Trust Me, I Know What I’m Doing

 

INT. ABANDONED R.P.D. HALLWAY – NIGHT

Moonlight slices through broken windows. Dust hangs in the air. The hallway is silent — until heavy footsteps echo.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(enters frame, revolver drawn)
“Alright, whoever’s been stomping around like a linebacker in a trench coat — show yourself. I’m in no mood for subtlety.”

A towering figure steps into view. MR. X looms, expressionless.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(squints)
“Let me guess. You’re the strong, silent type. Great. I hate those.”

He raises his revolver, aiming squarely at Mr. X’s chest.

SLEDGE HAMMER
“Now, I could ask you to surrender. I could read you your rights. But let’s be honest — you don’t look like a man who respects punctuation.”

Mr. X takes a slow step forward.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(tightens grip)
“Easy, Frankenstein. I’ve got six rounds and a very short temper.”

Beat. Mr. X clenches his fist.

SLEDGE HAMMER
(grins)
“Trust me... I know what I’m doing.”

The camera holds on the standoff — tension thick, silence louder than words.

FADE TO BLACK.

 

 

MAXWELL SMART MEETS DR. NO

Location: Dr. No’s underground lair — a sleek, sterile dining chamber lit like a villain’s dental office.

INT. DR. NO’S DINING HALL – NIGHT
Maxwell Smart is escorted in by two guards wearing radiation badges and expressions of deep regret. Max walks with the stiff confidence of a man who has no idea where he is but refuses to admit it.

He stops at the long dining table, sees the elaborate place setting, and immediately picks up the wrong fork.

MAX
Ah. The shrimp fork. A classic intimidation tactic.

A calm, resonant voice echoes from behind him.

DR. NO (O.S.)
I assure you, Mr. Smart… the cutlery is not meant to intimidate.

Max spins around, nearly tripping over his own chair.

Dr. No enters with the slow, theatrical precision of a man who practices his entrances. His metal hands gleam under the lights.

MAX
Dr. No, I presume. Or should I say… Dr. Negative.

DR. NO
You should not.

Max nods, as if he expected that.

MAX
How about… Dr. Maybe?

Dr. No stares at him, unblinking.

DR. NO
Sit.

Max sits. The chair immediately sinks three inches lower than expected. He pretends this was intentional.

Dr. No takes his seat at the opposite end of the table. A servant pours wine. Max swirls his glass, sniffs it, and then gargles it like mouthwash.

Dr. No’s eye twitches.

DR. NO
You are not at all what I anticipated from CONTROL.

MAX
That’s what they all say. Usually right before I foil their evil plan.

DR. NO
You believe you can foil my plan?

MAX
Would you believe… delay it slightly?

Dr. No steeples his metal fingers, producing a faint metallic clink.

DR. NO
My work is beyond your comprehension. I am on the verge of altering the balance of global power.

MAX
Funny. I once altered the balance of global power by accidentally unplugging a vending machine.

Dr. No blinks. Twice.

DR. NO
Tell me, Mr. Smart… how did you find my island?

MAX
Oh, that was easy. I followed the suspicious radio signals, the trail of missing scientists, and the giant “KEEP OUT OR ELSE” sign on the beach.

DR. NO
That sign was meant to deter intruders.

MAX
Well, it worked on everyone except me.

Dr. No leans forward.

DR. NO
You are either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.

MAX
I get that a lot.

Dr. No rises, pacing with slow, deliberate steps.

DR. NO
You meddle in forces you cannot understand. My reactor is a masterpiece of precision. One wrong move could destroy us all.

Max nods solemnly.

MAX
Then it’s a good thing I’m known for my precision.

He immediately knocks over his water glass.

MAX
That was a test. You passed.

Dr. No closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

DR. NO
You could be useful, Mr. Smart. Join me. I could use a man with your… unpredictability.

MAX
Sorry, I’m loyal to CONTROL. And also I don’t work well with people who have metal hands. They leave fingerprints on everything.

DR. NO
I do not leave fingerprints.

MAX
See? Already a problem.


Dr. No slams his metal hand on the table — a loud, echoing CLANG.

DR. NO
Enough! You will not leave this island alive.

Max stands, adjusting his tie with exaggerated confidence.

