SCRIPT: "TERMINATOR" by James Cameron

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CUT TO Technoir BAR - NIGHT: Sarah is huddled, back to the wall, beside the phone.

SARAH (on phone, upset): ...look, Lieutenant...uh, Vukovich, don't put me on hold and don't transfer me to another department...


VUKOVICH (on phone): I won't. Now just relax. Where are you? (pause) Yeah, I know it...on Pico. Are you alright?

CUT TO Technoir BAr - NIGHT

SARAH (on phone): Yes, but I don't want to leave. I think this guy's following me.


VUKOVICH (on phone): Alright, Ms. Connor. Listen carefully. You're in a public place, you'll be safe 'til we get there. Stay visible. Don't go outside or in the restroom. I'll be there in a few minutes.

He hangs up and grabs his coat, motioning to Traxler.

VUKOVICH: Let's roll.

At Technoir, Sarah takes a seat at a booth near the bar, and picks up a dog-eared menu, but can't concentrate on it. She looks at her watch and glances around. The yellow Maverick hurtles along an empty street. CLOSER ANGLE as streetlight glare slashes across Terminator's face in flaring pulses.

In the cop's plain car, Vukovich draws his Colt Python .357 Magnum and checks the load. Traxler is driving.

VUKOVICH: Let's see how this guy likes playing hard-ball.

At Technoir, the waitress set a cup of coffee in front of Sarah.

WAITRESS: Anything else?

Sarah shakes her head "No" and contemplates her trembling hands. She half-turns, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar. TIGHT ON SARAH, reflected in the mirror. In the F.G. a man at the bar looks up from his beer, straight into her eyes. It is Reese. He gazes at her coolly for a moment, then glances away. C.U. - SARAH, feeling trapped, frantic.

Angle on front door as it opens and a figure stands silhouetted briefly against a streetlight. Reese turns, his eyes flickering to the mirror, the figure. C.U. - Reese as he mechanically raises his beer. His knuckles are white. He slowly undoes the top button of his overcoat. There is a glint of metal in the shadows within.

Reese turns slowly on his barstool as the figure brushes past him, out-of-focus F.G. Sarah looks up. E.C.U. - Reese's hand sliding slowly along polished steel, a caress. His finger slips through the triggerguard of the riot gun. Medium on Sarach, as the man stops in front of her in close F.G. He sits slowly in the booth opposite her. The angle is over his shoulder.

REVERSE ANGLE - It is not Lt. Vukovich. Terminator sits motionless for a BEAT. Blue eyes so pure and deep. The eyes of a saint, perhaps. The .45 is out and cocked and AIMED DIRECTLY AT CAMERA, almost in one motion. The bore seems enormous.

Back on Sarah, over the gun barrel, her eyes go wide. We hold a beat, like a frozen slice of nightmare. Medium on Reese as he whips the riot-gun to a hip-firing position, his overcoat falling back with a snap. He fires. On Terminator, as the shotgun blast hits his arm and he fires, simultaneously. Sarah screams as the .45 round blows stuffing out of the booth seat inches from her face. Her hair is singed by burning gunpowder.

An involuntary cry is punched out of her by the double concussions. Reese is stroking up another shell as Terminator half-rises from booth. Over Reese's shoulder, as he fires, cocks the slide, fires again, advancing on Sarah's booth. Terminator is blown backward over the center divider, crashing through the glasses and pitchers of beer on the table opposite, and onto the floor. Sarah is screaming, scrunched down in the booth.

Terminator is lying on his back at the feet of a table-full of drunk patrons. He has two rifled 12 gauge slugs in his chest and one in the arm. The bar customers are frozen in the weird tableau, cowering, gaping. Sarah stops screaming. Reese stand motionless, gun aimed. In the sudden silence, the sound of him cocking the shotgun is abnormally loud. On Terminator, very still.

Then Terminator smoothly rolls to a crouch and slips the Uzi machine pistol from beneath his overcoat, where it has been hanging on a shoulder strap. He doesn't seem too impaired as he swings around to fire. Reese rolls like a cat and comes up firing. A burst from the Uzi rakes the bar where he stood. An orgy of shattering glass. Total pandemonium. Several angles as patrons of the bar run, scream or dive for cover, depending upon their level of intelligence.

Reese slides through the glass to Sarah's booth and seizes her wrists. On Terminator, kneeling amid the chaos, raising the Uzi one-handed. Reese tugs viciously on Sarah's arm and she sprawls across the booth seat a moment before the divider and seat cushion erupt with hits from the Uzi. Angle on a running patron as a burst of 9mm fire catches him in the chest. He pitches into Sarah's booth, pinning her. Reese fires, ducks, fires again.

Tables crash over. A window is blown out. A table candle rolls into a pool of high-proof alcohol behind the bar. It ignites with a whoosh. Reese feed two shells into the riot-gun. Tight on Terminator, an island of slow, precise movement amid the confusion. He drops a spent clip. Reaches for another with his bloody hand. Moving with Reese as he vaults the row of booths and starts firing. At point blank range he unloads the shotgun into Terminator's belly.

Terminator crashes backwards through two tables and a plate glass window into the street. The roaring fire behind the bar is spreading very quickly. The air is thick with smoke. Reese tosses the Uzi, for which he has no ammo, into the fire. He hauls the dead man off Sarah and reaches for her. Sarah, shrinking away from Reese, hysterical. When he grabs her wrist she struggles, eyes wide.

REESE (very intense): Come with me if you want to live.

She looks where he is pointing. Terminator is rising unsteadily to his feet. Shattered glass rains from him, except where it sticks to his blood-drenched shirt and coat. Terminator slowly looks up, his blue eyes riveting straight into the camera. Sarah, feeling a lightning blot of terror greater than she could ever imagine as the cold gaze fixes on her.

SARAH (awed whisper): Oh my God...

Terminator clambers back through the window and starts through the burning bar. Reese runs, dragging Sarah with him, toward the back. Terminator crashes through the wreckage in the swirling smoke, hurling burning tables out of his way. Reese and Sarah run headlong through the cluttered kitchen, then down a narrow back hallway. Sarah stumbles and Reese brutally pulls her to her feet without slowing. He hits a closed door, which crashes open.

Reese hauls Sarah through, into another corridor. Slams and blot-latches it. An instant later an impact from the far side tears the latch-screws half out of the wall. They run on. Terminator takes a step back from the closed door and slams into it again. It starts to give way. Behind him the flames engulf a can of cleaning solvent.

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