Porcelain Animals and Cold Iron
Kenny 'The Cannon' Kent, a name that once meant explosions and box office gold, now means finding lost cats for lonely people. But when a simple case turns into a hunt for a high-tech prototype, Kenny finds the line between his old life and his new reality is thinner than a film strip.
EXT. INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT - NIGHT
A miserable, persistent DRIZZLE beads on rusted metal and slick tarmac. Streetlights bleed shimmering, watercolor reflections across the empty street. Urban loneliness rendered in neon and rain.
SOUND of the city's distant hum, the gentle PATTER of rain
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - CONTINUOUS
Three stories up, KENNY KENT (50s), a man built like a retired heavyweight, shivers in a worn trench coat. The glory days are long gone, replaced by weariness.
He lowers a pair of cheap binoculars. Condensation from his breath fogs the lenses. He watches a sprawling, dark WAREHOUSE across the street.
A memory surfaces. Sharp, clear.
INT. KENT INVESTIGATIONS - DAY (FLASHBACK)
A cluttered, dusty office. Half-eaten bags of crisps and yellowing case files.
NANA (60s), impeccably dressed, sits opposite Kenny. Her eyes hold a chilling intelligence that doesn't match her story.
She slides a thick envelope of cash across the desk.
NANA
> My beloved Persian, Shiro, has been taken. I believe he's being held in there.
Kenny eyes the cash. It's more than enough to cover rent for a year.
KENNY
> A cat.
NANA
> He is very... valuable to me.
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT (PRESENT)
Kenny snaps back to the present. For two nights, nothing.
But tonight is different. A black, unmarked VAN is parked outside the warehouse. Its engine is off. Silent.
Kenny pulls on a pair of thin leather gloves.
KENNY
> (to himself)
> Alright, Shiro the cat. Let's see why you're worth more than my car.
He moves down the fire escape, his movements heavy but practiced. He crosses the street, a ghost in the rain.
He finds his entry point: a second-story window, caked in grime. He pulls a crowbar from his coat.
He levers it into the frame. The window GROANS in protest, a sound that rips through the quiet night. Kenny freezes. Listens.
Nothing.
He pries the window open and slips inside.
INT. WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS
Kenny lands with a soft THUD on the concrete floor.
The air is cool, smelling of machine oil and damp cardboard. The warehouse is a cavern of shadows, filled with towering shelves of crated goods. A cathedral of forgotten things.
He moves through the aisles. Not fast, but with purpose. Using the shadows. Becoming part of the background.
A sliver of bright, artificial light spills from a small office in the center of the warehouse.
Kenny creeps closer, hiding behind a stack of pallets.
INT. WAREHOUSE OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Two men are hunched over a metal desk. MAN 1 is on his phone. MAN 2, a young Japanese man with cold, calculating eyes, works on a metal case.
Kenny peers through a gap in the pallets.
Inside the case is not a cat.
It's a sleek, insect-like DRONE. Matte black metal, complex lenses. Small enough to fit in a hand.
MAN 1
> (into phone)
> The prototype is secure. We're scrubbing the data logs now.
Kenny sighs. A quiet, tired sound. He's the patsy.
He steps out from the shadows.
KENNY
> Sorry, lads. But I have a prior claim on the... uh... feline.
The two men spin around. They move with an efficiency that screams 'professional'. Man 1's hand darts inside his jacket.
MAN 1
> You're not supposed to be here.
Kenny grabs the leg of a heavy metal stool, testing its weight.
KENNY
> That's what my landlord keeps telling me. I'm here for the cat. Give him to me, and I'll be on my way.
The Japanese man, SHIRO (20s), smiles. It's not a friendly gesture.
SHIRO
> You are Kenny Kent. From the movies. My father considered your work to be a cornerstone of mindless Western spectacle.
KENNY
> Yeah, well, my father thought your father's entire generation could've used a bit more mindless spectacle.
Man 1 is pulling his gun.
Kenny hurls the stool. A classic move from 'Bar Room Blitz'. It's not elegant. It connects with Man 1's chest with a sickening THWACK.
The man grunts, stumbling back.
Kenny charges, tackling him over the desk. Papers and equipment scatter.
Shiro doesn't go for a weapon. He moves with a terrifying grace.
As Kenny rises, Shiro is on him. A flurry of precise strikes—jabs and kicks aimed at joints and nerve clusters. This isn't a bar fight.
