CLAW AND HONOR- TIGER CAT

Scene: “The Queen Hunts Tonight”
INT. JACKIE’S ON THE BOULEVARD – NIGHT
The restaurant pulses with life. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of pepper shrimp and callaloo fill the air. The decor is chic Caribbean—bamboo accents, steelpan motifs, and warm amber lighting.
JACKIE JAGESSAR (50), radiant in a gold silk blouse and tailored black slacks, glides through the crowd. Her heels click with authority. She greets patrons with grace, her smile polished but watchful.
JACKIE (to a couple near the bar) “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Ramdeen. You’re glowing tonight—was it the crab dumplings or the rum punch?”
MRS. RAMDEEN “Both, Jackie! You spoil us.”
Jackie winks and moves on, checking in with her staff. She adjusts a waiter’s collar, straightens a centerpiece, and nods approvingly at the kitchen’s rhythm.
INT. JACKIE’S OFFICE – MOMENTS LATER
Jackie closes the door behind her. The hum of the restaurant fades. She slips off her high heels, revealing short, glossy toenails and calloused ebony feet. She flexes her toes with a sigh of relief.
She opens a drawer and pulls out a hidden police scanner, its screen glowing faintly.
SCANNER VOICE “…another shooting reported in Beetham Gardens. Suspects fled toward Laventille…”
Jackie’s jaw tightens. She taps the screen, scrolling through reports—Sea Lots, East Port of Spain, Laventille. The numbers are rising. The new government’s promises ring hollow.
JACKIE (muttering) “All talk. No teeth. And the streets are bleeding.”
She presses a hidden panel behind a bookshelf. A stairwell slides open, revealing a dimly lit passage.
INT. TIGER CAT’S LAIR – BELOW THE RESTAURANT
The lair hums with quiet power—monitors, maps, weapons, and a sleek black BMW parked like a panther in wait.
Jackie steps into the center of the room. She undresses slowly, methodically. Her curves are strong, her body seasoned by years of combat and resilience.
She pulls on the ocelot-print bodysuit, its fabric hugging her like armor. Her translucent fireproof stockings shimmer faintly, her bare feet visible beneath—calloused, powerful, grounded.
She fastens her utility belt around her waist, adjusting the pouches with practiced ease. Smoke pellets, grappling hooks, encrypted comms.
She lifts the cowl mask and slides it over her head. Her eyes sharpen. Jackie Jagessar is gone.
She is now… TIGER CAT.
INT. TIGER CAT’S LAIR – GARAGE
Tiger Cat strides to her custom BMW—sleek, matte black, feline in design. She slides into the driver’s seat, her stocking-clad feet working the pedals with precision.
TIGER CAT (quietly, to herself) “Sea Lots first. Then Beetham. Let’s see who’s still hunting in my jungle.”
The engine growls. The garage door lifts. Tiger Cat speeds into the Port of Spain night, headlights slicing through the dark.
EXT. PORT OF SPAIN STREETS – NIGHT
The city blurs past—neon signs, shuttered shops, flickering streetlights. The BMW roars down Ariapita Avenue, then veers toward the eastern corridor.
Inside the car, Tiger Cat’s eyes scan the scanner feed. Her fingers hover over the comms. Her heartbeat is steady.
TIGER CAT (to herself) “Time to remind them. This city has claws.”
She accelerates into the night.
Scene: “Claws in the Shadows”
EXT. SEA LOTS – NIGHT
The BMW glides into Sea Lots like a shadow on wheels. The streetlights here flicker or are dead. Corrugated zinc fences line narrow alleys. The scent of diesel, sweat, and fried bake hangs in the humid air.
Inside the car, Tiger Cat’s ebony feet press the pedals with surgical control. Her toes—short, glossy, and curled with tension— flex inside her translucent fireproof stockings.
She parks behind a crumbling warehouse, engine off. Silence.
