Turmoil's Sweet Revenge

By Tigan-Ada

It's a beautiful autumn morning.

Even the light of dawn reflects off the pieces of scrap piled in thick, ugly mounds, giving it a look of beauty. This visual treat is all for naught to one tomcat, who woke up without a single glance out the window, feeling like he's either about to throw up… or puke.


The next thing that happens in this softly lit morning is Chance bolting from his bed and rushing straight into the bathroom, carelessly banging the door open with his shoulder with both hands covering his jaws. Jake blinks, having stood nearby with his cup of coffee in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other, and hears the distinctive sound of his housemate barfing.

Looking into the bathroom he asks, "You ok?"

"Uurrgh…" he groans, standing over the toilet as he holds onto the rim of the seat, "No… got a bug in mah tummy…" 'One fierce, evil little bug infesting my intestines… where in the world did I get this from?'

"That's not good," Jake casually leans his shoulder onto the door frame, "What if Callie calls?"


"Something to think about," he lightly teases before walking back outside to stand on the garage roof where an old table and worn chair are set up, planning to enjoy the lovely weather before Chance ruins it.

Inside the bathroom, Chance sighs heavily. The very thought of gorgeous, tender Callie calling them in to an emergency makes a painful knot in his stomach… or is that the bug?

Either way, fostering anxiety is no way to spend the day sick.

If Callie calls, he'll have to go against his instincts, side with better judgement and decline the appeal… which leaves Megakat City in the hands of Jake – whom he trusts to be more than capable, but… Jake will be on his own piloting a two-seated jet against a megalomaniac or two.

His best friend is brilliant, but if anything happens to him, he'll be here… stuck at home watching it unfold on TV completely useless! Useless to those he's sworn to protect… and his very own partner…

He grimaces – this line of thought is NOT helping to quieten his nerves.

Oh well, push it away… Callie has not called yet. Perhaps are she won't. He should only worry when there's something to worry about, and worrying has never made anyone live any longer. He steadily breathes in and slowly exhales, trying to keep relaxed with a temperamental bug in his gut.

The alarm sounds.

Chance's nerves snap, "AAAAAARRGH!"

"It's okay, I got it!" Jake assures as he rushes by to take the call.

Dragging his feet after him a moment later, Chance still manages to loftily stand around as Jake answers it.

Callie's voice is strangled with panic, yet she manages to talk clearly – all with background noises blaring over the intercom. Chance imagines there's a gun in his hand and mentally pulls the trigger.

Why oh why oh why oh why oh why oh why-

"T-Bone is out sick today, but you can be sure I'll be there," Jake responds.

"Hurry! It's-" static cuts her off.

Out of reflex Jake cries out, "Callie!" without wasting time, he bolts down into the hangar and races towards the lockers to change into uniform… but not before rushing straight back out the hatch and giving Chance a VERY stern glare, "You. Stay."

Chance's entire body droops.

Jake keeps this glare on him as he descends…

After fifteen seconds, Chance begins to get the sniffles. Blinking his watery eyes, he makes his way to the hangar. He won't accompany Razor out, just say goodbye.

He looks down the ladder.

Ugh, he doesn't feel like climbing down anything vertical today.

As he somehow gets himself down the ladder, he tries not to reflect on why he's compelled personally to wave him off… Even if Jake does come home tonight and lives to fight together another day, it would give him peace of mind in-between it all that at least he said goodbye.

Razor is all suited up, climbing onto the wing of the Turbokat – what a beautiful machine – and halts as he finds himself getting into his own seat out of habit. That doesn't help Chance's 'peace of mind' at all.

"Whoops," he changes to the pilot seat, and looks over at Chance standing by the railing.

Chance wasn't gonna bawl his eyes out, run after him and hold onto his legs crying about letting him go along – however tempting it is… instead he offers a cocky smile and gives a lazy two-finger salute.

As the cockpit slides shut, Razor offers a bright smile, "Chance, do me a favour and get some rest."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he quietly responds, though unheard as the jet is lowered by the descending platform positioning the aerodynamic machine below, engines powering up and within seconds the Turbokat takes off… like clockwork.

