**AUTHOR'S NOTE**
First, I do not own any of the characters or franchises depicted here.
Now, fan fiction has been my main hobby over the summer and fall, something that has taken up many hours of my life. I honestly had never intended to write any in the first place. So, I am writing this one final uber-crossover with as many situations and characters as possible to purge myself of the fan fiction bug. Before you ask: yes, Randy is what you think he is. And lastly, as stated in the summary, expect anything.
CHAPTER ONE
"-now look down, I'm on a boat." Izakh gives a smug grin and raises an eyebrow.
"Cut! Great job, everyone. Izakh: I think that this was one of your better takes, we'll go ahead and use this one."
"Alright! Glad we finally got it." It was pretty tough- but not for the same reasons they had. "Any news about the wrap party?"
"Yeah, it's this Saturday at seven, at Cheddar's. Pretty casual affair; no need to worry about dressing to the nines like you usually do."
Izakh chuckles. "Okay. Will we be doing a gag gift exchange like the others?"
"Of course. Half the fun of the party is seeing what everyone's gonna get!"
Indeed it is... "I'll be sure to bring something extra special this time."
"Ho ho! More special than three grapes and a lemon?" The director laughs again. "Well I'll letcha go, I know you're a busy man. Take care."
"You too, Frank. Bye." Izakh nods, and walks off the set towards his dressing room. He waves and gives his famous smile to the crew on his way out. Once inside the dressing room, Izakh locks the door. He then focuses for a moment, and the samurai helmet turns into a plaid scarf. The rest of the armor turns into a pair of brown corduroy pants, a plain black long-sleeved shirt, a bomber jacket, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. But he waits a few minutes, as he couldn't get changed so quickly by normal means. He takes off a shoe, and flips open the sole. There is a phone built into it. He hits a familiar seven digit number, but she's away from her phone and he has to leave a voicemail.
"Hey, Kristi, this is Izakh calling. I just wanted to know if Randy got the message. If he calls you, tell him I'll be at the Sonic next to Dairy Queen for a snack this afternoon, and we can talk there. This voicemail is now diamonds." Izakh smiles, as Kristi was responsible for that particular line being written. There's still a few minutes before he can safely leave the dressing room, so he puts his foot on the stool: it morphs into an amplifier; he grabs the lamp, and it turns into a Dean Razorback with stained glass panels. "Alright," He says as he plugs in the guitar and amp. "Let's try that one in sixty-four seven, starting in C minor and F major." The oddly powerful and captivating pentatonic lick fills the dressing room. Its strange rhythm and sound would baffle lesser guitarists, but at its core was a surprisingly beautiful melody the rest of the syncopated notes stemmed from. "Gah! It's that same pull-off, every time!" He repeats it at half speed, but the timing isn't much less difficult. He does the pull-off too slow many times, and begins to feel frustrated. He plays the whole thing full speed, but this time the pull-off is too fast. He sighs. "Something easier first, I should have warmed up a little." Izakh does a four count, and starts playing Sam Totman's solo from E.P.M. The beat is much easier to follow after playing in sixty-four seven, and Izakh easily nails it. Satisfied with the performance, he checks the wall clock. Ah, it's been long enough. He morphs the guitar and lamp back to their original shapes, and walks out of the dressing room.
LATER THAT DAY
Randy Fagg is on the sidewalk, heading towards Sonic. This was the biggest opportunity he'd gotten in months- no, years; a chance meeting at a play audition had led to him meeting The Man Your Man Could Smell Like, and Izakh had said they were looking for some extras for the next Oldspice commercial. Randy was an actor, whenever he could be, but that wan't very often. He mostly spent his time on the computer, listening to music and watching anime. And when he wasn't doing that, he was typing fan fiction stories. Bleach was his favorite anime to use. His fics weren't that popular, but people still read them and that was really all Randy wanted.
As he neared the Dairy Queen across the street from Sonic, he saw a camera crew on the patio. Ah no way! Sweet, they're filming a commercial here! Ha ha! The cheap date one was my favorite... Randy hears another car coming up behind him, and he turns to look: it's a black Three Hundred with chrome accents, tinted windows, and spinners. Nice! Randy pulls back the sleeve of his longcoat to check his watch. Izakh should already be here. Randy walks a little faster, and soon arrives at the Sonic. There are already a few guys at the outside table, so Randy walks around to the other side. He presses the red button, and one of the men from the other table gets up. Randy does really think much of it. Probably just going to the bathroom, Randy thought.
"Welcome to Sonic, how may I help?"
"Yes, I'd like-"
"All yo money." The man growled, pressing a knife to Randy's throat.
A surge of adrenaline surged with great surging power through Randy. He was used to the energy, though not the situation; however, Randy's paranoia told him exactly what to do. "O- okay. I'm going to turn around slowly and hand it to you." Reaching into his black coat's inside pocket, he pulled out his wallet and turned around slowly. The mugger looked well enough to have bought his own meal, but he had that look in his eye that said he would steal for it anyways. As soon as the man grabbed at Randy's wallet, Randy spat in his face. As soon as the mugger raised his hand to wipe it off, Randy punted him in the groin hard enough to lift him off the ground a couple inches. When he landed, Randy hit him with an elbow to the jaw and there was a sick crunch. All of this happened in about two seconds. To make damn sure the mugger wouldn't be try anything further, Randy flipped the unconscious man onto his stomach and sat on him. He checked his pockets, and found another knife.
