X-MenSounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle. EXT. CAMP – DAY UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of the all-too familiar era.He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and frightened people inside. The words are not necessary. The language is not ours and the images say enough.Men, women and children are herded off the train like cattle toward a large open yard. There they huddle until the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob.EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAYWe are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the thousands of Jew who pour through each day. Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them.A LITTLE BOY. A boy who will not die this day. A boywho will live to see the end of the war and the world ofthe future.He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination.The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy-looking couple who try to smile and comfort him.The corridor comes to a junction where it splits inseveral different directions.Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes,screaming and terrorizing the lot of them. Suddenly itis clear what they are doing. They are dividing the mobinto smaller groups.Soon, the groups themselvesbecome evident.Men from women. Childrenfrom adults.The family tries to staytogether, clinging to oneanother dearly, until finally,they are put upon by anumber of gray uniforms andpulled apart. The boy isdragged screaming his feet nolonger touching the ground.Two soldiers carry him asthey follow the back of a largecolumn of children being ledthrough a gate of barbedwire so dense, it resembleswool.The gate closes and the boylooks back to see his parents- along with many others -being restrained by a numberof soldiers. The screamingis deafening.And the boy's can be heardabove it all. The soldiersseem to be having a hard timecarrying such a frailchild. The farther they getfrom the fence, the heavierhe seems to get, until they areliterally pulling him asthough he were anchored tosomething.His outstretched fingers clawat the thin air and hescreams until the blood in hisface is blue.The soldiers are literallypulled back a step and theybegin to slip in the mud. Theylook at one another andthen over their shoulders asthey hear a sound.A groaning, creaking sound.And then the unmistakabletwang of wire stretched tosnapping.ANGLE ON:The fence. The gate thatseparates the parents. It bowstoward them like iron filingsto a magnet, and several ofthe strands of barbed wirehave given way.The boy continues to screamas all the other faces simplyfreeze and wonder.One of the soldiers pulls awooden baton from his beltand brains the boy violently.He slumps and the soldierscarrying him spring forward asthrough a rope that washolding them back has been cut.They nearly fall, looking atone another with someconcern, some confusion....Then they follow the line ofchildren that has gottenahead of them.ANGLE ON:The boy's parents watch himas he -- as they, are takenaway.The rest of their story is asyou would expect.EXT. SKY - DAYBright, bright blue framing a blinding white sun.PAN DOWN AGAIN TO REVEAL:The cracked, drought-stricken soil of nowhere.TITLES:KENYA - 1978A group of children are at play. Tribal children who, without the help of the titles, could be from any age.They run through a tiny village of tents, playing. Every child holds a long reed-like stick and they chase each other playing their version of tag.As each child is tapped, they chase the others. Eachtrying to avoid being "it", though never going far enough away to miss the fun.One girl in particular. A PRETTY GIRL OF 12, withunusual white hair, is tagged and immediately shunned.She chases kids this way and that, but to no avail. Sheis not strong enough, nor agile enough, to win.She tumbles and lands on her stick, snapping it. Shestands and, when the children see that her stick isbroken, they begin to giggle.The giggles become laughter and the laughter becomes ataunt, and before we even realize, the inherent crueltyof children let loose becomes evident.They have now formed