Snowboard Hero has already won two IMGA awards before it’s even been released on iPhone, iPod touch and iPad, so this was a very exciting project to be involved with. Check it out:

I was approached recently to write a feature on the narrative design genre for EssentialWriters.com, which is a highly-respected online literary magazine for the literary world. Essential Writers has become something of a… well, essential resource for today’s working writer, so it was quite an honour to add to their wonderful pages.

You can take a look at the feature right here, and don’t forget to browse the rest of this awesome site, too.

Outlining

Introduction:

You can’t start writing a story before you know how it ends. This might not sound like a big deal, but far too many people dive into the writing without a clear idea of where the story is going. Detailed outlining is the process I employ to ensure the narratives, characters and story structure are rock solid before “FADE IN” is written in the top corner of the first page. In a game, tracing the pace of the main character’s development in the story is crucial to how that character evolves as a playable entity. Gameplay elements such as character abilities, set pieces, objectives and NPC interactions are largely dictated by the flow of the narrative. Establishing a series of tent-pole events from beginning to end, in collaboration with the whole development team, is essential to achieving this before writing begins in earnest. This includes construction of the overall story arc, where it starts, the route of the main character’s journey, premises and motivations, and most importantly, how it all ends. Based on the client’s brief I begin with a foundation template for the story concept. This includes a title, genre, logline, synopsis and a list of the main characters. Below is an example for a sci-fi concept written for a developer client.

Example Template:

TITLE: Proxy

GENRE: Sci-Fi

LOGLINE: In the year 2380, the first ever genetic human/computer hybrid strikes back against an ancient, megalomaniacal computer system that used her unique and powerful abilities to sell dangerous narcotic software.

SYNOPSIS: The world is suffering from massive over-population and a devastating energy shortage. Due to the lack of natural resources, everyone is fitted with cybernetic prostheses which generate the bio-electricity and synthetic nutrients needed to survive. In the ghettos, “loaders” use their neural brain-implants to install illegal narcotic programs called “highware” (which affects humans, computers and robots alike). Most of these addicts have so much fragmented code, spyware and viruses in their heads they can barely function. Highware cuts deeply into the global corporation’s profits, so Corporate Security are sent to trace the download source. They pin-point it to a mental institution, but all they find is a young, catatonic girl in an empty room. Someone is routing highware downloads through her unique organic/computer hybrid brain. When the remote network connection is severed she regains awareness. Her first conscious contact is with a host of seasoned military combat machines. Using her unique physiology, she remotely hacks the machine’s control systems in a flash: her thoughts slicing through military grade encryption like a razor blade. Once their combined expertise is assimilated into her bio-mechanical structure, her fighting prowess becomes incredible. Defeating the military, she escapes into the ghettos and takes refuge in an old disused library run by a centuries-old, hyper-intelligent mainframe called Fountainhead, and a group of outcasts living there. When Proxy is forced to kill a highware user who’s being controlled by a bounty hunter program sent to recapture her, she decides to put her unique skills as a human/computer hybrid to use in bringing down corporations and highware dealers for good. Fountainhead knows the highware dealer is an ancient, sentient and powerful computer system known as The Gateway. Proxy sets out to steal an advanced military grade anti-virus program from the corporation’s software vault. Once she’s tracked the physical location of The Gateway, she will be able to use her technological distinctiveness to hack it’s CPU and install the anti-virus software; destroying The Gateway program once and for all. But The Gateway wants her back so it can continue to use her to distribute highware, and activates a virus within the loaders’ neural implants to create an army within the ghettos. With Corporate Security hunting her for stealing the anti-virus program and the demented Gateway tearing the ghettos to pieces to find her, Proxy must race, hide and fight her way through the real world and cyberspace to put an end to the suffering in the ghettos.

CHARACTERS: Proxy: The first ever genetic human/computer hybrid. Although she doesn’t realise it at first, her unusual genetic structure makes her extremely powerful in both the physical world and in cyberspace. She desperately wants to understand her origins, but is hunted by the corporation and the drug baron who had been using her. As she discovers the extent of her abilities, she becomes more than a match for her antagonists, and a champion for the downtrodden of the world’s techno-ghettos.

The Gateway: The Gateway is a megalomaniacal computer program that develops and sells highware. It was using Proxy as a remote network connection to supply the narcotic software laced with viruses. It intended to ruin the corporations that rule from orbit and take over the world economy. The Gateway is the digitised consciousness of a once famous computer programmer who has gone insane from being stored for hundreds of years in an inadequate CPU.

Fountainhead: Fountainhead is the powerful CPU at the core of a long since defunct library. The A.I. mainframe uses its vast knowledge, wisdom and resources to turn the old building into a sanctuary for the oppressed, destitute and broken – offering medical, mechanical and anti-virus assistance to those in need. It offers Proxy refuge, and guides her to discover her full potential. It has a personal history with The Gateway.

Dynamic Reflection Laboratories: One of the largest, most powerful corporations in the world. It invented the life support prostheses that convert electrical energy into synthetic nutrients and bio-electricity for the populous. DRL also owns a large number of power plants, deriving its wealth from the escalating costs of recharging the life support implants. As loaders spend their money on highware rather than recharging, DRL aggressively seeks to stop the supply to protect their profits.

Expanding The Template:

This template gives the development team a panoramic overview, which can be rewritten, adjusted and developed until it’s the story they want me to tell. It then becomes the foundation for a full game design document. It’s expanded into a four page synopsis, expanded again into a step outline, and then broken down into game construct detailing levels, events and objectives that are seamlessly blended with the narrative design. This helps to avoid the regular problem of gameplay and narrative being distinctly dislocated from one another. A game’s objectives work best when they are drawn from the narrative in a meaningful way, and the outlining stage is when they begin to emerge organically. The growing outline creates compelling objective sequences by intertwining them with the narrative. I include them as part of an expanding design document, making it much easier for the team to create an experience that offers a seamless blend of narrative exposition and contextually relevant goals.

>>Next Page: Characters

Here’s the official Galaxy on Fire 2 website, as well.

Unannounced EA Project

NEW YORK 2010

Jamie Morris

Grand Central Terminal

09:50 hrs Day Three

The key to anonymity in a place as thriving and hectic as Grand Central Terminal was in walking with a purpose. Every one of the thousands of travellers had to be somewhere, and they were all late. The only people who stand out in the beating heart of New York’s entry point were those who sauntered, gawking at the spectacular scenery, instead of cutting through the crowds like a laser in a necktie.

Under the watchful eyes of the mythological figures sculpted into the gigantic 42nd Street clock above his head, Jamie prepared to enter the station and blend into the buzzing hive of New York commuters. Nick’s behavior over the last 24 hours had worried him, and if retrieving the stolen laptop could help alleviate some of the trouble his friend had brought on himself, Jamie felt it was a small effort to make amends between them.

Entering the yawning chasm of world’s largest railway station, Jamie found his pace unconsciously as he weaved through the human tidal wave, acutely aware of the rich mythology that Grand Central Terminal was steeped in. Thousands of people rushed through it every day, oblivious to its truth (as Nick would say) beyond that of Starbucks and the Michael Jordan Steakhouse.

Jamie’s gaze floated toward the renovated ceiling – an ocean-green frieze depicting the stellar constellations along golden equatorial lines. Benefactors of the building, the Vanderbilt family, proclaimed the astronomical concourse ceiling had been painted to reflect God’s view of the sky, and the thought made Jamie smile as he quickened his pace to match the commuters heading toward the timetable boards. He knew the ceiling was actually a colossal and wonderful mistake. The artist had accidentally designed the elaborate fresco backwards by drawing the night sky while looking at it in a mirror.

