIP PLOWS through the upper atmosphere, antennae pylons
already disintegrating.
Heart battering her ribs, Fry runs forward, using hand-holds to
steady herself. Over a headset:
OWENS (V.O.)
They trained you for this, right? Fry?
FRY?
She doesn't answer.
Fry harnesses in, starts running switches -- but fumbles a few
times, making mental errors. Finally she gets crash-shutters
open to reveal...
CLOUD STRATA sweeping up past the windscreen like floor-lights
on a dropping elevator. We're shedding big altitude.
INT. NAV-BAY - MAIN CABIN
OWENS:
... crisis program selected Number Two of
this system because it shows at least some
oxygen and more than 1,500 -- would you
SHUT THE F*CK UP!
(hammers a button,
SILENCES ALARMS)
-- more than 1,500-millibars of pressure
at surface-level. Okay, so maybe the ship
did something right for a change....
As Fry runs more switches.
INT. SHIP - DAY
As JETTISON DOORS CLOSE around the ship.
As Fry flips up a security-latch -- and thumbs the switch below.
EXT. SHIP - PLANET'S ATMOSPHERE - DAY
MULTIPLE SHOTS:
EXPLOSIVE BOLTS RAPID-FIRE around the ship'sskin, blowing away non-essentials that hinder aerodynamics --
including big deep-space drives. But this last separation puts
the ship into a dangerous roll.
Out the windscreen, cloud strata roll vertiginously. Fry throws
actuators...
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"Pitch Black" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Jan. 2021. <https://www.scripts.com/script/pitch_black_919>.