The command center of the Violator bustled with excitement. The probes had picked up a fleet of pirates recently, so the crew scrambled to make an operations plan to be delivered to Commander Gaunt ASAP. LT Pulastra and a small group of officers and senior enlisted personnel stood around an appropriately small table-shaped holoprojector that flickered with high level operations data including but not limited to: approximate number and class of capital ships, ETA by hyperspace, a rotating fighter and estimated vectoring to target.
LT Pulastra was outwardly a gaunt, lanky, and pasty man likely owed to his time spent in the dark recesses of the command spaces aboard the Violator. However, despite his outward appearance he was actually one of the more jovial members of the crew. He liked his job a bit too much which earned him respect from most who worked with him, but made enemies of those who believed he had gotten too much credit.
His face bore the deep lines and visible bone structure apparently common among officers aboard the Violator, making for a strong jawline and visible cheekbones. He looked terrifying while leaning over a projector table such as this one. The light that shone below him could not reach the recesses of his cheeks, accentuating the angularity of his facial structure. His hair was thin, wispy, and almost completely covered by his gray service cap, making his uniform inspections considerably easier. Of course, his uniform was impeccable; he could not appear disheveled under any circumstances.
He led the quick meeting to brief Commander Gaunt before the full operations brief. No commander would go into an operations brief blind if LT Pulastra could help it.
"Sir, our target is a squadron of pirates in the Rilgar system," he said, pointing to a binary star system with 3 planets orbiting the dance of the resident stars.
"The target squadron is composed of 3 Dreadnaught-class cruisers." He gestured toward the singular Dreadnaught on the projector that had replaced the star system. "Its main complement consists of modified Freefall-class bombers. These Freefalls are now more similar to fighters to aid in keeping up with Imperial fighters, but retain their modular mission packages. They come equipped with shielding and life support equipment, so individuals will be tougher to take down," he continued, moving his pointing finger toward the fighter projection that had appeared alongside the cruiser.
"Any questions, sir?" he said, pausing to let the skipper mull over the information.
Commander Gaunt's face bore a look of intense concentration as he stroked his chin. His face, of course, sported the angularity common among Imperial officers. His features were comically apt for an Imperial commander; his face could not be more perfect if "Imperial Commander" were the drawing prompt. His cheeks were recessed like LT Pulastra's; but while the latter's looked almost emaciated, his were stern and focused. His eyes and brow were extremely intense even when not considering his next move. His brow seemed to be stuck in a permanent state of furrow; his various expressions only elicited proportionally deeper scrunching. His slicked back blonde hair shined brightly under the light of the projector accentuated by his uncovered head. His arms, when not making the theatrical gesticulations famous among the crew, were either crossed in front of his chest or behind his back. His uniform was so immaculate that one would think he had an entire team to fix it for him.
After a moment of consideration, the Commander spoke. "No questions," he responded with a deep and confident tone, one that would come off as bellowing were it not for the volume.
LT Pulastra clicked his tongue and continued. "Normally, pirates would never operate in a fleet like this, but it seems that a Feeorin named Nym has made efforts to consolidate the various factions of pirates. He is aboard one of those cruisers according to our intel. The cruisers were commandeered from the Empire, so elimination of the fleet is a top priority." A projection of a gruff-looking Feeorin appeared in place of the ships.
"Our course of action is to jump within 3 km of the enemy and overwhelm them with our fighters. At minimum, the fighters will disable the shields, but preferably disable their means of escape as well. Once the order is given, the fighters will be pulled back to allow our star destroyers to neutralize the threat." Normally during these briefs, multiple courses of action would be presented here along with the risk of each so that the commander can make informed decisions. Commander Gaunt made his job much easier; he only had one course of action: the one previously mentioned. It had garnered them an impressive win-loss record in the Outer Rim, but LT Pulastra could not help but think of the ramifications of deviations to the plan or its usefulness against a more capable force. Commander Gaunt had pulled them out of sticky situations before, though, so he decided to push it out of his mind for now.
"Any questions, sir?"
"No questions."
"If there are no further questions, this concludes the brief," Pulastra said, signing off. He would brief the details of orientation and timings among the larger group. He delivered concise and useful information when he briefed, taking into account what his superiors wanted and how much he thought they could process at the time, so granular discussion was not necessary at this time.
Commander Gaunt nodded and about-faced sharply. The speed of his spin was only matched the abruptness of his stop. His heels boomed a loud report as they crisply drew flush to each other. He paused for a moment and then marched away from the table with his arms folded behind his back. The others present filtered out behind him. Pulastra would remain in the command center to finalize the material for the operations brief.
"All hands assume battle stations. I repeat, all hands assume battle stations. T minus 5 minutes to target," the main address circuit reported.
Neel was bristling with excitement at the possibility of righting his numerous infractions outside of piloting and giving himself a chance to get closer to his goal of meeting Commander Gaunt face-to-face. Neel had seen his confident and composed demeanor through various screens and holo-projectors and heard his clear and concise orders in the cockpit of his fighter, but he wanted nothing more than to let him know how much his idol's command meant to him in person.
He climbed into the cockpit of a TIE fighter, snapped his helmet into his pressure suit, and made sure to peek out at the scaffolding above him to scan for any wayward NCOs that might be watching him. His fighter had been damaged in the last sortie, so it was under refit. The Empire had what felt like unlimited TIE fighters, so it was easy for him to hop into a new one. He and the other TIE pilots shared a sentiment that, despite the mechanics swearing up and down that all fighters handled the same, there was something familiar about yours. It took a lot of convincing to let them go back to their own fighters, but in the end the pilots' persistence won out. He sighed, retrieved his data pad, and ran through the procedure without referencing the one below him.
The engines of his fighter whirred to life shortly followed by the various consoles switching on as the battery provided the necessary power to them until the engines could take over. He finished early, so he had a few minutes to wait before he saw Commander Gaunt appear on one of his consoles.
"All fighters, launch!" he boomed, theatrically throwing one arm across his chest followed by a forward point while his other hand stayed tucked behind him.
"Go time," Neel said to himself as he released the arresting gear on his fighter, allowed it to fall enough to clear the other fighters, and pushed his flight sticks forward to station himself in his launch lane. His engine's dull idling rumble roared to life as he gave it power and screamed when he pushed his sticks all the way forward when he was clear of the star destroyer's hangar.
A comically gravelly voice patched through his radio. "43, 28; comms check," he heard. His squad leader, Flight Chief Bodalla, was hailing him to meet up with the rest of the group. Flight Chief Bodalla had earned the moniker "Tough Guy" among the crew for his elocution. He took it in stride as an NCO was wont to do; resisting it would have only made his time in the navy much less bearable. His voice was no act; if rumors were true he came out of the womb knife handing the doctor and a SERE kit in tow.
The term "squad" was normally reserved for infantry units, but given the huge number of fighters sortied for most conflicts the term was adapted to aid communication and decentralized command. A squad consisted of 4 fighters typically lead by an NCO.
"28, 43; good copy," Neel radioed back.
"Roger, proceed to sector 1. Let's make Commander Gaunt proud," Chief Bodalla responded. Neel scowled. The rest of the crew had more than caught onto his obsession with the commander and never let him live it down. He had one time returned to his rack to find a frighteningly high quality hand-stitched and inked Commander Gaunt body pillow sharing his bed. He had yelled at his fellow pilots while only receiving uproarious laughter in return, but he still kept it. Joke was on them; that thing was comfortable.
"Copy," he responded with an exaggerated sigh. He maneuvered until he saw 3 green lights with 1528, 6223, and 8517 above them on his scope among a sea of blue lights.
"Deadly, Boss; we're on offense today. Stay within 5km of each other and intercept bogeys until further notice," Chief Bodalla radioed over again. Now that the squad was organized Chief Bodalla took on the callsign "Boss" to address his squad as all squad leaders did; even the bomber and interceptor varieties. They already knew their role since the squad operations brief, but it never hurt to confirm. Chief Bodalla was very thorough with his briefings and took care to make sure that everyone understood exactly what was going on. Space wasn't exactly conducive to great orientation, so they were grateful for their leader's concern for their safety despite the fact that TIE fighters were considered expendable.
"Copy, Boss," the 3 of them responded. He pushed toward the enemy capital ships until red lights flickered on his scope and green squares appeared on the TIE's viewport to mark the position of hostile fighters.
