In September of 2015, the U.S. Justice System declared the NFL’s disciplary efforts were in violation of due process laws. In the wake of this historic decision, the league found itself unable to enforce discipline amongst its players. The NFL attempted to force all disciplinary procedures to be settled through arbitration, and subsequently the players union demanded a new collective bargaining agreement and refused to cooperate with any of Roger Goodell’s rulings. The result: chaos.
EXT. DOWNTOWN DETROIT – NIGHT
Open over a backdrop of urban decay, followed by a montage of criminals committing escalating acts of violence upon each other. Finally focus in on a group of NFL players gleefully engaged in mayhem in the city streets.
GREG HARDY: [sets abandoned car on fire]
PACMAN JONES: [hits stripper in the face with beer bottle]
STEVE SMITH: [punches pregnant baby]
The players hear the approach of sirens.
PACMAN: Shit! It’s the NFL Disciplinary Committee!
HARDY: NFL Disciplinary Committee’s on strike, stupid!
A lone vehicle careens around the corner and pulls up in front of where the players are gathered.
[car door flies open]
RQBOCOP: OMAHA! ALERT ALERT BLUE FORTY-SIX OMAHA!
CHRIS BORLAND: [raises automatic rifle and points it at RQBOCOP]
RQBOCOP: THINK IT OVER, CREEP
CHRIS BORLAND: [realizes that concussions have rendered him unable to do that, retires quietly into the evening]
DARRIUS HEYWARD-BEY: [pulls pin on grenade to throw at RQBOCOP]
RQBOCOP: DROP IT – OH WAIT I SEE YOU ALREADY DID
DARRIUS HEYWARD-BEY: [explodes]
A speeding van races recklessly towards the melee. RQBOCOP fires at the vehicle – shattering its windshield – and then deftly steps aside. The vehicle crashes into a vat labeled “Toxic Waste”, which ruptures. A noxious liquid gushes into the vehicle, washing the occupant out of his seat and all the way through the back doors onto the pavement. Wheezing and groaning, the deformed monstrosity rises from the sludge and howls in agony.
MATT SCHAUB: Help…me…
The hapless abomination shambles into a roadway, where it is run over by a speeding 6000-SUH.
NDAMUKONG SUH: So long, fuckface! [stomps on gas]
RQBOCOP: [shoots at him, but bullets fall short because NDAMUKONG SUH is already more than fifteen yards away]
PACMAN JONES: [charges at RQBOCOP with a sledgehammer]
RQBOCOP: [hurriedly fires in order to avoid taking contact]
PACMAN JONES: [is wounded, collapses] AHHHH!!!!! HEY MAN, WHY YOU SHOOT ME? You know, I was just being rebellion.
RQBOCOP: [grabs him and pulls a pill bottle from PACMAN’S jacket pocket] WHERE DID YOU GET THESE?
PACMAN JONES: Hey man, I got those at the scrip club.
RQBOCOP: NO DOCTOR WOULD PRESCRIBE THESE
PACMAN JONES: No, man, the scrip club! You know, where the titties at.
RQBOCOP: WHO IS THE SUPPLIER? WHERE DOES IT COME FROM?
PACMAN JONES: I don’t know, man. I don’t know!
RQBOCOP: [points gun at PACMAN’s crotch] LAST CHANCE, CREEP
PACMAN JONES: The pizza, man. It’s in the pizza!
[to be continued…]