AN: Holy shit, it's the long awaited chapter 2, and it's a massive 6,500 words! This is basically everybody's introduction, I wanted to get through it in one chapter. You know the deal, comments and (constructive) criticism are very much welcome and boost my self-worth.
EDIT: Added Zeta and Kay, who both came late. Sorry I forgot about that, guys.

Thomas "WWW" C. Blight

Chapter Two: Rambunctious Reunion

WWW shot a wide, toothy grin at Dark as Sarge materialized from the darkness around them.
"It's good to see you too, Dark. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Harold Ardass," WWW said.
"The defence minister?" Dark asked, surprised.
"Yeah, that'd be me," The gray squirrel beside WWW replied. H. Ardass was wearing a white button-up shirt and formal black pants. He was of Dark's proportions and incredibly fit. His face was clean shaven and smooth, and his words flowed like a politician making a speech.
"Sir…" Sarge began.
"Quit it, Rodriguez. Just use my name." H. Ardass snapped.
"Fine. So what's this request?" Sarge asked, obviously humbled.
"We'll talk business when the rest of you get here," H. Ardass said.

Moments later, good old Anthrax came over to serve them.
"Hey, what would y- Holy son of a bitch! I haven't seen you and your guys for a while!"
"We were shut down, you know that."
"Still no good reason to forget about me entirely!"
Sarge was speechless, instead looking down at the floor underneath his barstool. It was true, there was no reason he avoided Anthrax's pub.
"Aww, don't worry about it. So are the others coming?"
"Yeah, should be here real soon."
Anthrax reached under the bar and loaded the hidden shotgun.
It was going to be one hell of a night.

A shrill piercing ring ended the laughter and giggling going on in Mon's head. He screwed his face up in dumb confusion, then in fury. He snatched up the phone next to his bed and flipped it on.

"Alright, it's..."
He checked the time

"…Two Twenty-three in the morning. I was having a dream that Venus, goddess of love, was advancing to me with a paper-thin robe and we were in the gardens of paradise alone. That was my dream, until you interrupted it. This had better be good, if it isn't an emergency I will hunt whoever this is down until the ends of the Earth and sew your balls to your chin. State your business." His vengeful tone of voice could not be hidden.

There was a silence on the other line, but Mon thought he could hear suppressed snickering. This did not improve his mood.

"I keep catching you at a bad time, don't I soldier?" Said the voice of his Captain.
Mon groaned and turned over in his bed, covering his eyes with his arm.
"Gawdammit, Sarge, she was beautiful, Beautiful! Why did you have to call? Why now? Your tone of voice isn't unhappy, so no one died, but it's serious, so something up. What turn of events could have possibly led you to commit such a heinous act?"

"Dark's back."
Mon bolted from his bed and stood up in the darkness
"Come again!"
"Get here ASAP at Anthrax's Pub."
He hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Mon took a deep breath and walked inside the doors of the Pub. Five faces glanced over at his direction and Mon could see a few of them had guns at the ready.
"Hold on to your horses, horse holders, it's just me. Hello Sarge."
"Shit, it's Mon and his small talk."
"Good to see you too sir. Hello Warclat."
WWW nodded a greeting in his direction.
"Anthrax."
"Fuck you, you still owe me twenty three dollars, you ass."
"Yeah and I love you too. Ah...there you are..."

Dark emerged from the shadows at that moment and grunted something that may have been a 'Hey there' or a 'hello'. Mon could not tell. But he was glad to see the panther notwithstanding.

"Where have you been?" The Captain asked.
"Loafing about, mostly. Living on the royalties from my previous missions. Reading books, exploring the city. Reeeeally boring time, I'm glad something's happening. So, on to the point, what's going on, what the hell've you all been up to?"

Rico motioned to a figure sitting on a discreet corner. Mon didn't know who it was until he stood up. His eyes widened and he jumped to a salute.
"Sir Minister!"
The minister sighed. "At ease, I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Sir, what is the cause for this encounter, sir?"
The Minister opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and returned to his seat.
"Let's wait for the others, alright? It's a lot of dangerous information and I don't want to have to explain more than once. Please, have a seat son."
Mon saluted again and sat down next to Rico, attempting to get to know what was going on.

