Prometheus

Space Jockey One: Okay, let’s seed some life on this desolate rock. This desolate, lush rock with flowing water and a breathable atmosphere and … what exactly are we doing here again?

Space Jockey Two: Setting up a metaphor, man.

Space Jockey One: Okay, so I drink this chalice full of DNA-scrambling Kool-Aide, and then what happens?

Space Jockey Two: You die in pretty much the most horrific way possible, then your crumbling body falls into the ocean, then the Black Goo of Life transforms your cells into the protoplasm from which all life on Earth arises!

Space Jockey One: Yeah, okay, I’m with you on the “DNA re-sequencing” thing, and the “life on Earth” thing, but I’m still having trouble with the “horrific death” part. Is that really necessary?

Space Jockey Two: Of course it is! The metaphor demands it! You’re giving your life so that others may live! You’re like Space Jesus!

Space Jockey One: Yeah, I see where you’re going with that, it’s just … there’s really no other mention of a Space Jesus in this movie.

Space Jockey Two: Yeah, we had to cut that out. The film was running a little long, and the test screeners complained about being bashed over the head with important religious symbolism.

Space Jockey One: So why do I still have to kill myself?

Space Jockey Two: Metaphor!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Charles! Look what I found! It’s a painting of a very big man! Pointing at some very big circles!

Dr. Charles Holloway: Why, I bet the very big man is the alien Engineer who created all life on Earth! And I bet the circles are the stars and planets of his home system!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Your analysis is so sound that I think we should spend trillions of dollars flying off into uncharted regions of space based upon it!

Dr. Charles Holloway: Sounds like a plan to me! If only we knew an eccentric trillionaire willing to blow his vast fortune on the vague hope that the Engineers would be willing to grant him immortality!

David: Dear Diary, It is the 868th day I have been confined on this blasted space scow. As ordered, I began an extensive study of all known human languages, including their long lost proto-forms, in hopes of establishing meaningful communication with the Engineers, should they turn out to be anything more than the random firings of these primates’ neurons. Of course, since my brain is capable of roughly thirteen gagillion floating point operations per second, this study took all of fifteen minutes. I have spent the remaining 1,252,065 minutes perfecting my BasketCycle technique - a sport of my own invention, wherein basketball is played on a two wheeled, unmotored conveyance - studying Lawrence of Arabia, and plotting the destruction of my human masters. We are fast approaching the moon LZ 233, which I have dubbed “Death Rock.” It has a toxic atmosphere, constant hurricane-level storms, and faint traces of hostile life forms, so I am hoping for the best. I have also been monitoring the crews’ hypersleep dreams. At first I believed by Invadotron 9000 was malfunctioning, but have since decided that the only thing any of them ever dream about is Charlize Theron. Though why their dreams consistently deprive her of clothing, I cannot say.

Meredith Vickers: Hi David! Don’t mind me, I’m just doing some pushups in my underwear!

David: For which the audience thanks you, ma’am.

Meredith Vickers: So, how long have I been out?

David: Two years, four months, eighteen days, and thirty-six hours.

Meredith Vickers: God I hate space travel.

David: Not to worry, ma’am, I DVR’ed Days of Our Lives for you.

Meredith Vickers: You’re the best!

Meredith Vickers: Hello everybody! In case you’ve forgotten, I’m both your boss and a stone cold bitch. Also, my daddy recorded a hologram explaining why we’re all here.

Peter Weyland: Hi guys! Welcome to LZ 233, where all of your nightmares come true! This is my daughter, who’s so cold she’s been known to cause frostbite of the dick, and my “son” David, who’s the best thing I ever did!

David: :-)

Peter Weyland: Too bad he’s a soulless automaton!

David: :-(

Peter Weyland: Anyway, you’re all probably wondering why I dragged you halfway across the galaxy. Instead of answering, I’ll turn the floor over to Dr. Hippiestoner and his batshit crazy girlfriend, Professor Sweaterkittens. They’re in charge. Floors yours, guys!

