Thanks to Soumita, LadyDiamond92 and blitzkriegboysbop for reviewing the first chapter.

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Chapter One: Where Do We Go From Here

"Breaking news – Stanley Dickinson has died in a horrific shooting. The Chairmen of the BBA Board was attending an event to announce the rules for the upcoming tournament when he was shot down by an assassin. It's unknown how the man or woman entered the venue, but police are asking questions of security. These visuals were taken during and after the shooting – we warn that viewers may find these visuals confronting."

Images of the event played on the screen. Stanley was on stage before the BBA logo banner, speaking into a microphone, addressing the audience about the changes to this year's world tournament. A large crowd had gathered at the venue, and many of them could be seen taking photos.

What seemed like a peaceful and fun event soon turned into chaos within seconds. A gunshot. Screaming. Sirens blaring. Security yelling. Chaos. People fled in different directions, searching for the quickest way to escape the venue while security guards tried to point people in the right direction. Medical staff members raced up on stage to try and save Stanley, but the damage had already been done.

A bullet in the centre of his forehead. The perfect shot. Whoever had fired the bullet had obviously been trained for this task. But why? Who would do such a thing? Questions raced through his mind, but he had no answers. All he could do was sit here before the television screen and ask 'why?' like he suspected so many other people were asking.

"I can't believe it…" Kenny said. He was sitting to Tyson's right, cross-legged with his laptop resting on his lap. Tears had not fallen yet, but Tyson suspected they would soon follow once his mind had recovered from the shock. "Stanley dead…"

A man who had contributed so much to the world of sport had met an untimely end at the hands of some coward. Stanley had been responsible for organizing the tournaments and could take credit for making beyblading the number one sport in the world. Now he was dead. What a hard term to accept. Dead.

Tyson bit hard on his lower lip to prevent the tears from falling. He had to be strong, now more than ever before. "We're going to find out what happened, Kenny," he said, placing a hand on Kenny's shoulder to provide the younger boy with some comfort. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to find answers, but he knew it had to be done, no matter what the cost. "Stanley gave me the chance to be the blader that I am today; I'm not going to let this death go unanswered," he added, pulling his arm back.

"And just how do you propose we do achieve that, Tyson?" Kenny snapped.

In most circumstances, Tyson would argue back, but there was a legit reason behind his younger friend's temper. "I don't know how, but I know we will avenge Mr. Dickinson." The world would be expecting it. "We can't sit here and mourn, Kenny. We need to be strong." Easier said than done. It was hard to be emotionally strong when a part of you had just died.

Tears rolled down Kenny's cheeks. He wiped them away, but the tears persisted to fall. "He's dead, Tyson! Murdered in public before a crowd of fans! Finding information isn't going to bring Mr. Dickinson back!" The boy closed his laptop, tucked it beneath his right arm, and surged to his feet.

"Kenny," Tyson said, rising to his feet. "We can't let fear control us." Whoever had killed Stanley had targeted him for a reason. This was no random attack that much was certain. The BBA was the most powerful company in the world and murdering the chairman was a fine way to cripple them.

Kenny drew in a deep breath. "You might be able to remain calm in this situation, Tyson, but I can't! Someone wanted Mr. Dickinson dead! What's to say they won't target the rest of us? Going outside is dangerous. They'll be watching our every movement and-"

"Snap out of it, Kenny!" Tyson snapped. Kenny fell silent, taking in deep breaths. The poor boy was trembling. "We don't know that for sure," he added, lowering his tone. "What we do know is a crime like this can't go unresolved."

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"It's hard, I know," Tyson replied softly. "Stanley made us who we are today. He gave us a chance despite all the odds stacked against him. He made the BBA organization, and we the faces of it. We may not be able to bring him back, but we can do what is right. We can take the easy option out and run away from this, but we can never hide. We need to unite as one and take the fight back, and show them we are not beaten."

Kenny wiped the tears away from his face once more. This time, they did not return. He nodded. "Mr. Dickinson deserves a proper burial first."

"I agree, and we will give him one, but first I need to know – Are you with me?"

There was a slight delay in Kenny's response. The boy was unnerved, afraid. "I've stood at your side for years, Tyson. That's never going to change."

Relief poured through him. Their cause would be lost without Kenny's mind. "I'm glad to hear it."

"We'll need to contact the others – Daichi, Hilary, Rei, Max and Kai."

Reunite a divided team to combat a threat once again. History did seem to repeat after all. "Daichi, Hilary, Rei and Max are in town, so they'll be easy to contact, but Kai is someplace else." Typical Kai. Always missing when you needed him the most. However, to be fair, it wasn't like the G-Revolutions were a functioning team anymore since they had all retired. He still kept in contact with them, but their priorities were different now.

"I'll organize the details for a private funeral service then," Kenny said.