A dizzy spell overtakes him so the burly tomcat grips the railings tightly and leans over them to regain his composure before scaling the vertical ladder again. Once he's got sure footing on the floor above, he clumsily seals the hangar door and makes a mental note of what he's to do now…

Sniffling, he takes notice of how his sickness is getting a little too bad in such a short time. Great, hopefully then means it'll get over itself quick. He feels awful in the chest area too – concerns and nerves are playing up. Maybe this cold is stress-related?

In any case, he's too sick to finish the cars sitting in the garage… come to think of it, Jake is an early riser, often making sure the OPEN/CLOSED sign is switched to OPEN when he's up… so he'd better change it to CLOSED, just in case anyone comes by.

He… can't help anyone today, especially not when he can hardly help himself. Might as well keep a constant watch on the news… it won't help, but he's got to know – not knowing is always worse.

His head is spinning with every moment spent walking upright. But he makes it to the couch… wait, wasn't he going to put on the CLOSED sign? Ah well, head full of cold messing with his concentration and memory brain thingy…

…Ugh, he's too sick to think.

The moment the TV switches on, it's instantly fixed on the live broadcast of what's happening in Megakat City. Chance barely has time to register some buildings being cut by these blurry, fast flying things when the bell rings.

Chance's shoulders sag heavily. Ignore it.

He's in no shape to help anyone today anyway… which is sort of the problem.

The cameraman keeps switching to and fro between the madness, trying to track the dark blurs racing across the sky as the affected buildings begin to slide and fall-


This is NOT the right time for whoever's here to be here. He wants to have a constant update on the problem, to know what Jake is up against and how he'd be holding up, whom if any among the sea of faces in the city will be harmed or protected, lost or saved… not deal with mechanic business.

…Okay, he feels a bit of remorse leaving whoever it is hanging outside without a shred of explanation. Just as he considers making his way to the door, apologise and explain, and then head back to the couch the Turbokat comes on screen.

Drat, drat, drat.


No time to explain now, he HAS to keep watch, to know how Jake is holding up.



The cameraman who works for Ann Gora isn't able to keep the live feed steady, not with the falling debris and dust clouds picking up from the falling top halves of buildings.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong.!

A foul mood boils within him. Jake – eer, Razor has managed to stop a few top halves from falling with powerful extending cables form the Turbokat. No, he doesn't know WHEN Jake installed those. As Razor takes care of that, the Enforcers take up multiple positions in the air and on the ground.

…Well, as long as Razor is doing okay now and has back-up, he can take care of this customer.

His legs wobble beneath him as he gets up, holding the edge of the couch to steady himself as he walks out, trying to keep looking over his shoulder on the TV without getting too dizzy.

Maybe he could pause live TV? No, wait, they don't have that kind of TV. CURSES! If only he understood how that even works!?

Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! Ding-dong.! DingalingylingadingdongCOMEHEREATONCE!

Okay, that last bit was the customer yelling over the constant noise…

As he gets closer, the nagging, piercing sound only makes him angrier – and just to make it worse the customer starts banging horribly hard and fast at the door… whoever this is ain't polite or patient. And so, Chance no longer feels guilty being mad at whoever it is…!

'When I get there, I'm gonna give 'em a piece of my mind-! And a piece of the cold, too!' continuing to stumble, Chance groggily opens the door and… is left perfectly speechless.

TURMOIL stands outside the door – what IS he supposed to do…? The tall she-kat looks him up and down with distaste for the sick, lowly mechanic… does she KNOW who he is? But if she doesn't, why is she here?! How far away from here was she when Razor flew out-? Did she see the Turbokat – wait, how long ago did he leave again?! Curse his sluggish brain!

"I need a mechanic to fix my vehicle!" she snaps, pointing a sharp claw to her very evil-looking car.

'…Is this a joke?' gathering his slow wits he tries to get out of this situation alive with identity intact, "Uh… m'sorry, we're closed t'day."

"You are in perfect condition to help me!" she snaps.

"Ah'm sick," he insists, hoping she'll suddenly recognize the dark circles around his eyes, his blocked nose, lack of energy and the unhealthy state of his fur.