TIGER CAT (softly) “Time to hunt.”
She slips out, crouching low. Her bodysuit blends into the darkness. She moves like smoke—silent, fluid, lethal.
EXT. ALLEYWAY – MOMENTS LATER
Two gang members—young, armed, cocky—lean against a wall, counting cash and passing a pistol.
GANG MEMBER 1 “Government soft, boy. Police fraid to come here now.”
GANG MEMBER 2 “Sea Lots is we own. Nobody touching we.”
A metallic click echoes above them.
They look up.
Tiger Cat drops from a rooftop, landing between them in a crouch—her feet bare beneath the stockings, toes gripping the concrete like claws.
TIGER CAT “Wrong. This city belongs to its people. Not parasites.”
She strikes.
A roundhouse kick sends one flying into a dumpster. Her footwork is brutal and precise, toes curling and flexing with each pivot. The other lunges with a blade—she sidesteps, grabs his wrist, and twists.
CRACK.
He drops, groaning.
She kneels beside him.
TIGER CAT “Who’s supplying you? Talk.”
GANG MEMBER 2 (panicked) “Big man in Laventille… name start with ‘Z’… I swear I don’t know more!”
She cuffs him with a zip tie from her belt and vanishes into the shadows.
EXT. SEA LOTS – ROOFTOPS
Tiger Cat perches on a rusted water tank, scanning the horizon. Her breath is steady. Her feet, now dusty and scraped, rest lightly on the metal.
She taps her comms.
TIGER CAT “Johnny. I need a trace on a Laventille supplier. Alias ‘Z’. Send it encrypted.”
JOHNNY (V.O.) “Already on it, Mom. You okay?”
TIGER CAT “Always. But they’re getting bolder. Tonight was just a taste.”
She looks out over the city—Port of Spain glowing in the distance, Sea Lots simmering below.
TIGER CAT (to herself) “They think the jungle’s theirs. Let’s remind them who prowls it.”
She leaps into the night.
Scene: “Into the Hills”
EXT. LAVENTILLE HILLS – NIGHT
The BMW is parked discreetly behind a shuttered parlour. Tiger Cat moves on foot now—her ebony feet, clad in translucent fireproof stockings, pad silently over cracked pavement and loose gravel. Her toes curl and flex with each step, gripping the uneven terrain.
The hills rise steeply, dotted with squatter houses—patched together with zinc, plywood, and faded Carnival banners. Narrow alleys twist like veins through the hillside, lit only by the occasional bulb or the glow of a blunt.
Dogs bark in the distance. A baby cries. Somewhere, a gunshot echoes.
Tiger Cat crouches behind a rusted water tank, scanning a cluster of men gathered near a shack. They're armed, laughing, passing a duffel bag.
TIGER CAT (whispering into her comms) “Johnny. Visual confirmation. Five targets. One bag—likely weapons or cash.”
JOHNNY (V.O.) “Got it. Satellite’s patchy here, but I’m boosting signal. Be careful, Mom.”
She smirks.
TIGER CAT “Careful’s for tourists.”
EXT. SHACK – MOMENTS LATER
She slinks through the alley, her bodysuit brushing against damp walls. A loose nail snags her stocking—she yanks free without a sound.
She climbs a stack of crates, then drops silently behind the gang.
GANG LEADER (ZAYD) “…we move the shipment tomorrow. Police blind. Government soft. We run Laventille now.”
TIGER CAT (from the shadows) “You run nothing but your mouths.”
The men spin—too late.
Tiger Cat launches into them. Her feet strike with precision, toes curled for balance, her body a blur of feline fury.
She disarms one with a kick to the wrist, sending a pistol skidding. Another lunges—she ducks, sweeps his legs, and pins him with a knee to the chest.
ZAYD (grabbing a machete) “You think you bad, gyal?!”
TIGER CAT “I’m not bad. I’m justice.”
