EXT. MEDITERRANEAN-SIDE CAFÉ – MORNING
An impeccably dressed young woman sits with a latte.
She sips from her cup and casually takes out a compact to check her makeup.
In the mirror’s reflection she sees a man sitting behind her, watching her over his open newspaper.
She closes the compact and puts it away, eying the man looking at his phone by the streetlamp to her left–he gives her a quick glance before looking back to his phone–and the man having a coffee on the bench to her right, who looks at her and then quickly away again.
She smiles peacefully until a waiter passes by with a fancy sandwich on a tray.
In a world that’s more dangerous than ever…
In a blur, she’s on her feet, plate snatched and the tray hurled frisbee-like at the newspaper man, who it cracks in the face.
With a smile, she carefully puts the plate on the table in front of the guest it was going to, then uses the waiter’s back to roll herself over him and crescent-kick the attacking streetlamp man before ditching her heels and running from the pursuing man from the bench.
The woman jumps onto a parked car’s hood and then its roof, from there onto a parked van and onto a passing truck that roars back past the man chasing her, who tries to change course but gets left behind.
The truck turns a corner at an intersection and four black motorcycles with black-clad riders zoom in from the other intersection avenues to chase the truck.
The woman looks back to see them, ducking as they open fire on her with compact machine guns.
She looks around and just ahead of her sees a thick overhead cable running perpendicular to her direction and heading down a narrow stone stairway.
She whips off her belt, wraps one end around a hand.
As the truck passes under the cable, she stands, throws the belt over the cable, wraps the free end around her other hand, and slides down the cable like a zip line.
The motorcycles bunch to a stop, one skidding and dropping, smashing into a parked car.
… comes the next generation…
The remaining three motorcycles race down the stairs to follow her.
EXT. SEASIDE SHOPS – MORNING
She slides down the line and out from the stairway, across a busy street and toward seaside rental shops.
The motorcycles zigzag across the street, barely dodging fast vehicles, except for one rider, who hits the side of a sports car and tumbles over its hood.
The woman drops to the sidewalk by the rental shops, dodging gunfire around a corner, where she sees and grabs a spear gun and spear from a diving shop.
… of the most dangerous spy…
She loads the spear gun and spins low around the corner, firing the spear at a motorcycle, hitting its gas tank and making it explode!
The final motorcyclist races through the flames and cranks on his accelerator.
She ducks back behind the corner and runs toward a pier.
The motorcyclist stops where she ducked, but can’t fit through there, so he speeds ahead.
EXT. PIER – MORNING
The woman runs up the pier, glancing behind herself and not seeing anything at first… until the motorcycle pulls around the rental shops to the bottom of the pier and races after her, gaining quickly and firing at her.
She dives behind a pile of bagged wheat cargo being unloaded from a small ship.
Beside her, hiding behind empty pallets, is a fish monger who’s peeking out at her from around a corner.
She looks down between them and sees his fish on display.
The motorcycle races forward but the driver is suddenly knocked off by a large fish hurled at his head.
The woman watches him fall and can take a breath for a moment before a helicopter swings in from nowhere and starts shooting at her with its mounted guns.
She breaks cover, followed by a stream of bullets chipping at the pier, and runs along the edge away from the helicopter.
She leaps off the side of the pier!
… ever known.
… only to land in a roll on a classic wooden speed boat, interrupting the makeout session a young man and woman are having on the back bench seat.
They’re startled as she lands.
She gives them a ‘Hey, sorry’ half-smile and shrug and just barely unties the mooring ropes before the helicopter flies over the pier and spots her.
She fires up the engine and slams the throttle lever down, the couple in the back ducking and covering up on the bench seat.
They take off like a shot, bullets chewing up the water behind them and striking the back of the boat.
The engine is hit!
They drop speed quickly, black smoke pouring from the engine.
The woman starts to weave, the helicopter gaining on them fast, still firing.
She looks around and spots something by her foot.
In one motion, she kills the throttle, ducks out of sight, and cranks the wheel so the boat is turned completely around.
She comes up with a flare gun aimed at the helicopter and fires.
The flare blazes into the rotor’s air intake port and the helicopter explodes!
The young man and woman in the back seat look up, stunned, to see chunks of helicopter falling to the sea.
The man looks at the driver’s back.
W-who are you?
The woman lowers the flare gun.
She turns to look at him.
James Bond Theme Song