Instead, she blinks and leans closer, "You've voice… it sounds very familiar…"

'OHhnjkndxgstdyurjdgnyr,' his sick brain is a lot of help in this situation, "Uh… I used ta be in 'da Enforcers…?"

"Hmmmm…" she deems that excuse satisfactory. If it weren't for his cold, she would have probably recognized him instantaneously and pinned him down flat… with neutering equipment on hand, "Get moving! Chop, chop!"

Chance just stubbornly stares her down… if being hunched over while slowly blinking at her with a grimace can be called a 'stare down'.

Turmoil takes up the challenge, giving him the evil-eye, "You mechanics are so useless!"

"Hey! Ah run a good business 'ere! Take 'dat attitude somewhere else!" he half-yells.

She gasps before swooning him, "You're so MANLY."

After a second of disbelief, he cautiously goes ahead, "Tanks, ah dink. I dun mean ta be such an inconvenient bothah ta such a beaudiful she-kat, but pwease, you need ta find somepwace else…?"

"Never. NEEVEEEERRRR!" she goes away while claiming this.

Chance's right eye twitches as he watches her leave in her evil-looking vehicle. When she's gone from his view he blinks for the first time since she uncharacteristically ran off from his doorstep.

His tiredness returns and, with a sigh, he walks back inside with the couch in mind. And maybe a spare bazooka. Just in case.

You never know what else will come up while Jake is gone being Razor. Speaking of his partner in crime, he has to update himself on the situation or suffer an anxiety attack from not knowing.

Settling himself upon the comfortable couch – with bazooka carefully placed nearby – he wraps a blanket around him and is about to switch the television on when he remembers… it's already on. More drowsy than anything, he leans onto the arm of the couch and, barely able to watch the blaring lights on the television with his poor eyes, or even hear the noises with his poor ears, he takes to snoozing.

Then the doorbell rings.

And since the couch-room is at the back of the garage with a glass wall separating it, all he has to do is begrudgingly squint an eye open and note the evil-looking car parked just in front of the garage.

He nestles his head into the fur of his arm and growls.

He's tired… too tired to argue with her – he won't work like this, he just won't waste energy trying to reason with her ego-thickened head about why he ain't doing any jobs today. So, barely able to toss the blanket off of him, he stands up and manages to go outside the garage without fainting (even though his vision went black for a few seconds and he very nearly did)…

He waves her over from the door, rubbing his eyes and sniffing a little. He doesn't quite notice what she's holding in her hands.

Leaning on the garage wall to support himself, Chance tries to think of something to make her go away and stay away without causing too much trouble. He can't exactly return any punches right now.

"How do ah 'elp yah, ma'am," he resigns… before blinking and double-taking a look over her shoulder at her car; has it always been covered in broken street signs?

He's sure it wasn't in this condition the last time he saw it, but can't quite recall properly. Darn cold.

"I've come to apologise for my brash actions today. I even went down to the store and got chocolates for you."

'Uuuuh, that was unexpected… and terribly fast,' he looks down to the heart-shaped box of chocolates and almost has a heart attack himself, 'OH CRIMENY SHE MUST KNOW WHO I AM AND BEGINNING SOME FORM OF MENTAL TORTURE! Or she just got a heart-shaped box to be nice.'

He looks at her face to cordially thank her – but her car over her shoulder got his attention first. WHY THE HECK ARE THE STREET SIGNS MELTING ON IT?!

"I see you're speechless. That is because I, Turmoil, do NOT hand out mercy very often," she leans forward, snapping his attention back to her face, "Not very often at all."

…Now the car is standing on its rear tires and doing a dance, holding a cartoonish hat with its right front wheel and the headlights have turned into cartoonish eyes, with a beaming pearly white smile at the front.

Turmoil blinks, before snapping her fingers in front of Chance's fixated and blank face, "Helloooo?"

He blinks, looks at her, then back to the car which is no longer dancing but…spinning around upside-down in a circle in an obvious breakdance… uh-huh.

"YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING! The gratitude of some people!" she huffs.

"Uh – ahm suhwy," he decides to leave the bizarre glitches with the car well alone and puts his attention back onto her, "So uh… danks…" he turns the box around in his hands, fully suspicious, "Whuht flavah are dey…?"

