Author's Note: Well, I'm back from the graves of writer's block in time for the 1st anniversary of my arrival to and I'm ready to write a new story; but, this time it's going to be about Team Fortress 2.

Dominique: WHAT? Why would you take the time to write such a thing instead of your previous crap? You don't even own the game at all!

Sanzo: To tell you the truth, Domino, Team Fortress 2 is (one of) the most popular games ever; besides, I came up with this idea when I thought about 4Kids...

Dominique: Oh goddamn it! This must be that same fricking stunt you pulled with Evangelion in November last year, isn't it?

Sanzo: Maybe; however, this will be more like a story instead this time. And about the I 'don't even own the game at all' thing, I'm aware of that but this is my first story about them so don't judge me like that fatass Bendict Arnold documentarian Michael Malone from the movie "An American Carol."

Michael Malone: I'M NOT THAT FAT YOU KNOW!

Dominique and Sanzo: OH, DO SHUT UP YOU SACK OF CRAP!

Michael: FUCK YOU!

Dominique: FUCK ME? THAT'S IT! (turns to Sanzo) Yo, Sanzo, can you lend me your gun?

Sanzo: Dude, give me one good reason why I should do that?

Dominique (scratches his head as he picks out a likely answer): Well, for starters, you're based off of Genjo Sanzo from Saiyuki since he carries a handgun around in the series.

Sanzo (disgruntled): Fine... (lends Dominique the pistol as he aims for Michael Malone and fires a shot at him in the arm)

Dominique (awed): Holy crap, this is more fun than chasing King Dedede around when my colleagues had to adjust to the new food budget.

Michael (groaning in pain as he holds on to his bleed arm unaware that Dominique is closing in): YOU SHOT ME; YOU SHOT ME RIGHT IN THE ARM! HOW-

Dominique (fires four more shots into Michael Malone which kills him): Phew, glad that's over; now, to the disclaimer!

Sanzo: Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve only. There; can we go now?

Dominique: Yes

It was a bright and sunny day in the city of New York; to start off delicately, the skyline was filled with tall buildings drenched in cool colors as it was made with industrial materials and orthogonal shapes. There was also a construction site for a unified tower to serve as a replacement of hope for the two towers crushed by hate and vengeance from the oversea (and within). As a leading global city, it exerted a powerful influence over global commerce, finance, media, culture, art, fashion, research, education, and entertainment. There was also a blanket of green somewhere in this dear city that was filled with lots of lively vegetation and hospital fauna called Central Park to its inhabitants. Even so, subways tracks, above and below, surrounded the city yet its people were welcome to come and go as they please. With the weather so clear and clean culture had just seems to be in the air, like part of the weather and it was; in fact, it was a nice place for people to go on vacation whenever the school year came to a close or when a jolly old guy in a red suit visited the chimneys of the neighborhoods he visited with the help of his trusty reindeer squadron. To them, happiness was around the corner for everyone of all kinds of people to see.

Despite the safely and lawfulness in town, there was one place when crimes are (still) being committed; but, its source didn't come from the alleys where homeless people lived. The source came from the Manhattan district named Sixth Avenue and among those buildings was one called 4Kids Entertainment, a licensing company known for profiting the localization of the Pacific regional programming. However, it had a dark secret for being apathetic to it complaining reviewers from across the country for the sake of promoting the language of the (self-proclaimed) greatest country in the world. Even worse, it deemed the young ones unworthy of literary reading and viewing foreign literature as being between life an death despite its good health. The offices around were so quiet like a sleeping mouse on the night of Christmas Eve, only the steps of a person can be heard as it move to the large room where the businessmen (and businesswomen alike) were in a meeting about how to bring money back to the staggering losses in consummation of entertainment.

That person was an overweight man who had blond hair on his head. He had a pair of sunglasses that protected his eyes as if they were reading glasses; additionally, he had an unpleasant look in his eyes to show that he was angry. He wore a suit and tie that were both sporting the color black but not as black as his own heart. He also had a set of bodyguards to protect him, one on each of his side. He was sitting in a chair in front of a refectory table that housed many of the people the comfort to sit down and discuss topics. If there were words to describe the situation, it spoke for itself to the point of narrative laziness (no matter how ironic it was).

