6
The museum is now empty. Jack strides along. Sparking bullshit stun baton in one hand.
Jack approaches. Can see the sealed steel doors. There's an emergency release beside them.
Checks the stun baton. Reaching for the handle when, the DOORS EXPLODE at him. Blown aside. Fire, smoke everywhere, a battered cannonball bouncing down the hall. Jack hurls himself through the hole in the doors.
Takes cover behind one of the exhibits.
Hart stands behind the Civil War cannon. He is amusing himself once again "What can I say, I'm a blast from the past."
He looks like a mad bandito. Draped in guns and ammo.
Jack calls out "John Hart. L.A.P.D., I mean San Angeles P.D. You're under arrest."
"Where's the voice come from? Why does it sound so familiar?" John mutters to himself then yells back "Nah. I don't think so."
John unleashes a BARRAGE from a TOMMY GUN draped around his neck. Keeps FIRING and FIRING and FIRING. Empties it. Not a very strategic move as he demolishes most of the cases in the room, including the one directly over Jack.
A Beretta falls at his feet. An old police belt as well. Jack yanks out the magazine. Loads it. Collapses the bullshit stun baton and tucks it away.
"Hands up or I'll shoot, John." Jack warns, then after a beat; snorts to himself "Fuck it."
Jack comes up FIRING. Gets off about THREE SHOTS before Hart STRAFES the area with a HK91. Dives for cover.
"You were saying..." John laughs, then has a recognition jolt "Jack! Jack Jack! What's a guy like you doing in a century like this?"
"My job."
"Who cares?" Hart unsheathes a pair of machine PISTOLS. BLAZES away. Tries the AcMag. Still nothing. John shakes the AcMag "Come on, motherfucker. Well, we'll do it the old-fashioned way..."
Dumps another load of black powder into the cannon. STRAFES Jack. Tamps the powder down. STRAFES Jack. Jack sees a 12-gauge auto loader and a box of shells across the aisle.
"So lemme get this straight – they defrosted you just to lassoo my piddly ass?" John laughs.
The magazine empties. Calculating the odds, Jack dives and rolls across the aisle. "I was in the neighbourhood."
He's concerned when there're no shots fired. He oughta be. Hart drops in a cannon ball. Lights the fuse. Aims.
Jack comes up BLAZING. Lotta firepower in a 12-Gauge at close range. Hart has a pair of Six-Shooter. Bad Day at Black Rock. Cases Shatter. The cannon's pointed straight at Jack. Displays collapse. Hart flattens. A mannequin falls across the cannon, pointing the muzzle down.
Hart pulls out the now-fully-charged AcMag as the cannon fires. Right into the floor. BLOWS out one of the transparent panels. The two of them collapse into the floor below.
Smoke everywhere.
"Nice shooting, Jack. You killed the building."
The smoke clears. They're in downtown 20th Century L.A. They've dropped into the archeological exhibit we saw before. Jack, shaking off the fall, finds himself weaponless. Hart is spinning madly around, AcMag in one hand, an Ingram from his shoulder bag in the other. STRAFES everywhere with the INGRAM. Tosses it away.
"Past is over, Jack." John says, lifting the AcMag "Time for something new and improved. Like me... Now die."
Hart aims the AcMag. Completely silent. Then the first OBJECT that intersects his aim simply EXPLODES. Whatever it is. Hart laughs hysterically. Likes this new toy a lot. Fires again. A working fire hydrant blows up off its bolts.
Water is spraying everywhere. Hart stands in it six inches deep. Jack yanks out his stun baton, steps clear, jams it in the water.
Jack activates the stun baton. Hart is racked with pain. Rattled and shaken by the charge. Involuntary shudders. Yanks himself clear with a wild grin.
"What a brave new world. Sorry you have to leave."John sighs theatrically.
He fires. Jack dives for cover. Just out of reach he spots the BERETTA. Dives for it. SHOOTS back. It's like a popgun compared to the AcMag. Anything but survival becomes completely out of the question. Hart FIRES ROUND AFTER ROUND. Everything he aims at just EXPLODES. That Jack lives through this at all is amazing.
Cocteau coolly walks through the freshly-landscaped courtyard at the rear of the building. A large column of smoke rises out of a section of the museum. Associate Bob frantically bobs about him. "I'm sure, sir, the Stress Breeder Is inside being demobilized as we
speak..."
A bullet whistles by, barely missing Bob. He hurls himself into the dirt. Cocteau turns to face a jazzed-up Hart, still draped in weapons, the AcMag tucked in his belt.
"Damn, being frozen has thrown off my aim. Don't worry, I'll kill you with the next shot." John promises.
"I don't think so." Cocteau replies softly.
