The Chameleon

By... ^Chameleon^

FADE IN: A geometrical pattern fills the screen. Zoom out to see that it is a magnified view of a steel beam that hovers over a city below. For a few seconds, it appears that no one is there... but then we catch a glance of a flash of eerie, almost ghostly, green light, and for a split second we see a small silhouette of a scrawny shaped person hanging off of the beam, by his hands. We do not get to hold on to this shape long, because just as suddenly as this person appears, we see that same green flash again. Then it disappears. As the camera switches to infrared, we catch a figure, standing on the same spot of the steel beam. Then switch back to regular view... the shape is gone. This happens a few more times, but the person who is running the camera obviously gets frustrated and turns away. The camera starts moving erratically. The only since we can make of this is either the camera operator is drunk or he is trying to put his camera somewhere so he can sit down. The sound of a match striking is heard, then the sound of a person puffing on a cigarette. The camera is picked up, then starts to switch lenses. First, back to infrared. It looks around for a while. After seeing nothing, it then changes to ultra violent, then begins to look around again. This pattern happens repeatedly, each time with a different type of camera lens. The person operating the camera appears to be so engrossed in this task, that they do not seem to notice it when the camera is jerked out of their hands. The camera is then turned back around, to reveal a look of surprise and fright on the face of the camera's operator. Suddenly a grunt is heard as the camera is flung across the rooftop and falls down towards the street below.

Cut to loud static.

Cut back.

We see a face, or, what we think is a face, no way to really tell, because it is covered in camouflaged material. Continue pulling back to reveal a scrawny, almost stick like silhouetted figure, sitting cross-legged with Zen-like composure. The arms are straight down, between the legs. Behind the figure is some kind of steel structure. But wait, as we pull back, city lights have come into view, and now skyscrapers... but they are above us. Sticking down into frame like the mother ship in "Close Encounters." CAMERA ROTATES now, 180 degrees... Putting the city where it belongs... below us, and revealing that the figure is hanging by a greenish thread-like wire that seems to be attached to his back. He is just hanging there cross- legged and chilled-out. The figure is wearing a form-hugging camouflaged- colored body suit. It is hard to make out the details of him in the moonlight. Who is this whacko? The camera keeps pulling back. The figure is dangling, like a spider on a strand of web, from a radio mast high above... Manhattan. There are the familiar landmarks... Pan Am, Chrysler Buildings and also the Empire State Building.

FIGURE V.O.

"Damn punks! Always trying to get a shot of me! Aww well... guess that's what you have to get use to when you get in to my line of work.. Welcome to one of my favorite nightspots. The service is slow, but the thing I like about it is it's not usually too crowded." The Empire State building is lower than we are so there's only one place we could be... 1400 feet above the street, on the radio mast of the north tower of the World Trade Center. A quarter of a mile below us, the traffic moves like corpuscles of light through the circulatory system of the city.

FIGURE V.O.

"It all looks so... civilized... from up here, doesn't it? Like there's some kind of logic to it all. It's all so clear, but when you get down there on the street, nothing's clear." Various shots of the city. As well as, close-ups of buildings, cars, etc...

"THE STREET. Cabs, cops, and people on the move. Humanity in all its variegated glory... from stockbrokers to hookers, priests to junkies."

Cut to a CORNER NEWSSTAND. The camera is pushing in on a stack of "Newsweek".

Close-up of the top one.

The cover is a grainy, long lens black and white shot, like a UFO photo, of a guy in a full-bodied suit apparently crawling up the side of a building. The headline reads: THE CHAMELEON- HERO OR VIGILANTE? An arm, wearing the same familiar suit, drops down from the roof of the newsstand. The news-guy whirls as the arm slaps two bucks on the counter and grabs a Newsweek. The owner rushes out the door... looks on top of the counter where the newspapers are supposed to be. There's nothing there. He looks up, all around... nothing. He grins and holds his fist in the air.

"ALRIIIIIGHT!" The owner exclaims. CUT back to THE FIGURE, on top the WTC. Still hanging. He pulls the Newsweek out of his belt and stares at the cover in the moonlight. Then he pulls out a hot dog. The figure loosens the strings of a hood like apparatus on his head. He then does the same to some Velcro that secures the hood even tighter on his head. He lifts up a flap of the hooded mask like portion of the suit to expose his mouth so he can enjoy his treat. The figure takes a bite.

Chameleon V.O.

"How can I expect them to get it. I don't even get it. I do wish they'd at least get my name right. It's Chameleon... not The Chameleon. Jeez. Boneheads. I need a better publicist." With a deep breath inward, he lets go of the magazine, but instead of falling like we would expect it to, it just stays there, hovering in mid air. The camera pulls in for a tighter shot of Chameleon. He then mashes a button on his wrist. We hear a metal shinging. Almost like a dagger being unsheathed. We pull out to see that a small, almost 5-inch blade has unsheathed itself from the wrist of his costume. The claw like blade rips the magazine easily, and quickly, in half, then in quarters, then in eighths... somewhere in here we realize that this takes more strength and or speed in the hands than you or I have. When he is done slicing the magazine to his satisfaction, he breathes out heavier than usual. The stamp-sized shreds then fall downwards. The Camera drifts with them as they flutter down over the city like confetti. "Wouldn't they have kittens if they knew Chameleon wasn't even a man. Just a kid named"...

"Vince!" CLOSE UP on an elderly lady yelling. "Vince... you're going to be late!" It's morning and she's calling up the stairs to...Vince Hicks, age 18. Vince is in the bathroom, washing his face. He puts on his sunshades, not once even taking a glance at himself in the mirror. He smoothes the wrinkles of his clothes down with his hands.

Vince, to himself, "Still the same. Nerdy. Screw-um."

He doesn't seem to care how geeky he looks, in fact, if we wouldn't know better, we would think he's almost proud of it. He grabs a big stack of books and heads downstairs.