"Ladies and gentlemen," the blond spoke up, "welcome to 4Kids Entertainment. I'm Alfred R. Kahn and it's 1:45 p.m. so it's time for our staff meeting. Its been nearly fifty years since the high-yellow elites took control of manufacturing cartoons as all of us hippy Americans protested the Vietnam war. We want their programs. Never forget the times we had wasted with mundane affairs! We have had a long and arduous struggle to achieve all of them for all citizens of our great nation. Isn't it not hard, people?"

"Well, Lord Kahn," answered one of the businessmen in the glasses nasally, "ever since 4Kids made its big hit in 1992, terrible things had happened over the course of history with the death threats and the hate mail and the abridged series over the internet and the fan arts and the fan fiction. Sir, maybe we should-" "SILENCE!" Kahn bellowed as he pulled a lever fiercely and within seconds the businessman's chair straighten up the moment a square hole was made, causing him to fall into it where he was wrapped around in the magma's flames and drowned in it shouting painful screams. Everyone near the seating area watched in shock and horror with the exception of the fat blond and the bodyguards as the former continued, "anyways, I saw three kids reading books and on of them is smiling. Okay, Miss Rainbow Smiley…tell me about the products you still have in development."

The businesswoman, Ms. Smiley, hesitantly stood up as she straightened out her long hair and said, "Lord Kahn, we believe that we must scrounge for other foreign programs from other parts of the world and make them more American; therefore, anyone who wants to see our version, well they would have to come to us and watch it." "What else," Kahn responded. The businesswoman then spoke, "if we're lucky by then, we could try and buy back rights to Kirby again; isn't that great?" Everyone remained silent as they also heard crickets strangely chirping in the daylight along with coyotes howling as they plan to capture an agile roadrunner. "Right," the blond fat man said ambivalently, "we could do that." Some of the people amongst them even whispered, "I bet everyone in America likes Kirby; there were even two brothers that had made a flash series off of it too. We should get some of that money!" "Heck, yeah!" shouted someone else as well.

Kahn then shouted, "personal, how are things going so far?" "Well, as you requested," a tall and rugged businessman said, "we are still in the process of getting the rights to Neon Genesis Evangelion thanks to that 'Shonen Sanzo' boy from ." "And you fired the guys who messed up on the voice over for Yubel in the Yu-Gi-Oh! GX episode where she duels Jaden Yuki the moment she swore?" the fat man asked. The tall man answered, "yes, my lord; we did." "I LOVE IT!" shouted Khan. "And the public relations, I assume?"

"Lord Kahn," another businesswoman in red spoke up, "although relations have been known as typical threats, our sources from the Millennium World division have picked up a strong sense of high risk, high reward, high intuition from another universe/dimension. Apparently, rumor has it that it's coming from a eight inch penguin-like Waddle Dee creature named Dominique Amino who has recently seen writing some fanfic about two twin bunny rabbit siblings losing a battle. We believe that this person is talking about Disney's 'Yin Yang Yo' show that got canceled over a year ago and knows about us as we speak now as of this moment." "Oh my," the fat man spoke sardonically, "what did we ever do to him except tick him off like that? What did we do?" The businesswoman in red said, "right now, he's on the computer as we speak writing a fanfic for a video game called Team Fortress 2; I think we should-"

"Get the rights to it?" Kahn shouted jovially, "why that's a brilliant idea!" The red businesswoman then spoke, "forgive me, my lord, but that's not 4Kids material; it's a M-rated video game that involves guns. It's not worth it to make it into a show." "I don't care if it's about death, hell, or even a hentai," the fat man spoke, "This video game is known throughout the entire world (except Antarctica and Japan). I won't let it escape such a big chance to increase our ratings and while we keep censoring and making edits with our "expensive" programs everything will be fine; besides, that penguin boy has given us a(nother) great idea. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

