Sharklady
06-28-2001, 11:35 AM
THE MOJO DILEMMA
a ‘Powerpuff Girls’ fanfic, by Jennifer Lynn Weston
______
STANDARD OPENING SHOT - Townsville Skyline, Night.
NARRATOR: (mellow voice) The City of Townsville, after dark. All is calm, all is bright.
(The following narration is spoken over a series of FADE-INS; the POWERPUFF GIRLS sound asleep in their shared bed, PROF. UTONIUM in his stark white bunk, the MAYOR in his oversized four-poster, MISS BELUM [slumbering on her side so her face is hidden] on a frilly circular mattress, and MISS KEANE under an neat apple-printed coverlet.)
NARRATOR: The good citizens of Townsville are hard-working folks. They’ve put in a long day of educating the children, doing scientific research, running the city, saving the day. So, after night falls, they all make a point of retiring early enough to get a proper night’s sleep.
(SLOW PAN along the Townsville skyline, past the observatory- the only structure with it’s lights on- and further.)
NARRATOR: So now everyone’s nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of, whatever, dance in their heads. All resting up for... (suddenly urgent) Hey, hold on! (FAST PAN back to the observatory; CLOSE IN) It looks like one denizen of Townsville *is* still awake. And we can be sure it’s not because he’s up to any good!
(CUT TO: Observatory Interior. MOJO JOJO, laughing his usual villainous laugh, is standing on a stool beside a tall laboratory table covered with test tubes, flasks and such. As he talks, MOJO pours several measured liquids and powders into a large glass beaker, mixing each one in.)
MOJO: Oh, this is my most brilliant and diabolical scheme yet! When I have completed synthesizing this formula and secretly incorporate it into the Townsville water supply, every citizen who utilizes tap-water in the making of their morning coffee will discover their start-of-the-day beverage has lost it’s power to energize them! In despair at being unable to relieve that groggy early-morning stupor, they shall all call in sick and go back to bed! With the entire adult population thus incapacitated, Townsville will be mine for the taking!
(In the manner of a sous chef, MOJO lifts the mixing spoon and delicately sips his concoction, smacking his lips with satisfaction.)
MOJO: Ah, perfect! And now: I have come to the last and most precarious stage of the preparation. (He inserts an eye-dropper into a vial of green fluid, siphons up a small amount, and positions the dropper above the beaker.) This is the final ingredient, but I must be extremely careful to add only one drop. Any more will over-stimulate the chemical balance, causing a denaturing of the entire formula.
(CLOSE UP of MOJO’s hand as he *slowly* squeezes the dropper; a single green drop bulges forth. CUT TO the outside door to the observatory: a very large fist on a metal rod pounds loudly on the door.)
MOJO: (startled) Huh?
(Distracted, MOJO squeezes too hard; three green drops fall into the beaker. To MOJO’s dismay, the contents immediately come to a rolling boil, overflow the beaker, and spread out to melt an unsightly hole in the table top.)
MOJO: (pounding a fist on the counter) *Curses!* I’d just had this table resurfaced!
(MOJO sourly goes to answer the door. As he opens it, his eyes are hostile slits, but they widen when he gets a look at his visitors.)
(POV PAN down a row of peculiar, MOJO-sized apparitions, which appear to be part-robot, part-animal. Each one has glowing red eyes, and a radio antenna emitting wavy lines & pinging noises. Their animal components are more variant: gorilla hands, kangaroo legs, turtle-shell, beaver teeth, scorpion tail, shark’s head, octopus tentacles.)
MOJO: Very nice costumes, kids. But since it is now August and therefore not even close to Halloween, I am not in possession of any caloric foodstuffs to give you. So scram!
(MOJO slams the door and starts back towards his project, but halts when he hears a sound like a buzz-saw behind him. He looks back to see the beaver teeth rapidly chewing their way up the side of his door, across the top, and down the other side. The detached portion of the door falls; the crowd of robot-things springs inside.)
MOJO: (dryly) You couldn’t confine yourselves to festooning my home with toilet paper? (angry) Very well! If you want to play rough, I am quite able to accommodate you!
