shadows of large factories . . . And as we move nearer, coursing over the parched terrain, the tiny fields of cultivation, strands of sound are woven through the main titles, borne on the wind, images from the life we are seeking:
British: "Who the hell is he?!", lower class British: "I dont know, sir." . . . "My name is Gandhi. Mohandas K. Gandhi." . . . A womans voice, tender, soft: "You are my
endered insignificant
by the vastness of the land. It goes on, and on, and on...
??
??
DISSOLVE TO:
??
??
A lone MAN walks along the Haul Road, a one-lane gravel
trail running parallel to the pipeline. The weather turns
sour -- rough wind and stinging snow cut across the mans
path.
??
??
DISSOLVE TO:
??
??
The man is ERIC DESMOND, twenty-four, clean-shaven,
determined. Hes clearly out of place he
Its magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments surround the undulating center.
The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely etched. Theres a touch-light panel across the top and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers fluctuations of the iris.
The instrument is no bigger than a
Chronicles Of Riddick Script
[Woman Narrating]
They are an army unlike any other...
crusading across the stars
toward a place called UnderVerse,
their promised land...
a constellation of dark new worlds.
Necromongers, theyre called.
And if they cannot convert you,
they will kill you.
Leading them, the Lord Marshal.
He alone has made a pilgrimage
to the gates of the UnderVerse...
and returned a di