She dodges the swing, grabs his arm, and slams him into the wall. Her bare toes grip the ground as she twists, locking him down.
TIGER CAT “Who’s your supplier? Who’s protecting you?”
ZAYD (spitting blood) “You too late. The real power… it coming from higher up. You can’t touch them.”
She cuffs him, scans the duffel—guns, cash, burner phones.
TIGER CAT (to Johnny) “Package secured. But there’s more. Someone’s feeding these gangs from inside.”
JOHNNY (V.O.) “Inside the government?”
TIGER CAT “Maybe. I’m heading deeper. Keep eyes on me.”
She disappears into the alley, climbing higher into the hills—toward the next lair, the next secret.
Scene: “The Hidden Compound”
EXT. LAVENTILLE HILLSIDE – NIGHT
The wind whispers through the hills, carrying the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and rotting mangoes. Tiger Cat moves like a shadow stitched into the night—her muscles taut beneath the ocelot-print bodysuit, every curve framed by the moonlight.
She ascends a winding stone staircase, slick with moss and broken glass. Each step is a test—her ebony feet, calloused and strong, grip the stone through her translucent fireproof stockings. Her toes tense and curl, sensing every shift in terrain.
She pauses at a bend, crouching low. A rat scurries past. A distant voice echoes from above.
VOICE (O.S.) “…shipment coming in from Venezuela. Boss say no mistakes this time.”
Tiger Cat narrows her eyes. She continues upward, ducking beneath hanging laundry and rusted satellite dishes. The alley narrows—walls pressing in, graffiti bleeding across zinc panels.
EXT. HIDDEN COMPOUND – MOMENTS LATER
She reaches a clearing carved into the hillside. A compound, camouflaged by overgrown vines and corrugated metal, sits behind a chain-link fence. Armed men patrol lazily, smoking and laughing.
A generator hums. Inside, crates are stacked—marked with faded customs stamps and gang symbols.
Tiger Cat crouches behind a barrel, watching.
TIGER CAT (into comms) “Johnny. Found the nest. Venezuelan arms, local muscle. I count eight outside. Unknown inside.”
JOHNNY (V.O.) “Sending drone support. You going in?”
TIGER CAT “Quietly.”
She slips off her utility belt, lightening her frame. Her bodysuit clings to her like armor—muscles rippling beneath the fabric, her breath steady.
She scales the fence with feline grace, toes gripping the wire, her body arched like a predator mid-pounce.
INT. COMPOUND – INSIDE THE PERIMETER
She drops silently behind a stack of crates. A guard rounds the corner—she grabs him, one hand over his mouth, the other twisting his wrist.
TIGER CAT (whispering) “Sleep.”
She lowers him gently, then moves deeper.
Inside, a makeshift command center glows with monitors and maps. A man in a white linen shirt—EL JEFE, mid-40s, calculating—speaks into a satellite phone.
EL JEFE “…the Tiger Cat? She’s just a myth. We own these hills now.”
TIGER CAT (from the shadows) “Then consider this your wake-up call.”
She steps into the light—bodysuit gleaming, feet planted, toes curled for balance.
Chaos erupts.
Guards rush in. She moves like lightning—kicks, flips, and strikes, her feet a blur of precision and power. One guard falls to a spinning heel kick, another to a sweep that sends him crashing into a monitor.
EL JEFE (grabbing a pistol) “You don’t know who you’re messing with!”
TIGER CAT “I know exactly who you are. And I know how to end you.”
She disarms him with a whip of her belt, then pins him against the wall.
TIGER CAT “Who’s funding this? Who’s protecting you?”
EL JEFE (panicked) “Politicians… businessmen… even cops. You’re fighting shadows!”
She cuffs him, scans the room, and uploads the data to Johnny.
TIGER CAT (into comms) “Got names. Got proof. Time to burn the rot.”
She steps out into the night, feet aching but steady, toes flexing against the stone, ready for the next descent.