Anthrax was talking with the guys there about what had he done with the bar in their absence, mainly cleaning, doing some fixing to the plumbing and the tables. He was so bored he didn't hire anyone to fix the woodwork.

The door opened slowly and a gray squirrel entered the pub.

"Good Evening" said he.
"Evening" replied Sarge.

He had a long drench coat. It was pretty worn down. Everything he had was worn down, except for his boots.

"Those boots... CG!" Said WWW, noticing CG's boots. They were made by Chael's symbiotic clones; shining jet black and they never tarnished.
"Yep"
"What has happened with you?" asked Dark
"Not much. I started doing some meditating sessions, but I still have a long way to go for me to reach nirvana, heh heh. Anyway, besides meditating I tried to enter some soccer teams, but they were too lame so I stopped going to those recruiting games. And when that guy went on about us, I just stayed at home practicing soccer."
"I don't get it, if the teams are so lame, why do you still practice?" asked Anthrax
"Mainly because I plan to go some day to Europe and try to enter a team over there."
"Oh."

He asked for his typical drink, with the reluctance of Anthrax, and sat down near the others.
"So, what's the jig?"
"We have to wait for the others," said H. Ardass.
"Damn..."

Meanwhile, deep in the suburbs, Stealth's tabi boot touched the floor as he slipped into it, the cotton inside giving warmth to his foot. He yawned sleepily and stood up. On the desk next to the bed was the time; he noted that he was late already. Though Stealth did not act in haste, he dressed quickly. The lights in his room flickered on as he flipped the switch. In the dimly lit room Stealth could only be seen as a mere shadow. When he walked out of the room he squinted and shielded his eyes from the brightness of the light in the corridor.

As he grasped the copper handle of the front door leading out of the house, Stealth noticed a note on his door. The note only said "Anthrax's Bar." Not taking any more time to call the bar and find out what was going on, he left. When Stealth reached the bar, he found that some of the Platoon members had already arrived. As he walked in he saw a figure in the shadows. Stealth halted...

"Hello," He said, sat down, and was silent.
"Man of many words," WWW mocked.
"So you still haven't explained to me why we're here," Mon said, breaking the near-silence.
"That's because WWW and H. Ardass are the only ones who know, and they're not telling," Sarge replied.
"I told you already, wait until everyone's here," WWW said.

Twin suns glared down onto the planetary surface. Along the almost unbroken landscape of sandy dunes, there was a 50 cubic meter excavation site. One wall face of the excavated building appeared to be a temple and there was only one person on the site. This archeologist delicately removed an ancient jar from the sands. As he wiped the remnant dust from its surface, he smiled as he saw its decoration. He reached into his pockets searching for something.

"Where'd I put that damn data module?" He looked about his surroundings and couldn't find it. He exited the temple entrance and quickly looked over the site. Still missing, he began to ascend to outside the excavation area. He continued to stare at the jar as he reached the surface and headed towards his ship. When he reached it and spoke a strange language opening the door. On a console he found the module he had been searching for. He picked it up and set down the jar. As he did so, he noticed a blinking light on another console. He activated the module and connected to the computer trying to contact him.

"Sir there is a message from the Platoon. It seems they are meeting at the pub to discuss new business." A female voice began.
"I'm busy right now." Chael retorted.
"I'm sorry sir. I know you wanted solitude on this research project. But statistics show that any message from the Platoon usually results in…"
"I know what happens we've been together long enough."
"I wanted to know how to proceed." Chael let out a sigh before replying.
"Until I get back you're in charge. If you can't decide, have my subordinates do so."
"Yes sir."

He shut down the communication channel and went back to his work. He stared at the jar and began speaking into the module.

"Today I found another relic. This one, a decorative jar, was found slightly within the temple entrance. Its decoration, which depicts a female figure separated by ostrich feathers, seems to prove my suspicions about its history."

In the nerve center of Chael's main lab,the six highest ranked of Chael's men gather at a conference table. They were forced to stop their work for this meeting.

