Tomb Raider Chronicles Script

Andy Sandham, the level designer and writer for Tomb Raider 3-5, send us the first part of Tomb Raider Chronicles’ script.

TOMB RAIDER V SCRIPT: ANDY SANDHAM CORE DESIGN LTD

INITIAL LOAD FMV: FMV 1:

FADE IN:
EXT. CROFT ESTATE – OVERCAST DAY
Thundery skies, rolling clouds, and the rest. Not the best
day for a funeral. LIGHTNING FLASHES, and silhouetted
against it, a FAMILIAR FIGURE.
LARA CROFT.
ANOTHER FLASH, and the silhouette revealed. A STATUE, atop
a MEMORIAL STONE. a plaque set in the stone below the
figure bearing a simple inscription:

‘LARA CROFT – 1968 – 2002. ONCE AND FUTURE ADVENTURER – FOR
HER UNDYING SPIRIT.’

A figure rises from laying a wreath beside other floral
tributes at the base of the statue. WINSTON, her ever
faithful butler, looking none too cheery.
Glances across, nodding to a shadowy couple, huddled under
an umbrella. They nod back in acknowledgement, and then
turn toward the ancient church behind them.
Winston watches them go, and then turns to hobble down a
gravel path toward a waiting rolls.
EXT. LARA’S MEMORIAL -GLOOMY DAY
A repeat of the earlier image, it suddenly SHRINKS, moves
to a corner of the screen, revealed as a video feed in a
NEWS REPORT, news reader sitting before it in a studio.
INT. ROLLS ROYCE – GLOOMY DAY
The news report plays on a small built in television,
leather surrounds, mini bar, a tasteful, British conversion
of the back of a Rolls.
Winston sitting, attempting to dry himself, one eye on the
report. Beside him, dressed in the abrupt black and whites
of a priest, FATHER PATRICK, forties.

PATRICK
’tis a sad day, Winston.
WINSTON
She will live on forever in our
hearts.
PATRICK
Surely, Winston- and for this is
only a memorial service–
we may yet receive news from Von
Croy in Egypt.
WINSTON
We can only hope and pray that
she may yet be returned to us.
PATRICK
Yet, If Von Croy is digging in
the hopes of finding her, I fear
he may only be met with black
reality.

Winston sighs, looks back to the mini television. The
report continues, stills of Lara in her various adventures.
He leans in, turns it off, sudden BLACKNESS.

TO START GAME FLYBY/OPTIONS SCREEN:

INTRO/FMV2:

INT. CROFT MANSION -CENTRAL HALL -NIGHT
Dimly lit, a lofty chamber framed by majestic stairwells,
adorned with antique canvasses, caught in flickering
candlelight, and notably EMPTY.
Except for FOOTSTEPS.
A LIGHTNING FLASH, revealing an imposing STAGS HEAD,
mounted on the wall, bleached for a moment in the sudden
light.
Below it, Winston, leading father Patrick, and our cheeky
Gallic buddy, JEAN YVES through a dark corridor below the
stairs.

WINSTON
To the study, gentlemen, where we
may pontificate over the day’s
disheartening events.
Winston arrives at an oak door, begins to unlock it.
JEAN-YVES
Indeed, my friend.
Another CRASH of lightning.
JEAN-YVES (CONT’D)
Even the heavens cry out.

Winston looks at him dolefully, before leading them into
the room.
FADE TO:

INT. CROFT MANSION -STUDY -STORMY NIGHT
a roaring fire, flickering light illuminating wood panelled
walls, the impression of a turn of the century Gentleman’s
club.
Before it, Father Patrick and Jean-Yves in large leather
chairs, face each other over an antique coffee table.
Attention on a smooth, medium sized STONE Patrick holds up,
studying it reverentially as the firelight dances across
it.

INT. CROFT MANSION -STUDY -STORMY NIGHT – WINSTON POV

Winston enters, looking down at the TRAY he carries,
decanter and crystal glasses rattling on it precariously.
Hesitates, looks across the expanse of room to the two men.

INT. CROFT MANSION -STUDY -STORMY NIGHT
Winston is feeling optimistic. Re-embarks on his hero’s
journey, but Jean-Yves is up, and relays the tray to the
table before Winston can protest.
All attention now on the STONE:

WINSTON
The ‘philosophers stone’. One of
Lara’s first artefacts. And one
of her most challenging pursuits,
if my memory serves me.
FATHER PATRICK
The Vatican still smarts with the
episode.
JEAN-YVES
She was never the one for
diplomacy, Lara. But she
certainly knew how to paint the
town red.

