June 2nd, 9:20 PM: Rebellion base.
The orangeblue sedan drove steadily into a parking garage. It stopped at the back end wall, where MP tapped a few buttons on the sunlight visor. It opened up and MP floored it into the base.
"DW, are you still ok?"
"They've chased me to over St. Petersberg. Aw, crap, they have ground reinforcements in the parking lot of Tropicana. I'm going to lure these guys back over Tampa. Be ready, guys."
MP turned to Brian. "You didn't answer my question before. Can you fly a fighter jet?"
Brian gave him an incredulous glare. "I'm a fatass pitcher, not a fighter jock."
MP glanced at CF. "Alrighty, then. Tell you what. Go back out in the car with CF. You'll drive, he'll shoot."
The car caught some air time flying out of the parking garage. Brian looked around. The skies above Tampa and St. Petersberg were alive with aerial battle. Fighter jets and choppers whizzed here and there. The mud battle was no slouch either. Brian floored it, dodging flaming hunks of metal. A roadblock of black cars lay ahead. CF leaned out the window and produced a P90. He unloaded at one of the cars, which exploded into the air.
"Go under it!"
Brian looked over. "Under the ----ing explosion?"
"YES!"
Bullets bounced off the car's exterior as it sped through the flames. CF reloaded and tapped Brian on the shoulder. "Turn around and face them. I gotta finish this roadblock off."
Brian did as he told. CF leaned out the window again, aimed his P90 and Brian watched as one-by-one the cars disappeared in orange mushrooms.
"Alright, I got them. Go go go!"
Now rumbling down the streets once more, Brian noticed something out the side of his eye and slammed on the brakes as a flaming car sped past. Whoops. A black fighter jet zoomed by overhead and spotted the car.
"----!" CF swore. "Find us some cover, I need to formulate a plan. Brian did as he was told, crashing through a storefront and parking the car inbetween some cash registers. CF gave him a weird look.
"What? At least they won't think to look for us here."
"Ok, here's the plan. I go out there, fire off a flare. When the jet notices us, drive back out and in the same direction as the jet, so I can get a clear lock on it with the rocket launcher.
CF walked outside, looked up, and cursed as he dove back into the store with a fighter jet whizzing by MERE FEET over the ground.
Brian couldn't help grinning. "Didn't work?"
"Shut the hell up."
-----------------------------------------------------
June 2nd, 9:30 PM: Random storefront in Tampa.
"They've got to have some ----ing badass pilots to fly that low."
Brian was now sitting on the hood of the car, watching as CF paced around the store with a limp.
"Hey, are you sure you're ok?"
"Yes, I am. I just walk like this."
A loud crash and boom caused the building to shake and pieces of plaster to fall from the ceiling.
"Sweet Jesus!"
Brian jumped off the hood and ran out to see the wreckage of black and purple chopper sitting in the street, with a man hobbling out. CF ran out to him and helped out of the wreckage.
"What's your codename?"
"AG."
Brian raised an eyebrow as CF and AG passed. "Couldn't you think of better codenames?"
"Hey, we're limited to what the dumbass author gives us!"
Hey! You will NOT speak to me like that! I determine your fate, you jackass.
"Pffff, whatever."
You want me to drop a jet on your ass right now?
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry."
I thought so. Anyway. The three went back into the storefront, where the car radio was ringing with a distress signal. Cliff lept in, hanging in the car by the window and picked up the radio.
"What's the problem?"
A weak voice answered on the other side. "It's FT. My jet got shot down near Raymond Jones Stadium."
The radio went dead. Brian spoke up, "Isn't it Raymond James?"
"No ----, Sherlock. We need to get there, but we still have the deal with that jet on our tales."
Brian thought for a minute. "This car is durable, right?"
"It's indestructible unless hit with an insane amount of force or an explosive."
Brian nodded and smiled.
A minute later, the car flew out of the storefront, and drove down the street. When the jet swooped in for the kill, it swerved and smashed through the front door of another store and kept driving. After driving a couple of aisles, it went back onto the street and drove across it into a restaurant. It drove all the way back to the kitchen and burst out the back door into an alley. It was here that the throttle was floored. The engine roared and the tires squealed as it thundered for the street. Turning onto a major street, the fighter pilot, now growing quite tired with cat-and-mouse, flew behind the car for the kill. As he was steadying his crosshairs, CF popped out from the trunk with a missile launcher and fird off with little hesitation.
Flames burst out from the jet and it dropped onto the freeway. Still carrying quite a bit of momentum, it skidded up behind the gang in the car.
"ARE YOU STUPID?" CF nearly screeched. "It's right ----ing behind us!"
Brian swerved, scraping the freeway barrier as he tried to align the car.
"Well, I could have seen it if you closed the trunk."
"Oh."
"Just what is this car, anyway? It has a ----load of power, it seems."
"It's a 1996 Chevy Caprice with rear-wheel drive and a 1200 horsepower twin turbo engine."
"Well, it doesn't quite feel like it has 1200 horsepower..."
CF flipped a switch.
"Floor it."
The engine went from a gentle thumming to an earth-shattering roar and the Caprice popped a wheelie. Brian looked at the speedometer. Already approaching 200 mph. Past 200, and still accelerating quite fast. Jesus Christ. The buildings on the side of the freeway became a blur as the car thundered down the highway. A roadblock appeared up ahead.
"Don't worry about them. With the momentum we're carrying, the car's invincibility won't be compromised."
300 mph. Brian steeled himself for impact. Meanwhile, at the roadblock itself, the agents were talking amongst themselves. One of them gazed out and saw something.
"Hey, Bill. Do you see that?"
"See what?"
A sudden wind blew by and a car exploded. Bill looked behind him to see something.
"That?"
"What?"
The something couldn't be seen anymore.
The Caprice flew down the highway. AG was in the backseat. "There's the stadium!"
Brian hit the brakes, and the car slowed down to "only" 150 mph an hour as it pulled a stoppie. CF switched off the extra power.
"Well, there's FT's jet."
Black sedans converged all around it.
"----."
"What do we do now, CF?" Brian asked.
"Hurry." CF switched back on the power.
------------------------------------------------
June 2nd, 9:45 PM: Raymond James Stadium.
The inhuman Caprice barreled down the street to the downed jet, painted in dark blue and gray. CF pressed a button to make a machine gun pop out the right fender, then took a yolk and fired, cleaning up the low-level spooks. FT limped out, apparently injured by his jet's encounter with terra firma.
"You alright, FT?"
"Enough to walk."
"Alright, BH, we're getting full up, we'll probably need to get back to base."
A low rumbling sound caught the attention of all in the car.
"What's that?" Brian asked cautiously. CF looked to the right and his eyes widened. An entire train of 18 wheelers was headed in their direction. He tapped Brian on the shoulder while still looking out the window.
"Uh, BH?"
"Yeah?"
"Move our asses out of here."
"Why - oh."
The car pulled a quarter-donut and began speeding down the street towards the rebellion base. Uh oh, that wasn't going to work. Another envoy was heading in their direction. Brian tried to turn to the left. Nope. Right? No sir bobbity.
"---- ---- ----!" CF bellowed. He grabbed the radio. "God damn it, Piazza, what are we going to do?"
Brian raised an eyebrow. "Piazza?"
CF looked back at Brian and then closed his eyes with exasperation at the realisation of what just happened.
"The cat's out of the bag, Mike. We might as well abandon our codenames now."
"Whatever, Floyd. Are Galarraga and Thomas ok?"
"Yeah, they're fine, but I don't know for how much longer. We're branched on all sides by the Organisation's heavy cavalry."
"Rest easy, buddy. I'll have Johan fly a freight chopper over there to pick you guys up."
"There's no time for that!"
"Then find a way out, dammit. Brian can probably figure something out, remember, according to our intelligence reports, he's the smartest MLB player in history."
Brian was floored. "I am?"
"Yes, you are. Your IQ is 135, compared with 120 for the next highest. The average is something like 105, but Canseco and Rocker probably bring that down a couple notches..."
Brian, now filled with confidence, looked around the blockaded intersection. There was a mall on their front-left. Har HAR! A sinister voice rang out from the head rig. "We have you surrounded. Surrender now and your death will be quick and painless."
Brian floored the gas. Kingda Ka had nothing on this car. Bursting through the glass doors of the mall, Brian switched off the extra power so he could maintain a reasonable speed. However, the Organisation was one step ahead of them. Black sedans squealed on the tiled floor of the mall as Brian and company powerslid around a penny fountain. Brian thought. Got to get rid of them somehow... Aha!
The Caprice pulled a sharp turn into a Victoria's Secret. Brassieres, thongs, and erotic perfume scents flew all over as the car plowed through. Brian hit the gas to break through the back wall and find themselves in the mall's back hallways. Left, right, right, left the car went as it barreled down the bare concrete corridors. Brian saw a stairwell and headed for it with a full head of steam, catching a fair share of air as the car landed on the roof.
Brian looked at Floyd, Thomas, and Galarraga. They all looked like they had soiled themselves.
"----, man," Floyd managed to say. "Where in hell did you learn to drive like that?"
"Grand Theft Auto helped me out a bit."
"Thank god for hyperviolent video games!" Thomas chimed in from the back.
Floyd radioed in to Piazza. "We're clear. We're perched on the roof of the Lexington Mall. Send the chopper."
"How'd you end up up there?"
Floyd shot a look of mock annoyance at Brian. "Long story. Just send Santana."
--------------------------------------------------
June 2nd, 10:30 PM: Rebellion base.
Brian and Floyd's tour of duty had ended for today. The battle raged on, with the Organisation being put down at every opportunity. Eventually, the attacks ceased. After receiving confirmation of the Organisation's full retreat, Piazza sank into his chair and brought his hand to his forehead.
"This could be trouble," he finally said. The Organisation has never attacked us so openly like this. And in such an urban area, too. Usually we were able to cover up our previous battles because they took place in remote locations. But this was right in the middle of a metropolitan area."
