Topic: SLIDERS REBORN: 2016 Election Edition (Quinn meets Trump!)
In the aftermath of the 2016 US Election, the sliders must weigh their options as circumstances lead to Quinn Mallory confronting the new president-elect.
It is a time-honoured tradition that comic book superheroes meet real-life figures, especially the new US President. In that spirit, I would like to present this 17-page screenplay where the sliders do the same. Rave reviews so far include, "What's the point of this?" and "It's not as long as your other scripts."
While I consider this script to be set after Part 5 of SLIDERS REBORN, EP.COM reasonably and understandably opted out of including this installment, so for the full story on how Quinn, Wade, Rembrandt and Arturo are alive and well and home, please visit www.earthprime.com/reborn
Special thanks to Jeph Loeb, Joe Casey and Greg Rucka, and I look forward to Informant and Temporal Flux and Slider_Quinn21 possibly rubbishing this screenplay.
SLIDERS REBORN - Resistance
PDF Download: https://goo.gl/4EiaT8
ON A STATIC BURST:
And then we see a newscaster before an electoral map.
And with Trump's victories in
Florida, Ohio, Michigan and
Pennsylvania, Donald James Trump will
be the forty-fifth President of the
There's another STATIC BURST and then another newscaster.
This outcome disproved nearly every
scientific poll and electoral
projection as Donald Trump won every
Electoral College vote he needed --
Static burst again. Then:
Democratic candidate Hillary Rodham
Clinton will deliver her concession
speech at ten-thirty in the morning
in the aftermath of a surprising and
unexpected upset --
Another STATIC BURST. Then we see footage of a Trump rally
where a crowd of people in MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN HATS are
whooping and cheering. Shouts of "Build that wall!" and "Lock
her up!" can be heard.
Another STATIC BURST followed by footage of Nevada Senator
Harry Reid addressing the camera:
We've elected a man who brags about
assaulting women. He'll block food
stamps, obliterate the EPA and punish
the female population for exercising
reproductive rights --
Static burst and we see a man on the street:
I look out my door and I see my
neighbors starving to death or ODing
on oxys while our roads fall apart
and our jobs go to India and China
and the Clinton camp was saying
America was in great shape; what'd
you expect us to do?
Static burst again, then a shot of shot of a woman whom
onscreen text identifies as Cecile Richards, President of
We will fight to make sure Planned
Parenthood health center doors stay
Static burst and we see a woman in a suit speaking:
Americans voted in a Democrat for
eight years and we're still living in
poverty while the DNC has cocktail
parties. There comes a point when
voting's a way to screw over the
people running a system that doesn't
care about you --
A gentleman suddenly sticks his head into the frame and
shrieks into the camera --
Grab her by the pussy! Grab her by
the pussy!!! Trumpland now, baby,
He walks away off camera, laughing madly as he departs. The
woman scowls as she continues speaking.
And, of course, there's that.
Another static burst and we see a different woman, this one
identified onscreen as Susan Herman, President of the
American Civil Liberties Union:
The president-elect's campaign
promised an assault on the freedoms
that define this nation and he will
not take them from us without a fight
-- we will sue him on every one of
his campaign promises to reauthorize
torture and restrict freedom of
And then a final static burst as we go back to the very first
President-elect Trump made his first
visit to the White House today
followed by passing through Capitol
INT. HOTEL BAR - NIGHT
A small placard on the bar reads TRUMP HOTEL - WASHINGTON,
DC. This sedate establishment is the picture of ostentatious
luxury. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Wide racks of
bottles behind the bar reach the ceiling. There's gold-plated
lamps on every table.
A small number of male and female patrons in sharply tailored
suits are scattered throughout. The sparse number of
customers suggest exclusivity.
At the entrance, two suited and sunglasses wearing men enter
and look about. They are taken by surprise when a 70-year-old
man with an absurd combover and a floppy suit hurtles between
them and into the bar.
Skip the security sweep, boys!
Rifraff never gets into this joint --
you have to own at least one private
island to even know about this
The Secret Service agents make protesting noises, but Trump
waves them off and ambles towards the nearly deserted bar,
leaving the agents to take posts by the entrance.
