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Once a month, the Story Design Tips column is going to have a story design challenge. Whereas we usually use this space for tips about dialogue, world-building, plot, comedy, endings, and more, the story design challenge is the place where you can show us what you’ve got, get some feedback, and maybe get some exposure. The story design challenge and results will also be cross-posted on Gamasutra’s sister site, GameCareerGuide.
Let’s get to it.
Memorable Entrances
As a writer, you’ve got a few tools. One of them, which you can choose to use or ignore, is the first impression a character makes when she/he/it first appears in the plot.
A memorable entrance is a good way for a writer to try and establish his most important characters. Rather than think about what your plot needs, think about the most memorable way for your character to make an entrance. Find a way that is unforgettable and also shows who the character is.
What’s memorable? Think about the first time you saw Doc in Back to the Future. Think about Yoda’s first scene (in Chapter IV). Think about the first time you saw the terminator: the way he got his clothes and sunglasses right after he appeared. Think about Steve Martin’s first few minutes in Little Shop of Horrors. Think about the first scene of every James Bond film. Think about Indiana Jones’ first few minutes on screen in his first and second films.
The Rules:
- Please don’t use anything anyone owns the rights to, even if you’re the one who owns those rights. Let’s have no variations on existing games, movies, or stories. And nothing you or your company are working on at the moment.
- Please keep your entry under 1000 words. 1000 words translate roughly to 4 double-spaced pages. That should be more than enough.
- Winners will be announced in this column in Gamasutra and will also be featured at GameCareerGuide on Tuesday, April 3rd. This means you have six days (Monday is the last day) to publish your entry.
- Please publish your entry in the comments below. If you want to do it anonymously, use Gamasutra’s system to log in anonymously.
- Important: When you publish your entry, send it to me simultaneously via email (at guyhasson at gmail dot com). That way, you make your entry public (in the comments), while ensuring I have your real email address if you win.
The prize: The prize that’s mine to give is a free electronic copy of my book, Secret Thoughts. It’s science fiction, recently published by Apex Books, and so far has gotten great reviews. Here’s a link to the publisher’s website, where you can check out the plot and the reviews. When you send your email, please specify the type of file you want (pdf, epub, or mobi). If you’ve already won a Story Design Challenge, all I have to give you is glory.
Good luck to everyone!
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For those of us who have never done script-writing/scene-writing or taken any courses in this medium, do you happen to have a quick link to an example of an appropriate industry-standard format for reference?
http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/scriptsample.pdf
Submissions can be in any format you want, as long as they are easy to understand.
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/856644/The_Bombshell.pdf
http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2012/03/words-written-on-wind.html
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/7859725/juliana.pdf
http://www.blakeclouser.com/writing/StoryDesignChallenge2.pdf
I may go to read your entries, but most people won't. You get more exposure by posting them here.
In addition, anything Dropbox or in your blog may change or disappear after a while, and I'd like people to be able to see your entries six months from now and beyond.
Thanks.
Guy
Written by
Blake Clouser
http://blakeclouser.com/writing/StoryDesignChallenge2.pdf
EXT. DESERT - DAY
A golden ocean of sand. Stillness. A metallic circle breaks the
monotony of the endless arid blanket. A lid, a hatch to a hidden
world beneath.
Air hisses as it pops open. Smoke exhales. Small hands claw into
the sands and a YOUNG GIRL emerges through the smoke. OPUS, 14,
her thin, pale frame hidden under a hooded cloak, staggers from
the mystery portal. She coughs, a spatter of blood hits the sand
at her feet.
The hatch opens behind her. A MASKED SOLDIER pulls himself from
the hole. He is a giant, black armor broadening an already broad
form, a nasty assault rifle cocked and ready.
She looks over her shoulder, fearful icy blue eyes, and makes it
over the hill as the trained killer pursues.
He scales the top of the hill: Nothing. An empty desert before
him.
Earth shifts at his feet and Opus explodes from the cover of sand.
She lands on his chest, legs wrapped around him. His gun fires,
but she smacks it away then shoves two bullet like fingers into
his jugular.
Blood gushes as he pulls her hand out of his throat, her other
hand shoots like a knife through his helmet’s visor, destroying
his eye.
He falls to his knees, Opus’s legs still clawed around him. He
gasps in pain as he bleeds out. In seconds he is as silent as the
desert around them.
Opus sets to looting his satchel.
BOOM. Just behind her the latch pops off like a cork and rockets
above. Smoke and fire leak from the compound below.
She watches briefly before returning to her loot.
She picks up an over-sized assault rifle, a disgusted look on her
face. She extracts the bullets from a clip then tosses it. She
also finds something in a wrapper unmistakably the shape of a
condom. Tosses it.
She takes a final gander at her spoils:
Hydration pump, Binoculars, Razor Wire, Protein Pills, Bullets,
Medicinal foam, an Osi-Blade.
