starring
David Boreanaz
J. August Richards
Amy Acker
and
James Marsters
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EXT. MEMORIAL GRAVEYARD - CONTINUOUS WESLEY is in the clothes he died in--a black turtleneck and faded gray jeans. They are wrinkled and insect-eaten. There are sunken circles under his eyes. He needs a shave. He steps forward, raising a hand to his eyes and wincing at - WIDE SHOT - The blinding BURST OF DAWN'S LIGHT rising over a nearby office building. TRACKING - he continues forward. Around him are confused murmurs, moans, gasps. Michael's voice drones on behind them, faint and inconsequential - What you see...around you...the chaos.... It's a nightmare we live in. But I'm going to find a way to reverse it, the same way I've brought you back. As Wesley passes the other graveyard occupants, we see no sign of comprehension on their faces, only confusion and uneasiness as they look around. Wesley drifts towards the sidewalk without even appearing to realize what he's doing. QUEASY-CAM, Wesley's POV - Things are SHIFTING and SLIGHTLY BLURRED, but we can make out the sidewalk, the trees, the bench, and Santos' car across the street. NORMAL VIEW - Santos and Francine start over to Michael. Michael slips the now palely-glowing dragon's stone into his pocket and grins at his colleagues, then around at his handiwork, giddy. I told you! His brow wrinkles for a second as his gaze lingers on - A LEAFLESS TREE with withered branches at the edge of the sidewalk. His attention goes back to Santos and Francine. You wanted results... well, this is just the beginning! CUT TO - Wesley steps into the street. SMASH CUT - EXT. DESOLATE FORMER BUSINESS DISTRICT - WEST SIDE - MORNING LONG SHOT - Wesley shuffles up the middle of the street, taking it in with a wide-eyed, disoriented expression. QUEASY-CAM, Wesley's POV, CONTINUING - Most of the buildings look abandoned--overgrown grass tinged brown, broken windows--or show signs of squatters--drying laundry hanging over wooden window boards. A pair of bums sit hunched in front of the shattered glass-and-concrete edifice that a marquee announces was once Global Investment Services, Inc. They see Wesley and quickly scramble through a large blast hole in the side of the building. Wesley continues towards an intersection. The street lights blink red in all directions. Down the road, a heavily armored police patrol car passes by and drives on, not even pausing for a CORPSE in the middle of the street. Wesley approaches it. CONCRETE HIGHWAY BARRIERS block off the side streets he passes. They are tagged with graffiti and gang markings. Wesley finally reaches the corpse and stops. CLOSE-UP - a DEMON WITH LARGE LOWER FANGS. Suddenly, a loud, rhythmic CHOPPING SOUND draws Wesley's attention upwards. His POV - A HELICOPTER swoops down between two high-rise buildings. AN AMPLIFIED VOICE is coming from it, TINNY and CANNED - "...SOUTH OF Jefferson Boulevard, Rodeo Road, and Exposition Boulevard is off-limits as of four PM Tuesday. Please proceed north or west only. Anyone found in the area will be detained. This is a safety warning. All streets and buildings south of Jefferson Boulevard, Rodeo Road, and Exposition Boulevard...." Chop, chop, chop, chop.... The helicopter rises away. Wesley continues on in an anxious fog. He passes a long series of abandoned storefronts. Finally, he comes upon a man and a woman. They are standing on either side of a car loaded with personal belongings. Excuse me. I.... The man eyes him suspiciously. Where...where is this....? Where am I? We hear the click-click of a GUN'S HAMMER being drawn back. Wesley raises his hands in a sluggish reflex. The man is holding a HANDGUN on him. Ten feet from my car. So just move it along. Wesley continues to stand there, at a loss. pow! pow! LOW SHOT - The bullets SKIP OFF THE GROUND around Wesley's feet. Panicked, Wesley breaks into a run, then trips and falls to the ground. He lies flat, head ducked down. Then, slowly, he rises, crawls forward a meter on his knees, scrambles to his feet, and BOLTS UP THE STREET. CLOSE-UP on his FACE. There is a STEADY CLARITY in his eyes now. CUT TO an AERIAL SHOT - a freeway overpass. We see the tiny figure of Wesley run beneath it, slow, and squeeze between yet more concrete barriers. Two ARMED SOLDIERS stop him there. After a moment, he is allowed forward. EXT. CITY STREET More storefronts. These look marginally in business, although ARMED men and women stand just inside the doors gazing out with world-weary stares. After a moment, Wesley comes