This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Ergonomic_Brick on 2024-11-01 07:54:41+00:00.
FADE IN
INT. WORKSHOP—EARLY AFTERNOON.
WE OPEN to two figures bickering. A human—sitting down, and a Thorian—standing beside the human. Most workers are out for lunch, but the two are still talking.
Phos, 142, stands outside Human Ed’s workstation. Human Ed, 32, is tinkering with a device, the function of which is beyond the scope of this story.
PHOS: Human Ed, what are you doing? It’s lunchtime. I don’t want you complaining about an empty stomach.
ED: Yeah, yeah, right after I finish this.
PHOS: What are you even doing?
(DEADPAN) ED: Tinkering.
PHOS: What even is that?
Phos points to an object in Ed’s hands. A smooth metal dodecahedron. It shines brightly and shinily. Ed turns the thing around in his hand, inspecting it.
(BEMUSED) PHOS: It does not seem like tech. Looks like scrap.
(CONFUSED) PHOS: Then why are you ‘tinkering’?
(SHRUGGING) ED: Dunno, looked cool.
Ed grabs a plasma torch and attempts to cut the object open to no avail. It begins to glow. Ed tosses the object around frantically while Phos stands unimpressed.
PHOS: Are you stupid? Where did you even get that from?
Phos looks towards the sizeable pile of trinkets and devices Ed had collected.
(SARCASM) PHOS: At least those things work.
Ed is unable to answer; he is too busy having his hands burnt.
(PANICKED) ED: Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW, ow ow!
Ed throws the object into a conveniently placed bucket of water. Steam is produced, the air is agitated, and the water screams in protest.
(PANTING) [HUMAN ED]: I got it from a scrapyard.
(PAUSE)
PHOS: Why did you go to a scrapyard?
ED: It was a shortcut to the workshop. The thing caught my eye, and I grabbed it on the way here.
PHOS: Ed. There are like a dozen better ways to get here.
ED: I wanted a change in scenery.
PHOS: You live five minutes from the workshop.
ED: That doesn’t make it any less worthwhile to enjoy nature.
PHOS: Scrapyard, Ed.
Ignoring Phos, Ed reaches into the bucket of water and pulls the object out. He places it on the table and hammers it with a hammer. The hammer consents, so Ed pounds it even harder. The dodecahedron is unfazed by Ed’s attempts.
(BANG)
ED: Damn box.
(BANG)
PHOS: It appears to be a dodecahedron.
(BANG)
ED: Damn dodecahedron.
Ed swings the hammer one final time with all his strength; this kills the hammer as it’s head flies off. How will he break this to the hammer’s family?
PHOS: You would trade lunchtime for this?
ED: It appears so.
Ed places the dodecahedron in a hydraulic press. He stops when the press starts to sprinkle sparks and make expensive sounding noises
PHOS: Why are you trying to pulverise it?
ED: To see what’s inside.
(FLAGELLA OSCILLATING) PHOS: You can use the scanner. Ed.
ED: Nah, that would ruin the surprise.
(STUNNED SILENCE)
Ed places the object underneath an industrial saw and turns on the machine; the blade whirs dangerously. Parts of the blade shatter and fly off upon contact. The object is unharmed and taunts Ed with it’s pristine polished edge.
Ed takes out his personal firearm. Inexplicable, his uniform does not have pockets and he does not have a strap to carry it in. He shoots the object. Bullets ricochet. The object is retaliating.
Ed grabs the object with not even a scratch on it and brings it above his head, inspecting it as if that would cause something to magically manifest on it’s surface. Phos snatches it from Ed and runs his hands over it.
PHOS: Seriously, ever tried a gentler approach before?
Ed tries to retort but is cut off by the object opening up, producing a loud thrumming noise.
ED: Ugh, okay. But…
The two are lit up by an eerie blue glow.
ED: What is it doing?
A low, thrumming noise emanates from the object. It gradually grows louder and stronger.
(PAUSE)
PHOS: Haven’t got a clue.
ED: Still up for lunch?
PHOS: Then let us leave.
The two flee the scene.
LATER
The two are seen walking back to the lot where the workshop is located; the sun beats down on them. They pass through the scrapyard Ed talked about.
PHOS: This is not a scrapyard. It’s a shipyard.
ED: Is that so?
PHOS: Where did you get that object?
Ed points to a pile of familiarly shaped objects labelled ‘Starship Reactor Cores’.
(MASSAGING ANTENNAE) PHOS: Shit
[insert massive explosion visuals here]
SMASH TO:
WORKSHOP CRATER—LATE AFTERNOON.
The two are on the edge of the lot where the workshop is located, with the workshop conspicuously missing, there is a workshop-sized crater in it’s place.
ED: I’m sorry to say this, but this is your fault.
(AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE) PHOS: FUCK!
FADE OUT
Editors note:
Please rewrite.
John. We do not have the budget for ‘massive explosion visuals,’ nor does Phos have flagella OR antennae (did you even read the brief?). We also cannot make a massive crater in the middle of the city.
On another note, stop leaving your figurines around the office. It is distracting for the other employees. And stop painting them in the break room; the paint gets everywhere. You can do your hobby at home.
If this keeps happening, we’re going to have to dock your pay.
-Aerith