Author's Note: Greeting and salutations once again, readers; 'tis I, PenGator3, ready, willing, and able to give you chapter fourteen of 4Kids Does Team Fortress. Before we even begin however, I would like to apologize for not starting off the previous chapter with an author's note like we usually do; of course, I will be honest that yes this is not he first time it had been done.
Sanzo (angry): I should know; you had me on there all by myself last time and that was just a shitload of pretentious exposition inside every paragraph.
Dominique (growls back): Hey, at least all that's been done was showing not telling, am I right?! Not to mention, this story was put on hold for far too long and we have an obligation to work on it, just as we've done for other stories too.
Sanzo: Because you lack discipline, that's why...!
Dominique (seething): You know, can we at least focus on this chapter now?! I'm about to reach my limit!
Sanzo (storms off): Whatever, just get on with it, will ya?!
For what it was worth, it was indeed true that the sky was indeed the limit since that the very earth within this ugly yet beautiful world had now turned itself into a warzone thanks to the mercenaries themselves who have started taking their fighting to the next level thereof. The big blue skies were otherwise a vast and magnificent place of refuge for all that were capable of channeling the rudimentary ability better known as flight, once a natural aspect belonging to many birds had now been also shared by the humans thanks to both ingenuity and desire combined together. As a matter of fact, this was by far the very tipping point where the actionable adventure overall was now taking place at this moment in time, currently free from the massive pull of gravity that has entangled many inhabitants into the soils of this little big planet thereof.
In this case, a winged machine was now flying over the voluminous puffy white clouds that have hovered over the solid ground; it was just like one the jets that had been fighting the mercenaries albeit that it was unarmed and lacked any option that would have granted stationary steadiness. Although that it was white with a baby blue stripe, the external appearance was not of any relevant concern; instead, what is of relevance was the fact that there were people commuting inside of it: aside from the pilot, the passengers are Rainbow Smiley and Alfred R. Khan themselves. Little is known about the whole thing, but judging from the current mobility of their collective position, they were no longer in Big Apple that was known as the fair New York City, let alone 4Kids Entertainment itself. Still, it doesn't rule out the fact that they were making their next move seeing that being airborne would make them constricted to the comfort of any seating whatsoever. One thing was simply clear: the direction that they were going in was screaming "westward ho!" rather than "eastward ho!" and the speed was blistering into the triple digit numerals. Needless to say, whatever was going on was anything but good at this very moment; after all, the main conflict itself was planted firmly on the solid earth, nothing more and nothing less.
Speaking of its passengers, the woman stood up inside the plane pouring some fruit into the man's glass as the latter was focusing his eyes onto the big screen: within the very monitor was the Administrator herself in tow, another female other that the former who was here in the flesh. "Ah, Helen… it seems that we have met once more, haven't we?" he had finally started to speak, slowly sipping from the small schooner with a somewhat smug smile shown on his very surface. The person that he had referred to by name was not impressed by his calm and collected demeanor and had responded back, "cut the formalities here, Kahn… we all know why you are coming here today so what the Hell have you even mustered up that gave out this crass decision in mind?" "Please be patient, kind Madame; it's bad enough that your age is shown but the last thing we need is for you to go out like this, am I right?" Alfred had spoken up, swirling the citric compound around unfazed, "after all, you only live once so it would be wise to take care of yourself." "You ought to be taking care of yourself because you're an impudent fool if you think you have a chance of taking over this industry!" the Administrator has spat out in anger towards what the businessman had just said to the former without even a care in the blue and pure world called Earth. As Rainbow Smiley, poured yet another round of cordial into the slender glassware, he had said again to Helen, "just save your strength for the luncheon when I get here; besides, it's not like I would want to be taking over all of your resources but it would be best that I meet you in person though." "Mr. Kahn, I will indeed assure you that we will meet again alright yet it will be very private so that no one will know where we are…" the Administrator retorted grimly, "you know where you will be stopping at, wouldn't you agree?" "Indeed…" was all that that Alfred uttered and soon the screen cut to black abruptly, no more of this very Helen being on screen; in addition, the monitor retracted upward and retreated into the very ceiling that it'd whence came.