a circle, at first avoiding hertouch with distance, but now growing tighter with menace.In the unspoken manner ofchildren at prey, the groupbegins to chant in their nativetongue - a song we havenot heard but sung in a waynone-too inviting. Theybegin to poke at her with thereeds, driving her back.The girl now moves to thecenter of the circle, no longerwishing to tag anyone.ONE DEVIOUS CHILDseems to get an idea. He takes hisstick and smacks it across hershoulder. She turns toface the child and anotherswings his stick across herback with a solid THWACK.Before long, mob rule givesway and all the kids areswinging at her and laughing.It grows to the brink of frenzy,the laughing and theshouting not too unlike thenoise of the previous scene.So much so, we may miss thefirst flake of snow. Thechildren certainly do. It issnowing for a good tenseconds before the last ofthem stops.By then, the snow is thick asflies and wafting down tomelt instantly on the hotAfrican soil that has neverseen snow before.ANGLE ON:Adults come out of their hutsand in from the fields andthe whole of the village issoon gathered around thelittle girl, staring up from theclear blue sky and thesnow that falls from nowhere.From nothing.One by one, all eyes fall onthe little girl and thelooks of curiosity becomelooks of fear. Ofsuperstition.Punctuated by a solid thump.And then another.AN OLD MAN looks down athis feet and sees a tiny,misshapen ball of ice, nobigger than his eye. He looksat it, bites it, then pops it inhis mouth - breathturning to steam.Another such chunk of icepops him on the head. THECROWD LAUGHS.They look up again and seethat mixed with the snow aretiny pellets of hail, seeming toincrease in number asthe snow mysteriously wanes.And the pellets are gettinglarger. Until they land ashunks.The white haired girl drops tothe ground and covers herhead as hailstones the size ofbaseballs plow into theEarth.Before long, tents arecollapsing and panic ensues.And all along the white hairedgirl sits huddled in thedust, crying.As hailstones fall in a circle around her, never comingcloser than then a few feet or so.INT. HIGH SCHOOL GYMNASIUM - NIGHTONE MORE SKY. This one a backdrop. Cheap paint andtissue paper hung with hooks on a wall just behind thebasket on a full court.As we pull back, we see the skyline of New York, crudelymade out with its silhouette buildings of dark gray andblack - windows of yellow.Among the famous landmarks represented is the Statue ofLiberty, complete with a real light bulb burning in thetorch.We are at a prom. The theme is RHAPSODY IN BLUE and thedecor has made tragic efforts to show it. Thetablecloths are blue, the napkins are blue - far too manyof the tuxes are powder blue, and the blue eye shadow isas heavy as expected.Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" gives painful indicationof the era, but here it is, nonetheless:SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA - 1986MOVE ACROSS THEFLOOR and through the swaying,clutching,sweating dancers to thebathroom.Through the door to the usual-INT. BOYS BATHROOM -NIGHTSeveral boys are here, bowties undone - unclipped inmost cases. Smoking,drinking from whatever inventivecontainer was used tosmuggle in booze. Breath freshenerand Visine are the chaser.Some of the guys are rollingjoints while others make thesad effort to wave smokeaway. Who are they kidding?It's a fog in here.MOVE DOWN THE ROWOF TOILET STALLS to one inparticular.Here we find A FRECKLEDKID standing in front of mirror,clearly holding himself upfrom the effect of God knowswhat.He talks to his friend in the hestall behind him.FRECKLED KIDMan, what's thematter with you?His friend is on the toilet withhis head in his hands.He seems to be in some pain.He is SCOTT SUMMERS - AGE17.FRECKLED KID (contíd)Dude. Lightenup. She's just a girl.You just gotta-SCOTTNo, my eyes...my eyes are killing me.The Freckled kid offers asmall plastic bottle.FRECKLED KIDYou want someVisine, man?SCOTTMy... eyes...The freckled kid looks andsees that Scott's eyes arewatering so badly that tearsare literally streamingthrough his fingers.He goes back to the mirror tolook at his