INT. FRANK'S PRIVATE CARGO JET (PHILLY MUNICIPAL) — DAY
The interior of the plane is a pressurized cylinder of neglect. The air is a stagnant, heavy cocktail of jet fuel, unwashed upholstery, and the sharp, medicinal sting of Frank's "toe-knife" antiseptic. There are no actual seats; instead, a dozen neon-colored folding lawn chairs have been bolted directly to the metal floorboards with rusted hardware.
DENNIS stands at the front of the hold, positioned before a whiteboard that has been haphazardly duct-taped to a crate labeled DANGER: ILLEGAL FIREWORKS / DO NOT SHAKE. He holds a dry-erase marker with the trembling, manic precision of a conductor's baton.
LUPIN III is lounged in a lime-green lawn chair, his iconic red jacket draped over his shoulders. He idly flips a gold coin through his fingers with hypnotic, blurring speed, watching the Gang with a look of clinical fascination—the kind usually reserved for a scientist observing a new species of parasitic worm.
JIGEN sits beside him, his hat pulled so low it bisects his face, nursing a lukewarm bottle of Coors Light. He stares into the middle distance with a look of profound, soul-deep regret.
MAC is stationed by the cargo door, wearing a sleeveless "SECURITY" shirt that is two sizes too small. He is performing rhythmic "eye-karate" at the door handle, his head twitching in short, sharp bursts.
DENNIS
Lupin, look at me. You are a man of the world. You've breached the Kremlin, you've stolen the Mona Lisa—allegedly—but you've done it all with flair. And flair is fine for the French, or the Italians, or wherever the hell it is you're from this week. But here in Philadelphia, we don't use flair. We use Systems.
LUPIN (grinning, eyes twinkling with a dangerous mischief)
A system! How marvelous! I usually just rely on a well-timed explosion, a very fast car, and the fact that most police officers are remarkably easy to bribe. But please, Monsieur Dennis, enlighten me. Is this about the safe?
DENNIS The safe is the objective, Lupin, but the process... the process is everything. If we are going to breach the McPoyle compound and reclaim what was stolen from us in the "Wall Incident," we need to apply a modified version of my proprietary blueprint for success.
Dennis squeaks the marker against the board, writing in aggressive, jagged capitals that seem to vibrate with his own intensity: D.E.N.N.I.S.
DENNIS
The D.E.N.N.I.S. System.
JIGEN (muffled from under the brim of his hat)
Lupin, I'm telling you. We should have stayed in Milan. The job was cleaner. The people didn't have... whatever "vibe" this guy is putting off. It smells like a trash can full of broken dreams in here.
DENNIS (ignoring him, pointing to the 'D')
D: DEMONSTRATE SECURITY. Mac, show them the perimeter response.
MAC immediately drops into a low crouch, his sneakers squeaking on the metal floor. He begins performing high-velocity air-punches, his arms blurring as he makes soft, rhythmic whooshing sounds with his mouth.
MAC
I've already mapped the McPoyle basement using a series of tactical "whooshes." My peripheral vision is currently at 100% capacity, Lupin. Jigen, you're the muscle, right? You ever try a spinning back-fist to disarm a man holding a lukewarm milk jug? It's a game-changer. It's about the torque.
JIGEN (slowly looks up, his one visible eye flat and dead)
I use a .357 Magnum. If a man is holding a milk jug, I put a hole in the jug. And the man. Usually at the same time.
MAC (scoffing)
Yeah, well, that's the "coward's way." There's no art in a bullet, dude. It's all about the hand-to-hand combat. It's about the dance.
DENNIS(snapping his fingers) Focus! E: ENGAGE EMOTIONALLY. We need the McPoyles to feel a false sense of kinship before we strike. We enter the building, we mention our "shared history"—the key, the basement, the tongue-air.
Dennis points at CHARLIE. Charlie points at himself, looking genuinely confused, his face smeared with an unidentifiable yellow smudge. Mac nudges Charlie, clicks his tongue once, and raises his eyebrows in a silent command.
CHARLIE (going "ohhhhh" silently, then nodding with exaggerated confidence)
Right, right. The tongue-air. I'll bring up the tongue-air. That always gets 'em.
DENNIS (clears his throat)
—and then... N: NURTURE DEPENDENCE. We cut their power. We become the only source of light in their milky darkness.
LUPIN (leaning forward, his grin fading into a look of genuine curiosity)
Wait, wait... you're not talking about the heist anymore, are you? This sounds like... are you trying to date the McPoyles?
DENNIS (eyes widening, jaw ticking)
It's a multi-purpose system, Lupin! It applies to safes! It applies to women! It applies to the very fabric of human interaction! N: NEGLECT EMOTIONALLY. Once the safe is in our hands, we leave. No words. No closure. Just a gaping void where their security used to be. We leave them hollow!
LUPIN (pauses, then looks at Jigen)
Jigen... this man is a complete and total pervert.
JIGEN (nodding)
Told you.
DENNIS (screaming)
I AM A GOLDEN GOD! I AM NOT A PERVERT! I AM AN ARCHITECT OF DESIRE!
LUPIN (standing up, adjusting his tie with a suave flick)
Maa, maa. Let's stick to my plan, shall we? I've already split us into two tactical units for the transport.
Lupin looks toward the back of the plane, where FUJIKO and GOEMON are waiting by a second crate.
LUPIN
Fujiko, you take the bird and the sewer-king in the subcompact. Jigen and I will take the 'Architect' and his 'Security' in the Rover. We meet at the Expressway.
JIGEN (sighing)
Lupin, the traffic in this city is legendary. We're going to be stuck on that highway for hours.
DENNIS (smirking)
Good. It'll give me time to explain the second half of the system.
LUPIN (to himself)
I need to be significantly more intoxicated to survive the next twenty minutes.
CUT TO BLACK.
TITLE CARD: THE GANG DOES A HEIST