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Creative Endeavors / Neon Apocalypse: Tales of Neon Lights, A Coke'd Out Director, and His Crew
« on: March 01, 2015, 10:46:01 pm »
Neon Apocalypse
Headlights illuminated the pavement, it being the only thing he could see clearly. With it being a grey blur as his car zoomed over it, with the occasional crack in the road breaking up the monotony. The road began to put him into a trance, an expositional trance.
His name was Mitch Slade, rookie cop for the Miami PD. He remembered... the horror of it all, the living being turned into cannibals. The feasting, those wet meaty sounds of them tearing chunks to recruit more into their brutal regime. It made him look down from under his sweet pair of shades, and stare at his feet working the pedals. "Oh. The. Horror." Monotone-ing under his breath, with his deep gravely voice. "If I knew what I knew then," He clutched his robotic fist in rage, before slamming it down on the wheel of his Delorean. "I COULD'VE SAVE- wait what was that line.
--CUT--
"Take two. Aaaand action!"
"I COULD'VE SAVED MY PRECINCT! MY PARTNER! AND MY DAUGHTER!" Speeding up even more than before he had not noticed the tank standing in the middle of the road. The poor car was heaved up from the ground, and shaken apart. Mufflers, the engine block, and Mitch were thrown from the hollowed shell, that was his vehicle. "And now my car!? Damn this world!" He yelled at the muscular beast that glowed neon red in the setting Miami sun. It looked like Arnold on super-steroids, its veins protruded from its already meaty body, and it stunk like armpits after a nice power jog. In a flash Mitch whipped out hisKatana that had those neon rave things tapped onto the blade laser katana he named Vengeance and proceeded to slice the tank's arm clear off.
Sending meaty chunks of sizzling viscera and buckets of glowing blood spraying out all over the darkened Miami highway. The Tank roared as it swung it's remaining arm towards Mitch's perfectly chiseled jaw, with a loud crash The Tank whacked Mitch. Sending him sailing into the air!
"Sir... was this in the script?"
"No, it wasn't. But keep rolling anyway, this might be good. And get the damn boom mic out of the shot!"
"Ow! Fuck tha- I mean. You hulking cube of putrid beef, I WILL END YOU!" Mitch jumped high in the air, hitting the boom mic and knocking its operator to the ground. Mitch probably said something cool as he cut the tank in half, but too bad our boom mic operator is a fool!
"Alright, that's a wrap people.", said The Director from his makeshift folding chair of pipes and car seat leather. "As promised you all get your can of food at the end of each filming, so if you head into the trailer back there you'll be able to get your fill." He shouted over his "crew" packing up the gear, before grabbing the boom mic operator by the collar and pushing him away from the crowd. "Except you though, you fucked it up once again. How are we supposed to make the people happy, if they can't hear a Goddamn thing?" "S-sir, I am sorry!" The boom mic operator stuttered out in his young voice. "Its just that the thing gets heav-" "No excuses! None, so zip it. Scrape together what dignity you do have left and go pick some berry bushes before night fall." The furious Director shouted at the kid, before flouncing off to his personal trailer.
"Mitch" stayed behind though helping the clean up crew move the two large chunks of zombie gore that painted the once clean streets. "Hey man are you okay?", he asked "Mitch". "Yeah, I'm more worried about the arm though. It started shooting out sparks when I landed, still shocked that it was the real thing though." As if command, his biotic arm started to twitch before violently going up in sparks. "Listen bro, I think we should probably get out of this gig. I mean Timmy isn't going to hunt us down if we just skip town... right?" "Mitch" chose to remain silent for the rest of the clean up.
Meanwhile:
"THAT'S THE STUFF!" Tim shot back into his chair holding his head back, pinching his nose. He didn't even notice that his assistant "Mrs. Oliver" had walked into his private layer, "Sir, the crew are wondering where their "payment" is." Timmy fell backwards in his chair, startled by "Mrs. Oliver's" arrival. Looking at her from his comfy position on the ground, "What do you mean?" "What I mean Sir, is that there is no food!" She shouted at him, not to dissimilar to how a mother yells at their child for misbehaving. "Well there's no reason to yell, "Mrs." we're in a small wooden trailer. The acoustics in here are great, so I can hear you perfectly, even at a whisper." He lowered his voice to a whisper to emphasize that point further. "But fine, I'll go out there and tell Mitch to organize a small raiding party... actually I have a script to write, so why don't you do it." Slowly getting to hit feet and putting his office chair back on its legs, he shooed his assistant away while he took more "inspiration".
Rudely she had, had the door slammed in her face by her only friend... who just happened to be her boss. Sighing she turned on her heels and made a quick journey back to the small section of highway that still had lights, cameras, and wrecked bits and pieces of rare sports car strewn about it. "Mitch!", she called out towards the small group of cleaners. "I need you and your friends for a moment."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, I know its fairly short. But I'm just getting people and things introduced. That and its nearly midnight here, and I normally don't write things. So I kinda just wanted to get this out there.