MAX
Would you believe… I already left?

DR. NO
No.

MAX
Would you believe… I’m leaving right now?

DR. NO
Also no.

MAX
Would you believe… I’m thinking about leaving?

Dr. No gestures to the guards.

DR. NO
Take him to the reactor chamber. I want him to see the brilliance of my work… before it destroys him.

Max is escorted out.

He turns back to Dr. No.

MAX
Just so you know — I’m not afraid. I’ve faced KAOS agents, double agents, triple agents, and once a very angry poodle.

Dr. No watches him go, baffled.

DR. NO
How has this man survived this long?

Fade out.

“The Park, The Pterodactyl, and The Panic Attack”

 “The Park, The Pterodactyl, and The Panic Attack”

EXT. ROCK CLIMBING PARK – MORNING
Jerry and George stand at the base of the faux‑mountain, staring up at the maze of climbing walls, overhangs, and the giant dusty Pterodactyl perched at the summit.

GEORGE
Look at this! Look at this monstrosity! Who builds a mountain out of… whatever this is? Plastic? Foam? Regret?

JERRY
It’s a climbing park, George. People climb it. For fun.

GEORGE
Fun? FUN? I don’t climb things, Jerry! I barely climb stairs! And now I’m supposed to scale Mount Ptero‑whatever with a water gun strapped to my back like some kind of janitorial Spider‑Man?

JERRY
You’re not climbing it. You’re walking up it. There’s a difference.

GEORGE
Oh, yes, yes, a big difference. One is climbing. The other is climbing but slower.
Jerry starts spraying the lower wall, dust peeling off in satisfying sheets.


JERRY
You know, this isn’t so bad. Nice breeze. Good visibility. Plenty of footholds.

GEORGE
Footholds? FOOTHOLDS?! Jerry, I don’t trust anything with “hold” in the name. Handholds, footholds, strongholds—none of them have ever held anything for me!


The Pterodactyl Problem
They look up at the summit where the giant Pterodactyl looms.

JERRY
We should probably clean the Pterodactyl first. There’s an achievement for it.

GEORGE
Oh, great. Great. Now we’re doing achievements. I can’t achieve a stable relationship, but sure, let’s achieve cleaning a prehistoric lawn ornament.

JERRY
It’s not prehistoric. It’s fiberglass.

GEORGE
Fiberglass, prehistoric—either way, it’s judging me.



The Climbing Holds Crisis

George attempts to clean a cluster of tiny climbing holds. He sprays one, then another, then another…

GEORGE
Why are there so many of these?! Who needs this many? What are they training for, Jerry? A ninja competition? A heist? The Olympics of finger strength?!

JERRY
You know, you could try moving your arm instead of screaming at the wall.

GEORGE
Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the wall had feelings. “Oh no, George yelled at me, now I’ll never be clean!”

He sprays aggressively. The water ricochets and hits him in the face.

GEORGE
I’m being attacked! The wall is attacking me!

JERRY
It’s water, George.

GEORGE
Water can be aggressive, Jerry! Have you ever been in a shower with bad pressure? It’s like being pelted by angry rain!


The Summit Struggle
They reach the top. The Pterodactyl towers over them.

GEORGE
Look at this thing! Why is it so big? Why does it look like it knows my secrets?

JERRY
Just clean under the wings.

GEORGE
Under the wings?! UNDER?! Jerry, I can’t even get under my own bed without emotional support!

George crouches, sprays upward, and immediately gets blasted with falling grime.

GEORGE
I’m being punished! The dinosaur is punishing me!

JERRY
It’s not a dinosaur.

GEORGE
IT’S CLOSE ENOUGH, JERRY!


The Final Reveal

They finish the job. The park gleams. The Pterodactyl sparkles heroically.

GEORGE
Well… it does look nice.

JERRY
See? Wasn’t so bad.

GEORGE
Oh, no, it was bad. It was very bad. But at least now I can say I survived a mountain, a dinosaur, and a personal crisis before lunch.

JERRY
That’s what we call “professional growth.”

GEORGE
I call it “hazard pay.” Do we get hazard pay?

JERRY
No.

GEORGE
Then I’m filing a complaint.

He slips slightly on a clean rock.

GEORGE
And THAT is Exhibit A!

