[Crosshairs intersect in the middle of an expanse of graying industrial decay. The camera finds a beautiful young woman dressed seductively in leather, sprawled on a high-powered dirt bike. A shutter snaps. The camera continues to shoot and hold a variety of angles of the woman.]

[Greg Powers, handsome, 25, lowers his Leica SLR and stares out at the grim view and the woman.]

GREG - [dismissing her] Go home. You're done.

[The model moves off. Greg puts the camera back into a case strapped to the lean, dark machine that's his motorcycle. Beside him, also on a bike, Jonathan, about the same age -- leather, chains and a knapsack. He reaches for the camera case to transfer it to his bike, but Greg stops him. He studies Jonathan.]

GREG - That's all right, Jonathan. I'll hang onto it.

JONATHAN - You don't want it processed?

GREG - Later. I'll take care of it.

[Greg coaxes his engine into an angry roar and smiles a slow, challenging smile as he grips the handles, keeping the accelerator under control.]
 

 
MacLEOD - He said that he cared about you a lot and he thought you were a great artist.
 

 
LINDA - I was too young. He was so strong. I was afraid that I'd lose myself in him.
 

 
MacLEOD - What the hell's going on, Gregor? You pop into my life after being gone for years. I find out you have a studio a few miles from me and yet I've never seen you.
 

[The red light casts a strange glow as Gregor stands for a moment in a room no larger than a walk-in closet. There is a sink, some developing equipment, and various trays of developing solution. The room is filled with hanging negatives.]

[Gregor starts to pull down the negatives with mad determination. He throws them into a vat of chemicals and tosses in a match, destroying his work.]
 

 
GREG - Who gives a damn. [His voice has lost its bravado. He sounds afraid and weak.]

[MacLeod's expression softens.]

MacLEOD - You don't really want to die, though, do you?

GREG - [almost a sob] I'm already dead.
 

 
LINDA - If not now, when?