[Tiara]

*whirls Axe o' Reward at UT*

You deserve it.

[Zuljin]

This is simply brilliant

[Dark_4ce]

Check this site out for Final Draft. You can download a demo.

Final Draft

[Singh]

excellent work as always UT

[Windrunner]

:yes: nice work as allways

[Unknown Target]

Thanks

Next part:

SCENE FOURTEEN. INT. ADMINISTRATOR HOUSING – DAY.


We open to a short, pleasantly lit hallway lined with doors on either side. SANDWICH and ADMINISTRATOR are walking side by side. As they pass each door, we see the names of the admins on them, until they reach the last door. SANDWICH lifts his arm up and wipes some dust off the name plaque. A rusty, dirty-looking LCD display still displays THUNDER. SANDWICH sighs and motions for ADMINISTRATOR to step towards a small speaker located at eye level next to the door.

SANDWICH: Please input your name for voice identification.

He steps back as ADMINISTRATOR steps up to the door. A red beam pops out of the scanner and looks him up and down. It bleeps out a command in a robotic effeminate voice.

SCANNER: PLEASE SAY NAME.

ADMINISTRATOR: Administrator.

SCANNER: PLEASE SAY NAME AGAIN FOR VOICE IDENTIFICATION.

ADMINISTRATOR: Administrator.

SCANNER: THANK YOU ADMINISTRATOR. HAVE A NICE DAY.

The scanner clicks off and the door whooshes open. ADMINISTRATOR steps into a barren, dusty room inside. He looks back at SANDWICH inquisitively. SANDWICH reads his look, or at least what we can see of it.

SANDWICH: We moved his stuff to a special cargo area.

ADMINISTRATOR nods and walks into the center of the room. Turning to SANDWICH, he gestures around him with a wide show of his arms.

ADMINISTRATOR: Glad to be home, I guess!

SANDWICH: (Chuckles) Well, if there’s anything we can do for you, please ask.

SANDWICH turns and is just about to leave, but just as he does so, ADMINISTRATOR stops him with his voice.

ADMINISTRATOR: Ah…if you please. I was wondering, on the way here you were briefing me on the newbies that have joined recently?

SANDWICH: (Nods) Yes? What about them?

ADMINISTRATOR looks down at his feet, then back up at SANDWICH.

ADMINISTRATOR: I was hoping I could maybe talk to this…Cobra fellow?

SANDWICH: (Gives a courteous smile) Of course, I’ll send him right up.

ADMINISTRATOR: (Bows a little) Thank you. I guess I’ll just get settled in then!

SANDWICH: (Gestures at the room) Anything else you need?

ADMINISTRATOR: (Looks around) No, no, I’ll be fine, thank you.

SANDWICH nods and smiles again.

SANDWICH: Don’t mention it.

He turns and walks out the door, it shutting behind him. We look back to look at ADMINISTRATOR, who looks around the room once more, and we fade to:

[WeatherOp]

Man, this is getting very good. And I can't remember who said it, but you should consider being a story writer of some sort.

[Setekh]

I don't understand why my seat is filled with cobwebs.

[Unknown Target]

Read the first movie.

Spoiler:

You died. I wrote it around the time you left HLP, so I killed you

Anyway, here's the next part, sorry it took so long. I've had writers block about where to go next with the story:


SCENE FIFTEEN. INT. SHRIKE’S QUARTERS – NIGHT.

We open to see a room clothed in darkness, a single light, resting on a desk, casting eerie shadows on still walls. In front of the desk sits SHRIKE, working slowly through a large stack of papers. He’s wearing a pair of glasses, and moving papers from one giant pile, reading them and signing/stamping them, setting them in a different pile. We see a small speakerphone by his elbow, which suddenly comes to life.

TOPACE: (Through speaker) Shrike? Shrike, are you there?

SHRIKE sighs and shifts over, depressing a button on the bottom of the device.

SHRIKE: Shrike here. What is it Topace?

TOPACE: Sorry to disturb you, sir. We have something up here we’d like you to look at, though.

SHRIKE: Is it important? I’m kind of busy.

SHRIKE glances over at his paperwork with a distasteful look.

TOPACE: Yes sir, it is. Please report to HQ as soon as you can.

SHRIKE: (Breathes out) I’m on my way.

He gets up from the desk, and shuffling some paperwork, and, setting his glasses down on the desk, he turns to get ready. We cut to:

SCENE SIXTEEN. INT. FORUM HEADQUARTERS – NIGHT.

We are facing the large double doors that lead into the heart of HLP. They suddenly burst open, and in strides SHRIKE, tired, but alert. We turn to see a gaggle of concerned looking forumites, all scurrying about, doing random tasks. SHRIKE stops, waiting. TOPACE approaches him from one of the consoles.

