User:Kibblekip/Sandbox/WAR! Comic

This was supposed to be 'WAR! Comic/Transcript' but I goofed when creating the page, and it isn't worth moving it just so the name is correct.

This comic was released in multiple parts. As such, the transcript has been split into each respective part.

Part 1 - Administrator

[The comic begins one week prior, with the Administrator in her surveillance room — smoking — while watching several camera feeds. She plugs her microphone into a socket marked 'BLU (All)'] Administrator: *Blue CHKT* Alert, blue team! Our control point is being contested! [She moves the plug to a socket marked 'RED (All)'] Administrator: *Red CHKT* Well done, red team. You have captured the control point. [She plugs back in to the socket marked 'BLU (All)'] Administrator: *Blue CHKT* Capture our control point, blue team! [Then plugs back in to the socket arked 'RED (All)'] Administrator: *Red CHKT* Red team! Defend our control point! Hm. Well now. What's that Spy up to? *Blue CHKT* Alert! A RED Spy is in the base! [She unplugs the microphone, looking at the video feed of a BLU Soldier, with a secondary feed showing a dead BLU Scout] Soldier: A RED Spy is in the base? Administrator: Ugh. The Scout, you idiots. He's disguised as the Scout. Is there a problem, Miss Pauling? [A figure, Miss Pauling, appears behind her, holding some papers] Miss Pauling: Um. What... makes you say- Administrator: Because you're hovering. And you only hover when there's a problem. Let's have it. Miss Pauling: We did a background check on the mercenaries. Standard protocol, nothing- Administrator: Anytime today, please. Miss Pauling: Um. It's the... BLU Soldier and RED Demoman. It looks like they've become... ...friends, Administrator. [The Administrator's eye twitches, appauled by the news. A series of images are laid across the Administrator's desk, showing the BLU Soldier and RED Demoman engaging in a variety of friendly activities together] Administrator: For how long? How did we not know about this? Miss Pauling: Within the last six months, Administrator. As far as we can tell, they met at a projectile weapons expo. It, uh... seems to have blossomed into a lifelong friendship. [Angle changes to show the Administrator with an anguished expression, and Miss Pauling with a mildly happy expression] Miss Pauling: Heh. You know, forgetting for a minute that we don't condone friendship, it's sort of... [The Administrator gives the side-eye, with Miss Pauling's expression changing to mild worry.] Miss Pauling: Almost... uh... reprehensible. Totally and completely reprehensible. Administrator: We are in agreement, Miss Pauling. This friendship is a profound betrayal of our trust. Why, friends could easily... hm. [The Administrator looks off to the side, with a concerned Miss Pauling still behind her] Administrator: Miss Pauling, you strike me as the sort of person who would have friends. Tell me... what do they do? Miss Pauling: Um. Go skating... look at gun catalogs... sometimes we just talk... [Glaring back in disgust, the Administrator takes her cigarette out of her mouth] Administrator: Talking? Friendship is even worse than I thought. No, this won't do at all. If the talk, Miss Pauling, they might talk about work. And if they talk about work... [She squints] Administrator: They might talk about us. [The scene pans out to show the Administrator fully, turned away from her desk, with a cloud of smoke above her. Miss Pauling stands to the side of the desk] Administrator: This is what we will do. Call Mister Hale. Tell him that we have some custom orders for him. Tell him money is no object. And tell him we need them right now. Miss Pauling: Yes, ma'am. Anything else? Administrator: Open channels to our two new best friends. I have a proposition for each of them. In my experience, Miss Pauling, nothing kills a friendship faster... [The camera angle shifts to show both of them looking at two screens, one with the BLU Soldier, and the other the RED Demoman] Administrator: ...than a healthy competition.