"Why did you call us here? We all have more important tasks to deal with." A biological Chael started.
"All of us but the fatass." Another mumbled under his breath. A slightly obese Chael floated on suspensors into his seat.
"I heard that. I'll have you know that you'd be useless without my work. The workers under me collect all the resources used by most of the facilities."
"Both of you be quiet. The faster we get through this the sooner we can get back to our work." A Chael with a mechanical right arm said keeping the peace.
"Thank you," the computer spoke, "you're here because Chael is gone. The Platoon has called and is convening at Anthrax's."
"Good then let's go get tore up." A cyber-organic Chael spoke.
"Please, I've gathered us because precedent dictates that this will lead to an instance of battle. Chael has authorized me to make any decisions in such matters. I cannot draw a firm conclusion so you all must do it for me."
"It's simple, we send a battalion of soldiers and wipe out whatever the target is."
"Genocide isn't necessary. We follow normal protocol. Send someone and let them do whatever's needed."
"But who do we send?"
"Since combat will most likely ensue we use this as a test period."
"But I have no real new weaponry to test."
"Then just send a synthoid."
"I have another idea. One of my teams has been working on a biological soldier with enhanced traits. This could be a good opportunity to test one."
"Sounds good to me."
"Me too."
"That's fine."
"The genocide idea is best."
"One thing, what about data collection?"
"We're already inundated with projects and I don't think we should allocate more resources to workers."
"Regardless, we should gather any data possible. He'll have a communication device, we can make sure it's capable a data gathering."
"Then it's settled. Computer, I'll handle the details and send someone."
"Thank you gentlemen, please return to your duties."

The group left and went about their business. The head of biological studies returned to a training facility. He waited outside a training arena till the soldier was finished. The doors opened and he exited. When he saw the research head he saluted.

"It's time for you to prove to our mechanical brethren that we are just as capable as them."
"Yes sir. What is the mission?"
"I don't know yet. It's the Platoon. They're gathering at Anthrax's Pub. Go and make me proud."

The soldier went to his quarters to prepare. He touched a panel on the wall and a portion of it opened. He removed some clothing and set it on the bed. He touched another panel and a bin withdrew from the wall. He stripped down and went to the pile on the bed. First he put on an ultra light vest of super dense materials, bullet-proofing at its finest. Next, pants and a sleeveless shirt made of stealth materials, resists heat and blocks heat signatures. He then stepped over to the bin. Inside were weapons and devices.

He pulled out two holsters, one on his upper body and the other around his waist and both legs. He pulled out the handguns for the holsters, two on each side for the upper body and one on each leg. Next, he removed two devices; one was a flechette launcher that strapped to his left wrist and the other a data module that looked like a watch on his right.

He took the boots off the bed and strapped them on followed by a trench coat made of the same material as the pants and shirt. He pulled the final items from the bin. First were a few extras of the modified clips the weapons use, then a submachine gun. Finally, he took out a pair of shades and an earpiece; the shades were capable of changing vision spectrum and the earpiece was the interface with the data module. He put the earpiece in place and a microphone came out and went into place.

He left his quarters and went to the gate room. He stepped through and arrived at the mountain gate. He exited the building and went to the mountain's garage. He looked at the vehicles before deciding. He found a motorcycle and swung his leg over it. He placed the gun into a holder on the side and locked it into place. Then he placed his thumb onto the biometric starter. The wheels lowered to the ground and the engine started. He revved up and tore out of the garage to Anthrax's.

He reached the bar and parked. He placed his thumb on the starter again and it shut down. After the wheels receded he got off and entered. He went to the bar and looked at Anthrax.

"Vodka."
"When did you start drinking?" he asked.
"I'm not quite who you think I am." Anthrax shrugged and turned to get the bottle. He set a glass down and went to open the bottle.
"Don't bother with the glass." He took the bottle from his hand and opened it. He turned to the others and started to drink. When he put the bottle down and joined them it was down a quarter. "So where is everybody?"
"Most have yet to arrive." WWW replied.
"Ah, I see."
There was a period of silence.
"So why couldn't the original Chael come?" WWW asked, staring intently at the genetically modified Chael.
"You're much more aware than our files led me to believe, WWW," the clone said, trying to change the subject.
"Answer the question."
Chael took another swig of the Vodka. He put the bottle down and answered the best he could.

