South Town. A normal town, all things considered. The fact that it had somehow become the nexus for countless other realities was just a side-benefit. Otherwise, ignoring the occasional stampede of Chu-Chus, the offhand final boss rampage and the ever-so-annoying Full Motion Video event, South Town was just another town. Naturally, like any other average town, had its share of crime. Odd, extravagant, mohawk-sporting crime, but crime nonetheless. [---] "Ahhh!" The clerk bolted out of the corner convenience store, scrambling away like her very life depended on it. Which it was, considering that the store's ATM machine flew through the shop's plate-glass window and landed inches from where she lay. "Dear sweet God, help me!" She bolted down the street, not paying attention to where she was going until... "Wai-HA!" ... a china flat-clad foot jammed itself into her chest and sent her flipping to the ground. The owner of the foot paused, then looked down at the unconscious woman before turning to his brother. "Yang, dear brother, were there any demure, panicked shopowners amidst that gang of miscreants we dispatched?" Yang looked down, toed at the lady's shoulder, then sighed, brushing his hair aside. "Nay, dear brother Yun. I do believe we've made a terrible mistake. Let us revive her back at our abode, and inquire as to why she was fleeing in such a manner." "Indeed, sweet brother. And we must hurry. I believe we have been spotted." Yun pointed to the approaching army of girls storming towards them, screaming various intonations of "TROWA!", "DUO!" and "WAAAAAAAAAAI!". "Understood." Yang sighed heavily, then broke into a mad dash alongside his dear brother. "And remind me to find out whoever these 'Duo' and 'Trowa' people are so that we may thrash them soundly." "Verily." [---] "Alright, girls, the God of Death is *here*!" It took one Duo Maxwell all of five seconds to realize that the room was empty, and another five for him to actually accept that fact. That done, the young man let out the most angry stream of curses he could muster, causing the spiky-haired depressive behind him to blink once or twice. "...fuckingshitdamnasscocklickingbitches!" He capped off his tirade by slamming his fist down on a table. "And after all the trouble I went through to actually *wear* a G-String!" "... they are uncomfortable," Trowa noted quietly, idly picking at his from under his pants. "Why did we have to wear these anyway?" "Because those girls want hot Gundam pilot action, and it's our job to please!" Duo finally slumped down into a chair, head in his hands. "All those weeks of practicing that dance number..." "... I'm due for a night out with Quatre in a few. I have to leave." "... and I had that stripper pole built just for today..." "... Duo." "... what am I gonna do with all that body oil?" "... Duo." Trowa tapped the self-proclaimed God of Death (and Whining, it seems) on the shoulder, causing his head to snap up violently. "What?!" Trowa paused. "Can I borrow the body oil?" Duo *almost* said something, then just shook his head and waved Trowa along. "... what the hell. You two have fun." Trowa non-smiled. "... wai." [---] Forgot About Jae CHAPTER 2: Hair, Sharp Objects and Body Oil Originally yanked from a Lovecraftian Abyss by Shelby Scott, aka Darkheart One Much love goes out to your mom. She's *hot*. [---] Previously, in the 1st episode of "Forgot About Jae", guest author W4 managed to mangle the time-honored memories I have for Pac-Man, make me doubt his sanity...and brought forth someone who I'm sure will become a regular character... the moonwalking, smooth-dancing, asskicking Akumichael Jackson. It also gave me ideas... but right now, I'll just leave you in suspense. Mwah. Mwah hah hah. Ahem. [---] After a rather uneasy and forced nap, she snapped awake, screaming as loud as she could, right into the ear of the young man in the ballcap who was tending to her injuries. After noticing that, she screamed again when she noticed that she was near-topless as he applied some overly-warm substance to her bruised chest. Once done, the young man popped his palm to his eardrum, then swallowed loudly. "Is she awake, dear brother?" The non-hatted youth took a seat nearby, a cup of coffee in his hands. "You did kick her rather smartly." "She is... awake, yes. Give me a few moments, my right eardrum seems to have popped." He swallowed again, to no effect. All the while, the lady was spazzing out. "W-who are you?! Where am I? What...what is this stuff on my chest?!" She quickly closed her cheongsam and gave the twins very dirty looks. They themselves seemed totally unaffected by her distress. "W-well?" "You are in our abode, dear madam." Yun bowed his head slightly, as did Yang. "I accidentally dispatched you when you were running our way earlier today." "And, concerning who we are..." The two suddenly stood, and began... to pose. "I am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!" "And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!" Yun and Yang suddenly went into an impressing, yet oddly disturbing kata, finishing with the two high-kicking and bracing each other with their upheld foot while posing. Somehow, sakura petals began to waft