CLAW AND HONOR: TIGER CAT -REVENGE OF THE EX HUSBAND

Scene: “The Island Watcher”
EXT. PRIVATE ISLAND OFF CHAGUARAMAS – MORNING
The sea glistens under a pale blue sky. A sleek modern mansion rises from the hillside, surrounded by tropical foliage—hibiscus, almond trees, and palms swaying in the breeze. The estate is quiet, guarded, and isolated.
INT. MANSION STUDY – SAME TIME
Inside, the study is cool and shadowed. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Gulf of Paria. Jagdeo Sharma, mid-60s, sharp-eyed and immaculately dressed in a linen shirt and tailored slacks, sits in a leather armchair with a tablet in hand.
The screen shows a news headline:
“Mendoza Arrested in Corruption Scandal – Ministers and Police Officials Detained”
Jagdeo scrolls slowly, his brow furrowed.
JAGDEO SHARMA (muttering) “Mendoza. Fool. Got too loud. Too greedy.”
He sets the tablet down and pours himself a glass of coconut water from a crystal decanter. His fingers tap the rim thoughtfully.
JAGDEO SHARMA (to himself) “And now she’s watching.”
He walks to the window, gazing out at the sea. A patrol boat hums in the distance. His voice lowers.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Tiger Cat. The ghost in the concrete jungle. Took down Mendoza like a whisper in the dark.”
He turns to a sleek black folder on his desk—marked Dorne International Holdings. Inside: contracts, offshore accounts, shipment schedules.
JAGDEO SHARMA “She’s a problem. Not just claws and kicks. She’s surgical. Strategic.”
He picks up a photo—grainy surveillance of Tiger Cat leaping across a rooftop, her bare feet mid-stride, her silhouette framed by moonlight.
JAGDEO SHARMA (smirking) “But every predator has a weakness. Even the ones with masks.”
He presses a button on his desk. A hidden panel slides open, revealing a secure room filled with dossiers, chemical samples, and a glowing vial labeled “CH-X”—a refined version of the fast-acting chloroform.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Let her come. This time, I’ll be ready.”

Scene: “Steam and Shadows”
INT. JACKIE JAGESSAR’S APARTMENT – PORT OF SPAIN – MORNING
The apartment is modest but elegant—sunlight spills through gauzy curtains, casting golden patterns on the tiled floor. The sounds of the city hum faintly outside: distant horns, birdsong, a vendor calling out “Doubles! Hot doubles!”
INT. BATHROOM – SAME TIME
Steam curls around the mirror. Jackie Jagessar, early 40s, graceful and athletic, wraps a towel around her body. Her skin glistens, her long dark hair damp and loose. She exhales deeply, letting the heat melt away the tension of last night’s rooftop chase.
JACKIE (softly, to herself) “No alarms. No sirens. Just water and quiet.”
She dabs her face with a towel, then pauses—her eyes catching her reflection. A flicker of memory.
FLASHBACK – YEARS AGO – BEAUTY PAGEANT STAGE
Jackie, radiant in a shimmering gown, smiles as Jagdeo Sharma, younger then, suave and magnetic, places a bouquet in her arms. Cameras flash. Their eyes meet.
BACK TO PRESENT
Jackie’s smile fades. She walks barefoot into the bedroom, towel now wrapped around her waist. She pulls on a loose cotton top and shorts, still drying her legs as she moves.
JACKIE (musing) “Jagdeo. You loved the crown more than the queen.”
Scene: “The Morning Brief” (Amended)
INT. JACKIE JAGESSAR’S APARTMENT – KITCHEN – MORNING
The kitchen is bright and breezy. A ceiling fan spins lazily overhead. The table is set with fried bake, saltfish buljol, and a pitcher of fresh passionfruit juice. Johnny Jagessar, 18, lean and sharp-eyed, scrolls through his tablet while munching on a piece of bake.
JACKIE, barefoot and relaxed in a cotton top and shorts, pours herself a glass of juice and sits across from him.
JOHNNY (reading aloud) “Another luxury SUV stolen in Chaguanas. That’s five this week. Police suspect a ring targeting dealerships and private collectors.”
JACKIE (raising an eyebrow) “Chaguanas? That’s not random. Which businesses?”
Johnny swipes through the article, then pauses.
JOHNNY “Hmm. One’s a showroom owned by Westline Motors. Another’s a warehouse leased by TrinTech Holdings.”
Jackie leans forward, her tone sharpening.
JACKIE “Westline and TrinTech… Jagdeo’s fingerprints are all over those. He’s got silent shares in both.”
Johnny hesitates, then shrugs.
JOHNNY “I mean… Dad’s connected. But that doesn’t mean he’s running a chop shop.”
JACKIE (sipping her juice, quietly) “No. But it means he’s close enough to smell the engine grease.”
Johnny sets the tablet down and looks at her.
JOHNNY “You think he’s involved?”
JACKIE “I think he’s too smart not to know what’s happening under his nose. And too ambitious to care—if the profits are clean enough.”
Johnny frowns, conflicted.
JOHNNY “He’s not a villain, Mom. He’s just… complicated.”
Jackie reaches over and squeezes his hand.
JACKIE “So are most men who wear suits and smile for cameras.”
She stands, walks to the window, and gazes out at the city skyline. Her voice lowers.
JACKIE “If someone’s moving stolen vehicles through Jagdeo’s network, I need to know. And Tiger Cat needs to pay them a visit.”
Johnny watches her, admiration and concern flickering in his eyes.
JOHNNY “You ever wish you told him? About Tiger Cat?”
Jackie turns, her expression unreadable.
JACKIE “No. That mask is mine. And he never earned the truth.”
Scene: “Questions at Westline”
INT. WESTLINE MOTORS – CHAGUANAS – AFTERNOON

