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Matrix Reloaded-Revolutions
Shadow Script Part 9


"What? I don't hear anything."


"We can only rebel so long. We can only push until they will hit back."


"They? The Men in Black?"

CU on GREGORY. In the distance, the faintest sound of a helicopter can be heard, growing louder.


"Fuck! Get to the bikes."


GREGORY bursts over the hill, holding hands with CHANDRA as they run. He's only had time to through on his boots and boxers and grab his .44. Chandra is dressed only in her underwear and Gregory's leather jacket.


"Wake up! Get on your bikes and fucking ride!"

HIS gang burst to their feet. They scramble through the dunes, heading for their bikes.

A HELICOPTER, seen only by it's massively strong search lamp, and the wind from its rotors blowing sand everywhere, flies up and over the dunes, buzzing the running pack, blowing some off their feet.

GREGORY mounts his bike and CHANDRA jumps on back. WITH A WAVE OF HIS HAND, all the bikes, his included, drop into neutral and rev into start. Their headlights blaze as the helicopter returns, joined by another.



SUDDENLY, automatic fire sparks from the unseen helicopters. A bullet trail stitches its way across a pair of bikers, sending them to the ground as the helicopters fly overhead.

GREGORY cranks down on the throttle and his bike explodes ahead.


THE pack splits up in two directions as the distant choppers circle back. GREGORY cuts the lights on his bike and follows the highway by starlight.


TINNY RADIO chatter fills the red-lit cockpit over the steady hum of the engines. The nose of the chopper points to the ground as it focuses on GREGORY and CHANDRA, who are ripping down the highway.

CU on the cockpit instruments, centered on the airspeed indicator. The needle is pushing to the max, going through 150 knots.


"Holy shit, he's outrunning us."



GREGORY is pasted down to the tank of his bike with CHANDRA gripping him for her life. The slipstream pulls his lips open and tears streak from his eyes as his bike redlines in fifth gear. The helicopters grow smaller behind them. They break chase.

CHANDRA looks back and sees the lights turn away. She screams over the wind and the roar.


"They're gone!"

GREGORY is staring down a dark highway.


"Can't see shit."

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HE turns the headlights back on, just in time to see a ROADBLOCK of heavy duty military trucks. In front of the trucks is a sandbag wall manned by soldiers. The trucks are flanked by police cars. And if one looks closely enough, they can see a pair of AGENTS standing to the side.

THE stunned soldiers have time to fire off a couple shots as they run frantically to get out of the way of the bike, 800 pounds of metal flying at 150 miles per hour.

GREGORY plows into the sandbag wall, directly between two parked trucks. The wall parts in an explosion of sand and sandbags. THEY'RE THROUGH, but the bike scissors uncontrollably, until it rolls and we drop into bullet-time.

AS the bike goes over, we watch from the side as GREGORY dismounts, grabbing CHANDRA as he steps over onto the safe side of the bike. A massive shower of sparks bursts and trails the bike. It tumbles like a bullet falling through syrup, and GREGORY keeps walking over the rotating surface, using the bike to protect him and CHANDRA against the flesh-ripping concrete.

THE bike is coming apart as it's bashed against the concrete. Pieces rise slowly into the air - the front wheel, the forks, the mufflers, and a million flakes of metal, until the body bounces into the air, carrying GREGORY and CHANDRA up. Holding her to him - she's barely conscious of the lightning-fast crash, GREGORY rides the flying body with one hand on the frame. It comes crashing down and back into real-time.

THE bike's body streaks along the highway. The sparks fade as it slows, and pieces of metal come clanging and banging down around them. They stop, crouching atop the body, with GREGORY crouching over CHANDRA. The disembodied front wheel rolls past them.

STUNNED, not quite understanding how or what he just did, he and CHANDRA stand and start running. BEHIND them is a blurry wall of red and blue lights. POLICE SIRENS grow louder.

THEY start running down the highway, then GREGORY yanks CHANDRA to a stop.


"Split up, into the desert, go!"

THEY split.

CU on CHANDRA. In bare feet, she sprints for the side of the road. The highway is littered with pieces of the bike, and she stomps on a twisted piece of metal that impales her bare foot. She falls to the asphalt with a scream.


GREGORY turns and rushes back to her, even as a police cruiser is bearing down on them, it's V-8 roaring and the siren IMPOSSIBLY LOUD.

GREGORY drops to her side, only to look up into the blinding high beams. He drops over CHANDRA, ducks his head and extends his hand toward the oncoming cruiser and we drop back into BULLET TIME.

THE CRUISER runs into his hand and stops as though it hit a steel post. The hood crumples in the center, pushing the grill in even as the front quarter panels of the unibody continue around GREGORY and CHANDRA.


THE ENGINE smashes in through the console, pushing the cops apart as the glass windshield explodes and their seats slide forward into the console, smashing them like jelly.


WITH HIS HAND still on the grille, CHANDRA AND GREGORY remain untouched, even as the entire police cruiser rips around them. WE drop back into REAL time and see the cruiser's body rip over and around them. The grille and engine block and part of the mangled transmission remain still against GREGORY'S HAND. The cruiser was gutted, like a banana shot down the center from top to bottom. It speeds beyond them, silent now, flips and explodes.

THE ENGINE block is suspended a few feet in the air. It drops to the ground with a thud.

GREGORY and CHANDRA get to their feet and run into the early morning desert.


UNBELIEVABLY, the driver is still alive… barely. The steering wheel is smashed deep into his mouth, splitting his jaw open. Wet, broken chokes emanate from his blood-filled mouth. His eyes flicker, and just before they close forever, his body is seized by pain as he MORPHS.


THE CRUMPLED DOOR is knocked out of the frame. WE SEE a black loafer step from the vehicle and a man in an immaculate black suit steps out slowly.

WE rise up from the loafer. As the other cruisers catch up to the scene of the accident, AGENT BROWN watches. He looks into the desert.

A POLICE lieutenant approaches BROWN.


"Sir, should we pursue?"


"Withdraw your men and pursue the others. We have our own plans for this one."

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The Matrix, Reloaded, The Matrix Revolutions and all related media, characters, and stories are Copyright © 1999-2007 AOL Time Warner and Village Roadshow Pictures.

© 2001-2008 N. Franken

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Original Matrix Script and the Reloaded-Revolutions Shadow Script