Author's Note: Hehe how's it going, bros? Tune4Toons here, and welcome to Under My Over.

Just to disclaim, expect the unusual. This is not your typical fanfic, I've got to say.

Based on To The Moon, here's my entry to the Inspirational Contest! (Originally, it had been entered in the Inevitable Contest as well, buuut...) Enjoy.


。.•°•.。Ʋnder ℳy Ѳver。.•°•.。

Every nerve in his body urged him to turn his motorbike around. From his earpiece, O'Donnell heard a large number repeat over and over again. He found himself imagining the digits lining side by side, all those zeros extending his doubts further. Racing through a dirt road at an empty grass field, he rode his way towards his latest assignment as his bike engines roared.

He couldn't wait until tonight's job was over.

Sighing, he spoke into his comm. "Lomabardi, twenty-four?"

"Were you even listening? I said twenty-six thousand, not four. Sure, our paychecks are usually pretty big, but this is a huge deal!"

"Sounds too good to be true if you ask me."

Lombardi scoffed. "Just go with it; be happy for once. This time, our client happens to be super rich, so I think should get this done at least. Besides, that's gonna be a lotta cha-ching going into our pockets! Anyways, I'm almost there, so get here soon."

"Sure. See ya."

Turning off his comm, he closed his eyes, wondering whether or not it was a good idea to trust him. He knew everything they needed was sitting behind him, strapped onto his bike, so if he didn't come, he would never hear the end of it.

No sooner than opening his eyes, he gasped. A wild, yellow creature appeared in his path. O'Donnell quickly made a sharp left turn. The bike swerved, and he held on. Trying desperately to hold the handles straight, he rushed through the grass blind. Soon, a flash of red in front made him take to the right. He drifted into a side drift, the tires scratching the dirt. Then he came into a full stop. A few seconds passed as he collected his thoughts.

Coughing out a shaky breath, he took off his helmet, brushing the sweat on his brow. Soon, he found himself being approached by a man with cobalt-blue hair and a flashy red suit, who was dusting off his clothes.

"Geezus, O'Donnell. When I said get here soon, I didn't mean try to run me over!"

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a yellow mouse scurrying across the road. "I could've hit that thing too if I didn't do something."

Lombardi chuckled. "Says the guy with grey hair. You're like my grandpa; you both need to get your eyes checked."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you liked yellow roadkill."

"Yellow over me, old man."

O'Donnell scoffed, looking around as he noticed the fence to his right and the path leading up the cliff behind it before parking his bike on the spot. "So where are we?"

"Trion Lake." Pulling out a handheld tablet from his right pocket, Lombardi started scrolling through its screen with the flick of his finger. "From what I got, our guy apparently owns a house here at the cliff overhanging a tri-cornered lakeside. He's like others, asking for a undo, not a redux or a travel."

"Exactly, so why pay so much—"

"Still worried about that? If it makes you feel any better, I bet he'll come up a little short, so let's just do this for him anyway." Then he glanced up and down along O'Donnell's frame. "As for you, why are you dressed like that?"

He looked down at the his leather coat and slacks. "What's wrong with them?"

"And yet everyone yells at me if I go casual?"

"Or it could be your clothes in general. We should get going and finish this as quickly as possible. Also, you're taking the TD up."

"Why me?"

"Would you rather be made into roadkill?"

Lombardi glared at him before heading to O'Donnell's motorcycle to unstrap the ropes bounded around a boxy machine. Then he heaved it up and trudged forward up the cliff path.


O'Donnell knew the TD was heavy—he had to carry it last week. Lombardi did it while grumbling the entire walk up. O'Donnell didn't bother to question it though, and he listened to Lombardi rambled on about how he was willing to give up his retirement days to track down where O'Donnell lived and dump the machine on his head when he least expected it, though he didn't care that much to comment.

They walked passed grass that grew in patches next to slopes, where small flowers bloomed in groups of four, each spot distant from others. It had been a while since O'Donnell came to a mountainous area, especially one that still carried a rocky-earth scent. Being used to the constant honks, stuffy smog, and flashing lights of the city, the trees let him breathe easier. Looking over to Lombardi, he could imagine what he would say about it, how old-fashioned and behind-the-times everything was here. No signal towers, no high-speed bullet trains, no skyscrapers either; it seemed out of touch with the rest of the world.

Or maybe it might have reminded Lombardi of his old hippie clients.

Not that he'd want another one.