"Contact!" 28 shouted. They fanned out to pursue an individual target and once the enemy fighters came in range, streaks of blue light flew past them. These were no x-wing lasers. They traveled extremely quickly and left a trail that extended all the way back to the cannon they were fired from. He noticed quite a few blue lights disappear. 23 happened to be close by as he took a laser to the cockpit, punching straight through it. Starfighters were so fast and space made it so difficult to see that they rarely approached each other closely enough for vision. The distress signal went off just before the TIE exploded into an iridescent fireball as the Freefall that fired the shot zoomed through it. These lasers were quite powerful too.
Neel gave chase, aligning himself behind the enemy. The modified Freefall was certainly more maneuverable than the bomber that it was based off of, but far less maneuverable than a TIE fighter. This, along with Neel's prodigious aptitude for piloting, kept the enemy from shaking him. Neel set his sights on the fighter and delivered an accurate burst of lasers that overloaded its shields. It tried to pitch and roll to throw off his aim, but he moved in perfect sync with it, giving the impression that it was flying perfectly level with him. He delivered another burst of lasers, striking the engines once and the body twice. He saw the hull boil and the structure lurch from the impact before fire consumed it, shattering into another iridescent fireball.
He hardly had time to revel in his victory. His heart stopped when he heard a warning alarm blare in his cockpit. He was being locked onto. With what weapon he had no idea but proton torpedoes would be more than enough to turn him into space junk. He took evasive action, but the alarm would not clear. Suddenly, the red light behind him went silent as a green light sped past it.
"You're welcome, 43," he heard.
"Thanks, 28, you're a lifesaver," he replied, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Rancor 1, Reek; bogeys dead ahead. Taking 85 to engage."
The orange bomber escort signals indicated 1093 and 1085 speeding ahead and 1028 and 1005 matching her pace.
"Reek, Rancor 1; copy," Flight Lieutenant Ada acknowledged. Ada harbored great disdain for the fact that she was forced to have an escort, but they were useful in situations where there was no asteroid cover and her TIE of choice did not have the speed to net her the kills she wanted. She'd figure out how to get more juice out of the engine later. She saw a few more escorts pull away from her squad as well, though Rancor 4's escort squad remained in place.
Bomber squads consisted of 8 instead of the 4 common for TIE fighters. Bombers never traveled in more than packs of 4, so they often fanned out to accomplish different goals delegated by the flight leader. Bombers were always flown by more experienced pilots as there were far fewer bombers and the TIE/sa handled notoriously poorly, so the increased experience made it possible for them to effectively multitask. If anyone spoke ill of the TIE/sa's handling in front of Ada, there would almost certainly be a fight, however.
She flew the TIE/sa like a slightly slower fighter, performing evasive maneuvers that pushed the flight envelope for the craft so much that the mechanics often wondered why hers had not fallen apart yet. Her unmatched piloting skill and leadership ability garnered her the respect and admiration of all who were lucky enough to serve under her, but her tendency to go solo with very little warning, hotheadedness, and constant pestering of engineering probably kept her from becoming the commander of all bombers in the Imperial fleet. She was more than happy with that, though. She preferred the smaller team; not to mention if she was promoted enough she'd eventually be forced to give up her baby for a desk job.
She heaved an exasperated sigh and swore when she saw 4 orange lights disappear including the 2 that had just sped ahead, simultaneously reaching for her push-to-talk button which was already tuned to squad chatter.
"Rancor, Boss; escort compromise likely. Prepare for evasive maneuvers," she commanded, her tone almost clinical.
"Copy, Boss," 7 voices replied in unison. She ordered them to prepare, but she would not be giving an execute order. Her people were more than capable of taking care of themselves. As the enemy approached, she observed green and orange lights diverge from each other. 4 Freefalls were headed straight at her. She was familiar with the unmodified model; though the TIE bomber was her favorite, her proclivity for bombers garnered her familiarity with many different types. This variant was obviously faster and more maneuverable than its counterpart, but the thrust vectoring and gravity stabilizer were almost certainly too sluggish to dodge the cluster missiles. She chambered 12 missiles, estimating 3 for each. 1 to knock out the shields and 1 to compromise the hull was nominal; but the increased performance could cause glancing blows, requiring a 3rd for insurance.