Part 2 - Saxton Hale

[The comic opens with plane flying through the sky, shown from a low angle] Pilot: Sir, you shouldn't jump yet! We're too low! It's not safe! [Scene changes to inside the flight deck, with the cargo door open. Saxton Hale stands at the opening holding a bag, while the Pilot is in the cockpit driving the plane.] Saxton Hale: I know the risks, Jerry! But I've got damn good men down there who need me! Tell them it's not safe enough! Pilot: But sir! I- I can climb to a safe altitude! It will literally take seconds, if you'll just- Saxton Hale: Tell those men down there you can "climb to a safe altitude"! Me, I'd rather get down there and tell them myself... with my bare hands! [Saxton Hale jumps out of the plane, with the text 'BRAVE JUMP!' for emphasis.] Pilot: At least take the backup parachute! Saxton Hale: There's probably no time! [While falling, Saxton Hale monologues from the perspective of the comic itself] Saxton Hale: [Reader, if you thought the first two pages of my comic contained too much bare-knuckle excitement, then get ready to have your eyes break from widening in surprise and your comic-holding hands fall off your very arms when you get a look at the rest of this action-packed ish, starring me...] SAXTON HAAAALE! [If this sensational issue doesn't stop your adrenaline-gorged heart for five entire seconds, I will send you a notarized certificate confirming you do not exist! How am I so sure? I have self-confidence! Also, just three pages from now, I will beat up a parking lot full of hippies. I certainly wouldn't blame you if you skip ahead! I am! For the rest of you, read on as I...] [He then crashes through a window, barrel rolling directly into his office at Mann Co. headquarters, with the text 'FLAWLESS ROLL!' for emphasis] Saxton Hale: [...barrel roll directly into my office at Mann. Co headquarters!] Hup! Hup! Hahrup! Mr Bidwell! How did my landing compare to yesterday's? Be frank with me now. I'm made of stern stuff. [Two butlers stand infront of him, one — Reddy — holding documents while the other — Bidwell — holds a plate with a cooked steak] Bidwell: Tears were brought to the eyes, sir. Your breakfast steak. [Saxton Hale takes the steak bare-handed and begins eating it, with the text 'NOM NOM NOM' for emphasis] Saxton Hale: It's the most important steak of the day, Bidwell. Mr. Reddy! How's accounts? Reddy: You're now the sixth richest man in America, Mr. Hale. Saxton Hale: Top drawer! Send the other five a congratulatory bouquet and my "You're a dead man" form letter. What's next? [They begin to walk through the building] Bidwell: There's a group of hippies protesting in the parking lot again... Saxton Hale: The scoundrels! What have they got their smelly ponytails in a twist about this time? Bidwell: Guns, sir, they're against them. Saxton Hale: Fine. I'll beat them to death with my bare hands! [Reddy appears with a phone] Reddy: TF Industries is holding on line one, sir. Saxton Hale: What? Why didn't you say so, man! Don't leave Helen on hold! [He takes the phone, then continues walking through the building] Saxton Hale: Helennnn! You chain-smoking seductress! Do you still like steak dinners and sex with handsome men? Miss Pauling: Mister Hale, this is Miss Pauling. I work for Miss- Saxton Hale: Excellent! My offer still stands! What can I do for you, Miss Pauling? Miss Pauling: We need to resolve a, uh... personnel problem. We were hoping you could provide the incentives. [He pushes open a door, with the text 'OPEN!' for emphasis] Saxton Hale: It just so happens my boys in R and D sent up a few crates of highly experimental new ordinence they wanted me to take for a test drive. Why don't I send those over? Hold on, Bidwell's gesturing frantically to me about something... Bidwell: Sir, those were the weapons you asked us to send up so you could destroy them before the senate investigation. Saxton Hale: I have no idea what you're— ooo, right. That poor monkey. Well, nevermind that. Helping Helen out's more important. Also getting someone else's fingerprints on these things as soon as possible. I won't lie to you Bidwell, we are in a lot of trouble here. Miss Pauling, still there? Miss Pauling: Um... I heard everything you said, Mister Hale. Saxton Hale: Fannnntastic. And? Miss Pauling: We'll take them. [Saxton Hale tosses the phone to Reddy] Saxton Hale: Problem solved! Mr. Reddy! We're going to need some ambulences! Mr. Bidwell! I need an alibi that puts me anywhere but the parking lot for the next seven minutes! Let's go kill some hippies!

Part 3 - Demoman

[The comic opens with an image of a mansion in 'Badlands, New Mexico', with details such as a small waterfall and fountain statue visible, and a mountain in the background] Demoman: For the last time, Mum. I don't have to go to work. It's me morning off. Demoman's Mother: "Morning off"? Oh, Lord help me, you've been fired. I knew it. [The scene changes to the mansion kitchen, where the RED Demoman is seen pouring tea as he prepares breakfast] Demoman: *sigh* No, Mum. It's just the one mornin'. Demoman's Mother: Oh, well, that's fine then, I'm sure. I just wish your poor ol' Da could take a morning off. From spinnin' in his grave at your idleness! Demoman: I'm holdin' down three jobs, Mum. Demoman's Mother: Three jobs! Ha! Listen to him! Tavish, your father, God rest him, had twenty-six jobs'! And he still found the time to teach you the family trade! Demoman: I made five million dollars last year, Mum. We live in a mansion. [Angle changes to show the Demoman's mother — wearing dark glasses with a cane — sitting in a chair, as the Demoman approaches her with the breakfast] Demoman's Mother: Aye, and who told you to buy a bloody mansion, I'd like to know. These're your 'prime earning years'. You're halfway to retirement already. Mark me, boy; no Demoman worth his sulfur ever had an eye in his head past thirty! Demoman: Mm-hm. Tea's up, Mum. [She holds up a family photograph, depicting the Demoman at a young age with his parents] Demoman's Mother: It wasn't easy bringing you up Scottish, lad. Lean years. In those days you could bomb mercs all day and still not have enough for a loaf of bread. Yer Da, walked fifteen miles in the rain to blow up the Queen of England for a nickel! Demoman: I'll get more jobs, Mum. I promise. Demoman's Mother: I just hate to see you squandering your gifts. Demoman: I know, Mum. Demoman's Mother: I miss him, Tavish. Every day. [There's a knock at the front door] Demoman: I know, Mum. Bloody hell, me one mornin' off... drink your tea, Mum. I'll be right back. [He opens the door to Miss Pauling] Miss Pauling: Mister DeGroot? Demoman's Mother: Tavish? Who is it? Demoman: Someone from work, Mum! Demoman's Mother: Ask him has he got any more jobs! Demoman: Here, I know you. You're that wee lass, works with the angry lady who's always screamin' at us while we fight. [Angle shifts to reveal a box at their feet. In the following panel, the text 'THE EYELANDER' can be seen on the top, obscured by Miss Pauling's arm] Miss Pauling: She's not so bad once you get to know her. Demoman: Really. And what's she want, then? Miss Pauling: She'd like you to kill your best friend. In exchange, we'll give you this. Demoman: Are ye seriously asking me to betray me best mate for a weapon? Ha! I've got a little more integrity than that, lass. I... [She opens the box, revealing the contents inside] Demoman: I... Oh my. What's your name, you dirty girl? [Miss Pauling takes out the item inside; a large, mildly worn-down claymore, before passing it to the Demoman] Miss Pauling: This... is the Eyelander. Pattern-welded Damascus steel. Harmonically balanced. Slow-forged for generations in the bowels of captured English kings. Eyelander: ...headddds... [The sword begins to pull the Demoman towards the fountain statue...] Eyelander: headheadheadheadheadheadheadhead [...and then makes the Demoman decapitate the statue with a 'WHOCK!' sound] Demoman: RRRAGHHH! Miss Pauling: Um. And it's haunted. Demoman: Blast ye, woman. Making a man choose between his best friend and a sword. Ach. No. No, I couldn't. Soldier's me best mate. [Miss Pauling turns and begins walking away] Miss Pauling: Tell you what. Why don't I leave them here, and you can think about it. Demoman: "Them"? [Angle changes to reveal three more boxes, all marked from Mann. Co; one reads 'CHARGIN' TARGE, another obfuscated box reads SCO- RES-, and the third box lacking any name] Miss Pauling: I should get going. Oh, and Mister DeGroot? Your friend's employers made him the same offer. He said yes, Mister DeGroot. Enjoy your morning off. [Miss Pauling leaves, as the Demoman — defeated — stands holding the Eyelander]