"None of us are really sure. About two weeks after the platoon was shut down he cut himself off of the consciousness stream, grabbed some supplies, and took a ship somewhere. The only contact since then was when the computer gave him the message about this meeting." He took another swig.

"The heads had to decide who to sent in his stead. I was selected because of the recent work my leader did. I have heightened reflexes, enhanced senses, and a few other new traits. I'm the first generation of biological warriors who will eventually be on par with the robotic lines."

He took the bottle and drank until there was an eighth of the bottle left. He looked at it and sighed.

"I don't know why I drink this stuff. Because of my metabolism all I can manage is a short buzz. Yo barkeep, toss me another bottle. I don't care what."

As the other 99ners reminisced about old times and caught up on the current events, Sarge sat at the bar, as Anthrax was polishing a mug.

"What's up, Sarge? Thought you'd be happy seeing the gang back together again," Anthrax asked.
"I am. Just can't believe it's been 6 months. We separated just like that," Sarge replied, snapping his fingers, "I wonder what the others have done since then. Even more so, I hope they're ready to jump back into action."
"I'm sure they were able to take care of themselves. Hey, have you kept in contact with Oreos? He owes me 5."
"Heh, That guy. I honestly don't know where he went. I sure do miss him though, one of my best men."
Anthrax put down the mug, and wiped his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"I never thought you cared Sarge. You love me! You reeeeally love me!"
"What the fuck?"
Oreos reached under his chin, and pulled off his mask. Anthrax walked in from the back.
"Oreos! You again! Where's my 5!"

Oreos hopped over the bar, and took a seat next beside Sarge, who still needed to absorb what just happened.

"Sorry Anthrax, must've slipped my mind again. I'd like one Martini though, shaken, not stirred."
"What the heck did you just do?" Asked Sarge.
"Technology has really evolved. I was just testing out Mi6's latest. They can take a photo of anyone, or even a description, and create the perfect disguise. No one can tell the difference."
Sarge just chuckled. The two shook hands, and caught up on with each other.
"Mi6 took me back in when we fell apart. Back to my old roots you could say. I guess I just love saving the world. So what have you been doing?"
Sarge opened his mouth to reply, but was abruptly cut off by the blue-eyed Venezuelan.
"OREOS! Nice to see ya man! Where have you been!" CG inquired.
Oreos turned around. Everyone else had noticed his presence. Greetings were exchanged, and it was like he was home again.

"Dark! Glad to see you made it out of that whole jail fiasco. I would've came to get you outta there myself, but damn boss kept me on a schedule."

Meanwhile, a policeman approached a lone car, far away from the pub.
"Get your fuckin' hands up!" The officer said.
A shadowy figure jumped out of his car and leapt over a fence into the darkness.
"Not another one, I'm too old for this," He sighed.

Snickers gripped his gun out of its holster and flipped over the fence in pursuit of the drunken driver now running from the law. The camera panned through the darkness to the other side of the alley, where Snickers had pinned the perpetrator.
"Ok, son. We can end this the easy way, or we can end this the hard way! Just gimme my fifth back and we can all go home!"
"Oh my god! I'm on TV! Heyyyy mooommm!"
"Son that's not a camera. Its a … an… um… Fuck it! Gimme the Jack Daniels back!"

The drunken perp began to show off for the camera and in the process dropped a fifth of Jack Daniels. The bottle shattered upon hitting the alley floor and the liquid within formed a puddle there. Snickers screamed accordingly and fired a few shots into the drunken bastard who dropped his last fifth. The cameraman walked over to Snickers and caught him blatantly crying.

"Get that thing outta my face man this is hard times... get in the car, we're headed back to the station."

Back at the station, the old, drunken cop slid his holster off and plopped down at his desk. A note sat on the top of his desk. It was labeled "Sergeant Snickers." His eyes went wide and he ripped it open and read it. Sure enough, it was what he was a waiting for. He bolted to his cop car and the tires squealed as he sped out.

At the Pub, the Platoon were all sitting at the bar, waiting for WWW's important news, when a loud screech was heard outside.

