[icespeed]

omg. omg. styxx _shot_ shrike? omgomgomg!!!!!

i'm speechless. i can't think of a single thing to say.

except 'good, it's very good so don't stop and no worries about the spelling mistakes or whatever, we are reading a very very excellently wonderfully fantastic script not an assignment'.

[Ghostavo]

I want to be a n00b too!!!

[Falcon]

I started to laugh when I read about JoeLoe and his drinking habits...

Keep up the good work UT

[kv1at3485]

Where's FRED?

'Missions' and 'campaigns' should be propaganda.  (Badly designed, un-beta-tested missions and campaigns being 'bad' propaganda, dulling the senses and wits of the masses making them easier to control!)

(Then you can have the underground fighting back with 'good' propaganda, and subverting the 'bad' by having rereleasing 'corrected' versions of the 'bad'.)

[Jetmech Jr.]

Originally posted by Ghostavo
I want to be a n00b too!!!

You are, in the story. It looks like you're the Co-n00b Leader.

[Grey Wolf]

I'm a grizzled old veteran, and therefore cooler.

[Unknown Target]

Maeg, are you still gonna ban me if I complain about how ****ty my writing is?

Happy 4th, Americans! Sorry it took sooo long - real life concernts.

SCENE NINETY-SIX. INT. FORUM ARCHIVES - DAY.

We are once again in the refugee’s hidden sanctuary. SHRIKE is now walking about, albeit his coat is open, revealing several bandages lashed across his chest. SANDWICH is in the background, working silently on a terminal nearby.  The constant humming of equipment is only broken by the tapping of keyboards and clicks of mice. SHRIKE is reading a book, resting it on his former bed. Suddenly, the door slams open, prompting both SHRIKE and SANDWICH to draw their weapons.

KALFIRETH: (Out of sight) Don’t shoot, it’s me.

The weapons are powered down and holstered. KALFIRETH soon enters, hands in the air, one holding a case of orange juice, and the other a brown paper bag.

KALFIRETH: Your meal is served, gentlemen.

KALFIRETH places the parcels on the table.

KALFIRETH: Help yourselves.

SHRIKE takes an orange juice cup and out of the paper bag, a salad tin. SANDWICH does the same, greeting his meal with a grimace. He turns to KALFIRETH to voice his opinions on the matter.

SANDWICH: What is this ****?

KALFIRETH: Orange juice and…it looks like you got the Caesar salad.

SANDWICH: (Grimaces) Ever since we agreed that you should do the shopping, I’ve been turning into a goat. Can’t you buy us something decent?

KALFIRETH: This is healthy for you. You’re decreased activity makes it ideal that you keep a healthy diet…and I just plain like to see you suffer.

SANDWICH gives him a look and turns back to his food, grimacing with each bite. KALFIRETH turns back to SHRIKE, who seems to be downing his meal with no trouble.

KALFIRETH: Well at least someone appreciates good meals.

SHRIKE grunts and looks up from his meal, his fork paused halfway from his plate to his mouth.

SHRIKE: Did you find anything out…?

KALFIRETH nods and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folder, handing it to SHRIKE, who sets his meal down and takes it. Leafing through it, his expression is an odd one. He turns to KALFIRETH with a quizzical look in his eye.

SHRIKE: What is this?

KALFIRETH: The new training program for the Hard Light Defense Force.

SHRIKE’s quickly looks down at the folder again, and leafs through a few more pages. He gives KALFIRETH a worried look, then starts to read off from the document.

SHRIKE: Advanced battle tactics, invasion tactics…”behavioral modification”? What the hell is going on?

KALFIRETH: It looks like your friend Styxx has been implementing some extra curricular activities for our military.

SANDWICH coughs and hacks on a crouton, hurriedly grabbing a napkin and spitting it into it. He looks up at his companions, who have turned to face him with incredulous looks.

SANDWICH: (Sighs) Hand me the file…

SHRIKE does so and SANDWICH takes it, and begins to leaf through it. He tosses it on the table and leans back in his chair.

SANDWICH: Ouch.

