Status Terminated



Greaseball was dead, or at least he thought he was. Images flashed past his closed eyelids, images of his past, present, possible scenes of the future, and complete and utter nonsense. Greaseball wondered if he was truly dead now as it seemed his life flashed before his eyes.

He saw Dinah and her beautiful waitress gown, smiling without a care in the world. He loved her truly, though sometimes he had never shown it. She was also so loyal to him when he turned her down, and sometimes he felt unworthy of her love. But that was all in the past; he was still with her and her alone.

But immediately, her image was shattered like glass, surrounded by electricity bolts as the shattered glass flew about. There was mist, and Greaseball could see the silhouette of a tall train, angular yet curvy, and what appeared to be a mohawk. Yes, the electricity arose from that train... that Electric Train... the words flashed in front of him.

AC-DC.

It was Electra, and he was alone, something that Greaseball still had yet to get used to. But as Electra drew closer, ever so slowly closer, Greaseball could see the silhouettes of the Components behind them, rolling by for a split second before disappearing. He could see the red cross on Wrench's blades, and Krupp's muscular outlines, spinning around and around... then faded into the darkness. Joule spun for a second, struck what looked to be a pose, then crumbled, making room for her sister, who had danced and stretched before her shadows melted away.

Then the last silhouette danced around him then went to join the contour of his Master. The two were close... lovingly close, and Greaseball watched as they embraced, kissed, then almost found himself crying when Purse slunk into the ground. The shadow of Electra reached towards him, but Purse did not reach back...

One by one the Components abandoned their master...

Greaseball was confused, then found himself staring at the eclipse in the shape of Electra's slender body. But now he could see those molten gold eyes, piercing into his soul like those electricity bolts. It varied. They felt good one time, but horrible the next. He found himself wanting more when he doesn't want non at all. Electra was a very confusing train... was this what he aims for?

Then it grew cold around him, and Greaseball shivered. The shadow was disappearing, joining his components. Now Greaseball reached out, but Electra did not even turn.

He was gone.

Electra was dead.

Tears flowed from his eyes, but they did not go anywhere. Greaseball couldn't understand.

Who did Electra love? Was it him? His heart raced; what if it was him?

Then he stopped.

He could hear a faint heartbeat, and Greaseball followed it. Was he still alive? He saw a light, and embraced it.

The light hurt... it hurt VERY much...

"Wake up, sleepy head!"

Greaseball shot his eyes open and saw the cause of his pain. There was a knife sticking right through his arm, and as his oil leaked out, he rose his head to stare into the eyes of the one who had spoken. "Turnov?"

The Russian train smiled, though Greaseball did not truly care for it. "In the flesh..."

Now Greaseball was even MORE confused. What happened to Nintendo?

"Turnov... where's Nintendo? He... he killed Electra..."

Turnov smiled, "I know that..."

Great...

Just great...

Greaseball looked up again, and Turnov painfully removed the knife. He could to stop the gasp from leaving his mouth, and Greaseball went to bring in his hand when another stabbing pain froze him in his tracks. His chest felt ready to burst, and as he glanced down at it, he could see why. Yes, that was where Nintendo got him but good. And, by the looks of the amount of oil, he could tell it was meant to be fatal...

"I'm right here..."

Barely turning his head, Greaseball caught sight of the Japanese Bullet Train. He was sitting on a rock, his katana blade stuck into the ground and the hilt used to rest his chin upon. Half of his body was covered in shadows, but his features lit up when the lightning lit the cave. Greaseball never saw someone as terrifying looking at he was...

Nintendo's Japanese features were filled with pain and anger, the complete contrast of his fellow Nationality. Turnov kept that grin, and Greaseball dared to ask. "What's going on?"

The Shinkinssan Bullet train said nothing, just stared at him. It was Turnov who answered, "Where do you want us to start?"

Another flash of lightning struck, and the ground light up. Greaseball saw the shadows of the Components dance on the wall, and he gasped. Why were they there? Then he turned and saw their bodies, each lined in order of when he found them. They looked even worse now, and laying next to him, was Electra. So peaceful looking, and Greaseball could still see that small smile, lingering on his face.

And Electra's last word echoed in his ears.

'I don't think... it's that stupid little steamer anymore... I ... LOVE...'