(MOJO darts into a near-by closet, quickly emerging with a small arsenal of weapons strapped to his back & machine gun in hand. Fast Fight Montage as he begins firing at the robots; most dodge the bullets, the turtle-shell one deflects them. Suddenly the shark-head appears at MOJO’s side and shears the gun in half. MOJO draws a laser ray gun; the beaver teeth bite down and flatten the muzzle. MOJO swings the weapon like a club; the kangaroo legs kick it from his grip. While he’s distracted, the octopus tentacles reach to lift away his remaining firearms. MOJO, turning to establish where his guns have gone to, sees the octopus passing them to the gorilla hands, which bend them into pretzels. Disarmed, MOJO attempts to use martial-arts defenses, but soon finds he’s outclassed- he’s kicked to the ceiling by the kangaroo legs, tripped up by the tentacles, squashed between the gorilla hands, and gets a hard head-butt from the turtle-shell. MOJO is forced to take refuge atop his lab table, apprehensively watching as the robot-things close in around the base.)
MOJO: (unnerved) By now, it is evident these are not garden-variety trick-or-treaters.
(Even as he speaks, the scorpion-tailed robot climbs onto the counter behind him. SLO-MO as the tail swings to impale MOJO’s shoulder.)
MOJO: AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!
(Continue SLO-MO as MOJO falls, unconscious, to the observatory floor. As the robots move to surround him, CLOSE IN on MOJO’s slack face. The surface beneath him changes to stone, and the lighting to a bluish color-scheme. MOJO groans, his eyes slowly opening. POV Shot of jail-cell bars coming into focus.)
MOJO: (instantly roused) Hey! They have no right to incarcerate me *before* I have engaged in any felonious activities! (MOJO get up and marches to the cell door) Officer! I demand to be...! (He stops short, looking past the bars with surprise)
(SLOW POV PAN of a well-equipped laboratory. Several long counters sport bubbling flasks, state-of-the-art microscopes, electronic scanners, and a Public Address unit. The shelves above contain many jars of preserved animal specimens, whole or partial.)
MOJO’s VOICE: This is not the Townsville Jail, unless they have redecorated, which I seriously doubt. So, where am I?
MAN’S VOICE: (somewhat nasal, with a snooty British accent- Mark Hamill would be my first choice to do it) You’re inside the old Townsville Natural History Museum.
(FAST PAN in the other direction to settle on the speaker: a very dapper middle-aged man, dressed in a tailored gray business suit, with impeccably combed blonde hair and a neat brown mustache. The man is busily sketching something onto a clipboard, using a Swiss-army-knife-like gizmo with compass and t-square attachments. His manner is aloof and preoccupied.)
MAN: Specifically, you are in that portion of it which I have converted into my secret laboratory.
MOJO: I see. And is it your intention to also inform me who *you* are?
MAN: Doctor Phineas T. Binsworthy, formerly the director of this fine institution, which regrettably closed some years back due to financial difficulties. Since then, I’ve been primarily engaged in unconventional research geared toward nefarious ends.
MOJO: So you’re a Mad Scientist. I must say, you look pretty well-groomed for that line of work.
BINSWORTHY: (unfolding a nail-file from his gizmo and giving his fingernails a going-over) We don’t all conform to the conventional image, you know. But I assure you, I possess ample credentials. My profile was included in the last issue of ‘Evil Geniuses Quarterly’- perhaps you read it?
MOJO: (rubbing his jaw) Yes; come to think of it I do recall reading that. You’re the one who is converting animals into obedient part-robot drones, to harness their special physical abilities and produce an undefeatable cyborg army?
BINSWORTHY: Quite right. In fact, you’ve already encountered several of them.
(BINSWORTHY pulls something from his pocket that looks like a TV remote, and begins pushing buttons- familiar wavy lines emerge from the remote’s end. With antennae pinging, the aforementioned group of robot-things files into the room and lines up outside the barred cell. MOJO eyes them disdainfully.)