David Wright walked in and sat with a somber look on his face. "We just received the damage report. Tropicana is close to structural failure due to an Organisation assault on our force garrisoned there. The St. Peter Times Forum is unusable due to a dirty bomb detonated in the area, and Raymond James Stadium was taken out by a kamikaze Organisation pilot who was carrying a MOAB and detonated it after he was shot down. That's only the sports side of things. The entire city of Tampa is now basically a wasteland, with St. Petersberg faring no better."
Brian perked up. "How many casualties?"
"10 rebellion, 1500 Organisation, no civilians."
"How did we manage to completely avoid civilian deaths?"
Piazza spoke up. "Today's times are extremely paranoid. Declare an "imminent terrorist attack" and you could probably clear out the entire New York metro area in a couple hours' time."
"So, how are you going to explain the destruction of the city?"
"We have connections to some people in high places. I'm sure they'll be able to conjure something up. In the meantime, expect the MLB to go on shutdown mode along with the rest of the country. Nobody innocent died, but an entire city was just wiped off the map. It'll be a shock."
Brian looked at the survellience camera screen. It showed what remained of Tampa. Almost on cue, as soon as Brian looked, Tropicana Field began to implode on itself.
June 5th, 2:30 PM: Brian's apartment.
For the second day in a row, Brian sat in his living room in a mindless thrall, only half-absorbing the euphemistic news reports on the TV.
"... domestic terror force launched full-scale attack on the city of tampa..."
"... was met with the full force of the U.S. Military..."
"... completely obliterated..."
"... miraculously no innocent civilians were hurt or killed due to supreme evacuation plans..."
"... President Luthor unavailable for comment..."
Stacy slinked into the room and sank down into the couch next to Brian. She curled up next to him.
"Brian, I'm starting to worry about you. I know how it must have been to be there, but you're alive, along with everybody else."
No, you don't know, Brian thought to himself. He was explicitly told by Piazza not to disclose a single bit of what had actually happened to anybody, not even his parents or Stacy. He put his arm around her.
"Yeah, I guess you're right..."
June 5th, 2:30 PM: The Office.
The Boss bristled. "The attack failed. The Rebellion is still alive and kicking, they've added Brian to their ranks, and now they have a major victory to call their own. You failed, gentlemen. I should have the right to kill all of you on the spot."
Carville, Steinbrenner, and Selig all tensed in their seats.
"But no matter. We now have the identity of all the top leaders in the Rebellion due to our mole in the organisation. My friends, meet our double agent - Denton Ruth!"
------------------------------------------------
June 7th, 6:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum.
The MLB and the rest of the country gradually resumed operation. The fate of the Devil Rays was undecided. As of right now, they would probably play the rest of their games on the road. Relocation after this season was also discussed, with Las Vegas and Gotham City as the leading candidates. The events of the past two weeks weighed heavily on Brian's mind as he warmed up for today's game.
Three innings into the game, an A's pitcher beaned Sheffield. He took exception to this and started mouthing off to the pitcher. A brief confrontation between himself and the catcher ensued, but ultimately Gary took his base without major incident. The next half-inning, Brian made a boo-boo. He lost his focus briefly during a pitch and dadgumit - he hit a batter. He had no interest in fighting, so he ignored the player as he gave him a piece of his mind. The A miscontrued this as a sign of defiance, and tried to charge. Posada held him back and the player was restrained by the umpires.
All through this, Brian thought to himself. The world's gone topsy turvy. Major league baseball wasn't this violent before I was called up. Maybe I should get out of the game before the government starts calling for restrictions on MLB for brawls. He looked up after thinking to himself to see a fist.
June 8th, 4:30 AM: Hospital.
Brian regained consciousness with a start. He opened his eyes to see a nurse leaning over him to adjust something on the other side of the bed. He closed his eyes to be a gentleman. After she was finished, he opened them again and attempt to sit up, only to be met with an intense pain in his head. He must've been knocked the ---- out. Another nurse poked her head in.
"You have a visitor."
Piazza walked in. "Good job out there. One punch and you're out. Certainly hope you're better in a pinch."
"Isn't it kind of late for visiting hours?"
"Yes, but this isn't a normal hospital. This is the Rebellion's hospital. Listen, there's been big trouble."
"And that is?"
"The Organisation has launched a systematic attack on the MLB. It's kind of surprising, considering that the top excecutives in the Organisation are the ones with the most stake in the continued operation of the MLB. They must have something up their sleeves."
"Systematic attack?"
"Yes. They've been eliminating the areas of some of the smaller market teams. Kansas City, Minnesota, and Seattle are some of the casualties. You can forget about an MLB season now. The entire nation's on lockdown, and all major cities are deserted, their populations evacuated."
"To where?"
"That's not important. What's important is that now we can fight without worrying about innocent people. As soon as you're ready, you're going to be deployed back to Oakland. The Organisation wouldn't dare attack the baseball bastions, like Boston and New York just yet."
"Wait, I just have a question."
"What's that?"
"How do you know the top executives in the Organisation?"
"We have a double agent there."
--------------------------------------------
June 9th, 2:00 PM: The Bay Area.
