Part 2

Open on wide shot of a dark street. At the top, the stars and skyline are visible. As it descends, more and more smoke is seen. At the bottom, FRANK FOLDS is running with his arm on fire. The narration goes down the page.

Monologue: There’s not a lot of space for regret in my line of work.

One of my exes used to say “it’s no use thinking about what might be, could be, or should be, because what you’ve got is what is.” Turned out to be the only part of her that stayed with me.

Still, as I beat feet from the fuzz with the smell of my own burning flesh in my lungs…

OR: “GET HIM!”

Monologue: I can’t help but wonder if I could have avoided this.

FRANK FOLDS runs towards a large nearby building.

Monologue: I can’t outrun them. Certainly can’t fight.

But when you live in a city like this long enough...

FRANK FOLDS transforms into a raggedy, burning paper airplane, which flies unsteadily towards the door of the building, pulls up in a loop, and transforms again into a flat sheet of paper just in time to slip through the bottom of the door.

...you learn where all the good hiding spots are.

OFFICER ROOKE and OFFICER PALLSON bust through the door. It’s completely dark. They shine their flashlights around.

OP: “Where is he?!”

OR: “Dammit Pallson, why’d you have to light him up?”

OP: “He was mouthing off. Where the fuck is he, Rooke?!”

Flashlights approach a large bin

OR: “Just cool it, alright? Get your goddamn head on straight and think. He’s a morpher, and a real sly one too.”

OFFICER ROOKE picks up an envelope from the bin

OR: “He’ll be something made of… paper.”

OFFICER ROOKE brings his light up to a sign above that reads U.S. POSTAL SERVICE

OR: “Ah, shit.”

Shot of a charred letter as the flashlights can be seen far away in the building.

Monologue: Managed to put myself out in the bathroom sink.

OP: “God dammit! What the fuck do we do now?”

OR: “Dumbass! Look for one that’s burnt!”

Shot of OFFICER ROOKE and OFFICER PALLSON, as they see a red glow at the end of a hallway.

OR: “What is that…?”

Monologue: But not before leaving a gift for Beacon’s finest.

As OFFICER ROOKE and OFFICER PALLSON turn the corner, they see a blazing inferno.

OR: “HOLY SHIT!”

Shot of OFFICER ROOKE and OFFICER PALLSON running for the door as the fire rages behind them.

OP: “What about Folds?”

OR: “Forget Folds, RUN!”

Shot of FRANK FOLDS in a side alley retrieving his stashed sword from a garbage can. Behind him, OFFICER ROOKE and OFFICER PALLSON can be seen escaping the burning building.

Monologue: Might get in trouble for that one. But first Rooke and Pallson would have to explain why they set a witness on fire.

FRANK FOLDS sets out at a determined walk down the street

They’ve given me more than what I had.

But not enough.

Shot of FRANK FOLD’S office’s door, closeup on (insert frank’s agency’s name) on the glass, as someone knocks on it.

JM: “Coming! I’m coming, alright?”

FRANK FOLDS rushes through the door as JANET MORENO opens it.

JM: “Frank, your arm-”

FF: “Janet, lock the doors and draw the blinds. I pissed off some real heavies today and they might come calling.”

JM: locking the door “This have to do with Medium Jim’s case?”

FF: peers through window blinds “Yeah. Whoever took Cock has real clout with the heat. Rooke and his crony tried to strong-arm me into giving up the case.” Looks down at his charred, tattered stump of an arm. “And they know how to strong-arm.”

JM: “And you think they’ll be stopping by again?”

FF: “There was mention of a ‘two-bit shithole of an office’ and ‘that doll working the phone’.”

JM: pissed off. “Yeah, well. Let’em come.”

In his office, FRANK FOLDS reaches into a cabinet, pulls out a stack of cheap pulp books, and begins repairing his arm with them.

