We PAN slowly across the peacefully recumbent countenances of three attractive thirty-something men -- left to right: SCOTT DUNCAN,

JACK MUNROE, KEVIN GARRETT. INT. MEAT LOCKER ...maybe not so peaceful. The three men are strapped to metal folding chairs amidst frozen animal carcasses hanging from hooks. They are facing a chrome cutting table which holds a butcher knife and a wireless speaker box It takes a minute...but Jack finally comes to with a violent start. Immediately he registers that hes not exactly in a hotel. JACK ..holy...! He reels, overwhelmed by vertigo. Scott and Kevin also start to come to, and stiffly shake off the lingering concussion, groaning. KEVIN Okay...lets not do that again. JACK Jesus H Christ...what did she hit me with, an anvil? Apparently realizing hes not alone, Jack pauses and looks back and forth in surprise between the other two men. JACK (CONTD) ...hey. How did you... (Looking at Kevin) Kevin? (looking at Scott) Scott? What are you guys doing here I thought you were -SCOTT Yeah, Im pretty sure thats what most of us were thinking when we woke up in the meat freezer next to the other dumbass. Kevin squirms, trying unsuccessfully to undo his bonds. Frustrated, he gives up. He's strapped in tight. Not going anywhere anytime soon.

2.

KEVIN Fuck. A disapproving FEMALE VOICE with a slight British lilt addresses them from the speaker boxs direction. THE SPEAKER BOX Your language, Mr. Garrett. Kevins eyes snap to the speaker phone on the chrome cutting table in front of him -- startled. Did it just...? He eyeballs it. There is a brief, icy silence, then the speaker phone speaks: THE SPEAKER BOX No, dear hearts, you're not hearing things. Or seeing things. I'm neither a recording nor a hallucination. To put this in words you can all easily understand, I know all your shit, Misters Garret, Munroe and Duncan. Theres a uncomfortable silence. The men give each other were in deep shit glances. THE SPEAKER BOX Two weeks ago you three gentlemen, freshly graduated from the New York Police Academy, congratulations, by the way, were recruited by one Alistair Hawking to do more respectable work than taking tickets and maneuvering traffic, am I right? The men stare at the machine, agog. Only Jack slowly, hesitantly, nods. THE SPEAKER BOX (CONTD) Your most recent assignment from Mr. Hawking found you following three young ladies across Eastern Europe -- Jane Dalton, Anna Paige and Elizabeth Jourdan. Tell me what you know about them. The men glances between each other. THE SPEAKER BOX (CONTD) And please...tell me the truth.

3.

That last word -- "truth", held the vague, emphasized verbal underscored toned of a threat. Kevin grits his jaw. Jack shifts uncomfortably. Scott glances around, his eyes darting to and from the speaker box -- he knows theyre being watched. KEVIN You want the truth? Youre a talking box that sounds likes a bitch. Not sure why I should tell you diddly squat. Scott and Jack eye Kevin -- not confident he should be calling the bluff of a disembodied voice. A pause. Long enough to make the three men more unsettled than they already are... The box speaks: THE SPEAKER BOX Once upon a time, Mr. Garrett...there were three little boys who went to the police academy. And they were assigned very hazardous duties. These three little boys, Mr. Garrett, got into a lot of trouble. And no one could help them. Not the police. Not the government. Not even Mr. Alistair Hawking, who knew very well what sort of mischief the three sweet little boys were getting into. The three little boys were about to find out what hell looked like. But then, three angels rescued them and brought them to me. And I saved them from hell. And ever after, the three little boys worked for me. And my name is Charlie. THE BEGINNING...