A soft chuckle escapes her… before she blurts out, "THE CHOCOLATES ARE FULL OF POISON! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!" she runs away, waving her arms in an evil laughing fashion, before leaping evilly into her evil vehicle and drives off in an evil manner, leaving a trail of possibly evil smoke behind her.

Chance's left eye twitches, "…A'hm goin' ta bed."

Trudging heavily to his room, he tosses the poisoned box of chocolates aside somewhere random and slumps onto his mattress with a moan. This is the weirdest day EVER.

…Maybe he's asleep?

With a slow hand he pinches himse-OW! No, he's not dreaming.

"Hallucinading den," he says aloud.

Curling into a tight, fluffy ball he wonders if he ever did get a box of chocolates. If he did, then Turmoil isn't a hallucination… but the car…? Yeeeaaahh…

What does she want fixed anyway?

From what he's seen it drives superbly. It's sleek, the engines sound harmonious, and the way it moves suggests its steering control is sublime…

Figures thinking about vehicles nearly set him to sleep. But his soothed state is rudely disturbed by the doorbell going off.

Bah! Humbug…

He'll just let it ring…

If the chocolates were full of poison (why oh WHY would she let him know that?) then if it's Turmoil she can assume he ate them and died. He's dead now and she can leave forever…

The doorbell continues to ring loudly and rudely into his poor ears.



'What-is-her-problem?!' "DAMMIT WOMAN AHM DEAD! WHY DUN CHA' LEAVE ME ALLOOOONE?!" he sits up, teeth bared, fur fluffed and preparing a full-blown mini-rant yell, "IT MAKE SENSE YOU DON'T RING DEAD MAN'S DOORBEEEEELLS!"

He pants – all that ranting and raving has left him horribly drained and dizzy.

But the ringing stops.

And a car screeches away… and judging by the sound, it is NOT Turmoil's car.


His face goes red with mortification… how embarrassing.

He didn't mean to scare somebody else… he should really move the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

A silver lining slowly drags itself into his sluggish cranium – if the poor customer had stayed around, and Turmoil had returned, she may have endangered whoever it was…

So yes, that is a silver lining… His subtle smile drops – he could've just sent the customer on his/her way by telling them he's too sick to help, not scaring them away like he's some psycho while Megakat City is under threat.

…He should stop thinking now-


What the HECK is it today that he CAN'T even HEAR a car pulling up ANYMORE?!

His fur tries to ruffle upwards in agitation… but he just can't manage it.

He stops trying to feel irked and let's himself be as calm as his tired body wants to be. He has no energy to be mad… but he does manage to put his feet to the floor and stand up. Still manageably woozy, and putting his hands into his pockets he takes his time going to the door.

Randomly eyeing the box of chocolates, he shrugs and picks them up.

Glancing through the window, he quickly assesses it is, indeed, Turmoil, standing expectantly outside with a smug look to her – probably presuming him to be poisoned. A smile tugs at his lips – holding the box behind his back, he stands tall and adopts a casual expression.

Upon opening the door, Turmoil's face drops at the sight of him, "You are not… poisoned?"

He couldn't hide his grin, holding up the box of poisoned-by-evil chocolates and casually states, "Ah dun dink it'd be good for me ta 'ave any sweets tuhday," he hands them back, "Also, ah don't trust you."

In retaliation she throws the unopened box to his feet in rage.

"Curse you mechanic! I will take my revenge on yoouu!" she storms off back to her evil car, parked in an evil way… which is on its side upside-down, rebelliously defying all logic.

After watching her go (mostly to make sure that bizarre car is far, far away), Chance quietly mopes at her vow of vengeance and returns inside. It's better than her knowing that he's T-Bone but… but this means she's going to take revenge on him twice!


He barely gets halfway up the stairs before he hears her car return and a hurried knock at the door.

He hangs his head with a heavy exhale. After a moment he turns back down the stairs and meets his fate at the door, his nerves pricking up at the risk of very real danger. He could die…

He opens the door-

"Why – won't – you – fix – my – CAR?!" with every word her voice raises in volume and emphasis.

