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EXT. DESOLATE GEORGIA RURAL HIGHWAY - DAY
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FADE IN TO: DOWNPOUR . Gray, sticky summer weather. RAIN angrily hammers asphalt. In the distance, BUS HEADLIGHTS cut through, approach camera as credits roll. The GREYHOUND (destination flickers ATLANTA) stops close to lens. HISS OF BUS BRAKES as the door opens. A pair of sturdy, bench-made BLACK SHOE/BOOT HYBRIDS step down onto the road. * PAN UP TO REVEAL: JACK REACHER (35). 6’ 5”, 250 lbs. of muscle. A body stronger than a reinforced brick shit-house. A mind * sharper than porcupine ass. No watch, never wears one. * He’s our hero. Do yourself a favor - don’t fuck with him. No one else exits the bus. The bus groans off into the distance, leaving Reacher alone in the middle of nowhere. Rain pelts him. He doesn’t seem to notice. No bag. No knapsack. No suitcase. No umbrella. Beat, then crosses the highway toward a desolate COUNTY ROAD. TIME CUT TO:
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EXT. COUNTY ROAD - DAY - LATER
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CLOSE PAN along the road’s profile. The RAIN falls only in sporadic drips into the water-filled potholes/pockmarks of a neglected municipal road. The camera finds Reacher’s shoes, walking. We follow until they stop at a DEMARCATION LINE - nothing official - just a change from sun-baked, faded and cracked pavement to smooth, perfectly-maintained blacktop . It happens ABRUPTLY. Reacher looks down, notes the shift in condition, then continues to follow the road into town, passing a quaint, wooden sign: WELCOME TO MARGRAVE, GEORGIA. EST. 1794 . The bottom of the sign reads: Courtesy of the Kliner Foundation. EXT. MARGRAVE - MOMENTS LATER * 2A Reacher walks through main street: quaint shops, clean, nice. * An elderly, Black man cleans the insides of his BARBERSHOP * WINDOW with a SQUEEGE and a RAG. He watches Reacher. * * 3 BOYFRIEND (late 20s, strong) moves to his VAN agitated. He * holds GIRLFRIEND (20s) roughly by her forearm as he berates. * GIRLFRIEND (nervous) I’m sorry, I’m not good at math-- EXT. DINER PARKING LOT - A BIT LATER
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