ONE:
On PAYNE, his expression — pure despair. The Smoke is going to eat him for this failure. We can — perhaps — see SABRE’S SWORD, point still at the back of his neck.

NO COPY.

TWO:
Stet, but now his expression has turned to outrage, pure hatred. He’s starting to push himself up.

NO COPY.

THREE:
SABRE applies, shall we say, firm pressure on the tip of her blade, leaning down slightly to speak to PAYNE. PAYNE has realized that getting up quickly might not be so wise.

FLAMES are now beginning to emerge all around.

1. SABRE: Steady on, Mister Payne.
2. SABRE: If I allow you to rise, do you promise to behave?

FOUR:
On SABRE, dark eyes, the smile not at all amused.

3. SABRE: Or do I leave your corpse here to burn?