Sucked In (Part Two)
The Final Script
We open our sequel with a new character: Brock, an undercover reporter wannabe preparing for a solo newscast on location, with the Endless Inn waiting silently in the background. Crickets provide a constant chorus. Brock turns on his camcorder and steps into position. After the lurid events of the previous night, it is now a sunny and seemingly safe afternoon. And Brock is about to shoot the newscast of his short and otherwise uneventful life.
Brock: I'm standing in front of the Endless Inn, at the 65/46 interchange. From out here, it looks like any other family-friendly hotel, with an olympic pool, and a karaoke bar, and all of the other amenities one might expect for $79.95 a night.
We cut to a beautiful blonde in a French Maid uniform much like Amie wore at the end of Sucked In (Part One). On a back step, she smokes a cigarette while the camera takes in the length of her shapely, fishnetted legs and all points north. Her blouse hangs off of her shoulder and a close up reveals a baby face set off by a disturbingly insistent mouth. Brock's narration continues as a voiceover:
Brock: Peel back its ivory-white linen cover, however, and one allegedly finds a morass of mystery. Some say this open-faced everyday hotel, with its complimentary continental breakfast and all-night shuffleboard, is really the cover for a kinky cult of el-sicko psychos. Others disagree completely, and say the Endless Inn is really a metaphysical vacuum, sucking in its guests for all eternity, possibly for dissection by extraterrestrial terrorists. Local law enforcement laughs off both theories, but is at a loss to explain why the Endless Inn has figured in no less than 18 missing persons cases over the last few decades--all of them involving out-of-towners. Could this be a Bermuda Triangle in the middle of our very own south-central Indiana? This reporter intends to find out, and tell it to the world. For Channel 3 public access news, this is Brock Flanders reporting.
The French Maid glides down a hallway with Brock clunkily stalking her in close pursuit. He darts around a corner and dictates a breathless message to a hand-held tape recorder.
Brock: 4:26 p.m. The subject is moving west.
We cut to Brock in his car in the parking lot, scanning an outside hallway with a 35mm camera, as though it were binoculars.
Brock: She'll be around any second now. In that outfit.
The camera pans over to the passenger seat to show that he seems to be talking to the French Maid, though she's now in everyday wear, with her hair down rather than pulled back. We'll call her "Nickie," in honor of the actress playing her.
Nickie: You seem so sure. Maybe it's her day off.
Brock: Oh, she never has a day off. Believe me. I've been spying on her at random times since you first contacted me. Thanks for the lead, by the way. This is the kind of story that could really...
Nickie: You can't really rely on my sister for anything.
Brock: Oh, she'll be walking along that hallway, northbound, in two seconds. She's on a loop.
Nickie: A loop.
The dialogue continues over the following sequence: Nickie the French Maid wiggles flirtatiously past a camera placed conveniently mid-bun, down an exterior hallway and into the hotel. We see Brock enter frame, however, and stalk her. Nickie appears suddenly from behind him. Who's stalking whom? Or is she just some apparition locked into a loop?
Brock: That's right. She's on a loop. She circles this hotel like clockwork. I've been watching her for a week now, and I've never seen her go near a mop or a toilet. She's just for show, the flytrap at the family picnic. On the hour. Every hour. A slave to the beat. She's on a loop. Never seen a maid without a pushcart, but you'll see one in about two seconds.
Nickie: That just doesn't sound like her. She's always been the hellraiser, growing up. Nobody can tame a tornado, let alone get her to wear French lace.
Cut to car. Brock leans forward in his seat, smugly jabbing a finger toward the second floor hallway.
Brock: There! There she goes! Like clockwork! See?
Brock gives Nickie his camera, as though they were binoculars.
Nickie: That's her, alright. That's my twin sister. I'd recognize her anywhere.
Brock: Let's go up. Confront her. Have a little surprise family reunion/intervention.
Nickie: You first.
Brock: What are you, scared? She's your sister!
Nickie: Exactly. You don't know her like I do. She's dangerous.
Meanwhile, Nickie the French Maid stops at a guest room, flips over a "To Be Continued" doortag, and enters.
Brock: Yeah, well, I'm taking my video camera. I've already got enough on this tape to blow the Endless Inn wide open.
