THE SHORT HOUR S1E3: "the use of irony to mock or convey contempt"

We should be so lucky.

I feel for that man. I really do.

(no I did not cringe when he has his, to use a euphemism, "eggs scrambled", what are you talking about?)

I'm with this guy, they all sound like douchebags so fuck 'em.

[Pictured: a shot of the Illium skyline at night. It’s dark and purple, like a ripe plum or a fresh bruise. Buildings jut against the night like shards of black glass floating in wine, the windows and neon lights like the reflections of a distant, dying candle. There’s a rumble; thunder in the distance. A female voice begins to talk, the tone dead, the voice silken as a shadow.]

[Voice Over]: “Illium. Asari planet. Financial center for millions of businesses, corporations, and info brokers across the known galaxy, and destination for hundreds of thousands of pleasure tourists every year.”

[There’s a flash of images: a rich volus at a craps table; a smiling asari, beautiful and blue, drinking wine with her companion; a turian looking at the financial news; an older human gentleman snorting what can only be red sand off a glass desk.]

[Voice Over]: “Illium. Where the gutters are stained purple with blood.”

[A second flash of images: the volus lies slumped against a wall, a bullet hole neatly drilled into the head of his exosuit; the asari and her companion lie dead in a hover car, riddled with bullet holes from a drive-by; the turian lies sitting at his desk, his throat slashed deep; the human’s head has been smashed into the glass of the table, a spider web of shattered glass radiating from a deep wound in his skull.]

[Voice Over]: “Illium. Where the guilty come...to be punished.”

[Suddenly, there’s a shot of an asari tooling herself up entirely in white and purple combat armor. Pistols, assault rifles, shock gloves, a shotgun - all of them fold into her form-fitting combat suit, along with bandoliers of heat clips and even a pair of blue-bladed knives.A helmet slowly descends over her face, hiding most of her features.]

[Announcer]: “COMING THIS MONTH TO THE DDS’ ACTION HOUR - JUSTICAR ATHA! A DDS ORIGINAL! Check our newsfeed for showtimes!”

That... actually doesn't sound like a bad show. I mean, yeah, it's trite as hell, and the idea of "COP GONE REVENGERING" has been done to death, but in contrast to everything else? It sounds sane.

[Terrorbyte and Dwick sit in lawn chairs, eating...food items. One might be tempted to call them “sandwiches” - except that nobody except perhaps Dagwood Bumstead has ever assembled something so monstrous. All we know is they have chicken and cheese in great quantities; we know this because Dwick’s chest and Terrorbyte’s belly are covered in such drippings. In any case, Dwick’s eating on as normal; Terrorbyte, however, is just holding his up and making “Om Nom Nom” noises.[

[TERRORBYTE] “Boy, I sure do *hssssk* enjoy this vacation we’re taking on Omega, *hssssk* Dwick! It’s nice to get back to our *hsssk* roots, don’t you think?”

[DWICK] “Damn straight, Vents. Y’know, I ain’t been back in dis here place in a good hunnerd an’ eighty-six years - fuck, if it weren’ fer Aria an’ her ilk, I probably wouldn’ recognize it!”

[TERRORBYTE] “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your *hssssk* head, this place is still plenty dangerous. I mean, take a look at that guy.”

[The camera goes to focus on a weedy, ordinary-looking batarian drinking a beer. He has no idea why he’s being filmed and is giving the camera a confused, vaguely-187-like look.]

[BATARIAN] “Wait, wha--”

[The camera immediately switches back to Terrorbyte.]

[TERRORBYTE] “See, that’s Old *hssssk* Mac Knife Catcher, the meanest batarian on *hssssk* Omega. A real bastard, that guy is.”

[Dwick gives a short grunt of laughter.]

[DWICK] “Oh really.

[TERRORBYTE] “DAMN *hsssk* STRAIGHT.”

[A thought-cloud - clearly edited in by someone with a copy of HoloIllustrator 5 - appears above Terrorbyte’s head. Inside of it is a terrifying, ferocious batarian wearing a bandolier of knives. The batarian screams in anger and starts throwing knives at numerous Cerberus supersoldiers, knocking them all down.]