own.SCOTT... they'reburning...The freckled kid turns back tohim.FRECKLED KIDDude, how muchdid you smoke?SCOTTI didn't smoke anything.Scott looks up, taking his hands away, revealing for aninstant that his eyes are merely bright red embers in hishead. Featureless but for the color.Freckles takes a step back.INT. GYM - OUTSIDE BOYS ROOM - NIGHTA blinding flash of light shows through the frosted glassin the double door and cuts through the crack into thedark of the gym.All who see it are stunned. Frozen. A lingering momentof confusion, then:BOOM, the doors to the Boys Room burst open and theoccupants scatter into the gym.INT. GYM - STALL - NIGHTFreckles is still there, legs locked.FRECKLES' P.O.V.He looks at Scott who is now crying meekly in the stall,covering his eyes again -- afraid to open them.The door of the stall across from him swings closed TOREVEAL:A HOLE, PUNCHEDTHROUGH THE STALL DOORframing Scott'sface perfectly. Pull back toreveal that the holecontinues through the wall,into the girl's bathroom nextdoor.In the corner several girlshuddle together, they areafraid.INT. SENATE HEARINGROOM - DAYPacked with reporters andphotographers. There's a dais -a raised panel of senators -and a second, lower panel.This is where the "experts"are testifying.Panning across the faces ofseveral G.O.P. creeps as theywatch something with varyingdegrees of interest.TITLES:WASHINGTON D.C. - THENOT TOO DISTANT FUTUREA woman's voice holds overthe proceedings. It is thevoice of JEAN GREY -whom we will soon meet.As she is speaking, we cometo a large screen televisionat one end of the room.JEAN (O.S.)In everyorganism on Earth thereexists a mutatorgene - the X-factor,as it has come tobe known. It is thebasic buildingblock of evolution -the reason wehave evolved from homohabilus...FOOTAGE REFLECTS THEVARIOUS STAGES OF HUMANEVOLUTION.Accompanying it is a GRAPHwith a DIAGONAL LINEindicating the ascent of the"human being" as we know it.Accompanying the graph areevolving images of the"evolution of man."JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)... to homoerectus, to homo sapiensNeanderthals, and,finally, to homosapiens.The animated demo on thescreen zooms in on the lowestorder of human depicted -homo habilus - a primitive, ape-like humanoid covered in hair.As he is singled out, theterrain of his time appears,along with the harsh signsof his winter.JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)Taking it's cuesfrom the climate,terrain, varioussources ofnourishment, themutator gene tellsthe body when itneeds to change toadapt to a newenvironment. Theprocess is subtle, normally takingthousands of years.As the graphic changes and depicts WARMER CLIMATE, theHAIR STARTS TO DISAPPEAR ON THE MAN'S BODY - graduallyevolving into the human we now know as ourselves.Now the terrain is modern, the weather pleasant. Theimage pulls back and places this man back in line at thefront of evolution.JEAN (O.S.) (contíd)Only in the last few thousand yearsdid mankind begin to make clothes forhimself, build shelters, use heat andgrow food in large quantities. Withthis man-made environment remainingrelatively stable, the X-factor becamedormant.QUICK SHOTS: early huts, early clothing; then earlyhomes, later homes, air conditioning, cars, modern high-rises, etc.PULL BACK WIDERJEAN (O.S.) (contíd)Until now.On the room, the reactions,and on JEAN herself.A strong, attractive woman inher early 30's. A simpleplacard before her:JEAN GREY.GENETICALLY ENHANCEDRIGHTS ASSOCIATION.The screen shows the words"PRESENT DAY," where the"evolution line" has resumedits rise.JEAN (contíd)For reasons stillnot known to us, weare seeing whatsome are calling thebeginnings ofanother stage ofevolution -A MICROPHONED VOICEinterrupts. Bearing down is theflamboyant SENATORSCOTT "FRANK" KELLY, aconservativefrom Florida, and thehearing's Chairman.Just behind him sits his aideHENRY GUYRICH - mid 30's,typical government cog.KELLYYou're avoidingthe question I posedto you at thebeginning of thehearing, Ms.Grey. Three words: Aremutantsdangerous?JEANI am avoiding aquestion that isdecidedly loaded,Senator. The wrongperson behind thewheel of a car canbe