Soon, he spotted a roof peeking out in the distance, then soon the building. Dry stone stood tall; not concrete, gypcrete, or even a metal framework. Sitting on a bench next to a couple of empty flower beds was a hunched, bald figure in a grey tunic with a cane. Albeit O'Donnell wouldn't have even noticed the man had it not been for the bright, grassy cap sitting on top of his head.

For someone who was supposed to be rich, O'Donnell would have expected something big or flashier; clothes, house, even technology…

"Would you look at that?" Lombardi said, nudging O'Donnell. "And yet you said my choice in colours were bad."

"At least his is just the hat, not head to toe."

After getting shot with a scowl, O'Donnell followed behind Lombardi as they approached him. The man in turn glanced up and gave them a smile.

"Ah, nice to see some visitors after so long. Are you two from the—"

"That'd be us," Lombardi cut in. O'Donnell raised an eyebrow as he glanced over to him, but Lombardi continued. "Which means you are Faori, right?"

"Faori's my last name, sonny." He rubbed the back of his head, staring at Lombardi's outfit. "Please, call me Link. I insist."

"Alright, F— Link. I'm Falco Lombardi, and this is my partner, Wolf—"

O'Donnell cleared his throat. "Warren O'Donnell. Stop doing that."

Lombardi chuckled. "Maybe if you stopped looking like one, I might." He flashed a cheeky grin, but O'Donnell sighed and rolled his eyes.

"O'Donnell is preferred for me and Lombardi for him."

"By last names?" Link cocked his head.

So it is another one of those weird guys again, O'Donnell thought.

"Right, y'all are city folk. Why don't you two come inside, and I'll get you something to eat? Though the city's sorta nearby, you must've had a long day before coming here."

Lombardi opened his mouth, but was cut off by a stare from O'Donnell. He let out a shaky chuckle before speaking again. "Thank you. That's kind of you, sir."

As Link turned around to open the door, Lombardi looked back at him, mouthing "What could I do?" with his hands moving along. O'Donnell walked into the house without a word.

The inside was beyond what he had expected; it was all one big room. The scent of fresh bread trickled from the kitchen at the far right, a table sitting in the centre. To the left, the living room—he assumed—held its two stitched chesterfields lined face to face. With the dim glow of the candelabra hanging on the ceiling, the wooden walls carried a rustic brown—nothing like the flashy white or metal from back home.

Beside him lay two quilted, single beds. O'Donnell tapped Lombardi's shoulder, and when he turned, he saw the beds as well. Then he set down the TD next to the closer one.

"Would you two like to have?" Link asked. "Perhaps a drink? Maybe some crackers? Bread?"

O'Donnell shook his head. "Considering the time, I'd prefer if we get straight down into business. So according to my partner, you are requesting for an Undo?"

"Yes, if that's what you folks call it."

He pointed under the bed. Being the closest there, Lombardi searched, pulled out a chest, and opened it to find it full of gems.

"Inside should be enough for the payment, though the currency's in rupees if that's all right. What's that machine y'all brought in?"

Lombardi chuckled as he slapped it. "That is our amazing, little TD—or Transfigured Dormancy. We'll hook it up to your head once you sleep, and then we can use it to travel into your past to alter your memories. Since you asked for an Undo, we're going to go in and change any traumatic memory of yours by our choosing, and the one we choose will be the one we think had the most negative effect on you."

Link nodded. "There are a few pretty bad days I wish to change, so I was hoping if y'all could change this one day when—"

"Sir, I don't think you understand," O'Donnell said. "You're not the one who gets to pick which day."

He froze. "Why not?"

O'Donnell sighed as he crossed his arms, motioning Lombardi with a flick of his head. Lombardi stood up. "We have a policy not to hand that kind of control over to clients due to potential abuse."

Link scratched his head, mumbling to himself with a raised eyebrow, but then he sighed. "If that's what you want, fine by me then."

Walking over to the bed and climbing in, Lombardi was able to start pulling wires out of the machine and strapping them onto Link's head. O'Donnell idled at the side, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers as he watched. Clients always asked; he was used to the routine by now, but every time still, he couldn't help but feel something snap in his head when they did.

As soon as Lombardi finished, Link had fallen asleep. After a few minutes, he handed O'Donnell one of the two remaining wires.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah. Let's get this done quickly." He took it and strapped it to the back of his head, closing his eyes and waiting with a sigh.