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MATCH SCORE
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MATCH SCORE
Q: 1
Mr. Roarke: 3

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Skeleton Crew: 0
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Pyramid Head: 1

You Be The Judge
Vote for who you would think would win

Cleatus

Chewbacca

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Posted

FADE IN:

INT. CBUB STUDIOS – LOBBY – EARLY MORNING

74eb5e4d-5239-44a5-a50b-9b2ba974c8bf.thumb.jpg.8ebb119bcc90104c3bb0c68a38236abd.jpg

We pan down the towering CBUB Studios, settling on the front doors of the ground floor. The sliding doors hiss open into a deserted lobby. The overhead fluorescent lights flicker, reflecting off scattered puddles and empty chairs. No security guard. No front desk clerk. No one.

With the rising sun at their backs, MERCENARYBLADE, LEROYPOWELL3, and BORATZ step in, coffee in hand, wearing matching “I thought I was off today” expressions.

MERCENARYBLADE is tall, broad-shouldered, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He radiates ex-military energy. He is alert, more so than anyone should be at this time of day.

LEROYPOWELL3 is slightly shorter, tie crooked, definitely the office cynic. He clutches a giant coffee thermos with the label “MEGASTORY” printed on the side. He holds it like it’s a life preserver.

BORATZ sports a football jersey under his unbuttoned dress shirt—clearly the sports fan among his colleagues.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Eyeing the front doors)
They just… left it unlocked? That’s weird.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Muttering into his coffee)
I was kind of hoping we were closed today. I’d go back home, catch some Z’s.

BORATZ:
(Walking into the lobby)
Maybe the janitors forgot to lock up again? Or maybe they’re just smarter than us and quit.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Following Boratz’s lead, walking in and examining the front desk)
I doubt they showed up at all with the way this place looks.

BORATZ:
Honestly, I don’t blame anyone if they bailed.
(Gestures to his jersey)
And I’ve got a meeting with HR about “proper office attire.” I’m about one scolding away from joining ‘em.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Walking through the lobby, clearly not as concerned as the others)
This place has always been a dump. Come on, we need to start our shifts. I’ve got three sims to run for 'Megastory' today and I don’t want to fall behind schedule.

They walk further into the lobby. A faint buzz from a neon EXIT sign hums overhead. The camera pans to the elevator doors as they all exchange uneasy looks as they reach the elevator and find the battered sign on the door: “Elevator Out of Order (Again). Please Use Stairs.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Groaning)
Are you kidding me? I gotta lug my coffee up fourteen flights of stairs?

BORATZ:
(Gesturing at his jersey)
Hey, it’s good exercise. Think of it as pre-gaming.

MERCENARYBLADE:
Guess we’re hoofing it.

They exchange exasperated looks, then head toward the stairwell door with resigned sighs.


INT. CBUB STUDIOS – STAIRWELL – MOMENTS LATER

The door squeaks open into a concrete stairwell illuminated by flickering emergency lights. A stale, musty smell suggests it hasn’t been aired out in years. The sound of dripping water echoes.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Looking up)
Why does the building feel taller today?

BORATZ:
(Wiggling eyebrows)
Wanna place bets on who collapses first?

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Snorts, holding his thermos protectively)
I bet you can’t even make it to the third without wheezing.

BORATZ:
Hey! I’m in shape!

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Rolling eyes, but faint grin)
Round is a shape, Bor. But twenty bucks says Leroy’s the first to drop out.

BORATZ:
(Laughing, leading the way up)
Deal. You’re both underestimating me.

They all share a comforting laugh and start to climb a few steps. The overhead lighting flickers, revealing damp, dirty footprints leading both up and down.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Eyeing the footprints)
Weird. Almost looks like a bunch of people ran through here last night.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Quietly, trying not to spook them)
Or things.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Looking back toward Mercenaryblade)
You mean like a sim? They never make it this far down the building, much less manifest at all.

MERCENARYBLADE:
Well, I doubt it was the cleaning crew.

BORATZ:
(One flight ahead)
Save your breath for the climb, guys.

They keep climbing. The floors pass by more slowly than they’d like.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Already winded, sipping from his thermos)
This is cruel and unusual punishment. I should call HR on whoever broke the elevator.

BORATZ:
(Laughs, but warily eyes the next landing)
You do that, man.

Before they can climb higher, a loud CLANG reverberates through the stairwell. They all freeze in place and look to the other, visually confirming if the other had heard the sound.

BORATZ:
(Heart pounding)
Did you guys hear that?

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Low voice)
Yeah. Something’s up there.