Tyson nodded. "I appreciate it."

Kenny headed towards the door then stopped before heading out. He glanced over his shoulder and said, "What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

Good question. It wasn't like he had anyone to practice with at the moment, so that was out of the question. "I'm going to head into town." Maybe he would visit the training area in one of the parks on the other side and help calm the general populace. Perhaps someone there could provide more information on what happened at the venue. "I'll catch you later, Kenny."

"Don't do anything reckless."

What could possibly go wrong that hadn't already?

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Walking around in Edinburgh city wasn't something Johnny did often; his personal servants did the shopping so he really didn't have the need to come. Only on the rare occasions did he visit the city and it was only because his friend and teammate, Oliver, owned a cafe called, 'Boulangerie de France' in the centre.

Johnny didn't like Oliver, but it was nice to receive discounts on his meals. His teammates called him 'a cheapskate' but he didn't care. Even though he was from the wealthiest family in Scotland, he wouldn't dare say no to a discounted meal. Unfortunately, visiting Oliver also meant seeing his other annoying teammates. Now that they were officially a team, Robert had decided it would be a good idea for them to act like one.

"I'm sorry, I meant to say you were wicked pretty, not pretty wicked!" Enrique exclaimed, running after two girls. The two females turned their noses up, and stormed off in the opposite direction. Enrique continued to chase after them. He covered an extra ten metres then stopped, huffing and puffing.

Johnny smirked. "Did you scare them off again? Must be your face."

"Maybe they saw you and decided to run." He bent over to catch his breath. "Anyway... I don't see you trying to talk to girls - you don't know how hard it can be!"

"Well for starters, I wouldn't spray spit all over them as I attempted to woo them with lame pick up liners," Johnny said, shaking his head, "and I wouldn't attempt to touch them on the first conversation. Slow down Casanova."

Enrique glared. "What would you know? I've never even seen you speak to a girl. Do you even know what a girl is?"

"Of course I know what a girl is, my mother is one."

"Your mother looks like a man!"

Johnny growled. "She does not!"

"She does too! She's so strong it's frightening!"

"That's because you're scrawny and weak."

"I'm not weak!"

Johnny stabbed a finger in Enrique's face. "Then why were you left off the team when we battled the Bladebreakers a couple years back? Robert was always going to go last, me second and Oliver third. You are the weakest link, Enrique-poo."

"Don't call me that!"

"I thought you liked it when girls called you Enrique-poo?"

"Last time I checked you weren't a girl."

"What? Do you spy on me when I bathe?"

Enrique's mouth dropped in mock surprise. "You actually bathe? Alert the media!"

Their pointless argument had caught the attention of their leader, Robert. He was currently waiting in line to order some coffee, but he exited the queue to deal with his teammates. He walked up to them with a stern expression. "Are you arguing again about unimportant matters in public?

Ah Robert. He was always finding ways to interrupt his fun. The man had a natural talent for it. It was almost as if he had some sort of sixth sense because he was always there to resolve any arguments between his teammates. Johnny turned to his leader, and snorted. "Blame Enrique."

Robert was not impressed. "We are the Majestics, and we have a reputation to uphold. If you continue to act like this people will not take us seriously." There was a couple sitting a few tables away. Their eyes were looking in their direction. One of them started giggling.

"But Robert, Johnny started it!" Enrique whined, pointing a finger at Johnny.

Johnny growled, clenching both his hands into fists. "He was asking for it!"

"He's jealous because girls hate him!"

Their argument had become louder now, so loud random people walking by were watching a highly professional team arguing amongst themselves about stupid things. Some people laughed, while others simply shook their heads muttering about 'young people these days'. "Girls don't hate me," Johnny retorted.

"Enough of this childish bickering," Robert said, stepping in between the two before a fight could break out. Johnny was about five seconds away from throwing a fist into Enrique's ugly face. "Now sit down and behave like the nobles we are supposed to be."

No one argued with Robert and won. Johnny sat down on the opposite side of Enrique, and folded his arms over his chest. Enrique sat down as well, and pulled out his phone. The guy was probably on some weird chat room trying to pick up the girls. What a sad and foolish person he was. "So, what's the latest news? I didn't say up to watch the broad cast."

"I'm not sure myself. I was attending a private dinner during the broad cast, and as you would know, watching the television while my relatives are visiting is considered rude."

Johnny turned to Enrique. Enrique wasn't paying at this point. He was too busy typing something into his phone, a rather smug smile on his face. Johnny rolled his eyes. Why was he on a team with this idiot again? "Maybe Oliver knows something. I'll call him over." Rather than walk over to the shop and walk in through the back door, he took the easy method and pulled out his phone. He brought up his list of contacts, pressed on 'Nancy-Boy' and waited for Oliver to pick up.