"What was that?"

A loud crash was heard as Snickers' car slammed into the curb, parked in perfect parallel. The driver was flung into the air and through the window of the pub, landing unceremoniously on the bar. Snickers leapt to his feet and jumped off the bar.

"Hello all! Now Ricy… Where're my doughnuts?"

See this room, robed in darkness. Lighted by a lone image. Screams rang from it, roars of battle and blood; The sound of bullet and cannon fire, the inhuman screams of some unnamed creature, the virtuous battle cries of war, warfare of the mind clashing against the alien flesh of monsters. Jets, battleships and world-destroying things hover over the battlefield, some hidden, some seeing. A figure sits before it, surveying all.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
A moment passes after the ring, movement in which the shadow before the screen lifts a slender cell pone to his ear, clicking it on in the time that it would take the phone to ring again.
"Hello, Sarge."
"Fuck it! You couldn't-"
"Sarge, you really need to remember that anything we do gets to the news one way or another." There is a pause in the darkened room, accenting the screams of the battle as a dull rustles underscores it. "'Jail break, four guards dead. One Inmate assumed escaped.' Rico, please. Don't think I'm that stupid."
There was grumbling on the other line. "Fucker… How did you know it was me then?"
"Well…there are about twenty messages in my voice mail…So, I'm assuming the 'Toon is back?"
"Yeah. Now get your ass to-"
"Anthrax's pub?" The figure finishes.
"Bite me, Ajax."
"Only if you don't, sir."
"Just get over here."
"Well," Ajax starts, the figure's paw rubbing his neck a little. "I'm kicking Chael's ass at Starcraft." The figure chuckles a little, watching his Zerg swarm the Protoss and ripping holes into the defenses as the computer controlled Terran charge into the weakening rear of his base.
"Erm. Ajax, Chael… Or at least one of him."
Picture a face, a feline if you want to be correct. Watch his face contort a little, his eye twitching slightly.
"F-"
Now, cut away. It is day, beautiful and bright. There is a tree, filled with birds of every kind of feather. Their eyes go wide, and they leap into the air, screeching and flapping away.
"Fine." Ajax growls, one's point of view cutting back to the darkened room. He hangs up.

Elsewhere, Rico looks to the phone he holds.
"That… was the single loudest curse word I've ever heard…"

Picture… the world. Watch its lights for a moment: Those great points of the cities, visible and dominating.
Zoom in. Watch, you can see the flitting lights upon the lifelines of this world: The roads, connecting all. Above you see the gleaming dots of planes.
Zoom in. You can see those roads, those dots clearer now. You can see them move, so watch them. See, some are more erratic, some slower, some faster.
Zoom in. There's one much more erratic than all the others. It's moving faster, closer to those great cities of light.
Zoom.
Zoom.
Zoom.

"So, when is 'jax getting here?"
"Eh, you know him. He either won't show or he'll be here in a blaze of-"
There is a squealing of tires, painfully loud. All heads snap to the window of the pub, watching in wide-eyed fear as a Mini Cooper speeds and spins close with deadly accuracy. Anthrax moves forward, as if trying to stop the car with his body.
The car, red as flames, screeches to a halt just before the glass. A figure, feline by appearances, steps out, slamming the door of the car closed. He pushes the door of the pub open, grinning to the scowling faces. "Hey, all. How's it h-" He steps forward and, in a moment of grace, trips soundly and deftly over his feet, landing with a 'Thud.'
"Ow."

As Ajax picked himself up and took his proper place at the bar, the boys continued talking.
"Hey Triple W," Oreos asked, "What've you been doing since the shut down?"
"Ah, not much, monitoring the most dangerous of the crew, working the surveillance end of homeland security, finding ways to beat Mi6 technology... I work for the now-public agency," WWW replied.
"Wait, you're the guy who keeps beefing up security in Windy?"
A fly landed on Oreos' ear. WWW mumbled something.
"Yep, that's him."
"Damn, that explains why we needed a new training ground."
Everyone stared at Oreos.
"Hey Oreos, are you sure you're not hearing things?"
"Yeah, nobody said anything."
Oreos looked around, wondering how he'd heard WWW.
"Maybe a fly told him."
Everyone looked at WWW like he was as crazy as he had been when they had disbanded after failing to capture Omega the first time. Which had been quite insane.

