Ow, wow, I need to write more, I'm losing my touch. What do you guys think?
And trust me oohal, that's not going to happen
Corsair, hope this answers your question
EDIT: I changed Trashman to someone else; I forgot that I put him in previously. Guys, I'm only human, and there's a lot of people to include; if it happens and I switch your roles up, please let me know (or let me know if you want a cameo)
Thanks!
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO. INT. NEO TERRA VICTORIOUS FORUMS – DAY.
The battle is not going well; hundreds of thousands of bodies are piled on top of each other, in some places they are two or three corspes deep. Blood runs across the floor like a wash of pain, drowning the dead faces of those on the ground in the red liquid. Backed into a corner are the desperate forum members. A hastily erected barricade made from destroyed mechs, overturned chairs, and dead bodies, is all that protects them from the onrushing noob horde. Thousands of them clamber of the walls, trying desperately to get at their foes within, and gunfire is constant. We cut to WEATHEROP and NUCLEAR1, the latter bleeding from a large gash in his forehead. WEATHEROP is trying to slap a bandage across it while NUCLEAR1 keeps an eye on the wall, letting loose a three round burst every few seconds, which is immediately followed by a blood-curdling cry from the target. WEATHEROP, looking up from the bloody mess, spies KOSH, hunkered behind a raggedy old couch, sporadically laying down supressing fire.
WEATHEROP: Kosh!
KOSH doesn't respond, and lets loose another volley, followed by a chorus of screams. WEATHEROP, still holding the bandage in place with his left hand, picks up a chunk of rock and chucks it at KOSH to get his attention; it works, and KOSH wheels around, bringing his gun to bear right on WEATHEROP's forehead. WEATHEROP's eyes bulge and he ducks, just in time to see a stream of leaden birdies rip through what was almost his head. Gripping his helmet in one hand, head and bandage in the other, he screams at KOSH.
WEATHEROP: Mother
****! Watch your fire you skittish bastard!
KOSH looks sheepishly at WEATHEROP, then lets loose a volley just as a noob breaches the perimeter and is about to leap onto another forum member.
WEATHEROP: Kosh!
KOSH: What?
WEATHEROP: Where's the backup?
KOSH: I -
A noob leaps into the air, flying like a bird over the barricade, heading straight for KOSH - just as he is about to hit, he is immediately cut in half by a stream of bullets. The duo whip their heads around to see NUCLEAR1's smoking barrel.
NUCLEAR1: I don't think it really matters at this point, do you?
As the trio return to the fight, we cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE. EXT. TRANSPORT FIFTY-SIX - DAY.
The transport is now a twisted, smoking metal wreck, lying on the surface. A massive space battle rages overhead; we cut inside.
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FOUR. INT. TRANSPORT FIFTY-SIX - DAY.
We start in the cockpit; the room is in shambles, the windscreen is broken, the entire area depressurized. GRUG and DRAGONCLAW hang limply from their harnesses, lifeless and dead. We move back; several marines are dead, a bloody mess on the wall is all that remains of one that forgot to pressurize his suit. JETMECH_JR., crawls from underneath some wreckage, leaning back against a broken piece of equipment. We hear his breathing; it's heavy and garbled through the microphone. He leans his head back, closing his eyes, fighting to stay conscious - blood trickles from a large gash on his forehead.
JETMECH_JR.: (Panting) Who's...who's...
He swallows hard to wake himself up.
JETMECH_JR.: Who's hurt?
Silence on the microphone. He repeats.
JETMECH_JR.: Marines, status report.
He stumbles to his feet. Two or three groans acknowledge him.
JETMECH_JR.: Jetmech_Jr. to pilot...
No response. He waits a few seconds, then tries again.
JETMECH_JR.: Jetmech_JR. to copilot...
He peers through a shattered railing up to the cabin, and asses the situation. Turning around, he sets to work getting whatever is left of his squad. We cut back to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE. INT. NEO TERRA VICTORIOUS FORUMS - DAY.
The battle is much as we left it; the forumites are pinned down, fighting for their lives, not willing to give even an inch. Bullets are flying every which way, men and women are being cut into ribbons by the hail of lead. Suddenly in one corner of the barricade, an explosion rips through, sending debris and bodies every which way. Through the massive hole steps a noob juggernaught - the forum members start to fire, their small arms pinging harmlessly off the massive exoskeleton. The machine's massive arm raises, ready to fire - the end is night; we cut to several faces to see their reactions, then to below the arm, and just in front of it. Out of nowhere, an explosion erupts on the cieling, and the dim lights above are momentarily blotted out by a massive falling shape, closing rapidly - just as the beam cannon is about to fire, a giant Hard Light mech crashes down into the weapon, smashing it underneath it's massive feet - pulling an arm back, the HLP Mech rips into the skull of the enemy machine, sending it flying backwards into a wall, it's arm still stamped underfoot. The giant mech turns around, and on a loudspeaker blares DARK_4CE's voice in a nonchalant, braggart tone.
DARK_4CE: Did somebody call for a...
super hero?