CUT TO:

INT. OPERA HOUSE -ROME -NIGHT

Female opera singer, centre of a magnificent stage, mid
performance.
As seen through OPERA GLASSES- Lara’s, revealed in a foxy
evening gown, the only occupant of a luxurious box
overlooking the show, two spare seats either side.
LARSON, he of the original TOMB RAIDER, appears in tux from
the curtain behind Lara, sits beside her, grinning broadly.
Not a flicker of acknowledgement from Lara.

LARSON
Well, goldarn, ain’t you just a
picture?
LARA
Ah, the charming Mr. Larson.
Returns to her glasses.
LARA (CONT’D)
Has Pierre let you off the leash?
Talking of which, where is our
‘learned friend’.
LARSON
Oh, he’s around.
(beat)
You got the cash?
LARA
I’ve got the cash.
(beat)
But I don’t deal with the monkey.
Larson’s grin drops from his face.
LARSON
Well now, that ain’t polite for a
lady. And would that still be the
case, even if the monkey has got
a little something that lady
might want?

She Turns to look at him for the first time. Larson’s smile
returns, twice as wide. He hesitates, savours the moment.
Then from his jacket, produces the ‘Mercury stone’
NOTE: this is the first element of the Rome puzzle – four
stones, that once combined, will give access to the level
reward – ‘the philosophers stone’.
Lara’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Then,
as her eyes narrow, Larson shifts in his seat,
uncomfortable in her suddenly predatory gaze.
A FLUID movement, and Larson SPRINGS BACK.
Her turn to return the grin, a wad of NOTES in hand.

LARA
Lucky I’m in a generous mood.
The barrel of a small PISTOL placed at Lara’s TEMPLE. She
doesn’t need to look up.
LARA (CONT’D)
Crawled out from under your rock?
PIERRE, a small, well dressed, elaborately coiffured
Frenchman, stands over her. Cocks the hammer.
PIERRE
No need for unpleasantaries Miss
Croft. I am afraid I must, once
again–
Gently removes the cash.
PIERRE (CONT’D)
–Relieve you of your burden.

On Lara, oddly passive

LARA
Easy come, easy go.
Larson now at Pierre’s side, holding the stone, giggling
like an irritating child. Lara unmoving, they begin to edge
backward toward the curtain.
As Lara raises her gloved arm toward Pierre, awaiting the
polite gentleman’s response.
He hesitates.
PIERRE
Now now, Miss Croft. No games.
She looks to him like butter wouldn’t melt.
LARA
As if.

Pierre keeps the gun steady, leveled at her. Hesitates.
Then Steps forward, to cautiously take her hand, meeting
her gaze.
And in the briefest moment, as he lowers his eyes to kiss
her hand, a CRACK, as she flattens her open palm across his
nose.
Pierre drops onto his backside with a thump, gun slipping
out of his grasp.
Lara out of her seat, closing on the retreating Larson,
knuckles white around the stone, other hand searching
frantically in his jacket. Expression suddenly triumphant.
A TINY, easily concealed PISTOL, leveled at Lara. She
looks at it coyly.

LARA
Larson. I expected more from you.

His eyes drop instinctively to his tiny weapon. He can’t
help himself. That’s his bad luck, as a KICK from Lara
sends him CRASHING BACK through the curtains.
And the STONE arcing HIGH INTO THE AIR, following a
trajectory OUT OVER THE BALCONY, falling toward the crowds
below.
LARA PROPELS herself from the LIP OF THE BOX, LAUNCHING
HERSELF INTO SPACE.
SPINNING out over the AGHAST FACES FAR BELOW – and CATCHING
THE STONE at its APEX, her momentum carrying her forward
into the GIANT STAGE CURTAINS.
SCREAMING FROM THE AUDIENCE, discordant notes of the
musicians abandoning their instruments for the spectacle.
LARA clutches the top hem, for her weight to TEAR THE
MATERIAL FREE of its hooks, gradually SLOWING HER FALL,
eventually DEPOSITING HER by the CONFUSED SINGER.
INT. OPERA HOUSE -STAGE -NIGHT
SILENCE.
Lara checks the stone, dusts herself off – looks up to find
the AUDIENCE, gazing, stupefied.
The SPOTLIGHT finds her, and the first ripple of APPLAUSE.
BUILDING in volume.
She takes a bow, as the cheering SWELLS, flowers thrown
onto the stage, the opera singer looking somewhat
CRESTFALLEN at this invading opportunist.
A GUNSHOT from above – Pierre, leaning drunkenly over the
lip of the box, gun back in his hand – and as the screaming
starts once more, Lara EXITS, stage left.
INT. OPERA HOUSE -BACK STAIRS
From the back of the box, Larson and Pierre scrambling down
the stairs, all bloody nosed and out of breath.

LARSON
(wheezing)
It ain’t over till the fat lady
sings.