Kenny blocks a strike to his throat. The impact jars his arm to the shoulder. He's bigger, stronger, but Shiro is a blur of modern, efficient violence.
KENNY
> (grunting)
> You've got some moves, kid. But you telegraph that high kick.
He lands a solid, clumsy punch to Shiro's ribs.
SHIRO
> And you rely on brute force. Predictable.
Shiro sweeps Kenny's legs.
Kenny hits the concrete. HARD. The air rushes from his lungs.
Instantly, Shiro is on him, a forearm pressing into his windpipe. Kenny's vision starts to tunnel.
SHIRO
> It is over.
Kenny's hand flails behind him, scrabbling across the messy desk.
KENNY
> (rasping)
> The fat lady... hasn't even... cleared her throat yet.
His fingers find it. A heavy-duty, metal hole punch.
He swings it blindly, desperately.
It connects with the side of Shiro's head with a dull, wet THUD.
The pressure on his throat releases.
Kenny gasps for air, scrambling away as Shiro staggers back, hand to his temple. A trickle of blood.
Kenny doesn't hesitate. He grabs the drone from its case, stuffs it into his coat, and RUNS.
SHIRO
> (a furious shout)
> HEY!
Kenny vaults over a conveyor belt, sprinting for the window.
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - MOMENTS LATER
Kenny clambers out onto the fire escape, the cold rain a welcome shock to his system. He doesn't stop. He scrambles down the ladder and hits the street running.
EXT. BUS SHELTER - LATER
Half a mile away. Kenny is huddled in a bus shelter, shivering. His whole body is a symphony of aches. He looks at his bruised knuckles. He's not 25 anymore.
His phone BUZZES. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He answers, his breathing still ragged.
KENNY
> Yeah.
NANA (V.O.)
> Do you have it?
Kenny feels the cold, heavy weight of the drone in his coat pocket.
KENNY
> I have your 'cat'. It bites.
A pause on the other end.
NANA (V.O.)
> Good. Now the real work begins. Did you encounter a man named Shiro?
CLOSE ON Kenny's face. The tough-guy facade is gone. All that's left is a tired, scared man who realizes he's a pawn in a game he doesn't understand. The rain streaks down the plexiglass behind him, blurring the city lights.
A miserable, persistent DRIZZLE beads on rusted metal and slick tarmac. Streetlights bleed shimmering, watercolor reflections across the empty street. Urban loneliness rendered in neon and rain.
SOUND of the city's distant hum, the gentle PATTER of rain
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - CONTINUOUS
Three stories up, KENNY KENT (50s), a man built like a retired heavyweight, shivers in a worn trench coat. The glory days are long gone, replaced by weariness.
He lowers a pair of cheap binoculars. Condensation from his breath fogs the lenses. He watches a sprawling, dark WAREHOUSE across the street.
A memory surfaces. Sharp, clear.
INT. KENT INVESTIGATIONS - DAY (FLASHBACK)
A cluttered, dusty office. Half-eaten bags of crisps and yellowing case files.
NANA (60s), impeccably dressed, sits opposite Kenny. Her eyes hold a chilling intelligence that doesn't match her story.
She slides a thick envelope of cash across the desk.
NANA
> My beloved Persian, Shiro, has been taken. I believe he's being held in there.
Kenny eyes the cash. It's more than enough to cover rent for a year.
KENNY
> A cat.
NANA
> He is very... valuable to me.
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT (PRESENT)
Kenny snaps back to the present. For two nights, nothing.
But tonight is different. A black, unmarked VAN is parked outside the warehouse. Its engine is off. Silent.
Kenny pulls on a pair of thin leather gloves.
KENNY
> (to himself)
> Alright, Shiro the cat. Let's see why you're worth more than my car.
He moves down the fire escape, his movements heavy but practiced. He crosses the street, a ghost in the rain.
He finds his entry point: a second-story window, caked in grime. He pulls a crowbar from his coat.
He levers it into the frame. The window GROANS in protest, a sound that rips through the quiet night. Kenny freezes. Listens.
Nothing.
He pries the window open and slips inside.
INT. WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS
Kenny lands with a soft THUD on the concrete floor.
The air is cool, smelling of machine oil and damp cardboard. The warehouse is a cavern of shadows, filled with towering shelves of crated goods. A cathedral of forgotten things.
