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Road to ULTRATITLE: Warriors of the West

Nova

Just Like Law-Jesus
Joined
May 15, 2005
Messages
528
Points
0
Age
39
Location
The wrong side of the bong slide.
Road to ULTRATITLE: That Sh*t's the FIRE~!
Road to ULTRATITLE: Days of Future Past
Road to ULTRATITLE: The "Reality" of the Situation
Road to ULTRATITLE: Destination Cheyenne

(FADE IN: The desert night’s sky, a deep purplish-black soup someone garnished with a sprinkling of stars for aesthetic appeal). All is calm on the Frontier. A gila monster crawls over a rock and peers out across the dunes on the horizon, surveying his kingdom. An approaching noise causes him to flee for shelter, and seconds later, a black ’57 Chevy flies by, kicking up sand and tumbleweeds.

Oh, and when I say “fly,” I do mean “fly.” Peep the jet-engine technology, b*tches.

Nova stares out the Chevy’s window down at the ground racing by thirty or forty feet below. Air whistles through the teeth of the NFW Western Conference Champion as his fingers lightly graze over the second-degree burn in the form of an eagle that now decorates his left pectoral muscle.

He turns to the Chairman, who’s piloting this drugged-out Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

NOVA: I’m still not entirely clear about why Randalls had to BRAND me…

The Chairman offers only an amused grin and inaudible chuckle, his eyes not leaving the road.

NOVA: (Running a hand over his head) And my hair, oh Jesus, my hair…

CHAIRMAN: The Wolf has his reasons for everything, and rarely does he deign to share them. That has always been his way.

Nova lights a cigarette and rolls down the front passenger window.

NOVA: You know Randalls?

CHAIRMAN: From a different time, one long buried in leather-bound tomes that remain silent in dusty corners of uninhabited libraries.

NOVA: A simple ‘yes’ would do it.

HYPERSPACE KID: This blunt isn’t gonna roast itself, guys. I’m suckin’ down ‘dro-smoke back here and you silly bastards are gabbin’ it up like a couple of old hens.

CHAIRMAN: The Kid is trying to hand you the blunt, Nova.

NOVA: (Reaching around) Thanks, Kid.

The ULTRATITLE hopeful takes a hard rip from the bleezy and holds it until his chest begins to heave. Letting the smoke shoot out of his nostrils, Nova groans and rubs his hand against his temple, cigarette still burning in his other.

The Hyperspace Kid shakes the back of Nova’s chair, a wide grin on his face.

HYPERSPACE KID: What the hell is that sh*t? YOU DID IT, BABY! You won the West – handily, I might add. Everything the Chairman has been predicting for years is coming to fruition!

CHAIRMAN: The Warrior of the West has risen above the ranks of his own tribe. The Mad Scientist from the East has emerged victorious as well. The Final Confrontation draws near.

HYPERSPACE KID: DIG, man! And you’re all sighing and groaning ‘n sh*t, when you should be moon-walking across the desert right now!

NOVA: (Handing the blunt to the Chairman) *Cough, cough* You’ll pardon…*cough*…you’ll pardon me if I’m in a severe amount of pain right now and not exactly giddy about doing it all over again. It’s so entertaining, this game I’m playing right now, where I try to relax and then feel out what hurts the most: my torched scalp, the seared flesh of my chest, or the innumerable lacerations across my…

HYPERSPACE KID: Alright, alright, damn. Just saying, you should be happy. You’re still on track to save the world.

NOVA: Wheeeeeee. Say, why are you guys so eager for me to change the course of history? Isn’t that going to, you know, completely erase your existence, or something?

The Kid takes the blunt from the Chairman and pulls on it, little mini-puffs of smoke escaping into the air.

HYPERSPACE KID: Well, the Chairman and I have actually shuffled off our designated places on the human timeline. We’re anomalies now, so to answer your question…no.

CHAIRMAN: We are neither the past, the present, nor the future.

HYPERSPACE KID: Word up.

NOVA: That sounds pretty cool. Can I be an anomaly, too?

The Chairman laughs.

CHAIRMAN: This is your time, Nova. You belong here, in this moment, with this one great purpose.

HYPERSPACE KID: Besides, you don’t want to be shuffled out of the timeline, man. Completely ruins your libido. If I wanna rub one out these days, it basically takes a Shop-Vac and Phil Collins’ No Jacket Required.

NOVA: Ugh. You could’ve stopped with “libido.”

CHAIRMAN: Why the Collins?

HYPERSPACE KID: I dunno, I’ve just been really into that album here recently.

NOVA: I want out of this car.

The Chairman mockingly slams on the brakes, which still somehow work despite the car being propelled through the air via jet engines and the wheels having more or less no bearing on anything.

CHAIRMAN: NEXT STOP, ALBEQUERQ-

ka-BOOM~!

Without warning an explosion just outside the back right end of the Chevy rocks everyone in the car, sending Nova’s torched dome almost through the windshield.

CHAIRMAN: Talk to me, Kid! What the f*ck was that?!

The Kid’s one step ahead of him, already peering out the back left window.

HYPERSPACE KID: We got incoming, Boss Man! Two Dildonite Sex-Wing Fighters!

CHAIRMAN: ConFOUND it all! Okay, buckle up everyone! I’m preparing for evasive maneuvers! That means you too, Smokey!

