-- Aug 15th 1997 rewrite by Jon Cohen


               And then, slowly emerging from the mists of darkness, a pale,
               beautifully proportioned FACE.

               The oval face is female, a woman of indeterminate age, her
               features as fragile as porcelain.  Her eyes are closed in
               sleep, or in death ... or in something in between.

               Now TWO MORE FACES emerge out of the darkness.  They are
               male, and they float into position on either side of the
               female.  They are just as ethereally beautiful, just as pale,
               and like the female their eyes are closed.

               The ghostly lips of the female begin to twitch.  Her features,
               which have been expressionless, suddenly contort, mask-like,
               into the face of a woman in fear.  Her eyes open.

               The male face on her right contorts too.  His features warp
               into an angry snarl -- the mask of a man enraged.  His eyes

               The male face on her left takes on the expression of a young
               boy, a boy who is terribly frightened.  His eyes open wide.

               As if they are lost in the same terrible waking dream, a
               sudden and unnerving exchange begins ...

                              (frightened woman)
                         JOHNNY, PLEASE
		                     MALE RIGHT
                              (mocking man)
                         "Johnny, please.  Johnny please."

                         You're scaring me.

                                     MALE LEFT
                              (child's voice)
                         DADDY, DON'T. DADDY

		                     MALE RIGHT
                         I don't like you any more, Carol.

                         Put the scissors down.  You're scaring
                         me.  Please.

                                     MALE RIGHT
                         Oh, Carol.

                         Johnny!  Stop!


                                     MALE RIGHT
                         Don't grab at me!  Let

                                     MALE LEFT
                         Daddy!  No!

               All we see are three faces on the screen mouthing words but
               we can imagine a terrible struggle taking place before us: a
               man with scissors lunging at his wife, her anguished scream,
               the whimpering cries of their son.

               And then there is silence, and it is over, and the three
               faces instantly return to their impassive porcelain state.
               Their eyes slowly close.  They do not move.

               So that when they do move again, it is startling.  In abrupt
               unison, the EYES flash open.  Three pairs of eyes stare
               straight at us, accusing.

               Three mouths open, but speak, in rasping tones, as one.

                                     ALL THREE

               The faces linger a moment, the weary eyes slowly close, and
               the dark reaches forth, and takes them.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:

               EXT. SUBURBIA  DAY

               Morning in America.  Just look at it.  America in the
               midfifties, the suburban landscape stretching endlessly into
               the sun drenched distance.  White house upon white house.
               Emerald lawns, glistening with dew.

               In each driveway, a big Chevy, or a Ford, muscled with chrome,
               long tailfins that taper like the fins on rocket ships.

               Kids burst out of the houses, and zoom down sidewalks on
               trikes.  Mothers in bright dresses stand in doorways,
               watching.  The smiling mothers wave to one another, then go
               back into their houses.

               Dogs bark, birds sing in trees of just the right height,
               boys and girls laugh and ring the bells on their trikes.  It
               is a delicious world, where dogs and birds and children are

               INT. A HOUSE

               A family room with all the trappings of the era: a flagstone
               fireplace, a console TV, a man's leatherette Barca-Lounger,
               a pipe stand holding two pipes on a nearby table, boxes of
               children's games neatly stacked on a wall shelf.


               A young mother, CAROL, her hair -in a pony-tail, stands at a
               picture window in a corner of the family room, staring mildly
               at the scene outside.

               CAROL'S POV - A LITTLE GIRL

               A little girl bounces a red ball on the sidewalk.  The ball
               gets away from her, and rolls into the street.

               At the same moment, a two-toned CHEVY, lush and huge, rounds
               the corner.

               The girl sees the car coming, but still goes after the ball.

               THE FAMILY ROOM

               Carol sees what is about to happen -- but she doesn't cry
               out, or bang on the window, or run for the front door.  She
               watches.  And smiles a little.


               The girl careens gleefully into the middle of the street.

               INSIDE THE CHEVY

               The driver -- a man in a loose fitting dark green suit, white
               shirt, thin brown tie -- sits behind the steering wheel of
               the car.

               Disturbingly, the man's hands are not on the steering wheel.
               Not only that, he is holding the morning newspaper up in
               front of him, reading, oblivious to the scene before him.

               Through the windshield, we see the little girl in the road
               in front of him, going for her ball.

               CAROL Watches, her smile in place.


	       The little girl picks up her red ball, as the Chevy bears 
	       down on her.

               INSIDE THE CHEVY

               An alarm suddenly CHIRPS.  The car automatically brakes to a
               halt.  The man looks around the edge of his paper to see
               what is happening.

               THE STREET

               The car has stopped, inches from the girl.

               The girl giggles as, the man in the car gives her a big wink.
               She waves, then runs back to the sidewalk with her red ball.


               The man goes back to his newspaper, and the car, entirely on
               its own, starts up again.  The car rounds a corner, and

               INSIDE THE HOUSE

               Carol turns away from the window.  She startles when she
               sees her husband, JOHNNY, is there behind her.  He is in his
               pajamas.  How long has he been there, watching her?

                         Why'd you let me sleep so long?

                         It's Saturday, Johnny, you always --
                         Why are you staring at me like that?

               He takes a step toward her.  He stands there, his thick black
               hair tousled with sleep, scratching his stubbled jaw,
               considering her.

                         I'm unhappy that you let me sleep so

               He takes another step toward her.  She doesn't move a muscle.
               A little BOY suddenly enters the room.  Johnny turns, looks
               at his son, looks back over his shoulder at his wife.  Then,
               without a word, he begins to walk out of the room.  On his
               way out, Johnny's eyes flick to Carol's sewing basket, which
               sits beside a sewing machine.  It is not the sewing that has
               caught his attention, but a large pair of garment SCISSORS
               which lie across a fold of colored cloth.

               EXT. THE HOUSE -- MOMENTS LATER

               Johnny stands on the front porch, scratching.  He walks down
               his front walk, and bends over to pick up the newspaper.
               Carol stands in the doorway, watching him.

               A SHADOW slides over Johnny, cast from above.  The air fills
               with the piercing WHINE of an engine.  Johnny looks up,

               In the sky above him, just beyond the tips of the suburban
               trees, is a black PRECRIME POLICE HOVERCRAFT.

               The children, the mothers, Carol in the doorway -- everyone
               freezes in place, as Johnny is cast into an inexplicable

               Racing SOUNDLESSLY down the street toward him, are SLEEK
               TECHNOLOGICAL MARVELS, lethal and efficient looking -- they
               seem to be cars -- but they are so different from the fat
               Fords and Chevies in the driveways that it is hard for us to
               process them.


               Helmeted police with mirrored visors erupt out of the cars.
               More police drop from the hovercraft in harnesses.  Their
               uniforms are black, seem actually to absorb light.  Their
               left hands are bare, their right hands are encased in some
               sort of complicated glove.


               ON - A GLOVE

               The glove is a weapon of some kind, the elongated index finger
               ending in an open barrel.

               Clearly, this is not, as it first seemed, the past -- not
               America in the 1950's.  It is the neo-past, the retro world
               of America 2040, where the familiar of yesterday is
               intermeshed with hypertechnology.

               And all of that hypertechnology is focused on JOHNNY, as he
               makes a run for the house, sheets of newspaper scattering
               behind him.  He bursts up the front porch, shoving Carol out
               of the way.

               Eight Precrime police officers assemble in the yard. From a
               backpack, one of them quickly removes an instrument with a
               handle grip and an ovoid screen.  It is a holographic scanner.

               He activates it, scans the OFFICER in front of him, and an
               IDENTICAL POLICE OFFICER takes three-dimensional form.

               The two real officers circle the house, repeating the maneuver
               a dozen times.

               In less than a minute, a decoy force of men -- three
               dimensional, standing in place, but shifting and turning
               like living beings -- has been created.  An overwhelming
               police deterrent presence has been established.

               INSIDE THE HOUSE

               The Precrime police overwhelm the interior of the house,
               too.  It is impossible to tell which officers are real, and
               which are scanned holographs.  The juxtaposition of the
               futuristic cops in a 1950's style house is disorienting.


               Johnny, in his pajamas, crouches beneath a rack full of his
               wife's dresses.

               UPSTAIRS HALLWAY

               Two OFFICERS, standing back-to-back, hold their gloved hands
               out in front of them, palm out.  When the first officer points
               his palm toward a door at the end of the hallway, his glove
               BEEPS softly.


               The officer looks at his PALM.  A red thermal IMAGE appears
               on a small flexible screen -- the heat outline of a crouching
               man.  The first officer flicks his helmeted head to the second

               THE BEDROOM

               The room is packed with police -- how many are real?

               THE CLOSET

               Johnny squirms, his pajamas saturated with sweat.  He calls
               out through the door.

                         I didn't do anything!

               OUTSIDE THE CLOSET

               Every OFFICER in the room lifts his gloved hand and points
               his index barrel at the closet door.  The effect is deeply

               An OFFICER speaks, his VOICE electronically manipulated to
               be as menacing as possible.

                                     OFFICER 1
                         Come out of the closet on your hands
                         and knees.

               Nothing happens.  Two officers aim their barrels at the
               perimeter of the door.  In repeated, small SONIC BLASTS, the
               closet door is blown off of its frame, revealing Johnny among
               the dresses.

               Johnny starts to rise, and BAM, a section of floorboards is
               blasted away beneath his feet.

                                     OFFICER 1
                         Hands and knees!

               Johnny trips among the splintered floorboards, and drops.
               He stays on his hands and knees, and approaches.  He lifts
               his head and looks up at the officer.

                         I didn't... 

		Another OFFICER 2 bends down with a DEVICE -- the words
		"IdentiScan" on its side -- and blips a red laser light 
		into each of Johnny's, eyes, reading his irises.  The 
                officer nods affirmatively to the other officer.

                                     OFFICER 2
                          POSITIVE FOR JOHN PALMER.


                                     OFFICER 1
                              (to Johnny)
                         John Palmer, if you were being
                         arrested for any other crime, I would
                         now read you your rights.
                         But you are under arrest for the
                         future murderer of your wife, Carol
                         Palmer.  You have no rights.

               Johnny, on his hands and knees, goes limp.

               EXT. THE HOUSE -- LATER

               In the background, Johnny is guided into a Precrime police
               vehicle as the neighbors look on.  Carol and her son stand
               in the doorway, stunned.

               TWO OFFICERS remove their helmets.  The first man is tall,
               sandy-haired, good eyes, deeply blue; This is PAUL ANDERSON,
               late thirties, Director of the Precrime Division, Washington

               The second man is ED WITWER, Anderson's second in command,
               late thirties, big like Anderson, good face, strong in the
               shoulders, short brown hair.

               The two men are deeply comfortable together.  They can speak,
               or not.  It doesn't matter -- they still communicate.  Two
               good cops, good together.

               They walk side-by-side around the house, dematerializing the
               holographic decoy cops.

                         Thought we might a had a runner.

               Anderson seems tired, takes a moment to answer.

                         Yeah, a runner.

                         A little chase -- that'd been good.

                         Fifty cops on the scene takes the
                         chase out of them.

                         But only eight of us were real.

               Witwer dematerializes the last decoy.

                         We ever get a runner, I'd be too old
                         to give chase.


                         You'd chase.  You'd love it,.  Man.

               They get to the front of the house and watch the Precrime
               vehicle holding Johnny zoom SOUNDLESSLY away.

                         I love it more Johnny boy doesn't
                         get to murder his wife.

                         It's a beautiful world.

               EXT. SAME SCENE -- LATER

               The children play on their trikes.  The wives talk among
               themselves.  The birds sing, the dogs bark.

               The little girl bounces her red ball again.  She stops a.
               minute, when two pieces of newspaper blow past her,
               unexpectantly littering the orderly suburban landscape.


               Decorated in a 1950's style.  Anderson lies in bed beside
               his wife, LISA, a pretty, green-eyed brunette.  It is early
               morning, they are both awake.  Her hand caresses his chest.
               Maybe they will make love.

               Lisa's hand stops suddenly on the center of Anderson's chest.

                         Jesus, Paul.  Your heart's hammering.
                         I excite you that much?

               He turns to her, and the grim set of his jaw makes her smile

                         I used to love being a cop.  

                         You're still a cop.  I'm a factory
                         worker.  We don't catch murderers.
                         We process them.

               Lisa takes a long breath.  She's been down this road before.
               She speaks reassuringly.

                         You're the best homicide cop in the

	       ANDERSON snorts disdainfully.

                         Great -- except there's no such thing
                         as homicide.  What I do best doesn't
                         exist anymore.


                         You're the Director of a perfect
                         system.  A Cop with a perfect record

                         The Precogs have a perfect record.
                         They identify the accused -- I just
                         put on my monkey suit and go round
                         them up.

               Lisa hugs him, kisses the back of his neck.

                         And then I prosecute them.  And they
                         go to jail.  And lives are saved.
                         Thousands of lives.
                         And that's a cop's dream.

               Anderson is silent for a time.  He sighs, then smiles, and
               turns to his wife, takes her in his arms.

                         No.  You're a cop's dream.

               INT. THE BATHROOM -- LATER

               Anderson steps out of the shower, and begins to towel himself
               dry- He glances out a casement window.  He tilts his head,
               curious, then wipes at the steam on the window.

               ANDERSON'S POV  LISA

               Lisa stands in the backyard in her nightgown, talking on a
               cell phone.  She hangs up, moves quickly back into the house.


               Cocks his head, then goes back to toweling off.

               INT. KITCHEN -- LATER

               Checkered linoleum floor.  Appliances out of the 1950's.

               Except there are little differences.  When Lisa puts a skillet
               of eggs on the stove, the heating element is not an electric
               coil, or gas but a shimmering field of light.

               Lisa is dressed in a blue jersey skirt and a brief jacket.
               Anderson wears a gray suit, thin blue tie, white shirt,
               wingtipped shoes.  He doesn't look up from the newspaper as
               he speaks.

                         Who called?


               Lisa keeps her back to him as she flips the eggs.  She touches
               her long brown hair.

                         No one.  I called about my hair.
                         Getting it done this afternoon.

               Anderson looks like he's about to say something else, when
               suddenly someone RAPS on the back screen door.  Anderson and
               Lisa both turn and smile.

                         Come on in, neighbor.  Want some

               OUTSIDE THE DOOR

               FRANK D'IGNAZIO, 65, white-haired, robust, hesitates before
               coming in.  A thin METALLIC ARM with a red laser light arches
               quickly down from above the doorway, shines into each of his
               EYES, scanning the irises.  The arm lifts out of view, the
               screen door UNLATCHES.

               Frank enters the kitchen, carrying a basket of tomatoes.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         Brought these for your supper.

                         Oh, Frank.  That's so sweet.  Thank

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         Sweet, nothing.  I gotta get rid of
                         these things.  One plant, and I'm
                         invaded by tomatoes.  When I was a
                         kid ...

               Anderson laughs, claps his friend and neighbor on the back,
               teases him.

                         Before all this genetically engineered
                         crap ...

               Frank gives him an ornery look, then a smile.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         Yeah well, it's true.  It used to be
                         a challenge to grow things.  An art.
                         Now you put one plant in the ground
                         -- then jump the hell out of the

               Anderson gestures for Frank to sit down.



                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         Nah, thanks.  Can't stay.  You guys
                         are rushing off to work anyway.

               Lisa sets the eggs down in front of Anderson.

                         You and Ellie come for supper then.

                         We'll barbecue.

               Frank nods and pushes on the screen door.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         You betcha.  We'll bring some more
                         tomatoes -- a new batch will have
                         grown by then.

               They all laugh, Frank exits, Anderson goes back to his paper.

               EXT. DRIVEWAY -- LATER

               Anderson waves to Lisa.  Her big Studebaker drives off down
               the tree-lined street and away.

               Anderson approaches his Chevy.  He doesn't take out a key to
               unlock it.  There is no lock.  He slides in behind the wheel.
               Doesn't take out a key for the ignition -- there is no

               A thin METALLIC ARM arches down from the sun visor, scans
               Anderson's EYES, identifying him.  A seat harness wraps around
               him, and the car STARTS.

               Anderson picks up a folder marked "Precrime" and begins to
               read through the papers.  The Chevy backs out of the driveway
               and takes him to work.


               A vast spread of corporate and government buildings -- the
               spillover from Washington D.C. across the Potomac River into

               Beyond the white of Washington is "The Sprawl" -- the massive
               unzoned city that has spread uncontrolled on the outskirts
               of the Capitol.  It is impenetrable and uninviting, especially
               to those comfortable in the utopian suburbs.

               Anderson's Chevy moves in a sea of fifties-type cars.
               Occasionally, an ultramodern vehicle zips past them.  In the
               sky above is another sea -- of advertising dirigibles,
               holographic billboards, hovercrafts, skim-jet transports.
               On one of the holographic billboards giant words begin to
               flash: "I LIKE MIKE!"


               Then a picture of the smiling President appears.  Then the


               Through his windshield, Anderson glances at a holographic
               road sign.

               THE ROAD SIGN reads: "FBI Headquarters 1 mile.  CIA
               Headquarters 1.5 miles.  PRECRIME Headquarters 2 miles."

               Anderson goes back to his papers.


               Anderson sits in a too large office in a too large chair.
               He abruptly rises and begins to pace.  The room is large,
               but he paces like a lion confined in a cage.

               He punches an intercom.  A female VOICE responds.

                                     INTERCOM VOICE
                         Yes, Director Anderson?

                         Where's Ennis Page?  Why hasn't he
                         delivered this morning's Precog discs?

               Ed Witwer opens the door to the office., and casually walks

                                     INTERCOM VOICE
                         I'll find him, sir.

               Ed shakes his head, smiles.

                         Bullying the staff again, Director

                         Screw you.

               Anderson turns away and stares out a large window.  Witwer
               joins him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Was that fun for you, yesterday?

                         The Johnny Palmer bust?


                         It was okay.  We got our man.


               Anderson takes a long breath.

                         When do we not get our man?

               They turn as Ennis PAGE, 44, a thin, tight little man with
               burr cut hair, knocks and enters the room.  He carries a
               black BRIEFCASE marked:

               "Zone 218 - Washington/Alexandria, VA." The case is cuffed
               to his wrist.

                         Sorry I'm late, sir.  Precogs put
                         out a heavy national volume this
                         morning -- four for our zone.

                         Put the case on my desk, Ennis.

               Page hesitates, doesn't do it.  Anderson moves quickly to

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         What was I thinking.

               Anderson leans over the BRIEFCASE.  A small panel recedes, a
               red laser scanner clicks on, scans Anderson's eyes, BEEPS
               affirmatively, then clicks off.  The cuff on Page's wrist
               falls open.

               Now Page puts the case on Anderson's desk.  Page hesitates.
               Anderson and Witwer know just what he's going to do.  Page
               reaches down, unable to resist straightening a pile of papers
               strewn on Anderson's desk.