BINSWORTHY: I find that the natural adaptations of animals- the injection capacity of scorpions, strength of gorillas, speed of kangaroos, and so forth- when combined with technology, produce particularly formidable results. (He pushes a button to make various tools unfold from the cyborg’s backs; a chain saw, bottle opener, pruning shears, laptop, power drill.) Quite useless to resist, as you’ve experienced for yourself. And, of course, the mechanical implants put them completely under my control. I have very nearly enough of them now to begin taking over Townsville. (frowning) This city owes me, you know- cutting off all funding to my museum, just because that flashy new one opened...
MOJO: (waving his palm impatiently) All right, you may consider me suitably impressed! But am I correct in my assumption that you had your drones bring me here for some purpose other than to brag about them to me?
BINSWORTHY: Oh, I do like your way of getting to the point, Mojo- I can call you that, can’t I?
MOJO: (growl) Yesss...
BINSWORTHY: So, as I was saying; I’m in the final phase of my preparations to send my cyborgs to seize control of Townsville. But, to cope with the resistance they’ll no doubt encounter, my army needs one more component: mechanical aptitude. That’s a talent sadly lacking in the animal kingdom, but which you, Mojo Jojo, demonstrably possess in abundance.
MOJO: (dismissively) Well, I’m flattered, Dr. Binsworthy, but when it comes to evil conquest schemes I only work as a single. In fact, I’ve got one on the burner at home which I really should get back to...
BINSWORTHY: My dear fellow, you misunderstand me. I’m not offering you a partnership. *You* are going to become my final cyborg-drone.
(BINSWORTHY holds up the clipboard so MOJO can see the sketch. It’s of MOJO himself, fitted with mechanical parts, red eyes, and an antenna.)
MOJO: (outraged) WHAT?! Are you mad?? (to himself) Come to think of it, that’s a rhetorical question.
(MOJO leaps to grab onto the bars at BINSWORTHY’s eye-level, & reaches through the bars to shake a fist in the man’s face.)
MOJO: Do you not have the slightest appreciation of who it is you are dealing with here? I am Mojo Jojo- Criminal Mastermind, Greatest Supervillain in the history of Townsville, Arch Enemy of the Powerpuff Girls! I Am Not Anybody’s Trained Monkey!!
BINSWORTHY: (unruffled) Oh, I readily concede that you can be troublesome when you have access to your various gadgets and inventions. However, on your own you’re simply an extra-intelligent chimpanzee with anti-social leanings and deplorable fashion-sense. I mean; turquoise and purple with white accessories? That’s simply not on, old boy.
MOJO: (to himself, thru gritted teeth) I’m beginning to *really* dislike this guy.
BINSWORTHY: (stepping to a wall and flicking a switch) And now it’s about time we got started. Shall we adjourn to the table?
(The wall slides back to reveal an adjacent chamber. This contains a large metal table with restraining straps at the corners, encircled with dissection tools clutched by long robot arms, all hooked up to a control panel. For a few seconds MOJO looks genuinely alarmed, but then his expression changes to sad resignation.)
MOJO: Oh, very well; I suppose I know when I’m beaten. I’ll come quietly.
(MOJO descends to the floor. He stands meekly as his cell door opens and he’s quickly surrounded by the cyborg-drones. They start to escort him towards the chamber, followed by BINSWORTHY with remote in hand. But at the chamber entrance, MOJO suddenly points to one side.)
MOJO: (aghast) WAIT! What Is That ?!?
BINSWORTHY: (turning to look) Eh?
(MOJO promptly dashes off in the other direction.)
MOJO: (gleefully, as he darts from sight around a corner) I can’t believe he fell for that one!
BINSWORTHY: (irritated) Now, really! (He aims and ‘fires’ the remote; the pack of cyborg-drones takes off after MOJO. BINSWORTHY nonchalantly steps over to the PA and lifts the microphone.)
BINSWORTHY: Now see here, Mojo; all you’re doing is postponing the inevitable.
(The following VO is spoken over a montage of MOJO being pursued through the natural history museum. MOJO repeatedly gets the cyber-pack to run past him by disguising himself as parts of the exhibits; in the Geology Hall, he pulls his cape over himself to look like a purple rock. In the Reptile Room, he crouches behind two mounted turtles so his turban passes for a third one. In the Chinese Culture Exhibit, he assumes the traditional Warrior Monkey pose in front of a painted theater screen.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: (PA distortion) My cyber-drones are equipped with the best tracking senses the animal world has to offer- eagle’s eyesight, bloodhound’s sense of smell, owl’s hearing apparatus- the lot. It simply isn’t feasible that you’ll be able to evade them indefinitely. Once they catch up, resistance, as you know, is futile.
