You guys know the drill...it's gonna get messy, so make sure to call those cameos!
SCENE ONE HUNDRED TWO. INT. TRANSPORT FIFTY-SIX COCKPIT – DAY.
A cramped cockpit greets us. Slightly more spacious than the previous cockpits we have seen, it seats two in a tandem configuration, albeit not comfortably. Dials and touch screens glow menacingly, their soft hues reflecting off the numerous switches and dials poking out from every conceivable place. GRUG sits amidst it all, going over a check list resting on his leg. He adjusts instruments and flips switches intermittently. His pilot, DRAGONCLAW enters from a rear hatch, closing it behind him. Taking his seat, he buckles himself in and reaches down, picking up his own check list, leafing through it. Reaching up, he flips a couple switches.
DRAGONCLAW: Get everything set for me, GRUG?
GRUG: Yes sir…fuel exchange looks good…flight plan is good…
He reaches forward and presses a couple buttons on a largish touch screen display in front of him. It comes alive, then flickers, static coursing through the screen, and shuts itself down. GRUG hits it hard on the side, and it flickers back to life, data readouts instantly springing forward.
GRUG: Navigation’s good…
DRAGONCLAW looks across at his companion, and then looks down at the display. Rolling his eyes, he looks down at his check list.
DRAGONCLAW: On that note…
He looks outside. Spacecraft are beginning to lift off and exit the hangar.
DRAGONCLAW: It looks like everyone’s getting ready to get out of here…let’s get those final checks done fast.
As the two busy about their work, we fade to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THREE. INT. MACHINA TERRA FORUMS – DAY.
STYXX is leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the desk. He is leafing through a large hard covered book, a computer running through video footage and battle maps of the attack to come. A knock is heard at the door. STYXX sits up, marking the book and setting it down on the table.
STYXX: Open.
The door whooshes open and in steps COBRA, who approaches the desk and stands at rigid attention. STYXX looks up at him.
STYXX: Speak.
COBRA: Sir! I have successfully disarmed the station’s internal weaponry, and have confirmed that the sensor net is indeed down.
STYXX sits back and nods, half smiling.
STYXX: Excellent COBRA…you are proving to be of use after all…alert the newbies that the time to strike is nigh…
COBRA salutes crisply and wheels around on his heel, exiting. STYXX smiles and reaches down, picking up the book and returning to his former position. As he begins to read, we cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THREE. INT. NEO TERRA VICTORIOUS – DAY.
We are visiting one of the most ramshackle forums to date. Couches are thrown about the floor, slowly rotting away as mice and other rodents attack them daily. Pipes hang from the ceiling, dripping fluid on the floor below. Large puddles of chemicals are accumulating on various places of the floor, and the long-destroyed ceiling fans now hang dead and lifeless from the ceiling far above. A small, beat up podium is in front of the room, and behind it stand KALFIRETH, SHRIKE, and SANDWICH, who has the stand. About three to four hundred forum members have already arrived, and are flipping over couches, stools, even pieces of machinery to use as seats. More members are trickling in at an ever decreasing rate, until finally they cease. SANDWICH motions with his fingers to two members at the door, who promptly and laboriously push it shut.
SANDWICH steps up to the podium, the lack of a microphone forcing him to shout.
SANDWICH: Friends and fellow forum members…I will not lie to you – Hard Light and all who support her are in grave danger…we have confirmation that not only are our troops being led purposely to their doom…but the very man who betrayed our leader is the one who is at the head of the final charge…Styxx seeks to destroy our home and us as well…
He steps away from the podium and motions for SHRIKE to take the stand. He does so, and a small murmur goes through the crowd. When he speaks, he does not shout, but all can hear his words.
SHRIKE: We have gathered you here today so that we may organize against this threat…many of you gathered here today are veterans of the First Forum War…while others may have simply come because they believe in the values of Hard Light…
He pauses and surveys the room. His audience remains rapt at attention.
SHRIKE: The very same values that are now in danger of extinction…!
The room stirs.
SHRIKE: We must strike back at this cancer before it overtakes this forum and destroys it. For that purpose, Sandwich has managed to supply us with armaments. With these, we plan to organize teams to retake key strategic points in the forum, the first being the communications array. With this, we will be able to warn the fleet in time, and prevent a slaughter…
He pauses again, the room is deathly still.
SHRIKE: I will not give you a speech about how some of you are going to die and what not. I will simply tell you this; if you truly love this forum, if you want it to survive – fight until you die, because I promise you there is no other way out.
As the assembled begin to cheer, SANDWICH motions for them to line up and receive their weaponry, we fade to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED FOUR. EXT. HARD LIGHT FLEET - DAY.
DRAGONCLAW and GRUG are lining up in formation alongside several other transports. In the distance, massive battleships and destroyers can be seen pulling alongside various small craft formations, like massive birds taking their offspring under their wings. DRAGONCLAW’S voice comes over the radio, crackling and distorted.
DRAGONCLAW (Voice Over): Transport Wing One, Transport Wing One, radio check, over.
Cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED FIVE. INT. TRANSPORT FIFTY-SIX COCKPIT – DAY.
As the other ships in the formation begin to sound off, DRAGONCLAW turns to GRUG and jerks his thumb backwards to the door.
DRAGONCLAW: Make sure those Marines are prepped…we’ve got about five minutes until the jump, and I don’t want anyone getting off this tub sans weaponry.
GRUG chuckles and hauls himself out of his seat. Ducking and dodging over equipment, he opens the rear hatch and enters the cargo hold. About one hundred Marines are arrayed below him, all sitting in jump seats, adjusting equipment. GRUG grabs a mic from the wall.
GRUG: Listen up everyone. We’ve got five minutes till jump time. I want all equipment secured, and all weaponry ready. We’re going to be going in fast – this thing wasn’t meant for space combat, so we’ll be slamming down hard on that hull. As soon as we hit, I want you all out and scaling that surface, because if you don’t, Carl’s going to have some fun with whatever’s left of you.
One of the Marines leans over and begins to talk with another. GRUG catches it and quickly turns.
GRUG: And yes, he can survive in space. If you die, your balls belong to him, gentlemen.
He resets the receiver and returns to the cockpit. DRAGONCLAW glances at him.
DRAGONCLAW: Rousing speech…
GRUG: Yea, well, Carl already left me a message saying the same thing to me…I figured I should share the love.
He smiles weakly and DRAGONCLAW tries to hold in his laughter. We cut to:
