Guys, I am terribly sorry. I apologize with all my heart for making you wait two months for the next chapter; school, other events, and writer's block were getting the better of me. Just think, though: two chapters are left (not counting this one), so I'll work as hard as I can from here on. However, still expect slow updates (because that's just me).

Enjoy this chapter and remember to leave a review! Feedback is welcomed with open arms!

[All characters mentioned in this work of literature are copyright to PIXAR Animation Studios. All events that occur are crafted by the author and any relations to realistic events are completely coincidental. All plot and story elements are solely in the hands of the author. All works of music mentioned are copyright to their respective owners.]

Act III: Sentiments

Slipping the mask on did the Professor good. Protection, as he knew, was vital to his survival and a successful plot. Despite the fact that it had aged considerably, it acted as if it was newly spawned and without flaw. All illnesses were disposed of and nothing harmful injured his internal or external system.

However, that was not the only factor that contributed to the finalization of his weapon. Toxic and otherwise harmful chemicals were found in the far left part of the facility, so he had more to work with. Metal was scattered in a tiny drawer under the toxins, and there was a surplus amount of it to be used in the "ultimate weapon".

The Professor thought this idea was a clever one, for sure one that he hadn't plagiarized. He grabbed a sample of a few of the poisonous substances he would use in his device of destruction, mixed them together, and Poof! One of the deadliest materials he ever created. It was a scarlet red color, the shade of a conflagration.

The shade of pure hatred.

Instead of labelling his creation solely under the category of "poison", he considered it to be a blend of that and radioactivity, his long-time specialty. Of course, modern tweaks to the twentieth-century design of the ideal weapon were necessary; after all, C.H.R.O.M.E. always updated their technology whenever they could.

For two days and nights, Zündapp worked on it, always keeping a wary eye and ear(?) set on the urban surroundings outside. He waited for some car to sneak on him and die trying, but it never occurred. What a fabulous couple of days these have been, the mint green automobile thought, showing his unsavory teeth. No one around to pester me or lug me back to the C.H.R.O.M.E. jail. Who knows? Nobody could even notice my absense until the minute I strike. Now that would be a pleasure.

Finally, Professor Zündapp finished the construction of his apparatus. With ideas incorporated from 100 Ways to Unleash Your Wickedness With Weaponry (he would forever remember that awesome book), his destructive imagination, and past experiences, the final product was one that was more than meets the eye; that's saying a lot.

It was a gleaming silver crossbow, a latch attached to the handle that could hook onto a car's tire. The bow was flexible yet sturdy, and the darts were violet. The killer toxin that the Janus Zündapp produced was stuffed into each one attentively and with evil-tainted care. However, the most eye-appealing part rested on top of the crossbow, which was a miniature pistol. Radioactivity silently lurked within it like sly foxes in a forest, waiting to pounce on its prey and slaughter it.

To be honest with himself, the Professor deemed his creation beautiful, absolutely stunning.

"Such a gorgeous instrument of destruction," he sighed in sarcastic awe, undazed by his efforts. "So effective, such devastating beauty. I've done such a marvelous job, somebody ought to throw me a celebration party."

As the aged Professor stared his gray irises into the steel, cruel-hearted soul of the inanimate object, his conscious began to feel... uncomfortable, haunted. As though it tripped over a protruding rock and stumbled into a terrorist, he knew the reason behind this: Finn McMissile, once again, toyed with his mind.

He thought he was rid of his archenemy until the upcoming climax, but NO, the secret agent just had to stalk him on the inside. That British snob can't seem to leave me be, he narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular. It's no wonder Leland Turbo perished.

Zündapp smiled at the mentioned accomplishment and hit to his enemy, although anger later regained control. It caused him to stiffen in pain and mutter a short string of swear words.

A flurry of images promptly flickered inside him, playing themselves like a movie. First there was his capture at the site of the World Grand Prix, the taser-wielding Holley Shiftwell and ever-so-stylish Finn McMissile watching him be carried away by the Police. The next one began with his first day in prison, feeling nothing but hatred, failure, and the icy bars. Then a month passed, and Finn was in front of him, striking a conversation with the hesistant Professor. The image fast-forwarded a year and found the helpless criminal still talking to his archenemy and-

"STOP IT!" he snapped himself out of his mental torture and the flashing photos disappeared. "Stop tormenting me with your flashbacks and petty reminders!"

Professor Zündapp boiled deep inside, wanting to ignore the sentiments that tugged at him relentlessly. He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't. Leaning his fender against the unsanitary wall, he felt warmth touch his metal inside. Emotions grabbed ahold of his conscious, crying out in agony in response to the pain.

