Part II

xxx

Teaser:

"John Green and John Green are hereby charged with war crimes…"

xxx

The TARDIS orbited Earth as the Johns prepared for travel between dimensions. They ran around pulling levers, pushing buttons, and twisting handles all over the TARDIS console. Finally, everything was set.

"Good luck kiss?" asked Bald John.

"Always," answered Other John, giving him a quick peck. "Wow, that goatee tickles." They each put a hand on the final lever and threw it at the same time.

But then, something went horribly wrong. After a few seconds of the vworping and slight shuddering they had come to expect, the Johns heard loud crashing and screeching noises. The TARDIS shook harder than she ever had before.

"John?" Other John yelled over the noise. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, but it can't be good!" Bald John yelled back. "We need to at least start by resetting the inertial dampeners."

"Where are they? I can't remember having to mess with them before."

"Don't worry, I've got it." Bald John ran down the stairs and under the console, clinging to the railing to keep his balance. Other John watched as his husband found the right switches. The TARDIS slowly stabilized as he reset each dampener. Bald John sighed with relief, went back up the stairs, and sat next to Other John on the floor.

"What the hell," he said. "This was not supposed to happen."

"What do we do now?" exclaimed Other John. "I'm no expert in dimensional travel—there's a reason I left Gallifrey for Swindon."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," said Bald John. "We just need to figure out where we are, when we are, what the problem is, and find the solution."

"That easy?"

"Hey now." Bald John pouted playfully. The two of them hugged for a moment, relishing the relative calm.

"OK, let's figure out our location." Bald John stood up and checked one of the monitors. "What?" he muttered.

"What is it?" asked Other John. He looked up at the monitor. "'Data unavailable'? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know! I've never heard of this happening before!"

"Well, to be fair, you've spent most of your adult life as a professional football player, so…"

"But still, we should be seeing something. Look: none of the instruments are detecting anything." Bald John shook his head in disappointment. "How did this happen?"

Suddenly, a loud zapping sound filled the air.

"I am Staal of Sontar. Separate from each other. You will surrender immediately."

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" demanded Other John. Some sort of…creature…had just joined the Johns in the TARDIS. He was short, wore a red and white space suit with yellow emblems, and had an odd potato-shaped head. Most importantly, he had a huge weapon aimed at the two men.

"Um, sure, we can separate," said Bald John, stepping away from Other John and putting his hands in the air. Other John followed his example.

"You and your vessel are now the property of the Sontaran Empire," yelled Staal. "You will now be boarded and imprisoned."

"Whoa, whoa," Bald John exclaimed. "Can you just tell us what's going on? We don't want to pick a fight. You can have the TARDIS; we just want to get to our universe. I'm sure we can work something out."

"John," whispered Other John. "I don't think this guy will listen to reason. He looks like Buzz Lightyear, for godssake!"

"Enough!" Staal interrupted. "We have already inactivated all of your ship's sensors. Disable the shields and weapons systems."

"We don't have any," said Other John.

"That's right," continued Bald John. "There's only a weak force field that keeps the vortex out when we're making long trips."

"Disable it!" screamed Staal. "Or your companion will be destroyed!" He fired his weapon at one of the bulkheads. The Johns watched in horror as it immediately exploded, sending fire and debris flying.

"All right, all right," said Bald John, trying not to panic. He pushed a few buttons on the console. "There, it's off. Now can you tell us what's happening?" Staal ignored him and tapped a communicator on his chest.

"All defense systems have been shut down," Staal barked. "Take the vessel in and transport us out."

A few seconds later, the Johns found themselves in a completely different place. They were standing before a group of aliens that looked exactly like Staal, all armed to the teeth and all wearing red and white space suits.

"What's happening? Why have you taken us prisoner?" demanded Other John.

"You are the creatures referred to as 'Other John Green' and 'Bald John Green,' are you not?" demanded one of the Sontarans.

