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CUT TO EXT. KIOSK - MOMENTS LATER: It's a grimy little tienda with a counter right on the sidewalk and shelves crammed with dusty bottles, bright packs of cigarettes, old magazines and assorted junk. The Sales lady wears an eyepatch and a sharp look in her good eye.

SALES LADY: A minute . . . .

She disappears for a moment and returns.

SALES LADY: Yea, what do you want?

DECKARD: Tsing Tao.


She wraps up a fifth while Deckards pulls out a wad of cash.

DECKARD: Is this enough?

SALES LADY: Yea.


Deckard is paying when Gaff appears behind him and gives him an unfriendly tap on the shoulder with his cane. He turns and sees Gaff looking smug, not what Deckard expected or wanted. Deckard grabs the handle of the cane forcefully agitated by Gaff's rudeness.


Gaff smiles with satisfaction that he irritated him.

GAFF: Bryant.


Deckard turns back to the counter, grabs his bottle. He turns back around giving Gaff a hard glare and walks off to meet with Bryant. Gaff continues with his petty smile.


CUT TO EXT. STREET - NIGHT: The heavy down pour of rain continues. The door of a police spinner opens revealing Bryant. He gets out to meet Deckard.

BRYANT: Christ, Deckard, you look almost as bad as that skin job you left on the sidewalk.


Gaff stands by them, staring at Deckard.

DECKARD: I'm going home.

BRYANT: You could learn from this guy, Gaff. He's a god damn one man slaughter house. That's what he is. Four more to go. Come on, Gaff, let's go.

DECKARD: Three. There's three to go.


BRYANT: There's four. That-- That skin job that you V-K'ed at the Tyrell Corporation, Rachael. Disappeared. Vanished. Didn't even know she was a replicant. Something to do with a brain implant says Tyrell. . . Come on Gaff. Drink some for me, pal.


Bryant gets back in the spinner, Gaff gives Deckard one more smug look and climbs in the spinner's driver's seat.


The tide of street people moves inexorbaly as Deckard gazes at the crowd. And then he sees Rachael, blended in the crowd, a second later she walks away. Determined to catch up with her, he shoves his way through the crowd. He looks around in despair with city noises blaring. Deckard is at the mouth of an alley scrambling to relocate Rachael.


Deckard is suddenly grabbed and whipped around, he's now facing. . .

DECKARD: Leon!


LEON: How old am I?

Deckard gives Leon a right upper cut to the jaw. Leon takes the punch and shows no sign of pain. He man handles Deckard again.

DECKARD: I don't know.


Leon grabs Deckard and throws him into a large metal container. Grabbing Deckard's coat by both hands, Leon gets in his face.

LEON: My birthday is April 10, 2017. How long do I live?

DECKARD: Four years.


Leon spins Deckard around roughly and throws him into another large metal container. Deckard frantically and quickly pulls out his blaster. He barely has time to point it before Leon knocks it out of Deckard's hands with a lightning quick swipe. The gun flies several feet into the air at the mouth of the alley.

DECKARD: More than you!

Leon swings a powerful fist towards Deckard who barely ducks in time. His fist punctures the metal container letting out a burst of steam and the high pitch tone of a boiling tea pot. Leon grabs Deckard again, whips him around, and man handles him some more.

LEON: Painful to live in fear, isn't it.


Leon picks up Deckard by the coat collars and slams him into the windshield of a nearby car, shattering the glass. As Deckard lays there on the car hood, Leon towers over him with a revengeful look.

LEON: Nothing is worse than having an itch you can never scratch.


DECKARD: (barely conscious) Oh I agree.


LEON lifts Deckard on to his feet and gives him a couple of back hands across the face.

LEON: Wake up! . . . Time to die!


Leon raises his hand ready to gouge two fingers into Deckard's eyes when . . . . .









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