Opus clicks a button on the Osi-Blade’s handle and it hums to life
with seismic vibration, it’s blade blurring with deadly force. She
switches it off.
She discovers a faded photograph: A woman holding a child, a
skyline of glorious buildings dominate the sky behind them. She
tears the top portion of the photo off, keeping only the
buildings. Scraps the rest.
She lines the torn photo up with the horizon, creates her own
skyline of a city in the distance. Her city. Her goal.
She smiles, slides the photo into her satchel and wades into the
sandy ocean before her towards her imagined metropolis.
Two boys sit opposite each other. DANIEL, 13, is dressed in
blue jeans, an Aerosmith tee shirt, and a pair of boots too
big for him. His back is to a small window. ELIJAH, 11, is
in breeches, a white flowing shirt, stockings, and shoes.
ELIJAH
Hello.
(BEAT)
Who ... who are you?
DANIEL
Dan.
ELIJAH
Dan?
DANIEL
Dan.
ELIJAH
What's a Dan?
DANIEL
My name. Don't wear it out ...
(chuckle)
ELIJAH
I beg pardon?
DANIEL
Dan is my first name.
ELIJAH
Would that be short for Daniel
then?
DANIEL
Yes but I never use it.
ELIJAH
Why not?
DANIEL
It's ... oh, it's a long story.
ELIJAH
I shall call you Daniel.
Daniel looks down at his feet to see the boots, the same
ones he tried on at Monticello in 2012. He quickly removes
them and covers a toe that pokes out of his sock.
ELIJAH
They're very nice boots.
DANIEL
Yeah, they aren't mine.
Daniel and Elijah stare at each other. Suddenly, Daniel's
cell phone rings.
DANIEL
Oh my God. How can this work?
Daniel fumbles in his pocket for his cell and pulls it out.
He silences it.
ELIJAH
What was that sound? And what ...
is ... that? And why did you take
the Lord's name in vain?
(BEAT)
I shall ask again. Who are you. And
where did you come from?
DANIEL
Uh, New York?
Elijah silences him with a look.
ELIJAH
You aren't from here I can tell
that right away. Look, you aren't
going to get very far in
Philadelphia I can tell you that.
DANIEL
May I ask a question? What ... what
year is this anyway?
ELIJAH
1776 of course.
DANIEL
I did it. It really happened!
ELIJAH
What? What happened?
DANIEL
I put on these boots. They're
Thomas Jefferson's boots and, well,
I woke up here.
Elijah rises and stands over Daniel, arms crossed over his
chest.
ELIJAH
Mr. Jefferson lent you his boots?
DANIEL
Not exactly ...
ELIJAH
You took them then?
DANIEL
Well, no, no. Well. yes. When you
put it that way.
Elijah kneels down near Daniel.
ELIJAH
Good.
DANIEL
Huh?
ELIJAH
I've been trying to trick old
Jefferson for years. Taking his
boots is perfect! But we need to
get you better clothes if you're
going to blend in.
Daniel's relief is all over his face.
***
Ahmiz let his eyes flutter shut as a ray of sunlight hit his face. He inhaled deeply and leaned back in the saddle, taut muscles relaxing as a sensation of warmth began to soak through his ruddy flesh.
Behind him, Jena's camel bleated and stamped its feet as it came to a halt. He ignored it, enjoying the feeling of the sun across his skin. The camel bleated again and there was a light tug on his robe. Cracking his eyes open in annoyance, he saw Jena at his side. A fine sheen of dust covered the young girl's features and bald head, putting into contrast her black lips and the scars running across her cheeks and throat. She signed with gloved hands. The sun is up. We have to go .
Ahmiz let out his breath and gazed out over the distant sun. "Soon child, soon. Let me enjoy the sunrise."
Sunlight was crowning over the distant tips of the mountain range, changing the red sandstone into the color of amber, fingers of light spilling out through the valley and stretching out towards them.
She rolled her eyes and pouted. There's too much sand here now, I don't like it anymore.
Ahmiz nodded but didn't move. "There's no hurry, we found what we were looking for." He patted the bulky saddle bag of his camel. "And Oska will still be waiting for you when we get back home."
Jena blushed and looked away, blinking her olive eyes rapidly.
The sunlight had reached the cliffs behind them now, the rocky tips turning bronze in the growing light. Jena was right; there was sand everywhere. He could hear it, falling down the sides of the cliffs, in thin waterfalls, a set of gentle, unending dribbles. The sun continued to move and soon handfuls of the grains were being lit by the sharp morning light, glittering like motes from a dying fire as they tumbled down off the cliffs before fading back to the color of ash as the shrinking shadows covered them again.
The sun continued to stretch and and Ahmiz could see sheets of sand whisking off the tips of the dunes in thin diaphanous sheets, slowly settling over the ruins of the valley. The force projector that had kept the desert at bay was safely in his saddlebag now, the warriors who had defended it lay where he had slain them in the valley below. Now the dust was coming, and there was nothing left but to leave.