The thought made Jaime’s eyes drop to the glistening floor tiles, and he pictured the secret sub-basement deep beneath his feet, containing the current converters that powered the building; one of America’s best kept secrets during World War II. Any loss of power at this essential nexus point would have crippled military mobility across the entire country. The exact location of the basement was still a closely guarded secret, though Nick and Jamie believed it was kept off schematics for a very different reason these days.

A passionate awareness of these beautiful cracks in the foundations of perception is what had drawn Jamie to Nick. His obsessive pursuit of these cracks had broken their friendship only yesterday, but the excitement of entering Grand Central Terminal once again was a profound reminder for Jamie as to why he and Nick had become friends in the first place. It was no coincidence that Nick had stashed the laptop here.

He made his way to the display boards to give the impression of checking the train times. For fully three minutes he stood, watching the ornate four-faced clock above the boards until all the displays had cycled through their timetables. But it wasn’t the $20 million timepiece above this world famous meeting place that fascinated Jamie.

It was the location of the secret doorway in the clock’s pagoda that gave a privileged few access to a spiral staircase leading beneath the concourse floor. As always, he was unable to spot it without Nick’s diagram.

No one was watching, Jamie was relatively sure of that. But he felt he’d established a reasonable cover story as someone waiting for a train to come in, and casually strolled to the seats detailed in Nick’s email, checking his watch and glancing back at the timetables as he went, just for good measure. Sitting down to wait for the fictitious traveller to arrive, he shuffled down the length of the seat while running his fingers along the underside.

Wood splinters and chewing gum stabbed and slickened Jamie’s fingers in equal measure as he worked his way from one end to the other, turning his face green and his mood black. Eventually he found a congealed lump that was being used to secrete locker key 44A. As ridiculous as Jamie felt, playing at spies like this, he couldn’t easily dismiss the notion that Nick had dug them into a pit of trouble, and opening the locker door was likely to launch another cascade of problems.

There were still no signs that anyone cared about his business, and he slumped back in the seat while thumbing through his cell phone’s directory. Nick hadn’t answered any of his calls since storming out yesterday, when Jamie had scolded him for bringing stolen government hardware to his home.

Still no answer.

Nick loved a bit of intrigue and melodrama, but it was very much out of character for him to ignore phone calls. It wasn’t the stolen laptop, clandestine pick-up points or wild stories about the Russian mafia and corrupt banks that made Jamie believe Nick was in any kind of trouble (beyond the usual). It was twelve hours of unanswered calls that suggested the kid was in danger.

Taking a deep breath to settle a few nerves (nerves that Jamie knew were ridiculous, but were rattling around in his stomach nonetheless) he headed for the locker. Fighting the instinct to turn around and check if he was being watched, he unzipped his backpack ready to dash the laptop out of sight as quickly as possible, and opened the door.

The locker was empty.

Jamie’s first reaction was to laugh. Nick had reeled him in once again, and like a fool he’d bought into the promise of intrigue and treachery like a blind dog chasing the memory of a tail. He reached up to slam the locker door, shaking his head at his own naivety, and noticed the key was still in the lock.

The key was under the bench exactly where Nick’s email said it would be. Nick must have used the locker, Jamie reasoned, so why would he have left it empty?

Jamie’s attention was snatched back into the locker as the deep shadows darted for the corners. A small blue light and harsh buzzing revealed a cell phone in the back of the locker, and it was ringing. More than a little perplexed, Jamie reached in and took out the phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello Jamie,” came the reply, metallic and distorted. He couldn’t tell if he was talking to a man or a woman.

“Who is this?” Jamie demanded.

“You don’t need to worry about that. Or the laptop. It’s Nick you should be worrying about.”

“What? Where is he?”

“Check his email.” The line went dead.

If Jamie had found the phone because of anyone other than Nick, he’d have been prepared to dismiss the call as a hoax, or a bad joke. But Nick had little in the way of a sense of humor – particularly when a conspiracy was involved.

The small details of the conversation (the laptop, Nick’s absence, that the caller knew their names) struck an accord with the fears that had been creeping up Jamie’s spine all day – Nick really was in trouble.

He pocketed the phone, and like a laser-guided commuter he darted out of Grand Central Terminal without a second glance at its historic architecture. He had to be somewhere, and he was late.

Alpha Male was a finalist in the 2008 ScriptPIMP worldwide screenwriting competition, and a finalist in the inaugural Red Planet Prize worldwide screenwriting competition.

I know a lot of people prefer to say Dawn of the Dead was the pinnacle of the genre, and as a social commentary I guess that’s true, but in terms of characters and actual zombie elements I just don’t think Day of the Dead can be beaten. Except by Alpha Male, perhaps.

Below is the outline, character biographies and a script excerpt. Once again, the website won’t retain the script formatting, but it’s basically readable.

Working Title: ALPHA MALE

Genre: Horror

Length/Format: 100-min Feature Film

Target Audience: 15 – 25 year old

Tag Line: The dead don’t follow orders.

Log Line: A Special Ops squadron, which uses trained zombies as an attack force, uncovers a horrifying truth about the war when the creatures fight back.

Synopsis:
MAJOR GRAHAM DRAKE leads a Special Ops team which uses trained zombies as a frontline offensive. The zombies must be regularly injected with NECROPHAGIC SUPPRESSANT to prevent their victims from turning into zombies.

Drake sends the zombies into an insurgent stronghold, but when his unit moves in, they find the zombies inert; they haven’t attacked anyone. The outpost is actually a decimated farming town. When a soldier gets violent with a local, the huge, powerful ALPHA ZOMBIE (which the other undead are conditioned to follow) kills him. The other zombies follow suit and turn on their handlers.

Taking the villagers prisoner, the unit holes up in a school. Drake’s unit begins to turn on him, and he must rely on the help of SAVEEDA – a young, militant Iraqi girl – and the villagers to make their escape. Uncovering a traitor within his unit, the truth is exposed: The zombies were originally from this village – kidnapped by the army and turned into horrific bio-weapons. They turned on Drake’s unit when instinctively protecting their friends and family from the village. Drake’s unit was sent there to remove any evidence of the Special Ops team – including Drake and his men.

In trying to rescue Saveeda, Drake comes face to face with the Alpha – it used to be Saveeda’s father. Seeing Drake helping her, it cuts a savage path for them through the village to safety. It’s mutilated beyond functioning, and in gratitude for its help, Drake puts his very last bullet in the Alpha’s head.

The chopper Drake and Saveeda are escaping in is shot down, and Drake is captured by MELTON (his CO and creator of the zombie regiment). Melton gloats about how Drake will make an excellent Alpha Zombie, before shooting him in the chest – dead. Too late, he sees a syringe hanging from Drake’s arm. Drake’s deliberately injected himself with Necrophagic Suppressant, turning himself into a zombie. Before Melton can scream, Drake tears him to pieces.

The following is the excerpt that got Alpha Male through to the final round in the Red Planet Pictures’ Prize. I’m afraid the proper script formatting gets lost when it’s pasted into the blog, but I’m sure you’ll still get the gist.