The sound repeats, closer—a clank, clank, clank. They climb another landing, stepping cautiously. Suddenly, a football bounces down the stairs, thud, thud, thud. It stops at BORATZ’s feet.

BORATZ
(Eyes lighting up)
Oh, fucking score?

He scoops it up. Immediately, a towering metallic figure appears at the next landing above.

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CLEATUS, the NFL robot, visor pulsing red. He spots the ball in BORATZ’s hands.

CLEATUS:
(Distorted robotic voice)
PLAYER DETECTED. READY FOR SCRIMMAGE.

BORATZ:
(Looking back to the others, then up at Cleatus. Speaks nervously)
Oh, no thanks. We're not here to play, big guy.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Turns his head toward Mercenaryblade, while keeping his eyes on the robot above)
Is Bor talking to a sim combatant right now?

MERCENARYBLADE:
It probably came from one of the old simulation floors. I told IKA to put in maintenance order on the whole system before he—

CLEATUS:
(offended beep)
PLAY. BALL. NOW.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(raising his palms, answering Cleatus)
Look Robocop, we’re just trying to go to work. I don't even like football.

Cleatus rears back and hurls the football. It whizzes past BORATZ, smashing into LEROYPOWELL3’s chest. He topples backwards, coffee thermos spinning out of his grasp as he tumbles down a flight of stairs past Mercenaryblade. He lands in a heap, coffee splashing everywhere. A horrifying moment of silence as he lay on the landing below.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(faintly)
Ow.

BORATZ:
(trying not to laugh, half-shocked)
Dude, that was impressive—I think he killed him.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(teeth clenched)
Hey, robot, stand down!

Cleatus cocks his arm again, but BORATZ quickly tosses the original football back. Cleatus snatches it midair with a beep of approval.

CLEATUS:
GOOD HANDOFF. NEXT PLAY.

The robot charges down a few steps, mechanical joints grinding, forcing MERCENARYBLADE and BORATZ to run down the stairwell.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(to Boratz)
We gotta get past him. We can’t just let him flatten us or Leroy.

Boratz:
If Leroy can even walk again. You okay down there?

(Shouts toward Leroypowell3, who is slowly getting to his feet)

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Weakly from the lower landing, rubbing his bruised chest)
I’ll… manage. Not sure if my dignity will recover, though.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Helping LEROYPOWELL3 to his feet)
Just breathe. You good to run or do I need to carry you?

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Wincing, staggering upright)
I'm good. But if that robo-quarterback chucks another pass at me, I’m boycotting sports and this job.

The camera cuts to Cleatus climbing down the stairs, moving ominously closer toward the CBUB employees. The camera cuts between the robot moving slowly into a run and the employees faces as they realize Cleatus is picking up speed. They run.

CLEATUS:
(Raising the football, monotone enthusiasm)
NEXT PLAY. ENGAGE.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Limping)
Please tell me this is some weird dream from hitting my head.

BORATZ;
This is no dream, buddy!

MERCENARYBLADE:
(To BORATZ, pointing up at the stairs above)
We need to lose him. There’s an exit on the eight floor that leads to the old sim lab, right?

BORATZ:
(Nodding quickly)
Yeah, we can cut through there and maybe lock him out. We just need to get around him.

Cleatus lunges, brandishing the football like a battering ram. MERCENARYBLADE shoves LEROYPOWELL3 ahead, and BORATZ sprints up the steps. They manage to slip past Cleatus by hugging the wall, but the robot spins with surprising agility, arm cocked back to throw.

The trio scream. The camera zooms in on the football as Cleatus launches it at them. The balls drills through the air, then just before it strikes Leroypowell3, a fur covered hand grabs the ball, stopping it mid-air.

The camera slowly pans to the left, revealing the owner of the hand. A familiar, guttural roar escapes the mouth of CHEWBACCA. His bowcaster dangles from a makeshift strap over his shoulder.

The trio halt, looking awe-struck.

BORATZ:
(Slack-jawed)
That’s… that’s Chewbacca!

CHEWBACCA:
(Low, guttural roar, eyes fixed on Cleatus)
Rrraaaaghh…

CLEATUS:
NEW PLAYER DETECTED. DEFENSE… ENGAGE.

Cleatus’s visor flashes as he recalculates. The robot squares up like a linebacker ready for a tackle, adjusting his grip on another football. Sparks flicker at his joints, the result of repeated collisions with the walls and stairs.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Still nursing his bruised chest, eyeing Chewie warily)
I was not prepared for this cameo…

Chewbacca tosses the football aside with a dismissive snarl. He bares his teeth at Cleatus, who cocks his throwing arm again. The clang, clang of metal footsteps echoes as the NFL robot charges forward, football raised high like a hammer. Chewbacca lunges, intercepting Cleatus’s outstretched arm with his massive paws.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(Eyes flicking between Cleatus and Chewbacca)
This is our shot. Come on, we have to move and get to that sim floor.