"That's right," said Other John.

"And you are on course to the FIFA 14 universe?"

"Well, yeah," answered Bald John.

"Then you will be guilty of criminal offenses against the Sontaran Empire and must be imprisoned."

"Wait—we will be guilty? Of what?" asked Other John. "We deserve to know what we are supposed to do wrong before you stick us in jail."

The Sontaran pulled out a small tablet.

"John Green and John Green are hereby charged with war crimes against an ally of the Sontaran Empire."

"What?" both Johns exclaimed.

"Enough!" yelled a third Sontaran. "Lead the prisoners to their cells, where they will spend the rest of their pathetic lives!"

"What the f—"

Suddenly, there was a crackling noise and puff of smoke. When the air cleared, they saw…Fat Lucas?

xxx

"Hang on, boys!" cried Fat Lucas, and before the Sontarans' stunned eyes, he pulled both Johns close and tapped a button on a device strapped to his wrist.

Another loud crackle filled the Johns' ears as their surroundings faded away. They looked around; apparently, they had transported into some sort of supply closet.

"Shh, keep quiet," said Fat Lucas. "We're not out of danger yet."

"Can you tell us what's going on?" asked Other John. "First the TARDIS malfunctions for the first time since we've had her, then we're taken prisoner by candy cane potato men, then you show up?"

"Also, do you have a way for us to escape?" added Bald John. The husbands looked at Fat Lucas expectantly.

"I'll do my best to explain, but I can't promise it'll make sense," answered Fat Lucas. "Long story short, you've just been kidnapped by an alien race of warrior clones called Sontarans. They found out that you two and Manager John will lead AFC Wimbledon to victory and eventually bring about a golden age for humanity, so they've decided to just get rid of you now to prevent this future from happening. They used an interuniverse tractor beam to trap you in some sort of dimensional limbo. I've been sent back from 2033 to help you escape and keep you on track."

Other John and Bald John gaped at Fat Lucas. Bald John was the first to find words.

"Golden age of humanity? What?"

"Yeah. It's kinda complicated, but basically the story and values of the AFC Wimbledon Wimbly Womblys became so inspirational that Earth sorts out its problems. War, poverty, and crime have ceased to exist. Equality and love are universal. And scientific discovery has advanced exponentially, which is how I'm here."

"I was wondering about that," Other John said, looking Fat Lucas up and down. The former goalie's body was no longer defined by its significant girth. Instead, he was trim and muscular, and, if anything, looked younger. "What should I call you now, 'Thin Lucas'?"

"Actually, everyone calls me 'Fit Lucas' now," he answered cheekily. ("I'm still calling him 'Fat Lucas'," Other John whispered to Bald John.) "Everyone looks younger and fitter now. But I meant the whole time travel thing." He pointed at the device on his wrist. "This is a vortex manipulator. It's a form of quick and dirty space-time travel. Terrible for cardiovascular health, but we should be fine if we don't use it too many more times. I would've brought some for you guys to use but the long journey to your universe would destroy your Time Lord hearts."

"Wow, I didn't think humans would ever figure out how to travel through time," mused Bald John. "Not to mention the whole utopian world thing."

"But why do these Sontaran guys care about Earth becoming a better planet? And why did they accuse us of war crimes?" asked Other John.

"Oh, that." Fat Lucas rolled his eyes. "Turns out Sontarans love English football—they think it's how humans wage war—and are huge Manchester United fans. They've been getting furious over AFC Wimbledon winning most competitions and they blame the club for Man United's humiliating defeats and relegation to League Two over the past few seasons. This year, they traveled to Earth to destroy AFC Wimbledon, but couldn't get past the planet-wide force field we installed in 2018. Their solution was to go back in time and get rid of the guys who first led the Wimbly Womblys to victory."

"The what?" interrupted Other John.

"Wimbly Womblys. It's what Manager John will call the team. You know how he gets with nicknames."