Script Excerpt :

EXT. IRAQI DESERT – NIGHT
An animal skull lies partially buried in the dust. A scorpion slithers out of an exposed eye socket.
RUMBLING. Growing LOUDER. Nearer.
A huge tyre passes over, CRUSHING the skull into the dirt.
Two large, customised army trucks trundle across the wide open desert in convoy, headlights off. It’s pitch black, the only light from the night sky.
In the distance ahead, a few small fires burn.
INT. FIRST TRUCK – NIGHT
POV THROUGH THE WINDSCREEN
The desert ahead has an alien, green hue. Flames flicker in the distance. It appears to be some kind of local settlement that’s burning.
BACK TO SCENE
The DRIVER and his passenger, MAJOR GRAHAM DRAKE (38), both wear army fatigues, helmets and night vision goggles. Both stare straight ahead, stolid. Neither speaks.
Drake holds a small electronic monitor in his lap. He doesn’t look at it. The screen is black, empty.
INT. BACK OF FIRST TRUCK – NIGHT
SOLDIERS, about a dozen, sit lining either side of the tarpaulin back. They silently suit up — lacing up boots, tucking knives into sheaves, CLICKING ammo cartridges into rifles and pistols.
EXT. IRAQI DESERT – NIGHT
Both trucks stop a few hundred yards from the burning settlement. There is no sound.
SUPER:
“NORTHERN IRAQ, 10 MILES NORTH EAST OF AL HADR”.
Drake jumps down from his cab. The back tarpaulin cover flies back and the rest of his unit climb quietly out. None have any rank or insignia on their uniforms.
Drake flicks back his goggles. Steely eyes, a face of hardened professionalism. He surveys the scene — a collection of low, concrete buildings fortified with improvised defences. It’s a makeshift military stronghold. And it’s aflame.
Drake consults his handheld display.
INSERT – DISPLAY SCREEN
Black, slight flickers of movement. Too dark for clarity.
There’s the SOUND of GUNFIRE within the compound.
BACK TO SCENE
Drake silently signals his unit to move into the stronghold.
SERGEANT MAJOR JACOBSON (32), bulky, surly, eyes Drake with disdain and spits his disgust into the sand. He clicks his night vision goggles over his eyes.
JACOBSON’S NIGHT VISION POV
Burning buildings. Green and unearthly. Soldiers either side jogging in formation, guns ready. The sound of BOOTS RUNNING ON SAND.
BACK TO SCENE
Drake heads into the compound, flanked by the others.
EXT. STRONGHOLD – NIGHT
The soldiers move silently and cautiously forward. Clearly experienced, they move in pairs, covering each other at corners and doorways.
NIGHT VISION POV
Dead Iraqis, some in civilian clothing, others in uniform, litter the ethereal landscape. Most have been badly mutilated, faces frozen in fear.
BACK TO SCENE
The soldiers step over the corpses without surprise or revulsion, guns trained on the shadows around them.
DRAKE
scrutinises his display unit. It’s still too dark for him to get a decent picture.
JACOBSON
creeps past a burning, overturned jeep. He’s slightly apart from the rest. There’s MOVEMENT in one of the buildings. He swings his rifle round, aims.
In the doorway, the silhouette of a huge, menacing FIGURE looms from the shadows. Jacobson instinctively RIDDLES it with bullets.
The figure staggers, but doesn’t go down. It slopes slowly forward. Still in shadow, it appears to be in army apparel and wearing a helmet.
Jacobson jumps back, fear on his face. He FIRES again.
DRAKE
looks up from his handheld display in the direction of the GUNFIRE. Looks down again at the display.
INSERT – DISPLAY SCREEN
Static. Then a visual — a scared Jacobson, rifle pointed directly into the ‘camera’.
EXT. STRONGHOLD – NIGHT
The Figure comes out of the shadows towards Jacobson. It’s a huge, hulking creature, human in shape, yet ungainly in its movements. Cold, dead eyes regard Jacobson impassively. This is the ALPHA ZOMBIE, and it towers above the Sergeant.
After a tense moment staring each other down, Jacobson lowers his weapon. The Alpha lets out an ungodly moan. Jacobson jumps, despite himself.
Other similar creatures, all dressed in army gear and helmets shuffle forwards. There’s at least two dozen of them. All scarred, maimed, hideous to look at. They congregate around the Alpha.
The rest of Drake’s unit stop behind Jacobson. Lower their guns, unmoved by the legion of walking dead before them.
The driver of the first truck, TROOPER SHAUN REECE (28 – a boyish, amused appearance), sidles up to Jacobson.
REECE
Since when was hide and seek in their bag of tricks?
Jacobson hawks a gob of mucus at the Alpha’s feet. It doesn’t respond.
DRAKE (O/S)
That’s enough Sergeant.
Drake waves his monitor in the air.
DRAKE (CONT’D)
You’re supposed to have fixed this.
(to the others)
Clear the buildings and gather up the bodies. Now, gentlemen.
Jacobson, still fuming, watches his colleagues disperse. Drake walks away, eyes on the handheld display.
INSERT – DISPLAY SCREEN
Black. Short sparks of static.
BACK TO SCENE
Drake punches a few buttons on the monitor. Still nothing.
JACOBSON
squares up to Alpha. Alpha eyes him coolly. Behind him, two dozen dead eyes watch the Sergeant intently. Jacobson yanks a small camera attached to the side of Alpha’s head. Peers into it. Looks back at Drake, his back to them.
Jacobson grins. Turns away from Alpha. Then whacks the zombie in the side of the head with his rifle butt.
Alpha ROARS.
INSERT – DISPLAY SCREEN
The screen flickers back into life. Shows Jacobson jumping backwards.
BACK TO SCENE
Drake turns — sees Jacobson sauntering off to join the others. Drake approaches Alpha. Alpha continues to stare in Jacobson’s direction, clearly agitated.
DRAKE
Alpha. Stand down.
The Alpha slowly turns to face him.
DRAKE (CONT’D)
Good, Alpha. Feed. Feed.
After a tense moment, the Alpha takes a few steps back. It GRUNTS loudly, then shuffles purposely away. The zombie pack follows. They head out of the stronghold, passing soldiers piling up corpses into one large funeral pyre.
SERGEANT RITTER KAHNE
nonchalantly chews gum as he places firelighters around the base of the bodies.
SOMEONE’S POV
Kahne, his back to us. The SOUND of HEAVY BREATHING – staggering towards Kahne.
BACK TO SCENE
Kahne stands up. Blows a huge bubble with his gum. Stops. Senses something’s amiss. The bubble POPS around his mouth. He turns. Sees
A RIFLE MUZZLE
aimed at him, a wild eyed Iraqi militant on the other end. The petrified militant staggers out of one the buildings.
Kahne slowly surrenders his rifle in the air. Moves back. The Iraqi approaches, nostrils flaring. And FIRES.
The bullet SWISHES past Kahne’s ear.
KAHNE
(grabs his ear)
Jesus Christ!
The militant instantly FIRES again.
ALPHA
steps in front of Kahne, the zombie’s chest taking the impact of the bullet. The militant has no time to react — Alpha grabs the Iraqi’s throat, crushes it and slowly pulls the flesh away.
The rest of the unit rush over, guns poised.
The Iraqi’s body falls. Alpha licks the blood off its hand, then, without acknowledging Kahne, shuffles away.

DRAKE
(lowers his weapon; angry)
Sweep it again! I want full comms until we leave!
KAHNE
(still clutching ear)
He fuckin’ shot me!
Drake pushes past him.
SERGEANT MAJOR GEOFF MCALLISTER (45, a medic, with a passive gait and expression) grabs Kahne’s ear and pulls it back. Kahne cries out. There’s a tiny trickle of blood.
MCALLISTER
(sprays something on Kahne’s wounded ear)
It barely grazed you.
(shouts into ear)
ANYONE HOME?
KAHNE
(pulls away)
What the fuck?!
MCALLISTER
I think you’ll live.
(tosses Kahne a cloth)
Hold it up tight. Don’t want your brain leaking out.
EXT. IRAQI DESERT – OUTSIDE THE STRONGHOLD – NIGHT
The zombies gather around the back of the second truck, pushing and shoving. Alpha appears at the back and BARKS at them authoritatively. The pack stops bustling, standing still and quiet.
LANCE CORPORAL PETE BROOKS (32, lithe and attentive) and CORPORAL JONATHAN NOBLE (33, tall, well built, angry) push through the pack. Noble, a gorilla of a man, is clearly scared of the zombies. Both soldiers wear surgical gloves and face masks.
Brooks, stern eyes, climbs into the back of the truck. Unlocks a large, steel meat locker.