(MOJO makes it to a door, but his most strenuous efforts are inadequate to pull it open. He dashes to a boarded-over window, and has no better success trying to open that.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: Furthermore, all the doors and windows in this place are completely sealed, as you’ve no doubt discovered for yourself by now. You’ve no chance of getting out through any of them.
MOJO: (low voice) Very well; then I shall make use of the ventilation system for my egress!
(MOJO spies a handy air-vent cover, pries it off and slips within. CROSS-SECTION IMAGE of MOJO swiftly crawling along first horizontal, then ascending, air ducts. OUTSIDE SHOT of the museum rooftop, as MOJO’s faces rises into view inside an ventilation hood. But, looking down, he gasps in dismay. PULLBACK SHOT to show, in the light of the just-rising sun, that the museum is completely surrounded by a dense crowd of cyborg-drones.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: (coming over an outside speaker) As a final precaution, I have my entire cyborg army stationed around the perimeter of the building- even if you make it outside you won’t get any further than that. So why don’t you save us both a lot of aggravation and turn yourself in- there’s a good chap.
(Scowling, MOJO sinks back down the duct and resumes his horizontal crawling.)
MOJO: Much though it galls me to admit it, I shall apparently require outside assistance to escape from this place. Fortunately, I know where to get it, if only I can succeed in accessing a telephone.
(Coming upon a vertically descending duct, MOJO braces his hands and feet against the sides of it and slides swiftly downward. CUT TO: the basement of the museum, with an old-fashioned multi-armed furnace. There’s a sound of sliding inside one of the arms, then a muted THUMP. The furnace’s grated door opens and MOJO pokes his head out, his eyes darting left and right.)
MOJO: (his gaze focusing on something) Ah-ha! (PULLBACK to show a janitor’s desk w/ an old dial telephone)
--- continued in PART 2
a ‘Powerpuff Girls’ fanfic, by Jennifer Lynn Weston
______
STANDARD OPENING SHOT - Townsville Skyline, Night.
NARRATOR: (mellow voice) The City of Townsville, after dark. All is calm, all is bright.
(The following narration is spoken over a series of FADE-INS; the POWERPUFF GIRLS sound asleep in their shared bed, PROF. UTONIUM in his stark white bunk, the MAYOR in his oversized four-poster, MISS BELUM [slumbering on her side so her face is hidden] on a frilly circular mattress, and MISS KEANE under an neat apple-printed coverlet.)
NARRATOR: The good citizens of Townsville are hard-working folks. They’ve put in a long day of educating the children, doing scientific research, running the city, saving the day. So, after night falls, they all make a point of retiring early enough to get a proper night’s sleep.
(SLOW PAN along the Townsville skyline, past the observatory- the only structure with it’s lights on- and further.)
NARRATOR: So now everyone’s nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of, whatever, dance in their heads. All resting up for... (suddenly urgent) Hey, hold on! (FAST PAN back to the observatory; CLOSE IN) It looks like one denizen of Townsville *is* still awake. And we can be sure it’s not because he’s up to any good!
(CUT TO: Observatory Interior. MOJO JOJO, laughing his usual villainous laugh, is standing on a stool beside a tall laboratory table covered with test tubes, flasks and such. As he talks, MOJO pours several measured liquids and powders into a large glass beaker, mixing each one in.)
MOJO: Oh, this is my most brilliant and diabolical scheme yet! When I have completed synthesizing this formula and secretly incorporate it into the Townsville water supply, every citizen who utilizes tap-water in the making of their morning coffee will discover their start-of-the-day beverage has lost it’s power to energize them! In despair at being unable to relieve that groggy early-morning stupor, they shall all call in sick and go back to bed! With the entire adult population thus incapacitated, Townsville will be mine for the taking!
(In the manner of a sous chef, MOJO lifts the mixing spoon and delicately sips his concoction, smacking his lips with satisfaction.)