Hart raises a Luger to Cocteau. Something snaps. Hart's smile turns to a grimace. His gun hand quivers. He wants to kill, but he can't. Cocteau folds his arms. "Ah, no kiss-kiss. No bang-bang... And you were doing so well. Now, don't you have a job to do? Don't you have someone you have to kill?"
Hart looks at him. Surprised and puzzled "Yeah, I do..."
Jack comes crashing out of the wreckage. Loading the Beretta as he runs, a crazed scowl on his face. Hart leaps the wall.
Hart bounds up a hill. Jumps onto the back of a WHIRRING ELECTRIC TROLLEY heading by. It picks up speed. He disappears.
Jack takes aim - out of range. Fuck. Turns to Cocteau. "You don't know how fucking lucky you are that maniac didn't whack you."
Cocteau smiles as he says "No doubt whacking, whatever it is, would be extremely bad. You scared him away and I do not know how to thank you. You saved my life."
Jack gives a SUSPICIOUS glance from the wall to Cocteau as Cocteau leads him into the complex.
The cops and passersby are in a state of shock. A column of smoke still rises from somewhere in the middle of the building. 2042 Fire Department vehicles arrive. A fireman jumps into a control stand atop the vehicle, pulls a joystick, and the entire back of the truck lifts off, unmanned drone. He guides it towards the blaze.
"Not bad for an eighty-four-year-old! John Hart knows he has some competition. He's finally matched his meat. You really licked his ass!" Ianto gushes with glee.
"Uh, it's 'met his match.' And 'kicked.' Kicked' his ass." Jack corrects with a grimace.
Cocteau takes a quivering Chief aside. He asks coolly "Who is this man?"
Associate Bob arrives, tidily brushing dirt off himself.
"Detective Jack Harkness. Temporarily reinstated to the San Angeles Police Department to pursue the madman John Hart." Sato is almost ready to cry "You told us to do everything in our power to capture the madman."
"I did. Yes. Yes, I did. I do recall the exploits of Jack Harkness. Didn't they call him... I think it was... The Demolition Man. "Cocteau agrees, then "It's quite all right, Chief. Unexpected, creative, but quite all right. BE Well."
Owen nods. Still terrified.
"Jack Harkness, welcome. So, what do you think of our fair society?"
"Great, I come to the future, Hart gets the ray gun, I get the rusty Beretta." Jack snaps.
Cocteau addresses Jack and the entire assemblage.
Jack Harkness, in honour of your arrival, and your protection of the sanctity of human life, namely my own, I wish for you to join me for dinner tonight." Cocteau offers, then sees Ianto at his side "The both of you. I insist. You must accompany me to Taco Bell."
Ianto looks seriously pleased and flattered. Jack just has no clue as to this choice of restaurants. Ianto discreetly elbows him. Hard.
"Uh. That'd be great." Jack is befuddled "Looking forward to it..."
.
.
.
POLICE STATION
Jack is not happy "Wait, wait, wait."
Jack is staring at a vid screen on a wall: Cocteau, grinning, arms spread, his utopia behind him, and the Behavioral Engineering logo. "Spacely Sprockets here, who is now in charge, the 'Mayor/Gov,' who wants to take me to dinner at Taco Bell - though Lord knows I
wouldn't mind a burrito – is also one of the guys who invented the cryoprison? Christ!"
Morality Box BEEPS. Jack casually adds the paper to the collection in his breast pocket.
"Dr. Cocteau is the most important man in San Angeles. He practically created our whole way of life." Owen explains.
"Well he can have it." Jack says, choosing words "And rather than inserting barbed instruments up the rectums of those around you, perhaps you would care to sit on one yourself."
A flustered Owen gives a look to the morality box. Jack turns to another vid screen. A map of San Angeles on it.
"Hart could be anywhere, but not having a code could hurt him." Jack surmises "Limits his options."
"Correct. Money is outmoded. All transactions are through codes." Ianto steps closer to jack and notices the tiny gold fleck in his eyes he had not noticed before.
"So Hart can't buy food or a place to crash for the night. Pointless for him to mug anybody..." Jack says to himself. Takes a beat; thinks "Unless he rips off someone's hand. Let's hope he doesn't figure that one out..."
Everyone is momentarily nauseated.
"And with all officers already patrolling in a citywide crisis net, it should be just a matter of tick-tocks before..." Ianto starts to say.
"And you know, we already have a back-up plan. We can just wait for another code to go red. When Hart performs another murder/death/kill, we'll know exactly where to pounce..." Owen points out.
"Oh. Great plan." Jack huffs.
"Thank you." Owen says with delight.
Only Ianto gets the sarcasm. He and Jack exchange a look. Jack goes back to staring at the screen.
"So where the fuck is he?" Jack asks.
Jack reaches without looking.
Pockets another warning.