NOBLE
opens a metal flight case labelled “NECROPHAGIC SUPPRESSANT”. Takes out a syringe gun. Loads it with a phial of clear liquid. He shoots the gun into the neck of a zombie. The creature GRUNTS. Noble aggressively pushes the zombie aside.
Noble grabs another zombie. Shoots it in the neck. Again tosses the creature aside.
NOBLE
Next! Come on meatsacks! Get yer shots! We don’t want these fuckin’ dead towel heads getting a taste for flesh.
Noble grabs another – the SAVAGE ZOMBIE. Pulls its head back, hard, exposing the neck. The creature GROWLS. Shakes its head, causing Noble to stick the needle through his surgical glove.
NOBLE (CONT’D)
Keep still… Bastard!
Brooks immediately aims his rifle at Noble. Noble panics and holds his hands up (as if surrendering).
NOBLE (CONT’D)
Whoa! Relax! It just went through the glove! Look!
Noble steps toward Brooks with his hand outstretched. Brooks jams his rifle into his shoulder. Steps backward, aiming directly at Noble’s head.
BROOKS
Stay there! Don’t move!
NOBLE
Okay! Okay. Jesus Christ, take it easy! I’m not spiked! It just got the glove!
Brooks radios Drake. Keeps his gun on Noble.
BROOKS
Major! Brooks. I think Noble just stuck himself with the suppressant.
(MORE)
(takes finger off the PTT button)God damn it! You’ve seen what that stuff does to live meat, Noble. If you’re stuck, you’re one of them! You’re fuckin’ dead!
Drake’s voice comes over the radio.
DRAKE
Keep him covered until Jacobson gets there. If there’s no sign of infection, go and check him.
BROOKS
Yes sir.
Jacobson approaches. Half-heartedly trains his gun on Noble, holding it at waist level instead of looking down the sights. He kicks a zombie out of the way.
JACOBSON
Well? Go check him.
BROOKS
Cover me, then!
JACOBSON
Don’t be fuckin’ queer. He’s covered. There’s nothing wrong with him, anyway. Look. He’d be groaning by now.
Alpha begins moving slowly toward Noble. Watches him with a murderous look.
NOBLE
That’s right! I’m not infected! Get your fuckin’ guns off me! Keep that fuckin’ thing back!
BROOKS
Alpha! Stand down!
The Alpha keeps moving.
BROOKS (CONT’D)
Stand down God damn it! Just take off your glove and hold out your hand.NOBLE
Look!
Brooks looks over to make sure Jacobson’s still covering him (which he isn’t, properly). Looks nervously at the approaching Alpha. Moves closer to Noble, quickly moves his scope off Noble’s head and uses it to inspect his hand.
BROOKS’ POV THROUGH RIFLE SCOPE
There’s no sign of a puncture wound on Noble’s hand.
BACK TO SCENE
Brooks relaxes. Jacobson spits on a zombie’s foot and sidles off. The Alpha sees the soldiers relax, and stops. Noble exhales loudly in relief.
BROOKS
(on radio)
All clear Major. Noble’s fine.
DRAKE
Feed the pack and get them loaded. We’re moving in ten minutes.
BROOKS
Yes sir.
(takes finger off PTT button)
Get some more gloves, dickhead.
NOBLE
Fuck me.
EXT. FRONT OF THE TRANSPORT TRUCK – DAY
DRAKE’S POV THROUGH RIFLE SCOPE.
His sites are trained on Noble’s head, following him as he gets back to injecting the zombies. The sight marker never wavers from Noble’s forehead.
A long beat.
BACK TO SCENE
Drake lowers his gun. Calmly goes back to looking at a terrain map. It’s well worn, clearly been all around Iraq with the unit. There are navigation marks drawn on it in red pen, lots of notes have been made on it.
Drake measures the map, marks a position on it. The mark puts them within distance of the Syrian border.
EXT. BACK OF THE CARGO TRUCK – DAY
Brooks goes to the meat locker in the cargo truck and throws lumps of wet, bloody meat (of indeterminate origin, but was that a hand?) to the zombies who’ve been injected. They ravenously tear into it.
NOBLE
God damn. That’s nasty.
Noble is twice as aggressive with the zombies. In his anger, he doesn’t realise he never injected the Savage Zombie when he spiked his glove, kicking it out of the way toward the inoculated pack to be fed.
NOBLE (CONT’D)
Move, you fuckin’ animal! Go and get your grub on. Just don’t let me see it.
EXT. FRONT OF THE TRANSPORT TRUCK – DAY
Drake looks at the early morning Iraqi sun coming round the edge of the mountains to the north. He almost looks content, until his gaze lands on the raging fire in the stronghold — his men laughing and joking as they walk away from it.
His hard visage returns. He folds away his map and bangs twice on the bonnet of the transporter, hard.
DRAKE
Load up! We’re moving!

Exciting stuff, eh!

All content, storylines and characters are property of Graffiti Writer ©2008

An adaptation of my award-winning short story. The script below has lost its formatting  (thanks WordPress), but should give you the idea.

Logline:

“On an ominous lake one cold and sordid morning, two apprentice nuns must face each other in the greatest challenge of their ordination. The most gruelling and harrowing tradition of St. Harriet’s Parish of the Literal Translation awaits them, and only one can return to the shore as a fully fledged sister of Christ after completing The Ordeal of Mark.”

Script:

FADE IN

01. EXT. SHORE OF THE LAKE – DAWN
A misty, expansive lake above a rocky pebble shoreline. There’s an old rowing boat rocking on the pebbles.
A wooden post is sticking vertically out of the shore (like an old telegraph pole). It’s cut off after three feet, and there’s a shiny shoe with a bright white ankle sock stood on it. The foot is quivering slightly, trying to retain its balance while on one leg.
A girl (ALICE – 18) is standing on the post on one leg. She’s wearing a novice’s uniform, and contemplating the lake. She draws in a long breath and her arms rise to the side into a crane stance (like in the Karate Kid).
Silhouetted against the rising sun, she attempts Daniel-san’s one legged crane technique kick. Her shoe flies off and she falls from the post.

FADE TO BLACK

CAPTION
The Ordeal of Mark

02. INT. THE CHAPEL – DAY
Alice is cleaning the church organ. Sat in the front pew is an old nun (JADE – 70) reading a catalogue called HOT VESTMENTS with a look of disdain on her face.
JADE’S POV
The catalogue is stylish, with pictures of models wearing trendy new takes on nun’s clothing (mini skirts, fur lined wimples, leather tunics, etc.).
BACK TO SCENE
SISTER JADE
I don’t know what the church is coming to.
ALICE
Sister?
SISTER JADE
Well, look at these. Traditions are fast disappearing. Ever since Sister Wendy got her own show, all nuns want is fame and fortune.
ALICE
Not all of us, Sister.
JADE
No Alice. Not all of us.
Alice is using a long stoker to clean the inside of a large organ pipe. Something’s jammed in there. Alice removes the stoker and presses a key on the organ. A strangled, wheezing sound comes from the pipe.
With a deep “thunk”, something shoots out of the pipe and a deafening, well-tuned note fills the chapel.
A few seconds later, a dead crow drops from the roof.

