Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Get my jet ready. Get it fuelled ready to go.
I originally heard about this when I was working for NASA.
Knock it off, Cuervo.
All right, anything you say.
You are now entering the processing area.
I see your point. What's the deal?
Utopia is lost to me. My daughter is gone.
Hang on, guys. This is big. It's Snake Plissken.
He's the man with the President's daughter.
You’re staying in LA?
Soon you'll have a fever.
Take her to the chair.
That thing in Paris killed them.
worldwide.
the death of Snake Plissken!
Well, it's on now, effective immediately. Full-scale.
For he so loved his country...
Tell me how to get downtown - somebody named Hershe.
- Figures. - He's probably already dead.
He's setting up something big, but I got a feeling you know that, right?
So, you are staying in L A ? Not if I can help it.
Curfew.
What do you say we play a little...
Genetically engineered. 100% pure death.
and his corrupt theocracy of lies and terror!
Go.
- What black box? - That shuts down the power.
Cuervo's got firepower. No one gets near him.
Start feeling better quick, man, cos you ain't got time to escape.
Don't blow it, man. If you fall off, it's the big wipe-out. Got it?
He's down there. He's dead. He's history, and I did it.
Yeah, they're using him for target practice.
I now demand an immediate retreat of all forces
- Take me back. - Secure the latch.
I got somebody I want Hershe to meet,
You want this thing?
The next scheduled departure to LA is in one hour.
Let me make something clear.
Eight hours, eight minutes, 26 seconds
Get out of here.
SD Bob Plissken, Special Forces. Two Purple Hearts?
Why should we leave?
Get me the White House.
The two of you hooked up together, I'm talking box-office material.
Whoa, dude, is that you, Snake?
hits at 12:59pm, August 23 in the year 2000.
Utopia made tapes of her VR experiences and tried to erase them,
You'll never find your way out of here without me.
I told you you'd better hope I didn't make it back.
You two know each other?
Thanks for not killing me, man. I owe you one.
You push that button, 500 years' worth of work will be finished.
I guess we've got a deal.
Whoo! Bitchin'.
and you will receive a pardon for every immoral act you have committed.
Oh, thank God almighty.
Oh, thank God almighty!
Last couple of years, it's like you've disappeared...
My God they're real...
Get down!
We found this fragment on the end of her last tape.
"Sad Story. You Got A Smoke?"
- What do you want? - Nothin'.
50 yards from your present position.
Be my guest. What do you have to say, Plissken?
I can't believe this.
- He's near. - You're stalling, Eddie.