The showroom gleams with polished chrome and tinted glass. Rows of high-end SUVs and luxury sedans sit under spotlights. The air smells of leather and wax. Johnny Jagessar, dressed in jeans and a fitted polo, walks in casually, tablet tucked under his arm.
A sales rep, mid-30s, slick smile and Bluetooth earpiece, approaches.

SALES REP

“Afternoon, boss. Looking for something fast or something flashy?”
JOHNNY
(grinning)
“Just browsing. Heard you had a few vehicles go missing recently.”
The rep’s smile falters slightly.
SALES REP
“Ah… yeah. Unfortunate. Police are handling it.”
Johnny nods, pretending to admire a matte black SUV.
JOHNNY
“Funny thing—I’m doing a project on supply chain security. My mom runs a boutique in Port of Spain. We’ve had break-ins too. I’m curious how a place like this handles inventory.”
SALES REP
(defensive)
“We’re tight. Cameras, motion sensors, gated lot. But these guys—whoever they are—they’re pros.”
Johnny taps his tablet, pulling up a map.
JOHNNY
“Westline’s warehouse is near TrinTech Holdings, right?”
SALES REP
(slowly)
“Yeah. Why?”JOHNNY
“Just noticed both places are tied to Jagdeo Sharma. My dad.”

The rep stiffens, then forces a chuckle.
SALES REP
“Well, Mr. Sharma’s got fingers in a lot of pies. Doesn’t mean he’s baking anything shady.”
Johnny smiles, but his eyes are sharp.
JOHNNY
“Right. Still… if someone’s using his businesses to move stolen vehicles, I’d want to know. Wouldn’t you?”
The rep doesn’t answer. Johnny pockets his tablet and walks toward the exit.
JOHNNY
“Thanks for the chat. I’ll let my mom know the showroom’s still standing.”
He steps outside, the sun hot on his back. His smile fades.
JOHNNY
(to himself)
“Something’s off. And Dad’s too quiet.

Scene: “Dinner and Decisions”
INT. PENTHOUSE APARTMENT – DINING AREA – NIGHT

The city glows beyond the glass walls—Port of Spain alive with lights and distant music. Inside, the penthouse above Jackie’s on the Boulevard is calm. The table is set with callaloo, rice, stewed chicken, and a bowl of sliced avocado.
JACKIE JAGESSAR, barefoot, dressed in a soft t-shirt and shorts, moves with quiet grace as she pours juice into two glasses. Her hair is loose, her skin glowing in the warm light.
JOHNNY JAGESSAR, seated across from her, pushes his rice around with his fork, distracted.
JACKIE
“You’ve barely touched your food. What’s on your mind?”
Johnny hesitates, then sets his fork down.
JOHNNY
“I went to Westline Motors today. Just asked a few questions.”
Jackie’s eyes narrow slightly.
JACKIE
“And?”
JOHNNY
“They’re nervous. Like they know something’s happening but don’t want to admit it. And the guy I spoke to—he flinched when I mentioned Dad.”
Jackie leans back, her bare feet tucked beneath her chair, her expression unreadable.
JACKIE
“Jagdeo’s name still opens doors. And closes mouths.”
JOHNNY
“I think someone’s using his businesses to move stolen vehicles. Maybe without his knowledge. Maybe with it.”
Jackie stands, walks to the window, and looks out over the city. Her voice is low, steady.
JACKIE
Then it’s time I stopped asking questions and started getting answers.”
She turns, her eyes sharp now.
JACKIE
“I’ll change. Tiger Cat will pay a visit tonight.”
Johnny watches her, pride and worry flickering in his gaze.
JOHNNY
“You sure you’re ready? You’re still healing from Mendoza.”
Jackie walks toward the hidden panel near the hallway. She presses her palm to the scanner. The wall slides open, revealing the Tiger Cat suit, gleaming under soft light.
JACKIE
“I’m always ready. Especially when the trail leads back to him.”
She disappears into the lair, the door sliding shut behind her.

Scene: “The Mask and the Memory”
INT. UNDERGROUND LAIR – NIGHT

Cool, dimly lit, and silent. The underground lair beneath Jackie’s penthouse hums with quiet energy—screens flicker with surveillance feeds, maps of Chaguanas, and flagged locations tied to Westline Motors and TrinTech Holdings.
At the center of the room stands a sleek mannequin draped with the Tiger Cat costume.

JACKIE JAGESSAR steps forward, barefoot, her body lithe and strong. She peels off her cotton t-shirt and shorts, revealing the bruises still fading along her ribs. Her fingers trace the fabric of the suit—skintight ocelot-print bodysuit, bold and primal.

She steps into it slowly, pulling it up over her hips, her torso, her arms. The suit clings to her muscular frame, hugging every curve, every scar. She reaches for the cowl mask, black and feline, and slides it over her head. Her eyes sharpen behind the slits.
Then she sits on the edge of the bench and pulls on her translucent stockings, stretching them over her ebony calloused bare feet. Her toes flex, the short glossy toenails catching the light. She smooths the fabric, then stands.