Jena's hands moved. Where shall we go now? To the north?
Ahmiz sighed and jabbed his camel with his heels. "Yes girl, now to the north."
You could use asterisks to *emphasize* something.
Guy, when you announce the winner I think it would be really valuable information if you can analyze and breakdown their entry; talk about what worked well about it, the kind of tricks they executed well, and maybe even how it could've been made even better.
INT. MANSION BEDROOM - DAY
Open on JAMES PIERCE, wealthy bachelor and thief
extraordinaire. The whole house looks swanky, fleshed out in
ultra-modern decor. A machine set into the wall divests
James of his black action suit & night vision mask,
replacing it with a more polished shirt and slacks.
Meanwhile James’ partner in crime ANNA SUMMERS sits on the
bed nearby, holding a slim piece of futuristic technology up
to the light.
ANNA
This thing’s gorgeous. Can’t
believe we got away with that
heist.
JAMES
We haven’t, yet.
ANNA
(smirking)
We’ve got the Pacific Ocean between
us and Prism. I think we’ll be
fine.
JAMES
Sometimes I forget you’re still new
to this business.
There’s a faint boom in the distance. The mirror against the
wall quivers slightly. Anna jolts to her feet; James
straightens his tie in the mirror calmly.
ANNA
The hell was that?
JAMES
(with a sigh)
Probably my ex.
ANNA
That’s not funny!
JAMES
Good, ’cause it’s not a joke. Stay
here.
He takes off out the door hurriedly.
EXT. MANSION FRONT COURTYARD - DAY
The front gate to the mansion has just been blown down,
smoke rising from the rubble. In its wake stands JULIANA
LOVEJOY, tall, brunette and intimidating, with an anti-tank
RPG held in front of her.
She smiles and hefts the gun over one shoulder for another
shot.
JULIANA
(Shouting)
Come on out, cupcake!
She fires. The front doorway to the mansion explodes in a
rain of fire and brick; the arch above the doorway
collapses.
CUT TO:
INT. MANSION FRONT ATRIUM - DAY
James gets to the bottom of the spiral staircase in the
front atrium just as Juliana finishes climbing over the pile
of rubble in the doorway. He shields his face with a
forearm.
Juliana flashes a beautiful white grin at James and waves,
curling her fingers.
JULIANA
Hi, baby. You look good! You got
tan.
She raises the RPG again and aims at James down the sight,
squinting. James immediately points his pistol at her, but
Juliana doesn’t flinch.
JULIANA
Try me. Your landscaping didn’t
stand a chance.
JAMES
(keeping the gun trained on
her)
What do you want, Juliana?
JULIANA
Heard you picked up something that
belongs to Prism.
JAMES
Since when are you with Prism?
JULIANA
They pay my salary now. I thought,
’gosh, it’s been like forever since
I last saw Jamie!’ so I decided to
come pay a visit myself and take
back their toy. Isn’t this so much
nicer than catching up over coffee?
JAMES
You give crazy ex a new definition.
JULIANA
I thought you liked crazy!
JAMES
It gets old after a while.
JULIANA
Kind of like you.
We see James through the sight of her RPG. She centers on
his face.
JULIANA
....And... boom.
James rolls for cover.
[INITIATE COMBAT]
FADE IN:
INT. DECREPIT ONE-ROOM APARTMENT DAY
A MAN sits uneasily, perched on a small chair, smoking a cigarette. Opposite him is a well-worn armchair. Then a younger, SECOND MAN enters and drops a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of the first man, and addresses him while holding a letter.
SECOND MAN: "You knew him?"
FIRST MAN: (still looking at the armchair) "It depends."
The second man returns to uncover more papers from around the apartment while continuing the conversation.
SECOND MAN: (throwing paperbacks to the floor behind him) "Depends? How so?"
FIRST MAN: "Luis Sifkovits. Immigrated in the sixties. It was years ago, really."
SECOND MAN: (interrupting) "You arrest him?"
FIRST MAN: "Tried to."
The first man stubs out his cigarette, then examines some old cassette tapes left on the table.
FIRST MAN: (continuing) "We had this file on Lou. Years of work. I knew it back to front."
SECOND MAN: "Was he the one who shot, um...?"
FIRST MAN: "Canning? No, that was Daniel Romac."
SECOND MAN: "Oh, I thought.."
FIRST MAN: "No, Lou never killed anyone. He wasn't like that. More like fraud, forgery - extortion too. Clever stuff.
SECOND MAN: "But you never actually met him in person though?"
FIRST MAN: "No."
The first man puts the tapes down and rubs his hands together, before lighting another cigarette.
FIRST MAN: (continuing) "Just the file."
SECOND MAN: (smiling as he returns to the table) "So you didn't really know him."
FIRST MAN: "I guess not."