Nickie (smiling to herself): Yes. Take your camera.
Brock and Nickie head upstairs cautiously, as though they were approaching Norman Bates himself, rather than our lovely but brainwashed French Maid. They enter the room with the doortag, and Brock sets down his camera. They cursorily check out the room proper, find it empty, exchange worried looks, and then head for the bathroom. The shower curtain is fully shut. After some suspense, Brock pulls it open, but no one's there. False alarm! Phewww. Brock turns to share his relief with Nickie, but she is now wearing the French Maid costume!
(Nickie has all along been pushing Brock forward with a constant hand on his shoulder, so when did she have the time to slip into that silky satin get-up? Holy presto change-o! And without the benefit of a bat-pole!)
Nickie blasts him in the face with a couple of cans of evil string and an even more evil laugh, and he stumbles out of the bathroom, blinded. He then drops to the floor, moaning, as she sprays him into submission with the evil string and then straddles him, the way a spider mounts a fly.
Cut to titlecards: D.C. Conery Presents / A Film by D.C. Conery / Sucked In
After the titlecards, we meet the newly arrived Natalie, serious actress (again, we will temporarily borrow the name of the actress playing her). She has a soap-opera diva quality, all self-importance and nice hair/make-up/posture, and she steps in with some luggagge and immediately notices the message light on her phone blinking. She retrieves the message, which plays as we rejoin Luke the seminary student, now wrapped in a sheet on the floor of a maid closet, after the previous night's events. Luke wakes up and discovers that his jaw is sore and a silver barbell now pierces his eyebrow. He is still in his bat-suit and has a bad case of mattress head. He pulls some old clothes out of a cardboard box marked "Lost and Found."
Message: Hey, babe! Just calling to see that you survived the drive and your room's okay and everything. Yeah. Listen. I want you to take this audition a little more seriously than you do? I know this isn't "Doll's House" or Beth Henley, but it is a job, and that's the important thing, right? Yeah. Not to mention my fifteen percent. Okay, so the part's strictly cheesecake, but a little t'n'a never killed anybody. And the director's a little...odd, but their check did clear. So. Call me if you're having second thoughts or you just want to talk, okay? Thanks. Call me! Ba-bye!
Natalie dials her agent, and we hear her side of the conversation.
Natalie: Hi! No, the money's fine. I'm just not crazy about the role. I'm a serious actress. This role is for kids. Well, I'll do that play when they offer it to me. I'm waiting for something better. Well, you're my agent. If you think this is the best thing, then okay.
Natalie hangs up and draws the blinds on her room. A titlecard announces "ElectroBabe." ElectroBabe emerges on the other side of the titlecard in her customary orange leotard and glossy white tights, and sits down on the edge of her bed. She slips into and zips on one white patent leather go-go boot, and then the other.
Luke meanwhile leaves the Endless, and in the parking lot chances upon the car Nate drove in Sucked In (Part One), its keys in the ignition.
(Well, maybe it's Nate's car. It also looks just like Brock Flanders' car. Since both men are wrapped in evil string somewhere in the bowels of the hotel, neither will miss it for the moment.)
Luke drives uncertainly, stops at a rest area, and then sits there, clueless. A mysterious young woman in a tight purple t-shirt and black vinyl pants immediately approaches him from the front passenger window. Luke rolls it down. Titlecard: "DynaChick."
DynaChick: You look like you're lost. Or you've just seen a ghost.
Luke: Yes. I suppose you're right.
DynaChick: About which?
Luke: Both. I'm lost, and I've just seen a ghost.
DynaChick smiles and begins to says something, but then suddenly notices someone out of the corner of her eye, and leaps into the car through the open window. A reverse shot shows us Bart Magnum, stereotypical southern lawman, ambling about in the background.
Luke: Whoah! Take it easy, Daisy Duke!
DynaChick: Shhh. I can't let this cop see me.
Luke: Cop? You know, this is kind of a borrowed car.
DynaChick: And I'm kind of a runaway. And that's Bart Magnum and he's kind of a homicidal cop. You know. Like in that movie: Maniac Cop.
Luke: He just went into the restroom.
DynaChick: C'mon. I've got a shack out back. We can hide out there until the end of Magnum's shift.
