Transformers Robots in disguise screenplay prose

This is hanno.  My email is hraudsepp@aol.com

Note from Batman: Batman honestly believes all cell-phones have a nanotechnological flesh-eating disease inside them, air-transmitable.

 

My, Hanno Raudsepp's, phone number is 1 - 613 - 394 - 6412

“Transformer, Robots in Disguise” screenplay

“owner of a lonely heart” is Megatron's theme

“Stand in the place where you work” is Megatron's other theme

Megatron was drunk as usual. With power and other things besides. Was was a lonely business when you were surrounded by assassins- > glugg <

,,negatrib.. no.. nega.. mega.. megatron.. > ah < was a great tactical commander, despite Napoleon's disapproval of his drunkenness, but to what purpose was he a great tactical commander when he had to go it alone, how much machiavelling could he do to use for some infinitely long-range, long-term purpose, keeping himself outside the muddle, or in a gasoline puddle while others argued, or debated as they put it, he was a great believer in debate, it had won him many battles, but there was only so much debating he could do before he was no longer taken seriously as a fighter. So he would watch others debate and see if they did it more efficiently, because there were more players, and he wasn't doing it all by himself.

.. megatron liked Starscream, She was a flirt, but bipolar though, a loose-cannon, unpredictable during a battle.

.. megatron wasn't sure where to position Starscream, because Starscream was a gambler. She had a condition. Starscream could not be accountable for much, this was dangerous during a war. War had no room for a Diva.

“mis screaming diva, so that's what I am”, screamed Starscream to no one in particular, “.. i should be leader sometime, so we can use my charisma for strategic advantage against the autobots.”

.. no wonder he drinks,

“See, the autobots are easily intimidated by power, by the power of presence, by the propaganda of presence, that's why, I, Starscream, am propaganda minister of the decepticons and should be leader, it's a propaganda war and we're losing it if we give ground by not making me leader. The autobots are relentless otherwise.”

That's all she wrote about Megatron so far.. sorry to disappoint.. I'm only at the beginning of the screenplay/novel.

Here's some “Transformers” writing which I wrote when I was 12 or 13. Maybe it can make its way into one of the movies of the next franchise.

Megan Gale should play Cyclonus. She uniquely looks like both a woman and a man. She's sexy, that way. Especially naked.

Her survived, fell, began to rise, found no actual reason to, collapsed, switched off, simultaneously closing her eyes and gazing at a piece of purple flesh grasping and ravaging the lower part of his leg, didn't grasp a moment of sleep, swelled open his eyes, remembered, disbelieved, cringed in horror, and pounced upon the impossibly living piece of purple flesh, attempting to pull it away, finding it only, and remotely, possible to do so piece by piece.

It felt itself, the only member who hadn't lost its anchor against the fiery pits of Hades, the helpless piece keeping what he had been, or what was left, alive, yet evading the embrace of death, still keeping itself, what it had been, between the closing grating, now being pulled and torn to be made incapable of holding on anymore. Did they so wish his death, his loss?

It perhaps remembered- She walked through the jungle of molecules, every third one wishing his death. It was the acknowledgement of this, the awareness of the game, and thus her preparation, that, unlike the probable owner of a strange thing that was probably apart from something in a way that nature had not meant it to be, or a renegade facet of nature had not meant it to be, made her not uncomfortable or lost, or dependant upon chance, which was very unreliable, and must have brought some unlucky encounter for each of those who had gone before her.

Hmmmm. Many traps scattered in an extremely complex pattern that he/she, Cyclonus, would have to uncover. It was a pattern made to accomadate the pattern of thinking of those that had gone before Cyclonus, so that each of their deductions and thought out decisions would lead to their death. Cyclonus was above all patterns of thinking. She looked at that which was before her, and made his pattern of thinking to accomadate the pattern before her, so that the deductions and calculations that each of the traps followed should bring their confoundation. It was Ultra Magnus who would suffer the last laugh.

Arriving before the completion of all the thoughts within Cyclonus's mind, but consequentely embellishing them infinitely, a compressed, speeding snowball nearly robbed him of one of her current senses. She raised his hand in front of his eye and grabbed the ball upon impact. Well, of course something was going to approach in a split second before any supposed chance of reorientation to rob her of something he couldn't imagine being without. Ah, here it came. She naturally rejoiced at its coming and its thorough destruction. It was now dead. There was a settling silence, subsequently. Cyclonus stated at the miserable snowball angrily- She crushed it into ice-flakes. Anymore games, Magnus? The next interruption came gracefully into the act. It was very simple to dispense with it. The game was actually fun by now. It wasn't challenging or anything. Just a thrilling ride. There weren't anymore interruptions, as far as she noticed. Then there was a movement. MAGNUS!!!! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang- uh, where are you? Nowhere near. Magnus? Ultra Magnus? You old devil. Fine, coward, don't show yourself. Then, in front of him, there was Ultra Magnus. She was holding a sword. All the playfulness left. Hello, Magnus. DIE!!!