Scene: “The Truth Unveiled”
INT. PENTHOUSE APARTMENT – NIGHT
The penthouse is perched above Port of Spain like a watchtower—glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city lights flickering below. Inside, the space is sleek but lived-in: a mix of modern tech and Caribbean warmth. Calypso vinyls line one shelf. A half-eaten roti sits on the counter.
JOHNNY JAGESSAR (18), wiry, sharp-eyed, sits at his workstation—three monitors glowing with encrypted data. His fingers fly across the keyboard, decrypting the files Tiger Cat just sent from Laventille.
JOHNNY (muttering) “Come on… come on…”
The screen flashes. Names populate.
POLICE COMMISSIONER R. SINGH MINISTER OF NATIONAL SECURITY A. RAMDEEN BUSINESS TYCOON L. MENDOZA GANG LIAISON: ZAYD “Z” HASSAN
Johnny’s breath catches. He leans back, stunned.
JOHNNY “No way… Mendoza? He sponsors youth programs. Ramdeen was just on TV talking about crime reform…”
He scrolls further. Photos. Wire transfers. Surveillance clips. One shows Mendoza shaking hands with Zayd in a Beetham warehouse.
JOHNNY (quietly) “They’re all in on it. The whole system’s infected.”
He hears the soft hum of the elevator. The hidden panel opens. Tiger Cat steps in—still in her bodysuit, her feet dusty, toes flexing as she walks across the marble floor.
She pulls off her cowl, revealing Jackie Jagessar, her face lined with fatigue and fire.
JACKIE “You saw it.”
JOHNNY (turning to her) “You were right. It’s not just gangs. It’s the people we’re supposed to trust. Ministers. Cops. Business leaders.”
JACKIE (sitting beside him) “They’re the architects. The gangs are just the bricks.”
Johnny stares at her, eyes wide.
JOHNNY “What do we do now?”
JACKIE “We expose them. But carefully. If we go loud, they’ll bury it. Or worse—come after us.”
She places a hand on his shoulder.
JACKIE “You’re not just my son, Johnny. You’re my partner. And this city needs both of us.”
He nods, swallowing the fear.
JOHNNY “Then let’s burn it down. Digitally speaking.”
JACKIE (smiling faintly) “That’s my boy.”
She stands, stretching, her feet aching, toes curling against the cool tile. Outside, thunder rolls over the Gulf of Paria.
JACKIE “Tomorrow, we start with Mendoza. Tonight… we rest. The jungle never sleeps, but even the tiger needs to sharpen her claws.”
Scene: “The Quiet Huntress”
INT. JACKIE’S BOUTIQUE – NIGHT
The boutique is silent. Outside, the Boulevard is winding down—streetlights flicker, taxis hum past, and the scent of roasted corn drifts in from a vendor down the block.
Inside, Jackie Jagessar stands barefoot on the cool tile floor of her backroom studio. Her toes flex against the ceramic, grounding her. The boutique’s racks are draped in silk and sequins, but tonight she reaches for something primal.
JOHNNY JAGESSAR, seated at a worktable cluttered with surveillance photos and blueprints, watches her quietly. His laptop glows with schematics of L. Mendoza’s mansion—a fortress of wealth in Ellerslie Park, currently hosting a glittering gala.
JOHNNY “Security’s tight. Motion sensors on the east wall. Two guards on the balcony. Mendoza’s office is upstairs, past the gallery.”
Jackie nods, pulling on her Tiger Cat bodysuit—a sleek, ocelot-patterned second skin. No boots. No armor. Just her bare feet, calloused and agile, built for silence.
JACKIE “I’ll go in through the garden wall. There’s a blind spot behind the koi pond. I can scale the trellis and slip in through the library.”
She tightens the suit’s collar, then reaches for her utility belt—smoke pellets, lock picks, a mini camera, and a flash drive.
JOHNNY “You’re not even wearing shoes?”