"Right. OK. Wow." Bald John shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but the important thing is to get you two back on the TARDIS so you can make the right future happen."

"You better have a plan, Lucas. Things are sounding pretty bleak."

"Well, the good news is that the TARDIS isn't permanently damaged and it shouldn't be too hard for you to board her again and get moving. The bad news is that the cargo bay where they're keeping her is crawling with Sontarans."

Other John groaned.

"But it's OK! Because the Sontarans've got one hell of a weakness," said Fat Lucas. "They have a little air vent thing on the small of their backs, which is how they breathe. Hit them right there and they're disabled for a good minute or two. Use a shoe, hand, truncheon—any tap'll do."

"Right," Bald John said. "Can we catch our breaths first?"

"Sure, take a minute." I'll recalibrate the vortex manipulator to transport us to the bay where they're keeping the TARDIS."

As Fat Lucas messed with the vortex manipulator, Bald John and Other John turned to each other.

"John, is this some sort of dream?" Other John asked.

"I don't even know. Feels real enough." Bald John paused, and then continued, whispering. "Honestly, what I find weirdest of all isn't that we were held prisoner by crazed Man United-loving potatoes, or even that a hot version of our old assistant coach is here to save the day. It's that we will supposedly bring about some sort of new world order."

"Exactly! We're just football players. I mean, we're really good at what we do, but I never envisioned us doing Nobel Peace Prize-worthy work." Other John sighed. "Maybe it's best not to think of all this and just focus on getting out of here."

"Come on, boys, we need to get going," said Fat Lucas. "Hold on!"

The Johns grabbed his arms as Fat Lucas punched the final digits into the manipulator. Time to kick some Sontaran butts.

xxx

Fat Lucas, Other John, and Bald John materialized behind a stack of crates near the wall of a storage bay. In the center of the room was their beloved TARDIS, surrounded by dozens of Sontarans. The little aliens were dropping shiny red spheres in strategic locations all over the floor around the TARDIS.

"The force field generator is over there," said Fat Lucas, pointing at a workstation a few meters away. "I'll disable the force field; you guys fight your way through. But make it quick—those are trellium spheres there on the ground and in a few minutes, they'll create an even stronger fence around the TARDIS that'll make it impossible to escape."

"But what about you?" asked Other John.

"I'll be fine. I've got this thing, remember?" Fat Lucas tapped on the vortex manipulator. "Ready?"

"About as ready as we can be, considering the circumstances," said Other John.

They took a deep breath and started to run. It didn't take long for the Sontarans to notice.

"The criminals! They have been located!" one of them exclaimed. Immediately, all the Sontarans dropped the trellium spheres they were holding and headed for the Johns. Fat Lucas used the distraction to get to the generator, knock the technicians out with a few swift kicks, and get to work disabling the force field.

Meanwhile, the Johns were desperately fighting their way through the aliens. Most of the Sontarans were unarmed, since they had been using both arms to carry the spheres, but there were so many it was becoming impossible to just kick and punch their way through.

"John!" yelled Bald John as he tried to disable two Sontarans at once. "I'm not getting very far!" The combination of a high density of opponents and balls all over the ground made it difficult to move, much less stay alive.

"Me neither," Other John yelled back. One of the few armed Sontarans managed to jab his hand. Other John felt a jolt of overwhelming pain and realized he could no longer move his entire left arm. Distracted, he almost tripped on a sphere, but managed to kick it away before he could fall. Then inspiration hit as he realized the balls were firm but hollow in a very familiar way.

Other John imagined himself back on the County Ground, wearing his Swindon-red kit, husband by his side. Instead of alien backsides, he saw the back of the net. And instead of Sontaran trellium field-generating spheres, he saw footballs. He started kicking the spheres, knocking out the Sontarans and clearing a path to the TARDIS.

Bald John saw how Other John was using the spheres to attack the Sontarans and immediately followed his example. They even got some passes in, backing each other up when a ball wasn't readily available. Other John forgot the throbbing pain in his arm, intent on reaching their beloved police box.