Not waiting for his reply, the second man drops off more papers, then leans on the crumbling armchair while squinting at an unopened envelope in his free hand. He then heads over to the window to fiddle with the blinds to let more light into the room.
SECOND MAN: "Huh, a birthday card. Say, how do you think he died?"
FIRST MAN: "I don't know. Not like this."
SECOND MAN: (not listening to the first man) "Asthma attack perhaps?"
FIRST MAN: (ignoring the second man) "We got really close a few times, but before we could make our move he just slipped out of our reach, and we never caught up."
The first man stands up, then begins to straighten his suit (though it is not new) and brush dust from it. Then he starts to pace back and forth.
FIRST MAN: (continuing) "To be honest, I never thought he was still alive. I just thought his end had been more... immediate, you know - we're different to them. But, well, they don't exactly like to wait, do they?"
The second man, apparently not listening, while continuing to root through documents, checks his watch.
FIRST MAN: (continuing) "It's funny. He can't have left his flat often - maybe he'd have been better off in prison. It wouldn't have ended like this, with nobody in the world even knowing if you had died."
The first man stops.
FIRST MAN: (continuing) "What do you think?"
The second man is now cramming a selection of the documents into a leather briefcase.
SECOND MAN: "Maybe he choked on his muesli."
FIRST MAN: "Not about that."
SECOND MAN: "Oh. I dunno then."
The second man starts towards the door, then turns to the first man.
SECOND MAN: "Say, did Sifkovits ever work with a man called Klaus Thorsen?"
FIRST MAN: "Yes, In seventy... four. I think."
SECOND MAN: "Know what happened to him?"
FIRST MAN: "Spontaneous combustion, I believe."
SECOND MAN: (sceptically) "Really."
FIRST MAN: "Why?"
SECOND MAN: "I'll explain over lunch. Come on, I've got everything."
The second man, briefcase in hand, walks out the door. The first man starts to follow, then hesitates before the armchair, and its moldering occupant, Luis Sifkovits.
FIRST MAN: "G'bye Lou."
FADE OUT:
Ext. Desert - day
The desert looms wide. A fierce wind blows, sending clouds of dust rolling across the dunes. A man covered in robes guides a camel by a rope. He stops to look into the distance. Rising from the sands is a majestic palace, bleached by years under the harsh sun. It's spires twist and curve, rising up to the sky. Even from a distance, ornate carvings of men and beasts can be seen on its gold inlaid walls. We hear the voice of LUCAS IREM, ponderous and deliberate.
IREM
(O.S.)
I have seen death. I have seen empires crumble and worlds swallowed up by their own suns.
Int. Desert palace entrance - Day
The entrance of the desert palace is lined with beautiful works of art. Frescoes and paintings line the wall, each depicting some heroic act. Many show proud warrior kings, others show men clasping hands over swords and shovels. Armor sets brandishing weapons stand upright in dynamic poses as if striking at enemies unseen.
Irem
(O.S.)
It does not sadden me. It is the way of all things, to fall and be replaced. I understand this.
Int. Desert palace throne room - day
Unadorned pillars of marble line the sides of the hall, against which line the bodies of men and women in various states of decay. Many are skeletonized, nothing left of their clothes but rags and scraps. As they near the throne the bodies begin to appear more and more recent, at last leading to the living king in his throne.
The king's eyes bear the sign of cataracts and his hair is white. His skin is gray and leathery. In his right hand he holds a sword. At either of his sides, men in still shining armor lay slumped over dead, their spears keeping them upright. The king's eyes stare sleepily at nothing in particular.
Irem
(O.S.)
It is the fool who stands against the immutable march. Flesh withers, the mind rots with age. In this, we are all equal.
A small figure appears at the end of the throne room, dressed in simple desert robes. He is covered in dust and carries only a water sack and a small back pack. He starts to ruffle through the various corpses until he spies the body of the king. He goes up to the throne and starts to wrestle with the weakened king over the sword in his hand. After a moment of struggling, the king is knocked from his throne and cracks his head on the floor, dead. The grave robber stands triumphant, the king's sword in his hand.
Irem
(O.S.)
Only what is built endures.
Int. FLEET Command Tank
The interior of the command tank is solid black. In the middle floats Irem, a cluster of faintly glowing tubes running from his back into the inky blackness. He is a powerful looking man, with a look of intense concentration on his face, though is gaze falls upon nothing in particular. As he speaks, his words appear in front of him in the form of bright green holographic text.
Irem
(to himself)
I have yet to finish building.
Irem then looks at the wall of text in front of him, reading over it before sighing and waving his hand. The text flickers briefly before disappearing.
The holographic image of MARSHALL RALEIGH appears.
Raleigh
Lord Irem. Lord Irem, can you hear me?
Irem says nothing.
Raleigh
My lord? The expeditionary force arrived a few moments ago. Argol and Karsten are preparing-
Irem
Who leads the force?
Raleigh
Hyath.
Irem shifts his position from recumbent to upright.