Chance rubs his temple, exasperated, "Turmoil… ahm too sick… ah couldn't fix your car, even if ah wanted to…"

"It's…" tears well up in her eyes, "It's because I'm Russian in an American-based country, isn't it?!"

And with that she runs off, crying loudly before jumping through the evil-car window and getting stuck with her legs sticking out. She then begins to kick her legs in the air as she continues to cry… loudly.

Chance sighs and rubs his face. Okay, this he wasn't expecting, nor wanting to deal with when he's extremely tired and feels like crud. He doesn't know why she's so randomly upset at him and is even gladder he never hooked up with her…

…He decides he might as well try and clear up the misunderstanding, and if that doesn't get her to shut up and fly straight with him then he'll tell her his alter ego. It'd be better than this.

Feeling this is not well-thought out and pangs of regret already welling inside of him, he walks along the dirt to her car and waits a bit for her to stop crying… she doesn't.

He picks a time when her cries are softer, "It's not because you're Russian."

The weeping stops. She pulls herself in properly and soon winds down the window more, revealing her tear-streaked face, "You mean that?"

Pleasantly surprised that she's considering his words he calmly assures her, "Ah do."

"Really?" she asks with that accent naturally rolling her r's exotically.

"Course. It's just-…" oh no, he should've just left it at that. But no, he had to incite further into the conversation… he takes a breath and risks it, "…You're very demanding and belittlin' on me, when I'm not even at my best. It puts a man down. We just don't feel like the effort is worth it anymore if there's no respect."

She stares at him, albeit distantly, as if revising memories in a new light, "…If what you say about men is true, that would explain a lot…"

He lightens up, "Yeah, really-"

"But THAT would mean I'VE been the JERK!" she yells, puts her foot on the gas and screeches away… running over Chance's foot in the process, "Sweet, SWEET DENIIIAAAAAL!"

"OOooooooooWWW!" he groans, grabbing onto his throbbing foot and hopping on the other to stay upright, 'StUpId RaDiCaL fEmEnIsT sTuPiDlY iN dEnAiL – bLaMiNg MeN wItHoUt EvEn UnDeRsTaNdInG tHeM – AAAAAAAAARGH!'

He calms down and slowly lowers his sore foot with a slow intake of breath. He badly limps back to the door wishing Razor would just get his butt back here-! He grimaces – he shouldn't get carried away with his anger, Razor could be in far worse danger… and might not come back…

He looks up towards the sky at his wishful thinking, but nothing is there. Only clouds floating on a background of light blue. His head throbs at the light, but the adrenaline rush helps him move through it.

With another sigh, and hoping Turmoil would stay away this time, he-… hears the car's motor roaring louder, coming closer.

In the way that would put anyone's fur on edge.

He looks over his shoulder and sees her evil car racing back towards him – and at that speed she could be planning to run him over!

With his limp slowing him down he tries to close the gap between him and the door.

There's no way he can out-run a car…!

And as he opens the door, something shatters-…

He doesn't quite recollect what exactly happened, but he finds himself perched on all fours on the hood of her car.

He doesn't remember doing that at all – it's definitely thanks to his training and, as his Mamma's Bible says, you must thank God in ALL circumstances…

...Even as he takes in the sharp stings along his back, the edge of a sink smashed beneath the debris, and the entire wall caved in across the car. Dust is floating everywhere and the door is… well what's left of it is lying on the roof of the car.

The kitchen… completely gone. The table is splintered, the chairs are in pieces… thankfully the fridge isn't touched and that's all he could ask for.

Normally, the adrenaline coursing through his veins would still have him up-and-running… but he's sick. Badly. So instead, the world starts to close in on him and the edges of his vision go dark.

This is when the car door opens…

Turmoil yells at him, but her voice is distorted to his sickly brain. She climbs into his shrinking vision, her demeanour deadly serious – the face of the killer he backstabbed. And he can't defend himself, he can feel the weight and weakness in his limbs…

Grabbing him by his shirt, she holds him up and shakes him, the sound of her voice forever wavering, "Don't ignore me!"

…All that registers is that his poor foot is killing him.


