*We open to a shot of the classic New York City skyline as the sun slowly begins to rise overheard at the start of yet another day. Tall skyscrapers tower over smaller urban buildings. The cameras now pan down to the ground level and show cars and trucks of various shapes and sizes zoom up and down streets, trying the starting as quickly as possible in the typical New York City style. The camera now goes down the busy sidewalks, showing hundreds of local New Yorkers quickly move along the in numerous directions to go about the normal routines of their average daily lives. In the window of one of numerous local street shops, a discounted LCD television is showing the morning broadcast of the Channel 3 News. The newscaster, a young women in her mid 20s wearing a yellow overcoat with curly mid-length dirty orange hair, now begins her opening monologue....*

Newscaster: Never fall down in New York City, cause noone will ever help you get back up. Not just friendly advice, my fellow New Yorkers. It's words to live by. Cause they could very well save your life. A life I can almost guarantee nobody else cares about, but you. Not your fellow New Yorkers. Not your closest of friends. Not even your direct.....family. 

*The newscaster takes a moment to reflect on her words, before continuing....*

Newscaster: And certainly not the New York Police Department. Especially not them. Chief Maxwell Strong likes to say that he and his fellow "boys in blue" protect the people of New York City. And yes, they do. Don't get me wrong. I mean no disrespect to them at all. It's just that their help only comes if you are rich or important enough to get their attention. As for the rest of us, we get no such luck. But....

*The newscaster now smiles and continues....*

Newscaster: As the old saying goes luck is for losers. So to all my fellow losers out there in New York City, all I have to say to you is this in closing. Stay safe. And stay lucky. This is Jessica O'Neill, Channel 3 New York News.

*Unfortunately for Jessica O'Neill, some of her fellow New Yorkers were not so lucky that morning. Across the street from the local shop was a simple little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop and diner called The Lunch Box. Everything seemed to be standard and run-of-the-mill. The local New Yorkers knew it well and it was very popular place. The only problem was it's location, as it was located right in the heart of Clinton. And Clinton sounds like a nice place to live, but that is just what the fancy pants bureaucrats wanted to call it. To everybody else it was still known as Hell's Kitchen. And that name couldn't have been more fitting, cause the devils and demons always seemed to congregate in this suburb of New York City. And this rather quiet morning was not an exception either.

Inside The Lunch Box, the local patrons were busy rushing in and out, getting the morning routine fix of coffee and whatever else helps them gets through the mornings. The popular and busty waitress, Betsy Roberts, was busy greeting and serving various patrons. And off in one corner of the room in a booth by all by himself was a middle-aged gentleman with greying hair named Samuel Shepard. Now Sam, as his close friends and associates call him, was an off and on regular, but due to his busy schedule, he never was able to come around too often. And the locals of Hell's Kitchen could tell from his expensive Armani suit and fancy silver Samsonite briefcase, that he worked in downtown Manhattan on Wall Street for some big time media corporation or financial firm. But today was a special day. A very special day, indeed. It was, in fact, his 62nd birthday. Everybody who worked at the diner knew it too. Especially Betsy.*

So why are they delaying, let's just get this show over with already. Sam thought to himself, knowing eventually what would happened.

*As Sam continued to wait for the inevitable, he looked down at his Rolex watch and realized that he was almost late for his morning meeting.*

Goddamn it. Looks like time is up. Sam thought to himself as he started to get up from his seat in corner. 

*But as he got up, Sam suddenly noticed Betsy and the other waitress, Mindy Mundt, bringing out a small vanilla cupcake with fancy sprinkles and a 62 candle on top of it.*

Great. Here they come now. Wanted to wait to surprise me at the last possible minute, no doubt. Sam thought as he now slowly sits back down into his seat, a slight smile of approval coming over his normally stoic face. Good job, ladies. You got me this time.

*Betsy and Mindy now put small cupcake on the table in front of Sam Shepard. Sam now casually glances at his watch, noticing he is now late for work. Sam just slightly smiles again. For once, it actually feels GOOD to be late for work.

*As the two waitresses begin to sing happy birthday to good old Sam Shepard, very badly and off key I might add, the rest of the diner's patrons join in. The lone exception seems to be a young woman in late 20s with bright purple mid-length hair and thick glasses. As the young lady reads the morning edition of the New York Times, she glances over at the nonsense happening across the diner from her. She now eyes the briefcase at the feet Sam for moment, then goes back to reading the paper.