JACKIE
(softly, to herself)
“Still fits. Still mine.”
She walks to the mirror—Tiger Cat now fully formed. But her reflection stirs something deeper.

FLASHBACK – YEARS AGO – LUXURY APARTMENT IN WESTMOORINGS
Jackie, younger, radiant in a silk robe, laughs as Jagdeo Sharma pours champagne. He’s charming, magnetic, already building his empire. She watches him, unsure.

JAGDEO
“You could be anything, Jackie. A queen. A brand. Let me build the world around you.”

JACKIE
(smiling faintly)

“I already have a world. You just don’t see it.”

BACK TO PRESENT

Jackie’s smile fades. She adjusts her mask, her voice low.

JACKIE

“You never knew. You still don’t.”
She walks to the weapons rack, selects her utility belt, and clips it around her waist. Her fingers brush the hidden compartment where Johnny’s flare beacon rests.

JACKIE
“Time to see what you’ve been hiding, Jagdeo.”
She steps onto the lift platform. The lair lights dim behind her.
Tiger Cat rises into the night

Scene: “The Hunt Begins”

INT. TIGER CAR – NIGHT

The Tiger Car hums like a predator beneath her. Sleek, matte black, custom-built for stealth and speed. The dashboard glows with soft amber light—maps, heat signatures, encrypted comms.

TIGER CAT, fully suited in her skintight ocelot-print bodysuit, sits behind the wheel. Her cowl mask frames her eyes, sharp and focused.

Her translucent stockings stretch over her bare brown feet, the calloused soles gripping the pedals with practiced ease. Her toes flex, each movement precise—short glossy nails catching the dashboard glow.
She shifts gears, the engine growling low.

TIGER CAT
(to herself)
“TrinTech. Warehouse 7. Let’s see what Jagdeo’s really moving.”
She presses down hard on the accelerator. Her right foot, strong and bare, sinks into the pedal. The car surges forward, hugging the curves of the Lady Young Road, then slicing west toward Chaguanas.

The city blurs past—neon signs, late-night vendors, flickering streetlamps. Inside the cockpit, the only sound is the purr of the engine and the rhythmic tap of her toes adjusting pressure.

TIGER CAT
(quietly)

“He never saw this side of me. Never asked.”

She glances at the rearview mirror—no one behind her. Just the open road and the mission ahead.

TIGER CAT

“Good. Because tonight, I’m not asking either.”
She flicks a switch. The car’s lights dim to stealth mode. A holographic overlay highlights the warehouse perimeter.

TIGER CAT

“Locked gates. Two guards. No cameras on the north wall.
Her left foot taps the brake, her right toes curling, adjusting speed as she approaches the final turn.

EXT. TRINTECH WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

The Tiger Car glides into a shadowed alley, engine whispering to silence. Tiger Cat steps out, her bare feet hitting the pavement, her body low and ready.
She disappears into the dark—a ghost in ocelot skin, hunting secrets.

Scene: “Predator’s Trap”
INT. TRINITECH WAREHOUSE – SUBLEVEL CONTROL ROOM – NIGHT

A wall of monitors flickers in cold blue light. Surveillance feeds from every angle—rooftop, alley, interior corridors. One screen zooms in on Tiger Cat, her silhouette slipping from the Tiger Car, bare feet silent on the concrete, her bodysuit glinting faintly under the moonlight.

JAGDEO, mid-60s, sharp suit over a sleeveless tactical vest, leans forward. His eyes gleam with obsession. A silver vial rests on the desk beside him, marked with a Dorne Biotech insignia—a stylized serpent coiled around a gas mask.

He taps the vial with one finger.

JAGDEO
(to himself)
“Dorne’s finest. Engineered for enhanced metabolism. She’ll be out in six seconds. No more, no less.”
He watches her feet—calloused, agile, sensual—as she scales the north wall.

JAGDEO
“Barefoot. Confident. She thinks she’s untouchable.”
He presses a button. A ventilation schematic appears. He traces a route with his finger.

JAGDEO
“Release point: Corridor B. She’ll pass it in ninety seconds.”
He turns to his assistant, a pale techie in a lab coat.

JAGDEO
“Prep the dispersal. Microparticles only. No scent, no taste. She won’t even flinch until it’s too late.

”The assistant hesitates.
TECHIE
“Sir… if she’s wearing filtration—”
JAGDEO

“She’s not. I know her. She trusts her reflexes more than her gear.”

He lifts a small remote, thumb hovering over the trigger.

JAGDEO
“Tiger Cat. You’ve danced long enough. Time to sleep.”
He watches the screen as she slips into Corridor B—her feet padding silently, her body taut with anticipation.

JAGDEO
(whispers)
“Six seconds.”
He presses the button.

Scene: “The Fall of the Huntress”

INT. TRINITECH WAREHOUSE – CORRIDOR B – NIGHT

Dim industrial lighting casts long shadows. The air is still—too still.
Tiger Cat moves like liquid muscle, her ocelot-print bodysuit hugging every curve, her bare ebony feet whispering across the concrete. Her short glossy toenails catch the faint light as she pads forward, alert.
She pauses. Her nostrils flare.