Once again, the silence had made its way back to where it was now dominated by the solitary presence of both himself and his feminine subordinate just like moments before the conversation. After watching her employer down yet another glass of fruit juice, she had soon unloaded him a corresponding round and said, "so what are we going to now once we take over the Industries?" "It's rather simple, Miss Smiley: once we get ahold of her mercenaries, we will make a show off of it and produce all sorts of merchandise…" Alfred began as he put the glass down, "the way I see these children would go crazy over action figures, clothes, and toys for these boys and girls; of course, we would need to add some women to the roster so that these blasted feminists will get off our backs." "But aren't those men under the control of the same woman?" the businesswoman had asked in confused wonder. Turning around to face her sternly, the heavyset man had removed his glasses and answered instantly, "not until we seize the rights to their contracts that is one way or another: she can either turn the rights over me at the luncheon or lose it all to the bank in less than a week from now; one way or another, they will work for the lot of us." "How do you know they will comply…?" she spoke confidently while looking into his naked eyes. Suddenly dropping his frown into a smile, Alfred had answered abruptly without a care in the world, "let's just say that we have a helping hand or two that's been guiding us to having this plan come to fruition…"
Needless to say though, with a scheme such as this, it would perhaps seem that there is nothing stopping the solid line from going off the rails as of this moment; while that many details are unknown aside from a select few, even the collective effort of these otherwise brazen men would be rendered useless in some form and fashion.
Meanwhile, back at the city of Porkbelly where the very maelstrom had just originated from, the twin redheads, Susan and Mary were basically acting calm on the outside but thinking all of the time. Now it seems that with their poor brother Johnny now out of the way, they're were going to be approached by some significant handicaps, telling the girls what they should do and what not to do and their pet canine Dukey being the collective mindless self–indulgence born from the very same ingenuity. Of course, even they had all easily agreed that thinking was for the stupid ones and that the clever ones use inspiration and whatever sent from Heaven for now it was the lovely music of crackling sparks and metallic whirring that came to their visualizing at what to do with indispensable amount of both time and energy on their hands.
The rather large monitor that had represented their shared laboratory was now turned on as it had started to display the figure of Hank Anchorman himself in his signature suit and tie combo with a small microphone in the very tightened grip. "Hank Anchorman here and we have entered the second hour after the violent battle has taken place earlier this morning!" the brunette newscaster had introduced himself onscreen having now regained his calm and collected composure once again, "Following the attack on the school bus outbound from Porkbelly Junior High, a police roadblock was set up by State Troopers in order to bring the gunmen down only for the plan to fall apart despite the bravery of the men and women who had confronted them. To prevent any further casualties from escalating, martial law has declared for the entire state of California until further notice; everyone is to remain in their homes as of this moment. After giving his State of the Address the mayor alongside with others will be given an armed military escort to meet with State Governor Arnold Schwarzengerman on how to deal with this situation at hand in restoring order. For the time being, any and all means of civilian transportation in and out of the city of Porkbelly have now been suspended included planes, trains, and tour buses. Concerning the ensuing chaos that has been experienced, Sky Brigade's own Air Marshal Vidan had only this to say about the situation at hand."
At this moment in time, a different man had appeared and like almost every other individual in the city of Porkbelly and perhaps out of it, he wore an apricot tinted flesh; in fact, he was just like the army general all but his rather choice of garments that were the shades of seashores and skies. While that this man also had a cap with a visor sticking out of it, rather than a golden eagle being placed above it all, there was instead a brass plated albatross; unlike the general, he had a tuft of dark blue hair eddying downward to his earlobes. His nose was pointing out forward from his very face and it was also straight like an arrow to project such rigid posture, poise, and grace as proof of the uniform's significance and importance alike altogether. The male's chin was round but it possessed a flushed circumference, an otherwise sharp comparing to Hank Anchorman himself. The padding on his matching jacket was rife with stars with three on each side resting on his shoulders while the cufflinks were made of silver unlike the eagle on the general's hat. There were also some tetragonal laurels accumulating in a cluster on the upper left side of his torso proof of the many immeasurable tales of progress that all had his name on it, from humble beginnings to the modern days. The bluchers on his feet were of a sharp toed and a dark chocolate brown, a differing contrast of footwear that the personal at Area 51.1 and the State Troopers had chosen.