Irem
Timeframe.
Raleigh
Interception in 140 seconds. How shall we proceed?
In front of Irem, a holographic display appears. Thousands of ships in green, floating along with him, are static. Another force, in red, is slowly drifting with a line connecting to his fleet and a timer ticking down. The timer starts with 120 seconds. He motions with his hand and lines appear from the green ships to intercept and flanking positions. He waves his hand and the green ships begin moving. He turns away from the hologram.
Irem
You have your orders. Karstin will lead the van, Argol our flank and underside. You will strike from above. They will not survive the first barrage.
Raleigh
As you wish.
Irem floats for a moment then looks out into the darkness.
Irem
Open blast shield.
There is a great rumbling sound and a few bubbles well up and float past Irem's face. He motions with his hand again and the timer and fleet motions are in front of him. The timer has less than 40 seconds left. The first lines of light appear in a single vertical line. The blast shield finishes opening and Irem seems to float amongst the galaxies and nebulae in the vastness of space. In the distance, small black dots move slowly. Irem waves his arm again and the holograms of the ships appear in front of him. The timer ticks down to 10 seconds.
Irem
One day, this will all be mine, Raleigh. Bring me his head, and I will be given all I need to build an empire.
Raleigh
Of that, my lord, I have no doubt.
The timer reaches 0. In the far distance, bursts of light are seen. The holographic ships are in the middle of a great fight. The red ships are bundles up in a tight orb as the green ships surround them. Dots fly from the green ships to the orb. The flashes of light in space increase in frequency and intensity. Irem waves his hand and the holographic text reappears.
Irem
...Names are built. Legacies are built. My name will be uttered as the most vile curse, and I say let them. I say-
A warning beeps and the holographic image of a man in naval uniform appears.
SHiPMASTER
My lord, I'm sorry, but a splinter of the expeditionary force has broken away. I recommend we close the blast shield for safety.
Irem
Of course, shipmaster.
The hologram of the shipmaster flickers out. The blast shield closes. Irem's gaze remains focused on the battle scene in the distance up to the very last moment. The closing barrier creates a sliver of light that separates his face into two halves just before it finishes closing. The chamber again becomes dark. Irem looks at the text before shrugging in frustration and waves his hand. The text flickers out of existence and the darkness becomes total.
Fade to black
Open on your typical dive bar. REGULARS in their corners, drinking to forget the day they just had.
MAN (O.S.)
She walked through the door.
A BLONDE BOMBSHELL enters. All eyes focus on her.
MAN (O.S.)
It seemed as if the world had stopped. Stopped to gawk at one of the finest creatures God had placed on this planet.
She stops at the entrance to light a cigarette.
MAN (O.S.)
Women... Psh! They bat an eye. Flash a smile. And we roll over ready to be ordered around.
The men are frozen at the sight of her exhaling the smoke.
MAN (O.S.)
This dame was no different.
She walks toward the bar.
MAN (O.S.)
Look at her. Hips shifting so far side to side they send the equilibrium of men out of whack.
She stands behind a man on a stool seated at the bar facing away from her. The only man not looking at her.
She stands there waiting but he doesn't turn around.
MAN (O.S.)
I can see her game. Always the hunted. Never the hunter.
She rolls her eyes.
MAN (O.S.)
Sure I'd like to give it a spin. Roll the dice. See where it takes us. But everyone knows the black widow always devours the man.
She gets furious.
BLONDE BOMBSHELL
I'm what?!?!
The guy at the bar cowers. The angle changes to see he's been speaking out loud.
MAN
She was on to me.
He picks up a drink in front of him.
MAN (CONT'D)
I can see there was no fooling her. Quick. Say something charming.
He slowly turns his stool around to face her, drink in hand.
MAN (CONT'D)
Hi honey. Shot?
BLONDE BOMBSHELL
Going to the market, huh?
The man looks directly at the camera.
MAN
She had me in a corner. But I wasn't going to give in-
The Blonde Bombshell points to the door.
BLONDE BOMBSHELL
Go!
MAN
Going...
He starts walking out immediately.
A face, large as the rising sun, looms up from the horizon. A jumbled mess of pinky flesh; lips, eyes, nose floating on a sea of pockmarked skin and scar tissue. A single word snaps forth from the apparition.
"No," it utters, withdrawing to the hazy periphery of my consciousness.
Slowly, my world drifts back into focus. Thoughts lose their anxiety and make the great leap into the void, exploding in a shower of memories and logic.
The room I'm in is unfamiliar. The collision must have knocked me out, erased all remembrance of how I came to be here. Had someone moved me, or had the impact thrown me here?
As my senses clear, pain filters through, pooling out across my body in a multitude of flavours and places, gluing my limbs to the floor beneath me.
From beyond the reach of my eyes, conversation stirs the air.
"My name is Doctor Rusk," a cold, emotionless introduction. But it is to another. A fallen comrade of mine, or maybe an enemy. In the harsh light of my current predicament, it makes no difference.