dangerous.Another SENATOR(LUCINDA ROWEE) speaks into hermicrophone:SENATOR ROWEEWell, we dolicense people to drive.JEANBut not to live.Kelly raises a hand,continuing his tirade.KELLYMs. Grey -- youwork at a school formutants inWestchester, New York. Canyou tell themembers of this committeewhat exactly youare teaching thesemutants?JEANMath. History.Science. English.Athletics --KELLYYou wouldn't happen to be teachingthem how to use their powers to --JEANControl, Senator... we teach themcontrol.Kelly raises a blown-up photograph: a grainy, super-zoomed, somewhat obscured image of a CAR ON A FREEWAYwhich appears to have "melted." Now he's really playingto the crowd.KELLYThis was takenby a state policeofficer in Secaucus, New Jersey. Aman in a minor altercation literallymelted the car in front of him. Idon't know where you come from, Ms.Grey, but where I come from, you don'tgo melting people's cars when they cutyou off. You do it the old fashionedway -- you give 'em the finger.(laughs from the crowd)But what you presume to tell thiscommittee - JEANI presumenothing, I am here to tellyou that in time,the mutator genewill activate inevery living humanbeing on thisplanet. Perhaps evenyour children,Senator.KELLYI can assure you,there is no suchcreature in mygenes.The room LAUGHS. Kellymistaken thinks it is for him,until the double meaningoccurs to him. He ismomentarily embarrassed, buthe quickly recovers.KELLY (contíd)Ms. Grey, we arenot here to weed outmutants. TheRegistration Act isdesigned merelyto assess theirpotential threat -if any - tonational security.The crowd reacts loudly insupport of the Senator. Somecheer, some roar, some yellobscenities at Jean.Jean stands and walks out,pushing her way throughreporters now moving in forher response. All the while,Kelly is delivering his lastwords.KELLY (contíd)Mutants are veryreal. They are amongus. We mustknow who they are. Andabove all, wemust know what they cando.AS THE SHOUTS OF THEMOB RISE AND GIVE WAY TO:EXT. CAPITOLBUILDING - WASHINGTON D.C. -DAYAn angry mob outside theSenate hearing. Voices roar indissent when Jean emerges,coming down the steps withouthesitation.She sees signs condemningmutants, a scarce fewsupporting them.A group of reporters arebehind her and more meet her infront, closing her in.Microphones are shove in herface.REPORTERS/VARIOUSDr. Grey, how doyou feel about theSenator'sStatement / How is themutantcommunity reacting? Is it truethat mutants aredangerous? / Is therea mutant plot tooverthrow thegovernment?She ignores them all, trying to push through.ANGLE ON:A KID IN THE CROWD holding a full can of Coke. Smilingto his friend beside him. He fires it over the heads ofeveryone toward Jean. Perfect trajectory. Closing fast.Suddenly:Silence falls over the crowd.A total silence. Anabsolute silence.All eyes watch in awe at the can and its liquid trail,frozen in mid-air a few inches from Jean's face. Itsimply hovers there.JEANWeíre not the ones to be afraid of.Using telekinesis she slowly lowers the can to theground. She shakes her head, almost ashamed of thedisplay. Almost as if to say ìI didnít want to do that.îThe can rolls down the steps. People move away from itas though the can itself were dangerous.The crowd steps back in genuine fear. Jean simply movesahead now, unimpeded, still shaking her head.EXT. CABIN IN THESNOW COVERED WILDERNESS -DAYSmoke curling from thechimney, warm light emanating fromthe window.A well-worn pick-up truckparked axles deep in the snow,the back filled with a cord ofcut wood. A hand paintedscrawl on the door reads:Firewood for SalesA slope, just behind the cabinleading to a frozen lake.PUSH IN SLOWLYTOWARDS THE CABIN. Ten beerssit coolingin the snow outside the door.We hear LED ZEPPELINíSìBLACK DOG.