"Curse you, McMissile," he whispered and raised his voice to a crescendo, "CURSE YOU ALL!"

Tears longed to rush down from his windshield to express his emotional strife, but he couldn't let it happen. He didn't want anyone, especially Finn, to see him like this. "No," he whispered, drained of his voice, "No."

However, amist his screaming and spreading wildfire of emotions, a car parked itself in front of the rusty facility, armed and anxious.

Driven by vengeance, C.H.R.O.M.E. agent Nathan Podleck searched endlessly for Zündapp's lair. He completely disregarded McMissile's advice to not find it (which he personally found to be a wise decision) and kept himself as buried in the shadows as possible during the evening, despite the fact that his paint job was all ready a coat of a raven's color. To make the adventure more climactic, the sun was halfway behind the stretching buildings of London, painting the sky a passionate orange.

In the distance, the Honda took note of a one-story, obsolete shelter that remained isolated from the rest of the urbanized area. Bearing in mind that it seemed out-of-place and suspicious, he drew himself towards it.

While doing so, Podleck whipped out his built-in sidearm, prepared for anything that may block his path. It's hunt or be hunted, he gritted his teeth in undying determination. Either way, you're done for, Zündapp. Your reign of terror is finished; that's what Finn will hammer into your head.

Arriving at the rust-coated door, he prepped himself for ambush. He'd done it before, but he was uncertain whether or not he should do it. Zündapp, for one thing, was a sneaky and agile fiend, almost always catching the spy before he or she ever did anything; that's part of what made him one of the most wanted evil-doers worldwide.

"Nathan," the spy listened in to a communication from Finn. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Nathan responded quietly, "I think I found Zündapp's hideout."

"Oh, really? Describe it to me."

"One story tall, probably abandoned, rusty, isolated from the other buildings. It's about twenty miles away from HQ."

"Thanks, Nathan. Just in case, let me know if you need backup."

"Roger that, Finn."

Nathan refocused himself on the mission he was currently trying to complete, slanting closer to the door.

What was unusual was that Nathan heard crying and screeching - coming from inside the facility! Is that Professor Zündapp?! he widened his hazel eyes in shock. This could be my chance! To actually catch him red-handed and bring him over to Finn!

Anxiously he waited, listening to ear-piercing cries and yells. What he heard was unbelievable. Finn taunting his mind? What kind of blasphemy was this? He could hear him whisper "no" twice, but what was that supposed to mean?

He made sure to store that in his memory. Podleck prepared his weapon and let three others slide from inside him, once again ecstatic to corner the 1950's model and force him to surrender. He sighed and mentally counted down the seconds until his dramatic entrance.

5... 4... 3... 2...

...1.

He jammed his side into the door, instantly budging it open. With weapons aimed and eyes as sharp as ever, he found his target with bloodshot eyes, flinching over to his newly-crafted weapon.

Oh Ford, Nathan realized that even four guns couldn't compete with a crossbow-gun hybrid. Nevertheless he continued to aim towards the villain.

"Finn," he whispered into his voice comminicator, "I need backup. Reach me at these coordinates-"

"So you think you can kill me like this?" the Janus Zündapp coldheartedly interrupted and stared at him. "I think not."

"Professor!" Nathan's tires slightly shook with guns in grasp. "Your doom is nearing, inching closer to you by the second! Don't make me shoot you!"

"Well, then. We're playing the game this way. How about..."

Zündapp aimed the crossbow at him and fired simultaneously, all in a split second. Everything in Nathan's sight suddenly went pitch black, and he could no longer see, hear, or feel anything.

"...No, you don't shoot me."

The Professor ambled over to the deceased body of Nathan Podleck, his oil pooling around his ebony body. The sight may have been horrendous for anyone who knew him, but he considered it a delightful image. He chuckled a trifle, and that chuckle developed into a maniacal laugh.

He dragged the oil-soaked corpse to the broken-into entrance and pushed it outside. Raising his machine up high, he crushed the black Honda, prolonging the process by three minutes. By the time he finished, all that was left of Podleck was pieces of metal.

So what if anyone suspected his murder? As long as anyone who finds out about it is instantly killed, he solved the dilemma. Everything will go according to plan.

He raised his crossbow-gun into the sky and fired ten of his darts with precise aim. Five gunshots followed, and chaos immediately erupted in the city of London. Screams of terror pierced the air and could be heard from a mile away.

It was clear that Professor Zündapp truly left a scar on England.

As mayhem jolted awake and roared at the top of its lungs, the wicked German scientist recalled something Nathan said to him.

"Your doom is nearing, inching closer by the second!"

"My doom?" he smiled smugly. "I'm afraid it's yours that is near, and now it has devoured you whole."