Brian, Floyd, and one hell of a Chevy Caprice. The same combination that had led to much success in Tampa Bay. But today, there were some new faces. There to provide some extra firepower were Milton Bradley and one other guy who hadn't arrived yet.
Piazza had been real mysterious about the other guy, saying only that "you already know him."
Brian was about ready to nod off when suddenly the left back door of the Caprice opened and slammed shut.
Sheffield bellowed "LET'S GO!"
Brian started with a jump, and turned around.
"Sheffield?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Never mind."
The car rumbled out of the garage and began patrolling its assigned route. Nothing much. They were taking a short break near the Bay Area Bridge when Floyd noticed something flying towards the Transamerica Pyramid.
"Uh oh."
"Problem?" Bradley asked.
"Most likely."
Floyd pointed out the object.
"It's too small to be a plane," Brian observed.
At that instant an explosion ripped through the center of the Pyramid and it snapped in half. The top began tipping over to the right, while the bottom fell to the left.
"Holy hell! Who launched that?"
Their answer was presented in the form of a jet flying overhead.
"----!" Floyd swore. "Gimme the goddamn radio! We need Piazza on the line, NOW."
"What is it, Floyd?"
"An Organisation mother----er just took out the Transamerica Pyramid. Deploy! DEPLOY DEPLOY DEPLOY!"
"I'm on it."
Another voice crackled on. "----ING HELL! This is Wright on air patrol. They're not holding back. I count several hundred cars and about half that many trucks. They must not have deployed their fighter jets ye - there they are. Jesus. OH ----! THEY SPOTTED ME! THEY - click"
"Wright? Wright! WRIGHT!" Floyd was almost screaming into the radio. No answer. There would be no answer. A flaming jet streaked across the sky, followed by several Organisation pilots. They continued tearing into it with their guns. The wounded plane attempted some half-hearted evasion maneuvers, but it met its ultimate fate, crashing into the base of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Floyd had an indescribable expression on his face. A lone tear went down his cheek.
"Let's get these mother----ers," was all he managed to say.
"Yes. Let's."
-------------------------------------------------------
June 9th, 2:15 PM: Bay Area.
As soon as the Organisation's army hit, all hell broke loose. Within 10 minutes, the air was heavy with smoke. The battle zeal that had possessed Brian and his squadmates had been replaced with a grim sense of duty over Wright's death. Piazza radioed in with problem areas, they went and solved those problems.
"Piazza here."
"Yes."
"Our SBC Park base is under heavy assault. Go."
With the Caprice's extra oomph, they powered through the battle to the point of destination.
"Damn, he wasn't kidding when he said 'heavy assault'."
No less than 20 jets filled the skies, and at least triple that much cars surrounded the perimeter. Cliff turned around.
"Shef and Bradley, get the miniguns out. We need to hit them hard."
They did as they were told.
"Alright, Brian, now punch it. When he starts accelerating, boys, perforate'm."
Gunfire erupted as the car approached the wall of trademark black sedans. It burst through the flames and through the front gates of the parking lot. After some navigation, the car found its way onto the field. They parked and got out, only to be confronted with David Ortiz.
"What took you guys so - YOU!"
He noticed Brian and lashed out. The two scuffled before Floyd forcibly broke them apart.
"Damn it! This is not a time for personal vendettas! We're fighting a war here!"
Brian and Ortiz glared at each other for a second before a bomb to the grandstand jolted them into action. Anti-aircraft fire shot up into the sky and the jet fell out of the sky into the bay. Pedro Martinez went over to the "Water Shot" board and added one more. Floyd and Brian set up their position.
"Bogey at 4:30!"
Floyd rotated and unleashed a couple of rounds. The plane lost altitude. Spiraling down, it took out the luxury and press boxes on its way down.
Sheffield called out from the neighboring emplacement, "Hah! Never really liked the media anyways."
After a couple of minutes... "Nothing's showing up on radar anymore. Good job, guys."
The boys had just got done repacking their emplacements when a loud roar zoomed by, followed by the grandstand being obliterated by multiple explosions. When the dust settled, Brian sat up. Just half an hour ago, this was one of the premier ballparks in the MLB. Now it was just a pile of rubble with a bigass Coke bottle. Sheffield and Floyd were out and about, trying to regain their senses. Milton Bradley was laying a couple of yards away.
Brian asked "Is he -"
"Dead?" Floyd said, then nodded his head.
"God damn."
"All the more reason we've got to take down these Organisation mother----ers."
Floyd radioed in. "Cliff here. Unfortunately, despite our effort, SBC is down. We seem to be the only survivors, except for Bradley."
"Holy mother of god. They have stealth bombers now. These guys are more powerful than we expected."
"How are we going to take out something we don't even know is there?"
A distant rumble.
"They're comin' back for sloppy seconds. We have to get out of here. Piazza, stay on hold for a second."
As the car sped out of the wreckage of SBC, Floyd got back on the radio.
"What's the report?"
"Bad. Supplies to Oakland are compromised by the Organisation's assault on the Bay Bridge. It's holding, but just barely. We assume that it's stealth bombers, because nothing's showing up on radar."