îINT. CABIN - DAYMusic thunders, quite acontrast to the surroundings. Acosy little abode, showingsigns of neglect, as thoughdecorated with a gentler touchthat passed not too longago.A large shelf replete withbooks. An electric mix fromSun Tsuís The Art of War toMark Twainís The Adventuresof Huckleberry Finn.A fire burns in the fireplace.On the mantle sit a fewold black and white photos ofa slightly younger Loganposing with a group ofHARD-CASE MILITARY TYPES inaheavily wooded area. Wecan not tell if they are trueMilitary or simplymercenaries.In the wall above the mantle,a sketch of a beautifulwoman.And finally we come to theoccupant of the house, sittingat the only table in the centerof the room. His back isto us. His hair is coarse andblack, sprouting wildlyfrom his head. He isLOGAN. We will come to know himwell. As well as we can.Despite the loud, poundingmusic, he is working with themeticulousness of a watchmaker. At the same time, hesmokes a thick cigar. A tallbottle of beer on the floornext to his chair. A SINGLE,SILVER DOG TAG hangs fromhis neck from a battered chain.As we get closer, welook over his shoulder and seewhat he is working on sointensely.Pencil rubs against paperfuriously. He is sketching,what we cannot see. But heis definitely caught up inhis own minds eye.HIS HEAD SUDDENLYTURNS. He listens to something wecannot begin to hear. Amomentary pause, and he goesback to sketching.Just as he seems to be settling back into the detailsagain.WHACKHe reaches over and shuts off the music coming from thebox beside him. He listens.He stands, turning around slowly in a circle. He dropsthe sketch pad on the chair.Only the crackle of logs in the fire.LOGANíS P.O.V.We follow his gaze around the room. Past the fire whichsounds suddenly like a blazing inferno, past the clockwhich ticks as loud as clapping hands, past the simmeringtea-kettle which hisses like a seething cauldron.Finally, he glances at the cigar which we hear cracklingnearly as loud as the fire.Loganís senses are amplified many times more then ours,he walks to the door.E.C.U.His nostrils flare.He raises his fist beside his face. For a moment, itseems as if he is just chinking. Then -- SHOOK - THREESTEELY CLAWS some nine inches long, emerge inexplicablyfrom the skin just above Loganís knuckles.Logan barley turns his headbefore.BOOMTHE WINDOW EXPLODES,letting in freezing wind andbillowing snow.Logan is hit from behind.The attack is so ferocious thatwe are unable to make outthe attacker. Whatever it is,it is HUGE. We can hearit snarling and see flashes ofits claws as it slamsLogan back.EXT. CABIN - DAYThe front door SMASHESOPEN. The two combatants rollmadly down the hill obscuredby flying snow.Finally, we see Loganseparate from his attacker andCRASH THROUGH THEICE of the frozen lake.E.C.U. - A MASSIVECLAW-LIKE HAND lifts into frametheSHINING DOG TAGhanging from it. The tagís chainslidesoff and too the ground.UNDER ICELogan struggles, already shortof breath.As he struggles -- water startsto fill his lungs. Hisskin goes pale. He isdrowning.EXT. ABOVE ICE - DAYWe hear an angry grunt as thething starts to hunt forLogan. It stalks across theice, searching. We catch aglimpse of shoulder, aCLAWED FOOT, a MANE OFHAIR.UNDER ICELoganís struggle hasdecreased somewhat as his strengthwanes.CRACKThe ice above Logan shattersas a clawed hand reachesthrough.EXT. ABOVE ICE - DAYA violent YANK. The icegives way to the soaked and half-frozen Logan.The creature picks Logan upby his face, CUTTING DEEPLYinto his cheek, and holds himup like a rag doll. Thetwo are face to face. This iscalled SABRETOOTH. Thereasons are obvious.Teeth like said animal andcatís eyes to match.A mutant, certainly a memberof a class remote in theextreme.And then it speaks.SABRETOOTHItís not gonna bethat easy.Logan, half-drowned, opens his eyes and looks right atSabretooth as though heís going to say something.Instead, a LUNG-FULL OF WATER comes shooting out.With that, Sabretooth ROARS, as he hoists Logan up andthrows him. Logan flies nearly ten yards. He lands headfirst.Sabretooth skulks over to him.With the sound of Sabretoothís breathing comes the risingof the wind...Snow from the ground begins to swirl in the bitter coldair.Sabretooth is nearly upon Logan now and the wind risesfurther, until he must shield his eyes from the bittericy air.As he approaches, we see a fresh cut on Loganís faceHEALING BEFORE OUR VERY EYES, leaving not so much as ascratch.THEN:A SUDDEN FLASH OF LIGHTLightning. No. Lightning is not red.Sabretooth looks around,puzzled, then down at