[“OLD MAC”] “THAT’S RIGHT! COME ON, YOU BASTARDS - My grandmother could fight better than you, AND SHE’S A CORPSE IN THE GROUND!”

[With that, he grabs a Phantom’s sword by the blade and twists hard, throwing it into the air and catching it by the handle before--

A loud, wet raspberry interrupts the imagine spot as “reality” crashes down once more around them. Dwick waves a meaty arm dismissively.]

[DWICK] “Oh yeah, suuuuuure. Heard he weren’t no REAL good in no fight, though - a real fuckin’ pussy.”

[TERRORBYTE] “Oh yeah? You know someone *hssssk* tougher?!”

[DWICK] “Hell yeah, I do!”

[The camera immediately switches to a salarian eating a salad in some cafe somewhere, again with a confused look on his face.”]

[SALARIAN] “Uh, pardon me, can I-”

[DWICK] “See dat frog dere? Dat’s HARLAN VIII, last in ‘is line in a family’ve THRESHER MAW SLAYERS!”

[A new Imagine Spot forms, this time on a deserted planet out in god-knows-where. The camera vibrates violently, and a thresher maw ERUPTS from the ground hissing - before being fired upon by TWIN ROCKET SHOTS. As it rears in agony, the camera spins around to view the source - a single salarian in a hardsuit that looks three times “Harlan’s” weight, dual-wielding the sort of rocket launchers you’d expect a krogan to be toting around.

He looks strikingly similar to a certain salarian from the second season of Dynasty Maker.]

[SALARIAN] “Suck some Sur’kesh Superiority, thou foul-headed demon!”

[Throwing both spent rocket launchers to the ground, the salarian grabs a pair of pistols and charges toward the thresher maw, when--]

[TERRORBYTE] “Buuuuuull*hsssk*shit.”

[The drama (and music) petering out, the Imagine Spot fades back to the two of them as Dwick licks his fingers. Terrorbyte’s sandwich has miraculously disappeared as well.]

[DWICK] “Oh really? And whaddaya got ter prove dat, huh? Huh?”

[TERRORBYTE] “Prove? PROVE? So it’s *hsssk* PROOF you want, is it?”

[Close-up on Dwick’s deadpan face.]

[DWICK] “Uh, duhhhhh.”

[TERRORBYTE] “Is that *hsssk* so? THEN LET’S GET YOU PROOF.”

[Back to the batarian. He’s suddenly grabbed by men in security uniforms.]

[BATARIAN] “Hey!--”

[And now the salarian. He’s being grabbed and gagged.]

[SALARIAN] “What is goin--”

[A few seconds later, both the salarian and the batarian are dragged next to Terrorbyte and Dwick, both of them struggling. Dwick and Terrorbyte look on, dispassionately, like the emperors of old.]

[DWICK] “Hello, boys.”

[TERRORBYTE] “Indeed. Good *hsssk* eeeeeevening.”

[Both captives look at each other, then at him, goggling.]

[BATARIAN] “Look, we--”

[TERRORBYTE] “SILENCE, OLD MAC!”

[DWICK] “We have...a business propersition fer you.”

[Putting both hands at his prodigious sides, he unholsters a pair of shotguns - an ordinary Katana-brand firearm, and a distinctively deadly-looking murder machine with a giant bayonet on it.]

[DWICK] “We’ve heard legends ‘bout’choo folks...so, here’s da deal: You fight each other, an’ th’ winner gits t’ go home with a boxed set of TLE, a year’s supply’a Moon Chips...AN’ YER LIFE.”

[The words “Snack Strong!” appear at the bottom of the screen as he mentions the Moon Chips.]

[SALARIAN] “Are you crazy?! You can’t just--”

[TERRORBYTE] “ON THE COUNT OF *hsssk* THREE! ONE!”

[BATARIAN] “But we’re not--”

[DWICK] “TWO!”

[He throws the shotguns at the two of them.]

TERRORBYTE AND [DWICK] [In Unison] “THREE!”

[The two of them catch the weaponry, more out of shock than acceptance, and look at the camera. There’s a flash of light - and then we enter another Imagine Spot, as they suddenly face each other dramatically - the salarian with the murdershotgun, and the batarian with...okay, is that a sword made of knives?!]