Suddenly the moment of happiness is shattered along with the diner itself by a loud deafening explosion! The explosion rocks the entire diner, sending debris of all shapes and sizes in every direction possible. This includes a rather large shard of glass from the front window, that misses Sam but manages to slash poor Mindy Mundt across the neck.* 

Poor Mindy. So much for her singing career. Sam thought as he lay on the ground across the room from where he once sat. He now glances up to see that poor Betsy Roberts was now cut in half by another piece of debris. Betsy didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

*Across the diner, the purple haired girl managed to avoid most of the debris, suffering only minor cuts and bruises. As she now laid on the ground, along with the rest of the dead and injured, a trio of men in black military clothes, combat boots, and ski masks now enter the ruins of the diner. They now walk over to where Sam Shepard was sitting and look around at the debris. One them now speaks a language that is not English. Another one now points down towards the ground. The main one speaking now quickly grabs the silver briefcase. He inspects it and nods his head. He then casually walks over to where Sam Shepard now lay and pulls out his black SIG Sauer P226 handgun and levels it at Sam's head. He now says something in non-English to Sam. But before he can pull the trigger, the sound of distance police sirens is now heard off in the distance. One of the men now yells something and all three men quickly run out of the diner.

The cameras now quickly exit the diner as the sound of police sirens gets closer and closer. They then fade out to a close from there.*






*A few minutes after the explosion that rocked The Lunch Box, ruining another calm New York City morning, the first NYPD affiliated car finally rolls up to the aftermath of the crime scene. The two police officers in the squad car now begin to look over the situation and assess it. The first officer, the passenger, is an athletically built young women in her late 20s with short blonde hair. Her partner, the driver, is the exact opposite of her in everyway.....an overweight, unshaven, and sloppily dressed middle-aged man with dark hair and a thick mustache. The man now tries to talk to his partner, but she is too pre-occupied with listening to the COPS song blaring over the police radio. The man now turns off the radio quickly and tells his partner....*

Overweight Officer: Why do you INSIST on playing that goddamn annoying theme song EVERY single time we roll up to a crime scene, Sergeant?

*Sgt. Jennifer James, now gives her partner a slight smirk and shrugs her shoulders as she tells him.....*

Jennifer James: Cause it's fun, Olly.

*Her partner, Lieutenant Oliver Bogart's eyes now got wide for a moment and he then tells his partner in a serious tone....*

Oliver Bogart: FUN?! You think all this shit happening every single day is FUN?!

*Jennifer just shakes her head in the negative and tells her partner...*

Jennifer James: Not at all. I take my job very seriously. But every now and then, it's fun to lighten the mood, Olly.

*Lt. Bogart can only facepalm for a few moments in disbelief. He now tells his partner even more sternly....*

Oliver Bogart: Oh, for the love of....just GROW UP, Sergeant!

*Jennifer James just smiles and tells her partner in a serious tone....*

Jennifer James: I am a big kid now, Olly.

*Lt. Bogart just shakes his head in disgust as he begins open his door. He now tells her angrily....*

Oliver Bogart: When you decide to take this shit more seriously again, you can join me inside. Jesus Christ!

*Lt. Oliver Bogart now gets out of the police car and slams the door behind him. He brushes himself off and puts his brown fedora hat back on his head as he slowly begins to make his way towards the blown out section of The Lunch Box, that use to be the front of it. 

Meanwhile, Sgt. Jennifer James just stews in her seat for a few more minutes. She finally recomposes herself and exits the police car. It was obvious from the start of the morning, she had alot of other things besides her police work on her mind. Her interaction with her partner was just the tip of the so-called iceberg. Jennifer James now takes a deep breath and begins to walk towards the front of the diner.

Back inside the ruins of The Lunch Box diner, Lt. Oliver Bogart was already surveying the scene and trying to talk to whoever was conscious enough to discuss the events that had just unfolded. His mind was racing with various thoughts as well....* 

Jesus Christ. Looks like a goddamn war-zone in here. Bogart thought to himself as he continued to look around the diner's wreckage. And it appears that there is no survivors so far either.

*Oliver Bogart now looks down and sees the dead body of the waitress, Betsy Roberts, that was now split in half by the debris. He now shakes his head in disgust...*

Not even everybody's favorite waitress survived. Poor Betsy. She always did make a mean cup of joe for her frequent NYPD patrons. On the house too, as he would know.  Bogart thought to himself, reminiscing of his past experiences at The Lunch Box, as he shook his head in disgust. Goddamn it! She didn't deserve this horrible fate. Nobody in here did.