TIGER CAT
(softly)
“Something’s wrong…”
She takes another step. Her toes flex, gripping the floor instinctively. Her chest rises, then—

A sudden wave of dizziness hits her.

TIGER CAT
(gritting her teeth)
“No…Hhhhhhh....hhhhhhhhhh”
Her eyelids flutter, lashes trembling. Her vision blurs, edges softening. She stumbles, one hand catching the wall.

TIGER CAT
(whispers)

“Chloroform…hhhhhh...hhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
Her chest heaves, struggling for clarity. Her feet tense, toes curling, then relaxing—a final act of resistance. Her knees buckle.
She falls.
Her body hits the ground softly, like a jungle cat sedated mid-pounce. Her bare feet twitch, the calloused soles flexing, then stilling. Her glossy toenails glint one last time before her toes go slack.
She is unconscious.

Jagdeo watches, eyes gleaming.

JAGDEO
“Six seconds. Perfect.”
He stands, straightens his jacket, and turns to his assistant.

JAGDEO
“Bring her in. Carefully. No bruises. She’s worth more intact.”

TECHIE
(nervously)
“She’s… beautiful.”

JAGDEO
(coldly)
“She’s dangerous. And now—she’s mine.”

Scene: “The Trophy and the Tyrant”
INT. TRINITECH WAREHOUSE – SUBLEVEL LAB – NIGHT
The air is thick with antiseptic and ambition. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Jagdeo Sharma stands beside a steel table, hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on the approaching figures.
Two techs carry Tiger Cat, her body limp between them. Her head lolls back, mask cracked slightly at the edge. Her arms hang, her legs dangle, and her bare ebony feet point downward—toes flexing faintly, then relaxing, the short glossy toenails catching the light.
TECH #1 “She’s out cold. Just like the simulations predicted.”
TECH #2 “Her vitals are stable. No resistance after the six-second mark.”
Jagdeo steps forward, his gaze sweeping over her.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Beautiful. Even in defeat.”
He circles her slowly, studying the calloused soles, the muscular tension still lingering in her frame, the mask that once defied him.
JAGDEO SHARMA “She’s not just a vigilante. She’s a symbol. And symbols… can be broken.”
He gestures to the table.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Lay her down. Begin the scan. I want to know everything—suit composition, neural patterns, toxin resistance.”
The techs comply, gently placing her on the table. Her feet twitch once, then fall still.
JAGDEO SHARMA (softly, almost to himself) “You kept your secret well, Jackie. But now… the mask is mine.”
Scene: “Caged in Enterprise”
INT. CHOP SHOP – ENTERPRISE, CHAGUANAS – NIGHT
The air is thick with oil, sweat, and the metallic scent of stripped engines. Flickering fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the concrete floor. Stacks of stolen car parts line the walls—rims, dashboards, gutted frames. A half-disassembled SUV sits on a lift, its VIN already scratched off.
In the far corner, behind a chain-link partition, Tiger Cat begins to stir.
She lies on a stained mattress, her hands bound behind her back, her bare calloused brown feet tied at the ankles with thick nylon cord. Her ocelot-print bodysuit is scuffed, her mask cracked at the temple, but her breathing grows steadier.
Her eyelids flutter, lashes trembling. She groans softly, her toes flexing, tense and frantic, then slowly relaxing as consciousness returns.
TIGER CAT (hoarse) “Enterprise… Chaguanas…”
A shadow moves outside the cage. Jagdeo Sharma, calm and composed, steps into view. He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, no tie. His eyes are cold.
JAGDEO SHARMA “You’re sharper than Mendoza ever was. But not sharp enough.”
Tiger Cat lifts her head, eyes blazing behind the cracked mask.
TIGER CAT “You’re running stolen vehicles through your own businesses. Using Dorne tech to silence anyone who gets close.”
JAGDEO SHARMA (smiling faintly) “And yet here you are. Silenced. Bound. Still beautiful.”
He crouches beside the cage, voice low.
JAGDEO SHARMA “I won’t expose your secret. Not because I fear you—but because of Johnny. He deserves better than to see his mother dragged through the mud.”
TIGER CAT (gritting her teeth) “He deserves the truth.”
Jagdeo stands, pulling a white cloth from his pocket. A faint chemical scent lingers.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Not tonight.”
Tiger Cat’s eyes widen. She struggles, her feet twisting, toes curling, soles straining against the cord.
TIGER CAT “No—Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
He presses the cloth to her face while rubbing her clitoris through the fabric of her ocelot pelt bodysuit with the fingers of his free hand.
Tiger Cat: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHHH...HH...HH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
...HH...HH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HH...HH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Jagdeo expertly brings her to a sequence of gigantic orgasms...making her inhale more of the chloroform faster.
Her eyelids flutter, her chest heaves, and her toes flex frantically, then slowly… slowly… relax.
She goes still.