[TERRORBYTE] “GO *hsssk* MURDERKNIFESWOOOORD! Oh, he’s gonna *hsssk* kick your dude’s ass, Dwick.”

[The salarian - once more looking like he was hewn from pure muslce - simply smirks, crouches, and snaps his fingers as a biotic field pops into life around him. Cut to Dwick, who looks over his shoulder at Terrorbyte.]

[DWICK] “You were sayin?”

[TERRORBYTE] “BOOO, CHEATER. OLD MAC, *hssssk* GROOOOOOOW”

[As Terrorbyte bellows, Old Mac bolts toward “Harlan,” his sword pulsing with mechanical menace as he swings it around to mash the salarian in the face. The Salarian dives backward, performing an elaborate cartwheel before shooting back with the shotgun.

A flock of doves takes off from nowhere.

The batarian rages and suddenly starts glowing, raging with the power of a thousand suns as his demonic-looking sword swings at the salarian, gouging out huge chunks of the floor as mountains rise and clash behind him, the power of the titans in his grip. The jagged spires leap from nowhere as the blast of energy rages towards him - but the salarian, seeing his chance, leaps and grabs a stray piece of debris flying upward, carrying him clear of danger! Letting go just as the spire’s momentum stops, he then catapults through the air, rocketing toward with a force that only the most powerful of biotics could manage!

Suddenly, the image splits, and we’re seeing the batarian and the salarian having a slapfight on the dirty floor of some Omega alley, pathetically hitting each other with their tiny fists. The shotguns lie on the floor, apparently forgotten as neither of them are particularly insterested in killing each other.

Dwick and Terrorbyte watch on, entertained, as they dig into a large bowl of assorted snacks.]

[TERRORBYTE] “Such *hsssk* masters.”

[DWICK] “Damn straight. I could watch dis shit all day.”

[As they fight in front of the moguls, a pair of Unscrupulous Humans slowly sneak into view behind them, a pair of lethal-looking pistols split behind the two of them. One of them glances at the other, who peers at his omnitool, which brings up a small hologram of Dwick with the words “WANTED,” “MURDER” and “REWARD” barely legible in reverse on the camera.

One of them aims his pistol at the back of Dwick’s crest, takes a deep breath...and fires.

Smash cut. When the show returns, Dwick and Terrorbyte are behind the bar of the Periwinke Paradise. Dwick has a dishrag shoved up his nose, which is still bleeding orange. Terrorbyte’s suit is cracked and his rebreather’s picked up a terrible rattle. Both of them look like they’ve been dragged through filth, set on fire, and generally manhandled. There’s a number of drinks in front of them. Words flash at the bottom of the screen:

PERIWINKLE PARADISE: DWICK AND TERRORBYTE GOT THEIR ASSES KICKED HERE

Dwick looks down, apparently aware of its existence, and glares at the camera.]

[DWICK] “HEY! WHO PUT DAT DERE?! WHO PUT DAT DERE! DAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENED AT ALL--”

[TERRORBYTE] "WELL IT WOULDN'T HAVE IF YOU *HSSSK* HAD BEEN PAYING ATTENTION LIKE I TOLD YOU--"

[DWICK] "OH REALLY? AN' WHERE WERE YOU DURIN' DAT WHOLE FIGHT, HUH? I SEEM TER REMEMBER YOU HANGIN' ONTA DA BACK'A MY HUMP DA WHOLE TIME, GOING 'DWICK, DWICK SAVE ME, SAVE ME--'"

[Cut to Silel of the Periwinkle, polishing a glass opposite them. She simply watches the two of them shouting at one another from offscreen as end credits flow up. Just before the credits end, several lines with the Periwinkle Paradise’ address appear onscreen.

She looks at the camera at this point and grins. Evilly.

End of episode.]

Alright, the crazy was entertaining for a little bit, but I feel like this stuff is like cake. You can't have too much of it in one go.

Ha!

It's about time someone kicked the shit out of that screaming little ball of uh... whatever the fuck volus are made out of.

That was a lovely ending.

I think I have to go there to celebrate it in fact.

You know, if there was a show that was nothing but Dwick and Terrorbyte getting injured constantly, then I would probably be a lot more happy with this stupid thing perpetually stuck on my omnitool.

You herd the people, we want more of them getting beaten to a pulp.