EPISODE X, SEASON Y
“Kill the Pig”
Scene opens with REPORTER in the hall of a seedy apartment building, juggling his keys, a bag of groceries and a pile of manila folders stuffed to the brim with photos and official documents as he attempts to open a door. REPORTER enters the room in darkness. As he reaches for a light switch, the door closes behind him.
CUT TO interior shot. We see a number (minimum of eight) large men dressed in pinstripe suits and bowlers wearing pig masks. As the door closes, four of them grab REPORTER by the arms and legs, leading him to the kitchen. The rest of the PIGS begin to wreck the apartment with abandon.
CUT TO kitchen. Long pan shot… the room’s been covered in trash bags. We see LEAD PIG, with a leather apron and a belt of butchering tools completing his ensemble, taping down the last of the bags. He stands, tips his hat to REPORTER
‘Allo, darling. Good day at the office?
Who are… I don’t know who you think I am, but…
REPORTER screams as he’s kidney punched by one of the PIGS holding him.
CLOSE-UP of LEAD PIG, nose to snout with REPORTER
Look, you. You been tellin’ stories out of school. Somebody doesn’t like that much. Somebody doesn’t like that much at all.
CUT TO main room. The PIGS on demolition duty stop, turning in unison to look at the kitchen.
VOICE OF REPORTER:
REPORTER screams as chopping sounds begin. The screams stop abruptly as LEAD PIG begins to whistle merrily.
LEAD PIG exits the kitchen, coated in blood, with two packages wrapped in brown paper under his arm and a stopwatch in his hand.
All right, you lot. Five minutes to dig in, then finish this place up.
LEAD PIG starts the stopwatch and the PIGS swarm the kitchen. Bone-cracking and eating sounds make their way out from the kitchen.
Takes ten minutes for a passel of hogs to make a body into a memory. Mum says five should be enough for us to make this feller… memorable.
LEAD PIG licks his finger, nods.
… and we certainly wouldn’t want to cross Mum, would we?
CUT TO hallway. We see a number of open doors with curious residents peeking out. As LEAD PIG and gore-covered PIGS swagger out, they all close their doors and we hear the rattle of locks and chains.
CUT TO quick view of kitchen with dismembered body
CUT TO quick view of demolished living room
CUT TO bloody graffiti on walls… “CRUEL BRITTANIA,” “EAT OR BE EATEN” and things of that stripe.
CUT TO blood-splattered piggy bank and scattered files. We see a pig sitting on a throne, a concentration camp/farm, the pig with a phalanx of guards leaving Buckingham Palace.
CUT TO BLACK.
SCENE opens in Docklands office complex. Double-speed first-person entry to building, past guard and into secret elevator. We hear screams, harpsichord music, close-harmony singing and the clatter of a gargantuan typewriter in the background as we enter the ready room. YELLOWJACKET GREENAPPLE is sitting on a seesaw attached to a pulley system, while the CAP'N is breathing glowing gas from a flourescent hookah. A huge green screen, the pair's only access to the DAUPHIN, glows in front of them.]
Noble gases make my brain feel... fuzzy. Like... ginger beer.
[A dot-matrix printer rattles to life and a photograph of a large pig appears in GREENAPPLE's hand]
Greenapple! This is Lady Mountbatten's prize pig.
Ah... (lights cigarillo) I see the family resemblance.
She's working for the other side. Some bolshy cell-leader, name of Napoleon.
A squealer, eh? Figures.
Take her out, Greenapple! Make an example of her.
Right. I'll sharpen a stick at both ends.
[GREENAPPLE pauses. The CAP'N puts down the hose of the glowing hookah he's been smoking and wobbles over, landing on a bright teal beanbag.]
What is it, Yellowjacket?
It's just... pigs.
What about 'em?
The flesh of a pig... it's almost the same as the flesh of a man.
So? I thought you were partial to rare man-flesh, on occasion.
GREENAPPLE cracks a popper and inhales.