TOPACE: Evening sir.

SHRIKE: (Nods) Evening.

SHRIKE pauses, staring at TOPACE for a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. TOPACE stares back, unsure of what to do, then suddenly stops.

TOPACE: Oh! Sorry sir. What I called you up here for…

TOPACE motions to a video screen, and SHRIKE walks past him, and TOPACE falls in tow behind him. SHRIKE stops to look at the video screen, his back is obscuring it from our view.

SHRIKE: (Unsure, but interested) What is it…?

TOPACE moves to stand next to him, and points at the screen. SHRIKE stands up and folds his arms across his chest, showing us the screen. On it is what appears to be heat signatures. TOPACE begins to talk, pointing at the blips.

TOPACE: This was taken from our long-range sensor net, just a few hours ago. They appear to be heat signatures.

SHRIKE: Of what…?

TOPACE: Ships, sir. Lots of them.

SHRIKE looks a little startled, and turns to look at TOPACE.

SHRIKE: Are you sure…?

TOPACE: Yes.

SHRIKE leans forward and stares at the screen more intently.

SHRIKE: Point of origin? Armament? Friend or foe, for God’s sake?

TOPACE: All unknown, sir. We’re sending these through reconnaissance for examination, but…

He stops. SHRIKE stands back up and turns to face him.

SHRIKE: But what?

TOPACE: (Shrugs) Nothing, sir.

SHRIKE gets a slightly angered look on his face, and motions to TOPACE.

SHRIKE: What do you think they are?

TOPACE looks away for a few seconds, then turns to look back at SHRIKE.

TOPACE: I think they might be Battlecruisers…I can’t be sure, but the heat blooms coming from their exhausts show an enormous amount of wasted power for ships of their size.

SHRIKE steps back for a second, then leans forward, looking at TOPACE intensely.

SHRIKE: And that is what you think?

TOPACE: (Pauses) Yes.

SHRIKE turns back to look at the screen, folding his arms. He turns to look back at TOPACE.

SHRIKE: Good. That’s what I was thinking as well.

SHRIKE turns to look at the room behind him. Everyone in the area turns to look at him.

SHRIKE: I want a Deimos and fighter escort prepped and ready for a recon mission in fifteen minutes. Get support staff and mission control online right now. Alert as few people as possible, we don’t want this getting out.

He turns to look at TOPACE and gives him an underhanded look.

SHRIKE: Let’s just hope that we’re wrong about this. I’m putting you in charge of the secrecy of this operation. Make sure no one, and I mean no one, outside of non-essential personnel hears about it.

TOPACE: (Nods) Yes sir.
SHRIKE: I’ll go and alert the admins to the situation.

He extends his hand towards TOPACE.

SHRIKE: Good luck.

TOPACE takes it and shakes it gruffly a few times.

TOPACE: To us all.

SHRIKE gives him a grim nod, and turns to walk out of the room. We cut to:

[WeatherOp]

Intense.... Can't wait till the next part, with lots of BOOMS.

[Taristin]

Editted for stupidness.

[pyro-manic]

Heheh - I think I can see where this is going.... Good stuff.

[Corsair]

The plot thickens... BUM BUM BUM!

[Setekh]

Originally posted by Unknown Target

Spoiler:

You died. I wrote it around the time you left HLP, so I killed you

[/B]

Oh, cool. That makes me feel much better about it, cheers.

[icespeed]

oh wow, the suspense.

you know what, we should invent some way of putting good writers onto spacecraft that travel so not-fast they break the _opposite_ of the lightspeed barrier, so that our time runs slow compared to them. then we wouldn't have to wait as long for each scene.

but that would probably count as mental cruelty to writers.

[Unknown Target]

I've been having trouble writing lately. How's this read?


SCENE SEVENTEEN. INT. FORUM HANGAR – NIGHT.

We open to see a very slow moving, yet purposeful, procession of outlined figures, cast against the bright background of the floodlights. running back and forth, carting large canisters of ammunition and fuel to a row of five waiting Perseus fighter craft. Sounds of ammo belts running and winches being tightened rattle through the darkened hanger. We cut to see CORSAIR, directing the flow from the cockpit of his aircraft. Decked in an unzipped flight suit and unclipped helmet, he calmly points to each figure, barking out orders at random. A CREWMEMBER scurries below him.

CORSAIR: You! Hey! You, stop!

The CREWMEMBER skids to a stop and looks up at CORSAIR expectantly. His powered ammo cart idles next to him. CORSAIR points off to the side, towards the other fighters.

CORSAIR: Fighter three needs to be topped off on fuel, and Four and five need ECM pods.