"You want us there?"
"Yes."
Brian didn't need the confirmation to start speeding away.
------------------------------------------
June 9th, 2:45 PM: Bay Bridge.
"Floyd here, Piazza. The bridge is on bad shape. One of the towers is half destroyed, so some of the bridge is going to be unsupported. We're going to need real light cavalry to get supplies across it."
A stealth bomber streaked overhead.
"----! He must be reconnoitering the bridge for a final blow."
Piazza's voice crackled over the radio, "Then what are you waiting for? TAKE IT OUT."
Floyd turned to Brian and Sheffield. "The anti-aircraft guns aren't going to be of much help because it's a single target. We're going to need two homing launchers."
As Floyd and Sheffield set up, Brian got a launcher of his own just in case.
"He's coming..."
The plane swooped in. As it pulled up to drop its load (resist any nasty thoughts), Floyd screamed "NOW!"
Sheffield and Cliff both loosed their payloads and missiles streaked through the sky. The pilot, seeing these coming, dropped the bombs before meeting his maker.
"He's gone. Wait... No.. ----!"
Brian popped up, calculated a bit, then let his missile fly. It flew... It flew... It hit the bombs!
"Holy mother of god! How did you - ?"
Brian pointed to his head.
"Alright guys, you've done enough. Back to base."
June 9th, 3:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum.
"And the word is...?"
"Major damage to San Francisco, but Oakland survived relatively unscathed. The Golden Gate Bridge was compromised by Wright's jet crashing into it, it's probably unusable."
The mood suddenly went somber at the mention. A face flashed up on the screen. The four were stunned into silence. Brian managed the first words.
"How the..."
Everybody searched for the words. Sheffield came up with them first, although they weren't exactly sensitive.
"Ain't you dead?"
David Wright looked kind of perturbed.
"No... Why would I be?"
Brian sputtered, "Well - because - you know - er..."
He made the motion of a plane crashing and exploding, "You went BOOM!"
Wright looked off to the side. "No, I was on patrol duty in Chicago. Oh, wait a minute. You must be thinking of Jared Wright."
All four men in the room went "oooooh."
"Anyway, I called to mention it to Piazza that the Organisation seems to be deliberately avoiding the so-called 'baseball bastions', Chicago, New York, and Boston. I don't like it. They're gearing up."
Piazza spoke. "We lost San Fransisco today. So far that only leaves Miami, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and the Big Three. The Rebellion is fast fading..."
"I suggest an assassination," Sheffield spoke up.
The suggestion shocked the other four. "Assassination, are you crazy?" Floyd begged the question, "We don't kill unless it's necessary in battle."
"And you are going to kill a LOT more in battle if you don't decapitate the Organisation now!"
A silence fell. Brian said, "Well, he does have a point..."
Piazza exploded. "NO! There is NO ----ing way we are going to kill in cold blood like the Organisation does! No! I won't condone it! And if you dare to try and defy my orders... I may be forced to take drastic action."
Seeing Piazza getting ready to draw his pistol, Sheffield drew his. "Oh, no you don't," he warned, "not on my watch. Put it away."
Floyd drew his piece and so did Brian. There was now a four-way standoff - Sheffield at Piazza at Brian at Floyd at Sheffield. David Wright looked on with nothing less than horror.
"Guys! We're supposed to be allies!"
Piazza growled, "I can't be allies with somebody who suggests something as vile as assassination."
The tension was reaching a breaking point.
Then a gunshot rang out and Piazza staggered back.
Piazza fell onto his back leg, blood gushing out of the wound in his shoulder. He put his hand up to it and observed the blood. He spoke in a voice that was at once calm and seething with rage.
"Who did it?"
A voice answered.
"I did."
The tall, thin frame of Denton Ruth stood in the doorway. A smoking gun lay in his hand. Floyd flew into a blind rage.
"You MOTHER----ER! I'LL ----ING KILL YOU!"
Floyd fired off multiple gunshots. But the trembling in his hand caused them all to miss. Denton's expression became even more somber.
"Floyd, I don't want to have to do this..."
Another gunshot rang out. Floyd stumbled back. He felt his chest. Blood. He swallowed hard.
"You mother----er..."
And with that, Floyd fell foward. Piazza looked on with rage, unable to do anything as his second-in-command died.
"You will regret that, Denton. You will pay! And pay! And pay! AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY AND PAY!"
With that, Piazza fell over backwards into an automated plane, which took off. Wright was still on the telescreen. Comprehending what had just happened, he let out a scream of mental agony. Completely unhinged by the violence, his mind snapped. He smashed his telescreen in Chicago, and turned around, heading for his trusty jet with an insane glimmer in his eye.
Brian stood through all this with a dumb expression on his face. Denton spoke.
"Brian, Sheffield, you need to come with me."
June 10th, 10:00 AM: Road to an unknown destination.
Brian had been bothered by something all night. He gathered his gumption and confronted Denton.
"Denton, I have to ask you something."
"What?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you do it? Piazza and Floyd..."
"They threatened you. As much as the Organisation hates you... The Boss realised... He needs you alive."