to an intersection and stops. He looks up at the street sign. NATIONAL BOULEVARD He is about to cross the street when something else GRABS HIS ATTENTION. His POV - Chained alongside a building are a row of BATTERED NEWSPAPER VENDING MACHINES. They are GUARDED by a man in a security uniform. Wesley walks over to one and peers through the smudged plastic. CLOSE-UP, PANNING - Wednesday, March 30, 2005 SOUTH SIDE SET TO EXPLODE Mayor Calls for Military Intervention WESLEY (mumbling under his breath) March? Then, lower and to the right - Natural Pathogen Not Responsible, Say Scientists BATTLES CONTINUE OVER GOVERNMENT REBUILDING GRANTS The security guard scowls. Buddy, you gonna buy one or what? Wesley glances at him and rises to full height. I...I haven't any money. SECURITY GUARD Who does? Got anything else? Wesley seems bewildered by this. No. (the guard frowns) But, uh...pardon.... I'm looking for Washington Boulevard. If I'm not mistaken-- With a grunt, the man thumbs back the way Wesley came. You shouldn't go down there. It's only a few blocks from the quarantine zone. WESLEY Quarantining what, exactly? The guard throws him an are-you-nuts-or-just-stupid look and waves him away. Wesley nods, turns, and leaves. CUT TO - EXT. WASHINGTON BOULEVARD - A SHORT WHILE LATER ANGLE ON a dilapidated bank with missing windows. Wesley turns the corner and slows, gazing ahead. His POV - ACROSS THE STREET. The BUILDING that once housed WOLFRAM & HART. It is still a ruin of shattered glass and crumbling concrete. A determined look comes to Wesley's face. He walks towards it. EXT. THE HYPERION HOTEL - MORNING - ESTABLISHING A YOUNG WOMAN with long black hair and a flowing black dress enters the garden gate. INT. LOBBY PAN UP TO the second floor landing. GUNN approaches the staircase, rifling through a worn leather briefcase. LORNE is on his heels. Lorne, we've been through this. I know how hard you've worked as a liaison. (Lorne's lips part in protest) But I can't walk into a meeting with military leaders and the interim mayor with a demon at my side. Gunn starts down the stairs. Lorne's attention is drawn down to - His POV - RONA, who is standing in the middle of the lobby with a clipboard, talking to two other Slayers. Not when there's a war potentially destructive to human life and property about to break out between two demon clans! They reach the bottom of the steps. Lorne follows Gunn towards the back door. Isn't one point of this meeting to let them know that not all demons are dangerous? Who better than me to put them at ease? Gunn stops and pivots back to him. Lorne, if they see a--beg your pardon--green face, it's gonna derail things before they start. Part of my job today is to ease them into the idea. (he pauses with chagrin off Lorne's scowl) It would be more help if you could go to the Shiners' Hall and greet the Grox'lar. I'll be there at one-thirty. Lorne lets out a feeble laugh. Just me, myself, and I? The Grox'lar aren't exactly in the best of moods these days. (he cringes) And what if Raef and his goons show up? I don't do well in the middle of gang wars! Gunn stops and turns to face him. His expression is earnest. Lorne, you know how important this meeting's gonna be. Not just to the Alliance. To me. (Lorne nods) When we first met them, the Grox'lars were predators who saw humans as nothing more than a meal. We turned that around. (beat) If I can...if we can finish the job... bring a clan like that into the Alliance, don't you see what it'll mean for this city? Maybe humans and demons won't have to be at each other's throats anymore! Maybe all the killing and death over the past year won't have been for nothing! Lorne gazes at him for a beat, then smiles. A city-wide Caritas. You know I'm for that. Gunn nods. Then the sound of the front door clicking shut shifts his attention. The young woman in black steps down into the lobby. She smiles briefly. Lorne follows Gunn towards her. Gunn grins warmly at the woman. Rivka. What brings you here so early? I was just on my way to a meeting downtown. Rivka sits down on the green circular poof, all business. Something urgent's come up. Gunn sinks down beside her. O.K., go ahead. Lorne stands listening. Do you remember that huge mystical power drain we detected back in December? The one we eventually traced back to a blackout at the Movietone Studio Internment camp? GUNN Vaguely. (then, with a wrinkled brow) Weren't there other drains, too, not as big? RIVKA (nodding) A few, yeah. Well, this morning, the coven detected a drain ten times the