Trump spies a television mounted on a wall showing his press
meeting at the White House. His gaze remains fixed upon his
image on the screen; he bangs into the bar before he realizes
he's arrived, he edges himself onto a seat. Still staring at
the TV, he waves for the bartender.
Scotch on the rocks.
Trump, watching the TV, doesn't notice when a FLANNEL-WEARING
MAN with LONG HAIR takes a seat next to Trump.
Quinn Mallory looks shockingly out of place amidst the sharp
suits of the other patrons. The bartender looks at Quinn.
Quinn inclines his head in Trump's direction.
I'll have what he's having.
SMASH CUT TO:
A BLACK SCREEN and then the words:
12 hours earlier.
INT. SLIDERS INCORPORATED BOARDROOM - MORNING
We're in a room with a long table and walls made of glass.
Portions of the glass appear to be windows looking out at San
Francisco, but other parts are display screens. Inside the
room are Quinn Mallory, Wade Welles, Rembrandt Brown,
Professor Arturo, Maggie Beckett and Dr. Diana Davis.
The display screens show Trump giving his victory speech
I say we take him out and end this
Arturo glares at Maggie.
Captain Beckett, we do not deal in
assassination. Kindly let our moral
position that murder is wrong
penetrate that brick you call a
He's a bigoted, homophobic, racist,
climate-change denying profiteer of
poverty who just became leader of the
free world --
Killing is not an option.
But we might forcibly relocate him to
an alternate Earth with a thriving
neo-Nazi regime; we would certainly
take every measure for his comfort.
Do we have a plan for the power
vacuum we get then, Professor? Or do
you figure it out then like the last
time you half-assed your way into
As Arturo scowls --
Hey -- don't we have a robot in the
basement that we could shape up to
look like anybody? How about we
replace Donald with D.E.R.I.C. the
You propose to have a defective piece
of artificial intelligence replace
that defective human being?
Who'd know the difference? And we
could program D.E.R.I.C. to do what's
If we're going to have the president
elect on our hands, there's
rehabilitative measures we could
consider, too. He clearly has some
sort of neurological disorder; we
dose him with anti-psychotics and
mood stabilizers --
I think we should definitely do all
of that, but I want to say I'm really
into my robot idea and we should
reprogram D.E.R.I.C. to give fireside
chats with musical accompaniment --
Are we sure we can make the robot
mimic that ridiculous hair?
And in terms of relocation, another
option is that Earth where reality
television replaced all government
surveillance programs --
But then a voice that has been silent thus far cuts into the
No. We're not doing any of that.
The sliders fall silent and all of them stare at Quinn
Mallory with sheer astonishment.
He won the electoral votes. The law
is the law. We're not unilaterally
removing an elected official; we're
not kidnapping him; we're not
replacing him with a robot and we're
not involving this organization in
And then the sliders' astonishment is replaced with outrage
as the room is filled with angry shouts in Quinn's direction.
Partisan politics? This has gone way
beyond whose side gets the White
Our president-elect has declared his
sheer contempt for the rules of war,
for anyone with origins that differ
from his, for the female-half of the
population, for civil liberties --
this man's rise to power cannot be
He wants a nuclear arms race! He
wants soldiers to commit war crimes!
Under his administration, we're
looking at even more of the country
starving to death or dying from
treatable illnesses, he's going to
put a Creationist in charge of
education and staff the EPA with
climate change deniers --
What's the deal, Q-Ball? I thought
you were a scientist! I thought you
went to freakin' Berkeley! And you
got no right telling us how to react
to this looney tune that just got the
keys to the kingdom!
Quinn remains absolutely calm in these frenzied verbal
assaults. He allows each snipe and shout until they finally
run short of breath. A silent moment passes.
I'm not telling you what to feel. Or
what to do. I'm saying that whatever
you decide to do -- whatever we
decide to do -- we do it without
Sliders Incorporated. No slidetech.
No gadgets. No gear.
Quinn looks at each of his friends for a moment as he speaks
with an earnest and gentle sense of caution.
We're not here to inflict our will on
the world. We're a relief
organization. We tend to the wounded
and vulnerable -- but we don't punish
those we find wanting.
We don't interfere with a democratic
political process no matter how
distasteful we find the results.