by, and the surrounding area darkened slightly. "Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice!" After that... silence. A few seconds passed before she could form a cohesive thought. "... and this stuff on my chest? Some ancient Chinese secret or something like that?" Yun smiled, still stuck in the final pose. "Vapo-Rub" "... oh." [---] "Dear brother, I have a good feeling!" "Indeed! This is the way!" The Wushu Passion/Justice Brothers sped towards the trashed store, making good progress. As they drew close, they thought back to the words the shopkeeper gave them... ("Are you two in some forbidden relationship or something?") ... and collectively scratched their heads. It was beyond them why everyone always asked them that. Their actions were purely a part of their inner Passion for Justice. How such actions could be interpreted otherwise... "... well, I'm stuffed. Let's bail." A voice from the shop caused the two to halt. Looking between each other, then immediately climbed up the fire escape on the side of the building, waiting... "Heh... that gal ran like th' Devil 'imself was on 'er tail!" Said comment was followed by rabid, and very audible slobbering. "Hehheh! Mebbe it was me happ'nin' dance moves!" The third voice broke into a weird laugh, accompanied by... chirping? "Mmmmooognahdenutterbunnybunnymnghfoomfoom... yah." ... um. Well. Anyway... The four bodies connected to the voices strolled out, all of them sporting wicked-looking mohawks and evil grins. That was all the Twins needed to see. With a mighty shout, they leapt from their vantage point, landed in front of the four... and posed. "I am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!" "And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!" "Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice!" More cherry- blossom petals fluttered about, and the lights came back on after a few moments. The mohawked men could only stare as the Twins held their pose, their best Angry Grimaces of Justice on. Finally, the lead man stepped forward, reached into his back pocket... and produced a massive, blood-stained chainsaw. "Oi, fellas! Who 'ere's up for a little circumcisin' fun?" "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!" The slobbering one dug a pair of Krueger claws out of his vest and slipped them on. The large, dumb-looking one produced a chain with a nasty hook on the end. The one dressed like a cross between a b-boy and a punk rocker wielded... a chick, complete with matching yellow-and-blue mohawk. The Twins' eyes went wide, and they looked at each other. "Dear brother... aren't we already circumcised?" "... I don't really think they care, dear brother." "Oh, bother." [---] "Poison, what's a seven-letter word that means 'aversion'?" Poison, busy eating lunch, didn't even bother to look up at Fuuma. "Go fuck yourself." "... that's fourteen letters." "Fuck off, then." Fuuma's eyes widened, and he smiled happily. "Thanks!" Poison hirself was about to tell Fuuma just how fucking dumb he was when the phone rang. Saved by the Bell (South Town), shi answered the call. "Thank you for calling Violence Limited. You point, we mangle beyond recognition." She cocked hir head to the side. "Yeah... ouch. Fuck, I bet that hurt... Keep going." Poison began to take notes swiftly. "Uh-huh... yeah... hot damn, them? Okay, we're all over that. Yes the usual payment'll be fine. Later." Shi hung the phone up and leaned back in hir chair, hitting the intercom with hir foot. "Yeah, Poison?" CJ was on the other end, naturally. "Just got a call from the city PD. Looks like the Hair Scare Gang's back in action." CJ's voice took on an odd tone, then he gasped slightly. "Right, right--easy, Sharon--so, what happened this time?" Fuuma took that time to sit on Poison's desk and listen in, still working on his crossword puzzle. "Looks like our old gofers ran into 'em and got their little peepees shaved. They're in the ICU. That, and they've robbed a few places today. Cops want us to stop 'em." CJ 'hrm'ed for a moment. "Right... Fuuma!" The ninja jumped, slightly startled. "I want you to get Hugo and come to my office. We're gonna go mohawk-hunting." "Yessir... and... sir? How did you know I was here?" "You're the only ninja I know that hums girly bubblegum-pop songs out loud," CJ replied rather honestly. "And it's really fucking annoying," Poison interjected. "Now get off my damn desk, you're infecting it with dumbass germs." Fuuma did so, backing up like a wounded dog. "R-right... and boss?" A slight 'meep', followed by an annoyed "Yes?" from CJ. "What are you doing right now?" "Getting my grope on with Sharon." One could swear that they could hear Sharon whimper "Sweet baby Jesus, kill me now." over the intercom. "... how come Sharon never gropes me?!" "Because--whoo!