JAGDEO SHARMA (quietly) “Sleep, Jackie. The jungle will wait.”
Scene: “Escape from Enterprise”
INT. CHOP SHOP – ENTERPRISE, CHAGUANAS – NIGHT
The chop shop is dim, humming with the sound of power tools and muffled reggae from a dusty speaker. The air is heavy with grease and gasoline. Tiger Cat lies on the mattress, still groggy, her hands bound, her bare ebony feet tied at the ankles, the calloused soles bruised but strong.
Her eyes flutter open, blinking against the harsh light.
TIGER CAT (whispers) “Where…?”
A shadow moves near the cage. A teen boy, no older than 15, peeks through the chain-link. He wears a grease-stained hoodie and nervous eyes.
TEEN BOY (whispering) “I saw what they did. I know who you are. I’m not with them.”
He kneels quickly, pulling a rusty box cutter from his sleeve.
TEEN BOY “Hold still.”
He slices through the cord at her wrists, then moves to her ankles. Her feet twitch, toes flexing, the short glossy nails catching the light as she regains control.
TIGER CAT (grimacing) “You’ve got guts, kid.”
TEEN BOY “They’re stealing cars from my cousin’s garage. I want out.”
Tiger Cat stands, shaky but fierce. She grabs a metal rod from a nearby workbench.
TIGER CAT “Then stay low. It’s about to get loud.”
INT. CHOP SHOP FLOOR – MOMENTS LATER
Three car thieves laugh near a stripped-down Lexus. One turns—and sees her.
THIEF #1 “What the—?”
WHACK! Tiger Cat strikes, the rod cracking against his ribs. She spins, her bare feet slapping the concrete, her toes gripping for balance as she launches a kick into another thief’s chest.
THIEF #2 “She’s loose! Get her!”
TIGER CAT “Too late.”
She grabs a gas can, hurls it toward a pile of oily rags, and strikes a spark with a wrench.
WHOOSH! Flames erupt, licking up the walls.
INT. CHOP SHOP – EXIT RAMP – MOMENTS LATER
Smoke fills the air. Alarms blare. Tiger Cat sprints barefoot across the lot, her feet pounding the pavement, her body slick with sweat and soot.
She reaches a hidden alcove—the Tiger Car, untouched, gleaming like a panther in the dark.
She slides in, her bare feet working the pedals, her toes curling, her eyes locked on the road ahead.
TIGER CAT “Enterprise just got declawed.”
EXT. CHOP SHOP – NIGHT
As she speeds off, flames engulf the building. Sirens wail in the distance—police and fire trucks approaching.
The Tiger Car disappears into the night, leaving behind smoke, wreckage, and a legend reborn.
Scene: “The Promise”
EXT. TRINITECH ISLAND COMPOUND – BALCONY – NIGHT
The Gulf of Paria stretches out like black glass under a crescent moon. Far on the horizon, the faint glow of flames still stains the sky over Enterprise.
JAGDEO SHARMA stands alone on the balcony, a glass of whisky in hand. His suit jacket is off, sleeves rolled. The night breeze carries the faint smell of smoke.
On the tablet in front of him, a feed plays grainy security footage: Tiger Car streaking away from the chop shop, the fire’s reflection chasing it.
Jagdeo exhales slowly.
JAGDEO SHARMA (quietly, to himself) “You’re still out there, Jackie.”
He takes a long sip, eyes fixed on the firelit sky.
JAGDEO SHARMA “I could end you with one word… one truth. But Johnny doesn’t deserve that. You’re still his mother. And I—” (beat) “I still have my pride.”
He sets the glass down, taps the tablet. A series of schematics light up—new security grids, containment tech, and a delivery schedule from Dorne International Holdings.
JAGDEO SHARMA “This time, there’ll be no escape.”
A faint smile curls his lips—calculated, cold.
JAGDEO SHARMA “Our next encounter will be on my terms. And when it happens… Tiger Cat won’t be walking away.”
He turns back toward the room, leaving the fire’s glow behind. The balcony doors slide shut with a hiss.
Scene: “Back to the Den”
INT. UNDERGROUND LAIR – NIGHT
The hydraulic lift lowers the Tiger Car into the hidden garage beneath the penthouse. The lair hums with low light and the faint whir of cooling systems.
TIGER CAT steps out—suit dusty, muscles taut from the fight, her bare calloused feet making soft sounds on the smooth floor. She pulls back her cowl mask, freeing her hair, and exhales heavily.
With deliberate motions, she peels off the ocelot-print bodysuit, unfastens the utility belt, and drapes the costume across a bench. She tugs off the translucent stockings, flexing her toes with quiet relief. Now, she’s Jackie Jagessar again—damp hair clinging to her neck, sweat and smoke still in her scent.
INT. PENTHOUSE – KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER
Johnny sits at the counter, a glass of mauby in front of him, worry etched into his face. Jackie walks in barefoot, now in a loose tank top and shorts, her skin still flushed from the fight.
JOHNNY “You were gone a while.”
JACKIE (sighs, pouring water) “Chaguanas. A chop shop. Stolen vehicles, and Jagdeo’s fingerprints all over the operation. He was there, Johnny.”
Johnny’s eyes harden.
JOHNNY “Did he—did he know it was you?”
JACKIE “He suspects. But he’ll keep my secret for your sake. That won’t stop him from coming after Tiger Cat.”
Johnny shakes his head, processing.
JOHNNY “So… what now?”
JACKIE “Now? I clean up, and I rest. Tomorrow, we plan.”