A cheer erupts from the remaining forum members, and several more explosions rock the area, as four more collossal mechs drop from the cieling - two troop transports sail through the holes, smashing into the barricade, sending the noobs that were crawling on it scattering. The dropships disgorge their troops, who set up a perimeter of hellfire, laying down a carpet of bullets in all directions. As the mechs begin their work on the enemy juggernaughts, we see a largish body dart from one of the ships, his jacket swirling in the wind. He approaches SHRIKE, head low to avoid the jet wash, and shouting just to be heard above it - it is UBERMETROID.
UBERMETROID: Sir! We're here to get you and your troops out of here!
SHRIKE shakes his head viguorsly.
SHRIKE: We can't! We have to lock the forums so these things can't spread!
UBERMETROID: (shakes head) I'm not too sure about that sir!
SHRIKE: If we don't lock the forums, we'll lose the station! We need to get to the control room! There's an board update feature there, if we hit that switch, all the forums will automatically be put under lockdown!
UBERMETROID: Don't you guys have problems getting that to, you know, turn off?
SHRIKE laughs and slaps his hand across UBERMETROID's back.
SHRIKE: I don't think that really matters now, do you?
UBERMETROID: I guess not sir!
SHRIKE: Good! Now get these people on these ships, and let's get our asses
out of here!As the group begins to retreat, we cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX. EXT. SPACE COMBAT ZONE - DAY.
The battle is still raging strong, with no sign of letup. Massive Battlecruiser hulks drift, burning brightly against the black sky behind them; Hard Light destroyers explode in a series of continuous, rapid explosions. We fly throug the battle, bullets flying back and forth, torpedoes ripping up the battlefield as they criss cross in flight. A Hard Light destroyer slowly drifts in front of us, flames licking at her deck as she spirals in an unctontrolable spin. Suddenly, a massive explosion shreds her bow, the shockwave traveling in a straight line down her deck plating, rippping her in two and finishing her with one final explosion. The camera shakes from the shockwave, just as three Wing Commander fighters in hot persuit of a Hard Light ship blast past us. We follow the quartet as they fly through space, dodging and ducking under hulks - one of the fighters nicks a torpedo and the duo are sent into unctontrollable spins, the torpedo curving sharply into a hulking bit of debree, the fighter spinning into space, to be pounced on by two Hard Light fighters. The enemy fighters on the tail of the Hard Light craft open fire with their cannons, and we cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SEVEN. INT. CORSAIR'S COCKPIT - DAY.
Warning sirens are blaring and red lights are flashing as CORSAIR struggles to keep his stampeding mount under control - tracer fire whips past his cockpit, one of them penetrates his canopy and the entire craft bucks upward from the decompression. The bullet buries itself in one of CORSAIRs MFDs, sending a shower of sparks into CORSAIR's face. He instinctively pulls back, the fighter sailing upwards, easy meat for his enemy; realizing his mistake, he whips it around and flies it backwards, the enemy closing just a few hundred feet, their weapons blazing, sending crimson death flying to their opponent. CORSAIR jets straight down and noses his craft downward, his burners going at full speed - he uses the extra seconds to grab a small suction device and plasters it to the window to stop the air loss, then flips around - the targeting reticle beeps around the enemy for a few seconds before finally turning bright red - we cut to the trigger as he yanks it back, then back to the enemy on his windscreen as he is torn into shreds, large chunks flying every which way - he rears into his fellow pilot, who deftly jets up and over him, rolling to the other side, his wingman exploding behind him - this pilot is good. Cut to:
SCENE ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-EIGHT. EXT. THE CHASE - DAY.
CORSAIR can't get a shot off in time before the CIC pilot opens fire on him - he's forced to flip his spacecraft over on it's back and fly for cover; he spies a burning Battlecruiser just ahead and roars towards it, we're only a few feet from his cockpit as tracers rip past, bullets slicing through the thin aluminum plating - the Battlecruiser is getting closer, closer - there, a huge hole had been ripped open by a torpedo hit, and the space beyond is shining through the mangled wreck - CORSAIR points his craft downward, his momentum still carying him forward, before he lets his engines off their leashes and dives through the smouldering wreckage, the enemy pilot close in tow. Weaving back and forth, flaming debri bounces off his craft, as suited workers fight the fires all around them. Dipping in and out, the duo skillfully navigate the twisted, mangled spars of the Battlecruiser, CORSAIR gaining a slight lead. He bursts through the other side first, in a shower of sparks, his opponnent not far behind. A nanosecond passes between the departures, but when the CIC pilot pops out the other side, he is greeted with empty space; until CORSAIR opens the throttle on
his engines and blasts off the exterior hull of the Battlecruiser right onto the enemy's
six; he fires, slicing off one entire engine section of the enemy fighter, sending him into
a death spiral, flames eating away at his fuel tank. A flash of light and small rocket
motors flare into life, sending the enemy pilot up and away from his stricken craft, which
explodes a few moments later. Circling the pod, CORSAIR waggles his wings, and jets back off
to the battlefield; we cut to:
