SteelCitySon
League Member
<i>Fade in from black to a scene that's nearly just as dark. Thin rays of light stream in through the blinds of a run down apartment, cutting through the smoke-filled air. The camera pans around what appears to be a living room of sorts. As we are shown the surroundings, our eyes are naturally drawn to the middle of the room, where the bare torso of a man leans forward in the sofa. From this view, all we can see is the back of the man's head and some of his upper back. His large body mass is accentuated by the amount of tattoos and scars which adorn his muscles. A black bandana is wrapped over the top of the man's skull, his stringy hair hanging out the back to just above his shoulders.</i>
<i>Cut to a close up of the coffee table which sits in front of this man. We see a dirty glass that has been dotted with fingerprints, filled with scotch and ice. Burning in an ashtray next to the drink is a large cigar, obviously the source of the haze in this room. Suddenly a large hand enters the shot, grasping the drink and pulling it out of our view. After a few seconds we hear the soft *clink* of ice on glass as it is returned into the frame minus the liquid. The hand then grasps for the cigar, giving it the same treatment as the scotch. But this time, the hand returns to pick up a small photo that lies face down on the table.</i>
<i>Cut to a close up of the man's eyes. Not quite tired looking, but showing more age than normal. The eyes narrow, focusing on the photo that is now cutting into the bottom of the frame. The cigar, still in the man's mouth, throws out a screen of smoke which seperates us from him. </i>
Man: Hmmmm....
<i>Cut to an over the shoulder view of the man. The photo in his hands appears to show a young man, probably in his mid 20's, dressed in army fatigues. The man runs his fingers over the picture, which appears quite aged, caressing it with an almost distinct pattern. His fingers trace an outline around the young soldier's features, then return to retract the cigar from his mouth.</i>
Man: It's a new beginning, father. It's a new day. We have finally cleansed ourselves of our misfortunes... we are pure again. But where my journey continues, yours must end, I'm afraid. I can no longer walk along side of you. What I'm about to do isn't for your eyes to see. Father... I miss you... but our time together has reached its destination. I am prepared to step out of your shadow, I am prepared to engage the enemy. Just as you did father, just as you did. But what I do to this enemy won't resemble your tactics father. What I do to these men will only make your triumphs pale in comparison. I shall show no distinction, no remorse, no mercy for those about to be slaughtered. It's just as you said father... there are no faces in war. Thusly, my path to success will cut through the nameless, through the faceless. My path will intersect into greatness... and you will look down on me with more pride than you ever have. You will see that I'm a warrior, father.
<i>After finishing speaking, the man (still not revealed entirely to the camera), holds his Zippo lighter up to the corner of the picture, sparking the flame and letting it engulf the photograph. He stares at it as the flames lick at his fingertips, then tosses it into the ashtray.</i>
Man: For so many years we have waited, dad... so many years. Too many to count. But now I have the opportunity. My fate has been determined, all I have to do is dictate the path to it. And while the path I walk on will be scorched with the fires of rage, littered with the sounds of men in pain, the final destination will reaffirm every conviction I've ever had. This is what I was meant to do father, this is where I belong.
<i>The camera cuts to a close up of the man's hands wrapped around the ends of his bandana. He cinches it tighter, then ties it off in a not. Reaching over to the other side of the couch, he grabs a black tank top and slides it over his head and shoulders, rolling it down his torso. The camera zooms out as the man slowly stands to his feet, revealing how large he really is. His large frame overcomes the shot, blocking out the small bit of light that was filtering in through the blinds. The man rotates his head, cracking his neck. He then moves to his arms, fingers, and back. The jarring cracks and pops cut through the silence of the room, giving us a disgusting soundtrack for this man's introduction.</i>
<i>Fade to black as the words "This month, EPW gets a taste of Sovereignty." appear on the screen. Fade out. </i>
<i>Cut to a close up of the coffee table which sits in front of this man. We see a dirty glass that has been dotted with fingerprints, filled with scotch and ice. Burning in an ashtray next to the drink is a large cigar, obviously the source of the haze in this room. Suddenly a large hand enters the shot, grasping the drink and pulling it out of our view. After a few seconds we hear the soft *clink* of ice on glass as it is returned into the frame minus the liquid. The hand then grasps for the cigar, giving it the same treatment as the scotch. But this time, the hand returns to pick up a small photo that lies face down on the table.</i>
<i>Cut to a close up of the man's eyes. Not quite tired looking, but showing more age than normal. The eyes narrow, focusing on the photo that is now cutting into the bottom of the frame. The cigar, still in the man's mouth, throws out a screen of smoke which seperates us from him. </i>
Man: Hmmmm....
<i>Cut to an over the shoulder view of the man. The photo in his hands appears to show a young man, probably in his mid 20's, dressed in army fatigues. The man runs his fingers over the picture, which appears quite aged, caressing it with an almost distinct pattern. His fingers trace an outline around the young soldier's features, then return to retract the cigar from his mouth.</i>
Man: It's a new beginning, father. It's a new day. We have finally cleansed ourselves of our misfortunes... we are pure again. But where my journey continues, yours must end, I'm afraid. I can no longer walk along side of you. What I'm about to do isn't for your eyes to see. Father... I miss you... but our time together has reached its destination. I am prepared to step out of your shadow, I am prepared to engage the enemy. Just as you did father, just as you did. But what I do to this enemy won't resemble your tactics father. What I do to these men will only make your triumphs pale in comparison. I shall show no distinction, no remorse, no mercy for those about to be slaughtered. It's just as you said father... there are no faces in war. Thusly, my path to success will cut through the nameless, through the faceless. My path will intersect into greatness... and you will look down on me with more pride than you ever have. You will see that I'm a warrior, father.
<i>After finishing speaking, the man (still not revealed entirely to the camera), holds his Zippo lighter up to the corner of the picture, sparking the flame and letting it engulf the photograph. He stares at it as the flames lick at his fingertips, then tosses it into the ashtray.</i>
Man: For so many years we have waited, dad... so many years. Too many to count. But now I have the opportunity. My fate has been determined, all I have to do is dictate the path to it. And while the path I walk on will be scorched with the fires of rage, littered with the sounds of men in pain, the final destination will reaffirm every conviction I've ever had. This is what I was meant to do father, this is where I belong.
<i>The camera cuts to a close up of the man's hands wrapped around the ends of his bandana. He cinches it tighter, then ties it off in a not. Reaching over to the other side of the couch, he grabs a black tank top and slides it over his head and shoulders, rolling it down his torso. The camera zooms out as the man slowly stands to his feet, revealing how large he really is. His large frame overcomes the shot, blocking out the small bit of light that was filtering in through the blinds. The man rotates his head, cracking his neck. He then moves to his arms, fingers, and back. The jarring cracks and pops cut through the silence of the room, giving us a disgusting soundtrack for this man's introduction.</i>
<i>Fade to black as the words "This month, EPW gets a taste of Sovereignty." appear on the screen. Fade out. </i>