JACKIE “Shoes make noise. Tiger Cat doesn’t knock.”
She steps forward, her bare soles whispering across the tile. Her movements are fluid, feline. Her braid swings low as she crouches to check her gear.
JOHNNY “You sure Mendoza keeps the files in his office?”
JACKIE “He’s arrogant. He likes to keep trophies close. I’ll find them.”
Johnny hesitates, then holds out a small device.
JOHNNY “Signal jammer. Just in case. And… Mom?”
Jackie looks up.
JOHNNY “If something goes wrong, don’t be a hero. Just get out.”
Jackie smiles faintly, her eyes fierce.
JACKIE “I’m not going in to be a hero. I’m going in to be a ghost.”
She opens the boutique’s rear exit. The alley is damp, moonlit, and quiet. Jackie steps out, her bare feet touching the earth, her silhouette vanishing into the shadows.
EXT. ELLERSLIE PARK – NIGHT
The mansion glows with opulence. Inside, laughter and steelpan music echo through marble halls. But outside, in the garden, a barefoot shadow slips over the wall.
Tiger Cat is hunting.
“The Trap in the Mansion”
EXT. ELLERSLIE PARK – NIGHT
The mansion glows like a palace—crystal chandeliers, marble columns, and the hum of steelpan music drifting through the open windows. The gala is in full swing. Ministers, moguls, and masked elites sip champagne beneath vaulted ceilings.
But in the shadows beyond the ballroom, Tiger Cat moves unseen.
Her muscles ripple beneath the ocelot-patterned bodysuit, her bare ebony feet silent against the polished stone. Her toes flex, gripping the floor as she slips past a pair of distracted guards.
She glides through a side corridor, past the kitchen, past the wine cellar, and into the mansion’s private wing—a part of the estate guests never see.
INT. MENDOZA’S PRIVATE OFFICE – NIGHT
The door creaks open. The room is dark—mahogany walls, a massive desk, shelves lined with ledgers and locked drawers. A faint scent of cigars and leather lingers in the air.
Tiger Cat steps inside, her silhouette framed by moonlight. She scans the room, eyes sharp behind the slits of her cowl.
TIGER CAT (whispers) “Where do you hide your sins, Mendoza…”
She moves toward the desk, fingers brushing over a biometric lock. Her bare feet pad softly across the polished floor.
Suddenly—movement.
THUG #1 “Now!”
Three men lunge from the shadows. Tiger Cat spins, her body coiled with instinct.
WHAM! She drives a fist into the first thug’s jaw—he stumbles back.
CRACK! A kick to the second’s ribs sends him crashing into a cabinet.
But the third grabs her from behind. She grunts, twisting, her feet skidding, toes splaying for balance. Another thug joins, slamming a fist deep into her abdomen.
TIGER CAT (grunts) “Ughhh!”
She doubles over, breath knocked from her lungs. Another punch lands—brutal, precise. Her body jerks, her breath ragged.
THUG #4 “Hold her still!”
Thugs take turns freely squeezing Tiger Cat huge firm ebony breasts through her skintight ocelot pelt bodysuit...pinching and squeezing her big puffy nipples...which became hard, erect and bullet-shaped in seconds...fingering her between her huge firm ebony thighs...making her big clitoris become hard, wet and excited in second.
Tiger Cat: "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh....Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh...Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh...You boys are manhandling the biggest breasts in Trinidad and Tobago...Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.... making me...Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh...hot...Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh...horny."
A cloth is pressed to her face. Her eyes widen in panic, visible through the slits of her mask.
TIGER CAT (muffled) “Nnnghh—!”
She thrashes, her bare feet kicking, toes twitching, trying to break free. Her fingers claw at the air. But the drug—chloroform—is fast.
Tiger Cat: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHH"
Her eyelids flutter, her vision blurs. The fight drains from her limbs.