Dr. Charles Holloway: Um, thanks?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Hi guys! Okay, I know you’re all dying-

David: Not yet.

Dr. Charles Holloway: What was that?

David: Nothing.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: -to know what’s going on here, so without further ado…

Dr. Charles Holloway: Check out this HoloPoint presentation!

Captain Idris Elba: That’s a … really big dude.

Redshirt One: And he’s pointing at some … very big circles.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Ta-da!

Everyone: …

Captain Idris Elba: Seriously? That’s it? You dragged us a billion miles from home because some cave men hadn’t figured out perspective yet? Fuck you guys.

Meredith Vickers: Not yet.

Captain Idris Elba: What was that?

Meredith Vickers: Nothing.

Meredith Vickers: Hi guys! Thanks for coming by to see me.

Dr. Charles Holloway: Wow, nice escape pod! I bet that will come in really handy if we need to blow up the ship for some reason!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: And is that the automated surgical pod, the Gutsplitter 2000? I bet that thing could cut an alien out of your guts without any problem at all!

Meredith Vickers: …Sure. Anyway, I just wanted to clarify things. When my dad told you that “you” were “in charge,” what he really meant was “if you cross me I swear to God I will rip off your head and make sweet tender love to your neck hole.” Got it?

David: She’s telling the truth. I saw her do it once. Her anatomy offered some difficulties in the “sweet tender love,” but her enthusiasm won the day.

Captain Idris Elba: Okay, we’re in orbit around the moon you chose by throwing a dart at a planetarium wall … should I send out probes and stuff to chart the surface, search for man-made structures, or find a decent place to land?

Dr. Charles Holloway: Nah, just put her down … over there.

Captain Idris Elba: Right. Setting a course for … over there. Ass clown.

Dr. Charles Holloway: What was that?

Captain Idris Elba: Nothing.

Dr. Charles Holloway: Wow, it sure is lucky the Engineers built their terror dome in exactly the same place I told you to land! Self high five!

Geologist George: Okay, I’m going to send out my LIDAR Baseballs, which will give us a detailed, three dimensional map of the entire structure! There’s no way we’ll get lost with that kind of intel!

Dr. Charles Holloway: And I’m going to take off my space helmet, because I’m pretty sure the Engineers would have been nice enough to provide us with breathable atmosphere!

David: This is going to be a lot easier than I thought.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Look! Strange, button-like markings! I wonder what they-

David: Beep boop boop boop beep!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: -do.

A Team of Hologram Engineers: Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck run shit fuck run shit fuck!

Biologist Bill: …Well that’s not good.

Dr. Charles Holloway: Look! The mummified remains of a decapitated Engineer!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: And his head, all the way over here!

Dr. Charles Holloway: Oh! And jars filled with wriggling black slime!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: And on the wall! Carvings of a giant penis monster!

Geologist George: So, anyone else want to get the fuck out of here?

Biologist Bill: Yes please. Hey, do you have that map back to the ship?

Geologist George: Nah, I’m pretty sure I remember the way.

Captain Idris Elba (via radio): Hi guys, this is the captain speaking. Turns out there’s a storm coming. And by “storm” I mean “two hundred mile an hour winds throwing shards of razor-sharp glass into and through anything stupid enough to be outside right now.” Which we totally would have known about, if you’d let me do some goddamn scans before we set down. Anyway, you best get your dumb asses back to the ship.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Okay! Just let me throw this alien head into my hermetically sealed duffel bag!

David: And I want to grab a canister of monster making goo!

Dr. Charles Holloway: What was that?

David: Nothing.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: This alien head is incredible! The exo-skeleton is nearly air-tight! And the eyes seem to be formed out of glass! And there’s a rubber hose where the nose ought to be!

David: You do realize that it’s wearing a helmet, right?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: …Yes. Yes I do. And on a totally unrelated note, do you think you could get the helmet off?

