Posted

Sep 14th 2007

No one seemed to have read my really, really long "story" thing last time I posted it.

After some peer editing, I managed to change some little things (it's basically the same thing).

No one seemed to have commented! I'm not asking for attention, or for y'all to tell me how super-terrific and awesome I am at witting, I just want some feedback... Soooooo... Here it is again, in its full re-vised 3 times over glory.

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Luis Estrada
Bob Hanon
Conceptual storytelling
Made in Mexico

An armored train is speeding through a vast desert wasteland on the outskirts of the Chihuahua desert. It is a couple of hundred kilometers from crossing the Texan border, all of a sudden one of the armored train’s re-in forced hulls explodes, shattering and tumbling the train down on its side. As the smoke clears, a dark figure in a long top hat starts moving around. After skirmishing around for a bit the man in the tall hat becomes frustrated. As the smoke clears the man becomes very agitated, impatiently, the short man with a large head and tiny mustache who dons a purple top hat and a cape waves his cane around, angrily and begins to quicken his pace, to look harder for the prize within the train’s hull. The man then hears one of the guards aboard the train starting to come to, so he scurries back to his vehicle, a somewhat large spherical shaped mechanical device. Once its lid is shut, he zooms off into the distance. Angry, the man vows to continue looking for whatever was inside the train. “I’ll get my prize if it’s the last thing I do…” he mutters to himself.

“This just in!” informed a television announcer. A report of the event is being shown on a black and white television. As the man on the TV states that a priced U.S. weapon had been stolen earlier today, the viewers, a boy, about 16 years of age and a girl about 17, start to fight for the remote a bit, they saying nothing, but grunting, each trying to watch their desired channel. It is a hot, humid day. Everyone is staying indoors for the day in order to avoid the heat. All the kids want to do after a hot day of school is to watch TV. The small, cramped house feels sticky with sweat. The boy wishes to watch the news flash, while the girl continues to try and get the remote from him to watch cartoons. The news flash continues: “… It is suspected that long time founder of this project â€" Mr. Bertoluchi, creator of the beloved Ronny Rouse, was behind this attack, for he has shown much interest in it since it was presented to the president of the United States! Here is a file photo.” a picture of the man in the top hat, the very same who has hijacking the train is shown smiling and hugging his animated creation, Ronny. “Ha! I got it!” the girl sibling is able get control of the remote and changes the channel while sticking her tongue out at her brother.

The tiny house, which is conjoined with a grungy, beaten down mechanic shop on its left half, lies in the middle of a desert town, which lies in the middle of nowhere. On the mechanic shop’s garage sits a compilation of scrap metal and old tires. Inside, under the shade, is an aged pick-up truck that is kept in almost mint condition. A couple of miles out towards the horizon, in the middle of the desert, a solitary figure, a lanky, haltingly moving figure, slumping its way to nowhere in particular is seen stumbling about. The sun is blazing; steam erupts from each step the figure takes. The lanky figure, standing about 5 feet tall, begins to approach the mechanic shop, the sun gleams off of the top of the figures head as it would on an old, rusted toaster. With a lopsided rectangle for a head, dazed and zoning visual apparatuses, skinny neck and limbs â€" a tan and brown, covered in sand and dirt, exterior, it is none other than a mechanical man. It collapses on a pile of scrap and makes a racket. It startles an aging, fat balding man that pops out the restored pick-up truck, awakening from his slumber. He scratches his belly and grumpily calls out: “Aaaaaaaaaalma! Isaiiiiiiiiiiiiiias!” The two kids from earlier run out the front door and come to their father’s aid. As they run out of the tiny house a sign sways in the wind: “Gonzalez family mechanics.”

“What is it, Hilario?” The girl yells out in an annoyed tone. “I told ya not to call me that! Call me ‘Dad’, fer Pete’s sake!” the man then slurringly tells them “Go on over there and see what that noise was, will ya?” He soon falls asleep again. Alma, the girl, is tall and skinny, well developed young lady with “Christmas tree” hair, somewhat pointy towars the top of her head and progressively growing outwards in a series of hair folds, wearing her signature green shirt with black stripes and blue jeans and big boots combo, hits her brother on the shoulder and signals him to come check it out with her. “Come on Iz, you heard the man!” Alma orders her brother. Isaias, even taller than Alma, is a well-combed four eyes with a huge overbite that makes it impossible for him to fully close his mouth, wears a short sleeved button up shirt, short-shorts a calculator wrist watch and neatly tied shoes. “Y-yes, coming Alma!” They both walk over the side of the store where they keep all the garbage and extra parts. Alma sees nothing out of the ordinary and makes an angry face. She then starts heading back inside the house, to continue watching her cartoons as she mutters “Senile old man, makin’ me get up and come outside…” Isaias jumps up and exclaims: “Wait, hold on a second!” surprised, Isaias stops her by grabbing hold of her hand, risking being beaten over the head by touching her, but is able to show her just in time what he had discovered. Amongst the broken glass and rusty steel lay a humanoid form made entirely out of metal. Aw-struck, they stare at it for a bit until it turns on its eyes and slowly turns to them. Both of them lay still in place, clinging to each other, terrified of what this apparition might do to them. Isaias whimpers and holds on tight to Alma, as does she, though she’d never admit it. The mechanical man starts to stand up and comes close to them, they take a step back and it takes a step more. It quickly points up and utters “Q… Q… Quidado!” as a huge spherical machine comes crashing down along side them, only to be snatched out of the way by the machine man, just in time. The sphere begins to sprout semi-mechanical claws to hold itself up with the help of a few thrusters on its back. The hatch slides opens, hissing and whirring revealing its conductor, none other than Bertoluchi himself. “A-ha! I’ve found you, robot!” Bertoluchi squeals in joy.