*As Oliver Bogart continued to look around at the all dead bodies and reminisce on his past at The Lunch Box, Jennifer James entered the wreckage of the diner and began to make her own observations, as well. Now unlike her partner who was a frequent patron, Jennifer James never was a fan of that kind of social nonsense.

Just a bunch of dead beat men working dead end do jobs. Ogling the similar dead beat waitress with a dead end rack. Jennifer James just shakes her head thinking about it, as she walks around the diner, observing all the carnage before her. Good times? Yeah right. Give me a fucking break.

*A few more minutes pass as both officer continue to make their observations and survey the crime scene, until Jennifer James notices something out of the normal for a crime scene like this. The body of a man who is completely out of the spectrum of the normal patrons. The body of one Sam Shepard. Jennifer James now looks over the man's body....*

Now YOU defiantly don't belong here, Mr. Fancypants. Jennifer James thought to herself as she slowly knelt down to inspect his body further. She now places her fingers to the man's neck and senses something that should not be there. A PULSE?! HOLY SHIT!

*Jennifer James now quickly gets to her feet and shouts for her partner....*

Jennifer: LIEUTENANT!

*Oliver Bogart now snaps out of his reminiscing and calmly tells his partner....*

Oliver Bogart: Not so loud, Sergeant. You don't have to yell.

*Jennifer James just shakes her head as she tells Bogart...*

Jennifer James: Sorry. But this IS important. THIS MAN IS STILL ALIVE!

*Oliver Bogart's eyes now widen with disbelief and he immediately turns his full focus towards his partner. He now begins to quickly walk over to where Jennifer James is standing. He now asks her....*

Oliver Bogart: Are you positive, Sergeant.

Jennifer James: Of course. The man may be unconscious, but he has a pulse.

Oliver Bogart: Then he's one lucky son of a bitch. Call it in, Sergeant.

Jennifer James: Huh, why me?

Oliver Bogart: What did you just say?

Jennifer James: I was just asking why I should have to call it in.

Oliver James: Protocol, Sergeant. You made the discovery, you get to call it in.

Jennifer James: Right. Goddamn protocol.

Oliver Bogart: Hey watch yourself, Sergeant. Protocol keeps our hands clean.

Jennifer James: If you say so.

*As Oliver Bogart continued to try and explain police protocol to young stubborn partner, he notices a man standing in the shadows outside the wreckage of the diner, listening to their conversation. Oliver Bogart just shakes his head at this discovery and then tells his partner....*

Oliver Bogart: I am NOT gonna argue with about this anymore, Sergeant. Please step outside and call it in.

Jennifer James: Fine. But for future record, fuck your goddamn protocol.

*Jennifer James now walks out of the wreckage of the diner and begins to make the call to dispatch from the police car. As this happens, Oliver Bogart casually walks over to the man that was listening in on his conversation with his partner. The man in question, is in his early 30, unshaven with short messy black hair. His clothes are an unkempted mess, along with a loose tie and brown trench coat. He now leans against the wall of the ruined diner casually smoking a cigarette as Oliver Bogart approaches him.

Oliver Bogart: Striker. I should have known.

*Jonathan Striker just gives a slight smile as he responds....*

Jonathan Striker: Bogart. Nice to see you again, partner.

*Oliver Bogart just shakes his head in disgust and tells Striker in response...*

Oliver Bogart: PARTNER?! And what in the hell do you mean by that?

*Striker just shrugs his shoulders and tells Bogart casually....*

Jonathan Striker: Nothing. Smoke?

*Striker now offers Bogart a cigarette from his packet. Bogart just shakes his head for moment, then takes the cigarette from Striker and begins to light it up. As he does this, Striker tells him....*

Jonathan Striker: And for the record, just because I walked away from the NYPD, doesn't mean we still can't be partners.

*Bogart now gets in Striker's face and tells him sternly.....*

Oliver Bogart: That is EXACTLY what that means, Striker! You QUIT on everybody in the NYPD. Including me.

*Striker now throws the cigarette hard to ground and steps on it affirmatively. He now tells Bogart seriously....*

Jonathan Striker: You all quit on me FIRST. But that is not why I am here.

*Bogart now finishes his cigarette and tells Striker angrily.....*

Oliver Bogart: Then why are you here, Striker?! I mean besides continuing to be a pain in my ass, as always, TACK!