They run to the back of the rest area; the camera pans to track until they seemingly disappear behind a tree, to which is stapled a "Missing since 1979" Xerox with our DynaChick's face smiling down. The photo is much too recent. It looks like it were taken just yesterday. Could DynaChick be a "ghost," just like Black Boots?!
Back to ElectroBabe: She pulls on her yellow satin cape and adjusts it before a full-length mirror. From behind her, an apparition in translucent mask and blonde wig taunts her with his cigarette smoke. She can smell the smoke, but is oblivious to him otherwise; apparently, he casts no reflection or shadow. Sliding on her gloves, she decides to sit down, but instead of the seat cushion, she winds up in Blondie's lap. He chloroforms her to the point of unconsciousness, during an extended knock-out sequence. Their legs kick and intertwine as she struggles to tear away his grip, but slowly her eyes begin to lose focus and her body collapses like a limp noodle, while he grunts her a rendition of "Rockabye Baby." What a fiend! And what a lullaby! A little too apropos, don't you think?
We rejoin Luke and DynaChick, who stand now before a cardboard box in the woods.
Luke: This is your shack?
DynaChick: Well, it might not look like much, but it keeps the rain out.
Luke: Well, let's sit on the front porch, and enjoy the sun. I'm a little claustrophobic.
DynaChick: Suit yourself. But I'm gonna grab a beach towel.
DynaChick sets out the towel and they both sit down.
DynaChick: Well, you already know I'm a runaway. I want to know your story.
Luke: Well, I was, I came to this hotel. The Endless Inn. And this attractive woman, she started to seduce me and one thing led to another and we ended up in this open room and then I was being tied up in the shower and panties and then some crazy man came in and sprayed us with some sticky goo and then the next, it was a blackout, and the next thing I remember was waking up in some laundry closet with my jaw bruised and this, this piercing, this eyebrow ring.
DynaChick: That woman that tied you up? She sounds like Black Boots.
Luke: Black Boots?!
DynaChick: Uh huh. She's a legend around here. A ghost story.
Luke: Oh, this was no ghost.
DynaChick: Depends on what you mean by "ghosts," but I can tell you this: For as long as I can remember, and I'm almost eighteen now, the same woman, just like you described, has been trapping unsuspecting men--and women!--just like you described. And everyone thinks she's the ghost of a hooker.
Luke: Well, I was once a seminary student, but now I'm going to have to...
DynaChick: I don't know what they taught you in school, but none of that applies within county lines. You spent the night at the Endless Inn and you're going to talk down to me about physics? If you were half a man, you'd be there right now, figuring out what happened last night.
Luke: I didn't ask for any of this.
We simultaneously hear Magnum bellowing from somewhere near:
Magnum: Come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded!
DynaChick: Shhh. Magnum! He doesn't know we're out here. He always calls like that, hoping the woods will cough up a couple of queers or truants. He calls it his inbred radar. He thinks he's so sexy. He's not that sexy!
Luke: Yeah, well, sexy or not, he's got a gun and a badge and I didn't have any reason for stealing that car.
DynaChick: Relax. Look, get in the box. He won't think to look for you there. I'll run around the back and create a diversion. And then when the coast is clear, I'll come back and we'll both take off.
Luke: Why should I get in the box? Won't he find me there?
DynaChick: Of course not! Who would be dumb enough to hide in a place so obvious?
We immediately cut to Luke inside the box, lighting a match from his "Endless" matchbook. His claustrophobia is apparent.
Magnum (offscreen): Come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded! You can't escape justice. You can't hide from your fate!
Luke gets out, panicked, and immediately heads for the nearest treeline. From behind a tree, he sees Magnum approach the box, gun drawn. Magnum steps forward, and from point-blank range, empties several rounds into the box, and then slices it with a sword from several different angles, before smashing it flat with a baseball bat. Close up on Luke's mortified face. DynaChick grabs him from behind, startling him.
DynaChick: See? I told you he was a maniac! So follow me, if you want to get out of this!
They run back to the car, get in, and drive off.
Cut to ElectroBabe's hotel room. ElectroBabe is lashed lashed with vibrant orange tie-down straps to a chair, each ankle trussed to a separate chair leg. Blondie's hands appear in frame, and roll on a fresh pair of surgical gloves. ElectroBabe awakens.