--I'm the boss, Fuuma. Now go, or you'll be riding pine... the hard way." "Sir!" He turned... then turned again. "One more thing." "WHAT?!" Fuuma looked over his crossword. "What's a seven-letter word that means 'detested'?" "Fuck off, already!" "... thanks!" With that, the ninja promptly ninja-vanished... and ninja- reappeared beside the door, opening it and running out. Poison just groaned loudly as shi sprayed the spot where Fuuma was sitting with disinfectant spray. "I don't know why I hired him... I really---eeee--really don't." "The Stupid Employee Act of 1974." ".... oh, *THAT*. Stupid law---yeah, right there." With that, the intercom shut down. Poison wiped down the desk a few more times, then pulled out her April issue of PlayShoto and went back to the centerfold. "You must swallow Sheng Long to stand a chance, indeed." [---] "And we are live in five... four... three..." The producer finger-counted the rest... and then, light-and-happy music cued up, the lights turning on in the studio. The APPLAUSE light blinked spastically, and the crowd went nuts. Soon enough, an ashen-skinned man with Don King-esque green hair and a weird cyber-bit over his right eye walked onto the kitchen set, dressed in a cook's smock with his sleeves rolled up. After taking his place, he waved to the crowd. "How are you, gentlemen... and gentlewomen?" The crowd roared with applause, not seeming to mind that a man-thing with a Speak-And-Spell voice was greeting them. "Good, good. Today, we're going to work on one of my favorite recipes... Snow Crab Gumbo." He produces a massive set of snow crab legs to demonstrate. "And when I'm done, a lucky few of you will get a taste." He grinned. "... all your tastebuds are belong to me. You are on the way to culinary ecstasy." The crowd reacted with a near-automatic "What you say!!" then broke into applause as Cats bowed deeply. "I'm saying that it's time to get cooking!" Another round of applause, and Cats immediately broke into his routine. Somewhere up in the producer's booth, the two bigwigs funding the show smirked broadly, then picked up their cell phones and dialed away. "Move, ad agents." "For great profit." [---] With the obligatory bad-joke segment out of the way, we return you to our previously-scheduled inanity. Just let me get my notes.. ... hrm... Right. Ready to go. [---] "Oh, Trowa..." "... oh, Quatre..." "Oh, Trowa!!!" "... oh, Quatre..." [---] AAAAAGH!! Who forgot to edit that out?! Goddamn writers... they *meant* to do that to me... ... stop laughing back there! I can hear you! You know I can get *any* of you fired! HMPH. Anyway... there. [---] Deep within the bowels of South Town Medical Center's ICU, two twins lay, clad in hospital gowns and looking very-much incoherent, doped up to the point where colors probably tasted like the sound of the nurse's voice. Regardless, the nurses let the thick-chested mafioso-looking guy in. After all, he kept them in business with all the people he sent their way. "Heya, boys. How goes?" CJ took a seat between the two, arms folded. "We're doin' fiiiiiiiiine, dear ex-employer." Yang smiled dreamily. Yun was just trying to catch the pretty words coming from his dear brother's mouth, to no avail. "Heard they gave you boys a skinning. Any ideas where the Hair Scare Gang went?" He adjusted his hat and waited patiently for an answer. "As long as, together, we are..." They, somehow, did the whole foot-to-foot pose while in bed, complete with petals and darkened background. "... the Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice..." They broke the pose, then resumed hallucinating. "...we will tell you that they went to the docks to go dynamite fishing." "I hope they catch a big fish... I hear they sing real nice..." The two suddenly started singing. "Take me to the riiiiiiver.... put me in the waaaaaaaaaater..." At this point, CJ simply left, lest the song stick in his mind and rot away what little sanity he had to spare. [---] The Violencemobile screeched out of South Town Medical's parking lot and streaked down the road, CJ weaving through traffic. The others inside the Caddy didn't seem to mind much, seeing that their boss was actually driving slower than usual. "So, what's the word?" Sharon attended to AK-Chan, idly oiling the gun up as they cut an especially sharp corner, swerving past Jae and NEG as they headed back home, looking especially flushed and happy. "The docks. We've got those punks where we want 'em." CJ hit another hard turn, crashing through a few crates laden down with Bison Pops ("So good, you'll go psycho for more!"). Hugo just grunted something in thick-as-tar German. Fuuma was... still working on his crossword puzzle. "What's a seven-letter word for 'testimony'?" "Shut the fu--" CJ was cut off by a loud BA-KOOM, followed by water and fish-chunks spraying all over the car. "... *bingo*." [---] Meanwhile, on the way to the office, Jae and his NEG were suddenly passed by CJ and company in the Violencemobile. Had it not been for the fact that they were exhausted from playing 'Find The Dot', they'd have tried to flag their associates down. Instead, they just kept going, cuddling like lovebirds do. "So... I guess this is all the time we get in this episode." Jae snuggled his NEGgie-poo. "Oh well, I probably couldn't be much of a help anyway. They'll be fine." NEG nodded and cuddled her Jae-bear. "Of course they will... besides, we need a shower after all that long, hard work." She smiled suggestively at him. "Riiiiiiiight?" "Yes, ma'am. Whoo." Jae smiled the smile of happiness, mostly due to a random grope. "I think I'm going to like this job." With