We'd like to let you in on the creative process, so we're rolling out the screenplay in sections so you can read along as our action-packed psychological kung-fu thriller unfolds. So here's Part One. Oh and by the way, Jason Evers will be played by Bruce Willis (the Pulp Fiction-era one, not the old, present-day one).
INT. JAIL CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
JASON EVERS, skinny, head shaved, with dark circles around his eyes sits with his hand-cuffed hands a top a sterile steel table.
Across the table sits AGENT SABRINA SEXYDANGER, a robust blonde in her mid twenties and AGENT BO JACKSON, a muscular black man wearing shoulder pads and resting a baseball bat on his shoulder.
Give up, buddy. We know who you really are.
And who you are isn't Jason Evers.
Evers keeps his eyes down on the floor. Suddenly, Bo Jackson slams the baseball bat down on the table, shattering the bat. A startled Evers hops to his feet and tries to make a karate stance, but his handcuffs prevent him from looking like a badass.
Tell us your damn name, son!
Agent Sexydanger stands from the table and walks sexily (which happens to be the only way she knows how to walk) around the table to stand next to Evers.
Don't try your karate on us, mystery man.
She shoves him back down into his seat. He starts to cry.
Go ahead cry. See if I care, because I don't. I played for the goddamn Raiders.
The two agents sit back down across from Evers.
You don't want to talk? You don't want to tell us about how you really are? Fine. Why don't Agent Bo Jackson and I tell you your own story?
That sounds like a good idea, Agent Jessica Sexydanger.
The door to the room opens and a uniformed jail guard pushes in a file cabinet into the room. Agent Sexydanger places a hand a top the file cabinet and shoots a super sexy smile at a trembling Ever
Where should we start?
She yanks open the file cabinet and pulls out a file folder.
Oh, how about this? This is where you somehow become not just an Oregon Liquor Control Commission agent, but a total douche bag.
And the best part, of course, is that you're doing all this while using the name of a kid that was murdered 25 years before. Classy move.
Evers puts his head down on the table.
INT. CROWDED BAR - NIGHT, ONE YEAR EARLIER
Bartenders rush to make drinks for the overflowing room of revelers as a band with super long curly hair plays at a stage in the back of the room.
Smiles abound. People cheer their glasses. A couple of super hot people make out in the corner.
Suddenly, the door swings open and the band stops playing. Through the doorway strides, Jason Evers, wearing a cowboy hat.
He points to the band. The bandleader, who has the best curly mullet of all his band mates, gulps and then waves a finger in the air. Instantly, the band kicks into "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
Evers cackles in enjoyment at the song and struts up to the bar, flashing his badge as he goes. He stares down a bartender who is dropping a lime into a gin and tonic.
Is that a gin and tonic?
Yes, Mr. Evers, it is.
Evers picks up the glass, takes a long sniff of it, and the drinks the whole thing in one quick pull. He slams down the glass on the bar, shattering it.
Tastes a little strong, if I do say so myself.
No sir, it was a regulation shot, I swear.
You callin' me a liar?
No, sir. I just...
Before the bartender can finish, a DRUNK GIRL bumps into Evers, who spins around quickly.
Leave the guy alone, fer crying out loud.
The bar erupts in cheers. Evers smiles wickedly and then whips out a pistol and fires several shots into the air. Most of the crowd scatters, but a few tough looking dudes wearing matching tank tops charge at Evers.
Crouching into his karate pose, Evers smiles and puts his gun back in his holster, and performs a few practice chops before leaping into the air and kicking both guys in the face at the precisely the same time. Both of the guys heads fall off. Blood is everywhere.
Another man comes at Evers, but is immediately subdued with a chop to the throat. He dies instantly. Evers leans down and laughs mightily in his face.
Evers glances around the room, looking for his next challenger, but sees only terrified faces.
He turns back to the bartender, who has his hands up, trembling.
So let me ask you again, Mr. Bartender. Do you think you might have poured a little too much booze in that drink?
Whatever you say, Mr. Evers. I don't want any more trouble.
That's what I thought.
Yes, you're right, Mr. Evers.
Evers smiles creepily.
Call me Doitchin. Doitchin Krasev.
Evers' eyes widen and he shakes his head furiously.
Never mind. I was just foreshadowing.