Another amazing example of how not to write a script.

The Raid V

SCENE ONE (Abberance)

JAN: Okay then, shoot.
FRED: Right. Name?
JAN: You know my name.
FRED: Do you keep your word?
JAN: I don't know. I've never really given my word. I think I would.
FRED: Um, I'll put down 'yes' then. Next, do you lie?
JAN: Of course.
FRED: Would you attack an unnarmed foe?
JAN: It would be stupid not to. A foe is a foe is a foe.
FRED: Would you harm an innocent?
JAN: How am I supposed to know who is innocent or guilty?
FRED: Theoretically, if you knew someone was innocent, would you harm them?
JAN: If I had to, yes.
FRED: Would you torture for any reason?
JAN: Heh, yeah, I'm sure I'd find a reason.
FRED: Would you kill for pleasure?
JAN: Fighting yes; the actual kill, no.
FRED: So how come you always grin after wasting a load of guys?
JAN: Dunno, just the adrenaline rush. Death's kind of a killjoy in a fight.
FRED: Would you help others?
JAN: Hmm. Just you or Engle
FRED: Thanks, I think. I'll put down 'no'.
JAN: I'm not going to help some guy who I don't know.
FRED: Would you work within the law?
JAN: Ah ha ha.
FRED: Do you respect authority, law, self-discipline and honour?
JAN: No. Basically.
FRED: Do you work well within a group?
JAN: Er, how big is a group?
FRED: Three or more.
JAN: Yeah I guess so. The Seven Bridge job went well, there were a fair few of us there.
FRED: Twelve went in, twelve came out. That was a good night. But anyway. Would you take dirty money or items?
JAN: All money is dirty money, honey.
FRED: But if you had a choice?
JAN: Hell, yeah.
FRED: Would you betray a friend?
JAN: Never.
FRED: That's it. Let's see what that makes you.

FRED: Well you are a sort of cross between an Anarchist and an Abberant. More Abberant though.
JAN: How so?
FRED: Anarchists may betray friends and don't work well in groups. It says here.
JAN: This is a load of crap.
FRED: This isn't the important bit anyway.
JAN: Well let's get on with it. I'm abberant.
FRED: Do you want to be a mutant, experiment, alien, bionic, robot, magician or what?
JAN: Yeah I'll be all of those.
FRED: No, only one.
JAN: Bionics sounds like fun.

ENGLE bursts through the door, panting, an expression of panic on his face.

ENGLE: Hiya, what's up?
FRED: Making characters for Heroes Unlimited.
JAN: But based on us. Why are you running around panicking? You've been doing it all day.
ENGLE: I've had a terrible premonition.
FRED: What's that?
ENGLE: My premonition is... is...
JAN: TELL US.
ENGLE: our next mission is going to go wrong. An agent will be with us. We will be doublecrossed. I will be killed.
FRED: Of course you won't be killed. We've been in tighter scrapes than a very tight scrapey thing.
ENGLE: I will be killed I tell you.
JAN: Oh well never mind, eh?
FRED: Don't worry Engle, no-one can predict the future.

FX: Phone rings. FRED snatches it up, and listens to a voice for a moment.

FRED: Okay guys, we're on the job. (Puts phone down.) Recce down on the docks. Flick Motteraz will be with us.
JAN: AAAARGH.
ENGLE: Flick Motteraz the Special Agent?
FRED: Yeah she'll be here in ten minutes. We'd better gear up.
JAN: I don't care, I don't want to work with that Flick creature. I don't like her.
FRED: I don't really think we have much choice.
JAN: We always have a choice.
FRED: That's true, but some choices are decidedly the incorrect choices.
ENGLE: I think she's quite nice actually.
JAN: you just fancy her. Silly male hormone stuff.
ENGLE: I fancy everyone.
FRED: I never worked out why women seem to instantly want to go out with you.
ENGLE: It's my amazing good looks. Oh, and my fantastic charisma.
JAN: Aren't we straying from the point a bit?
ENGLE: What's that?
JAN: Flick Motteraz is an interfering manipulative cow and I'm not working with her.
FRED: But you're an int...
JAN: I'M NOT.
ENGLE: She'll be here soon. I'll put the kettle on. And then I'll plug it in and boil some water. And...
JAN: I'm going.
FRED: Where? What about the mission?
JAN: Sod it.
FRED: This isn't like you.
JAN: It's perfectly like me because it is me. I can't work with that bitch.
FRED: Can't you just put aside your greivences just for this mission? It's only just this once.
JAN: It was only once last time.
FRED: We just can't pull this mission off without you.
JAN: Okay. I'll do it...
FRED: You will? That's great. I knew you'd see sense.
JAN: ...without Fuck Motteraz.
FRED: You're just impossible sometimes.

FX: There's a knock at the door. Engle answers it.

ENGLE: Hi Flick. You're a bit early.
FLICK: Hello, Englebert. Sorry but it didn't take as long as I thought.
JAN: Right I'm off.
FLICK: Where do you think you're going Janice Doyle?
JAN: Away from you.
FLICK: Aww poor little Janice is afraid of me.
JAN: Afraid of a weak bitch like you? You must be joking. you think you're so good in your fancy hat and uniform. That don't mean shit to me. I can see the real bitch under that image.
FLICK: Anyone can tell that you're pathetic as soon as they look at you. You're shabby, very shabby.
JAN: That's it.

Jan sweeps her Ingram from the table and points it dramatically at Flick's face. Flick, in return, had pulled a snub pistol from the inside of her jacket, and now points it at Jan's face. Neither of them move.

FRED: Er.

He grabs Jan from behind in a bearhug and drags her kicking and swearing into the next room. Engle makes a move to hold Flick back, but stops when he sees her calmly holstering her pistol.

FLICK (Shouting into next room): You're slow! You're unprofessional! That's why you're just a grunt!
JAN (From next room): At least I'm not a backstabbing doublecrosser!
FLICK (Drawing gun again and marching toward the next room): You take that back!
ENGLE: Flick...
(He places a hand on her shoulder. She stops)
FLICK: Look, Doyle, I don't like this, you don't like this. Let's just get the job done or we might all end up on the slab.

Door opens. Jan appears in doorway, glowering.

JAN: We all die one day.
FLICK: you can die now or you can die later.
JAN: Let's get the bloody mission done. The quicker the better. But if I see you again after... Just watch your back, that's all.
FLICK: Oh I will. That's my job.
(She spins the pistol once and holsters it)
ENGLE: Cup of tea, anyone?

SCENE TWO (Recce at the Docks)

Group hiding behind a crate stack.
Oh and Flick is more appropriate combat gear and not the WPC uniform.

FLICK: There's supposed to be something important on that ship.
FRED: By the look of those guards on board I'd say you're right.
FLICK: Anyway, we've got to find out what. The guards could be tricky but the crew should be gone on the mind drugs. So they won't be a problem.
JAN: What's the plan for after we find it?
FLICK: Don't you know anything? Secure if possible; destroy if necessary.
JAN: Grrrr...
FRED: Jan dear, please.
ENGLE: Do we have to shoot people?
FLICK: It's not necessary. We should try to use stealth wherever possible. That is if thicko over there can avoid her usual clumping.
JAN: I'll blow her head off.
FRED: Just ignore her.
FLICK: Here is my meticulously planned strategy. Engleburt and I will sneak in via the starboard side. If we get into a pickly, I'll activate the beacon.
(She holds up a black box with a red button on it)
FLICK: ...and you two come in shooting. Okay?
JAN: Just dandy.

(Engle and Flick stealth along beind some creates, leaving Jan and Fred squatting behind some barrels)

JAN: You know what, now I think we should just go in shooting anyway.
FRED: Be patient.
(He starts pushing 12-guage into a pump-action)

JAN: You know we'll only end up going in there anyway.

They sit there for a few minutes, watching the guards stroll around the boat, and the waves lapping against the deck.

FRED: Okay then, come on.

They get up and dash down to the gangplank.

As Jan and Fred charge down the gangplank a guard notices Fred and lets off a few rounds which bounce harmlessly off Freds armour. Fred then blows the guards head off with his shotgun.

JAN: This is more like it. Much more fun.
FRED: Can't really disagree.

Jan charges further in, blasting people all over the place.

JAN: Die! Ha ha. Die!

Cut to Flick and Engle.

ENGLE: Sounds like Jan couldn't wait.
FLICK: That sloppy unprofessional bitch. I'll kill her, I will. That husband of hers isn't much better.
ENGLE: Does this mean I can shoot people now?
FLICK: I think we'll have to.
ENGLE: Oooh good. Where to guv?
FLICK: What we're looking for is most likely in the cargo hold so we'll head there. That is if the Doyles don't get us killed first.

Back to Jan Doyle and Fred Doyle

Fred points a finger at Jan then points up. She nods and starts to climb up a ladder to the top deck. Camera follows her. At the top, her head peeps over. We see the coast is clear. She takes another rung up, but a guard bursts out of a door and fires a salvo at her. A bullet rips into her right arm and she is knocked back, swinging by her left hand.
They both look suprised that she is hit.
Then Jan swings her injured arm back and empties her SMG magazine into the guard, who jerks about as he erupts with blood before dropping.
Finally she clambers over onto the top deck, where she clutches her wound.

Back to Flick and Engle

ENGLE: It looks a tad empty.
(They are on the storage level: An entire floor given to cargo space, except it is empty)

FLICK: Damn it! They've moved it!
ENGLE: Moved what?
FLICK: Shut up... Just... Damn! Look... get out of here, it will be on the move.
ENGLE: Moved what?
FLICK: Shut up and get off the ship.

She runs to the stairwell. Engle looks around, baffled.
ENGLE: Moved what?

We follow Flick as she sprints up the stairwell, leaving Engle behind. Up one deck... two... three... four... five, and then she bursts through the double doors to find herself on a platform just above the top deck. She circles around desperately.

We can just see on the deck below, Jan fighting with three guards. Jan has a combat knife in her uninjured arm; the guards have lengths of piping. One guard has a revolver and is taking careful aim on Jan. She ducks and dodges the piping, making tired slashes with her knife; she can't hold up much longer due to blood loss.

Flick takes quick aim with her pistol.
Bang. The guard with the gun drops.
Bang. Bang. The two other guards drop.
Flicks sights move onto Jans head. Flicks finger begins to squeeze. Sweat drips from her brow.
A noise behind her, she spins with her gun to see Engle come through the double doors.
She sighs and relaxes, brushing the hair from her forehead.

ENGLE: Moved what?

Cut to Fred, on the bridge, facing some ugly grinning guy with two pistols. The guy goes crazy, firing bullets everywhere. Windows smash, Freds armour sparks.

FRED: Stop it.

Fred shoots him.
Fred shoots him some more.
Fred walks through the bridge door onto the top deck. As he passes we see blood dripping down his hand. He jogs over to Jan who is on all fours now.

JAN: I really don't think I can go on much longer. I don't feel too well.
FRED: Well just find somewhere nice and quiet to lay down and have a rest. I'll go and see if I can find Engle and Flick.

That's it.

(I still enjoy the bickering between Jan and Flick. I'm not entirely sure why. It just amuses me -Derek)