Hallo guys, as of writing this (June 11, 2012), it will be one day until the 2 year anniversary of the last time I cut my hair. And those that have ever read Maggot Magnet's works of trolling, apparently a recent comment I made on her more recent story has driven her to try to write a normal one, with chapters. Huzzah for that. I am going to stop the authors note here and continue as soon as I have finished, and I know what I have written. OH! One final note, I am now the editor of KingdomOfThomond's Team Fortress 2 and Firefly Crossover, with the job of perfecting it.
Plato woke with a start, groggily shaking his head finding himself staring at the monitor of his computer, with a message of "Kicked by Consol: You have been AFK for too long," in front of the usual loading screen of a man looking like his grandfather at a younger age holding a medigun, with a younger version of Ivan right behind him shooting a minigun wildly. He turns off the computer and puts his head back into his arms, wondering what his grandfather has planned.
Heavy, tired steps start getting louder, moving towards the direction of his room. Though the sound of the footfalls sounded loud, as if made by an overweight man, they were too fast to be made by Ivan Pushka, the gentle giant.
Plato now hurriedly stands and quickens his breath to supply his rushing heart, now hearing a second set of footsteps, truly made by the Ruskie, shown by the fast tempo in the footsteps to keep pace with the first, and the heavier thumps associated with a heavyset man trying to run.
"Vhy doctor?" Ivan pleaded, trying to be as quiet as possible, "vhy you torture Plato in such vay?"
Fegelein stopped, nearly causing Ivan to crash into him. "Me torturing him?" he hissed. "If anybody vas torturing anybody, it vould be him to me, ever since he has been dumped on mein porch! Zhat scheissekopf has gotten everys'hing he had ever gotten from me, and he has done nos'hing to deserve it! I deserve to do this, to show him zhe pain he has caused to me!"
Fegelein adjusted his glasses, turned back into the direction he was heading, and continued on his way through the corridor.
Ivan stood there, stupefied, trying to process the flow of information and his own thoughts he has had put in his brain that day.
Plato stood there, watching his grandfather stand in the doorway, a spitting image of the BLU medic with another 40 years under his belt. The only difference being that the trademark medipack had been replaced with a clunky backpack with corners at certain points, and there was no medigun, instead there was a large syringe like the one in the original Team Fortress 2 advertisement, filled only with a cloudy liquid that otherwise one would think to be water.
Fegelein lunged for Plato with the needle, and sunk it into his chest cavity around the heart. At this moment, time slowed for Plato, even his own movements. Despite the significant slowdown of time, Fegelein's movements were hardly fast enough to be seen, as he compressed the plunger of the syringe into the syringe itself. The world rapidly went out of focus, and as he blacked out, he heard the words of the medic, "Oops! Zhat vas not medicine," and then he sensed nothing.
Yeah, this is going to be a short one. Sorry, it's just that I feel that's enough for this chapter, because going any further would involve dwelling upon another topic, which is not my style of writing chapters. As of writing this authors note, it is the 2 year anniversary of the last time I cut my hair.