STARFLEET JUDGE ADVOCATE GENERAL v. KATHRYN JANEWAY

 A cavernous Starfleet courtroom. Admirals line the bench like a flock of judgmental owls. Janeway sits calmly, sipping coffee as though this is a routine staff meeting.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain Janeway, you stand accused of… well… gestures to a stack of padds taller than a warp core …all of this.

JANEWAY
If you’d like, Admiral, I can summarize. It’ll save us all time.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Please don’t.

Charge #1: “You Blew Up the Caretaker Array”

PROSECUTOR
Captain, you destroyed the only known way home.

JANEWAY
It was either that or let the Kazon get it.

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV
And what would the Kazon have done with it?

JANEWAY
(Raises eyebrow)
Have you met the Kazon?

The admirals murmur. One shudders.

Charge #2: “You Recruited a Maquis Crew”

PROSECUTOR
You integrated known terrorists into Starfleet ranks.

JANEWAY
They were very polite terrorists.

CHAKOTAY (from the gallery)
We prefer “enthusiastic dissenters.”

TUVOK
Their performance was adequate.

CHAKOTAY
Adequate? I saved your life twelve times!

TUVOK
Thirteen. I keep a list.

Charge #3: “Temporal Violations… All of Them”

A holographic screen lights up with a dizzying montage of time loops, paradoxes, and Janeway shooting her own future self.

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain… you broke time.

JANEWAY
In my defense, time started it.

PROSECUTOR
You created a temporal paradox so severe the Department of Temporal Investigations had to invent new paperwork.

JANEWAY
You’re welcome.

Charge #4: “You Made an Alliance with the Borg”

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV
You allied with the Borg Collective. The Borg. The Federation’s greatest enemy.

JANEWAY
They were having a bad week.

SEVEN OF NINE (deadpan)
The Collective found her… persuasive.

ADMIRAL PARIS
You also personally antagonized the Borg Queen.

JANEWAY
She started it.

SEVEN
This is accurate.

Charge #5: “You Turned Your Crew Into Salamanders”

A holo-image of two giant amphibians appears. The courtroom gasps.

PROSECUTOR
Captain… you and Lieutenant Paris evolved into… checks padd …giant space salamanders and had offspring.

JANEWAY
It was a stressful week.

ADMIRAL PARIS
(leans forward)
Did you at least send child support?

JANEWAY
They’re salamanders, Admiral. They don’t have a college fund.

Charge #6: “You Let the Doctor Become a Novelist”

PROSECUTOR
You allowed your Emergency Medical Hologram to write a tell‑all novel defaming the crew.

JANEWAY
It was either that or let him sing opera again.

The courtroom nods in grim understanding.

Charge #7: “You Brought Voyager Home Using a Time‑Traveling Future Version of Yourself”

ADMIRAL PARIS
You violated temporal law, commandeered a future starship, and detonated a Borg transwarp hub.

JANEWAY
Yes.

ADMIRAL PARIS
…Anything to say in your defense?

JANEWAY
(Smiles)
You’re welcome.

Final Verdict

The admirals huddle. Whispering. Arguing. One faints. Finally:

ADMIRAL PARIS
Captain Janeway… after reviewing your actions, your impossible circumstances, and the fact that you somehow returned with your ship, your crew, and a Borg…
We find you…

ALL ADMIRALS
…Promoted.

JANEWAY
(Raises coffee mug)
I had a feeling.

Facegate

 “FACEGATE”

INT. SHEPARD’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
The party is loud. JACK pushes through the crowd with a bottle of Serrice Ice. WREX follows, amused and already half‑buzzed.

JACK
(raising her voice)
Shepard! Hey! We gotta talk. Grunt just yelled something across the room, and I need answers.

WREX
He said Tali showed you her face. Her real face. No visor. No filters. The actual thing.

Shepard freezes mid‑sip. Across the room, TALI stiffens like someone just unplugged her suit.

SHEPARD
…Grunt needs a muzzle.

WREX
So it’s true! I knew it! I wanna see it.

JACK
Yeah, me too. I’ve earned this. I’ve been shot, stabbed, set on fire—show me the damn face.

Tali tries to quietly back out of the room. She immediately bumps into GARRUS, who was calibrating the snack table.