"HEY! The fuck do you think your doin'?" It was the mugger's tablemates coming around to Randy's side of the menu.
"I'm just about to order a burger and a Sprite. Y'all already ordered?"
"Don't play that funny shit with us, man. You have no idea who you're messing with."
"Hey, I'm not the one trying to mug someone here! All I wanted was-" Randy leaned down towards the speaker "a Sonic Junior with cheese and a large Sprite- and then one of you guys comes up and puts a knife to my throat. Just think: what would you do if that happened to you? Huh?"
"...Shut the fuck up, and get off Dwayne." Randy stepped back and flipped Dwayne over. Keeping his knife, though. "Tremonte, you get Dwayne. Let's go back to the car real quick." The gang stormed off to their Lincoln Towncar.
As they leave, Randy gets out his own fondling knife and opens it. He casually slips the knife hand into his coat and sits down to wait for his meal.
"You call the cops?" Randy looks up and it's the men who play T.J. and Pete on the Sonic commercials.
"No, I don't have a cell phone. Could one of you do that for me?"
"Already done," Said Pete. "Saw him when he pulled out his knife."
"I'll go and take their license plate number," T.J. said. "They're probably just going to drive off-" T.J. was cut short by a gunshot. It hit the menu, and the plastic shattered in his face. They ducked behind the tables, which actually provided decent cover. Then, more shots came out. Two more of the gang members had guns. The tables deflected most of the bullets but Randy knew it was only a matter of time before some of them got through.
The bullets stopped, and Pete saw one of the gangsters walking towards them. Suddenly, he is shot in the foot. "SHITCOCKER MUTHAFUCKER! WHO DA FUCK-" And then he is shot in his other foot.
Izakh drops down from overhead. "Want a side of pain to go with that?"
"Tremonte...! Shoot this nigga for me!"
Morphing business cards into guns, Izakh tosses them to Randy, Pete and T.J. "Come with me if you want to live!" Izakh covers their retreat towards his car- the black Three Hundred with chrome accents.
Randy is scared out of his mind. As he learned from some airsoft wargames, he's not much use in a shootout. He aims towards the gangster's Towncar, and fires a couple shots. One hits the windshield, and the other goes over the roof past Tremonte. Izakh and the others make it to the other side of the patio, somehow not hit. Pete aims a shot, and hits one of the gangsters in the shoulder. "Get in, NOW!"
Tremonte watches them peel off. "Fuck this shit! Pop the sunroof, and lemme in the trunk." The trunk is opened, and Tremonte gets out a bazooka. "Time to go Modern Warfare on they asses."
Izakh is speeding down the street when he sees in the rearview mirror a rusty red Lincoln Towncar come around the median. "Hold on tight, fellas! Things are about to get rough!" Tremonte fires the bazooka, but overshoots and hits a car down at the next light. Focusing on shifting reality into a different shape, Izakh opens the hood. He then shifts into reverse and spins the car around, narrowly missing a white sedan crossing the intersection. Two gatling RPG launchers pop up from the engine, and fire towards the gangster's car. They grenades connect, blowing the car off the ground and into several pieces. Izakh then shifts back into drive, and spins the car around. He swerves around a blue Pontiac Vibe, and morphs the car's engine back to normal.
"That always looks so cool in the movies when they spin the car around like that," Randy said. "But to be honest, it's really disorienting." Pete and T.J. nodded in agreement. "Where we headed to now?"
"I have a safehouse in Burkburnette," Izakh answered. "We should get there in about twenty minutes. Now listen-" Izakh swerved around the wreckage of the car Tremonte's bazooka hit. "That model of bazooka he had isn't easy to come by. As in, you don't even see it on the black market, because they're all currently owned by one person."
Randy thought for a minute. "And you and that person aren't... friends?"
"Haven't been for years. He... made me a very lucrative offer, and I refused. He's been after me ever since."
"Haven't you tried going to the police?" T.J. asked.
Izakh shook his head. "The police can't touch him. He's got moles in the government and police in nearly every independent country in the world."
"I didn't think people like that actually existed," Randy thought out loud.
"And he's not the only one. There's a group of four of them; Hozelin is what you'd call the brains of the bunch. He's got a lot of political influence, but prefers to let the other three do the dirty work. Usually."
"So you're ex-C.I.A., or something like that?" Wondered Pete.
"No. There... were six of us. Vathara and I came here several years ago, and... that was against their wishes. She was murdered by Gonterix on our honeymoon."
Gonterix? That sounds like something from Power Rangers... and so does Vathara... Thought Randy.
"I'm sorry to hear that," T.J. said.
"It's okay, it's been a while. Now before we get to the safehouse, if you have a cell phone you need to shut it off. I have a secure line there if you want to make a call."
"Wait," Randy said. "Instead of all the places with mountains or lakes or something in the middle of nowhere, the safehouse is in Burkburnette?"
"Exactly," Izakh answered with a smile. "Those places with the mountains and lakes in the middle of nowhere are usually the first place they look. 'Sides, it's a nice little town." They drove in silence along the road for a few minutes.
"Say," T.J. questioned, "What was the 'very lucrative offer' you refused?"
"I'll reveal that in the next chapter."