               Anderson and Witwer exchange knowing smiles.  When Page looks
               up they try to cover, but are not quick enough.  He frowns
               tightly, and heads for the door.

               Anderson calls after him.

                         Thanks, Ennis.  

               Witwer turns to leave, too.

                         Now that's a guy who really cares.

               Witwer grins to himself as he walks out of the office.

               Anderson takes a deep breath and goes to his desk, and opens
               the briefcase.  Four small bright DISCS sit in rows.  He
               removes one, places it in a VIDEO MONITOR that lifts into
               view from the center of his desk.  He sits back, weary, and


               VIDEO SCREEN

               A young black woman stands in a hallway.  She stares at a
               door, gun in hand.  She opens the door, enters a bedroom.

               She glides toward a bed, where a man lies sleeping.  She
               lifts the gun and fires it into his sleeping form.

               ANDERSON pops the disc, jots down some notes, pops in a new

               VIDEO SCREEN

               A white woman stands at a stove, cooking.  A man comes up
               behind her slowly, silently, a necktie taut between his hands.
               He raises the necktie toward her neck


               He's not watching the screen.  He is out of his chair now, 
               looking out the window.


               A tour of Precrime is in progress, like the public relations
               tours run by present-day FBI.  The TOUR GUIDE, a pretty,
               smartly uniformed woman in her twenties, leads a group of
               adults and children, all with glowing nametags, through the

                                     TOUR GUIDE
                         Welcome to the main headquarters of
                         Precrime.  Smaller Precrime branches
                         are scattered throughout the United

               The group follows the guide slowly through the lobby.

                                     TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
                         Precrime was established in 2030,
                         with the harnessing of the remarkable
                         talents of the Precognitive mutants.

               She points cheerfully to a stubby little man, MR. HARRIS.

                                     TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
                         Mr. Harris, can you tell me how many
                         Precogs there are?

                                     MR. HARRIS
                         Three.  Uh, right?

                                     TOUR GUIDE
                         That's exactly right!  A lot of people
                         assume there are Precogs in every
                         branch office.


                                     TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
                         But there are only three Precogs,
                         right here in this building.  And
                         the information they give us, we
                         send out to all the other branches.
                         And what is that information -what
                         do the Precogs do?

               An eager boy, TIMMY has the answer to that one.

                         They protect us.

               The guide tousles his hair.

                                     TOUR GUIDE
                              (chipper voice)
                         That's right, Timmy.  Because of the
                         Precogs, you're going to grow up
                         murderfree.  Isn't that something?

                                     MR. HARRIS
                         They ever wrong?  The Precogs ever
                         screw up when they predict a murder?

               The guide laughs tolerantly.

                                     TOUR GUIDE
                         Never, sir.  It's an infallible
                         system.  The Precogs predict a
                         homicide, and our Precrime police
                         then apprehend that future murderer
                         before the event occurs.  And right
                         next door is the Judicial Center,
                         where we prosecute the
                         future murderers.

                         Can we see the Precogs?

                                     TOUR GUIDE
                         No, I'm sorry.  That part of the
                         building is not open to the public.
                         Now, if you'll just step this way

               She waves the group on toward an elevator.

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               The chamber is an elaborate, hypertech hospital, constructed
               for the maintenance of three beings -- the Precogs.  They
               are triplets -- two of the Precogs are male, one is female.


               Technicians swarm all over them like worker bees.  The bodies
               of the Precogs are being tended to: exercised, cleansed,

               The head of each Precog is encased in a complex, ornate HELMET
               that seems to be an amalgam of organic tissues and bright
               metallics.  The helmets pulse slightly, and the surfaces
               seem to flow and shift, like oil on water.

               A network of micro-thin cables that are actually strands of
               light, rise Medusa-like from each helmet, then centralize
               into a single strand, and connect to a massive mainframe

               The Precogs appear to be in suspended animation, or in comas.
               They are absolutely still and limp -- except for their faces.
               Their faces are in constant motion, the lips mouthing scenes
               from murders only they can see.  Life for a Precog is an
               endless cycle of death.


               we recognize her fragile and perfect FACE from the opening
               scene of the movie.  She floats in a glowing nutritive bath.
               Like her brothers, she seems to be eternally young, or
               eternally old.

               The technicians lift her from her bath.  She is dried, dressed
               in a robe, then guided into an over-sized, throne like chair.
               Her brothers are guided into their thrones, on either side
               of her.

               Not once are their helmets removed.  What they feed into the
               mainframe is too valuable.  It must be gathered twenty-four
               unrelenting hours a day.

               INT. A ROOM

               Ennis Page sits in a room just off the Precog Chamber.  He
               can see them through a large window.  He works a large
               computer console, the gathering point for the information
               the Precogs constantly feed the computer.

               Perhaps every ten seconds, a small DISC is released by the
               computer, and mechanically gathered, sorted, and placed -under
               Page's watchful eye -- into a black case.

               ANDERSON is in the room standing quietly behind Page.  As
               Director, Anderson is authorized to come and go, but from
               his fussy movements, it's obvious Page sees anyone else in
               the room as an intruder in his special domain.

               Anderson turns and looks through the window at the Precogs.

                         What would they think about if we
                         unhooked them?


               Page looks up from his work.

                         They don't think, sir.  They just

               Anderson is silent.

                                     PAGE (CONT'D)
                         They're not even alive, really.

               Anderson contemplates the scene, nods to Page's words, then
               turns and walks out of the room, as Page looks on.

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               The female Precog sits in her chair.  Her eyes are open.
               She faces the window that looks into Page's main frame room.
               In the window we see Anderson leaving the room.

               The female Precog's eyes drift closed.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:


               A trial is in progress.  The defendant is Johnny Palmer.  He
               sits, ashen, at a table, his DEFENSE ATTORNEY beside him.

               There are no jurors in the Juror BOX.  There is a JUDGE, 55,
               and stern.  There are a few people in the public seats.

               The Precrime prosecuting attorney is Lisa Anderson.  She
               wears a black robe, and addresses the Director of Precrime,
               Anderson, who sits in the witness stand.

                         Director Anderson, do you swear that
                         the disc you now present to the court
                         is the only and authentic disc of
                         the future murder of Carol Palmer by
                         her husband, John Palmer?

               It is a ritual that they both have acted out hundreds of
               times.  Anderson gives the rote answer as he holds up the

                         Yes.  This is the only and authentic
                         disc of the event seen by the
                         Precognitive mutants and recorded by
                         the Precrime Division.  This is the
                         immutable evidence of the infallible


                         The murder of Carol Palmer will occur
                         ... ?

                         In one week -- June 16th, 2040 at
                         10:33 in the morning.

               Lisa steps back.  The judge reaches out and Anderson hands
               him the disc.  The judge inserts it into a special video
               machine on his desk.  Anderson steps down, his ritual part
               in this trial completed.

               A huge MONITOR comes to life behind the judge.  He does not
               turn around to watch -- he has his own monitor.

               Johnny Palmer watches, eyes wide.  We now see, in detail,
               what we previously heard the Precogs act out in the beginning
               of the movie.

               THE MONITOR

               The Palmer's family room.  Johnny reaches into Carol's sewing
               basket for the scissors.  Carol stands defenseless in front
               of him.  Their son cowers in a corner of the room.

                         Johnny, please --

                         "Johnny, please.  Johnny please."

                         You're scaring me.

                                     JOHNNY'S SON
                         DADDY, DON'T.  DADDY

               Johnny approaches his wife with deadly menace.

                         I don't like you any more, Carol.

                         Put the scissors down.  You're scaring
                         me. Please.  

               We cut away from the monitor and stay on JOHNNY PALMER'S FACE 
               as he sits at the defense table.  He winces at each terrible exchange.

                                     JOHNNY (O.S.)
                         Oh, Carol.

                                     CAROL (O.S.)
                         Johnny!  Stop!


                                     JOHNNY (O.S.)
                         Don't grab at me!  Let go...

                                     JOHNNY'S SON (O.S.)
                         Daddy!  No!

               Johnny Palmer cries out as the MONITOR goes blank.

                         I didn't do it.  I'm innocent!  It
                         didn't happen!

               The JUDGE hits his gavel.

                         How does the defense plead?

               The defense attorney glances at his watch, then quickly
               rattles off the words to his part of this judicial ritual.

                                     DEFENSE ATTORNEY
                         The defense acknowledges the
                         infallibility of the system.  We are
                         Guilty.  We throw ourselves at the
                         mercy of the court.

                         No! No! The Precogs are wrong!  No!

               The court guards are on him in an instant.  They lead him
               out of the courtroom.


               Anderson pushes down a tight hallway thick with police and
               enters a disheveled room.  The fifties interior is drab: a
               Formica table, bad curtains, a frayed Lazy Boy positioned in
               front of a TV.

               Ed Witwer is already on the scene.  He stands a few feet
               from the BODY of a man, gunshot wound to the head, a handgun
               on the floor nearby.

                              (to Anderson)
                         Looks like the old days.

               Anderson nods to his former partner.  Anderson leans over
               the body.

                         That would be bad news for an
                         infallible system.

               Witwer is suddenly bored.


                         We know it can't be a murder -- the
                         Precogs would've seen it.  Why do
                         you insist on coming to these things?

                         Keeps the system honest.  And besides,
                         I like to pretend I'm a cop.

               Anderson turns to an officer.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Who's got the Coroner?

               Another OFFICER steps forward with a large blue case.

                         Right here, sir.

               The officer places the case beside the corpse, and opens the
               latches.  Inside the case is a large metallic APPARATUS: the

               It comes to auto-life, and begins to unfold itself - It rises
               crab-like, and steps out of its case.

               Except for his mouth, the doctor doesn't move.  His projected
               image stands beside the body, his arms folded behind his
               back.  He is the interface, the way the humans communicate
               with the crab apparatus.

                         Hi DOC.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         Hello, Director Anderson.

               The coroner crab begins to walk the body, which is face down
               on the floor.  It moves slowly, hesitating as it crawls the
               body's back to insert various razor thin probes and core
               samplers through the shirt and into the spinal cord.

                         This a homicide, Doc?

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         I'm presently analyzing neurohormones,
                         Assistant Director Witwer.  I have
                         not concluded my examination.

               The crab engulfs the back of the head, probes the wound.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR (CONT'D)
                         I'm detecting carbonization of skull
                         fragments around the entry wound.

               Witwer whispers to Anderson.


                         Bingo.  The guy put the gun to his
                         own head.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         I have not determined that yet,
                         Assistant Director.

               Witwer grins.

                         You have good ears for a ghost, Doc.

               The coroner crab steps away from the body.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         Please rotate the corpse to the
                         lateral supine position.

               Two officers turn the body face-up.  The crab inches close
               to probe the face.  Disconcertingly, it lifts the eyelids,
               and examines the interior of the mouth, so that for a moment
               the manipulation makes the corpse seem alive.

               Then the crab moves down the trunk and the legs At last, it
               comes to a standstill.  The holographic Doctor closes his
               eyes as if in thought.

                         Can you imagine if this was a
                         homicide?  Who even knows how to
                         hunt down a killer any more?

               Anderson gives him a hard look.

                         I know how, dammit.  You know how.

                         Easy, partner.
                         But you know what I'm saying.  The
                         state legislatures are pushing to
                         stop funding for training homicide
                         detectives ...

                         God bless the Precogs.

               The Doctor opens his eyes.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         This event is a negative homicide.
                         A mortal wound was generated by a
                         .22 calibre bullet self-delivered to
                         the parietal 'portion of the skull
                         on June 10th, 2040, at 11:57 pm,


                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR (CONT'D)
                         Eastern Standard Time.  This event
                         is a positive suicide.

               The holographic doctor begins to shimmer, then disappears
               back into the coroner crab.  The crab crawls back into its
               case, folds its probes and legs tight to its metal body, and
               shuts down.

               Witwer turns to Anderson.

                         It's time to stop coming to these,

               Anderson watches as the med techs lift the body onto a

                         Yeah.  You're right.

               INT. A BANQUET - WASHINGTON, D.C. -- NIGHT

               Anderson, in black-tie, with Lisa in a shimmering blue gown
               at his side, moves through a huge room filled high level
               government officials and politicians.

                         A little bit of me dies every time I
                         come to one of these things.

                         It's only a party, Paul.

                         I'd never have let them appoint me
                         to Precrime if I'd have known this
                         was going to be part of it.

                         You're exactly what Precrime needed.
                         An amazing homicide cop and a real
                         person in an unreal job.


			 The public loves the
                         Precogs.  But they give people the
                         creeps, too.  You're something they
                         understandp a regular cop running

               Anderson sighs as he looks around the elegantly appointed
               banquet hall.

                         Let's invite all these irregular
                         assholes over for a barbecue.  Burgers
                         and beer - think they'd come?


               A barrel-chested man with a great shock of pepper gray hair,
               SENATOR MALCOLM, 58, takes hold of Anderson's elbow from

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         I'd come, Mr. Director.  And I'd
                         make all the other assholes come
                         with me.

               Lisa reddens, Anderson gives an embarrassed cough.  The
               Senator laughs and claps him on the back.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
                         Nice job this morning.  Another
                         negative homicide.  The Precogs never
                         let us down.

               Mrs. Malcolm smoothly occupies Lisa, while the Senator eases
               Anderson in the opposite direction 

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                        I have a dream, Paul.

                         I know you do, Senator.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         Hundreds of Precogs.  Not just
                         predicting murders, but predicting
                         all crimes.  Burglary, arson, assaults

                         How about jaywalking?  Littering?
                         Now there's a crime.

               The Senator smiles through his teeth.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         I don't want a police state, you
                         know that.  But we have an opportunity
                         here, and

                         No sir, we don't have that
                         opportunity.  There are only three
                         Precogs.  They're a lucky accident
                         of nature.  There are no more.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         We can make more.  Just give me your
                         support.  Help me increase funding
                         for the Precog Engineering Project.

                         Precogs aren't sheep or pigs.  Seeing
                         into the future is a gift, a
                         nonreproducible event.


                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         There was only one Mozart, and there
                         are only three Precogs.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         Fuck Mozart.  The people want to be
                         safe.  They want that more than they
                         want food or love.

               He gestures at the room full of glittering partygoers.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
                         Look at us -it's 2040 and we've
                         wrapped ourselves up in the 1950's
                         like a big security blanket.  Why?
                         Because we want to feel like they
                         felt.  Safe.

                         Senator, a world filled with hundreds
                         of Precogs is not my idea of a safe

               The Senator gives it one last shot.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         Sure could use your help, Paul.

                         I decline, Senator.  I'm sorry.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         Don't think I'll come to your barbecue
                         after all.

               The senator moves off.  Anderson stands stiffly among the
               sea of black-ties and exquisite fifties dresses.


               Anderson walks through the lab with a tall, pale man, DR,
               RESFIELD, 60, the head scientist.  It is not a place that
               warms Anderson's heart.

               Biotechnicians work at long stainless steel tables dissecting
               and examining protoplasmic tissue masses.  Other technicians
               peer through massive microscopes.  Still others use robotic
               arms to manipulate radioactive organics behind leaded-glass

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         You don't get out here much.

                         Not my sort of place.

               Dr. Resfield emits a dry little laugh.


                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         The head of Precrime squeamish?

                         When it comes to needles and scalpels,

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         I promise we won't use any on you.

                         What do you use them on?

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         On bits of this and that.

               Anderson looks at him.  The doctor pauses outside a thick
               door.  An IdentiScan device quickly reads their eyes, and
               the door opens with an electronic hiss.

               Anderson looks around the lab.  Technicians lower mesh
               cylinders into some sort of chemical VAT.  Another technician
               turns a dial, and an electric charge courses through the
               roiling liquid.

                         What's happening here?

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         We're in an interesting phase.

                         What's in the cylinders?

                                     DR. RESFIELD

                         From ...?

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         A fusion of sources.  From the
                         Precogs' deceased mother.  From the
                         Precogs themselves.

                         A fusion of ... ?

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         In lay terms, we mated sperm from
                         the brothers with ova from the mother
                         and sister to create new growth.

               The CYLINDERS shudder as the voltage is increased.

                                     DR. RESFIELD (CONT'D)
                         And then we add mutating variables.


               Anderson stares into the roiling vat.  Dr. Resfield waits
               for more questions.  But it is clear from Anderson's
               expression he has already learned enough.

               INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE -- DAY

               Anderson sits in his office reviewing Precog discs for
               premurders in the local Washington area. We stay on him as he
               watches the monitor.  He pops the disc, jots down some notes,
               slides in the next disc.

               Anderson's mouth slowly opens.  He leans close to the monitor,
               his face ashen.


               Frank is on his hands and knees, working his vegetable garden.
               He whistles softly under his breath as he trowels the rich

               He sits up as he hears someone open the garden gate.  He
               lifts his straw hat in greeting, gives a smile.  It's

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         What are you doing, playing hooky?

               Anderson tries to smile.  But it won't come.  He looks around
               the abundant garden.

                         It's great out here, Frank.. You got
                         the touch.

               Frank straightens with a grimace.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         I got the arthritis, is what I got.

               Anderson reflexively looks up at a high WHINING sound from
               over head.  Frank follows his gaze.  A Precrime HOVERCRAFT
               glides into position overhead.

               Frank stares, then lowers his eyes to the ground.  He takes
               a long sad breath.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO (CONT'D)
                         Ah shit, neighbor.
                         Goddamn Precogs don't miss a beat,
                         do they?
                         Can we do this inside?  Ellie's not

               Anderson's voice is full of pain.


                         Sure, Frank.  Yeah.


               Frank wanders the kitchen, trying to focus on his situation.
               Anderson has trouble meeting his friend's eyes.

               Through a window we can see black suited police officers
               with mirrored helmets swarming outside Frank's house.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         I thought I'd buried it all.
                         Thirty-five years -- all those minutes
                         and days to bury it.
                         But suddenly you see the man who
                         murdered your daughter walking the
                         streets -- my God it throws you.

               Frank stops pacing.  He stares at a kitchen drawer.

                         He'd served his time, Frank.  I know
                         it's not fair.  It's way beyond not
                         fair ...

               Frank looks.  At Anderson bitterly.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         God damn the Precogs.  You know?
                         Why couldn't they have been around
                         to save my girl?
                         Now they're catching me.

               Frank reaches into the drawer and pulls out a small handgun.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO (CONT'D)
                         I really shoot the bastard, huh?

                         Next Wednesday, at noon.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO

               Anderson's cop eyes are all over the gun.

                         It's not in you, Frank, to kill


                                     FRANK D'IGRAZIO
                         Tell it to the Precogs.  It's set in
                         stone now, right?