"Force field's down—go for it, boys!" Fat Lucas yelled. The Johns made a final run into the TARDIS.

"Shut the door!" said Bald John. "I'm going to initiate an emergency reboot and escape sequence!"

"What?" Other John ran to close the TARDIS door with his unharmed hand.

"Hopefully, resetting the main programming will make the TARDIS functional enough to get us out of here."

"So you're basically turning it off and on again."

"Do you have a better idea?" Bald John retorted. He punched a few more buttons and all the lights went out as the ship powered down. The lights came back on a few seconds later and a familiar chiming sound filled the room.

"I didn't know the TARDIS ran on OS X," Other John chuckled.

"Come on, come on…" Bald John mumbled, staring intently at one of the console monitors. They heard the TARDIS vworp, and after several moments of calm the Johns were able to relax.

"Is this—did it—I mean, are we safe now?" asked Other John.

"If what we're seeing here is right, we should be in the FIFA 14 universe, in orbit around Earth, October 18, 2013," Bald John said, beaming. He went to hug Other John, but his joy turned to alarm when he saw that his husband's face was contorted in pain. "What happened to you? Are you OK?"

"Oh, I just got tased with some alien cattle prod or something. Doesn't hurt too bad…" Other John's voice trailed off as he collapsed onto the floor, clinging to his arm.

"Oh my god, you're hurt!" Bald John ripped off Other John's jacket and gasped at what he saw. There was a small burn mark on John's hand, like he'd suspected, but radiating out from the burn and up his arm were bright yellow streaks. Bald John removed Other John's shirt and saw that the streaks had spread over most of his torso.

"What's happening?" mumbled Other John. His eyes were glazed over and he struggled to stay conscious.

"That alien taser must've contained some sort of poison or something, and it's spreading quickly," answered Bald John. He looked around frantically. "Does the TARDIS have a first aid kit? Maybe there's an antidote or something—"

"Don't bother, John," Other John interrupted. "I think I'm dying."

"No. No! Please don't give up!" cried Bald John, a tear rolling down his face.

"It's OK—we're time lords, remember? I'll just regenerate."

"Oh, right. Have you ever regenerated before?"

"Nope. Let's hope it comes naturally…and for your sake, let's hope I regenerate into a humanoid…" Other John winked, and Bald John smiled through his tears. The glow of regeneration energy started emanating from his body. "Stand back!" Bald John backed away and watched from behind a bulkhead.

Other John slowly stood up as his body began to glow. Suddenly, his head jerked back and streams of golden energy shot out of his neck and arms. Bald John watched in awe as Other John's body shook and burned. The whole TARDIS trembled with the force of his regeneration. Then slowly, the regeneration energy began to wane.

"What do I look like?" asked Other John excitedly, wiggling his extremities and jumping up and down. He looked down at his arm and bare chest. "The wound seems to be gone, at least!" Bald John walked over and held Other John's face between his hands, peering closely.

"You look…pretty much the same, actually—"

"What? That doesn't—"

"Except for your hair, John. You're…you're a ginger now!" Bald John reached over to the console and flipped one of the monitors around to reveal a mirror. "See? Damn, your hair is even brighter than Rampage's!"

"Whoa," marveled Other John. He ran his hands through his new locks. "I can't believe it—my face is the same, my body doesn't feel any different, but the only thing that's really regenerated is my hair."

"Maybe now Manager John will finally stop trying to buy all professional football players with red hair," quipped Bald John. As they laughed, he scrutinized his own reflection. "You know, I think I should lose the goatee. It looks kind of dumb, doesn't it?"

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Other John. "New FIFA, new team, new facial hair." The partners in life and love embraced, happy and relieved to finally be out of danger.

"Now let's land so that we can get out of this thing and start life with AFC Wimbledon!"

THE END?