Of course, all of this was not even going to go unnoticed since this male was now onscreen; after all, these two genius sisters were already paying attention despite having themselves so easily focused on the light machinery within their very grasp. "Let's turn up the volume in here; I want to listen to what he has to say…" the moony Mary had shouted, her voice piercing the synthetic ambience within the dead center of the very laboratory itself. The three enormous words that read 'AIR MARSHAL VIDAN' had now became overlapped by thin increasing bars of lime green as the man started to speak, "Citizens of Porkbelly, please rest assured for I have guaranteed you that the Sky Brigade will put an end to the chaos caused by those men; no longer will this very city become gripped to live in fear nor will our neighbors, in or out of state end up suffering the same fate and follow suit. This very country had been blessed with the fated triumph over al-Qaeda's mastermind Osama bin Laden thanks to the diligent Seal Team Six soldiers whose bravery helped them prevail against him and because of it, the pain from the September Eleventh attacks which were orchestrated have been greatly lifted. Now, it seems that we have been given another burdensome challenge to overcome once more, not just as a citizen but rather as a country of various masses united for this one common goal that is simple and old as its very existence: the preservation of both safety and security for all denizens. Unlike the terrorist organizations that have vowed to impede the process of both freedom and democracy provided by America by spreading fear and anarchy from afar, the men who have attacked this city were right here on their doorstep having not a clear goal in mind or a leader to guide them. Nevertheless, they are assassins who have dared to make their move against peace and freedom on their own soil and we can ill afford to submit to their tumultuous reign as long as we are united as one and together they will stop. By doing so, these very men will be forced to answer for a lot of the many various atrocities committed by the deathly cold tip of their own fingers; in the words of Abraham Lincoln, 'and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.'"
Soon, the monitor had then cut to the crowd of voluminous aviators of all backgrounds whatsoever putting their own hands together uproariously with such overwhelming commitment coursing throughout their veins; the twins who were watching this very scene unfold had barely pay it any mind at all. "Hey Susan, how far have we gotten into building the jet; is it ready yet?" the viewer had asked, turning her focus away to the twin sister, the stellar Susan, "I want to go after these cowards already…!" "In time… just a few more arrangements and we'll be able to catch up to them soon enough; this I swear…" the other redhead from further away had responded.
Unbeknownst to the two girls, Porkbelly wasn't at all deserted as the newscaster on the television screen had said earlier; then again, the possibilities of any civilians here were rather slim to none. On a rather lone street within the very city were a small line of vehicles travelling across the dark pavement: the front and the back were all occupied by a large tank, the same vehicle being used at the desert while the overall filling of the caravan was a blue limousine with a pair of flags. While this concrete jungle was actually for the most part safe and sound contrary to the damage these mercenaries have caused, it didn't change the fact that a few people in general would want to be out there in the open at all.
Like the speeding jet that Alfred was riding in from above, the car was not without its fair share of occupants; while that it was capable of holding more as it was presented, the internal contents were rather minimal at best: aside from the driver obviously, there was its mayor, Mr. Black, and Mr. White riding alongside as passengers. The bald gentleman who had given his speech towards the panicked denizens was now sweating profusely and now started to ask fearfully, "I don't even understand: I thought that terrorist attacks would never happen here at all, except in the movies; why now of all times?!" "That's what we are all wondering, Mayor; normally, they could have just asked for a ransom from us or the President to release a few people first before an attack," Mr. Black had answered calmly, "but don't you worry, if they were to be going after you, they wouldn't even bother to try; this limousine we're driving in was customized to be both bulletproof and fireproof. Besides, they would have to fight off these escorting tanks first before they get to us and they would even try." "But still, all the villains that we have faced would never have gone that far; sure there was one that tried to bomb a public library but no one was supposed to ever get hurt," the mayor had responded as he started to clean the dusty lenses on his very glasses, a simple sign of growing uncertainty building up inside of the timid individual. With little bit of a warning whatsoever, Mr. White had now started joining in on the conversation, starting to speak up, "well, one thing is very certain though: these individuals are not in league with the likes of the Mole People."