               Frank puts the gun on the kitchen counter.  Anderson relaxes.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                              (almost inaudible)
                         I don't want to be a part of this
                         world anymore.

                         I know, Frank.

               Frank gives Anderson a look -- no, friend, you don't know.
               Then Frank looks hard at the gun on the counter.

                                     FRANK D'IGNAZIO
                         So.  Tell me, Paul.  Do the Precogs
                         see everything?


                                     FRANK D'IGRAZIO
                         Then they won't have seen this.

               Frank suddenly snatches up the gun and presses it to his own
               head.  On Anderson's anguished FACE, at the SOUND of the gun
               going off.

               EXT. FRONT YARD -- LATER

               Anderson stands with his old partner, Witwer, on Frank's
               front porch.  Behind them, through an open door, we see Lisa
               comforting Ellie D'Ignazio in the living room.

               Anderson is deeply shaken.  Witwer tries to talk him through

                         We had to bring him in.

               Anderson doesn't respond.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         He was a future murderer.

                         You blame him?  The guy killed his

               Witwer lets the implication of his words sink in.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Yeah.  I know.  I know.


               Anderson turns and watches as they wheel Frank's draped body
               into the back of an ambulance.  Anderson's bitterness erupts.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I hate the Precogs, Ed. I believe in
                         them absolutely and I hate them
                         absolutely.  Jesus.

               Witwer listens to him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         And that goddamn lab trying to grow
                         more of them.  Put a Precog in every
                         home, you know?  So we can have more
                         Franks - people shooting themselves --
                         over who knows what?

               Witwer kneads Anderson's shoulder, talks to him in soothing
               tones like you'd calm an agitated horse.

                         Precrime did the job it was supposed
                         to do.

               The two men can hear Ellie sobbing inside the house.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         You know it.  And you believe in it.

                                     ANDERSON (BEAT)

                         It's not easy.  It beats us down.
                         Ellie in there -- no doubt she hates
                         you right now.

               Anderson turns to Witwer.

                         That's why I got into this business
                         -- to be hated.

               Anderson almost manages a small smile.  Witwer puts his arm
               around him.  Walks him away from the scene.

                         They hated us when we were regular
                         cops.  Now we're Precrime, and they
                         still hate US.  It's one of the little
                         perks of law enforcement nobody knows

               Their quiet laughter is tinged with sadness.  Anderson looks
               into his partner's good, open face.  Then they both look
               away, their understanding of each other complete.



               Anderson stares out the window at Frank's house, illuminated
               by the moon.  It's a mournful sight.

               Lisa rises on an elbow and watches him from the bed.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:


               Ennis Page, in the mainframe room just off the Precog Chamber,
               picks up a black BRIEFCASE marked: "Zone 218 Washington /
               Alexandria, VA." He approaches the door, and his eyes are
               scanned.  The door opens with a HISS.

               We follow Page as he walks through doors and corridors until
               he reaches a long hallway leading to the Director's office.
               Anderson's secretary, Angela, looks up on Page's approach.
               She nods.  He nods.

               He walks around her desk.  His eyes are scanned, and the
               door to Anderson's office opens.

               ANDERSON looks up, wearily.

               INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE -- LATER

               Anderson inserts a disc into the video monitor, almost
               absently.  As we have seen him do before, he swivels his
               chair away from the monitor, and stares at Washington D.C.
               across the Potomac.  Hovercrafts and transports skim through
               the sky above the Washington Monument.

               The camera stays on Anderson's back as the sound from the
               Precog disc begins.  He hears his own voice speaking in
               strained, agitated tones.

                                     ANDERSON (O.S.)
                         Let's not do this, Ed.

               Anderson slowly swivels around and stares with disbelief and
               horror at the monitor.

               THE MONITOR

               shows Anderson and Witwer in a room, a few feet apart pointing
               guns directly at each other.  Their eyes intense and panicked.
               Who murders whom?

               Ed's eyes cut to a huge digital clock on the wall as the red
               seconds tumble away.

                         Oh, Ed ...


               Witwer lowers his gun.  He stands unresisting before


               Witwer sees his own death in Anderson's wild eyes, has always
               seen it.

               Anderson FIRES his weapon, puts a bullet straight into
               Witwer's heart, throwing him back against a wall.  Witwer
               slumps, dying, beneath the huge digital clock, which reads:

               5:20 AM.

               BACK TO SCENE

               Anderson stares as the monitor fades to a blank.  His hand
               goes to his mouth.  His body begins to shake.  He hugs
               himself, but he can't stop the shaking.

               The DISC pops out of the side of the monitor.  It is a small
               SOUND, but it has Anderson up and out of his chair as if it
               were a gunshot, He reaches for the disc but cannot touch it.
               His legs suddenly weaken, and he drops to one knee beside
               his desk, like a man in need of prayer.

               There is a single thought that screams through his brain.
               It is an almost visible thing, filling the room, blackly.
               Anderson whispers the sickening words that shape his fate.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I kill you.
                         Oh god, I kill you.

               As Anderson pulls himself up, and tries to reach again for
               the disc ...

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               In an image just like the scene in the beginning of the movie,
               the three FACES of the Precogs hover in the misty darkness.
               Their closed eyes open in SUDDEN UNISON.  They speak as one.

                                     ALL THREE

               After a long moment, the eyes close again, and the Precogs
               fade into the mists ...

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. ANDERSON'S OFFICE

               Anderson looks up sharply at the SOUND of a knock on his
               door.  Every normal sound seems grotesquely AMPLIFIED, the
               traffic outside, his own breathing.


               His senses are on overload.

               The door begins to open.  A stockinged leg is the first thing
               Anderson sees.  His secretary, ANGELA.


               She hesitates before fully entering the room, Anderson grabs
               at the incriminating disc.  He sees his EYES reflected in
               its alloy surface.  He pushes the disc deep into his pants

               Somehow he finds his voice.

                         Come in.  Angela.

               She looks at him, uncertain.  Then she places a small stack
               of papers on his desk.

                         Need you to sign these.  And your
                         eleven o'clock starts in five minutes.

                         My ... eleven.

                         Budget coordination with the FBI.
                         You okay, sir?

               Anderson runs his hand through his hair, can't think fast
               enough.  He sees her glance at the black Precog disc case.
               He shuts it, awkwardly, and it auto-locks.

                         Have Page take this.

               Angela steps back, disturbed.

                         But sir, the procedure

                                     ANDERSON (SNAPS)
                         I make procedure.  Call him.
                              (long beat)
                         I'm not okay, Angela ... you're right.

               My head and stomach.  I'm going down to the clinic.  Or maybe
               just home.

               Angela looks relieved at the explanation.

                         Yes sir.


               He moves past her.  His FINGERS fidget against the hidden
               disc in his pocket.

                         I'll speak to Witwer, put him in
                         charge for the rest of the day.

               He hesitates at the door, turns to look at his office, and
               at his view of Washington.  Then he is gone.


               Anderson looks in the door Of Witwer's empty office.  He
               takes a step inside.

               Witwer's booming voice sounds from behind him, startling

                         Breaking and entering.  That'll get
                         you five to ten, hard.

               Witwer immediately scans his old partner's ashen face.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         What's wrong?

               Anderson can hardly bear to meet his friend's eyes.  He
               REACHES into his pocket, as if to lift the disc into the
               light.  If he could just do that, show it to Witwer.


               Anderson's hand comes out of his pocket, EMPTY.

                         Take over for me today?

                         You sick?


               Witwer makes a show of backing away.

                         Don't give it to me.  You probably
                         have that Trans-10 virus going around.
                         A stomach thing.  I hate stomach

               Anderson Almost smiles.




               Witwer looks at him.  Anderson almost reaches out for him.

                         Run the place, okay?

                         Sure.  Right into the ground.
                         Go on home before I call Infectious
                         Control and have them spray you down
                         with something.

               Anderson moves unsteadily down the hallway.  Witwer calls

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         You want me to do the discs, or hold
                         them for you to review when you get

                         Can't let them back up.  Do 'em.

                         Call you later.  Take it easy, all

               Witwer lifts his hand in farewell, Anderson fixes on that
               last image -- Witwer waving goodbye.


               Anderson, sweating now, leans against a thick cement pillar
               and pulls out a cell phone.  He hits a button.


               Lisa sits in a meeting.  Her phone CHIRPS softly.  She glances
               at the display, then rises to take it.  She goes to a corner
               of the room.


                         Listen to me.

               Lisa presses her phone close to her ear.

                         I can hardly hear you.


                         I'm underground.  Weakens the signal
                         so it can't be picked up.

               Alarm moves across her face.

                         But we're on Secure

                         Listen, dammit!  I'm going to murder

               The Precogs picked it up.

               On Lisa -- can she have heard right?

                         Paul.  Paul His crackling voice
                         faintly comes through the phone.

                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE
                         ... home.

               Lisa's phone goes dead.

               BACK TO ANDERSON

               Anderson looks down a long row of parked Precrime ground
               transports.  They are sleek and menacing, the black shells
               lumpy with dangerous gadgetry.  In the distance, a POLICE
               OFFICER, holding an armful of equipment, opens the back of
               one of them.

               He looks up at Anderson's approach.  He puts his equipment
               down, and salutes.

                                     POLICE OFFICER
                         Hello, sir.

               Anderson nods, moves close.

                         What's your name, officer?

                                     POLICE OFFICER
                         Bob, uh, Robert Smythe.

                         These the new Python transports?

               The young officer turns and looks at the transport with pride,
               is about to speak, when Anderson touches a palm-sized Nova
               stun gun to the base of his neck.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Sorry, Officer Smythe.


               The officer buckles.  Anderson catches him, rolls him gently
               into the back of the transport.

               Then Anderson quickly reaches into the transport, and begins
               stuffing equipment into a duffel bag: a helmet and black
               uniform, the weapon-glove, a folded rifle, a holographic
               scanner, and other equipment whose function we can only guess

               Anderson looks up at a sound, echoey FOOTSTEPS.  They
               approach, then fade away.

               Anderson places the officer's hands and legs together, then
               aims a nozzled cylinder at them.  He shoots a spray of blue
               BindFoam chemical restraint, sticking the man to the floor
               of the transport in an adhesive glob.

               Then he leaves the scene, running.

               INT. ANDERSON'S CHEVY

               Anderson grips the wheel of his Chevy, driving down 1-95.
               The fact that he can't control his car -- that the steering
               wheel has no function, his speed is predetermined, and his
               direction is guided by satellite -- is maddening now.

               From inside the cars that glide along beside him people turn
               and look curiously at the man who is actually gripping his
               steering wheel.

               Anderson slams it with his fist.  Through his windshield
               Anderson sees a four year old boy in the driver's seat of a
               passing red and black Ford.  His mother sits in the
               passenger's seat, blithely reading.  The boy mimics Anderson,
               gleefully slams his steering wheel too, then laughs.

               Anderson turns and looks the other way, into the distance,
               at the "Sprawl,' the vast unzoned city attached to Washington
               D.C. You can see it in his face: a man could lose himself in

               EXT. POTOMAC PARK

               Anderson stands on an embankment.  He holds the Precog disc
               in his hand, ready to throw it into the river.

               He stands like that ... and then slowly lets his hand drop.
               He doesn't do it.


               Lisa enters the house, in a rush.  Every shade is drawn.
               Paul Anderson sits in an overstuffed chair, absolutely
               motionless, like a man who has died suddenly.

                         Don't move.


               Lisa doesn't get it.  She continues toward him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Stop!  Moving heats you up, makes it
                         easier for them to pick you up on
                         their thermals.

               She looks at him, scared, stops in her tracks.  She is
               suddenly suffocating.

                         It's a hundred degrees in here.

                         I turned the furnace all the way up.
                         Your hair dryer.  The oven.  If they
                         come, it'll buy me twenty seconds.
                         Maybe thirty.

                         Nobody's coming for you.

               Anderson stares at her.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         On the phone -- what you said.  It's

               She shakes her head in disbelief.  Anderson speaks, choking
               on the words.

                         I'm going to kill Ed Witwer.

                         It's not true.

               Anderson's right hand hangs over the side of his armchair.
               We see the bright DISC cupped in the palm.  He seems about
               to reveal it to her, but doesn't, yet.  He keeps staring at
               her intently.  Something is holding him back.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         You're upset.  You've been unhappy.
                         There's a lot of pressure on you.
                         And then Frank ...

                         One week from today.  Tuesday, June
                         25, at five-twenty in the morning.
                         I shoot him, Lisa.

                         You need to take time off.

               Anderson laughs harshly.


                         You don't have to worry about that.

               She steps toward him.

                         I want to hold you.

                         If you love me, stand there.  And
                         don't move.

               Tears well in her eyes.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I saw the disc, Lisa.  I shoot him.
                         In the chest.  And he dies.  I've
                         watched a thousand murders.  This
                         time I star in one.

                         Something's wrong.  You wouldn't do

                         The Precogs are never wrong.  They
                         emit a single disc.  "The immutable
                         evidence of the infallible system."

               The room is terribly hot, his words -- she begins to sway

               Anderson focuses on her.  Her face.  Her hair ...

                         We'll figure this out.  We'll review
                         the system.

                         There is no review.  There's only
                         the disc.  It Shows My guilt.  There's
                         no defense.

               Her long hair.  He stares.

                         You can't run.  Please, let's --

               A SOUND outside.  They both turn.  A deep silence.  The
               furnace churns out heat.  And Anderson looks at Lisa's hair
               ... and finally understands.

               Slowly, and very carefully, Anderson slides the DISC back
               into his pocket.  He rises from his chair.  For the first
               time he goes to her, reaches out, and touches her hair.


                         Last week.  It was strange.  I watched
                         from the bathroom window.  You went
                         out in the backyard to make a call.

               She looks at him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         An appointment, you said.  For a
                         haircut that afternoon.

               Lisa's hand jumps to her hair.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         You didn't get your hair cut.  You
                         went to the trouble of calling first
                         thing in the morning.  It was that
                         important ...

               She reaches for him.  He pulls away.

                         Stop it!  Paul, please.  You're
                         panicking.  Everything's going to
                         look wrong.  You're going to distrust
                         everybody and everything now.

               Lisa implores him.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         You can't distrust me.
                         It was Ed I called.

               Anderson cocks his head.

                         Ed.  why outside?  Why lie about it?

                         Stop being a cop and listen to me!

               A booming, electronically altered VOICE suddenly penetrates
               the walls of the house from outside.

                                     VOICE (O.S.)
                         Director Anderson!  There is no

               Anderson, betrayed, glares at his wife.  She's frantic.

                         Your birthday's tomorrow!  We wanted

               But be's already on the move, running for the upstairs.


                                     VOICE (O.S.)
                         Drop to your hands and knees and
                         stay there.  Precrime is entering
                         your house!

               Lisa screams, as her front door is sonically BLASTED off its
               hinges, and a swarm of Precrime officers in mirrored helmets
               hurtle in.


	       They move past her and spread through the rooms and up the 
               stairs like a disease in fast motion.


               Helmeted officers hold their gloved right bands palm out,
               scanning rooms for thermal presence.

               An OFFICER 1 steps out of a small room.  He speaks, his voice
               electronically altered.

                                     OFFICER 1
                         He's got a hair dryer going.  Screwed
                         up my reading.

               The others nod.

                                     OFFICER 2
                         We're not picking up shit.

               They rush into rooms, with increased urgency.  We follow
               OFFICER 1 as he moves counter to the group and down the

               He hesitates as he moves through the living room, which is
               awash in personnel.  Lisa stands against the wall, pale and
               shaken.  He looks at her for a long beat, then steps over
               the shattered door and out into the sunlight.


               Everywhere else in the neighborhood it is green and calm.
               But Anderson's house looks like a wasps's nest someone has
               kicked.  Four Precrime hovercrafts are suspended above it,
               engines WHINING.  Black Python transports are all over the
               street out in front, and more keep coming.

               And everywhere on foot, there are Precrime police.  OFFICER
               I approaches a Python ground transport.  Another officer
               guards it, weapon out, his head turning right to left.  He
               settles on OFFICER 1's approach and raises his weapon.

               OFFICER 1 doesn't even break stride.  He walks right up to
               the guard -- and then right through him.  A holograph decoy.
               OFFICER 1 enters the Python.


               INSIDE THE PYTHON

               OFFICER 1 removes his helmet -- it's Anderson.  And then
               comes the moment of truth -- have they cancelled his
               IdentiScan access to Precrime vehicles yet?

               A little scanner arm arches down from the visor, and flashes
               a red beam into his eyes.  Anderson presses his lips together.
               The Python turns on, and a generated voice greets him.

                         Paul Anderson 0256 clear.

               Anderson grips the steering wheel.  But his time, since it
               is a law enforcement.  Vehicle, the steering actually works.
               Anderson pulls out.

               FROM ABOVE, as the Python transport slips away from the chaos.

               THEN HIGHER, and we see that the direction the Python is
               headed will take it from the green of the suburbs, through
               the white of Washington, and into the dark of The Sprawl.


               Ed Witwer sits alone in an antechamber.  He stares at an
               oversized oak door, then looks down at the floor.

               He runs both hands through his hair.  He is tired, his eyes
               weary, lost.

               A voice comes over the intercom.

                         Enter now please, Assistant Director

               Witwer pulls himself together, and opens the door.

               INT. A CONFERENCE ROOM

               Witwer takes a seat at the end of a long table.

               Powerful men sit at the other end of the table.  SWANSON,
               sharp-boned, the FBI Director.  CRONIN, awl-like eyes, the
               CIA Director.  Senator Malcolm.  Chief Justice POLLARD, whose
               face reveals nothing.  Vice-President ALMER, whose tongue
               darts across his dry lips unsettlingly.  Unpleasant looking
               men in an unpleasant mood.

               Cronin looks up from a printout he's been reading and stares
               at Witwer.

                                     CIA CRONIN
                         The central question is: Why does
                         Anderson want to kill Witwer?


               Cronin holds up the printout.

                                     CIA CRONIN (CONT'D)
                         We checked your finances.  His
                         finances.  Nothing irregular, you
                         don't steal from him, he doesn't
                         steal from you.  You haven't done
                         anything that he might have
                         discovered, and vice versa.

               Swanson holds up another sheath of papers.

                                     FBI SWANSON
                         Personnel checks reveal no ambitious
                         coups planned by you to topple him.
                         He's done nothing to you, or you to

               Witwer presses his lips together.

                                     VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
                         You fucking his wife?


                                     FBI SWANSON
                         HIS MOTHER?  HIS BROTHER?

               Witwer gives him a bad look.

                                     FBI SWANSON (CONT'D)
                         Okay.  There we are.

                                     JUSTICE POLLARD
                         So, you are friends, partners, and
                         soul mates.  Anderson has no motive.

                         I can't think of one.
                         Maybe JUSTICE POLLARD The Precogs
                         are mistaken?