that, the two headed towards the sunset and right out of this chapter. Sorry folks, you'll be seeing them next time. So nyah. Anyway... [---] ... on the subject of lovey-dovey romances and stuff, somewhere on the opposite side of Town, in a rather expensive and classy restaurant, Trowa and Quatre were enjoying a nice bit of fondue before the main course. Well, Quatre was, anyway. Trowa's hair had somehow managed to knock over the candle set in the middle of the table, get into the fondue pot, knock a tray out of a server's hands and poke the waiter in the eye. Twice. Naturally, he didn't smile, but he had more of a non-smile on that he usually did, which meant he was slowly getting cheesed off. And on, seeing that melted cheddar was dripping from his pointed 'do. So, being the good little boy (Mind you, that is debatable, but I don't really have the time and/or patience for it at the moment.) that he was, Quatre went to somehow salvage Trowa's non-mood. "So, Trowa... we haven't talked in a while. How're you feeling?" "... like I have cheese in my bangs." His reply was pretty flat, even for him. "Well, Trowa... here." He wiped Trowa's hair clean, earning a friendly non- chuckle from his date. "And... one more thing, Trowa." "Hm?" Trowa casually turned to see if dinner was coming. Quatre looked out the window at the giant white, red and orange Gundam outside in the parking lot. "Why did you bring Heavyarms? You're..." He took a moment to count. "Five... six... seven... Octuple-parked." "... well, it makes for a good make-out spot." He sipped at his water, then non-smirked. Quatre smiled brightly. "Ooooooooooh." [---] "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!" Only the Hair Scare Gang could derive pleasure out of blowing up poor innocent fish up with quarter-sticks. Well, they're not the only ones, but I think the sound guy signed a contract to leave his fetishes outside of the workplace. If you ask me, that's like sticking firecrackers up cats' butts and lighting 'em...only vaguely more painful and nowhere near are fun to wat--I'm going too far with this, aren't I? Right. Anyway, "Oi!" "Jack, mate, pass me another stick! An' don' drool all ova it this time, eh?" Rancid, in all his floppy mohawked glory, held his hand out, in which Jack dropped the bright red stick (complete with "DYNAMITE" on the side of it in military lettering) into his boss's hand. "Right! Lesse what I can catch with this baby!" Rancid let loose a mad cackle, then utilized Video Game Logic to scrape his chainsaw along the ground, somehow generating a wave of flame that lasted long enough for him to light the stick with. "Pretty *foiah*...hehhehheh..." Little did he know that there was a security camera watching the events unfold... [---] ... and somewhere in a large office complex not too far away, a lawsuit was being prepared by a very unhappy fire-wielder with a nervous tic. "... did you see that? Everyone and their mother... that's it. Class action time!" "Er, Kyo..." Benimaru, somehow alive but bandaged up to hell and back, held up a hand. "There's a LOT of people in South Town with fire-based abilities. Don't tell me you're gonna sue 'em all!" "Damn straight I am! And don't you start about this being about jealousy!" Kyo slammed his hands on his computer desk. "Remember who owns Kusanagi Enterprises! Remember who built this organization from the ground up! Remember who was there ALL THE FUCKING WAY since '94. As far as the world is concerned, Kyo *IS* fire. All the others are plagiaristic bastards due for a spanking." He went back to furiously typing up his e-mail to his bank of high-money, low-moral attorneys. "We start with that Masters punk. He's the worst of--" Kyo's rant was interrupted by a rather loud crash. Thankfully, the damage was minor: just a shattered window and a broken chair. Oh, and one seemingly dead Benimaru, crushed by a doctor's examination table. Dr. Robotnik's, once Kyo took a closer look. "Dammit, Beni, you *know* blood's hard to get out of this carpet... Jesus on a trampoline, why do I even bother with you..." With a grumble, he reached for his two-way. "Yuki? Beni's dead again. Get the cleanup crew he-" "... I'm not dead yet." Beni held an arm up shakily. "Hurt real bad, yeah....ow, my liver..." Yuki's voice cut in over the intercom. "Honeybunch, Beni-kun sounds... alive." "Nope, he's dead," Kyo replied flatly as he walked over to his desk, sending the e-mail on its way. As soon as it finished, he casually hefted the monitor up and brought it down on Benimaru's skull. "See?" He held the two-way's receiver to Beni's pulped form for a few seconds. "Dead as pinball." "... oh. Right, I'll send them on, Kyo-dear." The comm link cut out, and Kyo quickly made his way to the booze cabinet as the Clean-Up Crew (consisting of Kyo-367, Kyo-1167 and Kyo-46.7) went about bagging up Beni's corpse. "... I hate my life." [---] "There!" CJ spun the Violencemobile around and barreled towards the Gang as they watched another plume of water and fish-bits fly skyward. "Ladies, gentlemen and stupid ninja, it's time to get violent." After a flawless skid-to-a-stop, the group leapt from the car and struck mighty battle poses. As seemed to be the