Soon, the large tank up in front of them had now started to make a change in direction, shifting its working weight over to the northward direction through the power of steering as the other vehicles were following suit as usually in this rather passing brief moment in time thereof. "Nevertheless, our sources have currently confirmed that the damages ensued upon this area was indeed the work of two clandestine syndicates: Reliable Excavation and Demolition and Builders League United," the blond agent had spoken up once again with feeling; "however, we are still unable to find out their original location so we can apprehend the ringleader of the chaos." "Nevertheless, our objective as of now is getting you to the conference alive and in one piece…" the bronze agent had interjected. Putting the circular bifocals back over the weary blue eyes, the mayor then began to wonder, "I hope so; I'm beginning to believe that because of all this, I will be voted out of office come the next Election Day by October." "Don't you worry about a thing here, sir: we will do everything in our power to stop these men before they make things even worse; besides, your chances of a reelection are not the only things at stake here," Mr. White responded with a firm beam appeared, "after all, the safety of the American public has always been our number one concern." "Besides, the General had sent the Nevada Highway Patrol some of ours tanks and aircraft to do so; in addition, the Sky Brigade is going to help them side by side too," Mr. Black had also spoken up as well once again. Breathing in another bout of fresh air on the side, the bald gentleman had then sighed and said thoughtfully, "maybe you're right; from the way I see it, I am basically starting to feel a bit out of my own league in this day and age so I don't even want to know what the Governor is going to say about all this."
Just as the mayor started to recline across the backseats, a thunderous thump was heard when the blue limousine had started to ratchet upward by a few scant inches, throwing the hapless passengers into a rather ephemeral but otherwise anodyne disarray. "We seemed to have hit a speed bump on the way but we'll be okay for now…" the blond agent grunted as he got back into his seat while massaging his forehead, "best that we put on our seatbelt right now while we still have the time." "Good idea; for a moment there, I had thought we had hit a landmine or something," the receding gentleman said with a pang of relief as a sharp but small click was emitted from the joining of a slim round metal and a narrow tight crevice below the red button. Since the bronzed agent was last to do so thanks to his colleague, he was also the last to speak, "come to think of it, just what do you suppose that these terrorists could be armed, Mr. Black?" "Couldn't say: as far as we're concerned, a gun that either shoots a bunch of feline at enemies or giving them the power to fly would be obviously out of the question; there would be absolutely no way in Heck that doing so would cause so much damage," Mr. Black had answered, much to the confusion of the other two men, "besides, that would be wrong, wouldn't you agree…?" "Let's just get the mayor over to the press conference already; the longer we spend our time making such ridiculous comments or talking about the destruction, more he's going to flip out and snap…" Mr. White had growled, taking notice of how their conversation was starting to make the mayor clench his eyelids and sweat profusely. With a low huff and a puff, the blond agent had placed his arms over one another in front of his chest in annoyance and muttered, "oh fine then…!"
Needless to say whatsoever, all of these three men in question could agree on one certain thing alone: with all the confusion and delay that those mercenaries were now causing with their art of fighting through collective firepower, they had to be stopped by any and all means necessary; while they were lucky to not witness them directly, someone else was going to watch them now.
Author's Note: Well, there you have it folks, another chapter of this story has finally ended; but, we still have a long way to go since we have made it past the fifty thousand word milestone and we haven't gotten into the meat of the it yet. Worse yet, we are still focusing on the aftereffects that the Classes have left in their wake and how it's doing a number on Porkbelly at large; in fact, what community do you think will be next? I would set up a poll on which city do you think gets attack but that would cause some major spoilers, wouldn't you agree?
Sanzo (snarls back): Why shouldn't I? Your stupid 'Yin Yang Yo season three poll' has been up for too long; you need to move on with your life instead of watching the same two seasons over and over again.
Dominique (frowns at Sanzo): Well, what am I supposed to do, steal a magic wand and go 'I wish that Yin Yang Yo was renewed for a third season'?!
Sanzo (picks Dominique up angrily): Don't give 'em any ideas, buddy boy; they could be watching us at this moment in time...
Dominique (squirms out of Sanzo's grip and plops to the ground): Oh and what are they going to do to us, cut our budget? We're independent writers, nothing more. (stands up and starts to walk away) Anyways, Please Read And Review.