BLAZE CLAYMORE In... I'm Gonna Git You Osaka

FADE IN.

EXT. OSAKA SKYLINE - MIDNIGHT

We see flashes of tall, neon-lit buildings with LCD screens plastered everywhere. Despite the late hour, bustling rows of people flood major crosswalks and taxi cabs zip by. You see signs in kanji, as well as American, including one for good ol’ Mickey Ds.

CUT TO

INT. MCDONALDS

Sitting calmly, but flamboyantly, at a small circular table with a 1990s-style Ronald McDonald statue over his shoulder is BLAZE CLAYMORE. He is wearing a complementary 1990s-era leather jacket with a popped collar and a choke chain around his neck.

The bags under his eyes look like they’ve been altered with shoe polish or makeup, but it’s also possible he’s just really tired. After all, it’s midnight in Japan, which is 8 AM MST and BLAZE has never been out of the country before.

BLAZE taps errantly on a loaner laptop until finally a Skype video window appears, showing a stuffy-looking man in a business suit. He is seated behind a wooden desk and adjusts his own camera before looking through the lens - directly at BLAZE.

PROBATION OFFICER: So… how was your first week of community service?

BLAZE watches as the PROBATION OFFICER  looks up from a mound of paperwork. The PROBATION OFFICER hesitates, slightly, finally getting a good look at BLAZE unsure of what to make of his attire.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: I ain’t no snitch. BLAZE CLAYMORE scoffs, looking away from the scene, turning his head toward a large pane glass window where two very young and eager Japanese men are pointing at him from outside, clearly laughing. Meanwhile, the PROBATION OFFICER closes his eyes, frustrated.

PROBATION OFFICER: Who are you today, BLAZE? John Bender? Wade Walker? … John Connor?

BLAZE turns away from the window and snaps to attention, looking at the PROBATION OFFICER through his laptop camera. Trying really hard to look threatening.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: I’m just me, man. You know … ol’ Crazy Blazy.

PROBATION OFFICER: No one calls you that.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: I call myself that.

PROBATION OFFICER: I stand corrected.

BLAZE extends his hands outward onto the table, revealing … pink fuzzy handcuffs around his wrists.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: You think you can tame me? Tame the fire that is BLAZE Claymore!?

The PROBATION OFFICER tries extremely hard not to laugh.

PROBATION OFFICER: Where did you get those? They look used.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: You look used!

The PROBATION OFFICER glares at BLAZE, seemingly shocking some actual sense into him as BLAZE pulls his arms back and places them on his lap. He looks up, trying to clearly recalibrate — or perhaps realizing that with his hands now restrained he cannot safely eat his Bai Teriyaki Chicken Filet-O.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: You’re here about PRIME, aren’t you? I swear I didn’t kill her! I loved her!

The PROBATION OFFICER runs a hand down his face in disgust.

PROBATION OFFICER: Look… we let you join PRIME to see whether or not you could be, one day, released back into the general population. Yet you make one appearance on camera and suddenly you’re running lines? You’re already on thin ice, BLAZE make sure you don’t unnecessarily fall through it this early. Yeah?

BLAZE looks down, contemplating. After a few seconds he looks up, his eyes are stoic and somehow… fiendish. Somewhere in that look, the PROBATION OFFICER catches a glimpse of the real BLAZE CLAYMORE; the one behind the layer after layer after layer of facade. And… it sends a shiver up his spine.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Did you know I was booked in a match? Obviously, I mean. With someone of my calibur here how could you not immediately put them on the card? My opponent though… I don’t know much about him. I think he’s some kind of doctor named Storm, MD. I’m not sure where he got his medical license from, but I’m confident he’s violated the Hippopotamus Oath.

PROBATION OFFICER: You mean MD Storm… he’s not a doctor, BLAZE.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Ahah! Medical fraud! I knew it!

PROBATION OFFICER: No I mean… nevermind. Look… you’ve made a lot of progress this past year and remember what your actual doctor told you? Just… ease back into things slowly and don’t overwork yourself.

BLAZE looks quizzical for a second, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. But then he cocks his head seemingly even more confused.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Wait, how did you know I had an opponent named Storm, MD?

PROBATION OFFICER: We… get reports on you like every four hours. And we sent one of our associates in Osaka over to your apartment earlier. You couldn’t shut up about the match so, yeah, of course we know.

BLAZE looks positively horrified.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: You mean… that nice DoorDash driver… what was his name? Mitsubishi Honda?

PROBATION OFFICER: That is incredibly racist….

BLAZE CLAYMORE: He was a narc? A stooge!? A FED!?

PROBATION OFFICER: His name is OFFICER Mitsuki Hata and he is doing his job by doing wellness checks on you. You think we would put you on a plane to another country without having some sort of police force to monitor you?

BLAZE looks down, contemplating, before looking up and sighing.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Well.. couldn’t you have at least assigned agents Lee and Carter to my detail?

PROBATION OFFICER: Who?

BLAZE CLAYMORE: You know… Inspector Lee, the older Asian man, and Detective James Carter, the wise-cracking African American with the high-pitched voice.