case, rousing battle music piped in from...somewhere, getting the punks' attention. "... oi, Cracker Jack! We meet again." Rancid revved his chainsaw up and scraped it along the ground, shooting sparks everywhere. "This time we don't intent on going down easy... roight, mates?" "It's time t' git down 'n' FUNKY!" Duck King busted a groove. As did his chicken. Jack just slobbered furiously and licked his finger-blades. Birdie was picking his ear with a quarter-stick, but paused long enough to get his chains ready and mutter something unintelligible. "Yeah, yeah, same thing you said last time. Now hold on a second... HUDDLE!" CJ, Sharon, Hugo and Fuuma huddled close as CJ drew the game plan in the palm of his hand. "Sharon, I want you to go deep, but only take your shots when it looks like you won't hit anyone other than Fuuma." "Right. AK-Chan agrees. Don't you, baby?" Sharon purred and gave her rifle a scritchie. Somehow. "Hugo, go in and do what you do best." "HNGGRDDFUFNG?" "Yeah, that too. But keep that to a minimum. We want enough to bring back for identification." "BNNNNHRGS." "... Fuuma." The Red Masta Killa perked up. "Sir?" "You get to be the human shield for me." "... again?" Fuuma pouted and kicked at the ground a bit. "YES, again. You are wearing a belt that I can grab onto this time, right?" "... I don't mind wedgies." CJ facepalmed. "Christ... alright. That's the plan. On three. One... two... three!" The group replied with a hearty "BREAK!", then turned around. Each one now had a Gang member pouncing at them. CJ blinked, or would have, were his eyes visible. "... okay, this wasn't in the game plan." [---] "So..." "... so." Quatre and Trowa watched the moon reflecting off of the bay, the two of them sitting on a bench. It had been... quiet since dinner. Quatre had managed to get a non-laugh out of Trowa, and was feeling fine. That, and the harem pants he'd picked for their night out were really comfortable. He'd have to wear them while piloting sometime... "Well... it's getting late, Trowa." Quatre glanced down at his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs. Trowa didn't look anywhere, save back towards Heavyarms, which was no more that a few yards away from them. "... I had a good time." "I did as well, even though the empty void that is my soul would have me think otherwise." Trowa glanced over at his 'date' finally. "... nice pants." The blond (blonde?) blushed a few shades of red... and soon IT began. You know, *IT*. That slow magnet-like attracting phase-thingie that happens before things get all hot, heavy and mushy-mushy. Closer... and closer... and closer.... AND CLOSER... "... Trowa... yes... yes..." The moment, much to the relief of yaoi non-fans, was shattered by the beaten body of Duo landing on their laps. That... and cherry-blossom petals. And the fact that two asian men wearing nothing more that hospital gowns and very unhappy expressions. Normally, a stray fanservice wind would blow by, but now's not the time for that, and I think I've made enough people mortally sick of pseudo-yaoi luvluv for one episode. "We are forgiving of many things..." "... but we do not forgive those who would use our good looks and charisma to mislead nubile young women into believing that we are going to just... wantonly engage in acts of forbidden debauchery... in public." "Therefore!" The light darkened enough for the trio to see the two shadowy men pose. "I am Yang, the Blazing Heart of Youthful Wisdom!" "And I am Yun, the Swift Soul of Youthful Courage!" Pose, petals, darkness. "Together... we are! The Wushu Twins of Passion and Justice! And together we shall exact *revenge*!" Trowa blinked slightly, then glanced over to Trowa. "... are we in trouble?" Mad Wushu Skillz applied to Trowa's temple, followed by said depressive flying a good yard, quickly answered that question. "... oh." [---] The battle waged was one of fierce blows... of spilled blood and torn flesh...of pain, suffering and torment... ... if one was Fuuma, that is. "Not in the crotch! Not in the crotch!" Thankfully *that* chainsaw slash missed his tender vittles, parried away by CJ's bat. The barrel-chested thug looked quite adept with using Fuuma as a shield, while Fuuma looked quite adept with being used as a shield... save for complaining about it. "Hey! This outfit cost me a fortune!" Meanwhile, Sharon and Hugo were having no trouble with the other three, Jack and Birdie falling prey to Hugo's painful-looking HNGGRDDFUFNG-ing and left to try and unknot themselves from each other. Sharon had simply given Duck King a good, swift knee to the goodie bag, dropping him like a 50$-a-day crack habit. Still, there was one small problem. Duck King's chick. Sharon had apparently forgotten the beast's power, seeing that she was now one with the nearby aluminum siding, and probably wasn't going to get free without serious aid, leaving Hugo with the task of trying to HNGGRDDFUFNG the downy demon without doing any serious bodily harm to himself. All the while, Rancid was doing battle with CJ, and not having the best of luck. Like it or not, the thug was stronger and faster than he was, and it was starting to show. Desperately, he looked around for something, *anything* to