size of the one at that camp. It came from the west side. GUNN Have you localized it yet? The minute Rivka shakes her head, we see an air of distraction come over Gunn's expression. No. We're working on it. But we knew you'd want to be informed right away. GUNN (nodding) Yeah. Keep me posted on it for sure. He rises, clasping his briefcase tight to his side. Sorry I gotta run, but the way my day's shaping up.... RIVKA I understand. We'll let you know. GUNN Thanks. He walks over to Rona. Where's Faith? RONA (shrugging) I haven't seen her yet today. GUNN (looking mildly aggravated) She was supposed to meet me here a half hour ago. RONA Well, you know how allergic she is to early. Gunn sighs. If she doesn't get here in the next... (he glances at his watch) ...minute, would you go with me? I need the Mayor and his cronies to understand what Slayers are all about. Meet one, talk to her, maybe get a demo if need be. Rona looks a little intimidated by this prospect, but nods. ...O.K. Gunn smiles and squeezes her upper arm. Thanks. He is about to turn and leave when his gaze is drawn to - The HOTEL OFFICE. He heads over there. INT. OFFICE THROUGH THE DOORWAY - FRED is seated behind the desk, ensconced in a dozen THICK, OPEN-FACED TOMES scattered across its surface. Gunn scrutinizes her for a moment with a tender, concerned expression. Then - Have you been at it all night? Fred doesn't look up. CLOSE-UP on her face - we see what Gunn's scrutiny has seen--the dark circles under her eyes, the exasperation and worry in the pinch between her brows. No. I got up at five-thirty. GUNN You look exhausted. FRED (with slight irritability) I'm not. Just having a little trouble concentrating. Gunn's concern deepens. Hey, hey. Fred finally glances up, her gaze apologetic. I'm sorry. It's just... She gestures across the desk. Exasperation rises in her voice. I've looked through every book we've got on demonic possession, psychic links, the Old Ones... I can't find anything that would explain that connection I experienced with Illyria yesterday! Gunn smiles gently. You'll figure it out. Fred breaks into a weak smile of her own. Gunn sits down across from her. (with gentle reassurance) We'll figure it out. We've got witches, demon shamans, all sorts of resources now. I'll ask around. Someone's gotta know something. Fred nods grudgingly and turns her attention back to her books. Gunn tries to meet her eyes. I just...don't want you doing anything.... (a sigh) You're not planning to go after her again, are you? FRED Not until I know more. I'm heading over to Wolfram and Hart later. She glances up to see Gunn's open mouth of protest. --Just to see what I can scrounge up in their files! Gunn's tone is reproachful. It's not safe there. FRED (irritable again) I know what it's like. But I was just there last week and I handled it fine. GUNN Well, it's not last week now, is it? (he reaches out and grasps her hand) Do me a favor. Don't go over there when you're tired like this. The coven's got a library. Try that in the mean time. FRED (petulantly) It's not the same. GUNN Just promise me you won't go over there. FRED All right. I promise. EXT. WOLFRAM AND HART BUILDING - CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS INT. LOBBY The vast, high-ceilinged room looks deserted, but there are clear signs of habitation. The rows upon rows of windows that once lit this tabernacle of corporate power were long ago broken, removed, and replaced by scrounged plywood. The darkness this has created is broken only by a few distant, twitching florescent lights. The floor is covered with blankets, food wrappers, and discarded clothing. Wesley grimaces and brings a hand up under his nose. Then, from somewhere in the room, we hear a series of quick, frantic whispers. Out of the shadows, two men and a woman emerge. One of the men is holding a SAWED-OFF SHOTGUN on Wesley. The other two are sporting stolen military rifles. This is our place! Wesley doesn't flinch at their weapons. And how did it come to be "your place"? SHOTGUN MAN None of your business! WOMAN The corporate hot-shots are gone! We took it from some demons fair and square! And City Hall sides with current occupants! Slowly, other people--or their faces and hands at least--begin to appear behind office chairs and around desks and pillars. Go away! Wesley raises both hands. I have no desire to stay here. But I need to go to the executive floor. If you'll just let me go--escorted if you wish-- I'll be gone shortly. The woman snarls dismissively. That place was ransacked