03. EXT. GROUNDS OF THE PARISH – DAY
Jade and Alice are walking through the grounds. Alice has her stoker, and a Tescos carrier bag full of dead birds.
SISTER JADE
Alice, Sister Agnes has sponsored Gwyneth for the last apprenticeship here at the parish. Had you heard?
ALICE
(choking back tears)
No sister. Gwyneth is devoted. She’ll make a wonderful nun. I’ll miss it here, if you don’t mind me saying. I’d hoped to become a teacher at the parish, too.
SISTER JADE
Well, don’t pack your bags just yet. I’ve put you forward as well.
Alice looks shocked and confused as they come to a bench. There’s a TRAMP sitting on it. Jade takes the carrier bag from Alice, hands it to the tramp and blesses him. After she’s drawn the sign of the cross, both she and the tramp click their fingers in unison.
Jade and Alice continue while the tramp rummages in the carrier bag.
ALICE
But, if there’s only one place left…
SISTER JADE
It’ll be decided by Ordeal.
ALICE
But sister…
SISTER JADE
Be calm, Alice. The Ordeal of Mark is one of St Harriet’s most sacred traditions. We must uphold the traditions, mustn’t we?
ALICE
Well… yes Sister, but… Yes. We must.
SISTER JADE
Preparations have already begun. You should prepare, too.
Jade walks away. Alice slows to a worried meander. From off screen, we hear Jade shout.
SISTER JADE
(off screen)
Think fast!
A dead crow (thrown by Jade) hits Alice in the side of the head. Alice barely reacts at all.
TO SISTER JADE
SISTER JADE
Better work on those reflexes!
BACK TO SCENE
Alice is stood limp – despondent and perplexed. The tramp sidles up to her, keeping low. He points to the dead crow that just hit her in the side of the head.
TRAMP
Are you using that?

04. INT. NOVICE DORMITORIES – DAY
Alice is pushing the parish’s DVD cart around the dorm rooms (like a prison librarian does) when GWYNETH (18) zooms up to her (she’s wearing Heelies).
GWYNETH
I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but that apprenticeship’s mine. I’m headed for Vestment Designs at St Gregory’s when I qualify from here!
ALICE
Why do you want to leave here?
GWYNETH
What? Harriet was insane. This ritual proves it! Not you, or some mental old missionary, is getting in my way. OK?
Gwyneth pushes past and wheels off down the corridor.

05. INT. THE LINEN TABERNACLE – NIGHT
A small room inside the parish. Lit by deep yellow candlelight it looks like a miniaturised chapel, only the Alter is replaced by an ironing board covered with an ornate cloth. Sister Jade and SISTER AGNES (45) are knelt in front of the IRONING ALTER hand sewing some white fabric. Their sewing actions are in complete unison.

06. INT. CHAPEL – NIGHT
Alice is stood between two lecterns, with a large ornate bible on each one. Her eyes are flitting between them furiously – she’s tightly focused. Her lips are twitching involuntarily as she reads from both bibles at once. Her hand jumps up from her side and clicks a stop watch.

07. EXT. COURTYARD – DAY
Gwyneth is practicing kung fu. She’s making short, powerful strikes, moving in a straight line. She snorts thorough her nose with each jab.

08. INT. THE LINEN TABERNACLE – NIGHT
Sister Agnes pulls the final thread through a clean white pillow case. There’s ornate embroidery all around one corner of the case, and the words:
I SHALL SMITE THE SHEPHERD, AND THE SHEEP SHALL BE SCATTERED. MARK 14:27

09. INT. GYM – DAY
Alice is doing sit-ups (in full costume) – struggling. A nun is kneeling on her feet and holding a bible open, which Alice breathlessly reads from while exercising.
ALICE
(breathlessly)
A violent man… allureth his neighbour… and leadeth him… unto… a path that is not good.

10. INT. GWYNETH’S ROOM – NIGHT
There’s a strobing light against Gwyneth’s emotionless face as she speed reads from a computer screen. There’s biblical research material papering the walls and desk.

11. INT. THE LINEN TABERNACLE – NIGHT
Sister Jade is stood behind the ironing Alter with a pillow case laid on it. In her right hand is an electric iron. Sister Agnes is stood to the side with a Holy water sprinkler, throwing water on the pillow case. After she’s splashed it twice, Jade irons the pillow in a “cross” pattern; top to bottom, left to right. Steam rises from the Holy water as she does.

12. EXT. THE SHORE OF THE LAKE – DAY
Alice touches the surface of the lake – a look of revulsion on her face as her fingers break the surface.
Her fingers are fully submerged, and her arm is shivering. There’s a knock of wood on pebbles as the old rowing boat tips to the other side. Alice jumps at the noise, yanking her hand from the water and splashing her pristine tunic.
ALICE
Oh Christ!
She immediately stops and crosses herself. Before she finishes, she notices her hand (that was in the water) is mucky, and she just touched it on her wimple, leaving a mark on it. She closes her eyes.
ALICE
(under her breath)
Fuck.
A tall nun (SISTER ANASTASIA – 58) appears behind Alice.
SISTER ANASTASIA
God is with you, Alice. He alone stretches out the heavens and treads on the waves of the sea.
ALICE
Oh! Erm… I love the Book of Job, Sister. It’s my favourite.
SISTER ANASTASIA
It helped me get through the Ordeal.
Alice looks surprised to hear Anastasia also went through the Ordeal, and her look of fear lifts a little. They smile at each other ever so slightly.
Gwyneth strides past, throws a pillow into the bow of the boat and climbs in.
Jade appears behind Alice, and hands her a pillow. Alice’s nervousness returns as she looks at it.

13. EXT. ON THE LAKE IN THE NUN’S BOAT – DAY
Jade and Agnes are in their own rowing boat, following Alice, Anastasia and Gwyneth out into the lake. Agnes is rowing, while Jade is in the stern watching the novices. Their tone is jovial – familiar and conversational.
SISTER AGNES
I knew you’d be rooting for the underdog.
SISTER JADE
Depends on your point of view.
SISTER AGNES
(sighs a deep, knowing sigh)
If it were up to you, the Parish’d be full of lost causes.
SISTER JADE
And no bad thing! St Harriet’s is becoming nothing but a stepping stone for high rolling clergy.
SISTER AGNES
I like Alice too, but it’s madness to contend with passion like Gwyneth’s. St. Gregory’s has got an eye on her, you know.
SISTER JADE
Passion! Huh! Passion’s for superficial people who get excited about their own naivety. Don’t mistake it for dedication. Take it from someone who’s been coming out on this lake for 50 years.

14. EXT. ON THE LAKE IN THE NOVICE’S BOAT – DAY
Although Gwyneth looks calm and confident, Alice’s severe apprehension makes for an awkward silence, even for nuns. Anastasia attempts to break the silence.
SISTER ANASTASIA
Have you prepared yourselves for the Ordeal?
GWYNETH
(irritated, but with conviction)
In mind and body, Sister
Anastasia focuses on Alice.
ALICE
Erm. Y… in body… erm, I mean, in mind and body, Sister. Yes. Sorry.
The nun’s boat comes alongside and the two boats glance very gently into each other. The small knock of wood on wood makes Alice almost jump out of her wimple. She looks sheepish to have displayed her nervousness so openly and looks down at her shoes. Panic grips her face when she sees her clean white pillow case is touching the pool of murky water in the bottom of the boat.
She pulls her pillow from the water and feverishly begins to wring it out. Her face turns even more ashen when she’s finished, and sees how crumpled and creased the damp pillow case has become. She lays the pillow across her lap and frantically tries to straighten out the material against her leg. It’s futile, and she gives up.
With the pillow laid across Alice’s lap, we see what Jade has embroidered on the (now crumpled) case:
DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THOSE WHO ATTACK THE BODY, FOR AFTER THAT THEY CAN DO NO MORE. LUKE 12:4

15. EXT. THE CENTRE OF THE LAKE – DAY
Both boats are at the centre of the lake. Anastasia stands up, causing the boat to rock and Alice to grab the sides in panic. Alice’s sudden movement almost tips Anastasia out as she steps over into the nun’s boat. Thanks to Alice, Anastasia’s exit is very inelegant.
GWYNETH
(under her breath – only Alice hears her)
This is ridiculous.
Alice’s brow furrows in concern at Gwyneth’s words.