               Witwer looks away.  Jesus, he wants out of this room.

                                     JUSTICE POLLARD
                         You don't believe that, do you?

                              (barely audible)
                         No.  The Precogs are infallible.

               Senator Malcolm is impatient with all this.


                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         You're goddam right.  So, gentlemen
                         -screw the motive.  We got a
                         pre-murderer on the run, and a nasty
                         little PR problem.

               The very powerful men level their unpleasant gazes on Witwer.

                                     VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
                         And here is our solution.  You are
                         now Director Witwer.

               Witwer shakes his head, starts to protest.  Almer silences
               him with a raised finger.

                                     VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER (CONT'D)
                         Precrime must demonstrate its
                         willingness to go after one of its
                         own.  Total impartiality.

                         Now look--

               Cronin talks right over him.

                                     CIA CRONIN
                         The public must believe that every
                         future murderer is pursued with equal

                                     FBI SWANSON
                         Therefore, Precrime will put in charge
                         the man best suited to the job.  And
                         who would pursue a murderer harder
                         ... than his intended victim?

                                     JUSTICE POLLARD
                         You went after Anderson yesterday
                         -because it was right, and because
                         you believe.

               Almer speaks with a tight irony.

                                     VICE-PRESIDENT ALMER
                         And your belief will certainly grow
                         stronger with each tick of the clock.

               Witwer looks at the men with thinly-veiled hatred.  But he
               does not deny their words.

                                     JUSTICE POLLARD
                         Haw long will it take, Director?

               Wiltwer takes a long breath, concentrates his mind on the
               task he can't avoid.


                         He knows Precrime, of course.  And
                         the streets -- he's rusty, but he'll
                         remember how to work them.  It'll
                         come back to him fast.  He's ... the

               Witwer almost smiles.  Justice Pollard's not smiling.

                                     JUSTICE POLLARD
                         We're not here to praise Caesar --
                         we're here to bury him.

               Witwer looks at Pollard, then lifts a finger and touches his
               right eye.

                         He can't avoid iris identification.
                         Every door he opens, every ATM he
                         uses, or taxi or transport he boards
                         -- he'll get scanned.
                         It won't take long to find him.  

	       The eyes that look back at Witwer are unblinking.

               EXT. THE SPRAWL  NIGHT

               The unzoned city is full of 1950's iconography, but it all
               feels different than it did in the suburbs.  Where the burbs
               were Ike, the city is Joseph McCarthy.

               The fat Ramblers and Studebakers have a little grime on them.
               The women's dresses are tighter and more urgent, the men's
               suits have some shine at the elbows.  You look over your
               shoulder here, move faster, and smile a lot less.

               And some streets you don't go on at all.  Anderson's Python
               moves down one of them.  He stops under a blackened suspension
               bridge, gets out.  He's still in uniform.  He holds a duffel

               He starts to walk away from the Python, then hesitates.
               He's left the door open.  He shakes his head at his
               sloppiness.  Goes back and shuts the door.  Walks away again.

               INSIDE THE CAR

               He's left a small DEVICE on the passenger's seat.  Digital
               numbers shoot by in reverse.  Something CLICKS.

               OUTSIDE THE CAR

               Anderson continues walking away.  He doesn't look back as
               the Python is engulfed in a miniature sun of heat and flame.
               It's not a gasoline powered vehicle -- so it doesn't explode.
               It just ceases to exist.



               Through a smeared window Anderson sees racks of suits and
               dresses hanging in clear plastic bags.  He gets to work on
               the door.

               INT. ANDERSON'S HOUSE -- NIGHT

               Lisa lies in her bed, alone in the dark.  She listens to an
               almost inaudible sound, a high WHINE.

               EXT. ANDERSON'S HOUSE

               A Precrime HOVERCRAFT floats high above her house, a dark
               moon in the low clouds.


               A worker stands in the back of the store puzzling over the
               clean clothes piled on the floor.  It almost looks like a
               nest, like someone slept there

               EXT. SUBWAY  LATER

               Anderson, in a blue suit and fedora, carrying his duffel
               bag, stands on a subway platform.  He takes out a cell phone,
               dials a number.  He looks up at the SOUND of a train.

               The approaching MagLev train has a lit sign on its front
               car: "33rd Street Express."

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Search and Command room.  Witwer moves up and down the aisles,
               past technicians who man computers and holographic tracking

               A Precrime TECHNICIAN 1 suddenly sits upright.  Witwer picks
               him out of the crowd and zeroes in.

                         It's Anderson.

               Witwer grabs a phone, punches a button

               The technicians scramble to pinpoint Anderson on a
               Glowing holographic MAP.

                                                                    CUT TO:


               EXT. SUBWAY STATION

               Anderson, holding his phone, is IdentiScanned along with
               everyone else as he steps onto the train.

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Another TECHNICIAN 2 calls out to Witwer.  Witwer covers his
               phone mouthpiece.

                                     TECHNICIAN 2
                         He's been Scanned.  He's on the 33rd
                         Street Subway!

               TECHNICIAN 1 Calls from the other side of the room

                         His cell phone tracks for The Sprawl.
                         We got him on the Subway, too!

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. SUBWAY CAR

               Anderson sits on a seat in the rear of the car.

                         Why am I going to kill you,Ed?


                         There's no motive

                         My wife calling you before breakfast?

                         We were planning a surprise party.
                         It was going to be today.
                              (beat, ironic)
                         Happy birthday, partner.

                         This party's no fun, Ed. It's a hell
                         of a surprise, though.
                         I'm having trouble trusting people,
                         Ed, I gotta tell you.

               At Precrime, they upload a MAP DISPLAY of the Express train's
               route.  We see a blue light moving -- the train.  And two
               separate red dots along its route.

               An OFFICER points at the dots, and speaks to Witwer in a low


                         The train makes two stops, here and
                         here: 20th, then 33rd Street.

               Witwer covers the Mouthpiece

                              (to the officer)
                         Split the units, go to both

                         We'll never make 20th 

		Witwer waves him away -- do your job.  Now.

                         You there, Ed?

                         I'm here.  You gotta come in, Paul .

                         I'm a Cop, Ed. I need a motive.

                         Come in.  We'll figure this thing
                         out together.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               EXT. THE SPRAWL

               Precrime transports zoom through the city

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. THE SUBWAY TRAIN

               Anderson looks out the window into the tunnel dark.  He talks
               to Witwer.


                         It'll get ugly if you keep running.
                         And your eyes, Paul -- every move
                         you make a Scanner will pinpoint you
                         for us.

                         I saw a news flash.  You're the new
                         Director.  Is that the point of this?

                         Fuck you.

               Anderson smiles.


                         Didn't think so.  But it has to be
                         something, Ed.

               Witwer looks at the DISPLAY MAP.  We see the blue train
               nearing its first stop, 20th street.  We see two waves of
               lighted green dots -- Precrime units heading for 20th and

                         Paul.  Come in.

               Anderson sees an overhead light come on in the train: "Next
               Stop 20th Street.

                         If I come in, it puts me close to
                         you.  If I get close ... I may kill
                         you.  I can't risk that.
                         Anyway, they'd force you to lock me
                         up.  And that'd be it -- I'd never
                         get my chance to solve this thing.

               Witwer needs to keep him talking

                         You're kinds liking this, in a way,
                         aren't you?  The action ...

                         And you get to be a real cop again.
                         We get to flex our muscles.

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Precrime vehicles pull up.  Hovercrafts appear in the sky

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Anderson's train is just finishing off-loading passengers.
               The doors close and the train begins to pull out as the first
               helmeted Precrime officers flood the platform.

               One of them points.

               CLOSE ON: A TRAIN WINDOW


               Anderson is visible through the window, talking on his cell

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Witwer stares at the map.  The train has stopped at 20th
               street.  But Anderson's still talking.  He isn't getting off
               -- he's going on to 33rd Street, the last stop.

               Technician 2 presses his earphone close, listens, then calls
               over to Witwer.  Witwer covers his mouthpiece.

                                     TECHNICIAN 2
                         We have visual verification -- he's
                         still on the train.

               Witwer gives him a thumb's up.  We STAY ON Witwer as he
               listens to Anderson, and watches his train move toward 33rd
               on the MAP.

                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE
                         I want to tell you something, partner.
                         You listening?

               Witwer nods.  Now the MAP shows all the Precrime units
               swarming toward the 33rd Street subway station.


                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE
                         I gotta do this.  I have to figure
                         this thing out.
                         But listen to me now.  If it was you
                         running, I'd come after you, Ed.

               Witwer stares at the MAP, at all the units he's sent after
               his friend.

                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
                         You're a cop.  And I'm a future
                         Do your job, Ed. Come after me hard.
                         Because, Jesus Christ, I wouldn't
                         sleep or eat until I had tracked you
                         down and put a gun to your head.

                                                                    CUT TO:


               EXT. 33RD STREET SUBWAY

               Precrime officers pour down the stairs toward the train

                                                                    CUT TO:


               Witwer watches on the MAP at all the little symbols merging
               together, like a gameboard -- but this game ends in a reallife
               confrontation between one man and an army of them.

                         You wouldn't shoot a cop would you,
                         Paul?  Paul? 

	       He looks urgently to the phone technician

                                     TECHNICIAN 1
                         He's still on the line.

               Witwer presses his ear to the phone.  He can hear the subway
               make its STOP.  Then he hears a chorus of mechanized VOICES
               -the voices of the Precrime police, the SCREAMS of panicked

                                     VOICES ON ANDERSON'S PHONE
                         Police.  Everyone down on your hands
                         and knees!
                         Oh, shit.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT.SUBWAY TRAIN

               The Precrime officers aim the index barrels of their
               gloveweapons at ANDERSON, who sits blithely on a seat, holding
               his cell phone to his ear.

               Anderson begins to shimmer, then dematerialize ghost-like,
               into nothingness.  He was a holographic decoy.

               What is actually there on the train seat is Anderson's cell
               phone.  Rigged to its mouthpiece is a tiny digital voice

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. 20TH STREET SUBWAY

               Anderson trots up the stairs and safely out onto the streets
               of The Sprawl.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:


               EXT. STREET - THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT

               Every city has its underbelly.  If you lifted the fat dark
               underbelly of The Sprawl this is where you'd end up.

               The streets here feel like alleys, clotted and tight.  There
               are streetlights, bright ones -- but the light dies at its
               source, never makes it through the sour air down to the

               The retro fifties look comes apart here.  The people that
               you see -- and you only catch quick glimpses of them, they
               move like rats -- wear black mostly, tight fitting

               ANDERSON'S caught one of the rats, a thin bald guy in black.
               Anderson has him pinned up against a wall.  They're having
               some kind of exchange -- which consists of the guy answering
               none of Anderson's questions, and Anderson pressing him harder
               against the wall.

               Finally, the guy does something odd.  He lifts a finger and
               pulls down Anderson's right lower eyelid.  Anderson lets
               him.  Then the guy does the same on the left.  Has a long
               look.  And then nods.  Anderson releases him, and they go
               off together.


               An oppressive brick thing on a side street.  The facade is
               crumbling.  Nothing good happens in a building like this..

               The guy leads Anderson to the building, then scurries off
               into the night.

               INT. ROOM -- LATER

               A stained overstuffed chair in the corner, a dreary little
               kitchen with crusted dishes in the sink.

               But jarringly, in the center of all this, is a make-shift
               hypertech medical setup: a gleaming operating table, an array
               of lasers, scalpels and surgical equipment, an anesthesia

               Anderson sits in a chair facing DOC.  DOC is a big man with
               delicate fingers.  He sneezes, then blows his nose hard into
               a handkerchief.

                         Got a cold.

               Anderson looks at him uneasily.  It's not just DOC -- it's
               the whole setup, the needles and scalpels, the medical thing,
               which Anderson truly does not care for.  Doc sneezes again,
               then looks up at his patient.


                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         Don't worry.  I could cut open your
                         chest, sew a dead cat in there, and
                         you'd never get an infection.  Not
                         with the spectrum antibios I'll be
                         shooting into you.

                         I'm not here for cat surgery, Doc.

               Doc chuckles.  Then he waits, expectantly.

               Anderson hands him a tiny opalescent card.  A preset cash
               card.  DOC slides it into small console, watches the numbers
               flash up.  He frowns, sighs.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         It's all I could safely move

               He waits.  Doc's not thrilled, but finally, he nods.

                         Yeah.  All right.

               Time to got down to business.  Doc walks over to a large
               medical cabinet and opens the door.  It's full of EYES, and
               parts of eyes -- 611 !  A cryo-jars.

               Anderson tightens.

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         You understand what I told you then.
                         I can't just give you new irises.
                         The Scanners will read the scar
                         tissue.  Alarms will go off.

                         I'm a cop, I know

                         I gotta take your eyes out.

               Anderson knows this, too, wishes Doc would shut up ANDERSON

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         And put in new ones.

                         Yeah.  I get it, DOC.

               Anderson rises up out of his chair and goes over to the
               operating table.  He lies down.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Do me quick before I run out of here.


               Anderson lies there, blinking up at the ceiling.  He listens
               to Doc preparing instrument trays.  It's a bad sound.

               EXT. THE SPRAWL -- DAY

               The suspension bridge where we saw Anderson vaporize the
               Python transport.  Witwer stands watching as a Precrime
               techno-unit sifts through the white ashes.

               Witwer lifts his face to the acrid breeze coursing off the
               Potomac.  It's a pose a track dog might hold, nose up, testing
               the air for a scent.


               We can't see anything at first, because Anderson can't see
               anything either.  He's in a deep post-surgical haze.  DOC'S
               voice comes to him.  It's warped and ugly.

                                     DOC'S VOICE
                         Don't take the bandages off for twenty
                         four hours.  You'll go blind if you

               Anderson makes an affirmative grunt. Now we see his
               surroundings, even though Anderson still can't.  He lies in
               a grungy bed, his head and eyes swathed in white dressings.
               Doc stands over him.

                         You're in a room.  I had you moved
                         here, a couple miles from my place.
                         If they find you, they don't find

               Anderson grunts weakly.

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         A guy will come in, feed you once.
                         I juiced up the nano-reconstruction
                         around your new eyes, 'cause I know
                         you're in a hurry.

                         Nano-re ...construction.

                         Organic microrobots that reconstruct
                         nerves and blood vessels.  It'll
                         feel like fleas chewing on your
                         eyeballs.  Don't scratch.

               Anderson is already reaching his hands for his bandages.
               Doc forces them away.


                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         I'm giving you a bonus, might come
                         in handy.  Feel this.

               Doc takes an air-syringe out of his pocket and touches it to
               Anderson's hand.

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         It's a temporary paralytic enzyme.
                         Someone spots you, you duck into an
                         alley, shoot this under your chin.

               Doc presses the tip into the soft underpart of Anderson's
               chin.  Anderson jumps.

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         The enzyme turns your facial muscles
                         to mush.  You won't look like the
                         same man.


                         You tighten up again in about thirty
                         minutes.  Hurts like nothing you
                         ever felt.  It's vicious, but
                         effective.  I'll put it in your bag.

               Finally, Doc takes a small clock out of his pocket and places
               it on a dresser beside Anderson's bed.

                                     DOC (CONT'D)
                         I'm setting up a timer.  When it
                         buzzes tomorrow, take off your
                         bandages, and get the hell out of

               Anderson, groggy, starts to say something else, but then he
               hears a door open and close, and Doc is gone.

               EXT. THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT

               The Precrime presence mounts on the streets.  A couple of
               units move past the boarding house, but they don't stop.

               INT. BOARDING HOUSE ROOM -- DAY

               Anderson sits in a chair, his dressings like a blindfold.
               He looks like a hostage.  He is sweating.  Keeps reaching
               for his dressings to scratch, then forces himself not to.

               He speaks to someone we don't yet see.  The guy DOC said
               would come.

                         I'm hungry, but sick to my stomach.


                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Guess I should eat.  
			 You gonna help feed me?

               Now the camera moves and we see who it is that has been sent
               to help Anderson.  It's the rat guy, the thin bald man
               Anderson had roughed up the day before.  The guy has a bowl
               of hot soup in his hands.  He stares contemptuously at

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         So how do we do this, pal?

               The rat guy doesn't say a word.  He simply tips the hot soup
               and it splatters down into Anderson's lap.  Anderson cries
               out in pain and surprise.  The guy walks out of the room.

               CLOSE ON- THE TIMER

               Twenty hours gone by.  Four more to go.

               EXT. THE SPRAWL

               Precrime cops are shaking down any of the rats they can catch,
               looking for leads, looking for anything.

               INT. THE BOARDING ROOM

               The TIMER shows one hour to go.  Anderson sits in a chair,
               squirming miserably.  His dressings are wet with sweat, and
               frayed and dirty at the edges where he has tugged and plucked
               at them.

                              (to himself)

               He is this close to ripping the dressings off

               EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE -- DAY

               A Precrime transport stops.  Two officers get out.  One of
               them sets up a large thermal scanner on the sidewalk, and
               does a read on the boarding house.  The other does a read on
               a pawn shop and bar next door..

               The OFFICER 1 doing Anderson's boarding house, calls to the
               other officer.

                                     OFFICER 1
                         Got 27 warm bodies in this place.
                         What should it take, three or four

                                     OFFICER 2
                         Do four.  Speed things up, so we can
                         go eat.


               The Officer 1 opens the back of the transport, and takes out
               a box.  He removes four round BALLS.  They are silver, as
               big as billiard balls.

               He goes up to the boarding house, gets IdentiScanned, and
               the front door opens.  He rolls the balls down a dark hallway.

               Then he goes back out to the transport, and leans against
               it, bored.  He holds up an electronic clipboard and waits
               for the data to come in.

               INT. THE BUILDING

               The BALLS roll about eight feet, then suddenly come to
               autolife as they spin.  They open like flowers -- flowers
               with legs.

               CLOSE ON : A BALL

               A fist-sized Spider takes shape.  On its head is an IdentiScan
               lens mounted on a thin metallic antenna.

               INT. A ROOM

               An OLD WOMAN sits at a card table eating a bowl of something
               unidentifiable.  She looks up with annoyance as she sees a
               spider scuttling across the floor toward her.  It makes a
               CLICKING sound on the floor as it comes.  She's poor, living
               in The Sprawl -- she knows the drill.  She continues to eat
               as the SPIDER crawls up the leg of the card table.  She barely
               watches as it moves past her bowl and toward her hand.

                                     OLD WOMAN
                         It's nice to have a little company

               She smiles toothlessly at her joke The Spider hops onto her
               am and inches up, then moves across her shoulder.  It grips
               her cheek lightly, as the IdentiScan antenna reads her eyes.

               Then it leaps off her and onto the floor and CLICKS away
               across the linoleum.

               EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE

               The Precrime officer lifts his clipboard and checks a column
               with his laser pen, and waits for the next one.

               INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM

               Anderson sits in his chair.  He cocks his head, listening.
               His body tenses.  Something feels wrong.

               The TIMER shows ten minutes to go.  Blindfolded for a day
               and a night, Anderson has no idea how much time he has left.
               Three seconds, four hours?

               A flattened SPIDER squeezes under his door.  Anderson tenses
               as it CLICKS across the floor toward him.


               He knows that sound.

               Anderson stumbles up and out of his chair.  He starts to
               grab at his dressings, remembers Doc's warning, and stops
               himself.  The SPIDER waits for him to settle, then CLICKS
               toward him again.

               Anderson moves around the room, avoiding the Spider.  He is
               dripping with sweat, starting to breathe hard.  The Spider
               comes faster.  Anderson crashes into a table, brings it down.
               Falls across the bed.

               EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE

               The Officer 1 squints at his clipboard.  One of the Spiders
               is taking too long.  He adjusts his thermal scanner, and
               sees the heat outline of a man bouncing around a room.

               The other Officer 2 finishes reading the pawn shop and the
               barroom, then wanders over to Officer 1. They both watch the

                                     OFFICER 1
                         Stinking drunk.

                                     OFFICER 2
                         Or a guy who doesn't want to get

               INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM

               Anderson forces himself to sit still, because he knows the
               consequences.  The Spider advances, starts up his leg.

               The TIMER has not buzzed.  Anderson can't touch his dressings.
               The Spider moves across his shoulder and onto his face.  It
               WHIRS and HUMS trying to adjust its antenna against the

               EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE

               The officers eye the thermal scanner, as they reach for their
               mirrored helmets, getting ready to go in.

               INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM

               The Spider crawls all over Anderson's head, trying to get
               past the dressings for a read.

               Anderson has no choice.  None.  He starts to lift at his
               dressing.  The Spider senses his cooperation, freezes in

               Anderson wants to scream.  He unwraps his head, tugs the eye
               pads away from his eyes.  He rips them off.  The Spider sits
               on his shoulder, waiting.


               Anderson's eyes are tightly closed.  He opens them


               Light brighter than a magnesium burn, brighter than a nuclear
               flashpoint.  Light to buckle the knees and push the brain
               beyond endurance.

               And though all this the faraway sound of a BUZZER going off.
               The TIMER has finally sounded.  Anderson's open eyes are
               streaming with tears, but he has survived the moment.

               ANDERSON'S POV - THE ROOM

               It comes into slow focus The Spider, all business, reads his
               eyes.  Then, as if nothing unusual has occurred, it jumps
               off his shoulder, and crosses the floor.  It flattens, scoots
               under the door, and is gone.

               EXT. THE BOARDING HOUSE

               The officers see that the Spider has gotten its read.  They
               pull off their helmets.

                                     OFFICER 1
                         Let's eat.

               They start putting their equipment back into the transport.

               INT. ANDERSON'S ROOM

               Anderson stares at himself in a dusty mirror.  His new eyes
               are tender and bloodshot.  And they are not blue, like the
               ones he was born with, but a deep brown.  Anderson is exactly
               the same, and utterly different.

               He grabs his duffel bag, and gets the hell out of there.


               Lisa, looking drawn and scared, sits in Witwer's office.
               Witwer isn't looking too well, either.

                         They told me to move into Paul's
                         office.  I said fuck you very much.

               Lisa nods.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         I don't want to do any of this, Lisa.

                         I know.  I know that.


                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         Everybody's got their reasons for
                         wanting you in charge.  So do I --
                         you won't bring him in dead.

                         Yeah.  But if he shoots a cop ...
                         Which is what he does four days from
                         now, isn't it?

               Witwer's eyes imp involuntarily to a CLOCK on his desk.

                         He'd never hurt you.

                         I know that.  But the other thing I
                         know is -- the Precogs are never

               The words are leading them no place good.  They stop talking,
               and just sit there.

               INT. THE SPRAWL

               Anderson stands on a street corner waiting in line with
               several people waiting for the N0.6 Turbo Tram.

               The double decker Tram comes.  People get off, then the line
               starts to move forward as people get on.

               Anderson fidgets.  He's last in line.  Each person gets
               IdentiScanned as he boards.  Anderson's putting his new eyes
               to the test.  If the scan goes wrong, he's positioned himself
               to run.

               The woman ahead of him, gets scanned, pays her fare.
               Anderson's turn.  Anderson goes up the steps, and a red beam
               reads his eyes.

               The Tram DRIVER glances at a monitor beside his steering
               wheel, then nods at him.

                         Welcome aboard, Mr. Symington.  Plenty
                         of seats in the back.

               Anderson nods, moves casually to the back.  But his jaw
               muscles are flexing hard, working off the tension.


               Senator Malcolm releases a self satisfied little belch as he
               finishes off a late night whiskey in his panelled den.  He
               wanders about admiring himself in the many political photos
               adorning the cherry wood walls.


               He's feeling cozy and safe, the way rich people can afford
               to.  No IdentiScan Spiders would ever be sent under his doors.
               No intrusions of any sort, nothing that a coiffed secretary
               or a loyal wife wouldn't announce before hand.

               Which is why he doesn't immediately understand the small
               SOUND at ear level, coming from just behind him.  It's a
               metallic CLICK-CLICK.  He turns amiably.  His eyes instantly
               widen, and his knees buckle when he sees he's looking into
               the barrel of ANDERSON'S cocked gun.

                         Time to upgrade your alarm system,

               Senator Malcolm tries to regain his composure.  His fear
               embarrasses him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Your work-up of Witwer.  The Security
                         Panel would've done one.
                         Why do I kill Witwer?

               The Senator finds his voice.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         There's no motive.

                         There's, always a motive.

               Anderson presses the gun to the Senator's forehead.  He slides
               the barrel tip back and forth across the Senator's sweaty
               skin.  It makes a greasy red mark.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I could've come to anyone on the
                         panel.  But I picked you.
                         Of all the shits on that panel, I
                         like you least of all.  So if this
                         gun goes off, I'll feel bad, but
                         not, you know, devastated.

               You can almost see a thought dawning on Senator Malcolm.

               And then, shockingly he spits in Anderson's face, and turns
               and walks to the other side of the den.  His tone is mocking.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM
                         What the fuck was I worried about?
                         You can't kill me.  The Precogs
                         would've seen it.

               Anderson realizes this, too, lowers his gun.  The Senator is
               even laughing now.  For a moment Anderson does nothing, then
               he moves toward the Senator again.


               The Senator stands his ground smugly.

                                     SENATOR MALCOLM (CONT'D)
                         Witwer's clean.  You're clean.
                         There's nothing.  No motive.  Kind
                         of like something Kafka would've
                         cooked up.
                         You like that, cockroach?  You're
                         fucked and you'll never know why.

               The Senator is laughing hard now.  Anderson lets him.

                         Tell you something about the Precogs,
                         Senator.  They're great on murder.
                         But it's the little things they fail
                         to see.

               Anderson hits the Senator so hard it bounces him across the
               floor and into the cherry wood panelling.  Several of his
               beloved photos crash down onto him.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Little things like that, for instance.

               Anderson steps over him, and walks out of the room


               Search and Command room.  Witwer stands there amidst all of
               the technology speaking to a group of Precrime officers.

                         He hasn't shown up on one goddamn
                         IdentiScan in three days.

               No one says anything, and then LIEUTENANT GLASER, 30, speaks

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         He's found a room -- he's going to
                         sit it out.

                         Yeah, except for holding a gun to
                         senator Malcolm's goddman head in
                         his own goddman house last night,
                         Anderson's sitting it out!
                         Why hasn't he been scanned?

               The officers look at their shoes.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         Why is he invisible?  He's moving
                         around but he isn't being seen.


               Lieutenant Glaser tries again.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         Hes beating the scanners

                         No one beats the scanners.

               Witwer reaches up, wearily, rubbing his face and eyes with
               his hands.  The fingers dragging across his eyes stop.  Then
               his hands drop away, and he looks at his men.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         He's done his eyes

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         But the scarring always

                         He went the whole way.  The crazy
                         bastard had his eyes removed.  New
                         ones sewn in.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         That takes weeks to heal.

                         If you're prepared to go blind, a
                         street surgeon'll juice up the repair
                         cycle.  They don't give a fuck about

               Witwer's eyes flick to a digital CLOCK on the wall.  It's
               something he can't help doing now.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         He's going to do what it takes to
                         stay free -- if it blinds him, maims
                         him, or kills him.

               Witwers admiring smile makes his men very uncomfortable .

               INT. KITCHEN - THE SUBURBS -- DAY

               A mother places a carton of milk on a table in front of her
               teenage son.  He pours it into his cereal bowl, then puts
               the carton down in front of him.

               There's a flexible Vid-Screen on the side of the carton,
               about the size of a playing card.  AS the sleepy kid watches,
               the disposable Vid-Screen sparkles to life.

               Nothing unusual, they always do that.  For advertisements,
               lost kids, or in this case crime bulletins.

               A good one.  The kid straightens up.


               THE VID-SCREEN

               A fully rotating mug shot of PAUL ANDERSON fills the screen,
               followed by vital statistics and details of the precrime
               he's been charged with.

               The kid watches for a while, then gets bored, and pulls the
               Dexi-Pops cereal box over and starts reading the back of

               INT. A LIVING ROOM - THE SPRAWL -- DAY

               A big man in a tee shirt lies on a couch, a bowl of popcorn
               perched on his belly.  He stares at a TV monitor that's the
               size of a twin bed.


               Anderson's face fills the monitor.  The TV image is so big
               that Anderson overwhelms the room with his video presence.
               It's like God coming to pay a visit -- even if you want to
               avoid Him you can't.

               The big man with the popcorn tries to do just that.  He surfs
               through a zillion channels, but Anderson's visage is

               EXT. THE SKY - THE SPRAWL -- DAY

               Anderson's face fills the skies, too.  Witwer and Precrime
               have pulled out all the stops.

               Advertising dirigibles float by with Anderson's image on it.
               Holographic billboards with Anderson hover in the air.  There
               are so many Andersons in the sky he seems to be part of the
               weather, a special type of cloud.

               People on the streets look up, briefly interested, then go
               about their business.

               EXT. A STREET - THE SPRAWL

               One person who is paying deep attention to all this is
               Anderson himself.  He stands on a street corner, wearing
               dark glasses and a fedora, staring at a public video kiosk.

               VIDEO KIOSK

               The mug shot of Anderson disappears and is replaced by a
               Precrime SPOKESWOMAN.

                         The United States Supreme Court has
                         issued a special injunction allowing
                         the unprecedented public viewing of
                         former Precrime Director Paul
                         Anderson's future murder of Edward
                         Witwer, the current Director.


                         His mouth slowly opens.  He steps
                         back against a wall and slides his
                         hand into his pants pocket.  He looks
                         at the Precog DISC in his cupped
                         hand, then quickly puts it away.

               He stares at the kiosk as people on the street begin to gather
               around excitedly.

               CROWDS OF PEOPLE look into the sky, in store windows, at
               other video kiosks.  They have the enthralled anticipation
               of a mob at a public guillotining.

                         She continues her declamation

                                     SPOKESWOMAN (CONT'D)
                         The video you are about to see,
                         generated by the Precognitive mutants,
                         is the immutable evidence of the
                         infallible system.
                              (reassuring smile)
                         Citizens are urged to call
                         1-800-PRECRIME with any information
                         that may lead us to the whereabouts
                         of Paul Anderson, future murderer.

                         Shakes his head in confusion and
                         disbelief.  But he has the Precog
                         disc ...

               The OLD GUY him nudges him

                                     OLD GUY
                         This oughtta be good, huh?


               And there it is, Anderson and Witwer standing there pointing
               guns at each other.  The whole thing just as we saw it before.
               All the way through to the fatal moment.

                         Oh, Ed ...

               Anderson shoots him.  Witwer slumps, dying.  The video stops.
               And then begins to play all over again, right from the start,
               the 1-800-PRECRIME number scrolling along the bottom of it.
               "Call now!  Call now!  Call now!

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Moves quickly through the crowds.


               INT. BAR - THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT

               Ennis Page sits on a bar stool at the far end of a bar so
               full of cigarette smoke it doesn't seem capable of supporting
               life.  But it supports the kind of life Page is interested

               An emaciated woman with a feral smile slides onto a stool
               beside Page.  He gives one shake of his head, and she slides
               away again.  His eyes cut to a group of females.  He waits
               for the next approach.

               CLOSE ON: PAGE

               as a HAND reaches over his shoulder and places a Precog disc
               on the bar in front of him.  Page makes a sound and tries to
               jump away, as if the disc is something lethal.  Which it is,
               in a way.

               Anderson presses him back down on his stool.  Sits next to
               him.  Page stares at him, scared.  Anderson looks straight
               ahead as he speaks.

                         "Ennis Page engages the services of
                         prostitutes because his relationships
                         with them compound his feelings of
                         Direct quote from your psychological
                         profile -- the kind of shit I had to
                         know as your former boss.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         "Page is an obsessive-compulsive
                         Type Nine." Another quote.  Niners
                         are great for the kind of work you
                         do -- keeping all those Precog discs
                         in order.

               You can almost see Page's heart slamming in his chest.  He
               tries to hide it with tough talk.

                         I fuck whores and I'm orderly, so

                         Something's out of order, Ennis.
                         Deeply out of order.

               Page looks unhappily at the disc on the bar PAGE You got a
               disc Anderson picks it up, holds it tight in his fist

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Not A disc.  The disc.  When I went
                         home sick, I stole it.


                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I took it with me, Ennis.  I wasn't
                         sick, I was running with the evidence.
                              (lets that sink in)
                         So how is it that Precrime has one,

                              (utterly baffled)
                         You can't make copies 

	       Anderson waits.  Lets Page work through it.

                                     PAGE (CONT'D)
                         It's the basis of the system.  The
                         immutable evidence.  Copies are
                         You went home.  A little later, I
                         came in with a disc for Mr. Witwer
                         to review.  I wasn't halfway out the
                         door when he cried out.

               Anderson is barely breathing, he's listening so hard.

                                     PAGE (CONT'D)
                         He was in shock.  He showed me.  It
                         was you shooting him.  Then all hell
                         broke loose.  He had to send the
                         Precrime units to your house.

                         Ennis -- you gave out the same disc
                         twice.  Less than an hour apart.
                         The one I stole.  And then another
                         one.  Of the same event.

                         It's impossible.  The Precogs can
                         only move forward to new events.
                         Into the future.  They never repeat.

               Anderson looks around.  Patrons are beginning to look over
               in his direction, eyes lingering.  He rises.

               Page seems in a daze.  As an obsessive-compulsive niner, the
               concept of an untidy system is disorienting.

               Anderson starts to say something to the man, then doesn't.

               On the way out Anderson gets IdentiScanned.  An automatic
               DIGITAL VOICE calls out after him.

                                     DIGITAL VOICE
                         Have a nice night, Mr. Symington

	       Anderson leaves the dark of the bar for the deeper dark of The Sprawl.


               INT. A STREET - THE SPRAWL -- DAY

               A YOUNG GUY with a sparse moustache walks up to a payphone.
               He picks up, the receiver and immediately gets IdentiScanned.
               A light goes on, he's about to dial.

               Anderson appears out of nowhere, shoulders him out of the
               way.  The young guy drops the receiver and stumbles back
               onto the sidewalk.  Anderson grabs the hanging receiver.

                                     YOUNG GUY
                         Hey!  Hey, you can't... 

	       He reaches for Anderson, then thinks better of it.  Anderson 
	       is twice his size and very menacing in dark glasses.

                                     YOUNG GUY (CONT'D)
                         I'm gettin' a cop.

               The guy scurries off.  Anderson dials quickly.


               Lisa, walking down a hallway in the Judicial Center, stops
               to answer her BEEPING cell phone.  She leans against a wall,
               as lawyers and judges pass by.

                         It's me.


               Lisa grips the phone and turns to the wall

                         Your phone will be bugged.  So we
                         can't meet, we can't do anything.
                         Just listen.  Nowing you're listening
                         is enough.

               Lisa nods, as if he's right there.  He is right there, for
               her.  This is all she's got.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         When Precrime stormed the house, I
                         thought you'd called them.  Betrayed


                         I know.  Witwer sent them.  He saw
                         the disc and had to do his job.
                         Tell me you forgive me.  Please.


                         Of course, I forgive you.

               There's no time left.  He has to get off the line and start
               moving again.  A vast weariness enters his voice.

                         All these people I need to forgive
                         Do you think Frank forgave me?  All
                         I could do for him was send him
                              (long beat)
                         I love you.

               Lisa almost cries out when he hangs up.  She flattens herself
               against a wall.  She stays like that for a long moment,
               pulling the sound of her husband's voice, his words, deep
               inside of herself.

               And then she gets a look, as one of those words registers

                              (whispers to herself)
                         Frank hated gardenias.


               A public cemetery along the Potomac.  There's not much land
               left for new graves.  A funeral is taking place.  A lot of
               mourners in dark 1950's suits and dresses.  The service is
               nearing its end.

               Frank D'Ignazio's newly dug grave is nearby.  Lisa stands
               there, looking at the temporary marker, and the flowers and
               wreaths piled up against it.

               Two rows over, they are lowering the casket into the ground.

               High in the sky, a PRECRIME HOVERCRAFT, everpresent in Lisa's
               life, floats in the low clouds with a barely audible WHINE.

               Lisa rests a floral arrangement against the pile of flowers.
               Her hand drifts near a white GARDENIA WREATH.  There is a
               small envelope tucked beneath a blossom.  She takes it.

               Then she rises and begins to walk back to her car.

               The funeral is over, and the mass of mourners, many wearing
               dark glasses, fan out toward a long line of cars.

               One of the MOURNERS brushes past Lisa.  She looks up and he
               tips his dark glasses down onto his nose and stares over
               them at her.


               It's Anderson.  Isn't it?  She looks into his eyes.  And
               it's jarring, the blue eyes gone, that they're brown now.
               But it's him, he's there, and she wants to reach out for
               him.  Knows she can't.

               He's already moving on.  He's risked everything for a look.
               He slips into the black sea of mourners, she goes to her car
               -neither of them ever breaking stride.

               The Precrime craft hovers, unaware

               INT. LISA'S CAR

               Lisa opens the envelope as her car drives her down the
               Alexandria-Washington ConnectWay.

               A Precog DISC falls into her hand.  Her mouth opens -- she's
               never held one before.

               And there is a NOTE with it It READS:

               "The Precogs generated duplicate discs.  This is the first.
               Precrime has the second.  Duplicates.  Why?"