Cyclonus's sword would have, in all rights, killed Ultra Magnus, if Ultra Magnus had not put his own sword in the way. What Ultra Magnus himself could not have endured, her sword did. Both of them wished for more pain. There couldn't be a victory without pain first. Cyconus and Magnus both felt equally angry. Magnus raised his sword. Cyclonus raised her sword. Then each of them were struck by a sword. Both their heads fell off. Their bodies and swords continued tearing at each other. In near terror, the heads were moving away from their hosts, losing themselves in the forest. For a second, they seemed to be falling into chaos, then God may have given them a push, and they regained, fell back on their pedastels.

No, they were on each other's bodies.

Powerdasher monologue. Powerdasher is a deserter.

I've been walking and riding and flying (mainly walking: it's not easy to do much riding around here and can't waste enough energy to fly that much) for, I suppose three, four days. No harassment. That's good. Recently I've felt really that I'm not going anywhere, not heading anywhere. I don't know anything about this place. I guess I didn't know anything about what I was doing back there, though. At least I'm free- I don't want to talk right now.

I'm just sick. Huhhh. I'm feeling bad. Like I've got nothing, no freedom either. Still on this stupid planet of death. Ahead. Legendary land of the whaleobots- I don't know if that's what they're called. It doesn't exist. Look down on this planet- mudball, you'll find nothing of that sort. Nothing there- just a blank idea- I shouldn't call this planet a mudball. It's not its fault that it's the scene of a war. It's its greatest sufferer. It's rather nice here, where it's allowed to be. If only it would be allowed to be, this planet would be such a beautiful place. But it is! Here, it is. War hasn't destroyed is hopeful spirit.

It's holy spirit lives on, blooms on, wishes to bring life to the world! God is here, somewhere. Hahahahahahaha.

It's good to know.

It's nice to be free. No bad memories. I can fight back. I have fought back. I haven't taken it anymore. I've left. And they can't do anything to stop me. I'M fine. It's the others I'm worried about.

I was all they had left. The only person who could protect them from the evil wrath of that demonic Ultra Magnus. Now I'm gone. My God, what are they going to do! Its times like this that I wish I had stayed. Oh, who's going to protect them. Rodimus Prime? I knew him. He wasn't a bad person, even though he's not in control anymore. Nah, he can't stand up to Ultra Magnus. Magnus is just too powerful.

Hmh. Prime didn't even known them. I guess I can't really count on him.... He has some problems of his own, too. I don't know what's going on with him a lot of the time. I feel sorry for him. When we talked,... it seemed that we were on the same level. Even though he's supposed to be the ultimate leader of the autobots, he seem to be barred in some sort of small, dark prison at the top of a castle by Magnus. That time we talked, its seemed to be one of the only times he got through, for a while. I feel sorry for him. He's as much of a prisoner of the war as I am. A war manipulated by Ultra Magnus.

I had to leave. I couldn't do anything else. I couldv'e stayed. I have a right to leave. I have a right to think about my own life. I have a right to control it. I feel really bad about leaving them, but it's my life I have to worry about.

I wonder if I could, if I ever reach the land- No, I'm not going to see them ever again! That's a fact. I'm running away from that life and everything connected to it.

Will this path never end?

This is an infinite place. I've looked, and it's forever. Nothing.... as far as the eye can see. I had expected.... something.

My energy's real low. I'm in nowhere. I'm heading to nowhere. I'm following a path to the land of blank. My God, I'm as good as dead! Like, life from the book! The bible, it has always guided me through! No, not that part, not now! That other story. The one of goodness, not the weird death stuff. Life. 'For bring the little children unto me, and forbid them not. For theirs is the kingdom of God.'

The innocent. The unaware. The selfish. The fragile. The love. The dependance. The acceptance. The trust. The faith. The loyalty. The uncaring! The unknowing. The faith. The caring. The succombers. The acceptors. The learners. The wise. The kingdom of God.

What am I, then? What am I become? A hater. A hater of evil authority. And a defier. Not a succumbor, as I should be.