He moves through the aisles. Not fast, but with purpose. Using the shadows. Becoming part of the background.
A sliver of bright, artificial light spills from a small office in the center of the warehouse.
Kenny creeps closer, hiding behind a stack of pallets.
INT. WAREHOUSE OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Two men are hunched over a metal desk. MAN 1 is on his phone. MAN 2, a young Japanese man with cold, calculating eyes, works on a metal case.
Kenny peers through a gap in the pallets.
Inside the case is not a cat.
It's a sleek, insect-like DRONE. Matte black metal, complex lenses. Small enough to fit in a hand.
MAN 1
> (into phone)
> The prototype is secure. We're scrubbing the data logs now.
Kenny sighs. A quiet, tired sound. He's the patsy.
He steps out from the shadows.
KENNY
> Sorry, lads. But I have a prior claim on the... uh... feline.
The two men spin around. They move with an efficiency that screams 'professional'. Man 1's hand darts inside his jacket.
MAN 1
> You're not supposed to be here.
Kenny grabs the leg of a heavy metal stool, testing its weight.
KENNY
> That's what my landlord keeps telling me. I'm here for the cat. Give him to me, and I'll be on my way.
The Japanese man, SHIRO (20s), smiles. It's not a friendly gesture.
SHIRO
> You are Kenny Kent. From the movies. My father considered your work to be a cornerstone of mindless Western spectacle.
KENNY
> Yeah, well, my father thought your father's entire generation could've used a bit more mindless spectacle.
Man 1 is pulling his gun.
Kenny hurls the stool. A classic move from 'Bar Room Blitz'. It's not elegant. It connects with Man 1's chest with a sickening THWACK.
The man grunts, stumbling back.
Kenny charges, tackling him over the desk. Papers and equipment scatter.
Shiro doesn't go for a weapon. He moves with a terrifying grace.
As Kenny rises, Shiro is on him. A flurry of precise strikes—jabs and kicks aimed at joints and nerve clusters. This isn't a bar fight.
Kenny blocks a strike to his throat. The impact jars his arm to the shoulder. He's bigger, stronger, but Shiro is a blur of modern, efficient violence.
KENNY
> (grunting)
> You've got some moves, kid. But you telegraph that high kick.
He lands a solid, clumsy punch to Shiro's ribs.
SHIRO
> And you rely on brute force. Predictable.
Shiro sweeps Kenny's legs.
Kenny hits the concrete. HARD. The air rushes from his lungs.
Instantly, Shiro is on him, a forearm pressing into his windpipe. Kenny's vision starts to tunnel.
SHIRO
> It is over.
Kenny's hand flails behind him, scrabbling across the messy desk.
KENNY
> (rasping)
> The fat lady... hasn't even... cleared her throat yet.
His fingers find it. A heavy-duty, metal hole punch.
He swings it blindly, desperately.
It connects with the side of Shiro's head with a dull, wet THUD.
The pressure on his throat releases.
Kenny gasps for air, scrambling away as Shiro staggers back, hand to his temple. A trickle of blood.
Kenny doesn't hesitate. He grabs the drone from its case, stuffs it into his coat, and RUNS.
SHIRO
> (a furious shout)
> HEY!
Kenny vaults over a conveyor belt, sprinting for the window.
EXT. FIRE ESCAPE - MOMENTS LATER
Kenny clambers out onto the fire escape, the cold rain a welcome shock to his system. He doesn't stop. He scrambles down the ladder and hits the street running.
EXT. BUS SHELTER - LATER
Half a mile away. Kenny is huddled in a bus shelter, shivering. His whole body is a symphony of aches. He looks at his bruised knuckles. He's not 25 anymore.
His phone BUZZES. UNKNOWN NUMBER.
He answers, his breathing still ragged.
KENNY
> Yeah.
NANA (V.O.)
> Do you have it?
Kenny feels the cold, heavy weight of the drone in his coat pocket.
KENNY
> I have your 'cat'. It bites.
A pause on the other end.
NANA (V.O.)
> Good. Now the real work begins. Did you encounter a man named Shiro?
CLOSE ON Kenny's face. The tough-guy facade is gone. All that's left is a tired, scared man who realizes he's a pawn in a game he doesn't understand. The rain streaks down the plexiglass behind him, blurring the city lights.