Her targeting computer locked on all 4. They took evasive actions, but still made all haste toward her. She performed an aileron roll and fired off her salvo of missiles, pitching just in time to avoid 4 pairs of lasers. When she stopped her roll, she only saw one Freefall left which promptly disintegrated upon being hit by a missile. Without even stopping for breath she oriented herself to strike another enemy in pursuit of Rancor 2 with her primary weapon.
When the last of the interceptors were cleaned up, she radioed her squad again. "Rancor, Boss; all interceptors neutralized. Proceed with bombing run," she said with more than a hint of excitement in her voice. Her squad couldn't help but be motivated.
"Roger, Boss!" they chirped. They sped through the capital ship's shields, found the external shield generator, and unloaded their ordnance as fast as their weapon systems allowed. After the rest of Rancor joined them, the shield finally flickered and died.
"Omega, Rancor; target Delta's shields are down. Commencing strike on engines," Ada radioed to the Wing Commander.
"Rancor, Omega; copy."
Wing Commander Rosh cut through the pirate fighter wing approaching the star destroyers in his TIE interceptor, adding to his legendary killcount. He surgically diagnosed enemy intent based on their movement patterns and shot down the ones closest to the star destroyers that he figured were carrying bombs and steadying themselves for accuracy. He flew with 2 other interceptors to cover him, though of course it often ended up with him covering them. Interceptor pilots were the best of the best; the pilots chosen to fly them had a combination of both aptitude and experience necessary to fly the extremely fast and maneuverable craft. Quick decision making and reflexes were paramount; one wrong move often resulted in death.
"Wing Commanders, Bridge; Exterminator's shields are down and Inhibitor has sustained significant damage," he heard through his intercom. He imagined Commander Gaunt standing behind the bearer of bad news absolutely seething, or at least his version of it. His brow would probably just furrow slightly more, but someone was going to hear about it after the mission was accomplished.
"Boss, Omega 2; picking up strange radar signatures in sector 7. May want to come take a look," his wingman radioed. No one ever contacted him about strange signatures, so whatever was down there was worth investigating.
"Copy, Omega 2. En route," Rosh replied nonchalantly. As he boosted into sector 7 to join his wingmen, he picked up a signal strange enough to warrant his attention. He saw a very faint red signature that seemed to be teleporting around. It would have been imperceptible to all but the most skilled pilots. Jamming would usually lead to more contacts than expected and he could pick up spoofing from experience. Very little fighting was happening in 7 as it was on the outskirts of the battlefield, but it was still uncomfortably close to the Imperial ships. What exactly was that?
As he flew around to diagnose the problem, Omega 3's green light winked out. A few seconds later he saw many small, flickering signals returning somewhere close to him. He immediately veered toward the unknown signature and fired a volley of lasers where the signals disappeared, but hit nothing. He put some distance between himself and his previous location. He was in the middle of performing aerobatics to turn around when he heard Omega 2's distress signal go off just before the light disappeared from his scope. He waited again until he picked up the small signals and fired a volley where they disappeared. This time, he saw his lasers hit a shield, which promptly dissipated.
An unidentified craft's engines glowed brightly as it tried to put some distance between them for a hyperspace jump. He conducted a quick scan on the craft before he pursued it. Fortunately, it was not faster than a TIE interceptor, and he quickly closed on it and fired another volley to finish it off.
He hadn't seen a frame like this before. A cursory look at its profile made him think it was a bomber of some kind, but it was far faster than any of the bombers he knew of. He let out a short groan behind lips pressed into a tight line at the inevitable commander's debrief that would follow this battle due to his unfortunate contact. Though he had more respect for Commander Gaunt than many of his other COs, he still disliked briefing despite the fact that it was one of his main jobs as a field-grade officer. He mulled over the data until he was hailed again.
"Omega, Rancor; Target Alpha and Delta's shields are down, but Beta's are still up. We're under heavy fire and almost out of ordnance. Request assistance ASAP," he heard over the intercom.
"Rancor, Omega; roger," he replied. He gunned his thrusters toward Rancor while diverting his forces as necessary.
Deadly headed toward Target Beta when they received the general order from the Wing Commander.
Their new mission was to relieve the pressure on the bombers and help where possible in discharging the shield and crippling the last capital ship. A storm of shipboard lasers flew past them as they approached the last capital ship. While Neel was preoccupied with dodging laser fire, he heard 17's distress signal followed by "I'm hit!" over the intercom. It was too late for 17 unfortunately. His signature disappeared from the scope. He and 28 pressed on, engaging more fighters and creating a no-fly zone around the bombers.