16. EXT. CENTRE OF THE LAKE – DAY
Anastasia has made it into the other boat. She regains her poise, straightens her wimple and stands between the other two nuns. Sister Anastasia clasps her hands together and bows her head in prayer. The other nuns and two novices remain seated, but do likewise.
SISTER ANASTASIA
And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full. And He was in the stern of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him: Master, carest thou not that we perish? And Jesus arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea: Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. Amen.
EVERYONE ELSE
Amen.
NOVICE’S BOAT
Although we see Alice’s lips move, she’s barely audible.
BACK TO SCENE
Sister Anastasia holds her prayer stance a little longer than everyone else. She addresses the novices and her tone is as formal as when she read from the Book of Mark.
SISTER ANASTASIA
The words of the Gospel of Mark are sacred to St Harriet’s Parish of the Literal Translation. Those who wish to join us and give their lives to the Lord’s service must prove themselves worthy by Ordeal.
ALICE & GWYNETH
(together)
We are ready, Sister Anastasia.
(again, Alice is barely audible)
SISTER ANASTASIA
Then begin. God be with you both.
Anastasia sits down.

17. EXT. THE NOVICE’S BOAT – DAY
Gwyneth stands up in the boat with ease. Alice is a lot less sure on her feet, struggling to take her eyes off the water. Eventually, she meets Gwyneth’s gaze. They stand facing each other for a long beat (we’re unable to see them holding their pillows at their sides).
Determination crosses Gwyneth’s face and she hits Alice hard with her pillow. A girly pillow fight breaks out.

18. EXT. THE CENTRE OF THE LAKE – DAY
We can see both boats, and the two novices trade a flurry of blows (highlighting the ridiculousness of this whole thing). In the background we can see the three nuns watching the pillow fight as if it’s perfectly normal.

19. EXT. THE NOVICE’S BOAT – DAY
Gwyneth gains ground, leaving Alice clinging to the side of the boat trying not to fall over. Although the case is still wrapped around her fist, the pillow is touching the bottom of the boat soaking up the water.
Gwyneth mumbles to herself through gritted teeth as she berates Alice’s wimple with her pillow.
GWYNETH
Re-God-damn-diculous stupid Harriet making me get wet and look stupid bloody retard Mark ridiculous…
Hearing Gwyneth insulting St. Harriet, Alice’s face hardens. She squeezes the pillow case wrapped around her fingers, water oozing through her clenched fist.
A trail of dark water arcs across the boat like flying blood, following the trajectory of Alice’s pillow. The blow lands – hard – and Gwyneth falls into the bow of the boat, losing her pillow overboard.

20. EXT. THE NUN’S BOAT – DAY
The three nuns jolt with excitement (like spectators at a boxing match when one a fighter hits the canvas). They immediately attempt to recapture their composure.

21. EXT. THE NOVICE’S BOAT – DAY
Alice is breathless and amazed. Victorious, she relaxes her pillow. A smile begins to spread across her face.
NUN’S BOAT
Anastasia begins to stand up, then stops half way – surprised – as Gwyneth makes a sudden move.
BACK TO SCENE
Gwyneth’s grabs her pillow from the water and launches it at Alice, who’s still looking at Jade – not paying attention. A tidal wave erupts from the lake with the ferocity of Gwyneth’s attack. Alice moves with blinding speed, leaning backward. The heavy, sodden pillow misses by a hair’s breadth. The ferocity of Gwyneth’s attack carries her overboard into the shallow lake.

22. EXT. THE NUN’S BOAT – DAY
Sister Jade half jumps up and involuntarily pulls an upturned fist quickly into her side in an excited, “winning” gesture.
SISTER JADE
(shouting)
Boo-yah!
Sister Anastasia frowns and is about to repeat Jade’s exclamation, then stops herself as she realises it doesn’t mean anything. Jade looks mildly embarrassed and sits down. Agnes has her hands on her head in disbelief.
Anastasia continues her stern, reprimanding gaze. Jade crosses herself, then adds a fifth movement to the sequence in the shape of a shoulder shrug, as if to say “What?”, as a teenager might.

23. EXT. THE CENTRE OF THE LAKE – DAY
Alice stands confident, tall and calm in the rocking boat as she looks out over the lake.
Gwyneth is up to her waist in the water, desperately trying to catch her wimple as it floats away. She’s no hope of catching it, and dejectedly gives up.
Floating on the evening air, Alice hears the words Sister Anastasia spoke just a few moments ago.
SISTER ANASTASIA
(a faint, echoic voiceover)
And he said unto the sea: Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
In the distance, out across the shadowy lake, we hear a duck quack.
FADE OUT.

The Fifteenth Shot

A short fiction by Spanner for The Escapist

Kaori’s elbow brushed alongside Eric’s, expertly demonstrating platonic support. Such incredible intuition. Moving like a spectre, she’d marshalled the most imperceptible techniques to make her presence felt without interrupting or startling people. Eric didn’t look away from the white sky when she spoke.

“It feels cold for such a nice day,” she offered. Other than the chaos of tanks and infantry berating the downtown streets, it did indeed look like an ordinary Tokyo day. Eric hummed in reply, but said nothing. He knew why it was cold. It was the same reason there were no birds. The thought broke his reverie.

Looking down at the throng of unaware people watching the army barricading the long, straight street below, Eric could see cyclists breathing on their cold hands in confusion, and inadequately clothed children pushing close to their parents for warmth. The cold was falling from the troposphere; through vortices created by the descending ship’s braking thrusters. The invasion fleet was approaching Earth at incredibly high speed, and had fired its powerful decelerators as it entered the bottom layer of atmosphere two hours ago.

They’d been waiting for the signs for weeks, but it had still caught them off guard. Eric’s team wasn’t finished building the weapon. The incomplete calculations began racing through Eric’s mind again.

Kaori registered the change in his visage, and understood there was no longer any need to bolster his emotions with kindness. It was time for business.

“General Nishikado’s waiting in the hanger. The tracks will be laid in a few minutes, and the weapon will be ready to drive,” Kaori explained – neither officious nor friendly. That’s why Eric relied so heavily on her to deal with his administrations; she handled facts like a magician handled coins.

“Then I guess it’s time to play. Run me through the targeting protocols again as we head downstairs please, Kaori,” he asked, staring at his shoes as he set a quick pace toward the elevator. It helped him avoid distractions and concentrate on his thoughts, although his mother had always chastised him for it. Maybe she’d have the opportunity to rebuke him again, he mused.

Nishikado stood in the narrow hatchway of the rail cannon, his brow furrowed like an iron girder warped by some intense heat radiating from the silent, pent up rage boiling in his brain. He leaned heavily on his walking stick as he turned around inside the doorway to look at the approaching engineer – staring at his shoes as he walked.

The General winced, invisibly, as he studied the bedraggled, washed-out man approaching him. Furrer couldn’t even make eye contact with his colleagues; how was he supposed to look into the eyes of a merciless alien enemy? Fifty years of military discipline kicked in, and Nishikado buried his disgust deep inside his ordered mind.

“A fine weapon, Mr. Furrer. I have every confidence it will bring us honour during our final stand.” This micro-speech wasn’t directed specifically at Eric. It was meant for the whole hanger, and Nishikado’s commanding voice carried to every distant corner of the makeshift base.