FF: “I need you to hold down the fort tonight. I’m going out to find Medium Jim, see if there’s anything else he can give me. Don’t answer the door or the phone.

If I need to get to you, I’ll ring twice, then once a minute later.

Oh, and break out the Hoodoo Two-Step.”

JM: pulls out a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, heavily engraved with magical runes, from below the desk. “Way ahead of you.”

FF: Walks out, arm fully restored. “Good.

We’re digging into something real deep, Janet, and it’s gonna get messy before it gets clean. Are you with me?”

JM: “You shouldn’t have to ask.”

FF: “I don’t deserve a secretary like you.”

JANET MORENO smiles as she loads the shotgun with arcane rounds

JM: “I run our books, Frank, you can’t afford one like me either.”

FF: “Well then.” Straightens tie “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about Cock.”

Bird’s eye shot of the inside of a 50’s cafe, looking down at FRANK FOLDS and MEDIUM JIM sitting across from each other at a booth table. Both have coffee. Neither have food. Outside, it is still dark.

FF: “Jim, I know Cock’s been taken by somebody. Somebody with serious connections. I’m close, I know I am, but I just need something more to go on. Is there anything more you can tell me? People he owes, people he’s pissed off?”

MJ: looks incredibly stressed, fiddling with his coffee “Listen, Folds, uh, I appreciate what you’ve been doing, I do.

But I, um, I think it’s time we called it off.

Let it go, I mean.”

FF: “Let it go? Jim, wherever he is, Cock’s in danger. This isn’t some pit fight, this is real trouble.”

MJ: staring miserably at his coffee “Well, yeah, I know that. But at the end of the day, uh, Folds, he’s just another pit fighter. They come a dime a dozen, you know? And this poking around, it’s not, uh, not worth the investment. So that’s it.”

Beat panel of FRANK FOLDS looking surprised. In the next, he looks resigned and angry.

FF: “who got to you, Jim?”

MJ: stonefaced “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

FF: “Yeah? Yesterday you were a bleeding heart for this kid. Now you’re cutting him loose. Was it Rooke? The cops?

Or something worse?”

MJ: “I- I don’t have to take this from you.” Stands up

“I’ve stopped looking, and if you’ve got any sense, Folds, you should too.”

FRANK FOLDS silently watches MEDIUM JIM get out of his booth.

Shot of FRANK FOLD’S perspective, watching MEDIUM JIM walk to the door. As he leaves, three other strangers get up from various tables and leave with him. One of them smiles at FRANK FOLDS as he leaves.

FRANK FOLDS stares at the empty seat, then lifts MEDIUM JIM’S coffee mug. Underneath it is a scrap of paper with something written on it.

Closeup of the paper scrap, on which ETHEL FORD is hastily scribbled.
Monologue: Good on you, Jim.

Mid-morning. Wide shot of a sprawling country club, red brick and white amid rolling green hills.

Monologue: “The Ethel Ford Country Club.

Not exactly a name to inspire fear.

Montage of white, upper-class club members doing various club activities- golfing, tennis, tanning, cocktails, etc. All are wearing white clothing.

Monologue: Twenty miles north of Beacon. Home of the old money.

I did some asking around. Seems like everybody who’s somebody wants membership, but they’re very discerning about their clientele.

You need to be a real mover and shaker to get in here.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS in a nearby wooded area, looking at the club with a set of binoculars.

Monologue: Now what would the upper crust want with a Peculiar pit fighter?

Series of close-ups on individual club members. All are cheerful, smiling and laughing.

Monologue: “Old, cruel power.”

“Secondhand killers.”

“They wear white to hide the black rot within.”

“They watch death and smile.”

That seer was right on the money, but I can’t say I like the payout.

View shifts to one of the guards on the grounds

Monologue: And while a WASP nest like this is bound to have security…

Zooms in on the assault rifle poking out of his jacket

Monologue: ...they usually don’t pack assault rifles.

Closeup of FRANK FOLDS lowering his binoculars

Monologue: Just what are they up to here?