EXT. ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT

A Narrow, cluttered alley. Parked beside the STAGE
ENTRANCE, A helmeted DELIVERY BOY removes PIZZA’s from the
back of his scooter, approaches the door.
CRACK!
Door thrown open, Mr. Dominos flung unceremoniously into an
unpleasant assortment of waste bags.
Lara, MID FLIGHT, Sizes up the situation in an instant–
TEARS off the excess dress material below the thigh–
LEAPS onto the scooter, a moment to store the ‘Mercury
stone’ in the PIZZA COMPARTMENT, before KICKING the still
idling engine INTO GEAR.
She is OFF AT SPEED into the alley, Dominos back on his
feet, scrambling after her momentarily before conceding
defeat, hands on thighs, gulping in breath.
Notices FOOD MATTER on his clothes, beginning to sweep it
off with disgust, until a ROARING from behind causes him to
SPIN.
The helmet framing his expression of INCREASING ALARM–
DIVES HEADFIRST INTO THE WASTE he just climbed out of, as a
TAXI CAREERS PAST, speed informing us that it may not the
Owner in control.
INT. TAXI CAB -NIGHT
Larson DRIVING, expression FIXED INTENTLY AHEAD,
illuminated in the lights of the dash.
Also illuminating Pierre, hands wedged in front of him,
eyes blinking tight shut at BOXES, other waste flung over
the windscreen.
Until a LARGER BUMP, drawing his ATTENTION FORWARD, Larsons
intensity replaced once more with the familiar GRIN–

LARSON
Ha!

EXT. ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT
Lara, attempting to correct the scooters trajectory from
the NUDGE, delivered from the taxi CLOSING ONCE MORE,
delivering another BUMP to the back of the bikeLara angrily struggles to control the scooter.

INT. TAXI CAB -NIGHT
Larson BESIDE himself, smacking the steering wheel–

LARSON

Bucking bronco baby! How long can
you stay on?

Pierre, nails dug into the dash, observes the buffeted Lara
with a slightly more wary expression.

EXT. ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT
Lara spots her only chance –
A NARROWER, ADJOINING ALLEYWAY–
gains a few feet, violently SWERVES the scooter into it.

EXT. NARROW ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT
Lara SKIDS into the far end of the alleyway, regains
control precariously, pumps the throttle, the bike
screeching protest, as she heads for her GOAL–
A WROUGHT IRON GATE spans the alleyway, half closed, the
gap of five or so feet below it her target.
The TAXI crashes into the tunnel behind her, Snaring the
wall in a shower of sparks, beginning to ACCELERATE.
SHE MAKES IT, gracefully SLIDES the scooter under it at
speed, RIDING IT TO A STANDSTILL.
Steps off, glances back toward her pursuers.
INT. TAXI CAB -NIGHT
Lara ahead, closing fast in the headlights.
UNMOVING. Only an IRON GATE between her and two tons of
hurtling automobile.

LARSON
We ain’t gonna make that gap,
boss.

CLOSING FAST–

PIERRE
Keep going. We’ll make it.
LARSON
Ain’t gonna.

EXT. NARROW ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT
Lara, silhouetted in the full beam, the vehicle roaring
ever closer, taps her fingers impatiently on her thigh.
INT. TAXI CAB -NIGHT
Almost at the gate – Pierre’s face drains of colour, TOO
LATE:

PIERRE
(whispered)
Not going to make it.

EXT. NARROW ALLEYWAY -ROME -NIGHT
An EXPLOSION OF GLASS AND STEEL.
The top half of the car SHEARED NEATLY OFF, the impact
CRIPPLING IT, DEAD in its tracks, not six feet from Lara.
A hubcap rolls from the smoking wreckage, drops flat at her
feet.
But even as she drops to retrieve the stone from the bike,
she keeps her eyes fixed cautiously on the seemingly
lifeless, smoking shell of the car.
LARSON SITS UP, looking, to say the least, tired and
emotional. Lara smiles at him, as his pupils roll back into
their normal, more effective position, eyelids fluttering.
INT. REMAINS OF TAXI -LARSON POV -NIGHT
A blurred, double vision Lara stands, waves a little
goodbye, before disappearing into the night.
INT. REMAINS OF TAXI -NIGHT
Larson, sat up in his seat, dazed and confused. Drunkenly
observes Pierre, dragging himself out of his survival space
in the foot-well.

LARSON
What did I tell you?
Pierre glowers at Larson, as the final aria of another,
nearby OPERA drifts out to them, applause close on its
heels.

PIERRE
Mon dieu!

He slams his hands hard on the remains of the dash,
accidentally activating the taxi meter with a loud BING!
FADE TO BLACK.

LEVEL ONE BEGIN