I've decided to move away from the script format for this story. If you haven't noticed.
Tiger Tank
The Heretic (Or: The Poor Sap That Has Gone Against the Rules of the Religious Orthodox Nutbars)
We now lay our scene: the cold, inky darkness of space. The stars twinkle like the cliche diamonds upon black velvet as the view of the camera slowly pans and sweeps across the burning hulks of rock and metal that used to be Installation 04. In the background are the gas giants and moons that the Sacred Ring had been located by. The camera finally stops as it focuses on the massive planetoid of a ship known as High Charity - the Covenant's capitol. Like a swarming school of small fish, innumerable, Covenant capital ships prowl the space around High Charity.
The view zooms in onto the gargantuan ship, then transitioning to the interior of High Charity. In a reference to the Death Star from the movie Return of the Jedi, a flight of Banshees joins a patrol of other Banshees flying across the screen as the camera continues to zoom in on the gargantuan ship's hull.
"There was only one ship," booms an alien's voice.
The scene cuts to the cavernous Chamber of the High Council. On opposing sides of the room are bleachers, Prophets on one side, and the Elites on the other. The frail-looking snails--er, Prophets are clad in simple but elegant robes, whilst the Elites are clad in lavender, ceremonial armor with big honkin' antler-looking thingies on their helmets.
"GET ON WITH IT!" the High Council screams. Tartarus and his two thugs fidget impatiently while the author moves on.
On the side opposing the exit, there are three Prophets sitting in cool hoverchair dealies. The center one - Truth - sits more toward the back, and his colleagues are more toward the front. On his right is the holographic projection of the youngest of the three: Regret. On Truth's left is the eldest and most wrinkly of the three: the High Prophet of Mercy. "HEY!" Mercy screams at the author. "You dang whippersnapper! You'd better treat your elders with respect!"
"Let's move on, shall we?" the author, clad in red MJLONIR Mk V armor, sighs in exasperation. He moves back into the shadows and watches. The Brutes and their Chieftain fidget again.
"Anyway...One?" Regret all but sneers at the gold-armored Elite standing before them. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," the Elite replied. "They called it the Pile of Shit...I mean, the Pillar of Autumn."
"Why was it not destroyed with the rest of their fleet?" Mercy demands in his old geezer voice. He then glares at the nigh-invisible author. The author in turn shrugs and mutters, "not my fault that Bungie decided to make you sound like that."
"It fled," the gold-armored zealot replies, ignoring the author's comment, "as we set fire to their planet. But I followed with all the ships in my command."
"When you first saw Halo, were you blinded by its majesty?" Regret glowers at the still unnamed Elite.
"Blinded?" asks the afore-mentioned Elite with no name.
"Yes, you ninny!" Regret snaps, "Paralyzed? Dumbstruck?" The Prophets and Elites on the council stare at him.
"No," the Elite answers.
"Yet the humans were able to land on the Sacred Ring and desecrate it with their filthy footsteps!" Regret all but screams. "Then they proceeded to set up innumerable Walmarts, Starbucks coffee houses, and Jamba Juice stores!" Regret picks up a styrofoam cup of coffee with the Starbucks logo on it and takes a sip. "Stupid, overpriced beverages," the High Prophet mutters.
"Noble Hierarchs," the Elite protests, "surely you understand that once the parasite attack--" his words are drowned out by the loud and raucous uproar from the council. It kind of sounds like "ROBBLE ROBBLE ROBBLE!" A banana cream pie is thrown and it splatters at the Elite's feet. Tartarus chucks his hammer at the Elite, which misses then returns to the Brute Chieftain like a boomerang.
"There will be order in this council!" Mercy bellows, "or there will be neither cheese, nor pie, nor cheesecake, nor apple juice for refreshment after this meeting!" That effectively shuts the council up. OWNED! Truth gravitates forward, holding up a delicate and girly, three-fingered hand to silence his brother. If one looks closely enough, one would notice that Truth's fingernails/claws are lacquered. Anyway, the council imediately shuts up as Truth prepares to speak.
"You were right to focus on the Flood," Truth says in a stereotypical gay lisp, "but this Demon...this 'Master Chief'..."
"By the time I learned of the Demon's intent," the Elite says, "there was nothing I could do. That, and it was my nappy-time."
"Excuses, excuses!" a Prophet screams.
"You lie, you pansy!" screams another.
"NAY! IT WAS HERESY!" The Prophet that screams that last line suddenly looks embarrassed and sits back down. Another Prophet slaps the back of his colleague's head and hisses, "good going, moron! We might have to do the whole take again!" The author sighs in irritation, takes both of the Prophets in the back, out of sight of the camera. There are a pair of loud shotgun blasts that shake and startle everyone in the chamber. They all stare in horror at the author as he returns, wiping purple blood spatters from his armor and slinging a shotgun over his shoulder.
"Uhh...Noble Prophet of Truth, this has gone on long enough!" Regret hisses to Truth, "make an example of this bungler! The Council demands it!" Truth raises his girly hand to silence his younger brother, "you are one of our most treasured instruments. Plus, you make some bitch'n barbecued ribs." The Elite looks proud and hopeful at this last part. "Long have you led your fleets with honour and distinction, but your inability to safeguard Halo was a colossal failure..."
Truth halts and looks for the prophet that was supposed to scream, "NAY! IT WAS HERESY!" but quickly remembers that the author shot him. The High Prophet catches the gaze of another Prophet and gives him a meaningful look. Immediately, the Prophet shoots to his feet and screams, "NAY! IT WAS HERESY!" The council erupts into a uproar, everyone screaming to be heard over the other. Pies, fruits and other miscellaneous objects are thrown across the room.
"I will continue my campaign against the humans!" the Elite states, grunting as a custard pie slams into the side of his helmeted head.
"No," Truth states authoritatively, "you will not." Tartarus gives a growl to his two subordinates who move to detain the gold-armored Elite, but he shrugs them off. Truth continues, lisping, "soon the Great Journey shall begin. But when it does, the weight of your heresy will stay your feet..."
"Does this mean I get concrete shoes?" the Elite inquires, turning back to look at the High Prophet.
"No."
"Awww..."
"...You will be left behind," Truth finishes. The camera zooms in on his face...and hits him. "OW! Ah! Jesus Christ!" the High Prophet cries out. "That hurt!"
The picture transitions, and a moon appears where Truth's holographic Halo used to be. We now find ourselves back in the cold reaches of space...
To be continued...
Author's Note: I'm baaaaack! Hehehehe. Doing the story in a paragraph format is a little easier for me. A little. Hope you guys enjoyed this little tidbit. I'm probably going to combine several of the missions/chapters into a single...well...chapter. You'll see what I mean next chapter. It's gonna be a little long, methinks. Well, hope you guys enjoy this new story format. And I hope I can pull off a decent Halo 2 parody.
The jokes may be a little more obscure or subtle, this time around. Like the ripping off of Mr. Slave from South Park? "Ooh! Jesus Christ!" Who caught that before I said it? Honestly? Hahaha.
Anyway...hope you guys enjoy this. This is going to be a little harder to pull off, as I haven't really had that much experience playing Halo 2 - I'm borrowing my friend's XBox and his copy of Halo 2. If he's readin' this...thanks, mate!
Tiger Tank