Maggie gets an alert on her smartwatch. She focuses entirely
on her watch as the discussion continues.
Quinn, we interfere every single day.
We used sliding to turn poison into
water, we've brought the dead back to
life, sort of --
We've turned ink into food and waste
into fuel --
Within San Francisco. We can't even
begin to calculate the results of
using Sliders Incorporated on a
How can we withhold our ability to
influence global events when this new
president will have no such scruples?
Professor, our civilization's been
designed to extract resources for the
benefit of a few at the expense of
the rest, and that's the case whether
the figurehead for that system's a
career politician or a reality show
That figurehead could've been the
first female US President in history!
Instead, we've got a psycho!
A robber baron who incites violence
and emboldens bigots. This election
is a travesty!
Or it's an opportunity. This
country's pretended for too long that
racism's in the past -- or that
crumbling infrastructure and rampant
poverty can be ignored -- or that
politicians can call themselves
Democrats when they only serve
So -- this national public service
announcement is worth us living
through four years an administration
that's completely insane?
Administrations come and go. One
status quo's been replaced with
another, the only difference being
the previous one paid lip service to
civil liberties and environmental
issues while the new one won't
pretend to try. But our work here
The sliders hear him. But they don't feel what he's saying.
Quinn keeps talking anyway.
We keep looking for ways to feed the
hungry, treat the sick, inform the
ignorant, protect the weak; we
develop our methods in this city and
then we share them with the world.
Quinn gestures to the screens of post-electoral news
And we stay far away from all of
But then Maggie looks up from her smartwatch.
What if we can't? What if you can't?
What're you talking about?
I just got something from a contact.
She taps several times on her smartwatch. And then ONE OF THE
GLASS DISPLAY SCREENS flickers and shows an image. An image
of an aged Motorola phone from the 90s.
What's that look like to you?
A timer -- an example of Mr.
Mallory's gifts for aesthetic design,
such as they are. What of it?
Maggie taps on her smartwatch. The image ZOOMS OUT to reveal
that the timer is ONE OBJECT sitting on a cabinet in a
LAVISHLY DECORATED OFFICE that has DONALD JAMES TRUMP sitting
on his desk, smirking smugly at the camera.
What the heck is a timer doing in the
He bought it. Bought it years ago off
an FBI auction. They had it in
evidence that was taking up space;
they sold it in a clearance sale with
this Order of St. George medal that
Trump seemed to want.
But -- the timer and the FBI's
evidence -- I thought that would've
been erased after the reset --
From what you've told me, the
erasures weren't perfect. Quinn being
here's proof of that.
Now -- here's a message from last
week sent between Trump's private
server and the Kremlin's scientific
The photograph is replaced with a white screen showing the
text: MICRO-TAC UNIT EN ROUTE. REVERSE ENGINEERING TEAM
We've been making waves. And our new
president's buddies in Russia have
been looking into us. They haven't
found a thing except for that loose
end that's been in Trump's office for
awhile and just got shipped off to
some black-ops lab in Moscow.
Wait wait wait wait wait -- so what
you're telling me is that Russia and
Donald Trump could get their fingers
Then the situation has changed.
Partisan politics or not, sliding and
its applications are open to misuse
and abuse, especially by this man.
This just went beyond global. This
You still really think you're above
And on Quinn's grim expression --
QUINN AT THE BAR
Sitting next to Donald Trump as the bartender brings their
scotches to them. Donald raises his glass for a taste. Quinn
rotates the glass, never lifting it.
A few patrons mill in the background or sit at tables, but
the bar is so vacant that Quinn and Donald are essentially
alone. Quinn sets his jaw, preparing for a confrontation.
But then Trump lowers his glass and says to Quinn --
I was wondering when you'd be popping
in for a visit, whiz kid.
Quinn's jaw drops. He keeps staring at his glass, but he
visibly shrinks, seeming almost tiny next to Trump's
Don't look so shocked, boy. I've got
friends you've visited in the dead of
the night. Warning them off or
offering some help. What brings you
here? Because I'm not needing
anyone's help -- in case you missed
it, I just won the whole country and
everything that's in it and I'd have
to look down with binoculars if I
wanted to see the top of the world!