"43, 28; looks like they need help over at Target Alpha's engines. Head over there, I'll hold it down here," he heard.
"Copy, 28," Neel said as he veered toward the objective. He saw an orange bomber signature elegantly cutting through space as he approached the engines. It was engaging targets as a fighter would, performing complex aerobatics while carefully managing g-force. His heart swelled; that could only be…
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang followed by a sickening lurch.
"I'm hit!" he called out to 28.
"Roger, 43. Maneuvering to support."
He cut out the screaming alarms and powered off the parts of his fighter damaged by the hit. He had taken a stray hit from an enemy fighter, but it was only glancing. It punctured the left solar panel, and due to its higher than average power ruined much more of the panel than an x-wing shot.
"Warning, thermal regulation impossible. Temperature rising 3 degrees Celsius per minute," an alarm blared before he cut it out. Contrary to popular belief, the solar panels on the TIE fighter were not for powering the battery; the engine was more than powerful enough to do that by itself. Instead, the solar panels were designed to remove the significant amount of heat generated by the TIE's namesake and lasers. There were built in allowances in case you took a hit, but that didn't mean that enough damage wouldn't make your time in the cockpit significantly worse. It was going to get very hot in here. He'd still fight until he got heat exhaustion or his equipment started failing, though.
"I'm hit!" 28 yelled; his voice was extremely garbled but readable. "Fighter's likely totaled. Too much heat and critical systems damaged. Need to head back. Knock one of 'em down for me, you hear?"
"Roger, 28. I'll make you proud," Neel replied with a smirk.
"Knock it off with the brown-nosing. 28 out," 28 replied, unable to stifle a chuckle before the circuit closed. Neel gave his engine as much power as he could without spiking the temperature as he headed toward his objective, deftly weaving through shipboard cannon fire as he shot down a Freefall pursuing a TIE bomber performing fighter-like aerobatics A circuit opened to him as the fighter disintegrated.
"Nice shooting, Commander's pet," he heard an all too familiar female voice say. He couldn't decide whether to be happy or upset.
"Rancor 1, 4343, Omega 1; we're taking heavy casualties. Form temporary squad for coordination. Assume callsigns Omega 2 and 3," a rather gruff sounding man ordered. Neel selected Rancor 1 and Omega 1 and tuned in compliance with orders. The signatures switched to yellow on his scope and Ada's callsign was replaced with Omega 2.
"Roger, Omega 1," the junior pilots said in unison.
"Omega, Boss; focus fire on thrusters. I'll keep them off of you," Rosh commanded.
The two acknowledged and gunned their frames toward the objective. Neel had a bit of déjà vu as something similar happened during their last battle. Perhaps it was fate that brought them together.
Ada bombed one of the starboard main thrusters, expertly leaving one of the main supports burning hot. Neel took her place and fired a large volley of lasers at the spot. All of them hit true, but blasted him with heat as a result. The support gave way and the thruster collapsed on itself, causing the ship to list from the uneven thrust.
"Boss, Omega 2; starboard main thruster destroyed. Circling to port to check for more stuff to destroy," Ada announced.
"Acknowledged, Omega 2," Rosh replied.
They maneuvered to perform the same procedure on a badly beaten main thruster on the port side, but 3 enemy fighters had caught their scent and closed in on their position.
"Omega 2, Omega 3; have 3 bogeys on my scope. Disengaging to neutralize. Will circle back," Neel relayed to Ada.
"Copy, Omega 3. Give 'em hell," he heard back.
Neel made a hard downward turn to meet one of the fighters, feeling the nasty consequences of negative g's as a result. The blood rushing to his head made him feel lightheaded; he didn't think he'd get used to it no matter how long he piloted. He performed several combined barrel and aileron rolls to throw off the fighter's aim and sent back enough weapon fire to obliterate his target. This unfortunately had the secondary effect of dramatically increasing the cockpit's temperature. The pressure suit was at its limit for thermoregulation; he felt sweat beads start to form on his forehead. He caught his second kill by firing from below by pitching back up before his opponent could pitch down. Sweat started pouring down his face and pooling in his helmet.