"We just want to know how are we able to do that," the lady said. Kahn responded, "We'll just change the format and make it less violent than the German format to the point it's longer even violent anymore, like we did with One Piece, Sonic X, and Tokyo Mew Mew." "I still think it's a bad idea, milord," she countered, "we could eventually lose the right to it like we did with One Piece and Tokyo Mew Mew for screwing it up so much so…" "I said everything will be fine, goddamn it!" shouted the blond man, " don't remind me of those shows." The red businesswoman paused for a short moment and spoke up again, "sir, I think you should reconsider it." "SILENCE!" bellowed Kahn, "do you want to join you friend, Sheldon in the flames of doom?" "No, milord," she answered fearfully. Her boss then said, "Then, please calm down…"

Meanwhile, somewhere out there in the western seaboard lay an environment filled with wooden buildings drenched in warm colors with its natural materials and angular shapes. There were also some mine cart tracks laying about above the barren soil as well signifying that it belonged to a western town. There were crickets chirping about, wind blowing through the low pass areas and some minor wood creaking; however, the tranquility was shattered by the sounds of malevolent gunfire in the around.

The gunfire originated from the people running amok leaving behind a trail of blood in the process; was it a war battle going on? Yes, it was a battle but not a war battle going on; apparently, it was between two groups: those dressed in red and the others dressed in blue. Two factions, both alike in dignity have shared a dark secret stemmed from an ancient mutinous grudge staining civil hands with such a cherry ooze. Each of those rebellious armed forces had the need to quench the fire of their pernicious anger with veins spewing purple at the texture of their own mistemper'd weapons. One of them belonged to a giant firearm work of art called a minigun that had weighed up to one hundred and fifty kilograms of sheer destructive power. It was capable of showing a greater rate of fire than any weapon on the planet, especially at close range where it could reduce anyone and anything to shreds in seconds; but, only a few were chosen to operate it and it already had one.

The operator in question was a giant man who was tall and fat like a (shaven) bear who sported a sneering pair of blue eyes. The only the sign of hair was located on the bottom of his face where it stretched from ear to ear like the grin on his very face which means his is otherwise bald. He wore a red t-shirt above his white undershirt to hide the man's physical dark side; furthermore, the man wore a black bulletproof vest that housed ammunition belts on his chest. A pair of grayish-brown slacks was wore on the man's strangely small legs in proportion to his arms that has given him a much slower pace compared to a small snail. The black shoes on his feet pounded the barren soil in a shaking and firm manner.

Another man was also accompanying him and he was a lot (more or less) thinner than him. Unlike the fat one, he had jet black hair but little sign of facial hair at all. The thin man also had blue eyes yet they were protected by tea shaded eyewear; however, he had also shared a malevolent stare the other man had before him. A white lab coat was draped over the thin man's torso along with a red tie and undershirt from beneath only buttoning the upper body as it revealed his dark brown khakis. His hands were wrapped in a rubbery cherry grip. The thin man also wore the same kind of footwear his fatter companion had on his very own two feet. A strange black strapped backpack was made out of two red cylinder tanks that sandwiched the med kit in between as it combined itself with the utility belt with contents only used by that very man with the glasses; to make things (even) stranger, it was holding a weapon that had the nozzle of a fire hose utilized to put out the blazes of turmoil only to shoot out an friendly aura at his comrade.

The fat man carried the massive gun out into the blistering sunlight with only the thin doctor following close behind. He revved up his weapon as the reedy friend latched the strange healing gun onto him. The bald man looked ahead at the battlefield he would soon tear apart with bullets. The mine track turned to the left and into a tunnel built into the rocky hills as had been informed that his allies were already on the other side the tunnel, and it was no longer the most direct route to them. Straight ahead was a slight incline, which ended with a small cliff edge that brought anybody going over it back to the track again along with a nook built into the side of the 10 foot high cliff, and that was the location of those fellow teammates of his currently being pinned down by the boys.

With his thin comrade in tow, he charged forward and fired the minigun. The nearest red shirt, a man in a panama hat with a sniper rifle, was shot in the head and fell down the roof of a cabin he once stood on and down near a sentry being repaired by it builder in a hard hat. The fat man turned his weapon on the four blue men from below the cliff including one in a steel helmet that carried a rocket launcher, another fat man like him (only in blue), another sniper who was blown to pieces, and another man in a hard hat as they all fell down into ravine. The red fat men continued onwards, opening up on a person in a blue asbestos-lined suit with a blazing makeshift flamethrower. The flamethrower-wielding being fell just as easily as the three other men before him in the ravine and the others in blue that would come after him.