THUG #2 “She’s going under…”
Her eyes grow dull, her body slackens. Her toes twitch frantically, then curl… then relax. Her short glossy toenails catch the dim light as her feet slide against the floor.
Tiger Cat: "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhh...hhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
She has a series of gigantic orgasms and powerful lactates under her skintight ocelot pelt bodysuit
THUG #1 “She’s out cold.”
THUD. Tiger Cat collapses to the polished floor, completely unconscious. Her body sprawled, her breath shallow, her mask still in place.
The thugs stand over her, victorious.
THUG #3 “Mendoza’s gonna want a word with the jungle queen.”
Scene: “The Predator’s Den” – Amended Version
INT. MENDOZA’S MANSION – PRIVATE BEDROOM – NIGHT
The room is opulent—gold drapes, marble floors, and a chandelier that casts fractured light across the bed. Tiger Cat lies atop it, groggy, her hands and bare ebony feet bound with reinforced cable. Her utility belt is gone, stripped from her waist and placed on a nearby dresser.
Her toes flex and curl, her calloused soles tense against the silk sheets as she fights through the haze.
TIGER CAT (hoarse) “Where… am I?”
L. MENDOZA, dressed in a tailored white suit, stands near the window, sipping cognac. His voice is smooth, venomous.
MENDOZA “You’re in my house, mystery woman. The infamous Tiger Cat. No name, no origin. Just claws and chaos.”
Jackie’s eyes narrow behind the slits of her mask.
TIGER CAT “You’ll regret this.”
MENDOZA (chuckling) “I doubt it. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. But tonight, the myth dies.”
He walks over, holding a small vial.
MENDOZA “This? Fast-acting chloroform. Acquired through a Dorne Holdings proxy. Expensive. Discreet. Effective.”
Tiger Cat struggles, her feet kicking, toes twitching, trying to break free.
TIGER CAT (gritted) “You think this ends me?”
MENDOZA “I think it erases you.”
He leans in with the cloth. Jackie thrashes, her breath sharp, her body resisting.
TIGER CAT “No—HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Her eyelids flutter, her toes tense and curl, then slowly relax. Her body slackens, her breath shallow.
Tiger Cat: "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
MENDOZA (to his men) “Dispose of her. Deep water. No trace. And burn the suit. I want no symbols left behind.”
He turns away, but doesn’t notice the tiny glint inside Tiger Cat’s mask—a micro-beacon, pulsing faintly.
Scene: “The Cat Strikes Back” – Final Cut
EXT. COASTAL ROAD – NIGHT
A black SUV speeds along a desolate stretch of highway, moonlight glinting off its tinted windows. Inside, Tiger Cat lies in the back, wrapped in a tarp, her hands bound, her bare ebony feet tucked beneath her, soles calloused and dusted with grit.
Two of Mendoza’s men sit up front—Ramón, the driver, and Silvio, checking his pistol.
INT. SUV – NIGHT
A faint beep pulses from inside Tiger Cat’s cracked mask. Her eyes snap open.
TIGER CAT (whispers) “Johnny…”
She flexes her toes, feeling the ridges of the tarp. Her breath steadies. Her feet shift, gripping the fabric like claws.
SILVIO (from the front) “You sure she’s out cold?”
RAMÓN “Boss said she’d be unconscious for hours.”
SILVIO “Good. I hate surprises.”
CRACK! A sudden snap of fabric. The tarp shifts.
SILVIO (turning) “Wait—”
Tiger Cat explodes upward, her bound hands swinging like a club. She slams Silvio’s head into the window, shattering glass. He slumps.
RAMÓN “¡Mierda!”
He swerves the SUV wildly, but Tiger Cat is already crawling forward, her bare feet gripping the seat, her body agile despite the restraints.
TIGER CAT “You should’ve burned me when you had the chance.”
She headbutts Ramón, then kicks the gear into neutral with her heel. The SUV skids to a halt.