I came here to tell you what the
deal's going to be.
Donald's mouth puckers with momentary outrage at this flannel
wearing man-child dictating to him. On Quinn's end, we can
suddenly see the outrage and disgust that Quinn has for
Trump. The contempt and loathing. Blazing in his eyes.
You can have sliding. Or you can have
the presidency. Not both.
Donald's eyes widen with fury.
Where's the timer, Donald?
Donald's eyes start sweeping to the side. Looking at the
reflection of the mirror behind the bar. Looking for his
Secret Service agents.
And Quinn's voice drops to a cold and terrifying whisper as
he speaks in the most matter-of-fact fashion.
You really think they can stop me?
You gave the Kremlin the timer. You
know what I am. You know what I can
do. You're a reality TV star who
bluffed and blustered through an
election. I'm a slider. I walk
between dimensions. I can erase you
from reality before your minders take
Quinn uses two fingers to push his glass back and forth
between his hands.
I could put this drinking glass where
your heart should be. I could send
you to the bottom of the Atlantic. Or
forty feet to the left and just
outside the building. You think your
helpers over there can save you from
falling thirty storeys to the ground?
And then Quinn finally turns to look at Donald Trump.
The timer. Tell me where it is.
Donald shakily rotates in his seat to look towards Quinn,
hesitating to meet Quinn's eyes. But eventually he does --
and then Donald Trump bursts into a lengthy ROAR OF LAUGHTER.
His eyes shut as he chortles uncontrollably, spraying spit
and gesticulating madly. His red tie flies into the air. His
Secret Service agents each take a step towards the bar, but
Trump waves several times to hold them back as he finally
finishes his burst of hilarity.
Quinn's once grave expression is now blankly confused like
he's an actor who's stumbled onto the wrong stage.
This is not a joke.
You're right, you're absolutely
right, you're completely dead
serious, believe me, I know you're
being serious. But here's the thing:
you may not be joking, but you are a
joke, a complete and total joke.
There isn't an ounce of fear in Donald, just mockery.
Didja think you were going to walk
into my bar and be like Batman? And
it's funny how you want a piece of
hardware over in the Kremlin's
backyard, but you'd come looking to
me to give you directions instead of,
I don't know, someone who's actually
in that country! So here's what I
think, here's what I really think.
Quinn can't get a word in as Donald lectures Quinn in a
I think you're a dickless nerd
leading an army of dickless nerds
over at Hamburgers Consolidated or
whatever you call yourselves. I think
you probably got your timer back
already and you didn't come here for
an address or even my best Jim Bean.
Quinn exhales scornfully at Donald's liquor while finding no
other point of contradiction.
You came here to try to put me in my
place, put the fear of God into me
with your teleportation and all the
things you can do with it -- like
sending me into the tiger cage at
the zoo or somewhere in New Jersey.
And you can do all that, I know you
could, but I also know that you very
much won't, never would, never will.
Quinn gapes at Donald's understanding of him. Donald sneers
at Quinn's dismay.
Seen your work, big boy. Seen what
you do -- sliding condoms into
Africa, sliding meds into Something
Cross, giving away wifi with weather
balloons. I see you sending slaves in
Bosnia and Croatia to Ecuador,
stealing all the copper cabling outta
Iran's launch sites --
He raises his glass almost respectfully to Quinn.
But here's what I don't ever see -- I
don't see you ever taking anyone out.
I don't ever see you gunning for
anyone; I don't ever see the top guys
disappearing and I definitely don't
see you starting with me, but hey,
prove me wrong.
Donald takes another swig of scotch like it's his last.
Send me outside, little man! Go on,
go ahead, send me outside!
And Quinn sits still and unmoving. Trump rotates in his
barstool once, waiting. Nothing happens.
And Trump nods in a nearly prim fashion.
That's what I thought. That is what I
thought. You know the difference
between me and you? The difference
between me and you -- guys like you
always want to do the math on every
decision, run the numbers. And if the
decision is too big, you get stuck
doing math and you never ever make
your move. You're a little man who's
never ever gonna make a move.
Quinn is rigid and frozen in his seat.