ElectroBabe: Where am I?
Blondie: In the proverbial pickle, ElectroBabe.
ElectroBabe: Who are you? What are you going to do with me?
Blondie pulls a couple of alien leeches, large and pulsating and slimy, from a tank marked: "Caution: Deadly Sucker Worms" and walks toward ElectroBabe with them, arms extended squeamishly.
Blondie: Say hello to my little friends.
ElectroBabe: Oh! What are those things?
Blondie places the worms on the floor and they immediately dart toward and up her boots, which creak against the chair legs, leather against wood.
Blondie: Members of the suctorian family, ElectroBabe. I had them skip their dinner, so they would thoroughly enjoy you. You know, a dozen of them got ahold of an explorer in the jungle one time, and left nothing but her bootlaces. Your boots aren't even laced. Ha, ha, ha! Go on boys, enjoy your dinner. Boy, those things really suck, huh? Of course, they may tickle a bit, but I'm sure you've had boyfriends with less delicate tongues, my sweet, delectable ElectroBabe!
ElectroBabe: Oh, I don't think I can take much more of this!
We rejoin Luke and DynaChick, who are now at the Endless. Their faces appear through the crack of an open door. Luke's face registers anxiety, but DynaChick's is insistent.
DynaChick: Well?
Luke: This is just a little too deja vu. The last time I entered an empty room with a mysterious woman, all hell broke loose.
DynaChick: But you survived, right? And you want to know what makes this place tick, right? What are ya, chicken? I'm tired of sleeping in a cardboard box, and there's no telling what I'd do if you was to plop a quarter into that mattress.
They enter.
Cut to DynaChick's hand grabbing the mint on the pillow, which she eats like Eve having at the apple.
DynaChick: Well, the best way to get to the bottom of this is call the front desk and ask for an all-over body massage. They'll send up one of their zombie sluts, and then you let me take over....
The answering machine automatically picks up without a ringer, surprising them.
Machine: Welcome to Bat-Trap 2000, a D.C. Conery Production! If you would like to dominate, humiliate, rape and torture a superhero or superheroine, press one. If you would like to be dominated, humiliated, raped or tortured by a supervillain or supervillainess, press two.... (beep)
Caller: Yeah, my name's Mikey, and I'm in room 209.
DynaChick: That sounds just like what happened to you last night!
Luke: Hmmmm. Sounds like the work of some diabolical genius. This hotel is rigged for sadomasochistic role-playing games, and this room must be the nerve center.
Luke heads for the drawer and finds a Gideon's and something else--a DynaChick costume.
Luke: I knew it! Black Boots was talking about a costume in the drawer, and now here's a costume in this drawer.
DynaChick: Pink! My favorite color. Looks like a DynaChick outfit. Remember them? "ElectroBabe and DynaChick" on Saturday mornings? I have to see if this fits. I used to dress up as DynaChick for Halloween.
Luke (quick smile): Okay, but do it quick, so we can get out of here. I think I've learned just about as much as I need to about this place. I'd just as soon leave right now and never come back. I need to go down to the car and wipe my fingerprints off of the steering wheel and hitchhike back to the bus station so we can get out of here. I'm done fooling with my freedom. I'm going back to my parents. I'm going to college. This world is a sick, sick place.
He turns and finds that DynaChick is already in costume and waiting for his approval. Presto change-o!
Luke: Wow. That was quick. It looks like you just slid down a pole and right into that leotard. Which fits you very snugly, might I add.
DynaChick: Sounds like you enjoy looking at me in this as much as I enjoy wearing it.
They immediately take advantage of the unoccupied bed, making love quickly and instinctively, their tongues probing each other's tonsils. DynaChick's newly spandexed body clings to his, as she enjoys being a woman on top. Her hips hug his in a shiny pink tango.
We rejoin ElectroBabe, a meal already in progress. The worms cling to her thighs within dangerous proximity of her crotch. Their sucking fills the soundtrack as Blondie looms over, gloating.
Blondie: Pretty slimy, huh? That would be the worms' digestive juices wearing you down, ElectroBabe. They don't have any teeth, and must rely on acidic enzymes to devour their prey. The process is slow and disgusting--true--but haste makes waste, you know.