Loganísmotionless body. Then tohis feet where a hole in theice sprouts bubbling water.The wind blows so violentlynow that he nearly misses twofigures standing only a fewyards away - mere silhouettesin the icy haze.A closer look tells us it is aman and a woman, THEY WEARSTRANGE UNIFORMS ofform-fitting material - the man wearsa reflective visor that hides hiseyes. The womanís faceis care revealing dark skin,penetrating eyes and unusualwhite hair.ANOTHER FLASH - one thatseems to come from the manísvisor itself. An intense beamof red light.Sabretooth looks down andsees the ice at his feet hasbroken away.He plunges through the icelike a mark in a carnivaldunking tank. His massiveweight and hairy coat quicklysuck him down.The TWO FIGURES -CYCLOPS (Scott Summers) ANDSTORM(Ororo Munroe) - obviouslytwo of the children we sawearlier now grown - moveover the hole and calmly watchSabretooth gather himself andswim back to the surface.Storm looks down at the hole,concentrating her intensegaze. The wind whipsfurther and the water in the holebegins to freeze over.UNDER THE ICESabretooth wisely concedes.With one last look at the twomysterious figures nownearly obscured by the ice, heturns his body and swimsaway with the same agility hehad on land.ABOVE THE ICETHE SNOW AND WINDARE NOW VIOLENTLY RAGINGCyclops and Storm walk overto Logan and look down at himcuriously.LOGANíS P.O.V.They look at one another,wondering. Above them, a blackshape looms into frame,bringing with it the whining ofjet engines.This is the X-JET and it islike no other plane we haveseen before.Loganís eyes begin to close asthey obscure the last ofall perceptible detail.INT. CAVERNOUS ROOM -NIGHTCLOSE UP ON:The Periodic Table of Elements. A chart made up ofblocks depicting the elements and their chemical symbols.Among the standards like Gold (Au) and Iron (I) andOxygen (O2) is a new square on simple red constructionpaper tacked to the top.It contains simply a large letter ìA.îTRACKING SHOT THROUGH:We are in a laboratory of sorts, quite different from anywe have ever seen -- and so are its occupants.MORTIMER TOYNBEE, a dim, loyal thug whose agile leapingability and superhuman strength have earned him the nameTOAD.Across the room, JOHN ALLERDYCE, a wiry redhead whoseability to control fire with his fingers has earned himthe name PYRO.In the corner we see BLOB, no explanation needed,devouring a BUCKET of cereal, preariously balanced on hishuge belly.They are a bestial and sinister bunch.Toad and Pyro are working on:A MACHINEA fantastic device whichoccupies a hallowed space inthis lab. It is meticulouslydesigned, and with itsintricate circuitry, wires, andpower boards, itresembles most closely (andonly resembles, because trulyitís like nothing weíve everseen before) a combinationof an upright torpedo and afantastic light source --only far more dark andforeboding.Pyro holds a stick of solder inone hand. He lights alighter with the other, thendrops it. Strange thing --the flame remains hoveringabout his finger. Quickly theflame intensifies and turnsblue, melting the solder overa small circuit board. Then,the flame is gone.He sticks out his hand like asurgeon.PYROHand me thedykes.Toad, both hands occupied,flicks his long tongue andgrabs a pair of pliers which herests in Pyroís hand,leaving them slicked withSLIME. The flame in his fingergoes out. The slimy coatover the pliers quicklyHARDENS, freezing theiraction.PYRO (contíd)I asked you not todo that.Blob laughs. Toad shrugs.In the background, almostignored by them, something ison the television. The news.NEWSCASTER (O.S.)Preparations arenearly completed forthe upcominganniversary galacelebrating theformation of theUnited Nations.With nearly everyinvitationconfirmed, the occasionpromises to bethe largest singlegathering ofworld leaders in history.The image in the screen is ahelicopter shot of ELLISISLAND, with Liberty Islandand the famous Statue in thebackground.NEWSCASTER (contíd)Ellis Island, oncean arrival pointfor thousands ofimmigrants crossingthe Atlantic withthe hopes of abetter life, willopen its doorsagain. Only thistime it will be toleaders and theirfamilies from over200 nations.。