(A/N: Read Gappap's 99th Platoon: Flatfeet Saga to see just how crazy WWW was)

A fly landed on Chael's empty vodka bottle. WWW mumbled again.
"FOR KALIMDOR!" shouted the fly, before flying around the room like the time they gave Pyst pixie sticks. It crashed into Ajax's nose before taking off again and disappearing from view.
"Some people have friends in high places. I have friends everywhere, and right now they're having too much fun."

Black. Nothing, and yet everything. Dreamless nights were not uncommon for Blaze, who had long forgotten everything that may have once been worth dreaming about. Everything was simpler now. No guns, no ammo, no explosions.
"What's the point of living if you can't feel alive?" What a fantastic question.

He awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing on the bedside table. The hedgehog grunted and smacked it off of the desk, rolling over. Soon enough he was asleep again. Waking again a few hours later, Blaze slid out of bed wiping the sleep from his eyes. As he walked out into the kitchen, he flicked the switch to the 'on' position. Squinting against the fluorescent light, he sat himself at his table and began staring into the wood.
"How the hell did I get here...?" He asked himself, fully knowing the answer. Ah well, things like that shouldn't be dwelt upon anyway. What he did want to consider, however, was

RING RING RING

The shriek of the telephone ripped Blaze back to reality. He moved across the cold tile floor and lifted the receiver.
"Uh… hello?"
A familiar voice responded.
"You're late."
"What?"
"I said, you're late. Pub. Now."
"Is it really y"
-Click-

Blaze slowly lifted the phone from his ear, turning to stare at it. He blinked a few times before accepting that the voice he heard on the other end was indeed who he thought it was. Shaking off the awkwardness, he threw the phone backwards over his shoulder and was back in his room before it hit the ground. Finding the wall in the darkness, he grasped the handle to the closet door and threw it open. He yanked the pull cord to activate the light and moved towards the back of the small room to the armoire resting there. The hedgehog stopped, looked the wardrobe up and down, and pulled the heavy oak doors apart.

The breath that had was being drawn in as the doors swung apart was cut short when a swirl of dust escaped and caused Blaze to cough. He swatted away the dust and drew out his old equipment. Pulling on his hooded sweatshirt and pants, he threw the rest of his gear into a bag and walked out the front door of his house.

Twenty minutes later, Blaze was standing outside Anthrax's pub, looking in the windows for any signs of life. Failing to see anything, he decided to try the door. It opened and creaked halfway open. He heard half a dozen guns cock along with some frenzied whispers. Cautiously, he poked his head around the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he laid eyes on his comrades sitting around a large squirrel who he'd never seen before. Introductions would come later, he thought, closing the door behind him.
"So... how's everyone been?"

The platoon made idle chatter for a while, waiting for the last of those who had been contacted to arrive, Sarge still frantically hunting down Pyst and some others. Finally, the door opened and a familiar face greeted these soldiers. The fox girl, Serena, had glided down in front of the pub from a nearby building and walked in. There were most of her comrades from the 'toon. She walked in slowly a bit before falling unconscious. When she awoke, her peers were gathered around her.

"Geez, what happened, Serena? You look terrible."
"Yeah, and besides all that, your clothes look like they haven't been changed in weeks."

The female fox stirred a little before opening her eyes.
Those... weasel rebels...why would they kill...innocent children...why?
She stood up and sat at the bar. Sarge walked up and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Fox Girl? Are you okay?"
"I just... need a drink, that's all."

12:00 AM, location undisclosed. Andy was busy with routine maintenance work on his PC, and he grudgingly clicked the 'start' button on his disk defragmenter window. He knew this would take no less than 6 hours, and he didn't feel like watching over it tonight. Leaving the computer to its task, he switched off the monitor and went to the kitchen to get a can of soda. The kitchen of the house that he had come to own now that the platoon had been disbanded. It was a nice house, but he just didn't feel the same anymore. Everything, even his best video games, seemed so boring now that there was no 99th Platoon. Andy reached into the fridge and pulled out a Pepsi.