MOJO: Ah, perfect! And now: I have come to the last and most precarious stage of the preparation. (He inserts an eye-dropper into a vial of green fluid, siphons up a small amount, and positions the dropper above the beaker.) This is the final ingredient, but I must be extremely careful to add only one drop. Any more will over-stimulate the chemical balance, causing a denaturing of the entire formula.
(CLOSE UP of MOJO’s hand as he *slowly* squeezes the dropper; a single green drop bulges forth. CUT TO the outside door to the observatory: a very large fist on a metal rod pounds loudly on the door.)
MOJO: (startled) Huh?
(Distracted, MOJO squeezes too hard; three green drops fall into the beaker. To MOJO’s dismay, the contents immediately come to a rolling boil, overflow the beaker, and spread out to melt an unsightly hole in the table top.)
MOJO: (pounding a fist on the counter) *Curses!* I’d just had this table resurfaced!
(MOJO sourly goes to answer the door. As he opens it, his eyes are hostile slits, but they widen when he gets a look at his visitors.)
(POV PAN down a row of peculiar, MOJO-sized apparitions, which appear to be part-robot, part-animal. Each one has glowing red eyes, and a radio antenna emitting wavy lines & pinging noises. Their animal components are more variant: gorilla hands, kangaroo legs, turtle-shell, beaver teeth, scorpion tail, shark’s head, octopus tentacles.)
MOJO: Very nice costumes, kids. But since it is now August and therefore not even close to Halloween, I am not in possession of any caloric foodstuffs to give you. So scram!
(MOJO slams the door and starts back towards his project, but halts when he hears a sound like a buzz-saw behind him. He looks back to see the beaver teeth rapidly chewing their way up the side of his door, across the top, and down the other side. The detached portion of the door falls; the crowd of robot-things springs inside.)
MOJO: (dryly) You couldn’t confine yourselves to festooning my home with toilet paper? (angry) Very well! If you want to play rough, I am quite able to accommodate you!
(MOJO darts into a near-by closet, quickly emerging with a small arsenal of weapons strapped to his back & machine gun in hand. Fast Fight Montage as he begins firing at the robots; most dodge the bullets, the turtle-shell one deflects them. Suddenly the shark-head appears at MOJO’s side and shears the gun in half. MOJO draws a laser ray gun; the beaver teeth bite down and flatten the muzzle. MOJO swings the weapon like a club; the kangaroo legs kick it from his grip. While he’s distracted, the octopus tentacles reach to lift away his remaining firearms. MOJO, turning to establish where his guns have gone to, sees the octopus passing them to the gorilla hands, which bend them into pretzels. Disarmed, MOJO attempts to use martial-arts defenses, but soon finds he’s outclassed- he’s kicked to the ceiling by the kangaroo legs, tripped up by the tentacles, squashed between the gorilla hands, and gets a hard head-butt from the turtle-shell. MOJO is forced to take refuge atop his lab table, apprehensively watching as the robot-things close in around the base.)
MOJO: (unnerved) By now, it is evident these are not garden-variety trick-or-treaters.
(Even as he speaks, the scorpion-tailed robot climbs onto the counter behind him. SLO-MO as the tail swings to impale MOJO’s shoulder.)
MOJO: AAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!
(Continue SLO-MO as MOJO falls, unconscious, to the observatory floor. As the robots move to surround him, CLOSE IN on MOJO’s slack face. The surface beneath him changes to stone, and the lighting to a bluish color-scheme. MOJO groans, his eyes slowly opening. POV Shot of jail-cell bars coming into focus.)
MOJO: (instantly roused) Hey! They have no right to incarcerate me *before* I have engaged in any felonious activities! (MOJO get up and marches to the cell door) Officer! I demand to be...! (He stops short, looking past the bars with surprise)
(SLOW POV PAN of a well-equipped laboratory. Several long counters sport bubbling flasks, state-of-the-art microscopes, electronic scanners, and a Public Address unit. The shelves above contain many jars of preserved animal specimens, whole or partial.)
MOJO’s VOICE: This is not the Townsville Jail, unless they have redecorated, which I seriously doubt. So, where am I?