Headlights illuminated the pavement, it being the only thing he could see clearly. With it being a grey blur as his car zoomed over it, with the occasional crack in the road breaking up the monotony. The road began to put him into a trance, an expositional trance.
His name was Mitch Slade, rookie cop for the Miami PD. He remembered... the horror of it all, the living being turned into cannibals. The feasting, those wet meaty sounds of them tearing chunks to recruit more into their brutal regime. It made him look down from under his sweet pair of shades, and stare at his feet working the pedals. "Oh. The. Horror." Monotone-ing under his breath, with his deep gravely voice. "If I knew what I knew then," He clutched his robotic fist in rage, before slamming it down on the wheel of his Delorean. "I COULD'VE SAVE- wait what was that line.
--CUT--
"Take two. Aaaand action!"
"I COULD'VE SAVED MY PRECINCT! MY PARTNER! AND MY DAUGHTER!" Speeding up even more than before he had not noticed the tank standing in the middle of the road. The poor car was heaved up from the ground, and shaken apart. Mufflers, the engine block, and Mitch were thrown from the hollowed shell, that was his vehicle. "And now my car!? Damn this world!" He yelled at the muscular beast that glowed neon red in the setting Miami sun. It looked like Arnold on super-steroids, its veins protruded from its already meaty body, and it stunk like armpits after a nice power jog. In a flash Mitch whipped out his
Sending meaty chunks of sizzling viscera and buckets of glowing blood spraying out all over the darkened Miami highway. The Tank roared as it swung it's remaining arm towards Mitch's perfectly chiseled jaw, with a loud crash The Tank whacked Mitch. Sending him sailing into the air!
"Sir... was this in the script?"
"No, it wasn't. But keep rolling anyway, this might be good. And get the damn boom mic out of the shot!"
"Ow! Fuck tha- I mean. You hulking cube of putrid beef, I WILL END YOU!" Mitch jumped high in the air, hitting the boom mic and knocking its operator to the ground. Mitch probably said something cool as he cut the tank in half, but too bad our boom mic operator is a fool!
"Alright, that's a wrap people.", said The Director from his makeshift folding chair of pipes and car seat leather. "As promised you all get your can of food at the end of each filming, so if you head into the trailer back there you'll be able to get your fill." He shouted over his "crew" packing up the gear, before grabbing the boom mic operator by the collar and pushing him away from the crowd. "Except you though, you fucked it up once again. How are we supposed to make the people happy, if they can't hear a Goddamn thing?" "S-sir, I am sorry!" The boom mic operator stuttered out in his young voice. "Its just that the thing gets heav-" "No excuses! None, so zip it. Scrape together what dignity you do have left and go pick some berry bushes before night fall." The furious Director shouted at the kid, before flouncing off to his personal trailer.
"Mitch" stayed behind though helping the clean up crew move the two large chunks of zombie gore that painted the once clean streets. "Hey man are you okay?", he asked "Mitch". "Yeah, I'm more worried about the arm though. It started shooting out sparks when I landed, still shocked that it was the real thing though." As if command, his biotic arm started to twitch before violently going up in sparks. "Listen bro, I think we should probably get out of this gig. I mean Timmy isn't going to hunt us down if we just skip town... right?" "Mitch" chose to remain silent for the rest of the clean up.
Meanwhile:
"THAT'S THE STUFF!" Tim shot back into his chair holding his head back, pinching his nose. He didn't even notice that his assistant "Mrs. Oliver" had walked into his private layer, "Sir, the crew are wondering where their "payment" is." Timmy fell backwards in his chair, startled by "Mrs. Oliver's" arrival. Looking at her from his comfy position on the ground, "What do you mean?" "What I mean Sir, is that there is no food!" She shouted at him, not to dissimilar to how a mother yells at their child for misbehaving. "Well there's no reason to yell, "Mrs." we're in a small wooden trailer. The acoustics in here are great, so I can hear you perfectly, even at a whisper." He lowered his voice to a whisper to emphasize that point further. "But fine, I'll go out there and tell Mitch to organize a small raiding party... actually I have a script to write, so why don't you do it." Slowly getting to hit feet and putting his office chair back on its legs, he shooed his assistant away while he took more "inspiration".
Rudely she had, had the door slammed in her face by her only friend... who just happened to be her boss. Sighing she turned on her heels and made a quick journey back to the small section of highway that still had lights, cameras, and wrecked bits and pieces of rare sports car strewn about it. "Mitch!", she called out towards the small group of cleaners. "I need you and your friends for a moment."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, I know its fairly short. But I'm just getting people and things introduced. That and its nearly midnight here, and I normally don't write things. So I kinda just wanted to get this out there.