Part 4 - Soldier

[The comic, presented in black-and-white, opens with a mysterious figure at the front door of an apartment, under the name 'Mister Jane Doe'. The door has several locks and two head-level flaps, with some bullet holes] Mysterious figure: This is the place. Voice: Hht. For the money we paid you to find it, it had better be. You're wasting my time. Go knock. [The mysterious figure gives the door two knocks] Voice: Good. Now duck. [Instead the mysterious figure moves to the side, followed promptly by two shotgun shots blasting through the door] Soldier: ♪Who is it?♬ Say, friend! Why don't you move a little closer to the door? Thaaat's it. Don't be scared, I just want to- [Two arms suddenly burst through the flaps on the door] Soldier: HUTTAH, NECK SNAP! [The arms grip at nothing, as the mysterious figure looks at the watch on their wrist. The arms then droop, defeated] Soldier: Alright, you can come in. [Soldier begins to unlock the several locks on the door. The figure comes in, before immediately putting their hands in the air, as the Soldier aims a shotgun at them from behind a table. A knife and shovel can be seen tied to the underside of the table, and several boxes of 'Captain Dan's Army Surplus Soup' can be seen on a table behind him] Soldier: Unless you're the tomato soup wholesaler or a new delivery man from the rib place... ...you have just entered a doorway of hurt into an apartment of pain, son. [The mysterious figure flashes open their jacket...] Soldier: Good Lord, no! [...to reveal a small screen underneath, revealing the Administrator as the earlier unknown voice] Administrator: Tell me, Mister Doe... do you know what a conflict of interest is? Soldier: Can I guess? Administrator: No. Soldier: You don't own me! You just try and stop me, lady. It is a form of combat! Administrator: No. Soldier: A breed of dog. Administrator: I'm afraid not. Soldier: It is knowing what words mean! These are guesse- [He is promptly cut off mid-speech. The Administrator clasps her hands together, while Soldier hides further behind the table] Administrator: Mr. Doe. You have befriended a man we are paying you to kill. As such, you have two options. One: my associates will drive you to the nearest gravel pit... Soldier: Oo! That one. Administrator: -where they will kill you for your gross insubordination. Soldier: Wait. Let me hear both choices first. [The screen changes to show an image of the Demoman] Administrator: Option two... you kill this man. And we supply you with the custom-built weapons you'll need to get the job done. [Soldier stands up, angrily shoving the table aside and breaking it, and approaches the screen] Soldier: Then I guess you'd better take me to the gravel pit and shoot me, lady. 'Cause if you ever ask me to kill my friend again, I will put my boot so far up your ass it will be on the news. Administrator: That's not the option he took from his employers. Soldier: He agreed to kill me for weapons? Ha! I don't buy it, sister. [The screen changes to a different expression of the Demoman] Administrator: Listen for yourself. "Demoman": *BZZT* I-WILL-KILL-THE-SOLDIER.*BZZT* *BZZT* HE-IS-A-BAD-FRIEND. *BZZT* [Soldier puts his hand behind his head to scratch it, as the Administrator squints at him] Soldier: Ahhhh, but dammit— it doesn't matter what he said in that weird robot voice I've never heard him talk in before. Once you've taken a man out for whiskey and ribs... then fought him... then fought the police with him... well, you have forged a bond thicker than any soup you can buy. That's not girl talk, either. That is just facts. No deal, pumpkin. Find yourself another patsy. "Demoman": *BZZT* HE-IS-NOT-A-REAL-SOLDIER. *BZZT* *BZZT* HE-WAS-NOT-EVEN-IN-THE-ARMY. *BZZT* *BZZT* HE-IS-A-FRAUD. *BZZT* *BZZT* HE-IS-A-CIVILIAN. *BZZT* [Suddenly, the Soldier recoils in shock, then anger] Soldier: Civ... civilian? He promised he'd never... How dare he? I earned every one of those medals I made! I did three goddamn tours of duty overseas, and I wasn't even asked! I paid my dues! And my plane ticket over! I... he... he is a dead man! [The scene changes to the Administrator, carrying a new rocket launcher while wearing a smug expression] Administrator: I believe we have a deal, Mr. Doe. There will be a new weapon waiting for you every day until the job is done. The first weapon we'll be sending you is a precision instrument. If you were blasting around randomly, it would be useless to you. However, I think you'll find it useful for sharp-shooting... specific enemies. Pauling, kill the feed, please.