EXT. COASTAL ROAD – NIGHT
The vehicle screeches to a stop near a cliffside. Tiger Cat tumbles out, breathing hard, her mask cracked but intact. Her bare feet slap against the gravel, leaving faint smears of blood and dust. She grabs Silvio’s knife from his belt and cuts her bonds, her soles raw but defiant.
She reaches into a hidden seam in her suit’s inner lining and pulls out a flare capsule, no bigger than a lipstick tube.
TIGER CAT (to herself) “Come on, Johnny…”
She twists the cap and fires it into the sky—a blazing red streak that arcs over the cliffs.
INT. MENDOZA’S MANSION – SAME TIME
Mendoza watches the flare from his balcony, eyes narrowing.
MENDOZA (quietly) “No…”
Scene: “The Cop and the Cat”
EXT. COASTAL ROAD – NIGHT
The red flare still burns in the sky, casting eerie light over the cliffside. A police SUV pulls up fast, tires crunching gravel. Officer Zane Baptiste (early 30s, sharp jawline, intense eyes) steps out, hand on his holster.
He scans the scene—broken glass, a disabled black SUV, two unconscious men slumped inside.
Then he sees her.
Tiger Cat, standing barefoot on the gravel, her ocelot-print bodysuit torn at the shoulder, her bare ebony feet dusty and scraped, her toes flexing against the cold earth. Her mask is cracked, her breath steady but strained.
Zane freezes.
ZANE (softly) “…Tiger Cat.”
She turns to face him, eyes sharp behind the mask.
TIGER CAT “You’re faster than I expected.”
ZANE “I saw the flare. Thought it was a prank. Then I saw the wreck… and you.”
He steps closer, eyes scanning her—from the fierce set of her jaw to the raw strength in her bare feet.
ZANE “You’re real.”
TIGER CAT “Very. And I need you to take me back to Mendoza’s mansion.”
Zane hesitates. His duty screams caution. His heart says otherwise.
ZANE “You were captured. Drugged. You should be in a hospital.”
TIGER CAT “I don’t have time for recovery. Mendoza’s files are still in that house. If I don’t get them tonight, they’ll vanish.”
She steps closer, her voice low, magnetic.
TIGER CAT “You know what he is. You’ve seen the corruption. Help me finish this.”
Zane looks at her—the bruises on her ribs, the fire in her eyes, the strength in her stance.
ZANE (quietly) “You’re barefoot. Bleeding.”
TIGER CAT “I’ve fought worse with less.”
A beat. Then Zane unlocks the passenger door.
ZANE “Get in.”
She climbs in, her bare feet brushing the floor mat, her toes curling as she settles into the seat.
ZANE (stealing a glance) “You’re not what I expected.”
TIGER CAT (smiling faintly) “I never am.”
The SUV roars to life, heading back toward the mansion—toward justice, danger, and the next reckoning
Scene: “The Fall of the King”
INT. MENDOZA’S MANSION – NIGHT
The gala is over. The chandeliers are dimmed, champagne flutes abandoned. L. Mendoza, frantic and sweating, rifles through his office drawers—burning documents, smashing hard drives, wiping fingerprints.
MENDOZA “Erase everything. Now!”
His remaining guards scramble, but the panic is palpable.
EXT. MANSION GATES – NIGHT
A police SUV screeches to a halt. Tiger Cat leaps out before it fully stops, her bare ebony feet hitting the pavement, her muscular body tense beneath the ocelot-print bodysuit.
ZANE BAPTISTE follows, gun drawn, heart pounding.
ZANE “Wait—backup’s five minutes out!”
TIGER CAT “I don’t need five minutes.”
She bursts through the side entrance, moving like a storm.
INT. MANSION – MAIN HALL
Guards rush toward her. She meets them head-on.
WHAM! A spinning kick sends one flying into a marble column.
CRACK! Her elbow drops another. Her fists and feet are a blur—bare soles slapping against the floor, toes curling for balance, every strike precise and brutal.