Why didn't the turkey who leaked out our number get in trouble? It's his fault this happened, so why'd we get disbanded for it? Thoughts like this had been filling his mind since that day, 6 months ago, though he always knew that it wasn't the end of the platoon. It couldn't end.
Or at least, not like that.

Then, a faint beep emanated from his room.

The noise startled him, and he almost dropped his soda. He knew instantly what it was, and, not at all surprised, made his way through the dark house back to his bedroom. He fumbled around in a drawer in his computer desk, and finally his beeping headset emerged, an item that, after 6 months without use, still seemed to work perfectly. Andy slid the headset over his ears and pressed a button on the receiver.

"Hello...?" He spoke into the microphone, almost reluctantly.
"Zeta?"

"Yeah?" A smile found its way onto Andy's face. Just as he thought, it was Sarge on the other side.

"FINALLY! Get your butt over to Anthrax's bar, pronto! I'll give you the details when you meet up with the rest of us."

click

At 12:40 AM, the creaky doors to Anthrax's Pub swung open, and Zeta walked in with rocket launcher, assault rifle, and elbow blades in tow.

A ladybug creeped down the green and brown stalk. The ladybug, or ladybird beetle, usually with 6 dots on each wing. However, this one had 6 on the right, yet only 5 on the left. The beetle probably didn't know that it was different, being only so simple. But the same was true for a squirrel like him. He envied it, blissfully ignorant, not knowing it's own faults and differences. It was different for someone like him though, he knew perfectly what was happening around him... and he liked it. Remembering an old quote, "What does a fish know about the water he swims in all his life?" That made him think and molded him more into the person he was. Now.

Kay blinked, discarding the random thoughts and took a deep breath. There was things to be done and places to go. He took his first step back into Anthrax's Pub to be back with the platoon.

In the outskirts of Windy, Rick 'Pyst' Gores stood on top the roof of his house. He stood in awe at Windy, admiring the exquisite collection of skyscrapers and lights that made the city glow like some kind of holy haven. Rick gripped a bottle of beer loosely, and took a swig from it.

"That is a beautiful scene..." Pyst slurred to himself. The pleasant happy-sick feeling of booze and cigarettes gracing his mind and soul.

"Rick!" Pyst's pal Tobias '47' Reiper snapped him out of his daze, "What the hell are you doing, hurry up!"
"Just watering my grass..." Pyst finished urinating off his house and zipped up his fly.
"Whatever, everything's set up." 47 said, handing Pyst a pump-action shotgun. Pyst took the shotgun and chambered a shell.

"What's the record?" Pyst asked, "10 yards?"
"15 yards," 47 corrected him, "and you get bonus points if you can hit it 5 times before it touches the ground."
"Five times?" Pyst rested the shotgun on his shoulder, "no problem!"

47 grabbed a Weasel, bound and tied up. He set him on the edge of Pyst's roof.

"All right buddy," Pyst said, "You got exactly five seconds to tell us where your boss keeps his money, or I'm afraid I'll have to break my good friend 47's record with your bloody corpse."

"What are you gonna do?" The weasel asked nervously.
"Yes or no, butt munch." Pyst raised the shotgun.
"Look!" The weasel pleaded, "I don't fuckin' know! Honestly! My boss doesn't tell me shit!"
"Wrong answer!" Pyst said.
"Hold on a second," 47 said, Pyst held off. "You honestly think you can beat my record."
"You're damn right!" Pyst said.
"With that skinny bastard?" 47 shook his head, "you don't have a chance!"
"Oh," Pyst said, "I got a plan! I'm aiming right for his stomach, which will send him reeling back with just enough spin to let me plant the remaining five slugs into him!"
"Wait, wait!" the weasel pleaded.
"You ain't got a chance!" 47 sneered.
"I'll tell you everything I-"
"Kiss your record goodbye, 47!" Pyst levelled the shotgun and fired. The weasel was sent flying back. Pyst jumped a step forward and planted the remaining slugs into the airborne weasel.
KA-BLAM! "One!"
KA-BLAM! "Two!"
KA-BLAM! "Three!"
KA-BLAM! "Four!"
click click "Fi- what the fuck!"

