Post by warzone on May 9, 2010 22:32:35 GMT -4
(The scene opens into a war torn field of dusty- rust colored sand. Trenches are pitted in long lines across the sand, guarded by barricades of razor wire with small openings.Bombs explode with deafening reports. The smoke from past battles turn the usually bright cheerily yellow sun into a sickly Grey glow over the field. We pan into the trenches, to see Alex Warman, called by his friends in the 1544th infantry as Sargent "Warzone". He Dressed in full on desert fatigues, lying flat on his stomach with his M-16 jetting out of the trenches his eyes showing lack of sleep. Next to him is another man, middle aged with slicked back hunched over with a microphone in his hands. His royal blue jacket reads "Fox News".)
Reporter: I'm here in southern Baghdad, right in the middle of the action, with Sargent Alex Warman of the 15544th division. Mr. Warman, can you please describe what the situation is here right now?
WARZONE: Just shut up and stay quiet.
REPORTER: My apologies. Theres action all around us, but theres not much here. Is it usually like this?
(Warzone turns his head to maintain eye contact,with a incredulous stare)
WARZONE: What the hell are you even doing here? This is a death sentence for you.
REPORTER: Well sir, FOX news has all ways been the number one newssour-
(BOOM! the ground shakes as a mortar ex poles right behind them. Sand explodes into the hole and the ground shakes. the reporter screams and ducks down, his head nearly touching his knees. Alex snaps his head straight, shooting his his M-16 in calm, meditated bursts. Fire shoots out of his barrel as the rounds head towards their destination. Small PEW! PEW! PHEW! PHEW!'s can be heard as gifts from the enemy greet Alex, stopping right in front of the trench with small puffs of sand. Alex returns the favor, his training aiding him ans he turns his M-16 to meet the general direction of the rounds. )
REPORTER: SCREW THIS!
( the reporter bolts, foolishly standing straight up in the trench and rung the opposite direction. Other Soldiers dressed in desert camo are lined up, returning enemy fire)
WARZONE: GET DOWN YOU IDIOT!
(POP! The reporter's head explodes in a cloud of red as he falls sideways in the trench. Alex Lets out a growl of frustration ans he increases his fire, stopping only to replace his magazine. Finally, he stops, noticing that only his infantry is firing.)
WARZONE: HOLD YOUR FIRE!
(The crew relays the message down the line, until the multiple gunfire ceases into none. Alex slowly lifts his head up, seeing nothing but sand. Confused, he hears a unmistakable BOOM! of a grenade and is knocked away from his Gun, wracked in pain. He Can feel blood oozing from his side. People were jumping in the trenches, speaking Arabic. He knew he was hit by shrapnel. Someone was int paying attention behind him he thought as he saw a figure above him, wielding a scimitar)
WARZONE: AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!
(Warzone bolts up in his bed, instinctively raising his Beretta and flashing it around the room. Finally his gets his mindset right. Just a nightmare. Again. sighing, he slides the gun under his pillow, sliding out of his sheets ans sitting on the edge of the mattress, putting his head in his hands. He looked at the clock, the LED screen glowing a neon green 5:30. At least its a good nights sleep, he thought. as he walks out of his room, clad only in boxers and into the bathroom. Turning on the light, he slashes cold water on his face, his blond hair getting slightly wet. Bending straight up, he notices the scars on his side, pocked mark pits all down his left side. He studies them, running his fingers down them)
WARZONE (thought): The Horrors the War. 12 fatalities were recorded in that battle, including the reporter. He had no business there. The masses see that war a side-show, a spectacle of blood that they can safely enjoy from their own living room. They dont realize in thier primitive minds that REAL lives are lost. REAL people are being killed everyday. All they do is show a 5 second clip with their picture behind an American flag, then sign off to another spectale.
(Alex puts on his jeans, dressing slowly and methodicaly.)
WARZONE: Now I'm home. Have been for 7 and a half months. After that battle, The first class general wanted answers. Or wanted something to tell the news. He spotted a village not far off the battlezone. Command us to "kill Them All". That didint sit well with me. So, after breaking his jaw, i was dishonorably discharged, and sent back to the states. I was spit on, insulted, and screwed out of a job. Well, a IRS reportable job.
(Alex is in a dirty basement, wearing a black tank top and black denim jeans, his face bloody the floor is covered with blue mats, smeared in blood from battles. A crowd circles the mat, cheering on the fight. A muscle bound mind tries to roundhouse kick warzone. Warzone grabs the mans foot, pulling him down flat on his back. He drops a knee straight on his groin, causing the man to cry in pain. A flurry of punches meets the man, every one of them meeting his face with a sickening sound. Over a dozen land before his is pulled off by the crowd)
WARZONE(THOUGHT):But that wasint cutting it. Beating it out in sweat boxes for chump change was for the birds. Though i must admit. i do like to fight.