*Tack Striker, as he is regularly known for his constantly annoying pain in the ass tactics, now casually walks into the wreckage of the diner as he tells Bogart....*

Tack Striker: Oh Olly, as charming as ever, I see. But fear not, as your partner....sorry, former partner, I am not here to cause trouble, I am here to help. All you have to do is ask.

*Oliver Bogart now reenters the wreckage of the diner and continues to watch Tack Striker very closely. He now tells him.....*

Oliver Bogart: Ask you? For help? HA! That'll be the day.

*Bogart now flicks his cigarette at Striker, but it misses him. Tack Striker now observes where it lands and goes to put it out. As he does, he notices something that obviously wasn't observed before, smiles to himself, and then tells Oliver Bogart....*

Tack Striker: Well that day is TODAY. 

*Striker now kneels down and confirms his observations with a nod of his head, as he puts out the cigarette. He now gets up and tells Bogart....*

Tack Striker: So Olly, I couldn't help but overhear earlier, that you and Sergeant James only discovered one person to be alive. Is that correct?

*Bogart just nods his head in the affirmative as he tells Striker....*

Oliver Bogart: Well as you can plainly see around this place, that is obviously correct.

Tack Striker: So you are certain the ONLY person alive in this diner is that unconscious man in the back corner. The VERY back corner.

Oliver Bogart: YES! Get to the point, Tack!

*Tack Striker now points down the ruined floor of the diner and tells Bogart....*

Tack Striker: Then please explain to me how this trail of blood right here appears to exit the remains of the diner front entrance.

*Oliver Bogart now runs over to where Tack Striker is standing and shoves him out of the way. He now sees the same trail of blood that Striker just observe. Bogart now mouths out loud....*

Oliver Bogart: Son of a bitch.

*Tack Striker just nods his head in approval and takes mocking bow as he tells Bogart....*

Tack Striker: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you all have been a lovely audience. Be sure to tip your waitresses. God knows they are gonna need it now more than ever.

*Oliver Bogart is now finally fuming at Tack Striker's antics and he calmly tells him to....*

Oliver Bogart: Just go, Tack.

Tack Striker: Oh come on, Olly. We were having such a good time together too.

Oliver Bogart: NOW!

*Tack Striker finally takes the hints and begins to exit the wreckage of the diner as he continues to banter with his former partner some more....*

Tack Striker: We will definitely talk again, Olly. Maybe we can get together and shoot the shit some more. Reminisce of the good times that will never come again.

*Tack Striker now makes the phone motion with hands as he shouts at Oliver Bogart....*

Tack Striker: CALL ME!

*Oliver Bogart just shouts back at Tack Striker from inside the ruined diner....*

Oliver Bogart: FUCK YOU! 

*Tack Striker just shrugs his shoulders and shouts back at him....*

Tack Striker: FINE! I WILL CALL YOU! YOUR NUMBER IS STILL 9-1-1, RIGHT?!

*Oliver Bogart now just gives Tack Striker the finger instead. Tack just smiles and shout at him, as he turns to leave....*

Tack Striker: I'll take that as a yes.

*Tack Striker now begins to leaves but as he does, he bumps into Jennifer James who is now beginning to make her way back towards the diner after calling the police dispatch and filing the crime scene report. Tack Striker now apologizes to Jennifer James as he tells her....*

Tack Striker: Pardon me. That's my bad.

Jennifer James: No problem at all, Mister....

Tack Striker: Striker. Call me Striker. Oh and for the record, I say fuck protocol too. Especially when dealing with overweight assholes like Oliver Bogart. See you around, Sergeant.

*Tack Striker now quickly disappears down the streets before Jennifer James even has time to respond. She then rejoins her partner in the wreckage of the diner. Jennifer James then asks Oliver Bogart.....*

Jennifer James: Who the fuck was that, Olly?

*Oliver Bogart just shakes his head in anger and disgust. He then tell his partner....*

Oliver Bogart: Striker. You'll soon find out no doubt, he's a real pain in the ass too.

*Jennifer James now gives a slight smile and tells her partner...*

Jennifer James: I don't know about that. He seemed alright to me.

*Oliver Bogart just sighs in disappointment and goes back to looking at the trail of blood Tack Striker discovered earlier. He now tells Jennifer James....*

Oliver Bogart: Nevermind that, Sergeant. Come over here. I think I found something very interesting.

*Jennifer James now walks back over to where Oliver Bogart is and begins to investigate the same thing as the cameras close out from there.*