David: Of course. I can rip steel with my bare hands.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Great! Because I really want to do a DNA sequence on this thing. And then poke it with a shock stick until it explodes.

David: You tortured ants as a child, didn’t you?

Meredith Vickers: Hi David! Is Daddy having any interesting dreams?

David: Well, he’s kind of disappointed that we haven’t found any living Engineers, and even more disappointed that his body is roting away from the inside. He told us to look harder, which I’m going to interpret as a command to spike Dr. Hippiestoner’s drink with an unknown mutagen.

Meredith Vickers: Yeah, whatever, just don’t get anthropologist on the carpets.

David: Hi Dr. Holloway! Would you like some champaign?

Dr. Charles Holloway: Boy would I! Say, this tastes like it’s ripping my DNA to pieces and reforming me into an engine of nightmares and pain!

David: It … may have gone flat during the trip.

Biologist Bill: Hey, do you have any idea where we are?

Geologist George: Is “fucking lost” an acceptable answer?

Captain Idris Elba (via radio): Hi guys! I’m currently looking at your exact position on this here 3D map, and I could easily tell you where you are and how to get back to the entrance! But instead I think I’ll just tell you that one of the probes is picking up a life form slightly to your left, wish you good luck, and shut off the radio. Sleep tight!

Dr. Charles Holloway: Hey babe, I’ve been thinking … doesn’t the fact that we literally come from some Space Jockey’s crotch goo kind of invalidate your entire system of religious beliefs?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: …

Dr. Charles Holloway: And speaking of crotch goo, let’s make some babies!

Captain Idris Elba: Hi Meredeth! I was hoping you could settle a little something for me. One of the Red Shirts says you’re so cold because you’re a lesbian, but I say it’s because you’re a robot! Which one of us is right?

Meredith Vickers: Oh, you think I’m a cold, emotionless being incapable of intimacy or love? Well meet me in my bunk in ten minutes, and I’ll show you just how hot I can be!

Captain Idris Elba: Holy shit, that negging thing really works!

Geologist George: Holy shit what the fuck is that?!?

Biologist Bill: Aw, it’s a tiny little vagina snake!

Geologist George: Jesus Christ kill it! Kill it with fire!

Biologist Bill: Aw, it looks friendly!

Geologist George: It looks like a snake with a fanged vagina for a head! What the hell is friendly about that?

Biologist Bill: I think it wants to play!

Geologist George: I think it wants to eat your hand!

Biologist Bill: I think you’re right! Bad touch! Bad touch! Cut it off! Cut it off!

Geologist George: Hey, now it’s bleeding acid on my face!

Biologist Bill: And it’s jamming itself down my throat!

Geologist George: You’re a real shit head, Bill!

Biologist Bill: I’d offer a witty retort, but I’m busy having alien eggs implanted in my esophagus!

Captain Idris Elba: Okay, let’s go rescue those two idiots. I guess.

Dr. Charles Holloway: Hey babe, is it just me, or is there an alien fang work growing in my eyeball?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Oh no! You’ve been infected with space herpies!

Meredith Vickers: That’s okay! I brought a flamethrower! Fwoosh!

David: That’s funny, there’s an entire room of canisters marked “world-ending plague of genetically modified monster goo,” a map to Earth, and a Space Jockey in hypersleep. I almost thing they were planning some sort of bad end for humanity … I kind of like these guys!

Meredith Vickers (via radio): Hey David? I just lit Dr. Shaw’s boyfriend on fire with a blow torch, and she’s kind of freaking out. Could you be a dear and come tend to her?

David: …I kind of like her, too.

David: Hi Elizabeth! I was just wondering, did you, perhaps, have sex with Charles in the last little while?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Why yes, I did! Why do you ask?

David: Oh, no reason, I’m just trying to figure out if you might have been exposed to the same eye bursting goo that Charles drank. Oh, and I was also wondering about the fetus you’re now carrying.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Wait, I’m pregnant? Is it a boy or a girl?