ElectroBabe: Now that you've seen to it that I can't check out, just what exactly are you going to do with me, you fiend?
Blondie: Nothing. Nothing except sit and watch you dejuiced by my little beasts. Wow! Those guys are like Marines at an all-you-can-eat! I must admit, with your tender, supple body, you do make a sweet dessert, voltage vixen. By my calculations, these little beasts shall have sucked you dry within an hour.
ElectroBabe: You're mad. I don't know what you're talking about.
Blondie: Ah, sticks and stones, sticks and stones! Ah, I must admit, this is better than watching a gourmet cooking show.
ElectroBabe: Never!
Blondie: Yes, it is! Freshly creamed crusader! I had hoped you would grovel and beg a bit more, though.
ElectroBabe: Gulp! What a way to go!
Cut back and forth between Luke and DynaChick making love and ElectroBabe being dejuiced by the adamant worms. Luke slaps DynaChick's buns while the worms munch ElectroBabe. Luke's fingers playfully slide between DynaChick's tights and the leg openings of her leotard. An insert shot of the worms reveals them sliding along ElectroBabe's body. They appear to be coating her with slime. Holes have begun to appear in her costume.
Blondie: I don't think your ElectroTights are going to hold out much longer, my dear. Those little dawgies are really gnawin' them nylons! Wow! This is like watching the glaze eat the donut. Sorry that it should have to end this way, my dear, but remember that we must all ultimately become food for the worms. Some sooner than others, admittedly, but you can't have everything, can you? Let's just hasten your departure. Oh, so delicious! De-li-cious! Yum. Those little dawgies really go to town! Howdy do! Ah yes! Ha, ha, ha! Sluiced, ElectroBabe! Sluiced!
Meanwhile, Luke and DynaChick hear a cardkey scraping against their door, and slide off the bed to hide, wrapping themselves in the bedcovers.
ElectroBabe by this point is losing considerable steam....
Blondie: Oh, my nuts! This is succulent! Succulent! You're nearly done for, ElectroBabe. Oh, happy day! You're juiced! Juiced!
Blondie gets up to dispose of ElectroBabe, and we cut to Nate, in the gold tie/black shirt he wore throughout Sucked In (Part One), stumbling along an empty hallway.
Luke and DynaChick, from beneath the bedcovers, listen carefully.
Luke: Ssssh! I don't hear anything anymore. I think we're safe!
Luke pokes his head out to discover the bearded bird-mask sentinel from Sucked In (Part One) and his two henchmen looming over, harshly backlit. They wear ceremonial robes and don't look too cheery.... Luke and DynaChick are trapped!
Bird: You don't belong here. But now you'll never leave. Get 'em, men!
Luke (offscreen): You can't catch me!
Henchman 1 (after a scuffle): You got him?
Henchman 2: Yeah. We got 'em.
We next see Luke gagged and bound (to the coat hanger rail), and pan over to DynaChick already tied to the bed--on her back in X fashion. Luke can see her courtesy of the long mirror that she used in the previous scene, but can say and do nothing, just like in Sucked In (Part One). The Birdman stands beside DynaChick, and wiith a crooked finger, he directs her attention upwards.
Bird: You'll notice, just above you, the Sword of Damocles, hapless, helpless heroine.
An insert shot reveals a pattern stitching system on the ceiling, with a sharp, gleaming sword dangling dangerously down, ready to poke her full of holes.
Bird: And as you lay lashed to this deathbed, it will punch and pierce our monogram into your body with bloody efficiency. And just to make sure you don't escape its preset pattern, we shall blindfold you.
DynaChick is blindfolded, though she struggles as best as she can.
Bird: Some say a stitch in time saves nine, DynaChick. But I'd say your time is about to run out altogether. Fight the good fight, pink pincushion! He, heh, heh. Au revoir, tasty h'ors d'oeuvre!
The Bird exits with his henchmen.
Insert shot of a "Gentlemen" sign. Nate enters a men's room and steps up to a urinal, seemingly lost in his own thoughts .
Speaker (voiceover): Yes, just what are you doing here?
Nate (looking around wildly): Who said that?
Insert shot of speaker grille built into wall.
Speaker: I said that.