"Wait, why are you talking about the - gack!"
Denton grabbed Brian by the throat. "Can't you figure it out yet? I'm not one of you "Rebellion" soldiers! I work for the Boss! I work for the Organisation!"
Brian struggled free, holding his throat tenderly. "Why, Denton? Why'd you do it?"
"Because I saw it when I first saw you. You had more talent than I could even comprehend. From the very moment I saw you, I hated you. You were more than I could ever be. And I hated that."
Sheffield burst down the door. "Bombastic much? God damn, man, you sound like a Final Fantasy character!"
Denton's eyes glowed with rage. "You fool! The Organisation already knows all about the Rebellion that it needs to know. They launch an attack within the week. The MLB will not survive."
Brian knocked out Denton with a right hook. "Not if I can help it, man."
June 10th, 10:30 PM: The Office.
"... Boss?"
"What is it, Selig?"
Selig quietly walked into the room.
"It concerns Denton. He has been found out by Brian and Sheffield, and they're out to thwart our plans now."
"It matters not. We have won already."
An alert flashed on the telescreen. The Boss responded.
"What is it?"
"This is General Carville from Chicago! David Wright has gone insane! He's launched a full one-man offensive!"
"What are you waiting for? Destroy him!"
"Well, sir, I'm not sure what to do! He's fighting against Rebellion and Organisation alike! We were about to turn our guns on the Wrigley Field base when he took it out himself!"
The Boss's mind stirred. "Sedate him, then. He may be of use to us."
-----------------------------------------------
June 11th, 12:00 PM: The Office.
"Well, well, well, David." The Boss paced around Wright's bed. "You certainly caused us a fair bit of trouble. You took out the entire city of Chicago, left NOTHING standing. Impressive."
Wright glared at the Boss. "Well, Wright, you're going to serve MY purposes, and mine only. How am I going to do that, you ask?"
The Boss held up a little worm. "This little bugger here will crawl into your ear and secrete chemicals that cause you to develop multiple psychoses. The President himself bred these little things before he was elected to the Big Office. Alright, Dr. Sivana, you can begin."
The Boss left the room to the tortured, gagged screams from Wright as the mind-worms crawled into his ear. Selig walked up. "Boss, we have an update on the Rebellion."
"And that is...?"
"Sheffield and Brian have broken off, and Denton managed to kill Floyd, but Piazza got away."
"One out of two is good enough. That's .500."
i June 11th, 12:00 PM: Oakland Coliseum. /i
A hand stirred.
i June 11th, 12:00 PM: Ruins of Chicago. /i
Brian gazed out at the massive pile of rubble. "Well, Shef, it looks like we were a little late."
"No ----."
A diesel engine rumbled behind them. Brian and Shef both whipped around, guns drawn. It was not an Organisation truck, however, but a slightly dilapidated NYM team bus. It stopped, and a 5'11" figure stepped out. Sheffield's eyes narrowed into slits.
"Pedro."
"'ey, Gary! How ya doin'?"
Gary lunged, held back by Brian. "Do you REALLY want to do that to a potential ally?"
He settled down. "What are you doing here?"
"I ran here after the destruction of San Francisco, hoping that maybe I could find some shelter here. Not ten minutes after I arrive, David Wright goes ballistic and takes out the whole city by himself. I found big boy here wandering around the wreckage of Wrigley."
A really big figure stepped out. "I'm hungry."
Brian stifled a giggle. "Mo Vaughn, eh?"
"Yep, him."
Shef nearly yelled, "God DAMN, he's fat." Brian punched him in the shoulder.
"Well, hanging around here ain't gonna do anything. City's already gone."
The bus radio crackled. "This is the Boston division of the Rebellion! The Organisation has launched a full attack on the city! WE NEED BACKUP!"
Shef sulked slightly. "How are we going to get there so fast?"
Pedro smiled. "Climb aboard, everybody, and I'll show you a surprise. It's the same way I got from San Fransisco to here so fast."
June 11th, 12:05 PM: Oakland Coliseum.
A figure sat up, thanking his lucky stars for the accelerating healing factor his nanomachines gave him.
--------------------------------------------------------
June 11th, 12:06 PM: Ruins of Chicago.
Brian and Shef climbed onto the bus along with Pedro and Vaughn. There sitting in one of the front seats was none other than David Ortiz.
"Oh. It's you guys."
"Vaughn and Ortiz in the same confined space? Shouldn't there be a black hole forming?" Shef mumbled to himself. Brian punched him in the shoulder.
"So, what exactly is this surprise?" Brian inquired.
"Sit down. The bus doesn't have seat belts, so hang on for dear life."
They did as they were told. Pedro sat down at the driver's seat and started the bus. He pressed a couple buttons on the dashboard... And suddenly the bus lifted off the ground. Brian was startled, but Shef just rolled his eyes. "First the Organisation destroys a bunch of cities for a pitcher that can't even break 80 mph, now we have flying buses? What's next? A massive bucket of chicken?"
"I could go for some chicken," Vaughn mused from the back. Shef slapped his forehead.
"Hold on!" Pedro called from the front. Everybody was then pinned down in their seats as the airbus rocketed foward.