INT. JACKIE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Steam curls from the bathroom as Jackie steps out in a robe, skin glowing from the shower. She moves to her bed, pulling back the covers. From the nightstand, she takes her phone—briefly checking the news, scanning for fallout from the fire.
Satisfied, she clicks it dark, slipping beneath the sheets.
She closes her eyes. The hum of the city outside fades. In her mind, the lair below is quiet, but the hunt is far from over.
FADE OUT.
Scene: “The Message”
INT. JACKIE JAGESSAR’S BEDROOM – MORNING
Soft golden light slips past the curtains, catching on the curves of the sheets. The hum of Port of Spain drifts upward from the boulevard—vendors, traffic, a stray dog barking in the distance.
Jackie blinks awake, hair tousled from sleep, one arm curled under the pillow. She stretches, her muscles tender from the night’s fight. Her phone, facedown on the nightstand, buzzes once.
She rolls over, picks it up. One new message.
The sender’s name makes her chest tighten: Jagdeo Sharma.
She opens it.
ON SCREEN: A still frame from security footage—her Tiger Car, barely visible through smoke, tearing away from the burning chop shop. Below it, a single line:
"You’ve still got speed. But speed won’t save you next time."
Her jaw sets. She sits up slowly, the sheet falling to her lap, thumb hovering over Delete. Instead, she saves the message, locking the screen.
JACKIE (to herself) “Game on.”
INT. KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER
Barefoot, in a soft robe, she moves to the counter where Johnny is already pouring coffee.
JOHNNY “You look like you saw a ghost.”
JACKIE “Not a ghost. An old shadow.”
She sips her coffee, eyes hard but calm.
JACKIE “Jagdeo knows I walked away from his trap. He’s not done. Neither am I.”
Scene: “Pre-Service Checklist”
INT. JACKIE’S OFFICE – JACKIE’S ON THE BOULEVARD – LATE MORNING
The office is compact but stylish, tucked behind the main dining room. A framed sash from Jackie’s beauty queen days hangs beside a modern chalkboard filled with specials and notes. Through the glass, the sound of clinking plates and muffled kitchen chatter filters in.
Jackie Jagessar, barefoot in chic wide-legged linen pants and a sleeveless blouse, leans over her desk with a legal pad. Her hair is pinned up, but a few curls have escaped. Across from her sits Chef Kwame, tall and broad-shouldered, in a crisp black chef’s jacket with “Kwame” embroidered in gold thread.
She taps her pen against the pad.
JACKIE “Alright, Kwame — before we hit lunch service, a few things we need nailed down.”
CHEF KWAME (smiling) “Hit me.”
Jackie flips to a fresh page, ticking points off with quick precision.
JACKIE “One — we need the produce order confirmed. The last batch of ochro was limp, and you know I don’t serve limp ochro.”
CHEF KWAME (grinning) “I already told Ravi — only straight from the Aranguez market, picked this morning.”
JACKIE “Good. Two — I want the callaloo exactly the way we tested last week. Creamy, but not heavy. No shortcuts.”
CHEF KWAME “Understood.”
JACKIE “Three — live steelpan starts at six tonight. Sound check by five. If it’s even one note off, I’ll hear about it.”
Kwame chuckles, shaking his head.
CHEF KWAME “You run this place like you’re still wearing the crown.”
JACKIE (smiling faintly) “Not a crown. Just standards.”
She leans back, scanning the list.
JACKIE “Four — table eight’s light is flickering again. Have maintenance fix it before the dinner crowd comes. Five — make sure the dessert menu’s reprinted with the cassava pone special.”
CHEF KWAME “Done and done.”
Jackie closes the pad and meets his eyes.
JACKIE “And six…” (beat) “Keep an eye on deliveries. If anything comes through the back with the wrong paperwork, I want to know. Immediately.”
Kwame’s brow furrows—he knows that tone means this is more than just restaurant business.
CHEF KWAME “Understood.”
Jackie smiles, but it’s the sharp kind.
JACKIE “Good. Let’s get to work.”
Scene: “From Champagne to Claws”
INT. JACKIE’S ON THE BOULEVARD – DINING ROOM – EVENING
The restaurant glows under soft amber lights. Crisp linen, polished silverware, and the mellow tones of live steelpan from the corner ensemble. Jackie Jagessar is elegance incarnate in a deep emerald evening dress, diamond-drop earrings, and black high heels. She weaves between tables, greeting guests with a warm smile, hand lightly touching shoulders as she laughs at their stories.
JACKIE (to a couple) “Next time, you must try the cassava pone—our chef’s pride.”
She glances toward the kitchen doors, giving the staff a quick wink before turning back to refill a regular’s glass of rum punch. Her charm is effortless, the perfect hostess commanding her domain.
From across the dining room, Chef Kwame appears in the service archway—expression tight, eyes scanning for her. She reads it instantly.
INT. SIDE HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER
Jackie steps out of sight, the soft click of her heels muffled on the carpet. Kwame leans in close.
CHEF KWAME “Delivery just came through the back. Manifest’s wrong. Boxes aren’t what we ordered.”
Jackie’s smile fades to a sharper edge.
JACKIE “Show me.”
CHEF KWAME “You think—?”
JACKIE “I think it’s time for the other me to clock in.”
She slips off her heels, pads toward the private lift to her penthouse above, every move precise.
INT. UNDERGROUND LAIR – MINUTES LATER
The evening gown lies draped over a chair. Jackie’s movements are fluid now, sliding into the ocelot-print bodysuit, tugging the cowl mask into place. Her bare, calloused feet flex against the cool floor, the muscles in her legs tightening for the run ahead.
TIGER CAT (under her breath) “If Jagdeo’s using my restaurant as cover, he just made the worst mistake of his life.”
She fastens her belt, grabs the keys for the Tiger Car, and hits the lift.