turn the tide... "... my poor, poor fishy friends..." Off in the bay, Rikuo busied himself with comforting his charges, nursing their injuries as best as he could. But what wasn't what made Rancid smile. And no, it wasn't someone groping him. The fish-dude had a mohawk. Okay, it was a big fin, but it was close enough... As CJ swung, he pushed the blow away, dropped his chainsaw, and dug a bottle out of his pants. Quickly unscrewing the top, he tossed the bottle's contents down at the merman and watched gleefully as the gillman started twitching oddly. CJ, ready to smash Rancid's brains in, paused mid-smash, then read the bottle's label. "... Psycho-Power Brand Super Ultra Mohawk-Gro..." Rancid cackled and screamed to the heavens, "Make 'is mohawk GROOOOOOOOOOOOOW!" CJ then glanced down at Rikuo. No, scratch that. CJ glanced *up* at Rikuo. And up. And up. And up. And up. "... holy hell." [---] Imagine, if you will, the infinite reaches of time and space. No bottom, no top, no sides. Just... eternity. Now imagine one blonde-haired man in a tight black cutoff and white khakis floating in it. Imagine this man slowly coming to... just as he hears a still, small voice... "Benimaru..." "Y-yes?" Benimaru tried to look himself over, only to find out that he could not move. "Where... where am I?" "I am the Infinite Will of the Multiverse, spawned from the hopes and dreams of countless billions from other realities... and I... have a Mission for you." The voice... was familiar, but the ethereal sound to it threw Beni off. "... mission? What mission? And who are you?" "I am the One who has brought you back after your unfortunate demises... I am the One Whose Technique Is Peerless and Absolute... you could go so far as to call Me your new God... but I have a Name... a Name no man can hear from My Voice. But I can tell you what your Mission will be..." The voice chuckled. This made Benimaru swallow. "As long as your Mission is undone, you cannot die... consider that My Gift to you." Benimaru was somewhat freaked now, and it showed. "Just tell me what this mission is and I'll do it! Just let me go back to South Town!" A pregnant pause, then... "Very well. Your Mission... is one that I will constantly guide you on. It is simple... all you must do... is spread My Words... My Style... My Teachings... My..." Without warning, a god-sized man, wearing a god-sized pink gi while furiously shaking an upheld, god-sized arm, let loose a cry that came seemingly from every conceivable place in Infinity, rattling Benimaru to the very core of his being and woogifying his weak, pitiful mortal body. "... SAIKYO-RYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" Soon, the universe stopped shaking, Benimaru's body was no longer jellified, and the Infinite Will of Saikyo-Ryu stared down at the shootfighter's microscopic body. "...well... have you anything to say, mortal man?" Benimaru swallowed. He then swallowed again, body shaking visibly and sweat pouring down his brow. Finally, he inhaled deeply, and made his immediate feelings known. "NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" [---] For a moment... every sentient being in South Town paused, shuddered, then resumed whatever it was they were doing. [---] "RRRRRRRRAR! Oi! OI!" Kaiju Rikuo rose from the water and immediately went about doing what giant beasts with mohawks do: turning the dock area into one's own personal moshpit. The riveting, heavy-metal battle music was only encouraging the thing, on top of that. Meanwhile, the people still conscious on the ground watched, either afraid, awestruck or both. Rancid, ever the opportunist, took the moment to collect his gang and drag them along to the getaway hummer. Juuuuuust as he was about to bail, he stopped. "The chicken." Said chicken was busy dueling with Hugo, effortlessly dodging every lamppost-swing the lump of muscle sent its way while trying to peck his eyes out. Neither one was going anywhere, so Rancid decided to just break up the fight. "Oi! Chickie! Time to split!" The chick peeped brightly, then hopped away from Hugo's face and scrambled towards the spot with the steadily-widening shadow... "... aw, shite, CHICKIE!" As mighty of a Chick of Certain Death that it was, it had no way of handling a 60-foot merman stepping on it. So, as do all cute things, it went SPLAT. A cute and cuddly SPLAT, but a SPLAT nonetheless. Rancid just muttered something and hopped into the hummer and sped away. "Next time, CJ! Next time!" As Rancid flipped him off a few times before rounding the corner, CJ grunted and walked over to Sharon, presently occupied with moaning incoherently and bleeding freely. Having one's body embedded into metal, even something as flimsy as aluminum, had a tendency of hurting. "... ow, we're gonna need some welding equipment for you... Hugo's fine... come on, Fuuma. We don't do giant fish monsters." He waited for the inevitable stupid reply, but didn't get it. God forbid Fuuma actually kept his damn mouth shut when the opportunity to say something inane came up. "Fuuma, we're leaving..." Again, nothing. This time, he was worried. Odd, he didn't remember seeing Fuuma after the whole Mohawk-Gro bit... and he suddenly noted that