15 thousand miles away from Chihuahua, at the White House, Washington D.C. a panicked army general makes his way towards the president’s office. Practicing his “serious face” for a few moments, he takes a deep breath, walks into the room, faces the president and informs him: “Mr. President, we seem to have lost the… The multi-million dollar project while transporting it across the Mexican border, sir.” The general ends his sentence and prepares for the worst. “Dagnamit, General Spoon! The very first robot ever created, in the history of mankind and ya lost it. Good job! Now, all them commies are gonna beat us to the punch! Get down there and get me my robot back, ya understand?!” the president slams his hand against his desk and takes quick whiff of his cigar. “You can count on me, sir!” The general salutes and quickly storms out of the office. He takes out a high-powered walkie-talkie and asks “What’s the status report, sergeant?” the general asks half-heartedly. Along the Yuma border, half a dozen tanks appear to be stuck in the middle of traffic, as they try to make their way across. “Negative advancement, General Spoon, sir!” squeaked the incompetent sergeant from a top one of the tank’s lids.

Back at the Gonzalez’s place, the sphere robot’s mechanical arms start snapping and clinking, its servos whirring and clanking. With a thick Italian accent Bertoluchi declares: “I am the one and only Bertoluchi! That toy you are standing next to is belonging to me, the great Bertoluchi, who is me!” The Alma and Isaias look at each other in disbelief and then look to Bertoluchi again, recognizing him from the news flash earlier that day. The sibling duo stare up at Bertoluchi in disbelief “Could this really be him?” they wonder. Becoming frustrated at their inability to respond and hand the robot over, he quickly lunges one of his mechanical appendages to grasp the robot. “Ay!” the robot yelps. Before it is pulled any further, Alma grabs hold of the robot’s leg and determined yells “Hey! We found him first!” Isaias agrees and meekly states “Yeah, finders… K… Keepers.” Infuriated by this, Bertoluchi tugs harder and in result the siblings pull harder. It then becomes a tug-o-war. Not necessarily wanting to hurt anyone, Bertoluchi does not pull to an extreme, but slowly starts to pull them upwards. With another metal claw, he grabs hold of Isaias’ shoe and pulls, trying to pry the robot from Alma’s hands by pulling on Isaias. “Come on, kids! The great Betoluchi, who is me! Has no need for skinny little children! You are of no concern to him! Please let go and let me retrieve my well-deserved prize!” Bertoluchi tries to persuade the children, but his jumbled words fall to deaf ears.

Flexing their muscles for a bit and working up a sweat but not advancing in the least bit, they start to create an anxiety state in which no one can advance any further. All of a sudden, Hilario, Alma and Isaia’s lazy father, who had witnessed enough of what had been happening to continue to sleep in his truck, shoulder rams Bertoluchi’s sphere-bot, knocking it on its side. “Leave tem kids, alone ya big has-been!” roars Hilario in a grumpy rage. The machine topples over, bringing forth a lot of sand up. Surprised and caught off guard, Bertoluchi now knows that they are going to put up a fight. Bertoluchi decides to press the big red button inside his sphere-bot which deploys many sharp, pointy, furry, fresh-smelling, nail-filing and egg beater appendages from all sides, in true Swiss-knife fashion. The robot lays a few feet away from Bertoluchi, the opposite side of the family. It lays completly flat on its back, looking up at the sky. It becomes enthralled by a bird that flies by, completely oblivious to the danger the Gonzalez family are about to face.

Hilario, Isaias and Alma all stand with their mouths agape at the tremendous sight that is Bertoluchi’s super machine. Lunging, poking and prodding at the family, they leap out of the way and hide behind the family pick up truck. “See, kids? This why I told ya to never talk to strangers!” Hilario tries to make sense of all the mayhem by believing that it’s the kid’s fault all this is happening. Bertoluchi, feeling smart for having scared them away without actually putting any civilians in danger snickers, turns his robot at its horizontal axis, clenches his hands and makes his way toward the robot, who is still laying on its back enjoying the blue sky. “Mwe he he he! I’ve finally got him! He is all mine! I’ll finally be able to realize my dream!” As Bertoluchi slowly approaches and extends a special grappler arm from his robot, Isaias gets up and tries to push the robot out of the way. “Noooooooooo!” he yells. Isaias’ nasaly and awkward yell wakes up the robot from its day-dream and alerts it of the imminent doom. Bertoluchi, already celebrating and congratulating himself for capturing the robot is suddenly crushed by noticing how squishy, soft and over-bitey the robot suddenly became. The robot, which was still safely on the ground, senses Bertoluchi’s threat and starts clanking uncontrollably. The robot’s forearms start to expand as its eyes start to glow a dim green.