"You're not getting out of it so easily-"


"You will strive to fix this car, even while it's buried in this mess-"

He's gonna puke

ALL. OVER. TURMOIL! Which is the last thing he remembers before finally passing out. And quite frankly, passing into unconsciousness is the closest he's had today to a good rest. That's kinda sad…

…Waking up feels wonderfully comfortable. It's like he's in bed…

He snaps an eye open, not daring to move…

He IS in bed.

He cautiously flicks an ear to hear any suspicious sounds outside his room, still not daring to move. He feels better after hauling that treacherous bug out of his stomach and all over Turmoil… wait waaiit waaaiiiiit-!

Why is he alive?!

His fur slowly stands on end before he cautiously moves a hand over himself, checking for any bombs chained to him, lacerations or massive gut-sized wounds anywhere. But he's fine. And in bed too.

…He double-checks what he's seeing – he's definitely in his room.

He sits up, fighting off a queasy spell of sick in his gut that lurches at the movement and quickly scans his room, but there's no sign of her.

No sign of her outside his window… or that bizarre car of hers to hint her presence… all things considered, it's a peaceful dusk outside – the sky is turning golden orange as the sun sets beyond the horizon.

…The kitchen! And JAKE!

Needing to know what's been going on with his buddy (if he came home at all) and see the state of the kitchen – and check for a certainty that the enemy isn't within or around the house – he chucks the blankets off and grabs a stray crowbar… just in case. He arcs his back, testing for the pain he felt prior, but there's only a tired stiffness.

He feels better all in all as he pauses at his door, guardedly listening for any noise in the house…

Not hearing anything, he swings the door open and looks around warily. Everything seems normal up here… time to see what miserable state the downstairs is in. And if Turmoil's still here making herself at home... he doesn't know what to expect from that woman anymore.

Gripping the crowbar tighter with every step down the stairs, he lunges forward and... WHAT. NO. He staggers, feeling sick all over again; his brain rejects the impossibility. The kitchen is perfectly normal. Jake is there, preparing a dinner.

What-what-what?! That's not-!

Just when he had come to acceptable terms with the madness of today…

Jake is quietly mixing the soup whilst looking at him, eyeing the crowbar periodically, "…You ok?"

"Uh..." he groans, running his free hand through the messy fur atop his head, "...Is everythin' alright?"

His buddy shrugs agreeably, "Yeah, as it can be."

With slow resignation Chance rolls a shoulder, cracking the weary joint, "Uurgh… thought I… bleh," he gives up, tossing the crowbar aside, "Must've dreamt it."

"You're looking better," Jake consoles, relaxing, "I'm sure I'll need your help on the next emergency call, so that's good."

Those last words hold him in place, side glancing at the wrapped wound on Jake's brown arm, the stark contrast of colour and fresh smudge of blood beneath it something he somehow missed, "…You were out solo?"

He's given a look, "Yeah…? You don't remember? You waved me off this morning…"

Too befuddled to even ask how it went, Chance stays quiet, eyes looking away as he searches through his mixed up memory… all the weight of his sickness is pressing on him as he very slowly goes through his day – when did it all break off into a fevered dream? Did he really get any customers today? How did he get to bed if he first went to the couch… unless he fell asleep after Turmoil handed him the chocolate box and she really did leave him for dead? Or... but...

Jake is laughing in the distance, rather amused at his pal's masked look that he knew hid prideful confusion, "You're sick. Don't push it."

"Meh," with that magnificent response he trudges off to slump on a table chair.

As he pulls it out a fleck of white catches his eye. He looks up and spies a note stuck to the wooden kitchen door. After blinking at it, debating if he should bother getting it or it Jake has already tended it… he figures he might as well know what it is himself. He takes it off the old wooden frame.

Chance holds the note to his dreary eyes… and his nerves and fur tingle unpleasantly:

Dearest Mechanic,

I told you to fix my car. I TOLD YOU.

Now the problem is out of even my control.

Plot holes are everywhere… you fool!

I will return, and you will fix my car ZED…

Or the car will fix you – as it did the kitchen.

Kiss, kiss, ~Turmoil

It occurs to him that his right eye is unceasingly twitching; he has to hold down an exasperated sob that lumps in his throat.




Cue the bout of nonsensical creepy music… mwahahahahahaXD