Eric’s reply was only meant for the old soldier.

“It’s going to be cramped inside, General. I hope you’ve studied the design brief, because there won’t be room for me to operate everything. If you’re at all unsure…”

“I was controlling weapons while you were still chasing around the yard with a toy ray gun, Mr. Furrer.” Not a trace of fury could be heard in Nishikado’s voice, but it was there. Burning deep below the surface – anger so powerful it eclipsed the rail-mounted terawatt laser cannon Eric had spent the last six months building.

Eric checked his sarcasm and reminded himself of the General’s burning desire for the honour he was robbed of years before. Eric didn’t share Nishikado’s thirst for vengeance against an enemy long since conquered – he fully intended to survive this ordeal. If anyone else was capable of substituting the incomplete weapons system, he’d have gladly let them enjoy the honour of saving the world.

But there was only him, and Nishikado had refused to leave Earth’s last line of defence in the hands of a civilian engineer – insisting he accompany Eric during the attack. Eric would have been insulted, if he didn’t agree completely.

“Of course, General. Shall we?” The two men entered the small cockpit and took their seats – back to back. Eric looked awkwardly at Kaori as she closed the door. She immediately loaded an expression of respect and affection, but Eric knew it was only for his emotional benefit. Kaori felt nothing about his imminent death, no matter how pathetic his longing gaze might be.

“See you,” he mumbled. She considered his parting words just a micro second too long to reassure him.

“Yes. You certainly will, Doctor,” she said with a jaunty smile. Eric shook his head in surrender. The least she could have done is learned to bullshit properly.

Engineers and military personnel scattered as the powerful electromagnets lifted the jaggedly conical vehicle off the mirrored rails – humming as the huge weapon floated an inch above their glossy surface. Silently, it began to glide out into the street, and a monitor to Eric’s left showed the mile long length of track stretching down the debris covered road – undulating, but perfectly parallel.

In front, he could see the people of Tokyo pointing in amazement at the huge cannon aiming directly into the sky.

“These people should have been warned. Taken to safety somewhere,” he muttered to himself. The General answered regardless.

“There is no such place. If we fail, it’s over, no matter where these people hide.” The pure absence of emotion in the old Japanese man’s voice as they rolled toward certain death sent clammy shivers along Eric’s curved spine.

The temperature outside was rising. The alien fleet now fully within the atmosphere; its landing thrusters heating the air into a stifling, sordid gel. A thin line of black shapes could be seen in perfect formation, dropping through the thick atmosphere, parallel to the cannon’s track.

“What if our friends up there change course? This weapon is fixed in one plane of movement. I assume this has been factored into your equations?” It didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out Nishikado assumed nothing of the sort.

Eric wasn’t a psychiatrist, but neither was he particularly skilled at snide conversation. He took the General’s challenge at face value.

“They’re travelling too fast. Once they’re inside the atmosphere, it takes everything they’ve got just to decelerate. Other than a degree of uniform lateral adjustment, the fleet is fixed on the course it entered the atmosphere at.” Eric had calculated the alien’s navigational capabilities so many times, he felt like he’d held this conversation over and over again. In fact, it was the first time.

“Then this track will allow the cannon to move within the fleet’s… uniform…”
“Uniform lateral adjustment. Yes.” A long inhale signified the closest thing the General had expressed toward approval since Eric had met him. The temperature also rose inside the cockpit, ever so slightly.

“They’re almost in range. I’m going to move us to a central position where we can engage the targeting scanners. After that, it’s just a matter of keeping the cannon moving and out of the fleet’s return fire.”

“I have a little something that might help with that. Here it comes now.” Nishikado switched his monitor onto feeds from the top of the hanger as Eric turned to silently enquire why he’d been making unapproved additions to the plan.

Four freight jetcopters were carrying in enormous, disk shaped ceramic heat shields; each equipped with anti-gravity generators to hold them about 20 feet above the cannon’s rails. The ‘copters placed them at regular intervals along the length of the track. The generators underneath the convex shields span up to speed and pumped out an invisible flux that mottled the air like rising heat.

Eric threw a fatigued look at the shields and put his back to the proud General’s monitor.

“We dismissed the idea of heat shields weeks ago. They’re only good for a few shots, and the grav generators can’t keep them in the air long enough. I’m afraid it’s wasted effort, General.” Eric felt Nishikado’s countenance harden behind him, and flinched.

“A heat shield’s effectiveness in a prolonged frontline defence is negligible. In an immediate, aggressive threat like this, it’s my belief they will protect the track and maximize our manoeuvrability, Doctor. At the very least they might damage one of those ships should we fail and the viral entities inside swarm out to devour our planet,” Nishikado snarled over his shoulder – quiet, yet skilfully menacing.

The cannon glided down a small ramp and onto the parallel rails stretching through downtown Toyko. Eric checked the alien fleet’s altitude. As the radar data returned, the sensor stream suddenly disappeared. Panicked, Eric jumped to his feet, banging his head on the inwardly sloping roof as he switched on two large ceiling-mounted displays. The displays acted as windows so the driver could see what was directly above the cannon – it was dark, with a feint shimmering in the air.

They’d moved beneath the first heat shield. Eric sighed with relief and halted the cannon to check through the rest of the weapon’s equipment, cursing quietly as he did.

The General turned to see why they’d stopped.

“Is there a problem, Doctor?”

“Yes. These damn shields of yours are blocking our sensors. We’re completely blind when we’re under them!”

“We still have our eyes and ears, Doctor. There’s no cause to go to pieces just yet.”

The engineer shrank under the suggestion of cowardice, because he knew it was true. He was balanced on a crumbling precipice of fear, desperately afraid of moving, yet equally aware that he couldn’t stay still.

The jetcopter released the last attachments of the heat shield above them; the enormous disk bobbing on the buoyancy of its anti-gravity generators. Without warning, a single shot from a black dot in the sky tore through the ‘copter and impacted hard on the shield. The sound was deafening – magnified by the pressure flux of the generators as they compensated for the violent shock.

Panic tore through the on looking crowds.

It seemed like an eternity until the cacophony subsided, only to be followed by another powerful blast from the lead ships in the landing party – this time blowing a crater in the concrete of Tokyo’s floor. It was the moment Eric had feared and the General had been waiting for. The invaders were in range.

Try as he might, Eric wasn’t moving. His head still buried in his tense shoulders after the first explosion.

“I can’t shoot while we’re under the shield, Doctor! We need to keep moving if we want to get through this! The targeting scanners are waiting for a signal!” The General was clearly adept at battlefield psychology, and his casual allusion toward saving them jolted Eric into action. The cannon cruised out over the crater and the ceiling monitors flooded the cockpit with artificial daylight.

The General handled the weapon controls like a machine. Relief washed over Eric when he saw the old soldier coping with the incomplete equipment so adeptly. An inaudible, yet tangible throb ran through the cannon as the terawatt laser diodes came online. The instant they were charged, the General sent a powerful infrared blast to split the sky.

Eric watched the first shot through the ceiling monitors. Although the diodes were infrared, their intensity spilled over into the visible spectrum, giving the cannon fire a translucent red hue surrounded by a powerful aura of superheated nitrogen as the atmosphere ignited around it. A microsecond, and the shots were gone, but their image burned on against Eric’s retinas. Just like the cold summer sky that had transfixed him earlier, the cannon fire had a powerful, horrid beauty about it that mesmerised the engineer – briefly relieving him of his soul-destroying fears.