Upon close inspection, Bertoluchi realizes that the squishy life form he grasped was not the robot but one of the meddling kids. He snarls at Isaias and is about to fling him away when a flying truck smashes against Bertoluchi’s machine, knocking him down again. Drooling on the floor from such a sudden attack, Bertoluchi quickly scrambles back up into his machine, its mechanical legs scrapping against the hard desert sand and makes it stand upright while still holding on to Isaia’s limp body. Ready for combat, Bertoluchi quickly notices that he is not the one towering over everyone anymore, but the robot is, looking down on him. With its giant metal fist fixed directly a top Bertoluchi’s head, the robot grunts “DEJALO IR” which thunders across the desert planes. Now, a giant mechanical nightmare, composed of various spare parts that where scattered around the shop, completely disfiguring the robot to make its appearance look like that of a rust-plated mix between a crane and a tank, it stands motionless, never looking away from his target.

Hilario is in shambles, seeing what the robot had done to his beloved truck. Alma decides to stop being on the side lines and sneaks in on the briefly paralyzed Bertoluchi to try and pry her brother free from his mechanical grasp. Hilario continues to yell at the robot “Dun’ youse think that jus’ ‘cause yer gonna save us all, yer gonna get away that easily! You owe me a new truck! A new store even! From now on, you work for me!” Hilario continues to scream at the top of his lungs as Alma climbs up the sphere-bots leg and tries to reach her brother’s foot when Bertoluchi realizes that he has better prepare himself for battle. “Don’t think you can scare me that easily, robot! You will be all mine, if it’s the last thing I do! Bertoluhi quickly stances himself to pounce upward at the robot. The sudden change makes Alma lose her balance and she slips a bit, while her brother still dangles, unconscious. The robot becomes hesitant about completely burying his fist unto the ground because it deducts that it will surely crush his new found friends, as well as his aggressor.

As Bertoluchi’s robot jumps up trying to grab hold of the robot’s arm, Alma gets closer and closer to the top of the arm that is clenching Isaias. Bertoluchi jumps and snares the robot’s arm, making wires and metal tentacles wrap around it’s arm to capture him. Panicked, the robot merely uses his other hand to yank off Bertoluchi’s robot’s tentacles that holds Isaias and Alma and simply pounds the floor crushing the machine into an oblong shape. The robot puts Alma and Isaias alongside their father. As Isaias starts to come to, the robot looks down on him, gestures what seems to be a smile and booms “GRACIAS.”

Bertoluchi still tries to ensnare his machine around the robot’s entire arm not giving up the fight. The robot grows weary of the fighting and chomps a big bite out of the oblong machine. Panic-stricken, Bertoluchi pulls the emergency pod lever and a smaller, sleeker pod machine pops out of the top of his robot. The pod falls to the ground on four, long spider legs which quickly revert back inwards into the core of the pod and he starts to levitate. He floats around in disbelief, pulling on his face and shaking his fist. “Curse you! You blasted robot!” He speeds off unto the horizon promising “I’ll be back! Just you wait till next time, I’ll be baaaack..! Oh, just you wait till, next time, I’ll get you…! Oh just you wait…” his voice fades away.

Back at the destroyed shop, the Gonzales family tries to pick up the sign for their shop. Isaias and the robot become friends and begin working together to pick rubble and scrap up while Alma seems to disapprove of the robot staying around, on account that their house blew up. “What do you have to say for yourself, ya stupid robot? You blew up our house and now yer gonna live with us? Sheesh!” Alma expresses her thoughts and walks away in a rage, going inside their now half-house. “Gaww, don’t mind her, robot. She just had a bad day is all.” Isaias tries to console the robot. “Do you have a name?” he asks the robot. The robot shakes its head and rattles. Isaias ponders for a bit. “How about… Salvador?” The robot does not seem to disagree and is deemed “Salvador.” Isaias and Salvador make their way into the house as Hilario continues to grieve his now deceased truck.

A couple of thousand miles north, a dozen U.S. military tank operators groan in unison as they get direct orders from their superior: “Abort mission, everybody! We can’t afford to make ourselves look like fools any longer! Fall back; I’ve come up with a better plan to take care of this situation, over.” Genreral Spoon smirks as he walks the desolate halls of the White House. “I won’t fail you this time Mr. President, mark my words.” His steps echo throughout the lonely halls.