June 11th, 12:45 PM: Battleground Boston.
The airbus passengers could see the battle before they could see the city. Massive plumes of smoke were lifting into the air. Pedro guided the bus through the aerial battle with almost surgical precision before landing in Fenway Park. The taratataratat of gun emplacements was dominant. Pedro looked around, then his expression ashened. "Oh great, who let him in here?"
He pointed to John Rocker walking around the outfield. "David, please."
Ortiz raised a PSG-1 and fired. Rocker dropped. "Alright, good. Now we need to find the field commander. Where is he?" Pedro asked a passing bat-boy.
"He's in the owner's box."
They trodded their way up there. Pedro swung open the door - and Brian and Shef nearly jumped out of their shoes.
"Hey, Cliff!" Pedro called out. The shadow of none other than Cliff Floyd turned around. His expression turned from one of amicability to hostility at the sight of Shef and Brian. "What the hell are those two doing here?" he demanded.
"Er, well, they were in Chicago, and they are members of the Rebellion..."
"Not anymore they aren't." Cliff rubbed his chest where the bullet had struck him.
Brian raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. "Cliff, we didn't fire the bullet. Denton did."
"But you guys did start the standoff."
"I would have put the gun away in an attempt to save face."
"But then you would have gotten Denton to shoot me."
"No, I wouldn't have."
Cliff raged at Brian. "Then why the hell did he shoot me? Weren't you guys in cahoots with him?"
"No, we weren't."
"Then why did he -"
Piazza came up behind them. "Because he's a spy of the Organisation."
Cliff blinked. Pedro stood there with a look of total confusion on his face. "What happened?"
"It's not important," Piazza assured him. Suddenly Brian was struck with curiosity.
"Uh... Cliff?"
"Yeah?"
"How'd you get here so fast? I mean, you were basically dead as of yesterday. Plus, in the last update, you were still in Oakland Coliseum when we left for Boston."
Cliff just smirked. "I have my ways. Isn't that right, TopGear?"
Yes, it is, Cliff.
Shef looked disappointed. "So, that's it? We're all buddy-buddy again? No hard feelings?"
Cliff turned around. Piazza hamstrung Shef and pulled out a gun. "Vaughn, hold him down." He did as he was told.
He turned to Brian, and handed him the gun. "If you really want to join the Organisation, prove to us that you're ready to rid yourself of the cancer of Sheffield. Shoot him. In the head."
Brian gazed at the gun, and took it. Conflicted emotions ran through his head. He knew the Organisation would get him without the help of the Rebellion... But he couldn't shoot Sheffield.. Brian arrived at a decision. He'd have to do this fast...
He held the gun to Sheffield's head and fired.
Brian had his eyes closed, then opened them to witness his handiwork.
"You were really going to ----ing shoot me, weren't you?" Shef demanded. Brian was stunned.
"Uh..."
Piazza took the gun. "You proved yourself. Of course, there's no way we'd actually let Shef get killed."
"Why's that?"
"He orchestrated our spy in the Organisation."
A silence. Piazza turned to his brain trust.
"Anyway, we must turn our attention to the battle."
He turned around to observe the motley crew behind him, then looked back.
"I think we have a suitable batallion right here. Pedro, you brought the bus, right?"
"Yep."
"Good. Floyd, you go with the crew."
Cliff cracked his knuckles. "Can't wait to crack some more Organisation heads."
He took his trusty P90 off the rack. "Let's go."
June 11th, 1:15 PM: The streets of Boston.
The bus roared out of the base garage, catching some air time and bouncing upon landing. Inside, Pedro was at the helm, wearing a cowboy hat. "Yeee-haw!"
The crew in the bus, poised at stragetic windows with assault rifles, looked at this spectacle and chuckled. Brian jumped up.
"My pants are vibrating!"
He pulled out a cell phone. He forgot he had this. Checking the caller ID, Brian nearly fell over. It was Stacy. Obviously she must be worried about him, but he couldn't take the call just yet. He reluctantly put the cell phone back in his pocket.
The bus fishtailed to the right through an intersection and now they were heading to an Organisation group apparently on coffee break. Cliff barked orders. "Alright, Pedro, you take care of the cars with the bus's missiles, we'll clear off the sidewalks.
Not a second passed before two potent warheads were flying full-force at the cars parked in the street. Flowery plumes went up. Guns went off both to and from the bus. The boys were done cleaning up when a large "SLAM!" startled them, followed by a car flying up and away from the bus.
"Whoops! Must've missed one," Pedro called from the front. Cliff shook his head.
"Anybody else hungry?" Vaughn asked. Shef smacked him in the back of the head.
Another wide powerslide in an intersection. Only this time, the bus was facing down an entire army.
"Oh. ----," Pedro needlessly mused.
Brian's mind raced. He saw a construction ramp on the sidewalk. He lept to Pedro's side.
"See that?"
"See what?"
"That ramp."
"Yeah - oh. Oh boy."
Cliff came up from behind. What are you guys talking about?"
Brian pointed out the gigantic armed division in front of them.