He hears a bleep of a radio behind him, and holding out a single finger to the waiting CREWMEMBER, he reaches back into his cockpit and pulls out his oxygen mask. Pressing it to his face, he begins to speak, and we overhear his conversation.

CORSAIR: This is Corsair.

LIGHTSPEED: (Over Radio) Corsair? This is Lightspeed. When are those fighters going to be ready? We’ve been sitting out here for ten minutes!
CORSIAR: (Bobs up and down) I know, I know, but-

He waves at the hangar around him. We look down at the CREWMEMBER, now crossing his arms and stamping his foot impatiently.

CORSIAR: -we’re having some troubles with the loading. A couple of the ammo belts jammed up and we—

LIGHTSPEED: I don’t care what’s going on. We’re running close on our deadline—are your pilots ready yet?

CORSAIR: They’re ready and waiting. We just need to load up a couple more things and we’re ready to go.

He turns to look at the CREWMEMBER, and waves him off with the back of his hand.

CORSAIR: (Mouths) Sorry.

He turns back to the mask.

CORSAIR: Look, Lighty, I have to go, we’ll be out in a few minutes.

LIGHTSPEED: (Irritated) Roger that. Over and out.

CORSAIR turns back to the scene around him. He climbs into his cockpit and buckles himself in. As the crew chief comes over to finalize his safety straps, he twirls his arm around in a circular motion.

CORSAIR: Let’s run ‘em up!

We cut to:


SCENE EIGHTEEN. EXT. HARD LIGHT STATION – NIGHT.


We open to see a small group of five fighters slip into formation next to the GRANDEUR, an enormous capital ship, hanging motionless in space waiting for them. As the group slips silently through space, a voice comes over the radio.

LIGHTSPEED: (Voice over) Command? This is Lightspeed.

DABRAIN: (Voice over) This is Command. You ready Lightspeed?

LIGHTSPEED: Ready and able, Command. Requesting warp coordinates for mission staging area.

DABRAIN: Acknowledged, transmitting coordinates now.

We cut to:

SCENE NINETEEN. INT. GRANDEUR BRIDGE – NIGHT.

We open to see a moderately lit, utilitarian looking room. Around it, rows of computers crunch away, tended by numerous crewmembers. Situated behind the captain’s chair is a large table, containing numerous charts, calculations, etc. Hanging listlessly above it is a holographic display, interrupted only by stray bits of dust floating through the air.
LIGHTSPEED sits in the middle of it all, in a large captain’s chair. A holographic keyboard hovers above his legs, and surrounding him are three holographic screens. On the left is an image of DABRAIN. On the center is an outside view of the HLP station, and on his far right are ship statistics.
LIGHTSPEED turns to look at the screen to his left.


LIGHTSPEED: Acknowledged Command. Jumping now.

DABRAIN: God speed, captain.

DABRAIN’s image flickers out, and is replaced by a majestic view of the area surround the GRANDEUR, continuous with the center screen. LIGHTSPEED punches a few keys on his keyboard, and turns to look at the right screen. Calling out, he orders his crew to action.

LIGHTSPEED: Helm, acknowledge jump coordinates.

Next to the table, hunkered over, hard at work on the calculations, a CREWMEMBER #1 makes a few final key presses, and looks up at LIGHTSPEED.

CREWMEMBER #1: Helm, acknowledged. Jump coordinates accepted.

LIGHTSPEED turns back to the center screen, which is now displaying a diagram of the ship, divided into several red-colored segments.

LIGHTSPEED: All stations report in. Charge the jump drive.

CREWMEMBER #2, standing across from CREWMEMBER #1, looks up.

CREWMEMBER #2: Jump drive charged. All systems and stations are go.

The diagram’s segmented ship slowly changes from red to green. Finally, LIGHTSPEED sits back in his chair, and settles himself in.

LIGHTSPEED: Helm, commence the jump.

CREWMEMBER #1: Acknowledged. Helm is making the jump.

We cut to:

SCENE TWENTY. EXT. HLP STATION – NIGHT.

The six ships all begin to move forward, slowly at first, and gradually start to pick up speed. About twenty feet in front of each of them, separate glowing blue holes open up. Spinning rapidly, the holes seem to pull the ships in, and they stretch them longer and longer, until at last the ships enter, and are rapidly engulfed inside. The holes close, and we are left with a few seconds of a panoramic star field view. We cut to:

[Corsair]

UT, you are my hero. I couldn't have asked for a better part.

[Dark_4ce]

Great stuff UT. As usual!

[Singh]

excellent dude!

Although one thing - seeing as how lighty is an l337 pilot in multi, he seeems more eligible for a fighter role. Not that the present one is not suitable that is.

[Grey Wolf]

Nice, yet again. I'm still AWOL, though...