SHRIKE: (Nods) Yep. At this rate, he’ll have the entire forum turned into his personal army in a matter of weeks.

KALFIRETH: So what are we going to do…?

SANDWICH leans forward and folds his hands on the table. He sighs thoughtfully.

SANDWICH: Well I could always use my old contacts in the old guard. I have some people in place who are still loyal to me.

SHRIKE: Like who?

SANDWICH: Well, off the top of my head…Nico, Gortef…Lightspeed…Carl’s always liked me, I give him the best treats. We could use them to get to others before Styxx does.

KALFIRETH: Sounds like a plan…but what about the other admins?

SHRIKE: Since we have no proof to the contrary, we have to assume that they are hostile to Hard Light Productions.

SANDWICH nods.

SANDWICH: I’ll get some men to check them out, see who’s legit and who’s not.

SHRIKE: Right...I’ll start monitoring the digital arena to see what I can pick up.

KALFIRETH gets up to leave.

KALFIRETH: I’m going up to see if there’s any news on the street…I’ll also start to look for recruits.

SHRIKE nods.

SHRIKE: Good luck.

KALFIRETH turns to leave. He opens the door, and is about to walk out. SANDWICH calls to him, causing him to stop and turn, just in time to dodge a flying salad tray.

SANDWICH: Next time, get me something with meat!

KALFIRETH dashes out of the room, laughing joyously, the door shutting behind him, and we cut to:

[redsniper]

And the rebellion begins.

[Sandwich]

*....likes salads......*



*.....likes meat, too.... *

[InfernoGod]

wow. I finally read this entire thing, and my eyes hurt.

[kv1at3485]

Reminds me of 2010, the movie...

Something like: "With the last president, we didn't lunch.  We grazed..."

lol

[Unknown Target]

Are those last two comments critisisms or praise?

And all the personalities are based off of your forum personas. As I have never met you in real life, I wouldn't know what to put, now would I?

SCENE NINETY-SEVEN. INT. NICO’S QUARTERS – DAY.

This room is much smaller than the administrator’s rooms we have become accustomed to. A small bed rests in a corner, and a television rests atop a night table nearby, next to a phone in the same location. A mini kitchen and fold-out table covered in discarded beer cans completes the room. We find NICO, beer can in hand, drained of all his senses and in a drunken stupor. The remote sits lightly in his hand, poised to fall to the floor. A trail of drool runs from his mouth, and cartoons are on the TV. The phone begins to ring. NICO takes his eyes off the screen for a few seconds to glance at it, then turns back. Eventually the phone ceases ringing, yet a few seconds later, it begins again. NICO grunts and hauls himself up and lifts the receiver to his ear.

NICO: (Drunk) This is….is….um…

SANDWICH: Nico. Your name is Nico. Formerly venom2506, you name-changing drunk.

NICO: (Smiles stupidly) That’s it….

SANDWICH: Do you know who this is?

NICO: Shirley Temple…?

SANDWICH: (Sighs) This is Sandwich.

NICO coughs a little at this and looks surprised, in his own, stupefied away. He turns to look at the beer cans on the table for a few seconds.

NICO: When do I get laid…?

SANDWICH: This isn’t a hallucination buddy. I’m still here. So is Shrike. I hooked us up with a secure line, they—

SANDWICH pauses, listening. NICO is silent, his eyes wide in shock, the drool running unattended from the corner of his mouth.

SANDWICH: But you can’t understand a word of that. Get sober ASAP. You will receive a phone call tomorrow.

The phone hangs up from SANDWICH’s end. NICO is in shock, his hands are shaking. He drops the phone, and it clatters to the floor. Cut to:

SCENE NINETY-EIGHT. INT. GRANDEUR – LIGHTSPEED’s CABIN – NIGHT.

LIGHTSPEED is busy working quietly on some paperwork in his silent cabin. Just a little bit smaller than an administrator’s room, it is decked out in an elegant wooden finish. A cheerful beeping starts up. LIGHTSPEED depresses the button on his comm. link without ever looking up from his work.

LIGHTSPEED: Lightspeed.

The beeping continues. LIGHTSPEED searches his uniform pockets, and eventually pulls out a personal communicator. He depresses a button on it.

LIGHTSPEED: Who is this…?

SANDWICH’s voice, distorted and disguised, comes through the speaker box.

SANDWICH: This is Sandwich.

LIGHTSPEED springs up, and looks around quickly, checking to make sure the room is clear. He leans towards the speaker and presses the button.

LIGHTSPEED: This better not be some prank…!

SANDWICH: No prank. I’m patching through one of our satellites directly to this device. Don’t worry – we’re untraceable.

LIGHTSPEED: Where are you…?

SANDWICH: (Chuckles) Doesn’t the big, bad star ship captain know better than to ask a fugitive that question? We’re safe in hiding, don’t worry.

LIGHTSPEED: We…?

SANDWICH: Shrike and I.

LIGHTSPEED: (Draws a sharp breath) He’s alive…?

SANDWICH: Do you want your orders, soldier?

LIGHTSPEED regains his composure.

LIGHTSPEED: Yes, sir.

SANDWICH: I need you to contact both Gortef and Carl, I couldn’t reach them. Tell them to start recruiting troops that are still loyal to Shrike – it wasn’t the flamers that killed him, it was Styxx.

LIGHTSPEED: No!

SANDWICH: Yes. We need you to start scoping out the other administrators as well, to see who’s loyal and who’s not – we don’t know who’s on who’s side in this fight.

LIGHTSPEED: Aye-aye sir.

SANDWICH: Good. I will call you again soon at an unspecified date and time, so keep your communicator handy.

LIGHTSPEED: Will do, sir. And good luck.

SANDWICH: Good luck to us all.

With that, SANDWICH terminates the transmission. LIGHTSPEED exhales and sits back, running his hands through his hair in shock. We fade to:

[Sandwich]

Originally posted by Unknown Target
And all the personalities are based off of your forum personas. As I have never met you in real life, I wouldn't know what to put, now would I?

Except you've had me cursing here and there in these stories.


Regarding this post's installment, I have one nitpick: As a wanted fugitive, I would certainly hope I'd retain enough presence of mind to ask the person I'm calling if they are alone before I identify myself to them.

[Mongoose]

Anyone feel like creating an actual CGI version of this?  C'mon, it couldn't take that long, could it?

[Sandwich]

I think a comic would be much better - and more likely to actually be done.

[Martinus]

Originally posted by Sandwich


Except you've had me cursing here and there in these stories.
 

[color=66ff00]I think you've said 'damn' once or twice, UT probably just extrapolated from this.
[/color]

[Sandwich]

Originally posted by Maeglamor

[color=66ff00]I think you've said 'damn' once or twice, UT probably just extrapolated from this.
[/color]

I may have, although I probably used it more as a statement than as a curse. Though that's the meaning of it, anyway, so...

[Turnsky]

Originally posted by Sandwich
I think a comic would be much better - and more likely to actually be done.

don't look at me, i've got enough to do already

[Unknown Target]

Come on Turnsky. It'll be fun We could get all the artists on HLP to do a colab.

SCENE NINETY-NINE. INT. BATTLECRUISER-MILLENIUM BRIDGE – NIGHT.

The MILLENIUM’S BRIDGE is much different than the clean, industrial workplaces that we have become accustomed to on HARD LIGHT ships. Pipes and consoles are poking out every which way, and there is very little empty space in the cramped control room. A CREWMEMBER sits diligently at his control desk, an archaic-looking panel wedged up in front of him. Dressed in a dilapidated uniform, he is the very opposite of the cleanly cut and freshly pressed HARD LIGHT officers. Hugging a pair of oversized headphones to his head, he nods, then turns to face the SUPREME COMMANDER. The latter is resting in his chair, his back is turned to us, and he is in silhouette, obscuring his identity.

CREWMEMBER: Supreme Commander, sir. We are receiving a transmission from The Untouchable.

The SUPREME COMMANDER nods and picks up a small one-ear microphone from his chair. Placing it to his head, he nods once more, and the CREWMEMBER hits a switch. STYXX’s voice comes through, garbled through the head set.

STYXX (Voice-Over): Derek?

DEREK SMART, his identity now revealed, grunts an acknowledgement.

STYXX (Voice-Over): My plan is nearing fruition. Your forces will commence their attack shortly. Are you ready?

DEREK SMART: Of course I am.

STYXX (Voice-Over): Excellent. We will be contacting you again within the day.

DEREK SMART lowers the headset, and we fade to:

SCENE ONE HUNDRED. INT. FORUM ARCHIVES – DAY.

SHRIKE is pacing back and forth in the tiny room. KALFIRETH and SANDWICH are sitting at the center table, several papers laid in front of each of them.

SHRIKE: So what do we have…?

SANDWICH exhales and leans forward, picking up some papers and leafing through them.

SANDWICH: Well I got in touch with…

He pauses to think.

SANDWICH: Nico, Gortef, and Lightspeed. Carl is unnacounted for, but when the fighting starts, I he’ll help us out.

SHRIKE nods.

SHRIKE: Forces?

SANDWICH: Well, we have Lightspeed’s corvette...Nico has promised me a contingent of marines, and Gortef has pledged a squadron of fighters, on top of the ones already stationed aboard LIGHTSPEED’s ship.

SHRIKE turns to look at KALFIRETH.

SHRIKE: And you?

KALFIRETH: I have recruited about one hundred people to our cause…it’s easy pickings, almost all of the forum members are still loyal to us, and believe what I say once they give me time to explain.

SHRIKE: Almost all…?

KALFIRETH: I encountered resistance from a large sect of Defense Force members. Any support of the old guard or dissent against STYXX’s new power is met with severe verbal backlash and warnings.

SHRIKE: Interesting and yet disconcerting all the same…but if STYXX is so hostile to anyone supporting the old Administration, then how is he planning to maintain control?

KALFIRETH continues.

KALFIRETH: If you think that’s bad – word has it the Battlecruiser fleet will be within attack range within the day. Defense Force units are already being loaded into heavy-hauler transports in preparation.

SANDWICH looks at KALFIRETH curiously after that statement.

SANDWICH: Are you sure…? How large are the transports?

KALFIRETH thinks for a moment, then replies nonchalantly.

KALFIRETH: I don’t know…enough to hold one, maybe two legions of troops…why?

SANDWICH sits back and looks down, thinking. His companions stare at him questioningly.

SHRIKE: Sandwich…? What is it?

SANDWICH: It’s just…

He pauses, confused. He thinks for a few more seconds, then looks up at SHRIKE, a puzzled look on his face.

SANDWICH: We only use those transports for mass evacuations or planetary landings…in a space fight, they’d be gunned down in a matter of seconds - I don’t understand why they’d send such big turkeys out there, unless—

He stops, then looks up at SHRIKE, his eyes wide in both surprise and fear. SHRIKE looks puzzled, then as the truth slowly begins to dawn, his expression becomes worrisome.

SHRIKE: Unless they’re not going to send them out there at all…!

KALFIRETH looks at the two of them, confused.

KALFIRETH: What? What’s going on?

SHRIKE wheels around and looks at him.

SHRIKE: There’s no time! Hurry, get all the supporters you can find, and get them to the Neo Terra Victorious forums. They’re not in use, we can stage from there.

He turns to SANDWICH.

SHRIKE: Get all of your troops to that same location – but make it quiet. Tell Lightspeed to collect all long-range ships and gather them in the asteroid field! Get him to try and collect as many supporter capital ships as possible – we need the big guns, and we need them now. Both of you, go!

SANDWICH stands and nods, bolting out the door. KALFIRETH rises as well, looks questioningly at SHRIKE, then follows SANDWICH through the door. When the door shuts, SHRIKE slumps into the chair. Leaning forward, he puts his face in his hands. We fade to:

[NGTM-1R]

I don't suppose I could trouble you for a bit part...?

And keep going!