Scene: “The Pounce at Pier Nine”
EXT. SERVICE ALLEY – BEHIND JACKIE’S RESTAURANT – NIGHT
The back alley is humid, heavy with the scent of spices drifting from the kitchen vents. The sound of cicadas buzzes over the distant crash of waves against the San Fernando wharf. Under a single swaying lamp, a refrigerated delivery truck idles, its engine muttering like a restless animal.
Two men in plain overalls start hauling down heavy crates, glancing around too often to be casual.
From the shadows above, on the flat roof of the neighboring fish market, Tiger Cat crouches—one gloved hand gripping the ledge, the other holding a collapsible steel hook. The ocelot pattern on her suit ripples as she shifts her weight, pupils narrowing.
MAN #1 “Let’s get this inside before anyone—”
A thud interrupts him. A coiled cable snaps tight around the rear door handle, yanking it shut. Both men freeze.
TIGER CAT (voice low, carrying) “Leaving so soon? At least let me see what’s on the menu.”
She drops from the roof like a falling shadow, landing silently in bare feet between them and the open alley. One man bolts for the cab; she sweeps his legs with a precise, feline spin, sending him sprawling.
CLOSE ON – Tiger Cat’s eyes flash as she flicks her hook toward the second man, snagging the strap of the crate in his grip. She pulls, forcing him to stagger forward.
TIGER CAT “Tell your boss the kitchen’s closed to smugglers.”
With a wrench, she pulls the crate open—revealing not produce but compact, matte-black cases stamped with the sigil of the Jagdeo Syndicate.
Sirens wail faintly somewhere uptown. Tiger Cat steps back into the shadows, the crate at her feet, heels of her bare soles whispering against the wet asphalt.
TIGER CAT (to herself) “Now I know what they’re serving… and where I’ll be striking next.”
Scene: “Bait on the Wharf”
EXT. KING’S WHARF – SAN FERNANDO – NIGHT
Cargo cranes loom like steel skeletons against the harbour lights. The air is thick with salt, diesel, and the far-off thud of bass from a passing fete boat. At the edge of the pier, under a corrugated awning, a single container sits on a low trailer, its side door ajar just enough to gleam under the sodium lamp.
Half a dozen dockhands linger nearby, too still, their glances too coordinated. Watching. Waiting.
INT. UNMARKED SUV – ACROSS THE STREET
JAGDEO SHARMA leans forward in the back seat, gold rings glittering as he taps the end of a Cuban cigar. His eyes track the container.
JAGDEO “She can’t resist sniffing at the Syndicate’s cargo. And when she comes sniffing…” (smirks) “…we slam the door.”
Beside him, Savita ‘The Net’ Singh—short, wiry, her hair in a coiled braid—unrolls a weighted mesh of monofilament lines. Jagdeo nods.
EXT. KING’S WHARF – NIGHT
From the rooftops, Tiger Cat approaches low and fast, padding barefoot along a crane boom until she’s directly above the container. Her breath frosts in the damp air as her gaze flicks from the unattended crate… to the guards with that wrong kind of calm.
She drops silently to the pier, hugging the shadows.
CLOSE ON – A dockhand’s hand flicks a switch. Hydraulic hinges groan. The container’s “ajar” door swings open to reveal… nothing inside but a pressure plate.
Tiger Cat steps forward, narrowing her eyes—too late.
WHOOMPH! The Net’s trap launches upward, a tangled spread of steel cable laced with weight-bags, exploding from hidden canisters. The mesh clamps down toward her like the jaws of a predator.
TIGER CAT (grunts, twisting) “Not tonight.”
She rolls sideways, one hand flashing to a smoke pellet at her belt. In an instant the pier is swallowed in a choking grey cloud. Cables snap against the steel decking, missing their mark. Shouts erupt.
Through the swirl, Jagdeo steps out from the SUV, coughing, waving the smoke aside, searching for any sign of her.
From somewhere unseen, her voice cuts through the haze:
TIGER CAT (echoing) “You’ll need a bigger net, Sharma.”
A hiss of claws on corrugated metal, then she’s gone—vanished into the rafters above the pier, leaving only the echo of her taunt.
Scene: “Hunting the Hunter”
EXT. KING’S WHARF – CATWALK ABOVE PIER – NIGHT
The smoke from Jagdeo’s failed net trap still clings low over the planks, shrouding the wharf in a dreamlike haze. High above, Tiger Cat moves like liquid shadow along the steel catwalk, muscles coiled, eyes locked on the man below.
She’s not just evading now — she’s circling.
BELOW – Jagdeo paces, barking orders into his radio, frustrated and sharp. His gold rings catch the dock lights like signal flares, and that careless swagger — the same one that used to make Jackie grit her teeth — is back in full force.
JAGDEO “She’s here. I can feel her. Sweep every—”
A wrenching creak interrupts him as a cargo hook releases overhead. A suspended net of fish crates drops hard, slamming onto the pier between him and his men, splitting them apart.
Through the falling splinters, she appears — low, lethal, bare feet silent on the deck.
TIGER CAT “Funny thing about bait… sometimes the prey bites back.”
Before he can reply, she’s on him — no wild flailing, just three economical strikes: heel to knee, elbow to ribs, hook of her arm to pin his shoulder. Jagdeo stumbles against a mooring post, the wind knocked out of him.
FLASH CUTS – Her memories flicker in microbeats: candlelit dinners, whispered betrayals, the night she walked out for good.