MAN’S VOICE: (somewhat nasal, with a snooty British accent- Mark Hamill would be my first choice to do it) You’re inside the old Townsville Natural History Museum.
(FAST PAN in the other direction to settle on the speaker: a very dapper middle-aged man, dressed in a tailored gray business suit, with impeccably combed blonde hair and a neat brown mustache. The man is busily sketching something onto a clipboard, using a Swiss-army-knife-like gizmo with compass and t-square attachments. His manner is aloof and preoccupied.)
MAN: Specifically, you are in that portion of it which I have converted into my secret laboratory.
MOJO: I see. And is it your intention to also inform me who *you* are?
MAN: Doctor Phineas T. Binsworthy, formerly the director of this fine institution, which regrettably closed some years back due to financial difficulties. Since then, I’ve been primarily engaged in unconventional research geared toward nefarious ends.
MOJO: So you’re a Mad Scientist. I must say, you look pretty well-groomed for that line of work.
BINSWORTHY: (unfolding a nail-file from his gizmo and giving his fingernails a going-over) We don’t all conform to the conventional image, you know. But I assure you, I possess ample credentials. My profile was included in the last issue of ‘Evil Geniuses Quarterly’- perhaps you read it?
MOJO: (rubbing his jaw) Yes; come to think of it I do recall reading that. You’re the one who is converting animals into obedient part-robot drones, to harness their special physical abilities and produce an undefeatable cyborg army?
BINSWORTHY: Quite right. In fact, you’ve already encountered several of them.
(BINSWORTHY pulls something from his pocket that looks like a TV remote, and begins pushing buttons- familiar wavy lines emerge from the remote’s end. With antennae pinging, the aforementioned group of robot-things files into the room and lines up outside the barred cell. MOJO eyes them disdainfully.)
BINSWORTHY: I find that the natural adaptations of animals- the injection capacity of scorpions, strength of gorillas, speed of kangaroos, and so forth- when combined with technology, produce particularly formidable results. (He pushes a button to make various tools unfold from the cyborg’s backs; a chain saw, bottle opener, pruning shears, laptop, power drill.) Quite useless to resist, as you’ve experienced for yourself. And, of course, the mechanical implants put them completely under my control. I have very nearly enough of them now to begin taking over Townsville. (frowning) This city owes me, you know- cutting off all funding to my museum, just because that flashy new one opened...
MOJO: (waving his palm impatiently) All right, you may consider me suitably impressed! But am I correct in my assumption that you had your drones bring me here for some purpose other than to brag about them to me?
BINSWORTHY: Oh, I do like your way of getting to the point, Mojo- I can call you that, can’t I?
MOJO: (growl) Yesss...
BINSWORTHY: So, as I was saying; I’m in the final phase of my preparations to send my cyborgs to seize control of Townsville. But, to cope with the resistance they’ll no doubt encounter, my army needs one more component: mechanical aptitude. That’s a talent sadly lacking in the animal kingdom, but which you, Mojo Jojo, demonstrably possess in abundance.
MOJO: (dismissively) Well, I’m flattered, Dr. Binsworthy, but when it comes to evil conquest schemes I only work as a single. In fact, I’ve got one on the burner at home which I really should get back to...
BINSWORTHY: My dear fellow, you misunderstand me. I’m not offering you a partnership. *You* are going to become my final cyborg-drone.
(BINSWORTHY holds up the clipboard so MOJO can see the sketch. It’s of MOJO himself, fitted with mechanical parts, red eyes, and an antenna.)
MOJO: (outraged) WHAT?! Are you mad?? (to himself) Come to think of it, that’s a rhetorical question.
(MOJO leaps to grab onto the bars at BINSWORTHY’s eye-level, & reaches through the bars to shake a fist in the man’s face.)
MOJO: Do you not have the slightest appreciation of who it is you are dealing with here? I am Mojo Jojo- Criminal Mastermind, Greatest Supervillain in the history of Townsville, Arch Enemy of the Powerpuff Girls! I Am Not Anybody’s Trained Monkey!!