months ago. There's nothing up there. SHOTGUN MAN What's it to you, anyway? WESLEY I used to work here. SHOTGUN MAN Nothin' doing! (he nods at several unarmed adults closer to Wesley) Search 'im. The adults creep out of their shelters, head over to Wesley, and without a word, pat him down and rummage though his clothes. The man with the shotgun steps forward. Wesley raises his arms another inch. CLOSE-UP on Wesley. With poker-faced calm, his eyes follow their movements. PULL BACK TO A WIDE SHOT - Suddenly, Wesley YANKS the shotgun up and out of the man's hands and backs up towards the rear wall, bringing the weapon around so it is pointing at the squatters. I'm going upstairs. Now, you can try to stop me if you wish-- Suddenly, Wesley dodges left, raising his shotgun as the other armed man FIRES. The rifle bullet HITS A PILLAR near where his head had been. He FIRES BACK - BLOWING a clay fichus pot to shards. The crowd cries out. (adamantly) --but I trust the lot of you are fond of being in one piece. Several hurried nods. Wesley continues backing up, glancing briefly around at - COLLAPSED STAIRCASES and an empty shell of an ELEVATOR. Then his eyes fall on a - STAIRWELL DOOR. He backs up towards it and disappears inside. CUT TO - INT. EXECUTIVE FLOOR The entire floor is a shattered, water-ruined wreck open to the outside air and light in multiple places. Wesley crosses the atrium, taking in the sight of it, tensed for a possible attack. He stops short as he nears - HIS OFFICE. CUT TO - He pushes aside one of the doors, which is listing sideways from its upper hinges, and enters. INT. WESLEY'S OFFICE As the woman below said--ransacked. The filing cabinets, bookshelves, and desk have been rummaged through and tipped over. There are loose pages, bits of china, and broken office equipment on the floor. Even the pictures on the wall and the curtains are trashed. The closet no longer has a door. Wesley gazes silently at it. CUT TO - EXT. UNDERGROUND PARKING AREA - REAR ENTRANCE EXT. SHOT - chunks of crushed and broken concrete pinned under the collapsed building. Wesley crawls out of an air pocket clutching his shotgun. Then he ducks back in as a dark gray SEDAN passes by. He is about to slip back out again when we hear the SQUEAL OF BRAKES, followed by two GUN SHOTS and SHATTERING GLASS. Wesley exits his hiding place and, weapon raised, walks slowly out onto the street. HIGH PAN - Scattered people look on from the building windows. The sedan is idling at the intersection, the driver's side door hanging open. Two THUG-LIKE GRAPPLER DEMONS YANK the driver from the car. He falls to the ground dead. One of the demons takes his place behind the wheel. The second demon scuttles around to the passenger side. Suddenly - POW! The second Grappler is blasted to the ground, a huge hole in its head. Wesley releases the shotgun shell. HOLD on his expressionless face. Now people are genuinely GAWKING. They look first at Wesley, then towards a SLOW RUMBLING steadily growing louder and louder. CUT TO a CONVOY OF MILITARY TRUCKS AND HUMVEES passing by on a nearby street. The head Humvee slows and brakes. MEANWHILE - The sedan's tire SCREECH as the Grappler behind the wheel tries to accelerate from idling. POW! CRASH! THROUGH THE SHATTERED BACK WINDOW - The sedan's horn BLARES as the demon's head hits the steering wheel. Wesley strides over to the car. He opens the driver's side door and pulls the dead Grappler out, dumping it on top of its former victim. Then he LOOKS UP. QUICK-CUT TO - Several soldiers dressed in military camouflage leap from a truck and start over towards the disturbance. Quickly, Wesley gets behind the wheel, pulls the door shut, and SQUEALS OUT around the street corner in the opposite direction. The soldiers come to a halt as they reach the dead demons. They exchange words briefly (no audio), then return to their vehicles. CUT TO - The military convoy continues down the street. EXT. MEMORIAL GRAVEYARD - MORNING WIDE SHOT over the expanse of the graveyard and the sidewalks adjacent to it. A scattered crowd has gathered, looking on with bewilderment, fear, and excitement at the UPTURNED DIRT, BROKEN CASKETS, AND TOPPLED GRAVE MARKERS. We don't see Michael in the crowd, but his Taurus is still parked at the east curb, and Santos' Lexus is still across the street from it. Several POLICE CARS are parked between them, their rooflights flashing. Cars from those who have stopped to gawk line both curbs on the north end of the lot. Two POLICE OFFICERS are drawing a yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter while a THIRD herds the two dozen or so still-bewildered, slightly tattered and filthy FORMERLY DEAD up to the STONE MONUMENT at the northwest corner. A POLICE SERGEANT approaches her holding a clipboard. We're going to need a list of everyone who was buried here. POLICE OFFICER Don't know if that'll be possible, sir. This was one of those empty lots they used as... (she dips her head away from her charges) ...as an overfill graveyard last summer. Then she points to a middle-aged Chinese man standing near the edge of the crowd. And see that guy over there? He runs a mausoleum a few blocks away. This lot took his "unknown dead" as well-- people who weren't clients of his that'd been dumped on him earlier. There's no I.D.s on any of these grave markers, as far as I can tell. POLICE SERGEANT Well, get these people's names. Suddenly, a woman among the revived starts SCREAMING. She is pointing at a BROKEN CASKET several meters away. Her hand quivers over her mouth in horror. The police officers start towards her, then stop and turn as, with a familiar SLOW RUMBLE - The MILITARY CONVOY rolls into view. PAN the crowd. The people turn toward the sound, then start speaking amongst themselves. The PAN ends on MICHAEL, who is standing under a withered tree beside Santos and Francine, just one amongst dozens. He is using his black robe as a rag to wipe the last of the makeup from his face. Santos' eyes are on the recently-dead. His expression is a tortured mix of concern and awe. He turns to Michael. Michael, you don't.... You don't just bring people back from the dead! That doesn't happen! How did you.... Michael glances up and around them furtively. He catches the eye of a somewhat geeky-looking thirty-something MAN lurking behind them, and leans in closer to his colleagues. (voice low) Not here. Let's head back to the estate. I'll explain it all there. Francine eyes Michael skeptically. Santos stares out across the graveyard with hopeful uncertainty. CUT TO - A National Guard Captain approaches the police sergeant. Several other soldiers are already standing at the northern perimeter of the graveyard. One of them is scanning the recently dead with a PDA. Nothing out of the ordinary here, Captain. They're just...people. CAPTAIN (to the police sergeant) And this is everyone who claims to have...? The Sergeant shakes his head. Most of them ain't claiming nothing. Some can barely say their own names. All I know is a few of the on-lookers here (he gestures) say these folks came from there. And with that, he points at the upturned land and broken coffins. The National Guard Captain shakes his head. This is nuts. He turns to his Staff Sergeant. Set up a quarantine area for these people until we can figure out where they did come from, and if they're dangerous. (then he glances at the sorry lot of them--tattered clothes, hollow eyes) And get them some food and medical attention. The Staff Sergeant nods. Just then, the SQUEAL OF TIRES announces the arrival of a NEWS VAN. On the side is the STYLISTIC EYE of the CBS network. The logo slides aside as the side door opens. A reporter jumps out of the van with her cameraman. CUT TO Michael, who sees this, and with a conflicted expression, pushes back through the crowd towards his car. The geeky on-looker behind him follows him, grabs his wrist, and forces him back around. Are you the one?! The one who did this? MICHAEL (with feigned annoyance) No. Excuse me. Michael yanks his arm away and continues weaving through the crowd. (to a random female bystander) He's the one! He did this! The woman turns to the man beside her to share the rumor. Meanwhile, the reporter positions herself on the southeast corner where the camera can take in the expanse of the graveyard behind her. Then the camera man points the camera at her. CUT TO - CAMERA-EYE'S VIEW CLOSE-UP of the reporter. I'm at a west L.A. overflow graveyard where, witnesses allege, the dead buried here over the last ten months have risen from their graves alive and well. She throws a glance over her shoulder. The ground here and the graves certainly appear to be disturbed.... The camera man PANS the length of the graveyard. ...and there are people covered in dirt and ragged clothing. ZOOM-LENS view of the recently-dead, who have now been cordoned off from the crowd with METAL BARRIERS. Both the police and military have arrived and have separated those people from the crowd that's gathered. CLOSE-UP on the reporter again. So far, no one has taken credit for this alleged "raising of