               Anderson has to eat bad food quickly, and on the run.  He
               gathers up a wrapped sandwich, a bag of donuts, something to

               He waits in line.  He doesn't like to be in a line, waiting.
               The woman ahead of him argues about change.  He presses his
               lips together.

               And then he glances at the mirrored surface of a hidden camera
               DOME attached to the ceiling.  It gives him a fish eye
               reflected VIEW of what's happening behind him.

               Precrime police are happening behind him.  He doesn't stop
               to ponder, as two Python transports zoom up outside the store.

               Anderson vaults the counter, knocking the customer and the
               clerk to the floor.

               INT. BACK ROOM

               Anderson plows over a guy filling a trash can.  He hears the
               mechanically altered COMMANDS of a Precrime officer calling
               from the store.

                         Paul Anderson.  Drop to your hands
                         and knees!

               Anderson crashes out into an alley, and clambers up a fence.
               SONIC BLASTS shatter the air around him.  Chunks of brick
               fly off the walls on both sides.  But he is full of
               adrenaline, and there is no stopping him.



               A different part of the city.  Anderson hunkers low in the
               back seat of a tram.

               He looks up, as the DRIVER swears

                         What the hell --

               Anderson stands up, looks down the aisle, through the
               windshield.  Precrime transports are heading straight at the
               tram, going the wrong way on a one way avenue.

               They've even taken radio control of the P.A. system on the

                         Paul Anderson.  Drop to your hands
                         and knees!

               Anderson can't believe it -- how are they suddenly pinpointing
               him?  The passengers turn in unison like cattle, and stare
               at him, terrified.

               Anderson grabs his duffel bag and kicks at the back exit
               doors, smashing them open, and tumbles out onto the street.

               He rolls, and is up on his feet in a second, reaching into
               his bag for a glove.  He pulls the weapon onto his right
               hand, as he whirls around sizing up his predicament.

               Precrime transports have begun to seal off both ends of the
               street.  He looks up.  He is surrounded by skyscrapers and
               buildings -- he is walled in, at the bottom of an urban

               People freeze against the sides of buildings, run into
               doorways where they can.  Passengers in trans and taxis or
               cars stay there, pressed against their windows watching.

               Nothing moves, except the Python transports, closing in.
               The lead officer speaks, with that menacing electronically
               altered VOICE.

                                     VOICE (CONT'D)
                         Lower your weapon, or we will
                         neutralize your threat potential.

               The Precrime police are out of the transports now, advancing
               at either end of the city street in phalanxes of men.

               Anderson eyes the side of the black granite office building
               closest to him.


               The large red hydrant sits a few inches out from the building.


               Anderson almost smiles as he begins to walk slowly toward
               it, his weapon pointing harmlessly at the pavement.

                                     VOICE (CONT'D)
                         Do not move!

               Anderson is up on the sidewalk now, two feet out from the
               building, right beside the high pressure hydrant.

               He stops, looks up, looks down, looks at the police advancing.
               It is a moment for prayer.  Anderson doesn't have a moment.

               He spreads his feet and fires a massive SONIC BLAST down at
               the sidewalk.  The effect on the underground water main is

               A GEYSER of water two feet in diameter erupts straight up
               from the sidewalk, lifting the tumbling Anderson fifteen
               feet into the air right alongside the building.

               The stunned police officers try to take aim, but Anderson's
               bouncing at the top of the geyser.  And they can't fire,
               anyway, because officers workers stare at the excitement
               from every window in the building.

               All this in a time span of seconds.  The world spins crazily
               for ANDERSON, but he manages to grip hold of a metal support
               beam holding the building's sign, one story up.

               The police try to see what he's doing, but the torrent of
               water from the water main break obscures his moves.

               He pulls himself onto a ledge, steadies himself, slides along
               it toward a second story window.  The office building gawkers
               lurch backward from the window as Anderson blasts it to
               sparkling dust and leaps inside.

               INT. OFFICE BUILDING

               The building covers almost an entire city block.  Anderson,
               dripping wet, runs from one end of it to another, blasting
               through doors, shoving terrified workers out of the way.

               He is like a wide receiver running the length of the field,
               jumping obstacles, slamming through, over, and around whatever
               he must to get to his goal.

               And then he reaches his goal -- the windows overlooking the
               avenue next block over and parallel to the one where Precrime
               ambushed him.

               He spots a double-decker TurboTram moving slowly in the stream
               of traffic.  It pulls to the curb below to pick up passengers.

               Anderson blasts out the window and leaps onto the roof of
               the bus.  It is a bone-jarring landing.  He loses
               consciousness for a second, rolls the length of the roof,
               and slides off it onto the pavement.


               He lies there, trying to rouse himself.  Traffic brakes to a
               stop automatically as car and truck sensors read his form in
               the road.  No one wants to touch him.  A single car horn
               SOUNDS, and then a chorus of them.

               Anderson rouses, struggles to his feet, and takes off in a
               limping run.


               Anderson, out of breath and in pain, leans against a post at
               the far end of the passenger platform.  There are tracks on
               either side of him, one marked "Uptown" and the other
               "Downtown. "

               He feels a blast of air and looks to his right and sees that
               the Downtown train is coming in.  And on his left, too, the
               Uptown train rounds the bend and comes into view.

               Which MagLev train will lead him to safety?  Which one won't
               they pinpoint?  He runs up to a teenage KID who has his arm
               around his girlfriend.  They step back, startled.  He's got
               a flat top hair cut, she wears a pleated skirt and saddle

               The trains pull in.

                         Pick one for me!


               THEY TRY TO WALK AWAY

                         Point to the train I should take.

                         I don't know.

               The girl lifts a nervous finger and points.  The Uptown.  He
               runs to board it, as they run in the opposite direction to
               the Downtown.

               INT. SUBWAY CAR

               He sits at the back of the half empty train watching the
               dark rush by.  A train chosen arbitrarily -- it's impossible
               they could find him.

               A station Stop.  He starts to get off, is actually on the
               platform, then steps back onto the train.

               The rushing dark again.  When the MagLev eases to a halt at
               the next station he gets off this time.


               INT. STATION

               He walks toward the exit stairs with a handful of people.
               He eases back and lets them go up first.

               THE STAIRS

               Precrime officers crouch around the bend, silently snatching
               people out of the way as they come into view.  They wait
               -but Anderson does not come.  And he does not come.

               On signal, the Precrime officers rush down the stairs.


               ANDERSON hangs high above the doorway near the ceiling,
               adhered by one arm there by a blue glob of adhesive BindFoam.


               as they run below him down the stairs.  They go out of sight,
               he can hear them rushing along the platform searching for

               The strain of hanging by one arm is killing him.  He reaches
               up.  With a laser knife, and cuts away at his coat sleeve,
               releasing himself from the glob.  He drops to the stairs,
               and instantly slips up them.

               He surprises a helmeted OFFICER, just around the bend.  He
               slams HIM against the wall, yanks off his helmet, and holds
               the laser knife against his throat.

               The OFFICER 1s clearly terrified.  He speaks hoarsely through
               Anderson's choking grip.

                         Don't kill me!  Jesus.  Please.

               Anderson looks at the panicked officer.  Anderson closes his
               eyes trying to put it together.  He opens them.

                         But the Precogs would've predicted
                         me killing you.  You'd know whether
                         I do or not.

               The officer looks at him with eyes begging for mercy.
               Anderson suddenly gets it.  He tightens his grip on the man.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         They shut down the system.  Haven't
                         they?  They've shut down the Precogs.

               The officer nods.


                         They're off homicides.  They're
                         redirecting them to help us locate

               Which is how they knew where he'd be every time.

               Anderson chops quickly at the base of the man's skull,
               knocking him out.  And then he runs, because what else can
               he do?

               INT. JUDICIAL CENTER -- DAY

               Lisa stands in a long hallway outside a door, labeled:
               COURTROOM 17.  She holds a briefcase in one hand.  Down the
               hall, other courtrooms are in use, but not this one.  She
               enters the dark and vacant Courtroom 17.

               INT. COURTROOM 17

               Lisa sits at the judge's bench in the empty courtroom.  The
               lights are dim.

               She takes a small, battery-powered tv out of her briefcase.
               She turns it on.


               The murder of Witwer by Anderson is being shown over and
               over in a continuous loop.  Flashing at the bottom is the
               hotline number: "1-800-PRECRIME." Then- "Call Now!  Call

               BACK TO SCENE

               Now Lisa takes out the Precog disc Anderson gave to her -the
               first disc.

               She places it in the specialized monitor on the judge's bench.

               The tv and the judge's monitor sit side by side.  The tv
               plays the version of the murder from the second disc; the
               judge's monitor plays the version from the first disc.

               She stares intently, her eyes flicking back and forth from
               one version to the other.  They seem absolutely identical.
               When the judge's monitor goes blank, she starts it over again.

               Lisa stares, watching her husband murder his best friend,


               A gas station right out of the fifties.  An attendant in a
               uniform and cap whistles while he wipes down the windshield
               of a sky blue Rambler.

               In the background, Anderson walks toward a men's room.


               INT. THE MEN'S ROOM

               Anderson looks at himself in the mirror.  He reaches out and
               touches one reflected eye, which is a deep brown.  It is
               still startling to him, the color of his eyes.

               Then he reaches into his duffel bag and takes out the air
               syringe Doc gave to him.  He looks at it nervously.  It is
               filled with 5 cc's of an opaque green liquid.

               He touches the tip of it to the soft center under his chin.
               He closes his eyes.  Then he screws up his courage, and hits
               the plunger.  The liquid is pneumatically delivered with a
               searing HISS.

               Anderson screams out in agony, slams back against the wall
               of the bathroom.  His hands reach up for his face -- which
               looks like it's boiling from within.

               ANDERSON'S FACE

               The skin on both cheeks begins to pucker.  The muscle tone
               around his chin goes soft, and begins to sag like an old
               man's.  That is the effect -- like he is aging fifty years.
               His forehead wrinkles, the skin under his eyes droop.  Healthy
               pink is replaced by bloodless gray.


               EXT. THE MEN'S ROOM

               The ATTENDANT knocks nervously on the door

                         You all right in there?

               When the door opens, an unhealthy looking old guy with a
               fedora hat pulled low comes slowly out of the bathroom.
               Anderson nods, and walks past the attendant, who watches
               after him uncertainly as he wanders off.


               The perky tour guide we met earlier takes another group around
               the headquarters.  There may be a massive campaign to find
               Anderson, but the Precrime public relations machine continues
               to run without interruption.

               There are ten people in the group, and the physically
               transformed Anderson is among them.  They all wear glowing
               nametags.  Anderson's reads, "Mr. Symington." He keeps his
               hands in his pockets, and his head low.

               We have heard the tour guide's spiel before


                                     TOUR GUIDE
                         Welcome to the main headquarters of
                         Precrime.  Smaller Precrime branches
                         are scattered throughout the United

               She is about to go on when she looks over at Anderson.  He
               is fidgeting uncomfortably.

                                     TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
                         Are you ... all right, Mr. Symington?

               Anderson moves up close to her, a little too close.  He
               whispers to her, embarrassed.  She gives him a professional
               smile, and points in the distance past the elevators.

               Anderson nods, and heads off.  She calls after him.

                                     TOUR GUIDE (CONT'D)
                         We'll wait right here for you, sir!


	       Anderson runs down a back stairwell to a lower floor.


               Anderson stands outside a door marked: "Housekeeping." Above
               the doorway is an IdentiScan device.

               Anderson reaches into his coat and carefully removes a small

               CLOSE ON: THE CRYO-JAR

               Imbedded in the clear gelatinous coolant are two eyeballs
               -the irises a luminous blue.


               The operations room in Precrime.  The technicians sit at
               their computers and holographic tracking displays.

               Witwer paces among them.  His eyes keep flicking to the
               digital clock on the wall.  Then they cut back to the men
               and machines that are telling him nothing.  Witwer does not
               look well at all, When a TECHNICIAN leans close to his
               computer monitor,Witwer almost leaps across the room to get
               to him.  He looks over the man's shoulder.

                         What is it?

                         Must be a glitch ...



                         Anderson just got IdentiScanned.

               Witwer grips the back of the technician's chair.  The
               technician types the data through again.

                                     TECHNICIAN (CONT'D)
                         It's him -- he's been scanned.

                         Where is he?

               The technician looks up at Witwer.

                         But he's had his eyes done.  Right?
                         Sir?  Tries to think it through.

                              (barely audible)
                         He had to have.

               The technician's computer flashes the next piece of
               information.  When he speaks, it's the last thing Witwer
               wants to hear.

                         Jesus Christ, sir.  He's in the
                         basement of this building.

               All eyes turn to Witwer.  The unspoken question hangs in the
               air.  Anderson's come to murder Witwer?


               Throughout the building, every available Precrime Officer
               begins to receive orders to mobilize toward the basement.

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               Four officers stand guard in the chamber.  They listen to
               the orders coming in on their earpieces.  Three of the guards
               rush out of the room, one stays behind.

               The three Precogs sit in their oversized chairs, the female
               in the middle, the males on either side of her.  Their eyes
               are open ... and they are deeply alert.

               Two technicians tend to the Precogs.  At the back of the
               chamber, through a large window, we see Ennis Page sitting
               at the huge mainframe.


               INT. SEARCH AND COMMAND

               A ring of Precrime officers three men deep stand guard around
               Witwer.  Witwer looks like he wants to kill them all.

                         This is ridiculous.

               Lieutenant Glaser replies forcefully

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         Standing orders from the Security
                         Panel, sir.

                         If he wants to get to me, he'll get
                         to me.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         No, he won't, sir.

               Witwer looks at the confident young officer almost pityingly.
               Then his eyes flick to the wall clock.

               INT. THE BASEMENT

               Armed Precrime officers clog the corridors, conducting
               defensive searches of one room after another.  All they are
               coming up with so far are some very startled housekeepers.

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               In the chamber are one guard, two technicians, and three
               Precogs.  And all of them are left in sudden darkness, as
               the power is cut.

               INT. SEARCH AND COMMAND

               The officers around Witwer reach for their maglite
               flashlights.  The Search and Command room suddenly looks
               exceedingly vulnerable.

               A technician calls out from the darkness

                         Don't worry, air -emergency generators
                         will kick on in five seconds.

               The green glow from a roomful of wristwatches makes the room
               seem alive with fireflies.  Five seconds go by.  Then ten

                         Explanation, please!

                         Uh, sir.  It seems ... he got the
                         generators, too.


               There is a long moment of silence.  And then Witwer begins
               to laugh.

               INT. THE PRECOG CHAMBER

               The room is utterly dark and silent.  The silence is broken
               by the SOUND of something rolling across the floor.  Somebody
               speaks, probably the guard.


               An explosion of light fills the room in STROBE-LIKE blasts.
               And leaping through the light is ANDERSON.  The temporarily
               blinded guard and technicians have dropped to their knees.
               Anderson stun guns them quickly.

               The strobes fade, and Anderson sets a zirc-flare on the floor.
               We see that the enzyme is wearing off -- his facial features
               are returning to normal.

               He is oblivious to the Precogs in their chairs.  It is the
               equipment he is after.

               Through the observation window we see ENNIS PAGE watching in
               horror as Anderson severs the light cables connecting the
               Precog helmets to the mainframe.

               Anderson aims a sonic blast at the observation window, blowing
               it out and knocking Page unconscious.  Then he reaches into
               the room and destroys the mainframe itself with a series of

               Anderson is so intent on destruction he does not sense a
               PRESENCE behind him.  Perhaps it is because the movement is
               so completely devoid of malice it is beyond detection.

               A HAND, the fingers pale and slender, reaches out and takes
               hold of his hand.

               Anderson whirls around, weapon out.  And there before him,
               is the FEMALE Precog.  He looks at her, then beyond her to
               the other Precogs who are lolling in semiconsciousness in
               their chairs.

               Her helmet is off.  She is young, but her close-cropped hair
               is silver white.  And when she speaks, her voice is like the
               wind whispering through time.

                         Save us, Anderson.

               Anderson can feel the seconds ticking away, his carefully
               planned operation interrupted in an unfathomable way.

                         I have to get out of here.


               She grips his hand.

                         Save us.

               It is beyond pitiful, this frail little woman, pleading.
               And her eyes, she won't let him go.  She is beginning to
               weaken, to sway on her feet.

               A sudden realization floods over Anderson.

                         You let me get here, didn't you?
                         You stopped giving them information,
                         so they couldn't track me.

               The Precog female is fading fast.  She tries to reach out
               for him and her legs give way.

                         Save -- 
  	       And what can Anderson do but catch her before she falls?  
	       What can he do but throw her over his shoulder, and in the 
	       fading light of the flare, make a run for freedom.

               INT. TUDICIAL CENTER

               Lisa has been staring at the judge's monitor and the tv screen
               for over an hour.  The two versions of Anderson murdering
               Witwer play over and over.

                              (wearily, to herself)
                         Help me, Paul.

               She hits freeze-frame on the judge's monitor, at a moment
               during his confrontation with Witwer when Anderson's FACE
               fills the screen.

               Lisa looks with deep urgency into her husband's eyes.

               And it is his EYES, finally, that tell her everything.  Lisa's
               hand rises to her open mouth.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         They're blue.

               She keeps the image on freeze-frame, and turns and looks at
               the tv, which shows Precrime's disc over and over, the 1-800
               number scrolling along the bottom.

               When the same close-up of Anderson flashes onto the tv screen,
               she leans close to it and squints.

               Anderson stares right back at her.  And for the first time,
               Lisa sees that the tapes are not exactly identical.  His


                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         And now they're brown.

               For the first time in days she allows herself a small smile.

               INT. PRECOG CHAMBER

               Power has been restored to Precrime Headquarters.  Witwer
               walks slowly through the ruins of the Chamber.  EMT teams
               work on Ennis Page and the other dazed personnel Anderson
               has left in his wake.

               Technicians cluster around the two remaining Precogs, the
               brothers.  Their eyes are closed and they are limp.  Their
               lips move soundlessly as if in conversation with each other.

               Lieutenant Glaser is with him, but when Witwer speaks it is
               almost to himself.

                         Why didn't the Precogs know he was
                         coming to do this?

               The Lieutenant has no reply.  Witwer runs both hands through
               his hair.  It has begun to wear him down, the ticking of the
               clock ...

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         The next time he shows up it'll be
                         to kill me.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         We won't let that happen, sir.

               Witwer takes in the chaotic scene around him, then gives the
               Lieutenant a withering look.

                         You won't, huh?

               When the Lieutenant tries to speak to him, Witwer walks away
               and goes over to the technicians working on the Precogs.  He
               stares at the Precogs.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                              (to a technician)
                         When can we get these things

                         They're a hive mind, sir.  It takes
                         three for their predictive abilities
                         to be fully operational.

               Which Witwer does not want to hear.  Witwer leans very close
               to the technician.


