EXT. RAIN-SLICKED ALLEY - NIGHT

Heavy rain hammers the asphalt. Neon reflections shimmer in oily puddles. Steam rises from an iron storm grate.

A black sedan idles at the curb, wipers slapping in erratic rhythm. Sirens wail faintly in the distance.

DETECTIVE MARCUS VANCE (40s, drenched trench coat, weary eyes) steps out of the shadows. He checks an antique brass pocket watch, then turns his collar up against the biting cold wind.

MARCUS
(into collar mic)
I'm at the drop point. Chen, talk to me. Do you have eyes on the perimeter?

OFFICER CHEN (O.S.)
(through earpiece, static-laced)
Negative, Detective. Thermal sensors are blind through this downpour. You're flying solo tonight.

Marcus clicks off the comm. He pulls a heavy steel revolver from beneath his wet jacket, checks the cylinder, and snaps it shut with a sharp metallic click.

Footsteps splash in the alley behind him. Marcus whips around, revolver raised.

ELENA ROSTOVA (30s, sharp leather jacket, bruised knuckles) emerges from a fire escape alcove, clutching a scuffed aluminum briefcase tightly against her chest.

MARCUS
(lowering gun slightly)
You took your sweet time, Rostova. I was about to call the county coroner.

ELENA
Traffic was murder. And your former friends at Precinct Five tried to box my car in near the harbor bridge.

MARCUS
They aren't my friends anymore. You have the drive?

Elena unlatches the aluminum briefcase with trembling fingers. Inside rests an illuminated, military-grade encrypted flash drive glowing faint crimson in the dark.

ELENA
(voice trembling)
Everything is on here. The shipping manifest, offshore accounts, and the names of every compromised field agent. If they find me with this, I'm a ghost.

MARCUS
(stern)
Not while I'm breathing. Hand it over.

A sudden blinding beam of headlights washes over them. Tires screech violently against the wet pavement.

INT. ABANDONED DOCK WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Marcus shoves Elena through a rusted iron doorway just as automatic gunfire erupts outside, shattering brick and industrial glass.

They crash hard onto the damp concrete floor. The cavernous room smells of stagnant salt water and diesel fuel. High above, rain patters rhythmically against the corrugated metal roof.

ELENA
(gasping for air)
Who the hell are they?!

MARCUS
(reloading revolver)
The cleanup crew. Stay down and keep that briefcase shut.

Elena cowers behind an overturned forklift. Marcus peers cautiously around a massive steel pillar.

Shadows move silently along the high catwalk. A crimson laser sight dances across Marcus's chest.

MARCUS
(to himself)
Chen wasn't blind. Chen sold us out.

EXT. HARBOR DOCKS - MOMENTS LATER

Marcus kicks open the rear heavy fire door into the open air. The dark harbor waters churn violently below the wooden pier.

A black patrol car speeds along the dock edge, siren pulsing once, headlights cutting through the thick sea mist. The vehicle skids sideways, blocking their escape path.

OFFICER CHEN steps out of the cruiser, holding a sleek 9mm pistol pointed squarely at Marcus. Rain streams down Chen's visor.

CHEN
Hand over the briefcase, Marcus. It doesn't have to end in the water. We can both walk away rich tonight.

MARCUS
(cold grin)
You always were terrible at math, Chen.

Marcus triggers a tactical flash grenade from his coat pocket. A blinding white flash illuminates the docks followed by a deafening concussion.