They can filter our blood, they can be used for transplants and they can eat a human body faster than any man.
[GREENAPPLE dismounts from the seesaw, puts on a leather apron and a pair of goggles.]
And they wonder why our children don't have any ambition. How could they compete?
Swinging bachelor pad. We see EDITOR in smoking jacket, making two martinis while “Je t'aime...moi non plus” plays in the background. There’s a knock at the door.
EDITOR (to bedroom)
Don’t know who that could be at this time of night, my dear. I’ll send him off and we can talk about your… latest opus. (chuckles)
Louder knock from the door. EDITOR opens it, martini glass in hand, and the PIGS push into the room. LEAD PIG enters with one of the paper parcels under his arm.
EDITOR backs toward the door as the PIGS fan out. LEAD PIG tosses the packet at EDITOR, who flinches away. PACKET bursts open; we see a hand flop out onto the floor.
Talked to your boy, there. He pointed us to you. Said we needed to have words.
LEAD PIG rushes forward, kicks EDITOR in groin. Martini glass goes flying in slow motion and is caught by YELLOWJACKET GREENAPPLE, still dressed in goggles and apron, who steps through the beaded door of the bedroom. As the beads swing, we see a beautiful woman sitting on a circular bed behind him, rocking slightly and shaking her head.
Don’t let me stop you, old son. Feel free to continue with your hackneyed Cockney threat-mongering. Gives me a chance to finish this drink.
Who the ‘ell do you fink you are?
YG drinks, nods, tosses the glass over his shoulder.
I’ll answer you that after I’ve gouged out your… er, “kidney pies” with my “kettle drums.” Hm. Quaint.
Violence commences. YG becomes a frenzy of motion, gouging eyes, kicking teeth in and getting as often as he gives. LEAD PIG rushes at him; he ducks under LEAD PIG’s arms, pulling a filleting knife and cleaver from his belt and planting the filleting knife in LEAD PIG’s gut. Violence, violence, violence with response shots of editor and the sounds of pigs squealing overlaying the fight music.
CUT TO LEAD PIG swaying slightly, mask bloodied. We see a pair of gray-suited knees in front of LEAD PIG’s face. A knee lashes out, sending him spinning. Camera spins and we’re in the bachelor pad-turned-meat locker. LEAD PIG is hanging upside down from a meat hook, YG is standing in front of him, sharpening the cleaver. EDITOR and WOMAN are in a corner, watching in horror.
Disappointing show, sir. Truly.
YG tosses away the sharpener, hefts the cleaver.
Simple enough game, at this point. I start cutting and, eventually, you tell me exactly where I can find the pig.
I don’t know
YG sinks the cleaver into LEAD PIG’s thigh, leaving it there. LEAD PIG screams.
Please, don’t fall into the stereotypical “I don’ know nuffin’!” of your ilk. What you don’t know, muscle memory should be able to tell me. Shall we begin?
CUT TO EDITOR and WOMAN staring at the scene as sounds of chopping and screaming begin. EDITOR watches in horror as WOMAN whispers in his ear. He smiles beatifically and claps his hands.
Again! Oh, please… again!
CUT TO The Cap’n’s zeppelin. CAP’N’s sucking on his neon hookah as YG, stripped to the waist, is tending his wounds. We see a wide variety of scars and many, many tattoos on his body (ranging from diagrams of muscle groups to Roman numerals counting down from ten on his back.)
Argon! Argon make the boys stand up and salute! Oh, argon! I shall love you forever!
The lead boar pointed me toward a farm to the north. The sow, apparently, is there.
CAP'N looks up, moves to a bank of controls and flips three switches.
Yellowjacket? Do you ever wonder about the Dauphin? Do you ever wonder why?
YG finishes sewing a wound shut, breaks the thread. He cracks another popper, inhales deeply.
The only thing I wonder is “Why not?” And, on occasion, “When?”
FADE TO BLACK