Nate: But who are you?
Speaker: Yes. Who am I? Who are any of us? And isn't that an existential question?
Nate: I would call it a fair question. Who are you? And how did you know what I was thinking?
Speaker: I'm your director, that's how.
Nate: The director.
Speaker: Yes, the director. Which is why I know what you're thinking, and what you're about to say.
Nate and speaker (in unison): You creepy stalker son of a bitch.
Speaker: You see? I control everything. You have no free will. Not in this hotel. Do you like this hotel?
Nate: Do I like this hotel?
Speaker: Yes. Do you like this hotel?
Nate: Well, it's beautiful, but what, etc.
Speaker: It's a set.
Nate: A set?!
Speaker: Yes. I had it built just for this movie. I know every angle. And I'm here to tell you: You look at the camera way too much. It's just not natural.
Nate: Camera? I didn't know there were any cameras....
Speaker: Oh, no, you didn't know, because you can't see them. They're surveillance cameras. You're all under surveillance. In fact, I'm watching you right now....
Cut to close-up of D.C. Conery, self-acclaimed director, leaning forward in his chair. Bart Magnum sits on the bed. A big bottle of bourbon rests between them.
D.C.: He thinks he's so sexy. He's not that sexy
Bart: He's testing through the roof with preview audiences.
D.C.: Yeah, well, he's boring me. Change the channel, would you please? Thank you. Ever so much.
Insert shot of Bart picking up the t.v. remote. Another remote, with a crudely labelled "Kill" button, sits next to it.
D.C.: Tell you what: Put it on channel 3. That's the closed circuit system.
Insert shot of rough footage from ElectroBabe and DynaChick 2. A clean-shaven Willem Goethe models his costume as sidekick to GlamourRock.
D.C.: Whoah, there's test footage. There's Willem in his Rude Dude disguise.
Bart: He shaved his beard!
D.C.: Well, no. This is old footage. Obviously, he's grown a beard since then. He makes a good henchman, you know. Producers make great henchmen.
Willem is joined onscreen by Katelyn Downey, with camera in hand as she directs their modeling session.
D.C.: There's Katelyn, with her 35mm camera. Uh hum. Yes. She's always hard at work and...
A nubile starlet in red vinyl short shorts fills the screen and diverts D.C.'s monologue. He leans forward in his chair, suddenly awake and excited.
D.C.: Hey! Now this is some fresh talent! Bart, look at that fresh...talent. Raw talent! There's an ingenue for ya!
Bart: Does she need a personal all-over bodyguard?
D.C.: She's a real eyeful! I'd like to see even more of her.
The phone rings and Bart answers.
Bart: It's Willem. He says Nate just went ballistic. He's checking out!
D.C.: Oh, he'll be back.
Cut to Nate in his car as he storms off. We hear him muttering about creepy stalker sonsabitches as he drives aimlessly through the country. He sees a CD on his passenger seat labelled "Sucked In," and puts it in the CD player. As Stravinsky fills the soundtrack, we see him arrive at the river where he first met Amie in Part One. And then there's Amie, again. Nate is on a loop, it seems, just like the French Maid at the beginning of this episode.
Back in D.C.'s room, Bart pours himself a drinking-glassful of Jim Beam, and hands the bottle over to an impatient D.C., who grabs the bottle and immediately begins chugging it in John Belushi fashion.
The camera shifts to the other side of the room to show Bart checking out a cloth-covered curiosity in the corner, with D.C. in the back, still chugging. It could be a new statue, for all Bart knows.
Bart: So are you going to tell me what's under this thing, or what?
D.C. gets up and ambles over. He pulls off the cloth. We get an ominous shot of the Killbot 2000, looking deadly. It's a metallic bust of D.C. with jutting rose-tinted lenses in place of D.C.'s usual dark glasses, audio cables extending from its temples, and a set of wheels for legs. The bust is mounted on a VCR. In short, it is an autonomous death machine.
D.C.: Behold! I give you the Killbot 2000.
Bart: What is it?!
D.C.: It's a camera and a killbot, all rolled into one. It records in 3D and full stereo sound. And best of all, look under the hood.
Bart: That looks like a #3 gutcutter!
D.C.: Of course it is.