Only one man in blue caught the attention of the two men and it was a young adolescent boy who was just as thin as the man in glasses. A grayish-black baseball cap and a headset altogether rested on his flat head. A pair of dog tags were wrapped around his neck; true to his uniform style, he donned a blue T-shirt which was accompanying a sling bag from behind him. He also had a belt on himself to keep his pants up while he wore black sneakers on his feet. If that wasn't merely dangerous enough, the boy was wielding a metallic baseball bat in his swinging grip; to make matters even worse for the two, the adolescent was standing on a control point that glowed a red light.

The grown men knew that it was their job to keep this control point out of the grips of these people in blue within less of a few minutes knowing full well that by doing so their enemies would be one step closer to defeating them; besides, the teenager's special ability gave them a warning to prevent it before the deadline extended. "Vell, Vell, Vell, Vhat do ve have here," the thin man in glasses finally spoke up with a clear German voice, "Little boy BLU Bruderchen. Vhatever shall we do?" "Ooh, Ooh, I know!" the fat one gleefully shouted, "Charge me!" "Vith pleasure," the thin man listened as the beam of his weapon focused on his fatter comrade and started glowing a red glare; soon, both men gave off an ominous crimson glow with the bald guy speaking, "is good time to run, baby!" The fat man in red then spun his minigun around at the blue teenager who switched out his steel bat and exchanged it for a sawed off shotgun as he started strafing around to avoid these two hundred dollar custom-tooled cartridge stored super caliber bullets. The teen returned fire from his scattergun fiercely at the fat man yet not even a single pellet has brought the red one any harm at all whatsoever; in a even strange and sardonic twist of fate, the boy tripped on a rock and fell down the ravine with the people the fat one had slain whom unlike them survived despite breaking his arm.

"Can you feel ze Schadenfreude?" the thin man in glasses sarcastically spoke sadistically as he saw the misfortune of the little boy in blue in pain. The fat man jumped down feet first and switched out his minigun with a gray shotgun where he started spinning it around his large finger then ending it with sliding the barrel across his neck as if he was attempting to slit his own throat with a knife in order to kill himself despite the fact that he was merely threatening the boy with death as he said to him grimly, "You, yes you; you are dead!" "H-h-hey, let's just calm down here! You listening? J-j-just..." the now disarmed boy pleaded as the big man put up his shotgun away and started to pick up the boy and prepared to throw him aside, "OH GOD; OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GO-" But it was too late for that he was thrown aside by the man in red towards the rocky cliffside wall; as a result, a thud was formed and the boy in blue had his torso bent like a steel pipe with blood dripping from the resulting cut as well as from the mouth as he gurgled and spat it out saying, "my blood; h-he took out all my blood! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!" The fat one took his shotgun back out again and cocked it as started to edge towards the bleeding boy preparing to take a shot at close quartered range towards the frightened teen as he begged, "I regret everything! I regret everything I've ever done!" Unfortunately for him, the gray shotgun was planted in his mouth by the beastly tormentor where he then pulled the trigger leading to the boy's head exploding, blood splattering over the base of the rocky cliff and on the man's vest and ammo belt leaving nothing but a grisly ruby fountain spurted out of the cadaver's neck stump.

Soon the job was nearly done as a mysterious, disembodied voice blurted out, "mission ends in ten seconds!" The fat man, satisfied, retreated and went towards a nearby ladder where he started climbing upward to the top of the small cliff; at first, it started out easy for him considering his size and stature gave him a guaranteed advantage to do so but he struggled a bit near the end and gloved hand had been reached out from the man in glasses to help his comrade up from that very ravine he jumped down from. The fat one tugged on it and had reached the top of the cliff back again; afterwards, a bell ranged along with a sounded message, "Victory..."