the large Gundam not too far off was powering up. He felt a pit form in his stomach. No Fuuma + large mecha powering up = stupid Fuuma in large mecha powering up. No one, he thought, not even Fuuma's that terminally stupid. The mecha... struck a very recognizable Ninja Pose. Good Lord, he *is*, he counter-thought, and immediatly ran towards the mecha. "FUUMA!!!" [---] Well, the pilot was on the ground with a huge bruise on his temple, as did his friend in the dark clothes. The guy one that he wasn't sure was a boy or girl was actually sharing cooking tips with Yun and Yang, who were in those flimsy hospital grounds... and the big-ass mecha was alone. Giant mecha. Giant fish. Giant mecha with GUNS. Giant fish with NO GUNS. That logic being followed, Fuuma put 2 and 2 together. When he got 17, he paused and tried it again. It took six tries, but finally... "Four!" With that, he leapt up the mecha, in search of the cockpit. "Heeeeeere cockpit, cockpit, cockpit... heh heh heh, I said *cock*." After some scouring, he found the "Heh heh heh..." cockpit and slipped in, buckling up for safety and flipping any toggle that looked vaguely like an ON switch. Naturally, dumb ninja luck came through, and the massive thing revved to life, displays coming up. Grabbing the joysticks and placing his feet on the Gundam's pedals, Fuuma concentrated, feeling ancient teachings from the Fuuma masters of yore flowing through him... '... hey, Kougan, check this one!' 'FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!' 'Ew! What did you eat last night, man?!' ... and suddenly knew how to unleash the fatal Silent But Deadly Ninja Flatulence. While that wasn't what he was aiming for, it was cool enough for him. "Right! Onward, ninja warrior! Let's show them how useful the Fuuma clan really is!" [---] "... so, I tried using basil instead, and it gave the chicken such a wonderful flavor! I'll have to write down the recipe for you both!" Quatre beamed at The Wushu Twins of Long Title. Not only were they masterful fighters, but they knew a few tricks in the kitchen. And the one that looked vaguely like dear Trowa was cute, too. "We shall have to try that. What say you, dear brother?" Yang turned to face Yun, who was staring past Quatre. "Dear brother?" "Dear young man in harem pants, is that your giant robot?" Yun just pointed back and up. "Er, no. It's Trowa's. I think he's coming to now. We're so sorry about all this confu--" Trowa turned around to see Heavyarms strike a vaguely ninja- like pose, then stomp towards the equally large fishman with the mohawk-fin that was busting up the rest of the docks area. "... oh my. I don't think Trowa's going to be happy..." [---] CJ ran. And ran. And ran and ran and RAN. By the time he reached the field of battle, Fuuma was reciting, through Heavyarms' loudspeaker, the various illustrious heroes of his clan, his full intention to give the fish-punk the ballistic equivalent of Rough Prison Sex should he not cease his assault, and a pre-battle question as to what an 8-letter word for "distraught" may be. All Kaiju Rikuo did was stare, roar, then charge Heavyarms. CJ could *hear* Fumma's immediate reaction, but he couldn't see it, thanks mostly to a massive chuck of merman skin smacking him in the face (and clear off his feet) as Heavyarms let loose the lead at near-point-blank range, creating a twisted aria of roars, various versions of 'splat' and Fuuma's power-mad cackle as he put more lead into Rikuo that he's put into himself eating paint chips in his youth. Well, *almost* as much lead, anyway. "I am the god! I AM THE GOD! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Soon, the torrent of fiery soft-metal death stopped, leaving behind the smoking bottom half of Kaiju Rikuo, a small cloud of gunbarrel smoke and enough gore to, y'know, make for a lot of gore. CJ, having been in close proximity, wasn't spared at all. "Who's the man! Who's the man! Who's the ma--" There are precious few things that Cracker Jack truly hated. One was stupidity. Another one was screwing up on the job. The biggest one, however, was people getting his outfit messed up. He didn't feel like wasting a super level that day, but anger wasn't taking no for an answer today. "UPPAAAAAAA!" One dash and ham-fisted hyper-uppercut later, Heavyarms landed a good fifty meters away, right into the bay, with a resounding splash. CJ noted that he felt much better, turned, and walked towards the chunk- splattered Violencemobile. Hugo had already loaded Sharon (and the sheet metal she was stuck in) into the back. 