Greaseball growled, fighting the tears that were hammering their way through. No, he couldn't cry... he can't do it in front of them. He asked, "Why? Why did you kill Electra, Nintendo? What has he done to you?"

The Bullet train gave him a glare, and he spoke, his English quite hard to understand. "His kind is not liked by my people. His kind do not deserve to live no where on Earth."

"I thought... I thought Electra was the only electric train," Greaseball asked, fighting off the urge to sleep, to rest his eyes.

"Wrong. There are few Electric trains... one killed my entire family. Him and his Components destroyed Bullet trains throughout Japan... and they do not deserve to live."

Greaseball remembered hearing a story about a train going psycho in Japan. They were testing it, seeing if it was as fast as the fastest Bullet Train. It clocked at 200 miles per hour, but it lost energy towards the end, thus giving the Bullet train the win. Then something went all wrong; he killed his opponent, and chaos pursued. Yes, its components had their part in the killing spree. "But... but that train... they destroyed him already, did they not?"

To answer his question, Turnov stomped his foot hard on Greaseball's wound, and he dug deeper until he heard his cries increase by three whole decimals. He laughed, enjoying to see the quivering American diesel at his wheels. "Okay, so they decommissioned him. So what? All Electric trains had to die! Them and their Components!"

"So... he died because..." when he regained his composure, Greaseball glared at the two of them, but mostly at the Russian. "... of what some other train did. Did his components HAVE to die?"

Turnov laughed, "Hey, I only killed Volta. She was fun, really. Separate her from the group and let the fun begin!"

Oh God...

Greaseball wanted to puke. He could only imagine what that bastard did to her. He could almost hear her screams. He looked up at Nintendo, who's white face was surprisingly calm compared to his rather odd partner. "And there was no doubt that you killed Krupp... one quick slice, right?"

"Hai... take out the guard first."

Now Greaseball chuckled, though he hid his eyes, to hide his tears. And he didn't even have to ask about Electra. His death was slow... he was there, holding him when he slipped away. God how Greaseball wanted to kill them both right now. "And what about the others? What about Joule? Wrench? And... and Purse?"

"Oh, Joule was the handy-dandy work of everyone's favorite Intercontinental Express!" Turnov rose and laughed, and Greaseball could only wonder who was loonier, him or that freaky Caboose. When Turnov finally stopped, he explained. "Her death was rather quick, though; he struck pretty fast. Too bad I was waiting at the bottom of the bridge by then. I would have loved to have seen it."

Ruhrgold too? Greaseball was going to ask, but Nintendo, unsheathing his katana with a loud metallic noise. "She embarrassed him greatly... but you know too much."

Greaseball knew exactly what THAT meant. And by the glint in Turnov's wild blue eyes, he began to debate on which death he would have preferred. Death at the hands of the Bullet train or at the hands of that damned Russian freak.

He chose neither, and as Nintendo went to strike, a gunshot was heard. Nintendo was instantly dead as the bullet flew through his throat, and he went down silently, his weapon clashing on the ground with a loud clang. Instantly, Turnov hit the ground, his eyes darting, trying to discover the new enemy. There was no one there but Greaseball... and the gun, Krupp's gun that was in his hands.

"BOZHEMOI!"

This time, Turnov had his wits about him, and he was able to roll over to dodge the bullet. He hid behind a boulder, and Greaseball, with the Armaments truck's gun in one hand and his other hand to cover his wound, forced himself to his feet. If he was going to die, he was going to take that bastard with him.

"Turnov! Show yourself, you heartless bastard!" Greaseball shouted, anger laced with each word. He pointed the gun at the boulder, waiting, daring him to show himself. "I'll make you pay for what you did to Volta!"

It did not help that the Russian's voice echoed throughout the cave, but Greaseball kept his cool. "But you CAN'T just kill me! Not yet!"

"Want to try me? Just take ONE step out into the open..."

"But aren't you curious? You said it yourself; what happened to the others, right?" that voice annoyed him. He was going to be dancing with joy when he got his chance... "I won't tell you who killed who, but Wrench's death was pretty fun to watch. You should have SEEN the look on her face when she found Volta's body..."

Greaseball growled. "Shut up."

"... or what was left of it!"

"BASTARD!"

He pulled the trigger as Turnov leaped to another boulder, and Greaseball reloaded with a hiss. "Why? Why Volta? Has she done anything to you?"