He jumped back to reality as the General pounded the control panel.
“Damn! You’re machine isn’t working, Doctor! The targeting scanners aren’t compensating for the fleet’s lateral movements! It’s not working, damn you!” Eric was suddenly grateful for the cramped cockpit. All the old soldier could do was sit there and boil, waiting for the fleet’s return fire to free him from dishonour.

Swallowing his anxiety, Eric attempted to mimic Nishikado’s previous confidence.

“Well then, you’ll just have to target them manually.” He felt the General flinch like struck flint, then – surprisingly – relax.

“Very well,” he said, his stolid demeanour quickly restored. “You drive, I’ll shoot.” A quivering half smile snuck across Eric’s face as they moved back out into the open. The approaching fleet – now visible in the sky – began raining lasers on Tokyo.

The General immediately proved his expertise, as his first shot (which Eric felt sure had gone wide) split one of the large landing craft cleanly in two. Molten, organic material from the ship’s alien hull rained down on the heat shields, then evaporated.
Eric felt as though he could barely keep up with the General, even though it was him that was leading the balletic assault from the driving seat. Until a ball of flame appeared in the sky, Eric couldn’t even be sure which ship, in which of the five rows in the fleet’s dominating formation, Nishikado was even aiming at.

The enemy fire was taking its toll on the heat shields, but their number was rapidly dwindling. An unspoken communication began to form between the two men; Nishikado’s shots hinting at Eric for which direction to move next, while the cannon’s path attempted to match the fleet’s lateral landing manoeuvres and guide the defensive fire.

The General sent off one last shot before the cannon slid under the furthest heat shield.

The cannon shook with fury as the discharge from the laser diodes suddenly quadrupled in intensity. The cockpit lost power, and the weapon dropped heavily onto the rails that buckled beneath the unexplained power surge. The shot ripped through the entire alien fleet, and it was pure good fortune that the cannon had come to a lifeless halt under a crumbling shield.

After a few moments of stunned silence, the two men spoke at the same time.
“What did you do!” demanded Eric, as the General fired back the exact same question.

As Eric’s analytical mind wound up to speed, the lights in the cockpit gradually came up, and the cannon exhaustedly lifted back off the rails. Eric punched at control panels with alacrity.

“It was the collimating crystal in the laser diodes. As it heated up, it hit resonance frequency and multiplied the blast yield exponentially.”

“What does that mean to our mission, Doctor?” enquired the General with irritated expediency.

“They’ve cooled now, but I think it’ll happen again every…” Eric’s mind visibly burned with silent calculations, “fifteenth shot. The diodes can take it, but the cannon’s frame wasn’t designed to absorb that kind of force. Next time, the laser mechanism will probably crush the cockpit.”

To Eric’s surprise, there was no hint of blame emanating from the General. Instead, he was quite simply contemplating the effect of only fourteen remaining shots, before accepting this new constraint and turning back to his controls unperturbed.

“Then let’s make them count.”

Eric put his bewilderment aside and took up his own controls.

With the fleet’s number significantly reduced, its limited manoeuvring thrusters were increased the remaining ship’s speed, and the General’s shots began to go wide. Two of the heat shields had exploded, while the third’s anti-grav generators collapsed.

It was all Eric could do to avoid the incoming fire, no longer able to accommodate Nishikado’s targeting. Nevertheless, the fourteenth shot ripped through one of the smaller alien vessels, leaving only one infantry lander hurtling toward Tokyo. As the General had already reminded Eric, that was all the viral alien species needed to spread throughout the world.

The cannon ground to a halt beneath the remaining shield.

“How many shots do we have left?” enquired Eric.

“One. The fifteenth shot.” said Nishikado flatly; defeated.

Pieces of the heat shield hit the cannon as the alien ship zipped past and fired at the two men.

“You’ve earned a great honour in what you’ve achieved today.” Just as it was with his anger, there was no hint of admiration in the General’s tone, but it was there, deep beneath the surface.

Nishikado had meant what he’d said to Eric, but his despondent fatigue suggested he felt otherwise about himself. It had been 18 years since the General survived the battle that had wiped out his regiment and left him lame. The wounds on his honour hadn’t healed, and now they never would. Eric considered offering some kind of reciprocal gesture of mutual respect, but he knew the General wouldn’t appreciate it. His courteous silence was far more appropriate for the old soldier.

Eric looked up at the ceiling monitor, and saw the landing craft shoot past through a widening crack in the heat shield. Above it, he could see the ice blue of the torn Tokyo sky. An arrowhead of starlings floated high above the city, returning to the heavens as they settled back into a warm cyan majesty. He thought about Kaori standing next to him on the hanger roof, the gentleness of her touch against his elbow (such wonderful control, she had) and her flawless rendition of inspirational conversation.

He heard the roar of the alien assault ship building, but it couldn’t break his reveries this time. One more shot and the shield would separate, exposing the two men to certain death along with the rest of life on Earth, but for this moment, for as long as it lasted, that life felt good. Better than it ever had, now Eric finally appreciated it.

“Well, you can’t save us while we’re stuck under this heat shield General. How about we get moving?” said Eric, as calmly as he’d been in the last thirty years.

“What are you saying, Doctor?”

“I can’t calculate any way out of this, so it might as well be on our terms.” He turned as far as he could, to meet the General’s surprised eye. Nishikado inspected Eric for any signs of doubt. He could find none, and the steely fire reignite in the old soldier’s eyes.

The alien ship rocketed downward, veering toward the failing heat shield. A powerful blast tore up the tracks next to the cannon as Eric grabbed the controls to move them out underneath the ship.

The drive mechanism jammed against the twisted rails – snaring the two men underneath the heat shield.

“We… we’re stuck. We’re stuck under the shield!” Eric’s voice wavered as he felt his new found courage about to go unused.

“No. No! There has to be a way to get clear!” shout the General. Emotion racked the old man’s voice for the first time in his adult life. The roar of the landing craft rose to a deafening crescendo – one more pass and it would be on the ground.

Eric jolted as a lightning bolt of inspiration struck him. Squeezing from his seat, he yanked the eject cord. The section of the cannon’s housing directly above his chair blew outwards as the seat rocketed up into the collapsing heat shield.
“What the hell are you doing? Get back in here you coward!” screamed the General, desperately grabbing at Eric.

“General! I’ll be your targeting scanner. When I tell you, fire the laser. It’s the fifteenth shot – it should be more than enough to blast through the heat shield and still take out the ship!”

The General contemplated Eric’s idea for the briefest moment, then turned back to the controls.

“That’s quite a trick, Doctor. You’d have made a fine soldier. With a little discipline, of course.”

Eric laughed out loud as he climbed frantically onto the control panel and put his head out of the cockpit to find the alien craft. The air was sharp with the scent of destruction, but as it spilled into the cannon’s cockpit, it had never smelled sweeter.

The invader raced toward them, it’s landing apparatus emerging from beneath the ship – a dark green hue gathering in the weapons port.

The General’s hand hovered above the fire button like a finely carved piece of granite; unshakably steady.

“Here it comes, General! Now!”

Casually, the General pressed the fire button.

The cannon exploded, sending a column of light and fire straight through the heat shield and into the landing alien ship – disintegrating the last of the invaders.

Although the people of Tokyo didn’t know it at the time, the searing blaze that cut through the summer sky that day was a beacon of their freedom.

From the hanger, amid the spontaneous celebrations that had erupted, Kaori looked out at the motionless wreckage of the cannon. Pride was something she’d wanted to sample for a long time and now, thanks to Eric and Nishikado, she could experience the mixed sensations of comfort and sadness that such courageous endings bring.

Not a particularly huge or prestigious job (although this is only a small part of the full script), but still a very worthwhile contract with a great client. And it was good to see that something as seemingly insignificant as a professional rewrite can make such a different to a game’s sales.