PROBATION OFFICER: Are you … are you describing the characters from Rush Hour?

BLAZE looks irritated and huffs dramatically.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: NO. I’m talking about the two gentlemen who helped save the life of the daughter of a Japanese diplomat and learned the true bonds of friendship along the way despite hating each other at the beginning.

PROBATION OFFICER: Yeah, no, that’s Rush Hour… and the movie takes place in Hong Kong, not Osaka, Japan!

BLAZE looks confused.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Wait… I’m not in Hong Kong? BLAZE scrunches his nose up in disgust and disappointment. BLAZE CLAYMORE: Phooey.

The PROBATION OFFICER shakes his head.

PROBATION OFFICER: What are you doing, BLAZE? I thought this is what you wanted? To get a fresh start and put all of the … well… the past behind you. THIS is it. This is the chance you’ve been waiting for — to show people that you’re capable; you’re confident; and you’re … ready to be back amongst the general population.

BLAZE CLAYMORE throws his head back and laughs.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: General Population? You think I’d go crawling back to my SO after the shit he pulled? Tried to get me shitcanned… but when I get my hands on him I’ll make sure he understands the true meaning of dishonorable discharge.

BLAZE CLAYMORE pauses.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Wait… that’s horrible. What’s my motivation again?

The PROBATION OFFICER slams his hands on his desk loud enough that several other patrons in the McDonalds turn to look at BLAZE. They were already side-eyeing him for his attire, but now they seem genuinely concerned he needs legitimate mental help.

PROBATION OFFICER: You want motivation, BLAZE!? Okay. Here it is. You’re a shitty fucking wrestler and, somehow, an even shittier human being. You’ve managed to convince the courts that you are worthy of probation and the only fucking job you could get was being cannon fodder for a major wrestling outfit so they can get a couple of social media hits and then kick you to the curb. You’re not wanted. You’re not even tolerated… but if you can somehow pull yourself together to competently fight? You may last longer than a week.

BLAZE CLAYMORE contemplates for a second… nodding to himself slowly. The PROBATION OFFICER drops his shoulders, thinking he may have finally, finally talked some sense into BLAZE. Until he opens his mouth…

BLAZE CLAYMORE: So you’re saying this is just like Rocky IV? The down-on-his-luck, everyman fighter – forced back into the ring by the death of his friend at the hands of an evil Japanese man genetically designed to destroy everything in his path?

PROBATION OFFICER: No… that’s… first off MD Storm isn’t Japanese, BLAZE, and certainly no one has died facing him.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: We’ll just see about that!

The PROBATION OFFICER closes his eyes and sighs.

PROBATION OFFICER: Just… think about what I said, OK? I couldn’t tell you why, but for some reason you’ve gotten a second chance at success. True success. And… this time the only person who will be responsible for making that a reality is you; there’s no conspiracy, there’s no plot twist, and… personally? It’d be nice to see what BLAZE CLAYMORE can do as a hero, rather than a villain.

BLAZE sits back and lets the words sink in, his eyes and focus adjusting just enough to let the PROBATION OFFICER know at least some part of his message got through.

PROBATION OFFICER: Now… go say hello to your fans. BLAZE looks over his shoulder, confused as a large contingent of young men and women have gathered behind him with their cellphones held out. One of the men speaks up.

MAN 1: Oh! It is Johnny Depp! Hello Mr. Depp-San!

BLAZE confused. More than usual.

WOMAN 1: Say your line! From the man with scissor hands!

BLAZE blinks.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Edward Scissorhands doesn’t… speak in that movie. He just…

BLAZE tries to make a motion of what it would be like to have garden sheers for hands, but instead he pulls up his hands, still locked in pink fuzzy handcuffs. The crowd oos and ahhs.

WOMAN 2: Jonī deppu wa totemo ijiwarudesu BLAZE looks around and decides to stand up. He takes a step forward toward the crowd and, before they can properly react, he bows slightly toward them.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Connie Chung Wah.

The crowd stares back, phones still outstretched, but confused. He tries again.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Kobe Ban wah.

Still nothing.

BLAZE lowers his cuffed hands and sighs

BLAZE CLAYMORE: I wonder what Andy Dufrane in the Shawshank Redemption would do right about now…

MAN 1: Ohh! Yes! Picture! Shashin! Shashin! Thank you Mr. Depp-San!

BLAZE is gestured over to the crowd and just… decides to join in. He raises his cuffed hands as the crowd all shouts “CHEESE” and the group takes a massive selfie. As soon as the photo is taken, another man comes up to him for a solo picture, then a woman, and so on and so forth until Blaze has taken about 12 different photos.

He watches as the crowd all chitter together, comparing photos, until he turns back to his laptop to see that his PROBATION OFFICER has ended the call. BLAZE sighs, using his two hands to close the laptop before slowly raising his head in horror, with the statue RONALD MCDONALD himself, smiling like a clown who just murdered a bunch of kids in an alley, looming over his shoulder.

BLAZE CLAYMORE: Oh shit… where is key for the handcuffs? CUT TO BLACK.