She leans in close, voice just for him.
TIGER CAT “You taught me how to hunt, Jagdeo. You forgot — I learn fast.”
With a twist, she rips the radio from his hand and hurls it into the dark water. His crew are still pinned back by the crates.
WIDE SHOT – She steps backward into the shadows, melting into the fog as dock lights flicker, leaving him doubled over, clutching his side. Somewhere in the mist, her voice drifts back:
TIGER CAT (echoing) “This wharf is mine now.”
Scene: “Shadows in the Stacks”
EXT. KING’S WHARF – CONTAINER YARD – NIGHT
Rows of stacked shipping containers rise like rust-red cliffs, corridors twisting between them. Sodium lamps sputter overhead, casting long, crooked shadows. Somewhere within, the remnants of Jagdeo’s crew fan out, machetes and batons in hand, their voices low but tense.
POV – TIGER CAT – From high atop a stack, she scans their movements, gauging angles, listening to their boots on the steel decking. The ocelot pattern of her suit blends into the mottled paint and shadow.
WHISPERED VOICE (DOCKHAND) “She’s gone, man.”
SECOND VOICE “She’s here. Feel it. Keep moving.”
CLOSE ON – A lone thug turns down a narrow lane between containers. A glint of wire above him. The next second, a weighted line drops, hooks his weapon arm, and yanks him upward into darkness. The sound of a sharp breath, a muffled thud… silence.
ELSEWHERE – Two more hear the commotion and rush in—only to be cut off by a sudden wall of falling grain sacks, torn loose from an overhead crane hook. They slam down in a choking cloud of dust, and when it clears… Tiger Cat is simply there, crouched between them, low and coiled.
Three heartbeats later, they’re disarmed, their wrists cinched with cable ties scavenged from a nearby pallet.
INTERCUT – Jagdeo, still at the pier’s edge, hearing the isolated bursts of noise, the abrupt silences. One by one, his men’s radios go dead.
FINAL MOVE – She drops from the top of a container behind the last crewman, the bare slap of her feet on steel echoing in his final moment of realization. He doesn’t even get the weapon up before she sweeps him down and cinches the tie.
Now the yard is silent but for her breathing. Eight men neutralized, scattered like discarded game pieces among the cargo lanes.
TIGER CAT (into the night) “Come collect your shipment, Jagdeo. I kept it fresh for you.”
Her words roll through the maze like a dare.
Scene: “Betrayal in the Fog” – Amended
EXT. KING’S WHARF – OPEN PIER – NIGHT
The fog has thinned enough for moonlight to pool in silver puddles across the deck. Water slaps the pilings with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Tiger Cat steps from the shadow of a crane, the pads of her bare feet whispering against the damp boards. Toes spread and flex for balance, they grip the slick wood like a dancer’s before a leap.
Jagdeo stands at the far end, alone now, crew silent and bound in the yard. He tosses his cigar into the water, the dying ember mirrored briefly in a ripple.
JAGDEO “You’ve changed, Jackie. But not enough.”
TIGER CAT “Funny… I was about to say the same to you.”
They circle, her feet rolling from ball to heel in quiet, deliberate steps, toes feeling the subtle give of the weathered planks. Then she springs — toes pointed, then splayed for the landing — a low hook aimed at his knee. He sidesteps, forcing her to skid barefoot along the slick edge.
They clash, her kicks snapping up from the pier with the whip‑cord precision of someone born to fight without shoes. She drives one heel into his ribs, pivots on the ball of the other foot, toes gripping for traction. He catches her mid‑spin and shoves her back into a coil of rope.
He’s breathing hard now. She moves in again — that’s when the white cloth flashes from his coat. The chemical sweetness hits her nose before she can recoil.
TIGER CAT “You—”
The rag clamps over her mouth, his arm locking her in. Her toes curl hard against the deck, bare soles flexing as she strains, trying to plant and push away. Each twist makes her footing slip just slightly; the moonlight glints off the damp skin of her insteps.
Tiger Cat: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...HHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Her toes loosen as the world tilts. The fight seeps out of her muscles; her feet slide, splay, then go slack entirely as her legs fold.
Tiger Cat: "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hh...hh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
...hh...hh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...hh...hh...hh...hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
She experiences a sequence of gigantic orgasms and powerful lactations...geysers of white milk and waterfalls of white cum exploding through the fabric of her skintight ocelot pelt bodysuit.
He lowers her onto the coiled ropes, the curve of one bare foot resting on its side, toes still faintly twitching. The rag falls beside her, useless now. Jagdeo gives her one last look, then strides to the waiting speedboat.
WIDE SHOT – The engine roars and he vanishes into the channel. On the pier, Tiger Cat lies totally defeated and unconscious...milk and cum leaking freely out of her erogenous body parts...her bare toes stir once — the faintest sign the hunt will resume.
But for now...the first round goes to her ex-husband...Jagdeo Sharma
End