BINSWORTHY: (unruffled) Oh, I readily concede that you can be troublesome when you have access to your various gadgets and inventions. However, on your own you’re simply an extra-intelligent chimpanzee with anti-social leanings and deplorable fashion-sense. I mean; turquoise and purple with white accessories? That’s simply not on, old boy.
MOJO: (to himself, thru gritted teeth) I’m beginning to *really* dislike this guy.
BINSWORTHY: (stepping to a wall and flicking a switch) And now it’s about time we got started. Shall we adjourn to the table?
(The wall slides back to reveal an adjacent chamber. This contains a large metal table with restraining straps at the corners, encircled with dissection tools clutched by long robot arms, all hooked up to a control panel. For a few seconds MOJO looks genuinely alarmed, but then his expression changes to sad resignation.)
MOJO: Oh, very well; I suppose I know when I’m beaten. I’ll come quietly.
(MOJO descends to the floor. He stands meekly as his cell door opens and he’s quickly surrounded by the cyborg-drones. They start to escort him towards the chamber, followed by BINSWORTHY with remote in hand. But at the chamber entrance, MOJO suddenly points to one side.)
MOJO: (aghast) WAIT! What Is That ?!?
BINSWORTHY: (turning to look) Eh?
(MOJO promptly dashes off in the other direction.)
MOJO: (gleefully, as he darts from sight around a corner) I can’t believe he fell for that one!
BINSWORTHY: (irritated) Now, really! (He aims and ‘fires’ the remote; the pack of cyborg-drones takes off after MOJO. BINSWORTHY nonchalantly steps over to the PA and lifts the microphone.)
BINSWORTHY: Now see here, Mojo; all you’re doing is postponing the inevitable.
(The following VO is spoken over a montage of MOJO being pursued through the natural history museum. MOJO repeatedly gets the cyber-pack to run past him by disguising himself as parts of the exhibits; in the Geology Hall, he pulls his cape over himself to look like a purple rock. In the Reptile Room, he crouches behind two mounted turtles so his turban passes for a third one. In the Chinese Culture Exhibit, he assumes the traditional Warrior Monkey pose in front of a painted theater screen.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: (PA distortion) My cyber-drones are equipped with the best tracking senses the animal world has to offer- eagle’s eyesight, bloodhound’s sense of smell, owl’s hearing apparatus- the lot. It simply isn’t feasible that you’ll be able to evade them indefinitely. Once they catch up, resistance, as you know, is futile.
(MOJO makes it to a door, but his most strenuous efforts are inadequate to pull it open. He dashes to a boarded-over window, and has no better success trying to open that.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: Furthermore, all the doors and windows in this place are completely sealed, as you’ve no doubt discovered for yourself by now. You’ve no chance of getting out through any of them.
MOJO: (low voice) Very well; then I shall make use of the ventilation system for my egress!
(MOJO spies a handy air-vent cover, pries it off and slips within. CROSS-SECTION IMAGE of MOJO swiftly crawling along first horizontal, then ascending, air ducts. OUTSIDE SHOT of the museum rooftop, as MOJO’s faces rises into view inside an ventilation hood. But, looking down, he gasps in dismay. PULLBACK SHOT to show, in the light of the just-rising sun, that the museum is completely surrounded by a dense crowd of cyborg-drones.)
BINSWORTHY’S VO: (coming over an outside speaker) As a final precaution, I have my entire cyborg army stationed around the perimeter of the building- even if you make it outside you won’t get any further than that. So why don’t you save us both a lot of aggravation and turn yourself in- there’s a good chap.
(Scowling, MOJO sinks back down the duct and resumes his horizontal crawling.)
MOJO: Much though it galls me to admit it, I shall apparently require outside assistance to escape from this place. Fortunately, I know where to get it, if only I can succeed in accessing a telephone.
(Coming upon a vertically descending duct, MOJO braces his hands and feet against the sides of it and slides swiftly downward. CUT TO: the basement of the museum, with an old-fashioned multi-armed furnace. There’s a sound of sliding inside one of the arms, then a muted THUMP. The furnace’s grated door opens and MOJO pokes his head out, his eyes darting left and right.)
MOJO: (his gaze focusing on something) Ah-ha! (PULLBACK to show a janitor’s desk w/ an old dial telephone)
--- continued in PART 2