                         These two are all I have to find the
                         man who is about to murder me.  Hook
                         them up, and flood them with whatever
                         kind of fucking chemicals you have
                         to.  They are a machine, and I need
                         that machine at my disposal.

               The Precogs's lips stop for a microsecond, and then begin
               their silent movements again.


               Ennis Page is a man unglued.  He sits on a tidy little sofa,
               in a tidy 1950's style living room.  But his movements have
               become untidy.  He puts a very tiny pill on his tongue.

               When he drinks from a glass of water, it dribbles down his
               chin onto his shirt.  Not like Ennis, at all.

               When his doorbell RINGS, he slowly looks up, then looks down
               at the floor again.  He doesn't answer it.  It RINGS some

               And then Lisa is standing there before him

                         Your IdentiScan is off, Ennis.  I
                         could just walk in here.

                         I forgot.  To turn it on.

               She sits down beside him.

                         You don't look surprised to see me.

               She glances at the bubble pack of pills on the table beside
               him, three gone.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         I need your help.

               Unexpectedly, tears well up in Ennis's eyes.

                         He took one of my babies.

                         He's desperate, Ennis.  He had to.
                         We have to help him.

               Lisa holds the Precog disc in front of his eyes.  He closes
               them against the sight, as if it were an evil talisman.


                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         It's a fake Ennis.

               Ennis's eyes open again.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         This is the first disc.  You delivered
                         it to Director Anderson.  He reviewed
                         it.  And then he stole it, and went
                         on the run.

               Ennis tries to think through his fear and haze.  His words

                         I delivered ... a fake .. to him?

                         But he thought it was real, and ran
                         with it.

               The pills, his tidy world coming apart -- Ennis is losing

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         An hour later, you delivered a second
                         disc of the same event.  Witwer
                         reviewed it.  It was real.  (Beat)
                         How do I know this?

               Ennis just wants her to go away.  He wants it all to go away.
               Tears stream down his face.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         Director Anderson had his eyes
                         changed.  They were blue.  Now he
                         has brown ones.

               Ennis is sliding away.  Lisa takes hold of him.  Makes him
               listen, dammit.  She points to the disc in her hand.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         This disc, the fake one, shows a
                         blueeyed Anderson murdering Witwer
                         two days from now.  He doesn't have
                         blue eyes anymore.  The person who
                         faked this disc had no idea he would
                         change his eyes.

               Lisa shakes him.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         Listen!  But the second disc has to
                         be real, because he has brown eyes
                         when he murders Witwer.


                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         Somebody tried to frame him with a
                         fake.  And somehow it all became real.
                         Why, Ennis?  How could this happen?

               Ennis gives her a look that's on the other side of

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         You handle the discs.  How did a
                         fake one get delivered?

               Ennis's eyes roll back into his head.

               PAGE Coffee ...

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         You want-- ?

                         He spilled coffee everywhere ...
                         Everywhere ...

                         What coffee?  What are you -- ?

               But Ennis sags unconscious.  She shakes him hard, even slaps
               him, but Ennis is out.  She lets him drop down on the sofa.

               From outside the house, somewhere high in the clouds, comes
               the WHINE of a hovercraft.

               Lisa looks once more at Ennis, then gets out of there

               INT. ROOM - THE SPRAWL -- NIGHT

               A small, dreary room, invisible with insignificance.  Which
               is just the kind of room you want if you've stolen a Precog.

               The female Precog lies on a cot.  Anderson sits on a metal
               folding chair watching her.

               Her eyes slowly open and look at him

                         My brothers aren't here.

                         You didn't even look around.  You

                         We can sense each other.  You must

	       Anderson cuts her off with a curt shake of his head


                         Stop.  I saved You.  It was the best
                         I could do.

               She turns away and looks at the yellowing paper on the wall.
               There is a fading pink cabbage rose.  She traces the outline
               of it with her thin finger.

               She turns back to him.

                         Thank you, Anderson.

               It is deeply eerie for him, chatting with a Precog.

                         What am I going to do with you?

               Her eyes grow very serious.

                         Name me, Anderson.


                         Give me a name.  I've never had one.

               Anderson rises, moves around the small room.  He is shamed,


               She turns to the wall.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Listen to me.
                         Listen to me ... Rose.

               It is heartrendingly touching, the smile she gives him when
               she faces him again.


                         Rose.  They shifted your precognition
                         so you would locate me.

                         Yes.  And it hurt us, physically.
                         Did you know that?  The helmets, the
                         controls.  It hurts.


                         I didn't know.

               For a long moment he can't say anything.  But there are things
               he needs to understand ...

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         When they shifted you to find me,
                         you didn't reveal everything.  That
                         I was going to break into Precrime.

                         We saw our chance.  You would need
                         to shut us down, you would have to
                         come.  We wanted you to come.

                         You used me -- to save you.

                         I have been used all my life,

               Anderson can't meet her eyes.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         No one cared that we were human.
                         From a human mother.  Taken at birth.
                         Hooked to machines.
                         We have been alive, Anderson.
                         Enslaved, for the greater good.

               Her words are unbearable, for both of them.  She traces the
               outline of the wallpaper rose again.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         But now I have a name.  And I know
                         the man who has named - me will not
                         allow me to be enslaved again.

               Anderson looks at her, then goes to the window, carefully
               watches the street below.

                         Rose.  What's going to happen to us?
                         Can you see that?

                         I'm weak.  And away from my brothers.
                         I see glimpses and hints of things
                         nearby.  But it's all ... scattered.
                         I'm tired of the future, Anderson.

               She lies on the bed, watching as Anderson comes back to her.
               He sits carefully on the side of her bed.


               Then be reaches out, and gently touches her cheek

                         You didn't know I was going to do
                         that, did you?

               She is almost too overwhelmed to speak

                         No.  Oh, Anderson.  It was lovely.

               And now it is Anderson who is overwhelmed

               INT. ENNIS PAGE'S HOUSE  DAWN

               If he were not already dead, it would've killed Ennis Page
               to see the state of his living room.  Precrime officers
               everywhere.  Blood on the rug.  A gun beside the sofa.

               Witwer stands in the corner of the room witching the Coroner
               crab walk Page's body.  It WHIRS and CLICKS as it probes and
               takes samples from various sites.

               The holographic doctor waits patiently as the Coroner crab
               makes its determinations.

               Lieutenant Glaser talks quietly to Witwer

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         Who else could it've been?

               The crab probes the ragged hole in Page's head

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER (CONT'D)
                         He grabbed a Precog so he could commit
                         an undetected murder.

                         Page worshipped the system.  He fell
                         apart.  Shot himself.

               The Lieutenant rolls his eyes.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER

               Witwer doesn't say anything.  He just stares at the body The
               crab finishes.  The holographic doctor unfolds his arms and
               turns his head to Witwer.  He is only a computer interface,
               but even so, it seems as if there is surprise in his
               digitalized voice.

                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR
                         Director Witwer.  This event is a
                         positive homicide.


                                     HOLOGRAPHIC DOCTOR (CONT'D)
                         A mortal wound was generated by a
                         .38 calibre bullet delivered to the
                         left occipital portion of the anterior
                         skull, on June 16th, 2040, at 1:24
                         am, Eastern Standard Time.  A Phase
                         Two Investigation is in order.

               No one says anything as the holographic doctor dematerializes
               and the Coroner crab walks across the floor and puts itself
               back in its box.

               At last, someone moves.  It is Witwer.  He lifts his arm,
               pulls back his shirtsleeve, and stares long and hard at his

               INT. WITWER'S OFFICE -- DAY LATER

               Lisa sits biting her lip as Witwer watches two monitors play
               the two versions of Anderson's murder of Witwer.  Lisa points.


               She reaches down and freezes on a close-up of Anderson on
               the two monitors.

               CLOSE ON - THE MONITORS

               On the left monitor Anderson has blue eyes, on the right he
               has brown.

                         The one on the left, the first disc
                         -it's a fake.  He doesn't have blue
                         eyes anymore.

               Witwer stares for a long time.

                         A fake.

                         But the Precogs predict the infallible
                         truth.  They don't emit fake discs.

               And now Lisa smiles.  She has set her lawyerly mind to the
               solution.  It is her moment


                         Exactly.  You can't tamper with the
                         Precogs, induce them to make fakes


                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         But that doesn't mean someone couldn't
                         have made a fake disc on their own
                         and inserted it into the delivery

               The simplicity of it is inconceivable.  Witwer speaks
               carefully, trying to process it

                         Bypass the Precogs and slip a fake
                         disc in with that day's real ones...

                         We're all programmed to believe
                         anything we see on a Precog disc.
                         The system has never been wrong ...

               Witwer stares at the proof before him.  -- the different
               colored eyes of Anderson.  He ejects both discs and holds
               them in his hands.

                                     LISA (CONT'D)
                         You have to call off the hunt.  He
                         was set up.

               Witwer looks at the two discs he is holding

                              (long beat)
                         It's gone too far, Lisa She shakes
                         her head, shocked at his response

                         He was set up!  You both were.  If
                         Paul kills you, you're both out of
                         the picture.

                         Who wants us out?  Of what picture?

                         Jesus, Ed. Stop this thing!  And
                         then we can investigate Witwer's
                         mouth opens and closes.  He tries

                         Ennis Page was murdered last night.

               The blood drains from Lisa's face

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         Everything points to Paul.


                         He's not a murderer.

                         I think he is.  A murderer ... and a
                         future murderer.
                         Lisa.  What does it matter that the
                         first disc is a fake ... if the second
                         one's real?

               Witwer's hands close tight on the discs.  Lisa stands there,
               motionless.  Then she turns, and leaves his office, abruptly.
               He watches her go.

               INT. ROOM - THE SPRAWL -- DAY

               Rose sits in a chair near the window.  She is chewing lightly
               on a cracker.  Her face shows wonder -- at the cracker's
               texture and taste.  She holds it up and admires its shape.

               Anderson's mood is less wondrous

                         Rose.  Listen to me.  I'm going to
                         leave you here.  I have to keep


                         No.  You must save my brothers.

                         It's impossible.  There's no time.
                         I've done what I can do!

               Rose waits for him to finish.  She looks out the window at
               the street scene.

                         Come here, Anderson.

	       He does, reluctantly.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         Do you see that boy in the blue hat
                         walking with his mother?
                         In sixty seconds he will walk beneath
                         those workers installing a window on
                         the tenth floor of that building.


               Two men struggle to lift a large window in place.  Way below
               the little boy in the blue hat walks on along the sidewalk
               holding his mother's hand.


                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         They'll drop the window, killing
                         him.  It is impossible to save him.

               Anderson turns to her, shocked And then he runs for the door,
               hurls it open, and disappears down the hall.

               Rose listens to his FOOTSTEPS crashing down the stairs

               EXT. THE STREET.

               Even as Anderson rushes out of the boarding house, the WORKERS
               have lost their grip on the window.

               The little BOY in the blue hat and his MOTHER walk unwittingly
               toward disaster.  They do not appear to hear the MEN'S cries.

               The WINDOW falls end over end above the boy's head.  The
               sunlight sparks off of the glass, so that from a distance it
               looks like a star falling from the sky.

               A WOMAN across the street sees what is happening, and cries

               But what Anderson does is run.  He runs faster and harder
               than humanly possible.  He does not care if he is recognized
               or hit by a passing taxi.  He is going to get to that boy.
               He has to get to that boy ...

               ANDERSON rams the BOY from behind just as the corner of the
               window frame kisses the boy's blue hat.  He knocks the boy
               to safety as glass and metal SMASH into the sidewalk.

               The mother does not even have time to scream.  She is on the
               ground, stunned, But Anderson has saved the boy.

               He rolls away, and gets to his feet.  Before anyone can put
               together what has happened, Anderson has ducked into an alley,
               and is gone.

               INT. THE ROOM - LATER

               Anderson enters the room again, out of breath, some small
               cuts on his face and hands.  He stands across the room staring
               at Rose.

               Rose considers him.  When she speaks her voice is near and
               distant at the same time.  For Anderson, it is as if the
               words are coming from a place inside his own head.

                         It was impossible to save that boy
                         -- but you did, Anderson.  It's in
                         you.  It's what you are.

               Anderson sits on the floor and leans back wearily against a


                         You knew it wasn't impossible.  That
                         I'd get there.

               Rose reveals nothing.

                         You are a man who saves others.
                         Save my brothers.

               Anderson almost laughs.  Her persistence is unbelievable

                         I'm in a lot of trouble right now.

                         My brothers are in more trouble.
                         They've moved them to ... an awful

                         Rose.  Ed Witwer -he's in the most
                         trouble of all.  Who saves him?

               Rose suddenly grimaces in pain, and grips the side of her
               head.  She curls into a fetal position.

               Anderson goes to her, touches her thin shoulder.  Her eyes
               roll into the back of her head.

               Whose pain is she feeling?  Her own?  Someone else's?
               Anderson doesn't want to think about it.


               Because Anderson has destroyed the Precog Chamber, the two
               Precog brothers have been brought here.

               The room is makeshift, uncomfortable ... a place for
               experiments.  The brothers are strapped into chairs.  They
               are helmeted.

               But unlike before, large bore needles have been placed in
               their jugular veins.  Connected to the needles are long twists
               of IV tubing.  There are several IVs running at high drip

               Witwer has his back to all this.  He stands with Dr. Resfield,
               watching a technician working the keyboard on a huge

               Dr. Resfield, a man not given to squeamishness looks back at
               the Precogs, uneasy.


                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         We're not really set up for this
                         type of 

               He stops talking when he looks into Witwer's hollow eyes. Witwer 
               is somewhere beyond the influence and reach of words.


               Anderson tries to get Rose to drink some water.  Her skin is
               translucent, unhealthy, glistening with sweat.

                         Rose.  Try to drink.

               She pushes the cup away.  She closes her eyes, as if even
               the dim light of the room causes her pain.

                         Your wife.  We have to get her here,

               She opens her eyes.  Anderson doesn't like the feel of this.


                         I don't know ...

                         What are you seeing?

                         Glimpses, Anderson.  Please.  We
                         have to get her here.

                         You're scaring me, Rose

               She covers his mouth with her hand

                         Stop talking.  It uses me up.

               For a long time, Rose says nothing, Her gaze is locked onto
               a distance beyond the room.  At last, she speaks.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         In three minutes your wife will take
                         a walk ..

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:


               Lisa sits in her office.  But she can't stand it, the sitting
               and waiting.  She has to move.


               She gets up and hurriedly leaves her office


               Witwer walks past Lisa's SECRETARY toward the open door of
               Lisa's office.

                         Sir?  I'm sorry, she stepped out for
                         a few minutes.

               Witwer stares into the empty office.  There is a clock on
               Lisa's desk.  His eyes fix on it.


               Lisa moves quickly down the steps of the white marble
               building.  She takes a deep breath, then heads down Jefferson
               Boulevard toward the city.

               A sleek black TRANSPORT with two Precrime officers in it
               follows her from a discreet distance.

               In the sky above, the ubiquitous Precrime hovercraft


               Lisa walks down the street.  She hugs herself, barely aware
               of her surroundings.  She passes by stores, restaurants,
               payphones, video kiosks ... oblivious.  People push past

               On a street corner, as she waits at a red light, the payphone
               beside her begins to RING.  If she hears it, she gives no
               indication.  A KID reaches for it, listens, hangs up.

               She walks on.  Stores.  Restaurants.  An art gallery.  As
               she comes abreast of another PAYPHONE, it suddenly starts to
               ring.  This time Lisa glances at it.  But again, walks on.

               The TRANSPORT weaves through traffic, nearby She walks past
               the K.L. Lawrence Graphics Museum.  And another restaurant.
               And a PAYPHONE.  And this time, finally, when it, too, RINGS,
               she turns and looks hard at it.

               A man begins to walk over to it.  Lisa almost knocks him out
               of the way to get to it.  She grabs at the receiver.

                         Hello?  Hello?

                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE
                         I need you.

               Lisa's forehead sags against the side of the payphone.  She
               basks in the sound of him.


                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
                         It's 1:03.  Set your watch, exactly.

               Lisa pushes the buttons on her digital watch as she listens
               LISA Okay.

                                     ANDERSON'S VOICE (CONT'D)
                         This is what you have to do ...

               We now hear ANDERSON continue in VOICE OVER as we follow
               Lisa through a SEQUENCE OF EVENTS ...


               Lisa walks up the steps of the museum

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         At 1:07 hang up the phone and enter
                         the Lawrence Museum.

               INT. GRAPHICS GALLERY

               Lisa walks quickly through a display of 19th century magazine

               INT. GRAPHICS GALLERY

               The two Precrime officers walk into a room filled with Chinese

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         At 1:13 the two Precrime officers
                         following you take a wrong turn into
                         a different room, losing sight of
                         you for ten seconds.

               The officers start toward the entrance way to another room,
               then hesitate uncertainly, and go for another entrance way.


               Lisa hurries down the steps

               INT. A SUBWAY STATION

               Lisa boards the "A" MagLev train

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         An undercover transport officer will
                         have received emergency orders to
                         follow you.
                         He's wearing a red tie.  He has short
                         blond hair.


               INT. THE SUBWAY CAR

               The blond transport officer with the red tie sits at the far
               end of Lisa's car, watching her.

               At the next stop Lisa gets off.  He follows, not too far

               INT. SUBWAY STATION

               Lisa starts up the stairs.  She looks at her watch, then
               makes herself pause a few moments, to keep within Anderson's
               time frame.  She starts up again.

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         As you come around the bend, cry out
                         and turn around and slap the

               Lisa does this, and the officer reels back, surprised. At the
               same moment two big men rushing to catch a subway come into
               view, and see this happening.  Lisa starts to run.  When the
               undercover officer tries to stop her, the two men grab the
               officer, and they get into a fight.

               Lisa escapes.

               INT. A TAXI - THE SPRAWL

               Lisa looks at her watch, then taps the window for the driver
               to stop.  She gets out.

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         Stay on Ninth street.  Underneath
                         Ninth street is the main power feed
                         for The Sprawl.  It'll mess up the
                         navigational beacon on the hovercraft.
                         Keep switching taxis.  But stay on

               She hails another taxi.  She holds her hand over the
               IdentiScan before it can read her.  The taxi driver looks at
               her, sees her smile, sees the prepaid cash card she holds
               out to him.

                         Two hundred dollars if you don't
                         scan me.

               It's The Sprawl -- stranger things have happened.  He grabs
               the card, and jerks his head for her to get in.  They take


               EXT. NINTH STREET  LATER

               Lisa gets out of the taxi and looks briefly into the sky.
               It is dense with holographic billboards, skim-jets,
               dirigibles.  Somewhere in all that is a Precrime hovercraft.

               And the neighborhood around her is definitely downscale.