NOVA: Ohhh, my f*ckin’ head…

The Chairman swoops the Chevy down sideways, corkscrewing for probably no practical reason.

HYPERSPACE KID: (Extending the blunt roach to Nova) You want this, man?!

NOVA: HUH?!

HYPERSPACE KID: I SAID YOU WANT THIS, MAN?!?!

NOVA: OH! W3RD!!!1

The Chairman levels the Chevy out, now moving at a greatly inhanced speed at a much lower altitude. His eyes wander nervously to the rearview mirror.

CHAIRMAN: Kid, spot me on the back! NOW!

The Hyperspace Kid nods and rolls down his window before leaning out halfway to scope the backside of the Chevy aircraft. He ducks back in, wide-eyed and pale.

HYPERSPACE KID: As always, we can expect the worst.

CHAIRMAN: (Sighing) Sex-Wing Fighters?

HYPERSPACE KID: (Nodding) Sex-Wings, boss.

Absorbing the tension of the moment, Nova whips his head around to peer through the back windshield. He sees two objects approach at alarming speed:




Sex-Wing_Fighter.bmp




The Chairman drops the Chevy down hard and to the left, and the fighters pursue diligently. The Chairman wipes the sweat from his brow and steels his nerves.

CHAIRMAN: Boys, we can’t outrun these guys, not in a ’57 Chevy when they have Sex-Wings…I’m trying to think…

HYPERSPACE KID: They’re preparing to fire!!

Nova looks back again, completely lost (and blitzed) in this series of wholly unbelievable events.





Sex-Wing_Fighter_2.bmp






CHAIRMAN: SH*T!! BRACE FOR IMPACT!

The Hyperspace Kid’s eyebrows narrow, and his eyes squint as a ridiculously bad-ass “gritted teeth angry face” thing starts going on for him.

HYPERSPACE KID: I would offer them the same warning…

That being said, he reaches over the Chairman’s right side and pops the trunk of the Chevy before slowly folding down the back row of seats, exposing a gaping open hole from which most of the vessel’s pressure is escaping. The Kid looks back at Nova and the Chairman dramatically:


HYPERSPACE KID: FOR THE EAGLE STAR! VICTORY OR DEATH, HERE AND NOW!

Looking around confused, Nova grabs the flask out of the glove compartment and holds it up.

NOVA: Ummm…World Peace!

The Hyperspace Kid nods stoically before pulling himself over the back row and rolling out the trunk of the Chevy. Nova looks on in utter shock as the Kid freefalls down towards the earth and into the path of the Sex-Wing Fighters.

The Kid takes a deep breath, his eyes calmly closing as the neon lights that run the length of his suit’s extremities blink to life, illuminating his frame that now courses with tiny blue strings of energy. Flipping himself around, the Kid times his arc perfectly to swing around into a double-stomp that sends crackling bolts of Funkadelic Bubonic-biggity-slam-nasty Thunder-Cron through the protective barrier of the first Sex-Wing, instantly triggering an explosion that also luckily engulfs the second plane.

NOVA: KID!!! OH, THE HUMANITY~

CHAIRMAN: He’s a soldier in a war, man! Respect his sacrifice! Up we go, Son of the Funk! We’re headed for thinner oxygen!

The Chevy swings around and heads towards the clouds. Nova drops the cigarette he was attempting to light in disbelief as two more fighters drop out of apparently nowhere to take the place of the fallen.

CHAIRMAN: DAMN! We just have to roll with it! TO THE HEAVENS, YOUNG NOVA! HAHAHAHA!!! AIN’T IT GROOVY?!

Suddenly the Chevy bursts through the white cloud cover, out into serene, soundless blue. The Sex-Wings follow suit, but they are the last things on Nova’s mind as he stares in complete wonder at the monoliths resting effortlessly in the sky.

The Sex-Wing pilots barely have to scream before…





Nugs_to_the_rescue.bmp




The Chairman howls with delight, pumping his fist in the air outside his rolled down car window. He looks back at Nova.

CHAIRMAN: I can’t believe it! I had heard rumors…but I never thought they’d come!

NOVA: What the f*ck are those things?!


CHAIRMAN: New Universal-Grade starships! N.U.G.s! Interstellar frigates of the Alliance against the Dildonite presence in galaxies across the universe!

NOVA: You mean this isn’t just on Earth?

The Chairman reaches over Nova’s lap, opening the glove compartment and removing a rolled blunt from within. He lights it, smoke pouring out of his nose as he turns to Nova and grins.

CHAIRMAN: You gotta wake up, Eagle Star. This moment that we’re living through RIGHT NOW…this determines the course of not just human history…but the fates of alien races across the vast expanse of reality that you have never – and probably will never – meet. This is for ALL the marbles, you dig?

NOVA: No, I don’t dig. And what the f*ck do you all mean by “Eagle Star?”

CHAIRMAN: You’ll see soon enough.

He points at the nearest N.U.G. starship, which has retracted a flap in its underbelly that now bathes the Chevy in bright blue light.

CHAIRMAN: They’re taking us in. Get ready.

The ULTRATITLE hopeful stares on in numb disbelief.

NOVA: If you expect me to board that thing, I’m smoking the rest of this blunt.

(FTB)
 
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