Some cheers were heard and so were the whistling as it signified that the battle was won; unfortunately, there was one place where celebration was rendered unimportant. Inside the room contained many things: a large set of screens with pictures of the environment outside, a rotating black chair, weird communications material, and a set of tall metal drawers. There only were two people, or better yet, two women in the room: one of them was skinny and elderly but active who ironically was smoking a cigarette and the other was more or less the same as the first female (except that the second one was younger, shorter, had glasses on her face, and didn't smoke at all). Based on the feelings in their minds, something was not going well at all.

"Um, pardon me, ma'am," the younger female squeaked as she sparked up a conversation with her older counterpart. Her superior then responded, "I'm assuming we have a new problem to deal with, Miss Pauling." "Well," the young one named Miss Pauling spoke, "I got off the phone a few hours earlier; it seems that somehow despite the success of certain operations, such as the War between Jane Doe and Tavish DeGroot (better yet known as BLU Soldier and RED Demoman respectively), we are nearing the borderlines of bankruptcy, Administrator." "But how is this possible?" the elder roared angrily as her voice nearly knocked the young one off her feet. Miss Pauling got back up again and started explaining to her superior, "Ever since we made so many patches and inventions to benefit the battlefields, we ended up with little money to go on, not to mention the Heavy Weapons Guy's minigun that brought us down by roughly seven hundred thousand dollars by each minute uses it, and those who idled." "I can't believe this!" the Administrator shouted, "my dear beloved (grand)mother -God rest her soul- scrounged they way to the top to gain control of this company courtesy of Zepheniah's brain defective, nitwit twin sons Blutarch and Redmond who fought against each other for everything they had split evenly between themselves to their last damn breath. Even so, mommy left it to me before she passed away and told me to keep the fight going on for generations to come and passed down to my other descendants as well; but, now it has come down to this: BANKRUPTCY!"

The Administrator slowly started to burst into tears as her assistant Miss Pauling scavenged the area quickly to find her superior some tissues to dry her watery eyes; as a result, the tall lady pulled one of them out and started to flush out her nostrils while her underling attempted to comfort her by saying, "However, there are some good news…" "What, we saved a bunch of car insurance by switching to Gecko?" the Administrator asked; however, Miss Pauling answered, "I got off the phone with Mr. Alfred Khan and he has requested us let him to buy the property from us so he can bail us all out and-" "What company is Mr. Khan from?" the relented Administrator asked. Her superior answered, "he's from 4Kids Entertainment…he expects us to give him an answer within one week." "What?" was one word that the Administrator shouted from her very mouth as it signified her resuming anger which she continued on, "Do you know what their fuddy-duddy company will do to our company with these child-friendly methods of theirs?" Miss Pauling then whispered with melancholy and apprehension, "I know: but, Mr. Khan did say they can do this on a trial basis for only three months to see how it goes. Do you think that we should go through this anyway, ma'am?" "We'll see how things turn out within a week, Miss Pauling; but, just for now until next week, we must wait," the Administrator spoke as she now regained her senses calmly, "you may go now, Miss Pauling." "Yes ma'am, as you wish," the young woman spoke as she left the room just as her superior ordered her to.

When Miss Pauling had finally left the room, the Administrator started thinking to herself about how she wishes to handle the impending bankruptcy and could possibly follow on afterwards. "So," the aged mastermind started, "the American economy has decided to fester and wither away like a deferred dream from the very early twentieth century. 4Kids must have been planning on this the whole time and it makes me sick; glad I was able to sleep with all those handsome men I have been with as a middle-aged woman even though I was already unable to bear children as a consequential result. I should host a meeting or two this evening with those bumbling buffoons they called themselves BLU first, then these raving rabble-rousers from RED afterwards. Once that the meetings are over, I will have Miss Pauling type up a statement for the teams as we concoct next week's mission to New York first thing tomorrow morning. There, one of (or should I say, both of the parties) the two parties will meet up with this Alfred Khan and talk to him as he discusses the new changes among themselves. Until then, it is time for lunch…"

Author's Note: Well that was short; but, don't worry because this is just the beginning (of the end). After all, this is my first Team Fortress 2 story so reviews (of any kind) are welcome; until then, I going to finish up on my other stories so goodbye!