"Not really... at least nothing I can think of."

"So, you just felt like mutilating her, right? Thought it would be fun to hear her cries?!"

Something clashed into him, and Greaseball hit the ground as a green engine appeared out of nowhere. He heard a German word arise from the Engine's mouth, and he growled the name, his throat being crushed under his powerful arms. "Rurh...gold..."

"Amen! For a second there I thought he was gonna get me!" That brought a sigh of relief to Turnov, and he came out into the open, wiping his brow. As Greaseball fought for his breath, he could read the German train's eyes, and he growled, not truly welcoming Turnov's presence.

"Idiot! Do you know the others are coming?!"

"Oh, are they? Guess we'll have to send him to Death's door and dispose of the bodies if we don't want to get caught, eh?"

Turnov laughed, and he pried the gun from the Union Pacific's hands. It took a lot but it was done, and he fiddled around with the weapon for a few minutes. Now Greaseball was gasping, rather it was lack of oxygen or fear, he could not tell, but it was apparent that the German train was not as cool and carefree as his partner. "Would you stop fooling around, you idiot? Just kill him and get it over with!"

Now came the argument.

"Oh, dear, are you a little worried, little Ruhrgold? Worried that they're gonna find out what we did?"

"What do you think?"

"The worst they can do is suspend us... or decommission us, but that won't undo what was done!"

The world spun for a few moments, and Greaseball found himself on the ground as the Intercontinental Express lunged himself at the red train. He was stepped on a few times before he found the strength to roll away, and the two battled one another, rolling on the ground, foul words in their native tongues flowing freely. Now would have been the best time to escape...

'Coward...'

He began to crawl, slowly inching towards the entrance of the cave. He dung his fingers into the damp ground, sliding his heaving stomach along the ground. What good was he dead? He wanted revenge for what they had done to Electra, to the Components. He would retreat for now, come back when he was prepared... when he could be of some use.

'I can't believe you're running like this...'

It hurt too much to go on, but he just couldn't lay there. They were distracted! He had to go!

'Look at yourself... the might Union Pacific, crawling in the mud.'

Now Greaseball did give up, and he stared at the outside world, to freedom from this hell. In the mists was nothing... nothing but a mist. Was it the mist that was talking to him? He groaned, "I'm sorry..."

'Just shut up, you ass. Ever since I met you, I heard all this crap about how strong you are. How WONDERFUL you are...'

That voice...

It was Electra.

'What a wimp.'

"Speak for yourself... who's dead right now?" Greaseball snapped back, the fight going on behind him now nothing but the soft sound of crashing metal.

That brought a chuckle, and the voice was a bit softer. 'Touché... still, that doesn't matter, Greasehead.'

"What does then?" Greaseball coughed, letting more oil spill upon the floor. "Even if I fight back... I'm going to die..."

'Death is Death... don't just knock at Death's door, stupid.'

Then, there was another gunshot, and Greaseball swerved around to see Ruhrgold's expression of pain. He slid along the wall slowly, and yet another bullet flew, hitting him directly in the forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground. There was no doubt that Turnov was the victor.

"Oh well... I guess you could say that Wrench and Joule are avenged now, doesn't it?" Turnov chuckled, licking the warm barrel of the gun. Those eyes would have frightened anyone, and it was no exception to Greaseball. Those eyes, so filled with insanity... he now turned those eyes on Greaseball, and that smile was the only thing to combat the amount of terror his eyes gave. "Oh well... just more bodies to bury, now ain't it?"

And Greaseball had a feeling his body was next.

'So, you're just going to let him kill you, eh?'

Greaseball turned and glared at him. Their eyes locked... and Electra's words repeated itself in his mind, as Turnov rose the gun... and Greaseball begun to formulate a plan, seeing the fallen katana from the corner of his eye.

'Never knock at Death's door...'

He said the words himself.

"Never knock at Death's Door..."

Turnov rose his eyebrow. "Vhat?"

Greaseball began to laugh, and with a split second, he moved like a lynx, darting for the katana. A bullet flew, but it was too late. With a roll, Greaseball grabbed the fallen sword. Turnov turned and fired, but it was the last shot he gave. With a single slash, his arm fell to the ground, completely dislocated from his body, and with another, his head followed.

"...Ring the doorbell and run... Death HATES that..."