T r a n s c r i p t

The Adam Project - Adam Meets Adam

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lPNC7Ga72_w - I extended it and found the first part of the scene. I have not seen the movie yet, so I don't know what the things/weapons in Adam's bag are...someone please comment on that paragraph and let me know!

A small figure stood in the doorway. No taller than four-foot-eight. Definitely a child, and most likely the one that lived here.

Adam saw the kid hesitantly let the door swing open, noting what shock he could see in the dim light. He'd known how to open his dad's specially locked door, and now his younger self was going to be seriously concerned. He made out the slim shape of a bat, and saw the beam of a flashlight scan the garage, going in his direction. Hawking's head was in his lap, and he was too exhausted to move. He'd deal with it as calmly as possible to avoid a massive freak-out, because God knows he used to be a little midget psycho.

The beam passed over him, and he eased the pressure on his wound to relax a bit as the light jerked to a stop and swung back to his face, causing him to squint. He held up his bloodstained hand as he watched the kid's eyes go wide. "Take it easy," he said, realizing that he probably should have cleared his throat before practically growling that sentence.

Young Adam screamed, fumbled the light so it turned off, throwing the room into darkness, and toppled backwards out of the doorframe.

"Or," Adam muttered, "You know, fall down and scream."

The kid sprang up, flicked on the light, ran in, and readied his bat as he stood in a swinging stance across the coffee table from Adam, bouncing on his feet.

"Put the bat down-"

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Just put the bat down," Adam ordered, annoyed. This little drama queen. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."

"What are you doing in here?" the kid yelled.

Adam opened his mouth, waving a hand as he tried to search for the words. "Mostly bleeding."

Young Adam flinched, taking deep breaths as he tried to conceal his panic. Adam studied him closely. He was really small, shorter than expected, and his skin was clearer than it had been in a long time. His curly hair was golden, barely darkened like it had gotten in his teen years, still fluffy and not thick or straight. Adam faltered. "Wait, how old are you?"

The kid blinked, glancing away and then back at Adam, clearly unable to take his eyes off the spectacle in his garage. "What?"

"How - old - are - you?" Adam repeated, enunciating louder, and, frankly, very uneasily.

"Twelve," he replied.

Adam mouthed the number, and looked up at the ceiling as this sank in. The implications. He hung his head low. "Shhhhhhit," he breathed.

The kid's worry increased, and he let out a soft whine of confusion. "How did you get into my dad's garage?"

Adam was too preoccupied to lie well. "I- it was open."

"No, it wasn't, and that," he shifted the bat to one hand so he could point at Adam's harness, "is a flight suit - are you a pilot?

Fast speaker, Adam remembered, noting that familiar quick pace of words. "Yeah..." he said, breathing hard as the agony of his injury began to set in. "Yeah, listen to me-" The kid pulled out a phone, concern seeping into his features once more. "Don't, don't - hey! Don't call anyone. Okay? Put the phone- I'm not gonna hurt you." His words were breaking up, his fatigue catching up to him.