ZANE (covering her flank) “Left hallway—two more!”
She pivots, launching a jumping kick, her right foot crashing into a guard’s chest, sending him sprawling.
INT. MENDOZA’S OFFICE
Mendoza tries to escape through a hidden panel—but Tiger Cat is already there.
TIGER CAT “Going somewhere?”
He turns, wild-eyed, and fires a shot. She dodges, rolls, and springs up.
WHACK! Her right foot arcs upward, the ball of her bare calloused sole connecting with his jaw.
MENDOZA (grunts) “Ughh—!”
He collapses, unconscious.
INT. MANSION – MOMENTS LATER
Zane cuffs Mendoza, breathing hard. Tiger Cat stands over them, her body heaving, her feet dusty and bruised, her mask cracked but her eyes blazing.
ZANE “You did it.”
TIGER CAT “No. You did.”
She tosses him a flash drive.
TIGER CAT “Evidence. Take the credit. Clean the rot.”
ZANE “But—wait, where are you—?”
She’s already gone.
EXT. MANSION DRIVEWAY – NIGHT
The Tiger Car roars to life. Tiger Cat slides in, her bare feet working the pedals, her body still humming with adrenaline.
She speeds off into the night, just as sirens wail in the distance.
INT. MANSION – BALCONY
Zane watches her disappear into the dark, the flare of her taillights vanishing over the hills.
ZANE (softly) “Queen of the concrete jungle…”

“Morning Above the Boulevard” (Final Version)
INT. PENTHOUSE APARTMENT – MORNING
The penthouse above Jackie’s on the Boulevard glows with soft morning light. The air carries the scent of cocoa tea, fried plantains, and fresh bread. The city below stirs, but up here, it’s quiet—almost sacred.
JACKIE, barefoot in a loose robe, moves with a warrior’s grace. Her muscular body bears faint bruises, her calloused feet whisper across the cool tile. She sets down breakfast for her son and her aunt.
JOHNNY, 18, sharp-eyed and tech-savvy, sits at the breakfast bar, watching the news with a knowing smirk.
AUNT PEARL, dignified and warm, sips her tea, her gaze steady on the screen.
TV ANCHOR (V.O.) “Lionel Mendoza is in custody this morning, following a dramatic raid at his mansion. Several high-ranking officials have also been arrested. But sources say key figures remain at large…”
JOHNNY (smirking) “They’re still pretending they don’t know who did it.”
JACKIE (sipping her tea) “They know. They just don’t want to say her name.”
AUNT PEARL “Let them whisper. It keeps the spotlight off your back.”
Jackie nods, but her expression tightens. She flexes her bare feet, wincing slightly.
JACKIE “They’ve got a new weapon. Fast-acting chloroform. No scent, no warning. Took me down hard last night.”
JOHNNY (serious now) “We’ll tweak the suit. Add filtration. Maybe a neural stimulant backup.”
AUNT PEARL “You need rest first. Even tigers need to heal.”
JACKIE (smiling faintly) “I’ll rest when the jungle’s quiet.”
She walks to the window, gazing out over Port of Spain, the morning haze, the hills beyond. Her voice is low, resolute.
JACKIE “They can knock me out. They can chase me. But they’ll never stop Tiger Cat.”
JOHNNY (grinning) “Not unless they find the lair. And good luck with that.”
AUNT PEARL (raising her mug) “To justice. And to the woman who wears it like armor.”
They clink mugs. Below them, the city pulses with secrets.
INT. UNDERGROUND LAIR – SAME TIME
Dimly lit. Sleek. Hidden beneath the penthouse. The Tiger Car rests in its alcove, gleaming like a predator at rest. Screens flicker with surveillance feeds. A new mission is already loading.
A single spotlight glows above a mannequin—Tiger Cat’s suit, cleaned, repaired, waiting.
end.