"You're going to be alright," he states factually. "Can you tell me your name?" My ears strain for a reply, but a low mumble is all they catch.
"Excellent. My orderlies are going to move you now. You may feel some pain," he lets the last word hang in the air.
Dr Rusk appears like a flash once more in my skies. Now I can see clearly, a single beady eye frowns deeply as it bores into my soul. From where the other eye might once have resided, he lifts an eye patch to reveal a nightmare cluster of needles, pins, metal rings and hooks. Delicately, he plucks a sliver of silver metal from deep within his socket and folds it inside my bottom lip. The bitter taste bleeds through my tongue and the blood rushes from my head. As vision recedes from my mind, I hear one final command from Dr Rusk
"Leave him here," and then darkness.
Please find it with nicer formatting at:
http://dl.dropbox.com/u/1419416/VeMePa%20-%20Character%20Entrance.pdf
Verbum Meum Pactum - Character Entrance
By Federico Sauret
This is the screenplay of the main hero’s presentation in the new game I am proposing. Called “Verbum Meum Pactum”, it will be a 2D platformer.
ROCKROOF PRISON - WALLS – 1 PM
(It is raining over Rockroof Prison walls and wired fences.)
- VOICE IN OFF: Today is the day of the week when new prisoners arrive to Rockroof Prison, a sturdy and colorless maximum security penitentiary center in the state of Texas. It is also known as “La Quitaalmas”, because once you go in, your corpse may leave, but your soul will never.
ROCKROOF PRISON – APPROACH TO HALL OF FAME – 1:05 PM
(The camera follows the shadows of the new prisoners that jump out of the prison bus and walk through different gates in the prison until they reach the Hall of Fame. There, prison guards and prisoners watch them quietly and seriously.)
- VOICE IN OFF: As every Thursday at 1 PM, the prison bus is parked in front of the main gates and opens its doors for the newcomers to walk into the prison, crossing the Hall of Fame. A 20-meter alley that goes from the Third Gate to the interior of the Examination Rooms, and surrounded by the Prisoner Yards. Where every prisoner is waiting to listen to the “formal presentation” of the new condemned souls.
ROCKROOF PRISON – HALL OF FAME – 1 – 1:10 PM
(A brawny guard holds a paper and reads in loud voice:)
- GUARD 1: Vito Correale, head of the Italian mafia family branch controlling the drug distribution, prostitution and gambling throughout the West of US. 134 years imprisonment.
(The camera shows the face of Vito Correale. Skinny, clean, with a boring expression.)
- GUARD 1: Juan Lopez, el Loco, brutally killed 4 people and seriously hurt 2 policemen in the State of Alabama. Lifetime imprisonment.
(The camera shows the face of Juan Lopez. El Loco, brute, gigantic, with a 5-day beard, stares at his feet while he walks through the alley.)
- GUARD 1: Alfred Hoggs, sexually abused and killed 3 women, including a 16 years old girl. Lifetime imprisonment.
(The camera zooms onto the face of Alfred Hoggs. Bold and fat, seems confused and keeps looking from side to side nervously. As the newcomers keep walking in, the camera shows the faces of the prisoners in the yard. They don’t seem surprised, probably because there are many of them with much more dreadful crimes.)
ROCKROOF PRISON – HALL OF FAME - 2 – 1:12 PM
(The camera focuses on the guard introducing the new prisoners.)
- GUARD 1: Joe Smith did not pay his mobile phone bill…
(The camera focuses on the old prisoners. They seem shocked and they start buzzing.)
- GUARD 1: The phone company sued him, but he didn’t attend the trial…
(The camera focuses on the prison guards. They are also shocked.)
- GUARD 1: Then, when a policeman tried to catch and bring him to court, he resisted and escaped. Since then, he has escaped from the authorities up to 15 times, including 3 maximum security prisons. His sentence has increased from 1 day to 45 years of prison.
(The camera which was filming guard 1 slowly moves towards the Hall of Fame. When it reaches the position in which Joe Smith should be, no one is there. Then all prisoners start laughing and a guard shouts.)
- GUARD 2: Alarm! Alarm! The prisoner’s escaping!
(The camera follows a silhouette of a man running away. And then the alarms thunder all around.
The camera runs to catch the prisoners’ new hero, who keeps running over guards, avoiding obstacles, gracefully jumping fences and climbing onto roofs.)
Then the camera closes up on Joe, and shows a chubby, 30 something years old guy, sweating but with a big smile. And then he stops, stares at the camera and walks towards it. As if he were talking to the videogame player he asks:
- JOE SMITH: Hey you! Do you want to know why I keep running away!? There is a major reason…
Here the game logo will appear. Then the story will jump back 18 months to the beginning of Joe’
A youthful and commanding Persian beauty slowly makes her way through the bustling crowds.
