SYNOPSIS:

This isn't written specifically in screenplay format. However this is the basis of a specific scene in 'The Echelon Agreement', where one of the main protagonists (a homicide detective being framed for killing his partner) has just learned that he has an organic tracking module growing in his arm. and he needs to remove it in a dirty tavern bathroom before he is killed or captured by MIB's.

THE ECHELON AGREEMENT -OPERATION DOMINO - "DAN AND ODESSA":BATHROOM SEQUENCE

6 Hours Earlier – Room above crappy little redneck shit tavern Dan had rented a room for the night and bought himself a bottle of rum from the bar. He considered himself lucky that nobody had recognized him from the latest broadcast of “America's Most Wanted”. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before people started to sober up and put his face to the TV. The barmaid had a few shots in her and while her attention was focused on the idiots at the bar, Dan knew that she would soon figure it out. Dan pulled out the phone he had flipped open earlier. It wasn't a phone at all. Both halves of the 'flip phone' were displays, and the device was intended to be held sideways. The left hand side showed a graphical schematic of the room he was in, along with the adjacent hallway, and the edges of nearby rooms. In the middle, aside the one wall of the room schematic, was a red glowing blob right where Dan was sitting. There was a three-digit number next to the red blob, and on the display to the right, there was the same three-digit number with a dash and then these digits: 4c-23-6d-12-9a-11 Dan watched the display as another red blob floated down the schematic display of the hallway. It also had a three digit code next to it as it passed by his door and a corresponding 6 segment hex code materialized on the display to the right. When the blob disappeared, so did the corresponding hex code. He suddenly realized that the document he had just read wasn't bullshit. He was track-able. And so was everyone else. The bottle of redneck turpentine he bought from the bar would be the only anesthetic on hand, so he cracked it open and took a hearty swig. He took another, and then one more for good measure. He re-read the directions for tag removal. He needed a sharp knife and he realized he had none. It would be a bad idea to walk into an all night pharmacy or variety, seeing as his face is plastered all over the TV. He had a Swiss-army knife in the duffel bag but that would be too crude an instrument. “Ah... I know,” Dan ran over to his duffel and cracked open his shaving kit. He had a few disposable razors left within. He grabbed a clean one and crushed it with the butt of his pistol. Carefully, he removed one of the tiny blades from the plastic housing. He grabbed his bottle of jet fuel, razors, clean wash towel from his shaving kit and tag tracker and made his way to the dirty shared washroom across the hall from his room. After entering he locked the door. He located the circular inoculation scar on his left arm. He drank another large gulp of gasoline. Then poured some on his arm, and on the blade. Dan could feel his blood pressure swell and his stomach start to roll over itself. His large fingers found it difficult to manipulate the tiny razor he extracted from the disposable cartridge. He winced as he sliced deep into the scar on his arm. The warm trickling of blood running down his arm started to turn cold as the ambient air cooled it down. He made a one inch incision and stopped. His heart was pounding out of its cage, and he seemed to be doing more damage to his own fingers than to his arm. “Useless piece of shit” Another drink. Another cut, within the original incision to get deeper. He was starting to feel faint, and could feel the rush of blackness start to take him over. A knock at the door snapped him out of it. “Hey! Anyone in there?” the voice on the other side demanded an answer. “Yeah, someone's in here. I'm a little busy. Come back in a few minutes man.” “Shit man. Hurry the fuck up!” Dan's adrenal glands were kicking in to assist the booze and help counter the pain in his arm, and he was now possessed with the task of removing this tag. With more pressure than the last two efforts, he deeply gouged into the incision, and felt the left side of his body jolt as he hit some kind of nerve. It was almost as if there was a small piece of slightly harder flesh in the way of the makeshift scalpel. “That must be it,” he said to himself. There was another knock on the door. This time louder. “Fuck man, you gonna be in there all night or what?” “FUCK OFF! I'll be right out!” Dan yelled back. Dan, dug in with with two fingers and located the small fleshy nodule, and clamped around it with his finger nails, and pulled. All Dan could see was white, as the searing pain enveloped his entire body. A couple of seconds had gone by before Dan even realized he was screaming in absolute torture. Everything started to go black again, and Dan barely caught himself as he fainted. Hooking onto the edge of the bathroom sink with his right arm above the elbow, he was able to stop his decent to the floor, and he realized he was staring at a chunk of flesh, dripping with blood held between his fingers. He dropped it on the floor and squished it under his heel. For good measure he picked it up and flushed it down the toilet. The number 4c-23-6d-12-9a-11 and the little red blob on the scanner display faded to black. Dan was no longer tagged. The bottle of swill was half full at this point, and Dan took another generous swallow before pouring more of it on his wound. He let out another scream of agony. He used the clean shaving towel he brought in to wrap his bloody wound. There was blood everywhere. He had created something that resembled a murder scene. He used the nasty washcloth hanging in the putrid bathroom and did his best to mop up the mess. As he was throwing the cloth in the garbage, there were more knocks on the door. Dan opened it. The patron who had knocked earlier had summoned the superintendent of the tavern. He spoke. “Is everything okay in here. Holy shit, what happened to you?” “You know those crazy kids and their knives. I'll be okay... I just had to clean out the wound. I'll hit the hospital in the morning and get it looked at.” “Whatever. This is a shared bathroom. Do your freaky shit somewhere else,” the man looked at him as if recognizing him from somewhere. “I'll just go back to my room now,” Dan gathered up his items, and rushed past the superintendent. He realized it would only be moments before the bastard put two and two together and calls the authorities. Back in his room, pissed drunk, arm throbbing, he gathered everything together, and left via the fire escape.