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,

sh*t, 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.

INT. PASSAGE TO FLIGHT DECK

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.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

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*** 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....

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

As Fry runs more switches.

INT. SHIP - DAY

As JETTISON DOORS CLOSE around the ship.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

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's

skin, blowing away non-essentials that hinder aerodynamics --

including big deep-space drives. But this last separation puts

the ship into a dangerous roll.

INT. FLIGHT DECK - DAY

Out the windscreen, cloud strata roll vertiginously. Fry throws

actuators...

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