But I'm no forbidder like Ultra Magnus and so many others! Am I bad because I don't succomb to a sacrilige of the word of God thus forbidding myself from the true kingdom of God?

Well, that helped. I found out that I'm going to die and then comforting myself I find that I'm not even going to get to heav- But what am I supposed to be, then? Was I supposed to let him bully them around. And what about what I'm doing now? Did I have a right to help them then if I apparently have no intention of helping them now? I don't know- I hate thinking about that. Can I change the subject, please? I don't want to think about this, anymore. Okay, something else.

I'm lost in the middle of nowhere and I'm going to die. Later, I'll be going to hell. Aw, nuts. I hate this.

Am I really going to die?

Ultra Magnus. MK-Ultra Magnus? A tragic hero/villain.

Bulldog is the name of a courageous rabbit my family and myself once owned. Sorry, Bulldog is deceased.

Gus Van Sante can direct this scene, with either Tom Cruise, Mikey Jerome, Matt Damon or Casey Affleck as Powerdasher, the monologuist narrater in first-person.

Ohhh. Sheeoot. Now, what... goes on? Rahhhccnnbrshhhbrllbrllawacchc! Aw, man, the taste in my mouth. And I feel like I've been pulled apart and put back together. Kaff, kaff! Hhhemm. I'm alive anyway. I gues I must be. Oh sheeeeesh. Nuts. Well, I feel together. I suppose in som eperiod of my life I'll have to get up. I feel as if I just may fall apart if I do. But I do feel together. One second- I just have to think for a second.

I just... can't remember. I can't believe it. I- I can't remember! Oh, come, of course I remember. I am somewhere. Here. Oh, what is going on? Okay now. I must organize my thoughts. Okay, I 'm on land. The land goes on to nowhere. I think I'll get up. I'm up (and together. Nice.), and now I'll walk toward that nowhere. Okay, now I'm on the edge of nowhere.

To my surprise, as I look over nowhere, I still see nowhere. And....the nowhere is alive and moving. Oh, it's moving toward me! It's far away, though. It's low too, faraway and low. Beneath the land. Oh, I'm reorienting myself and the moving sea that continues nowhere is low, very far beneath the land that stops at nowhere.

I am on a cliff looking out into the empty air and down upon the far moving sea. Looking out into both blues makes them indistinguishable except for the lively waves. I am very high up. As high as I may have to climb. Down goes nowhere. Left or right doesn't exist, not beyond the land, which... Up is something. Up has something.

There is land. The land goes on to nowhere. The nowhere is alive and moving. And far. There is a high cliff looming over the far reaching sea.

A hand appeared behind the cliff and grasped at ground, reaching form nowhere. Another hand appeared, and then pulled a connected head and torso up. As the appearing upper body leaned ahead against the land, a leg swung over, and was all that as needed to complete the task of bringing its owner on to steady land. Without a word, the man who had come off the cliff of nowhere rested and walked on yonder, oblivious to all around him.

The rock was there. The trees were around, hovering protectively over it. There were some newcomers behind themselves, bu they weren't of his concern now. He looked at the rock. Could he see any erosion there? No, no different. He couldn't see any signs of age and wearing down. he looked fondly at the trees. They had kept the rock, his favourite rock. And they had kept themselves. For ten yars, they had kept the place for him. They had no comprehension of doing anything less. He thanked them.

Ten years after the Trojan war, Bulldog sat and thought. He thought about life, death, the afterlife, God, the immortals, the immortals. He sat as if the war had never happened, as if his mind had never changed. Sitting here, he could see no evidence that the last ten years had not been a dream, started when he had sat there, contemplating. His mind was still there, though. His mind still existed to remember. He looked at the piece of nostalgia that he so loved. He closed his eyes, lied on the rock, and tried to fall asleep in that wonderful, simple world. He couldn't. He wasn't tired. He got up. He looked at the place. HE blessed it. HE God blessed it. Then he left.

Later on, as days passed, people would see the powerful, possessed man who spoke in no language but grunts and hums, working continuously on killing a mountain. Soon, as they passed by there as weeks passed they, they would notice a shape, carvings, twistings, substances and creations that he had made from nothing. Just rock, dead rock, dead mountain and dead ground. They saw him work with fire. He manipulated fire . With fire he had creation, genesis. It was with fire that he could make such life from the lifelessness. Such creation.

And little do they know, thought the man, that this creation would not only show mortals wonders beyond Olympus, but it would rise against it. And on he worked.