GARRUS
Whoa—Tali? You okay?

TALI
No. Shepard told one person. One! And now the krogan and the tattooed maniac want a viewing.

JACK
Hey! I’m not a maniac. I’m a professional maniac.

WREX
And I’m just curious. Quarians are mysterious. Like pyjaks that can build starships.

TALI
We are not pyjaks!

LIARA drifts over. JAVIK appears because he senses “foolishness.” JOKER limps in with a drink.

JOKER
Okay, what’s happening? And is it something I can mock?

SHEPARD
Everyone relax. Go back to partying.

WREX
Not until I see the face.

JACK
Same. I wanna know if she’s got mandibles.

TALI
I DO NOT HAVE MANDIBLES!

Shepard steps between them.

SHEPARD
Tali showed me her face because she trusted me. It was private. Personal.

JACK
So… like tits?

SHEPARD
JACK.

WREX
If it’s that big a deal, we can make it a ritual. Krogan do face‑showing rites.

TALI
You absolutely do not!

WREX
We could start.

GARRUS
Look, Tali doesn’t have to show her face. It’s her choice.
(beat)
But if she did, hypothetically, I’d like to see it too.

TALI
GARRUS!

GARRUS
Scientific curiosity!

Jack leans in, grinning.

JACK
C’mon, Tali. We’re your crew. Your messed‑up, emotionally stunted, occasionally violent family. Let us see the mug.


Tali throws her hands up.

TALI
Fine! FINE! But only if Shepard says it’s okay.

Everyone turns to Shepard like she’s about to choose a dialogue wheel option that determines the fate of the galaxy.

SHEPARD
Tali… it’s your face. Your call.

Tali breathes, nods.

TALI
Then the answer is no. Absolutely no. Not happening.
(beat)
Unless everyone here agrees to never mention this again.

Wrex thinks, then grins.

WREX
Deal.
But only if you let me take a picture of Shepard’s face when she tries my new krogan liquor.

SHEPARD
Wait—what?

JACK
Oh, hell yes. That’s fair.

TALI
…Acceptable.

If the World Baseball Classic Existed in the 90s...

Bit of a thought experiment, but here would be the starting line up and starting pitcher & closer for a World Baseball Classic team if it existed in the 1990s

1. Kenny Lofton — CF (L) • Elite OBP/SLG combo in his early‑90s peak • Game‑breaking speed sets the table • Gold‑glove defense in center 

2. Chuck Knoblauch — 2B (R) • High OBP, line‑drive machine • Perfect “bridge” hitter who keeps the pressure on • Great hit‑and‑run partner with Lofton 

3. Barry Bonds — LF (L) • The most complete hitter in baseball by 1990–94 • OBP monster, 30–40 HR power, elite baserunning • Forces pitchers to work from the stretch early 

4. Mike Piazza — C (R) • Best pure right‑handed hitter of the era • Protects Bonds, punishes pitchers who pitch around him • Massive gap and HR power 

5. Larry Walker — RF (L) • Balanced power, average, and athleticism • Lefty who can still hit lefties • Extends the inning behind Piazza 

6. Tony Gwynn — DH (L) • Contact king, .350+ threat • Perfect “reset” hitter who prevents strikeout clusters • Turns the lineup over with quality ABs 

7. Barry Larkin — SS (R) • MVP‑caliber shortstop with power/speed blend • Dangerous lower‑order bat who lengthens the lineup • Elite defense keeps run prevention strong 

8. Mark Grace — 1B (L) • High‑contact, high‑OBP, doubles machine • Ideal 8‑spot hitter who keeps innings alive • Lefty balance before the 9‑hole 

9. Jeff Cirillo — 3B (R) • High‑average, low‑K, underrated OBP • A “second leadoff” hitter who feeds Lofton • Strong glove at third 

SP: Gred Maddux - Run prevention king in a pre‑steroid‑explosion environment - Ground‑ball machine who pairs perfectly with Larkin/Knoblauch/Cirillo - Low walk rate keeps games clean 

CL: Dennis Eckersley - Ridiculous control - Sub‑1.00 WHIP for multiple seasons - Strikeout-to-walk ratio unmatched

Deep Space Nine Reactions: The Maquis, Part II