He was dreading what would happen if he shot down the third. The only thing that could make this worse would be bursting into flames. As soon as he brought the 3rd fighter into his crosshairs he saw a large burst of green laser fire hit its broad side, splitting it in half before it exploded subsequently followed by a TIE interceptor screaming past his crosshairs.
"Thanks, Omega 1," he radioed, receiving no response in return.
"Boss, Omega 2; port side main thruster destroyed. Should be hard for them to escape now," Ada cut in.
"Acknowledged, Omega 2. Omega, Boss; return to base. We took too many casualties to disable Beta's shields. They're close to popping; we should be able to get them with the volley. Omega 1, out," Rosh said.
"Understood, Omega 3, out," Neel replied.
"Omega 2, out," Ada replied.
On the bridge of the Violator, one blonde commander was not particularly pleased about how the battle was going. These pirates had put up much more of a fight than anticipated. He had lost too many people, did too little damage to the enemy, and took too much damage in return. He found a modicum of comfort in the fact that he would be issuing his favorite order quite soon.
"All fighters clear, sir. Turbolasers and shipboard armaments fully loaded. Ready to fire at your command," his fire control officer reported, turning around from his console at attention with his arms crossed behind his back.
"Very well, Fire Control."
A menacing smile crossed his face which darkened as he tilted his head down and furrowed his brow.
"All guns, fix targets," he ordered, pulling his elbow flush to his side, flexing his bicep, and balling his fist. Rumbling through the ship was felt as the turrets moved into place. He waited for it to subside. All on the bridge watched him with bated breath.
He thrust his arm forward, taking a step to further exaggerate his motion.
Witnessing all turbolasers firing at once was a privilege afforded to very few. The Violator lurched as an incalculable amount of green, red, and blue projectiles along with flecks of smaller cannon ordnance tore through space, slamming into all 3 enemy capital ships.
Alpha was hit on its broadside, causing massive explosions and sending the capital ship into a tumble. It split in two as the hull failed, unable to take the blowback of the lasers and the centrifugal force at the same time. Delta and Beta attempted to escape but Delta was hit by a blue stun round, paralyzing the ship before turbolasers ripped through it as if nothing were there. It violently disintegrated, leaving nothing behind. Beta took enough bombardment to overload the shields and take a few hits, but limped away before jumping into hyperspace.
Commander Gaunt finally drew his pointing arm back to his side, folded both of his arms, and flashed a satisfied smile as the bridge erupted into cheers.
The comms during the space battle are designed such that it was unnecessary to understand the comms themselves as long as the speaker and the one spoken to were clear.
I made this comms system up with a loose basis on reality. It is NOT accurate to the game or the video, but it was necessary to keep everything organized and increase immersion. I tried to think through the best ways for it to make sense in a space combat situation but there is a high likelihood that I messed something up. I did my best to introduce things in a digestible order and offer contextual explanations without breaking the pacing of the story.
Comms explanation:
Color codes for scope: Blue - friendly unit not in squad. Green - friendly unit in squad organized before launch. Red - unidentified or hostile ship. Orange on TIE fighter scope - bomber. Orange on TIE bomber scope - Bomber escort. Yellow - temporary squad member formed after launch.
Comms are read as "hey you, it's me". EX: Omega, Rancor translates to Hey Omega, it's Rancor.
The regular TIE fighters are organized by 4 digit numbers that would appear on a scope readout atop some kind of signature like a dot or an arrow. There are thousands of fighters out at any given time, so it made sense to give each one a unique identifier so TIE pilots can contact people outside of their squads. The unique identifier is tied to a pilot, not a fighter.
The pilots within a TIE squad call each other by the last 2 numbers of their unique identifiers to ease communication in case they switch squads and to keep the syllable count low. They would use more digits if the last 2 were the same.
When the squad leaders address the whole squad as the leader, they will address the squad by name and themselves as "Boss". EX: Deadly, Boss. If they are addressing one squad member, they will use their individual callsign and squad member's callsign. EX: Omega 2, Omega 1.
When hailing other TIEs, after the initial "Hey you, it's me" they drop it because they already know who is talking.
When squad leaders address other squads they are speaking for their whole squad, so they drop individual identifiers. EX: Rancor, Deadly.
The TIE bombers and interceptors have unique identifiers but rarely use them since there are much fewer of them. Their organization is very similar to the X-wings in the movies.