After three dials, Oliver replied. "Hello, this is Oliver Polanski speaking. How may I help you?"

"It's Johnny. We're sitting outside, so why don't you come on over and speak with us?"

"All right. Give me a few moments and I'll be there," he replied softly.

He sounded… sad? Either something tragic had happened, or Oliver had watched one of those horrible chick flicks again. He put his money on the latter. Oliver was simply the most sensitive blader he had ever met. That's why he gave him the nickname 'Nancy-Boy'. It was quite the fitting title. "See you shortly, Nancy." He hung up on the phone then put it away.

"Do you have to call him that?" Robert said, giving him the usual, 'I'm so disappointed in you look'.

Johnny shrugged. "It's a fitting name." Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did that often when he was stressed. "I won't call him that again for the remainder of today, but I can't make any promises for tomorrow," he added.

"Whatever pleases you, Jonathon."

Poor Robert. He was probably regretting ever making the Majestics an official team now because it meant he actually had to spend time with them. "There's Oliver," Johnny remarked, turning his head to the left. Oliver was dressed in his usual white chef's clothing and wearing the silly cap too. Normally, he'd be smiling, but for the first time in a long time, there was a frown on his face. "What's wrong with you? Did you watch Bambi's mother dying again?" Johnny said. He couldn't help himself. Smart-arse rude comments naturally came to him with little thought. It was for that reason he didn't have any friends.

Oliver approached the table. Now that he was close, Johnny saw the redness in his eyes. The boy had been crying. "Robert, Enrique, and Johnny – it's a pleasure to meet with you again so soon. I wish I was in a better mood, but tragedy has befallen the community."

"What are you talking about?" Johnny demanded.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "You have not seen the news?"

Enrique glanced up from his phone. "Nope. I was taking the girls out on my yacht."

"I was hosting a dinner to my relatives during the broadcast."

"I was sleeping," answered Johnny.

Oliver wiped his eyes. "Stanley Dickinson was announced dead this morning."

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After a few months of silence, the hype surrounding the world tournament had started up again. It was the same pattern every year – qualifying rounds would commence in March, and those fortunate enough to make it through represented their countries late April. The tournament ended in September, and the hype would die down in October. November and December were quiet as the public was mostly concerned with Christmas, but as soon as January rolled around talks would begin again.

However, this year was different. It was only the last week of November, and hype for next year had already begun. He supposed it had something to do with four world-class bladers announcing their retirement a few weeks back. Kai, Rei, Max and Daichi all publicly declaring they were not going to compete in the next world tournament. It was a big loss, but it would be better for the world of sport. Of course, Tyson was still in the competition being the defending champion.

"So tell me Tala, are we going to compete or not?" Bryan said, leaning forward on the table. "It'll be the easiest tournament to compete in without having to worry about the other big four bladers."

Currently, they were back home in Moscow in a small cabin far from the city. There were still groups of people who didn't trust his team, and rightfully so. Best to distance himself from the public eye, and besides, it was no real loss anyway since he wasn't one for the social life. "I haven't given it much thought, but it is tempting to compete in a third world cup."

"I want to compete again," Bryan said.

"As do I," said Spencer.

Ian nodded. "The last time I competed in a tournament was the first one."

Time certainly flew by. "And why do you wish to compete again?"

Bryan made a fist with his right hand. "We were once the most powerful team in the world, and now we've been reduced to nothing. That tag-team format they introduced in the third year made us look to be weak – that tournament seemed designed to favour Tyson, Max, Rei and Kai while the rest of us were there for support." He paused for a brief moment then continued. "We have something to prove to the world that we are a powerful team without the aid of sponsors, coaches and all that shit."

"He has a point, Tala. We were the only team to make it to the end without a coach," Spencer said.

True. All the other teams had coaches. The BBA Revolution had Hiro, the White Tigers had Tao, the PBB All-Starz had Judy, Barthez Battalion had Barthez, and F-Dynasty had Romero. Even BEGA had a coach. The Blitzkrieg Boys were the only ones self-coached in the last tournament. "Fair point raised, Bryan."

"Then I vote that we compete and we show the world that we are a team to be reckoned with," Bryan said, slamming the table with his fist. "Those in favour say, aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

All three boys looked to Tala for the final confirmation. "That's three votes, Tala."

Some teams disbanded after a failure, but not Tala's team. They were loyal to the cause because they truly believed victory was within their grasp. Loyalty – it was certainly a thing the other teams could learn about. "Then we shall compete in the tournament once more and show the world what we are truly capable of."

"Only one thing one remains, Tala," Ian started.

"What's that?"

"What do we call ourselves? The Demolition Boys or the Blitzkrieg Boys?"

Tala leaned back in his chair. "Let's put it to a vote."