(Alex slips on his black leather trench coat, walking out his front door with a "thunk!" He goes down the stairs, the walls on his apartment building are lined with graffiti, even to his mailbox. he opens his mailbox, pulling out a single letter in a yellow Manila envelope. He looks at the letter. the header says "APW CONTRACT DECISION. He scans the letter, smiling as he reaches the words "YOUR CONTRACT HAS BEEN ACCEPTED")
WARZONE: Out of the front lines, into the fire.
Reporter: I'm here in southern Baghdad, right in the middle of the action, with Sargent Alex Warman of the 15544th division. Mr. Warman, can you please describe what the situation is here right now?
WARZONE: Just shut up and stay quiet.
REPORTER: My apologies. Theres action all around us, but theres not much here. Is it usually like this?
(Warzone turns his head to maintain eye contact,with a incredulous stare)
WARZONE: What the hell are you even doing here? This is a death sentence for you.
REPORTER: Well sir, FOX news has all ways been the number one newssour-
(BOOM! the ground shakes as a mortar ex poles right behind them. Sand explodes into the hole and the ground shakes. the reporter screams and ducks down, his head nearly touching his knees. Alex snaps his head straight, shooting his his M-16 in calm, meditated bursts. Fire shoots out of his barrel as the rounds head towards their destination. Small PEW! PEW! PHEW! PHEW!'s can be heard as gifts from the enemy greet Alex, stopping right in front of the trench with small puffs of sand. Alex returns the favor, his training aiding him ans he turns his M-16 to meet the general direction of the rounds. )
REPORTER: SCREW THIS!
( the reporter bolts, foolishly standing straight up in the trench and rung the opposite direction. Other Soldiers dressed in desert camo are lined up, returning enemy fire)
WARZONE: GET DOWN YOU IDIOT!
(POP! The reporter's head explodes in a cloud of red as he falls sideways in the trench. Alex Lets out a growl of frustration ans he increases his fire, stopping only to replace his magazine. Finally, he stops, noticing that only his infantry is firing.)
WARZONE: HOLD YOUR FIRE!
(The crew relays the message down the line, until the multiple gunfire ceases into none. Alex slowly lifts his head up, seeing nothing but sand. Confused, he hears a unmistakable BOOM! of a grenade and is knocked away from his Gun, wracked in pain. He Can feel blood oozing from his side. People were jumping in the trenches, speaking Arabic. He knew he was hit by shrapnel. Someone was int paying attention behind him he thought as he saw a figure above him, wielding a scimitar)
WARZONE: AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!
(Warzone bolts up in his bed, instinctively raising his Beretta and flashing it around the room. Finally his gets his mindset right. Just a nightmare. Again. sighing, he slides the gun under his pillow, sliding out of his sheets ans sitting on the edge of the mattress, putting his head in his hands. He looked at the clock, the LED screen glowing a neon green 5:30. At least its a good nights sleep, he thought. as he walks out of his room, clad only in boxers and into the bathroom. Turning on the light, he slashes cold water on his face, his blond hair getting slightly wet. Bending straight up, he notices the scars on his side, pocked mark pits all down his left side. He studies them, running his fingers down them)
WARZONE (thought): The Horrors the War. 12 fatalities were recorded in that battle, including the reporter. He had no business there. The masses see that war a side-show, a spectacle of blood that they can safely enjoy from their own living room. They dont realize in thier primitive minds that REAL lives are lost. REAL people are being killed everyday. All they do is show a 5 second clip with their picture behind an American flag, then sign off to another spectale.
(Alex puts on his jeans, dressing slowly and methodicaly.)
WARZONE: Now I'm home. Have been for 7 and a half months. After that battle, The first class general wanted answers. Or wanted something to tell the news. He spotted a village not far off the battlezone. Command us to "kill Them All". That didint sit well with me. So, after breaking his jaw, i was dishonorably discharged, and sent back to the states. I was spit on, insulted, and screwed out of a job. Well, a IRS reportable job.
(Alex is in a dirty basement, wearing a black tank top and black denim jeans, his face bloody the floor is covered with blue mats, smeared in blood from battles. A crowd circles the mat, cheering on the fight. A muscle bound mind tries to roundhouse kick warzone. Warzone grabs the mans foot, pulling him down flat on his back. He drops a knee straight on his groin, causing the man to cry in pain. A flurry of punches meets the man, every one of them meeting his face with a sickening sound. Over a dozen land before his is pulled off by the crowd)
WARZONE(THOUGHT):But that wasint cutting it. Beating it out in sweat boxes for chump change was for the birds. Though i must admit. i do like to fight.
(Alex slips on his black leather trench coat, walking out his front door with a "thunk!" He goes down the stairs, the walls on his apartment building are lined with graffiti, even to his mailbox. he opens his mailbox, pulling out a single letter in a yellow Manila envelope. He looks at the letter. the header says "APW CONTRACT DECISION. He scans the letter, smiling as he reaches the words "YOUR CONTRACT HAS BEEN ACCEPTED")
WARZONE: Out of the front lines, into the fire.