'At least someone's competent in this damn organization,' he mused, hopping into the Caddy and revving 'er up. "Um, boss... this is kinda uncomfortable... and I think I might've ruptured something..." Sharon squirmed in the sheet metal and coughed up more blood. "Think you can get me out?" "Sure, Sharon," he quickly replied. "I left my work bat back at the office. We'll handle things there." Ignoring Sharon's fearful yelp, he punched down the pedal, the 'mobile shooting Rikuo chunks everywhere before finally speeding down the docks, only pausing to stop in front of Fuuma, soaked to the skin and trying to haul himself up, and drive off hurriedly ("You get to walk home, assclown."), a random fish bit whapping him dead in his gasping mouth. Fuuma paused. Fuuma bit. Fuuma chewed. Fuuma swallowed. Fuuma paused again. Fuuma bit and chewed again. Fuuma paused yet again. Fuuma swallowed yet again. "... needs less blood." Fuuma spat the chunk out and finally climbed all the way up, using the last of his Ninja Stamina to make it. He had to admit, he'd forgotten that CJ could do that, and made a quick mental note to invest in a super meter, just in case he was in a situation where a number of angry people covered in merman gore were staring down at him with near-murderous intent, ready to stomp on his repeatedly in various sensitive places. Like right now. "Er... sorry? Eh-heh..." He offered them his best smile. Duo, Quatre, Trowa and the Wushu Twins refused it, wasting no time in stomping a mudhole in Fuuma and walking it dry many, many times. And all was right with the world... or was it? [---] He awoke with a headache. And memories of what he had seen and heard. "... no. It was just a dream. That didn't happen... it's all a--" He then noticed that he was in a dojo of sorts, divided from the main training area, and five figures, by a thin rice-paper screen. "Recite! The Teeeeeeeeen! Commandments ooooooooof... Danimism!" The lead voice had a noticably Russian accent to it. A group "Doushita!", then... "Thou shalt have no other gods (especially shotokans and their ilk) before Me!" The second voice was female, raspy and rather deep. "Thou shalt not say the Name of the Hibiki thy God in vain, lest thou be using His name in a creative and effective Taunt!" A pair of voices this time, high-pitched and cutesy ones. "REMEMBER THE FIRST TAUNT AND PERFORM IT OFTEN!" This voice was young, somewhat androgynous, and really fuckin' loud. "Honor thy fellow Taunter!" First voice. "Thou shalt not kill. Taunting is more fun and rewarding anyway!" Second voice. "Thou shalt not commit spiritual adultery by conversing with shotokans and their ilk!" Third pair of voices. "THOU SHALT NOT PASS UP THE CHANCE TO TAUNT THY OPPONENT, OR ANY OTHER PAGAN, MERCILESSLY!" Fourth voice. You probably notice the pattern by now. "Thou shalt not let thine Taunts grow stale, and must focus and meditate to discover newer, more pagan-distressing Taunts! Props, while not required, are encouraged!" "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's Taunts, especially if they be not a Child of Hibiki, for their Taunts suck and you could do better!" A deep group inhale, then... "THE TAUNT IS ALL!" A final "Doushita!", then the group relaxed, the rotund Russian clapping his hands. "We will train here until the Chosen One, the Rolling Pink Thunder of Saikyo-Ryu, arrives and sets the End Times into motion! Until that blessed, special day... we must remain ever-vigilant that we never miss the Chosen One..." "OH! YOU MEAN THE GUY TRYING TO TIPTOE AWAY OVER THERE?!" Benimaru hissed and stopped mid-tiptoe. Caught. "Damn!" He opened his eyes and beheld his captors... Karnov... Bub and Bob... Dig Dug and Strength- Chan... the whole lot of 'em staring at him with something akin to awe and reverence. "... Benimaru... you... are the Chosen One?" Karnov, in a flawlessly pink Saikyo-Ryu gi stood forward purposefully. "I, the Blazing Pink Inferno of Saikyo-Ryu would've never thought the Lord would've chosen someone so... so..." Beni fumed and his hair flattened. "Contrary to popular belief, I am *not gay*." "Doesn't matter, really." Dig Dug, it seems, was the owner of the raspy female smoker's voice, busy fixing her Giant Monster-Popping Pump of Saikyo-Ryu. "Welcome to the fold, hon. I'm Dig Dug, the Blasting Pink Wind of Saikyo-Ryu." She dug out a cigar and lit up. Beni paused. "Er... I thought you were male..." "Everyone thinks that at first!" The twin mini-dino-thingies piped in, also clad in cute-sized pink gis as well. "We're Bub and Bob, the Rushing Pink Bubbles of Saikyo-Ryu! Nice to meet you, Chosen One!" They poinged in unison. "I AM STRENGTH-CHAN, THE CRUSHING PINK AVALANCE OF SAIKYO-RYU!" The seemingly-genderless kid with the infinity symbol on his/her/whatever undershirt demonstrated its title by producing a normal rock and a can of pink spraypaint. "LION-KUN WOULD BE HERE, BUT HE GOT GAS FROM EATING A PAGAN!" Beni paused. It... it simply wasn't possible. It HAD to be a dream. "But... b-but... this can't *BE*... I'm dead! This can't be South Town!" "Indeed it is, my tasty friend! We are in South Town, and this..." The group stood aside to reveal a giant wall scroll depicting... a god-sized man in a god-sized pink gi taunting at a tiny-sized man with stand-on-end blond hair. "is the Temple of The Peerless Master of the Taunt... the center of Danimism. And you *are* the Rolling Pink Thunder of Saikyo-Ryu!" Benimaru shook his head again and again. He wanted to believe it was all a dream, just a result of Kyo almost-killing him. Yeah, a coma-induced nightmare... a mirror. He was wearing a pink gi. His hair was slicked back and in a ponytail. There was an image of Dan behind him, all smiles. He moved a cue card into view that read "This ain't no dream." Backwards, naturally. "NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" [---]