Shot of a mail van chugging along the green hills towards ETHEL FORD CC.

Monologue: There are a few universal constants that I’ve come to rely on in my job.

The postal worker hands a long, katana-sized box to a confused guard.

Silence gets more answers than questions.

The guard hands it to a confused concierge.

Cops only find what they’re looking for.

Three frames of the box changing hands.

Ask for money and you’re invisible to everyone.

Shot of the cardboard box lying on a table in a dark, empty room. It begins to warp and morph.

The milkman makes a stop longer than three minutes and something’s hinky.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS standing in the room holding his sword.

And no one wants to open a box marked “IRS: NOT TO BE OPENED WITHOUT ATTORNEY PRESENT”.

FRANK FOLDS peers around a corner, to see a long metal corridor

Monologue: Place is built like a bomb shelter.

Shot of guards, now with assault rifles held in plain sight, at a door along the corridor.

Or…

...a prison.

FRANK FOLDS retreats to the dark room and opens a broom closet.

Way too hot to get in right now. I’ll have to wait for an opening.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS, now a cardboard box, in the broom closet. His sword is stashed among the brooms and mops.

Time to get comfy.

Montage of the ETHEL FORD guests having dinner at an elaborately set table, then going to a room to put on white masks. They descend a set of stairs into the underground corridor.

One guest pauses and turns to look towards the room FRANK FOLDS was in, but sees nothing. He turns back to the group. Focus in on his back pocket, which now holds a letter.

As the guests pass a CONTROL ROOM manned by a guard, the letter slips out of the guest’s pocket and floats down to the open door.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS pressed against the wall. His body is two-dimensional, only his head pokes out to peer into the room. The guard has his back to him, monitoring over a dozen small screens.

Close shot of a few screens, showing pairs of Peculiars in small, bare cells.

Monologue: It is a prison.

Or maybe a zoo.

FRANK FOLDS continues to sneak along dark hallways

So.

The rich and powerful are kidnapping Peculiars and locking them up.

I can think of a few reasons, and none of them are pretty.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS crouching in the hallway before a large, open space. Before him is a huge cage of chain-link fencing, with loops of barbed wire at the inside corners. It crackles with electricity. Surrounding it on the upper level is a balcony of luxury viewing boxes.

But if I had to wager a guess,

I’d say wagers are involved.

Shot of COCK and another Peculiar, a large lizard creature, grappling in the ring. Panels alternate between their graphic battle and their audience in their seats, drinking and laughing. End with COCK killing the other fighter.

COCK is immediately restrained by half a dozen guards in riot gear, who frog-march him out of the cage through a large set of doors.

Monologue: Technically I’ve done my job.

FRANK FOLDS is forced to hide quickly as a pair of guards walk past

I could leave right now and probably get away clean.

FRANK FOLDS looks back the way he came

Might even be able to sleep at night.

FRANK FOLDS starts running for the doors COCK was walked through.

But if there was a time for that, it was back in that alley with Rooke and Pallson.

Shot of FRANK FOLDS pulling himself through the crack in the doors, looking down another corridor. Along one wall there are rows of heavy, sealed doors.

Monologue: Guess this is lockup.

Shot of farther up the corridor, zooming in on two guards patrolling, coming down the corridor towards him.

Shit.

FRANK FOLDS looks the other way, seeing another half-open broom closet. He quickly darts into it, and closes the door.

Shot of complete darkness.

Monologue: It’s no more than a whisper.

No more than the scuff of a boot on the floor, a rasp of cloth rubbing on itself. Maybe the creak of leather shifting position.

But as soon I hear it I know my goose is cooked.

Large panel of FRANK FOLDS being hit by half a dozen stun guns at once. Each one ignites his body where it hits.

God, what is that smell?

Like the most amazing cigarette I’ll never smoke. What is that?

Oh, right.

It’s me.

End Part 2