Saved By Scientology

Title: Robotech: Alpha Awakens
Scene: The Scientology Hour Exchange – Somewhere in Nevada Desert, near a dry salt lake bed

[INT. WHITE FUTURIST HANGAR – DAY]

A matte silver ALPHA FIGHTER gleams under LED skylights. It’s angular, alien yet human, like a stealth jet bred with a Transformer. Alongside, TOM CRUISE in a flight suit examines it like it’s Excalibur. Beside him stands JOE JUKIC—hair tied back, coffee in one hand, AI tablet in the other. Their dog, GOODBOY JUKIC, a golden retriever with a space suit collar, lies at their feet, tail wagging as it watches a hovering AI drone that plays with it like a laser pointer.

JOE JUKIC:
Tom, this isn’t just a test flight. The AI isn’t running off NASA code. It’s our code—woken by the Word, baptized in the Scientology Hour Exchange.

TOM CRUISE (smirking):
You mean that online server you hijacked from Sea Org training?

JOE (dead serious):
Upgraded. Their ‘Bridge to Total Freedom’ routines—they’re perfect for neural logic recursion. The fighter can learn like a thetan—across lifetimes.

TOM:
So it remembers every past pilot?

JOE:
It remembers you. From Top Gun. From Oblivion. From when you first imagined flying. This thing believes in you.

Goodboy barks twice, wagging his tail. The drone buzzes away.

TOM (to Goodboy):
He gets it. He always does.

JOE:
I tuned the neural trust model using Goodboy’s loyalty scans. It responds to your voiceprint—emotional sincerity only. No mask, no lies. If you’re not fully you, it won’t fly.

TOM (nodding):
Like L. Ron said—‘only the cleared soul can navigate the stars.’

JOE (grinning):
Exactly. Except now, we’re flying into the stars... and bringing weapons.

[INT. COCKPIT – MOMENTS LATER]

Tom straps in. The console flickers alive with a golden glow. Symbols flash—half-Galactic Standard, half Scientology glyphs. The ship hums as if it’s purring. Then a voice—feminine, calm, and oddly familiar—speaks:

ALPHA AI (V.O.):
“Welcome back, Tom. You are cleared for transcendence.”

TOM:
Let’s see what this bird can do.

[EXT. DESERT LAUNCH STRIP – CONTINUOUS]

The Alpha Fighter explodes into motion—no sound, no jet exhaust, just a dimensional blink. It’s GONE. Moments later, it REAPPEARS mid-air, shimmering, folding space. Tom laughs inside the cockpit like a child meeting God.

[BACK IN THE HANGAR]

Joe watches a screen—real-time flight data streams in impossible equations. Goodboy howls like he’s hearing the voice of something ancient coming back online.

JOE (whispering):
We didn’t build a fighter.
We built faith.
And gave it wings.