                                     ANDERSON (V.O.)
                         The hovercraft will try to drop
                         altitude, but the air traffic will
                         slow it down.
                         Precrime loses you.  You'll have to
                         walk two miles.  Don't get scanned.

               EXT. THE SPRAWL

               Lisa walks hurriedly down a side street.  She stands out in
               her white dress -- a spot of vulnerable color in world of

               Too vulnerable to pass up.  A MAN in a gray overcoat slides
               out from between two buildings in front of her.  He is not
               coy about his intent.  He comes straight at her, all business.

               Lisa freezes in place.  She looks at her watch.  The man
               grabs her by the shoulder.  When she starts to scream, he
               claps his hand over her mouth, hard.

                         You bite me, bitch, I'll pull your
                         teeth out.

               Her eyes look around frantically.  He starts to drag her
               backwards into the dark.

               ANDERSON leaps into view, and slams the man's head into a
               light post.  It takes a lot of slamming before lie loosens
               his grip on Lisa.  His legs at last collapse under him.

               Anderson scoops Lisa off the ground.  She hugs him hard.

               Then pulls back from him.  She gives him a look.

                         Cut it a little close there,

                         Rose got the street wrong.  She's
                         getting weak.




               Rose sits up in bed silently watching Lisa and Anderson

               Lisa needs to touch him.  She keeps a hand on his arm, brushes
               back a loose look of his hair.  Rose is mesmerized by her
               actions.  She drinks in everything, every bit of life.

               Anderson and Lisa are deep in conversation.  They speak to
               each other as if Rose were hardly present in the room.

               Anderson is trying to process everything Lisa has told him.

                         Two discs.  One fake.  One real.

                         I don't think there were supposed to
                         be two.  Whoever planned it, wasn't
                         counting on two.

               They are silent for a long time.  Rose watches them work it

                         An infallible system.  Every disc
                         ever generated has been true ...

                         Somebody wants you out of the way --
                         so they make a fake disc.  Who ever
                         doubts the discs?

                         I never doubted it.  I saw it.  And
                         believed it, absolutely.  I was
                         certain I was going to murder Witwer.

               Anderson is shaking.  Lisa wraps her arms around him.  His
               voice is a stunned whisper.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         I saw the fake, and believed so much
                         in the system, that I saw myself as
                         a murderer.
                         And the Precogs picked up those
                         thoughts ...

                         And generated the second disc.  The
                         real one.

                         A self-fulfilling prophesy.  I
                         believed it was true.  And that made
                         it true.


               Anderson and Lisa turn and look at Rose.  She lies curled on
               the bed, her face to the wall.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Rose.  If all this is based on a lie
                         -the fake disc -- then do I really
                         kill Witwer?

                         We see what we see.  I'm sorry,
                         Anderson.  It's been predicted.

               Such a small voice, delivering a message of such finality


               Lieutenant Glaser tries to get through to Witwer.  Witwer's
               back is turned to him.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         We can't take chances, sir

               Witwer doesn't move or answer.

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER (CONT'D)
                         It happens in less than three hours.
                         We put you in a hovercraft and keep
                         you airborne -- until after the event.

                         The event.

               Lieutenant Glaser shifts uncomfortably

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         I've been ordered to get you onto
                         the craft.  By force if necessary.

                         The event is inevitable, Lieutenant.

	        Witwer doesn't turn around.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         The Precogs are never wrong.  The
                         event will take place.  I'm a
                         believer.  Aren't you?

                                     LIEUTENANT GLASER
                         I don't leave this room without you,
                         sir.  The Security Panel insists.

                                                                    CUT TO:



               Anderson and Lisa keep working it, peeling away the layers.
               Rose lies silent.

                         Nobody could slip a fake disc past
                         Ennis Page Lisa shakes her head.

                         He was the weak link in the perfect

                         Obsessive compulsive niners can't
                         allow changes in the routine

                         Something threw him off.
                         He tried to tell me.  It didn't make
                         any sense.  Something about "spilled
                         Someone was in his office with him.
                         And coffee spilled ...

               We stay CLOSE ON Anderson and Lisa as Rose's voice cuts in.

                                     ROSE (V.O.)
                         We were always treated as if we
                         weren't alive.  As if we weren't

               The camera pulls back and they are watching her as she
               continues to speak.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         Even now.  You forget that I'm here.
                         You talk between yourselves.  And
                         when you need me to see into the
                         future, then you turn to me.

                         Rose.  What is it?

                         We weren't just lost in the future.
                         We were in the Chamber, too.  Our
                         eyes were open.  In the present.

               And then Anderson gets it.  He kneels beside her bed

                         Your eyes were open.  What did you
                         see, Rose?


                         Who would I have told?  Who ever
                         talked to us?  Who cared that we
                         could talk?

                         Rose.  Who spilled the coffee?
                         Straight ahead ...

               Rose stares stright ahead ...

               MEMORY HIT

               Rose sits in her chair in the Precog Chamber.  Her brothers
               sit in their usual places on either side of her.  The
               technicians tend to them.

               Rose's eyes are open.  She sees everything in the room.  The
               technicians, the machines ... and across the room a large
               window where she can see Ennis Page working the mainframe

               Rose watches through the window ...

               As the computer emits discs, Page gathers them

                                     ROSE (V.O.)
                         Ed Witwer entered Page's office.

               Witwer carries a mug of coffee.

               Ennis Page goes red in the face, stares at the coffee.  Speaks
               to Witwer, angrily, pointing to the coffee.  We can't hear
               the words.

                                     ROSE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         Page was so upset at the sight of
                         the coffee.

               Witwer goes to put the coffee down on a small table.  It
               tips, and spills.

               Page looks like his head will explode.  He pulls a neatly
               folded white handkerchief out of his back pocket and drops
               to his hands and knees and begins to obsessively blot at the
               coffee stain on his spotless rug.

                                     ROSE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         Ed Witwer took a disc from his pocket,
                         reached over Page and put it in one
                         of the open cases.

               Witwer closes the case.  He looks through the window into
               the Precog Chamber, but the only one watching him is Rose --
               and what does she matter?


               Page rises angrily from cleaning the rug.  Witwer shrugs in
               apology and leaves the room.  Page stares after him.

               BACK TO SCENE

               Rose is weeping.  She looks at Anderson and Lisa.

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         I didn't understand what I'd seen.
                         And I had no one to tell ...

               Lisa puts her arms around Rose Anderson tries to comprehend
               what he has heard.

                         Ed ...

               Lisa turns, and speaks softly to her husband.

                         The perfect system -brought down by
                         a cup of coffee.  My god.

                              (long beat)
                         He set into motion his own death.
                         He didn't know it would go this far.
                              (to Rose)
                         What makes me leave this room?  If I
                         stay here I won't kill him.  Right?

               But Rose and her brothers have already answered that question
               for him.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INT. WITWER'S OFFICE

               Lieutenant Glaser looks at his watch.  Witwer is still in
               his chair, turned away from him.

                         You see, if you think you can put me
                         on a hovercraft and save me, then
                         you don't believe in the infallibility
                         of the Precog system.

               Lieutenant Glaser has his orders.  He begins to approach.

               And as he does, Witwer swivels his chair around, and lifts
               the weapon he has been holding and silently shoots Lieutenant
               Glaser in the forehead.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         And what I do not want around me,
                         are nonbelievers.


               Witwer steps over the body as if it doesn't exist, and walks
               out of the office, locking the door behind him.


               Witwer gets out his car and looks at the two story concrete
               building that houses the lab.  The lights are out in all the
               windows except the back section of the second floor.  There,
               the lights burn brightly.

               Witwer sees Precrime officers posted at intervals around it.
               He smiles as if he knows something they don't.  He looks at
               his watch.  It is a cool night, but his face is slick with

               He walks to the entrance of the building.  An OFFICER 1s
               startled to see him.

                         Things quiet?

                         Sir.  Should you ... be here?

                         There's been a development.  A body's
                         been found in the Sprawl.


                         They're checking it out.  I need to
                         see what the Precogs have seen.

               Witwer is IdentiScanned.  The door opens and he goes in.

               INT. THE LAB

               Dr. Resfield looks up as Witwer strides into the lab, carrying
               a tv under his arm.  Witwer is the last person he wants to

                         Borrowed this from the technicians'
                         lounge.  You don't think they'll
                         mind, do you?

                         You shouldn't be here, Director.

               Dr. Resfield's eyes cut to a large digital clock on the wall,
               the red numbers ticking off time in seconds.

               Witwer looks for a plug, finds one.  Plugs in the tv.


                         No, no.  This is exactly where I
                         should be.

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         You're under a lot of strain,

               Witwer finds what he's looking for -- the continuous loop of
               his murder by Anderson.  "Call Now!  Call Now!"

                         And tv's so good for that -- soothes
                         the mind.

               Witwer turns his sweaty face to Resfield and gives him a
               bright smile.  The scientist looks like he wants to run out
               of the room.

               Witwer takes him by the elbow and guides him toward the
               Precogs.  Two technicians hover over the Precogs adjusting
               IV's and turning dials on the Precogs's organic helmets.

               The Precogs wince and shiver with each turn of the dial.
               But they are no longer violently seizing -- they are too
               weak for that.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         Bring me up to speed, Doc.

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         We're getting nothing from them.

                         And that's because ... ?

               Witwer still grips him by the elbow.

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         I don't know.

                         Do you think they know where Anderson

                                     DR. RESFIELD
                         It's impossible to tell.
                         We've done everything.  Maybe even
                         too much.


                         They know how to find Anderson for


                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         They're the perfect machine, Doctor.
                         You just have to know which button
                         to push.


               Rose looks like she's on fire.  Anderson wets another towel,
               wrings it over the sink.  Lisa takes it, and wipes down Rose's
               face and arms .

               Rose's lips are moving soundlessly.  Her eyes are shut tight.
               She begins to writhe in bed.

                         Jesus Christ.

                         Come on, Rose.


                         One hour.  We hold it together for
                         an hour, Witwer lives -- and I'm not
                         a murderer.

                         She won't last an hour.

               It suddenly looks much worse than that.  Rose's body contorts
               horribly and she arches up off the bed.  Lisa can't control

               Anderson reaches for her, wraps her in his arms, trying to
               hold and comfort her.


               She begins to wail as she thrashes in his arms.

                         He's killed him, Anderson!

               Rose stiffens into a seizure posture, then her body goes
               slack.  Anderson eases her back on the bed.  He stares at
               her, stricken.

               Her voice barely leaves her now

                                     ROSE (CONT'D)
                         You didn't save my brother.

               Anderson reels at her words.


                         Did he kill both of them, Rose?

               Rose manages to speak, one last time.  Her whispered words
               damn him.

                         Does it matter, Anderson?

               Anderson rises.  Looks down at Rose.

               It matters.  He starts to move, quickly.

               Lisa takes hold of his arm.

                         If you leave this room...

	       Anderson kisses her.

                         Then I'm a cop, just trying to do

               He reaches for his duffel bag.

               When the door closes behind him, Rose turns her head slightly
               and looks.  And then her eyes drift closed, as she goes to a
               place deep within her own mind.


               He passes by several cars on the street.  But they're all
               auto-drive, they won't do him any good.

               So he smashes a store window within forty-five seconds a
               city police transport zooms up, lights flashing.  Two city
               officers leap out of the transport.  They approach the
               smashed-in store window, weapons drawn.  Which is a mistake.
               Anderson rises into view behind them, and sonically blasts a
               small crater in the sidewalk they are standing on.

               As they trip and fall, he is already spraying them down with

               Their second mistake is they left the engine running to power
               the bank of Nits -Tracker lights on the car's hood and roof.
               Anderson screeches off through the choking predawn streets
               of The Sprawl, a beacon of light in the darkness.

               INT. THE LAB

               The DIGITAL CLOCK races through time.  Witwer reaches his
               hand up and touches the vanishing numbers.

               The camera pulls back, and we see Dr. Resfield and the two
               technicians bound and gagged in a heap in the corner.


               And when we see the lab in its entirety, there sprawled on
               the floor in front of his chair is one of the Precog brothers.
               A small rise of blood comes from a torn place in the back of
               his skull.

               The other Precog sits very still in his chair.  He is still
               connected to everything -- his helmet is in place, the TVs
               drip into him.  His eyes are open, and when Witwer moves,
               the Precog's eyes follow him.

               Witwer can feel them on him.  He turns around.

                         Is he coming?  No?  Yes?  Maybe?
                         I think yes.

               The Precog looks at him.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         And you think yes.

               Witwer points to the tv screen, running Anderson's murder of
               Witwer.  Witwer smiles triumphantly.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         Infallibly, immutably yes.

               The Precog looks at him.  Witwer's smile vanishes, and
               suddenly strides across the room, and claps his hand over
               the Precog's eyes.  Then he turns, and stares again at the


               Three officers stand thirty feet apart in front of the
               building, facing outward toward the parking lot, weapons
               cradled in their arms.

               Behind them is a line of yew bushes.  AS we watch, the officer
               on the left is yanked off his feet backward into the bushes.
               Several moments pass, and the same thing happens to the
               officer on the right.

               The officer guarding the front entrance casually looks right.
               Then he looks hard.  He grips his weapon tight, and swings
               left.  No one there, either.

               ANDERSON drops him hard, from behind.  The officer crumples
               onto the cement.

               But Anderson's not done with him.  Anderson lifts him up,
               struggles to drag him forward toward the entrance.

               Anderson holds him upright in place.  The man's head lolls
               backward.  Which is.  Perfect for what Anderson needs to do.
               Anderson reaches his fingers towards the man's closed eyes.
               He pulls up on the eyelids.


               An IdentiScan over the entrance clicks on and reads the man's
               eyes.  Access granted, the doors HISS open.  Anderson enters
               the building, dragging the officer with him.

               INT. THE LAB

               Anderson enters the lab.  The very building sickens him.
               What he sees sickens him even more.

               The remaining Precog sits strapped into his chair.  Witwer
               sits beside him in the other Precog chair, the dead brother
               at his feet.  Witwer wears the dead Precog's helmet.  His
               hand is in his lap, holding a gun.

               He grins when Anderson appears.  He takes off the helmet,
               drops it on the floor.

                         I figured, since I can see the future,
                         too, maybe I could get a little disc
                         action going.
                         Just kidding.

               Anderson stares at his old partner.  Then he looks up at the
               digital clock.  Five-seventeen AM.  Witwer looks too, then
               turns back to Anderson.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         You find you been doing that a lot
                         this week?  Looking at clocks?
                         Three minutes to go.

               Anderson turns to the tv.

                         There's never anything good on, you

               Now Witwer smiles.

                         There.  That's the old Paul.

                         You're not the old Ed. You've lost

               Witwer rises from the chair, the gun in his hand.

                         You lost it.  You went weak in the
                         knees, partner.

                         I'm not your partner.


               Witwer looks at him sadly.

                         The air went out of you when Frank
                         D'Ignazio killed himself.

                         He was guilty.  I accepted that.

                         No you didn't.  The doubts were
                         creeping in on you.  The lab trying
                         to engineer more Precogs ... Malcolm
                         pressuring you to expand ...

               Witwer reaches out and gently touches the remaining Precog
               brother's cheek.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         Belief is the basis of the system.
                         It was your job to be the ultimate

               Witwer is breathing hard.  He lifts a hand and wipes the
               sweat from his face.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         And when Frank died, you faltered.
                         I'm a cop, I see into the hearts of
                         And the thing about you is, you
                         wouldn't have just walked away.

                         Never been my style.

	      Witwer gives him the flicker of a smile

                         Precrime needs to grow.  You would
                         have stood in its way.  The Security
                         Panel wouldn't have understood that.
                         What you're capable of.  What a
                         bulldog you are.
                         Look what you've been doing to us
                         all week.  Amazing.  You're the best.

                         So you took matters into your own hands.

                         I understood the threat.  I understood

               Anderson looks at the dead Precog


                         You killed a Precog.  You ended the
                         system you wanted to protect.

                         Wrong.  This lab will make more.
                         Believe it, Paul.

               They look at the CLOCK.  Five-nineteen.

                         Knowing the exact moment of your
                         death -it's made you crazy, Ed.

               Witwer looks at the tv.  The TV REALITY is almost in synch
               with what is happening in the room.

               Witwer lifts his gun -- and then realizes something is
               terribly wrong.

               Anderson is standing there before him just as he is on the
               disc -- except there is a major difference.

                         You sonofabitch!

               Anderson lifts up both hands

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         You didn't bring your gun!

                         That's right.  No gun.

                         You see?!  That's exactly what I'm
                         talking about.  You don't Believe!

               Anderson just looks at Witwer, raging at him.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         The system is infallible.

               ANDERSON Doesn't Seem to be Witwer reaches behind him and
               pulls a second gun from out of his belt.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         I guess that's why I've always carried

               He tosses the gun to Anderson.  It clatters at Anderson's

                         You can't have it both ways.  You
                         don't want to die.  That's why you
                         lured me here -- to kill me first.


                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         But it you don't diet the system is
                         flawed, and you couldn't live with

               Witwer SHOOTS him once, in the right thigh.  Anderson cries
               out, falls to the concrete floor.

                         Pick it up

               Anderson speaks through his teeth ANDERSON It doesn't happen.

               Witwer looks frantically at the tv, at the clock.

               He reaches over and opens the dripmeter on a piggy back IV
               feeding into the Precog's main line.  A thick, yellow fluid
               begins to flow toward the Precog's jugular vein.

                                     WITWER (CONT'D)
                         You're killing him, partner.

               And what choice, finally, does Anderson have?  He reaches
               for the gun.

                         Let's not do this, Ed Witwer trains
                         his gun on Anderson.  Anderson trains
                         his gun on Witwer.

                                     ANDERSON (CONT'D)
                         Oh, Ed ...

               Witwer lowers his gun.  And stands there between Anderson
               and the doomed Precog.

               The yellow liquid has almost reached the Precog's jugular.

               Anderson shoots Witwer, once in the heart.  Witwer is thrown
               back across the room, against a wall, beneath the clock.

               Anderson drags himself to the Precog, and rips the yellow IV
               out of the main line.  The yellow drips onto the floor,
               mingling with Witwer's red.

               Anderson crawls to his friend, and cradles him.  Witwer
               whispers something, and Anderson leans close to hear him.

                         Now do you believe?

               Anderson pulls away from Witwer, and lets him take his last
               breaths alone.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:



               And then, slowly emerging from the mists of darkness, a pale,
               beautifully proportioned FACE.

               It is Rose's face.  The camera pulls back and we see that
               she is lying on a grassy hillside.  Her brother is lying
               beside her.

               They are looking up at the night sky, at a sky filled with

               Rose stares up into the sky, and speaks in a soft voice to
               her brother.

                         James.  Can you guess what I'm


               James smiles.  And then, after a long moment, so does Rose.

                                                                    THE END