Bart: But I don't get it, Deke. Are you going to be performing an autopsy or something?
D.C.: Something like that. This will be the most realistic superheroine fetish video--ever. I've created in my own image, an unstoppable death machine, bent on only one thing: destruction. I can tell you this: In the future, my actresses will all be very, very motivated for their death scenes.
D.C. heads back to his seat. Bart follows, after a moment's reflection on the insanity of D.C.'s plan.
Bart: So what do Will and Katelyn think of your new approach to method acting? We're talking about a snuff film.
D.C.: Will and Katelyn are going to Disneyland. And this "snuff film" as you call it, is going to pay for their trip. Look. I'm not saying this won't be a cruel and messy process, but think of the results. Reality! Not your Hollywood high-gloss rubber-prosthetic spin on reality, but real reality. The kind you just can't fake anymore. And sure, we'll have to break a few eggs. But the upshot is our audience won't have to settle for half-hearted superheroines, pretending to look scared. I'm going to change the face of no-budget filmmaking, Detective Magnum, and no one can stop me. In film school, where I first proposed to create a super-race of unstoppable killbots, I was classed as a madman, a charlatan, outlawed in a world of cinema which had previously honored me as a genius. Now here, in this mosquito-infested southern Indiana hell, I have proven that I am alright. So you see, Detective Magnum, maybe I'm not so crazy after all.
Cut to Bart, who appears to be falling asleep after this long speech. He jolts back to life.
Bart: Well, I think you're out of your mind, but I smell money. Count me in, Mr. D.C. Conery.
They shake on it as Bart gets up to leave.
D.C.: Where are you going?
Bart: I've got a few loose ends to, uh, tie up, or vice versa.
We rejoin DynaChick as she blindly but successfully dodges the darting dagger, by bending legs and arms and swaying as much as the ropes will allow, but eventually the needle hits her dead center, and blood spreads across the front of her costume. She looks like a cross between Dracula and a butterfly, impaled for posterity. Blood gurgles from the corners of her mouth. Bart Magnum, maniac cop, enters as if on cue. He quickly surveys the scene and then lectures Luke.
Bart: Well, kid. I see you're still alive. Your girlfriend's not. Or maybe she wasn't your girlfriend. Maybe she was just some carnival hooker you picked up, looking to knock boots for some bucks. Well, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna cut you loose, and you're gonna get the hell out of town. I don't like doing paperwork, but I don't mind diggin' a grave.
Flash forward to Luke, hitchhiking beside a country road. Bart removes DynaChick's blindfold and she peers over, smiling conspiratorily.
DynaChick: So. How far do you think he'll get this time?
A car drives by Luke and answers his cocked thumb with a volley of garbage.
Bart returns to D.C.'s room to find it momentarily empty.
Bart: Deke? Deke!
Bart makes himself comfortable and picks up the remote, but the wrong one. D.C. enters with an ice bucket.
Bart: So what does the kill button do?
D.C.: No! Not that remote!
The killbot lurches forward, suddenly alive. Cut to D.C. as seen by Killbot (negative filter).
D.C.: Stop him, Magnum! He's close enough!
Bart: I'm trying!
D.C.: (opening the door and backing out) You fool!
Killbot 2000 continues its advance.D.C. tries to slow it down by tossing his shoes into its path, but it plows on. At the mouth of a tunnel beneath an overpass, D.C. stumbles and falls, and the Killbot towers over, just like in an old horror movie; a buzzsaw is hanging from its mouth, whirring away. The camera zooms into D.C.'s open, screaming mouth. From a hill, Magnum, Willem and Katelyn try not to look at the bloody aftermath.
Bart: Shield your eyes, folks. Pretty messy!
Katelyn: Wow! What irony! Killed to death by his own deathtrap!
Will: Well, it's just as well. I was about to have to tell him that we couldn't afford color videotape anymore. We'd have to shoot everything in black and white. News like that would have killed him anyway.
Bart: As a policeman, I believe in everything I see and shoot at. And this is one thing I would rather not be seeing.
Will: As long as there are never-say-die, do-it-yourself, no-budget exploitation filmmakers, you're gonna see this kind of thing again and again. There might even be a sequel.
Kate/Will/Bart (in unison): God help us in the future.
Credits.