INT. DIMLY LIT GYM – NIGHT
The smell of iron and sweat hangs in the air. Heavy bags sway, chains rattle. MIRKO CRO COP wraps his fists. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER pumps a slow set of curls. SYLVESTER STALLONE shadowboxes in silence.
JOE GILMORE (Martial Law) enters, Bible tucked under his arm, his face hard but uncertain.
He opens to Ecclesiastes 4:12 and reads aloud:
JOE
“Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”
Joe shuts the book with a snap. His eyes scan the three legends.
JOE (CONT’D)
Where’s my backup? You expect me to walk into the Zone after the war and join the cops alone? That’s a death wish.
CRO COP (quiet, grim)
In my country, backup comes late. By then, the morgue is full.
ARNOLD (voice deep, deliberate)
You don’t go to war alone, Joe. Even the strongest man… needs his brothers.
STALLONE (raspy, pacing)
Yeah, but brothers ain’t always there when the bullets fly. You gotta make ’em stand with you.
Joe looks at them, his jaw clenched.
JOE
If I step into that uniform, I’m not a cop—I’m a target. Unless… unless the four of us ride.
He pauses.
JOE (CONT’D)
The Four White Cop Horsemen.
The gym falls silent. The heavy bag stops swinging, like the world itself is listening.
CRO COP finally nods, cracking his knuckles.
CRO COP
Then let’s ride.
The camera pans across the four men—Joe, Cro Cop, Arnold, Stallone—each with their scars, each with their demons. The faint echo of hoofbeats thunders under the silence.