She pulls the hood on her jacket over her head as enters the main terminal.
Her dark eyes gather every detail.
A row of communication kiosks catches her attention.
She finds an empty station and uses the touch screen to make a call.
As the call attempts to go through she checks a small screen woven into the inside of her right sleeve.
A moment passes.
The camera is now under her control and the feed is displayed on her device.
With a few keystrokes the station’s screen goes dead and a small “out of order” message flickers across the bottom left hand corner.
Among the endless graffiti that covers the steel panels around the screen she notices a simple phrase, minutely scribbled in black ink.
“Time waits for no one.”
A smirk cracks her lips.
She gazes around at the crowds of people in all of their diversity, simplicity, arrogance and futility.
Her smirk widens into a smile as she recalls every similar scene of humanity she had witnessed in thousands of cities across thousands of years.
A deep sense of love brings her thoughts back to her purpose and her sadness.
She walks across the terminal and situates herself in a corner near a group of large panels that display flight information, weather and news.
A pair of armed guards with a large attack dog shuffle by.
She checks her device and makes sure the signal from the camera is still strong. The eye turns and focuses on the guards.
Satisfied she sits down along the wall and makes herself inconspicuous.
She scans the terminal then keeps her attention on the guards. After a moment her thoughts slip into a deep memory.
EXT. FOREST GLEN – DAY
The entire hunting group lay slain.
Their prey, a young mastodon limped away, spears still embedded in its body.
A pack of wolf like, reptilian predators had surprised them all.
The lone survivor, a dark skinned, wild eyed female frantically waved a broken spear at the creatures.
They closed in around her.
She knew no intelligible sounds for the terror coursing through her veins.
Crisp air bit at her lungs.
A cry of rage filled her head as the Alpha leapt in for the kill.
The spear somehow found flesh and went deep.
The force of the blow knocked her to the ground.
She recovered quickly as the creature recoiled.
Behind her she saw the forest, dense and tangled.
There the creature’s size and speed would be of little use to them.
She ran.
The Alpha pulled the spear from its shoulder and tasted its own blood.
They chased.
EXT. FOREST - DAY
High above the tree tops a flowing craft of dull metals and sleek angles silently glided through the sky.
A steady stream of blue and grey smoke trailed from wounds inflicted by a recent violence.
The vast forest it was following split into a shallow valley with a clear and steady river at its base.
Smoothed stone beaches cradled its banks.
The craft quickly shifted its speeds and deftly descended.
EXT. FOREST FLOOR – DAY
The woman ducked and dodged through the forest’s ancient mazes.
Her limbs struggled, her vision dimmed.
The pack was close behind.
Suddenly the Alpha froze in its tracks. An alarming scent struck its nostrils. The rest of the pack came to an abrupt halt behind it.
Rushing water filled their ears.
Snapping branches and tearing foliage told of the distance their quarry was gaining.
The Alpha’s eyes narrowed as it identified the smell of a higher power, death they could never deal. Death they could only be given.
They turned away.
The woman kept running. Her body and simple coverings were torn from the gauntlet of jagged things she had broken through.
She paused at a gigantic, fallen tree, now overtaken with moss and ferns.
Tears streamed down her face as her adrenaline loosened its grip.
The sounds of rushing water slowly replaced her sobbing.
She looked behind her.
Nothing.
She rested her head on the thick moss and caught her breath.
A radiant blue river captured her gaze as she peered through the trees.
Salty sweat and the iron bite of blood tainted her mouth. Water is what she needed now.
She gathered her ragged furs and after one last paranoid look behind her, she staggered toward the river, toward life.
EXT. FOREST – DAY
The craft dropped below the trees and traveled along the river.
The banks expanded just wide enough to provide a suitable landing area.
Long, sleek planks quietly and slowly extended from craft’s underside.
As the needle like points came ever closer to contact with the earth, the bloodied human female emerged from the tree line.
The craft stopped.
The female’s eyes nearly tore from her skull.
She froze, transfixed, in awe, yet strangely unafraid.
The craft seemed to watch her as it hovered silently above.
A panel scrapped open on the craft’s side.
The interior was dark and gave no hint of an occupant’s intentions.
A pale green light suddenly came on.
INT. BAGHDAD SPACEPORT – NIGHT
MALE VOICE
Hey.
She shudders awake to find a lanky man sitting next to her.
A man he had never seen before just broke into his house in the middle of the night. All Charles had done was grab a gun he had stashed in the bathroom, and shoot the trespasser in the kitchen. “Anyone in my situation would have done the same, it was self-defense”, thought Charles. Also, he lived in a farm surrounded by a large field of crops, and his closest neighbor was a few miles away. It’s not like he would have to worry about curious bystanders coming to his door and trying to figure out what had happened. He also thought that it would be better to not bother the cops with this, since he had already solved the matter.
He would quietly bury the corpse of the trespasser in the fields surrounding his home. No one would ever know what had happened.