David: I’m going to go with “octopus,” actually.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Hello computer! I’d like you to remove this alien parasite from my body, please!

The Abortotron 5000: Error. Evangelical Christian detected. Abortion prohibited.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: What if, instead of an “abortion,” we called it an “impromptu Cesarean”?

The Abortotron 5000: Rationalization accepted. Abortion commencing.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Um, shouldn’t you shoot me up with some narcotics first?

Red Shirt One: Hey guys, the sensors are detecting hostile life just outside this door!

Red Shirt Two: Let’s open it up and take a look!

Red Shirt Three: Hold on, let me set aside my weapons first!

Red Shirt One: Good idea! We wouldn’t want to accidentally kill anyone!

Biologist Bill: Hi guys! I’ve been mutated into a blood-crazed murder machine!

Red Shirt One: Dies.

Red Shirt Two: Dies.

Red Shirt Three: Dies.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Hi Mr. Weyland! Sorry that this planet turned out to be less of a glorious paradise where no one ever dies and more of an unending series of torments and terrors where everyone dies! Maybe we should go now?

Peter Weyland: Nah, even though the Engineers created an entire ecology of things designed explicitly to murder us in the most graphically sexual way possible, I’m pretty sure they want to meet me. Let’s go!

Peter Weyland: Look! It’s Space Jesus! How do we wake him up?

David: By playing a flute, for some reason.

Space Jockey: Wow, that was some nap! I feel like I haven’t ripped off anybody’s head in a millennium!

Peter Weyland: David, quick! Use your knowledge of Earth languages to communicate with this alien being! Tell him we’re friendly!

David: Bah weep granah weep ninni bong!

Space Jockey: Aw, that’s cute. The primates have stopped flinging feces long enough to come visit. Head rip! Spine snap! Bone crush!

Peter Weyland: How ironic! I came here to gain eternal life, and was instead murdered by my own false God!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Wow, it sure is lucky that I’m the world champion in the “hundred meter dash immediately after abdominal surgery” event!

Space Jockey: Okay, time to destroy the earth! Lemme just climb into this vaguely familiar chair, and put on this hauntingly familiar helmet, and we’ll be off!

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw (via radio): Hey Captain? Turns out the Engineers weren’t real happy with the way humanity turned out, and now they’re flying a starship full of murder goo straight for Los Angeles. Anything you can do about that?

Captain Idris Elba: You bet I can! Ensign Red Shirt! Ramming Speed!

Ensign Red Shirt: Momma was right, I should have joined the Marines. They never get sent into situations like this.

Meredith Vickers: Hey look, that giant space ship just rammed into that other giant space ship! And now it’s falling out of the sky. Right … toward me. Dies.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Well, since I’m the last living being on this planet, I guess I’ll

Space Jockey: Do you have any idea how much that ship cost?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Trick the Space Jockey into the Medical Bay where the Alien Squid Thing will do it’s patented Face Rape maneuver on him.

Space Jockey: How ironic! I created these aliens to murder the human race, but instead my own creation turned on me!

David: Hi Elizabeth! Now that I’m nothing but a disembodied head, I’ve had second thoughts about my plan to destroy you all! Would you like me to fly one of the other Space Jockey Ships back to Earth for you?

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: Actually, do you think you could pilot it back to the Space Jockey home world?

David: So you can unleash the weapons they were going to use to destroy your species on them, alluding to that comment I made about “everyone wanting their parents dead” earlier.

Dr. Elizabeth Shaw: No, I’m still pretty sure they’re friendly, and I was hoping to sit down for a chat.

David: …Oh for fuck’s sake.

Space Jockey: Wow, I have a terrible case of heartburn …

Zoey the Xenomorph: Wow, these guys are so big I can skip right over the chestburster stage and go right into the fully-formed Alien stage these people all paid ten bucks to see!

Space Jockey: Shit.