the dead." CUT TO MICHAEL, just then slipping behind the wheel of his Taurus. Several soldiers are walking briskly over to his car. The engine roars to life. LONG SHOT - Michael's Taurus PEELS AWAY DOWN THE STREET. EXT. HYPERION HOTEL - MID-MORNING The familiar curving twin wings of the white, five-story art deco hotel. Into the frame steps Wesley, staring up at it, his jaw tensed. INT. HYPERION LOBBY The room is dim-lit and deserted. Wesley tries a light switch. The lobby FLOODS WITH LIGHT. He lowers his arm and takes in the room. His POV, PANNING - Clearly not in neglect or squalor. There is a new weapons locker where the old one stood, bolted and chained. The circular green poof, red couch, staircases, and wall paper are all in decent condition. Wesley steps down from the entryway. He walks over to the lobby office, PAUSES at the counter, and frowns. Sitting there is an EMPTY COCKTAIL TUMBLER. He picks it up and sniffs at the rim, then sets it down with a troubled frown. He enters the office. INT. OFFICE No one is there, but there is clear evidence that someone was recently. Wesley walks over and picks up a book from the desk - INSERT - An Archeological Atlas of North American Demons CRASH! A noise from upstairs makes him LOOK UP. He tosses the book down and COCKS HIS SHOTGUN. CUT TO - He heads upstairs. CUT TO - INT. SECOND-FLOOR HALLWAY LONG SHOT - The wall lamps are dark. The doors on either side--some closed, some broken, some missing--stretch down to a boarded-up window. A faint, irregular clicking sound is coming from one of the rooms, but it's unclear which one. Wesley starts down the hall, his shotgun raised. The clicking grows steadily louder. Finally, he comes upon a SLIGHTLY AJAR DOOR. He uses the nose of his shotgun to open it wider, then finds himself aiming his weapon at - An EMPTY, SUN-STREAKED ROOM. A single mattress with the stuffing pulled out sits on the floor, along with some scattered trash. The window has no curtains and no glass. Wesley lifts his shotgun and steps out of the room. He continues down the hall, ignoring the continued clicking, which grows fainter as he approaches the last room on the right. Its door is closed. He gazes at it sadly. For a split second, we see a faint image of SEASON 3 FRED standing in the doorway. He wiggles the knob, then tries again, pushing. With a look of frustration, steps back and BLASTS the knob with his shotgun. The door FLIES OPEN WITH A SHUDDER. There is a splintered hole where the knob was. Wesley enters. INT. HOTEL ROOM There are obvious, if sparse, signs of habitation--a few clothes hanging in the closet, linens on the bed, papers and books strewn over a desk. And then, on the wall above the desk - FEVERISHLY-DRAWN DIAGRAMS. ARROWS connect STICK DRAWINGS--demons, weapons, magical symbols, a globe with a hole through it. And scattered through out, in SCRAWLED HANDWRITING - God-king of the primordium metaphysical infestation Deeper Well Wolf, Ram, and Hart Illyria must die!! Wesley backs away from the desk, breathing rapidly. He glances around. Not just at the room, but out the window, through the door. What is this place?! Then - BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!! The noise startles Wesley and he aims the shotgun at the ceiling, which is VIBRATING under the incessant pounding. The pounding breaks off, and an ANGRY, MUTED VOICE seems to come from the ceiling and window simultaneously - Hey! Was that a gun?! You want me to report you? Wesley gapes at the ceiling for another few seconds. Then he lowers his gaze and the shotgun, his eyes wild but pensive. A moment passes by as his mind works. I was at Cyvus Vail's. Mortally wounded. (beat) Illyria was there. He raises his voice to the air. What is this place!? MUTED VOICE Shut up! And then, quietly again - I died. This can't be the world I left. He turns and strides out of the room. INT. SECOND-FLOOR HALLWAY There are more doors open now than before. Sunlight plays through them onto the carpet. In one doorway stands a green, reptilian LY'CHYMNI DEMON with a toothbrush in hand. He sees Wesley's shotgun and steps back, eyes wide. Other doors close again quickly, with only a glimpse of vaguely demonic faces that disappear to the sound of hushed gasps. Wesley passes them all, his pace unslackened. He strides out onto the second-floor landing, CUT TO - bolts down the stairs, CUT TO - across the lobby, and CUT TO - EXT. HYPERION FRONT GARDEN outside, walking straight into - FAITH. She gapes at him, and the shotgun he has pointed at her. Wesley? BLACK OUT. |