The two combatants collide with a resounding CLANG that rattles the railings. Sparks fly from Cleatus’s metal plating as Chewbacca’s raw strength forces him back. A heavy thud shakes the stairs as Chewbacca slams Cleatus into the railing.

The trio don't look back as they rush up the stairs, reaching the door on the eighth floor. They burst through the door onto a dimly lit corridor lined with old office suites. A battered sign on the wall reads: “SIM LAB – This Way.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Panting)
I thought management locked this floor down?

BORATZ:
Apparently not… door is practically hanging off the hinge. Probably how those two got out.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(Looks to Mercenaryblade as they continue down the corridor)
Then what are we looking for?

MERCENARYBLADE:
An exit leading back toward the ground floor. If we're lucky, we'll pass HR and we can put in our resignations.

The trio emerge from the door at the end of the corridor and enter onto an expansive floor lined with outdated servers and cables. The lights flicker, revealing half-constructed simulators, broken VR headsets, and a cluster of shipping crates. It smells of stale electronics.

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At the far end, a figure is rummaging through a tool chest. MR. FOX, the former CEO, stands in a disheveled suit—shirt untucked, tie undone. He looks up, startled.

MR. FOX:
You… you’re not supposed to be here yet.

MERCENARYBLADE:
We could say the same to you, sir. I thought you retired?

MR. FOX:
What? You think IKA can run this place without someone else pulling the strings from the shadows? Don't be naive. 

BORATZ:
(out of breath)
No time for all of that. If you are here, then you can help us. There’s a malfunctioning robot and a… Wookiee? In the stairwell?

MR. FOX:
(raises an eyebrow)
Chewbacca and Cleatus… Good grief, the sim meltdown must be worse than I thought.

MR. FOX:
(Slams the chest close)
Alright then. We cut power to the entire sub-system. That’ll force them back into data form, or at least render them inert.

MERCENARYBLADE:
But if we cut power, we might knock out the rest of the building.

MR. FOX:
(eyes narrowed)
Better than them knocking us out.

A violent crash resonates from the stairwell, the entire floor rattling. Then Chewbacca bursts through the door—fur singed, panting heavily. He glares at the employees, but doesn’t attack. Instead, he roars as if warning them.

Seconds later, Cleatus smashes through the same door, visor flickering. He locks onto Chewbacca again, fists raised.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(throwing up his hands)
Why can’t they just… settle this on a field somewhere?

BORATZ:
I’d pay money to see that, but not this close to the action!

MR. FOX
(to the group)
Let them settle their score. Give me a hand with killing the power.

MERCENARYBLADE:
Could Chewbacca help us?

As if on cue, Chewbacca roars at Cleatus, gesturing the employees to step aside. They quickly obey. The camera cuts between the Wookiee and the robot, tension rises until finally, they lunge at one another.

BORATZ:
(whispering)
I’m definitely betting on the Wookiee.

LEROYPOWELL3:
(touching his bruised chest)
My wallet’s on Chewie, too.

MERCENARYBLADE:
(nodding firmly)
Same here. Let’s go, Mr. Fox.
 

The group run, hoping they can find a working off switch to this nightmare work day.

FADE OUT: 

TEXT ON SCREEN: Next Time, Maybe Just Call in Sick.

 

 

So this is Cleatus, the NFL Robot (infinite footballs at his disposal) versus Chewbacca w/bowcaster and limited ammo.

Cleatus must *win* his football game and KO Chewbacca before the CBUB employees reach the off-switch. Cleatus has five minutes to win.

Chewbacca must render Cleatus useless, breaking down his robotic body until he is no longer functional. He has only five minutes to win before he is left inert when the power is cut.

Posted
3 hours ago, Mercenaryblade said:

Haha, creative setup, I appreciate the cameo! That was a lot of fun. 

I think Chewie has this. 

 

Thought you'd like to be included :) 

Posted

Haha definitely a fun match up! I think I have to go with my characterization from the set up and go with Chewie as well!

Posted
1 hour ago, Boratz said:

Haha definitely a fun match up! I think I have to go with my characterization from the set up and go with Chewie as well!

Glad you enjoyed it. Your character interaction with Cleatus was by far the funniest part.

I also think that Chewbacca can best Cleatus, who doesn't seem like he's in the best shape. I was tempted to continue it, but I wanted to get it done in time.

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