The weasel's corpse hit the ground with a wet smack!.

"Sorry Pyst," 47 said, "13 yards and 4 shots, you loose."
"Bullshit!" Pyst yelled, "you didn't load the fifth shell you cheating bastard!"
"Don't blame me!" 47 said, "You should've checked the weapon first!"
"You cocker!" Pyst threw the shotgun to the ground.
"Don't be a sore loser." 47 said, "Besides, I gotta get to work."
"Right, right" Pyst said, "thanks for stopping over man,"
"Any time," 47 said, "I'll see you next week!"
"Yeah," Pyst said, "Later dude. And don't worry, I'll clean up the mess tomorrow."
47 left and Pyst found himself another bottle of beer and a lit up a cigar. He sat on his roof, taking another look at Windy.

"What a nice city," Pyst whispered to himself, "too bad its run by a bunch of fuckheads who like to get my ass fired!"

"That's all who'll come, Rico. The rest are still in hiding."
"Not quite."
"We'll have to reach the others later - we can't afford to wait."
Sarge flicked open his cell phone and dialed his second speed dial.
"There's one who'll come. All he needs is a little persuasion."

Pyst took another swig from his beer when suddenly, the phone rang. Pyst looked around to find his cordless phone, then realized he forgot to take it with him. Pyst swore, then shrugged, and laid back down.

"Nobody important calls anyway!" Pyst declared, "It's not like Sarge is calling with a new mission or anything!"

Pyst took a puff from his cigar, ignoring the phone and waiting for whoever the hell was calling to stop calling.

They would not.
The ringing continued, running deep into Pyst's temples, splitting his head open like someone driving a wedge deep between his skull plate.
Pyst's left eye began twitching, his blood vessels showing more prominently.
He snatched the phone up.
"WHAT!"
"Sarge."
"WHAT!"
"It's Sarge. Now start doing the happy dance!"
"It's ok Sarge, I'm cool-"
"DO THE DAMN HAPPY DANCE!"
Swearing, Pyst, the phone held between his ear and shoulder begins swinging his hips and rotating his arms.
"And say the words too!"
"Aw hell naw, Sarge!"
"Words!"
Pyst swears under his breath, then begins:
"I'm happy...I'm happy-happy as I do the happy-happy dance..."
"Good."
Muffled snickers were heard over the line as Pyst frowned.
"Dammit Sarge, if I'm on speakerphone, I'll be there in three seconds to rip you a new arse."
Laughter floods the other line of the phone.

Sarge hangs up, staring at the other 99ers, chugging beer. Suddenly all goes quiet as he feels a hand on his shoulder.
"Told you I'd be here in three seconds."
Sarge spun round. Pyst, dressed in full combat attire, held a large pair of scissors in surgical gloves.
"So," he began, "What's the situation?"

H. Ardass had almost begun the explanation when the doors of the pub opened and a dark, cloaked figure standing in the doorway. The wind shrieked into the room, sending a sharp sting of cold through some of the occupants. The figure carried a bloodied scythe.

"Err...Hi Gregg...you've grown?" blurted out Oreos. The figure walked in and spoke with a deep voice. "Foolish Mortal! I have come for your soul!" The figure lifted his scythe and swung it directly at Oreos' head. Oreos closed his eyes in terror, preparing for the strike. As the blade connected, a high-pitched squeak came from it. Oreos felt the bouncy, inflated feel of the scythe. "It's fake!" He exclaimed.

"Hehehe, I thought you'd be more scared than that," said the figure. He finally lifted up his head. A squirrel face beamed at them from under the hood. "Hi everyone!" spoke FlatFeet. He threw off the cloak and seated himself down with the rest of the platoon.

"Where have you been?" asked Oreos. "I've actually been in a rehab clinic, to try and get over Cherry's death." replied FlatFeet "It's worked quite well, and I can spend more time on other things rather than sobbing, like working on my technology skills. I've managed to combine a flamethrower and a ZMG together to make a nice combo," he added with a smile. "So what's going on?"

And then there were sixteen...