So, now that we've run through what
you can do, let's run through what I
can do. You ever heard of PRISM? You
How about XKeyscore? Know that one?
DISHFIRE? STORMBREW? Dropmire?
MYSTIC? They all stand for something,
I don't know what, but they're great
surveillance programs that do great
work and then there's the NSA, FBI,
CIA, DHS and more three-letter combos
I can't remember and would probably
spell wrong and they're mine now.
They're all mine.
Quinn examines his unconsumed drink.
Unlike you, these big names are
actually shit a brick scary. And
unlike you, I'm not bluffing and with
a few words, I could turn every
single one of them onto you and yours
and you don't want that.
Donald leans over, now speaking into Quinn's ear.
I could have you, that little dyke
the black one and Pavarotti -- eating
rat shit in Guantanamo by the end of
the day. I could have my boys track
down anyone you've ever said two
words to and lock 'em up as a person
of interest for national security.
I'd stop you.
Oh you would, you'd have to, how
could you not? Except then you'd have
to make the moves that you can't
bring yourself to make because if you
were going do anything to me,
you'd've done it by now. So let me
tell you what the deal's going to be.
You're going to go back to your
little city. I see one flash of a
vortex in my line of sight again and
me and a lot of three-letter agencies
come down on you like a ton of
bricks. You're going to stay out of
my face which means I'll never have
any reason to get into yours.
Quinn says nothing.
That is the deal you came to make. So
let's just be clear that I'm the one
making it. Stay out of the big
leagues, little man.
And Quinn finally lets out a breath.
Your scotch is on me, now get out of
my bar. Stick to handing out
hamburgers to the homeless. Because
what can you really do to me or about
me? What can you really, actually do?
Quinn takes a moment to contemplate the question. Then he
steps off the barstool while pushing his drink back from the
bar. He looks at Donald apologetically as though to say sorry
for not taking a single sip.
Thank you for the drink.
He stands and walks off. There's a sudden BURST OF LIGHT AND
WIND. A crackling vortex that sends Trump's combover into a
fluttered mess and vanishes instantly. Donald jumps at the
sight. Then the light fades away.
And Quinn is gone.
INT. SLIDERS INCORPORATED OFFICE - MORNING
We're in a lounge-area of Sliders Incorporated. There's a
kitchenette in the back and some TVs on the wall. On one of
them, we see one of San Francisco's rainbow-painted street
crossings graffitied with the words TRUMPLAND! Another
television has an image of a sign that says TRUMP DIGS COAL.
Another has an image of Mike Pence next to a sign reading:
CURE THE GAYS.
Quinn's at a counter. Pouring coffee into six travel mugs. He
casts a brief glance at the TV and then looks away, filling
the mugs, tightening their lids, gathering them in his arms
and walking away.
INT. HALLWAY - MORNING
We see Wade, Rembrandt, Arturo, Maggie and Diana standing in
a hallway. All are casually dressed except Diana in her
doctor's labcoat. Quinn comes down the hall and the other
sliders greet him merrily and each take one of his travel
mugs as they head out the door.
EXT. STREET - MORNING
The sliders walk down the streets of San Francisco, talking
inaudibly, laughing and smiling.
And in a RAPID SERIES OF SHOTS:
They pass by a peach-coloured building with a sign reading
PLANNED PARENTHOOD. Diana cheerily waves the sliders good-bye
as she enters the building.
In a subsequent shot, the sliders pass a building with a sign
reading THE SF LGBTQ CENTER. Wade and Maggie separate from
the sliders to enter this facility and the other sliders
Farther along is a stone and glass building with a GREENPEACE
sign in one of the windows. Rembrandt and Arturo nod to each
other in mutual affirmation and walk inside.
Quinn watches them go with a smile. He's all by himself now
and he continues onward, passing the Hyatt Regency hotel and
breaking into a eager run towards his destination.
INT. OFFICE - MORNING
A receptionist is working on her computer when a figure
approaches the counter. She holds up a finger for one moment,
finishes clicking with her mouse and then looks up.
Morning. And you are?
Quinn is standing at the counter. Behind him there's a banner
on the wall. It reads AMERICAN CIVIL LIBERTIES UNION OF
My name is Quinn Mallory and I'm here