He went back to the bathroom, put his gun back where he used to keep it, and washed his hands and his face, but not because he wanted them clean. He felt as if his heart was beating so fast it would burst out of his chest, and decided he had to do something to calm down.
Charles went back to the kitchen, and when he was about to carry the corpse outside his home, he heard a voice talking to him.
“Why are you so nervous?” said the voice.
“Who’s there?” screamed Charles as he turned around.
Then Charles felt something grab the back of his neck and lift him in the air. When he looked down, he saw the body had vanished. Only as small puddle of blood remained.
Charles was suddenly thrown against the wall of the kitchen. He was dazed for a few moments, but it didn’t take long for him to regain his senses, and see that the man he had just shot in the head was now standing in front of him, his forehead still bleeding from shot.
“I see you had many names in the past few years, the most recent being, Charles Weir”, said the man who had been shot, “ I think I’ll just call you Mr. Weir. It’s good enough for me.”
“Please, don’t kill me.”
“But you just did that to me Mr. Weir. Right now, I only want to get even,”
“You broke into my house.”
“Mr. Weir, I know what you have done before.”
Charles tried to run, but soon felt paralyzed. He could not move his legs and arms, even though he was still standing somehow.
“I cannot allow you to leave Mr. Weir, but I know that there’s a question tingling in head. I’ll allow you to ask it. Go ahead.”
“What are you?”
“Not long ago, a teenage girl, after being tortured and abused for days, prayed for salvation. I heard her prayers and rushed as soon as I could, but I could not save her. She was murdered and her body was buried in the middle of nowhere by her murderer. No one else ever found her body. Not long after, her father, overwhelmed by grief, killed himself, and his soul went to hell. He was a good person and so was his daughter. Neither of them deserved such fates. Later, it was not a problem for me to get ahold of the father’s corpse and pay a visit to the one responsible for such chain of events”.
Charles tried to remember which girl the man was talking about, but he could not. There were so many of them. He had lost count of how many people he had killed a long time ago.
“Are you a…”. Charles then had his speech interrupted by the man.
“I’ve had many names throughout the ages, but there is one name people gave me that I really like: Guardian Angel.”
Charles started feeling numb and dizzy, and soon fell on the floor.
“Mr. Weir”, said the Guardian Angel, “you are going to hell soon, but first, you will relive a thousand times the pain you caused not only to the girl I just talked about, but also to all the other people you murdered as well.”
The Guardian Angel then walked away, and left the house shortly before Charles started screaming in pain.
"I recond we oughta jus' cal it quits and end this right here. I mean, it's obvious I'm gonna win." The man in black says, chuckling between labored breaths.
"Now where in Sam Hill do you get off thinking that?" The stocky one steps in and lands a straight punch square in already shaky man in black's jaw. He lurches a stretch to the side before sprawling down in the dirt.
" 'cause" the word flies out of his lips, accompanyed by blood and spittle.
The stocky one moves in for a stomp "sh-" the man in black manages to roll to the side just as the heavy boot comes down. As he gets up again the stocky one moves in quick with a punch to the gut. It connects, but the he freezes as the battered man in black sinks into the punch.
"I'm the villain" He wheezes, pushing the stocky man off himself, allowing him to fall backwards onto the hard ground. He holds a smill, 2-inch blade blood stained knife. "And this is just the beginning."
The man in black limps to the destroyed carriage and picks up a black hat, then sets off, towards a far off pueblo with a smirk on his face. The stocky man lays still in the ditch, eyes vacant, breastpocket torn, sheriff's badge smeared with blood.
The vibrating begins and increases almost imperceptibly, radiating from somewhere near his navel to the tips of his eyelashes, the top of his toenails. There’s a burning sensation at the base of his neck. Head spinning, he drops to his knees, uprooting the blades of grass caught between curled toes. With a lurch he heaves up the infected contents of his stomach: blood, bile, and a single, writhing worm.
He recoils with a shriek and attempts to claw at his throat, but his fingers have straightened and refuse to bend. Each joint burns and he panics when everything turns red from the blood. The worms migrate inside and push at angrily at his temples, struggling for release. He heaves again, this time a slow slew of worms creeps out accompanied by a foul smell. Both hands fatten, his skin roils, and his lungs flood with them. Wailing in agony he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the worms plugging his nostrils. His bottom left tear duct stretches too far and, with a sound like ripping canvas, pops open to let one escape. The soft fingernails rise from black beds and open the way for more.
The usual sounds of the forest have stopped, but he doesn’t notice. His tongue is now so swollen with the pale invertebrates that breathing is no longer possible. Pumping worms out every orifice and weak point, his body gives up and convulses backwards onto the drenched earth.
Dimly, her face comes into view. Silhouetted against the moon he can barely make out the triumphant grin. Dalsin leaves with a last, horrifying thought: What have I become?
'Welcome all," said he. "I am the reincarnation of Jesus."