"----! Turn around!"
"No, wait, we don't need to. See that?"
"You can't be serious."
Ortiz came up, asked the same questions. "What? That? No ---in' way."
Shef came up. "You're ----ing crazy."
Vaughn came up. "I'm hungry." Shef smacked him in the back of the head.
Brian called out. "To the right!"
Pedro swerved and lined the bus up with the ramp.
"Here goes nothing!"
Everybody bore down on whatever they were holding onto. The bus didn't have a speedometer, so nobody knew how fast they were going. The ramp approached. Shef mumbled to himself, "This is ----ing crazy..."
"HERE WE GOOOO!" Pedro yelled.
The bus lurched upwards, and then - weightlessness. Everybody floated a bit out of their seats. Pedro was flying out of his, keeping himself from flying away by holding onto the steering wheel. Brian looked out the window and saw the lines of black sedans swarming beneath them. The bus's engine roared without the friction of tires vs. pavement to slow it down.
Cliff shouted, "The landing's gonna be a -----! Get the hell back in your seat, Pedro!"
"HOLY ---------------------------------------------------------!" was Pedro's answer. The ground started approaching.
"This isn't gonna be fun," Sheffield mumbled out loud.
SMASH. Everybody suddenly because 300 lbs heavier and slammed down into their seats. The bus's suspension groaned and bounced upwards on impact. Everybody in the bus was stunned by what they had just done. Pedro looked behind them. They had cleared the army. He tossed his cowboy hat in the air and started whooping. Cliff and Brian both fell back into their seats and sighed. Shef was mumbling to himself about how that shouldn't be physically possible, but was still relieved. Vaughn was thinking about steak.
Cliff stood back up. "Alright, everyone. That little thrill ride is over. We still have a job to do."
The gang kept driving on down the streets, patrolling. It seemed to be unusually quiet... The quiet before the storm?
"Damn, I thought I'd be able to knock a few more heads." Cliff sat back, polishing the handle of his P90.
"crackle... repeat, under attack! Somebody, anybody respond! The FleetCenter is under - oh god! He's coming back! HE'S COMING - crackle"
Cliff sat up. "Pedro, full speed."
"Gotcha, captain."
Upon arrival, it was clear they were already too late. Nothing remained, a hulk of rubble.
Shef perked up a bit. "Anybody else hear that?"
Vaughn perked up as well. "I smell chicken." Shef smacked him in the back of the head.
A Harrier rose on the other side of the rubble as the bus.
"Hey, Cliff, what is that?" Pedro asked.
"It looks like a - oh ----."
Everybody turned to Brian. "Suggestions?" Shef asked.
"Uh, run."
-----------------------------------------
June 11th, 2:15 PM: FleetCenter ruins.
The Harrier rose slowly into the air. The bus's radio crackled. David Wright's hoarse voice came over.
"Run... Guys... Please... I can't help myself... ergh.. agh... Prepare to die!"
Floyd's expression was one of confusion. "Wright?"
"Run...!"
The Harrier fired off two missiles. Pedro yelled "Holy God!" and jammed the bus into reverse. He swung it out sideways and dodged behind a building just in time. The Harrier produced itself around the building.
Floyd leaned out the window. He had a clean shot... But brought the barrel down.
"What... the hell are you doing... Floyd? Shoot me... AGH! You see this? THIS IS YOUR FATE!"
The Harrier let fly two more missiles. Pedro slammed the gas and sped under them.
Ortiz pushed Floyd. "What the hell? You could have taken him out right there!"
"I... I couldn't."
Brian's mind stewed. "We could take him down non-lethally, take him into custody. Then we wouldn't have to kill him."
"Oh boy, the genius has an idea," Shef said to the ceiling.
Vaughn suddenly stood up. "Do you want to avoid killing? Do you want to save the life of one of the most promising prospects in baseball? Do you? Then sit down, you son of a -----, and listen to the man's idea!"
Everybody stared blankly at Mo. Vaughn shrugged. "Hey, I'm not hungry ALL the time."
Pedro yelled from the front. "He's catching up to us!"
Brian quickly discharged his plan. There was a fuel line under one of the wings. It'd take a crackshot to hit it and disable the jet. Ortiz volunteered for the job. "I could shoot a fly off of a plateau a mile away with a handheld pistol," he bragged, "this ain't nothing."
"Alright, Pedro, get into a big, wide road so the Harrier will be exposed."
The bus drove onto a highway. The Harrier aligned itself behind them.
"Ok, Ortiz, you ready?"
Ortiz gave the thumbs-up. "Ok, here goes nothing..."
Steady... Steady... Steady... FIRE!
The Harrier wobbled. It began losing altitude.
Floyd, Shef, and Vaughn all looked on in concern. The Harrier smashed into the pavement and slid to a stop harmlessly. Wright threw open the canopy and jumped out.
"You insolent fools! I'll have your -"
Shef grabbed him and injected him with tranquiliser. It was over.
June 12th, 11:00 AM: The Office.
Selig walked up sheepishly to the Boss.
"Uh... Boss?"
"We lost the battle in Boston, didn't we."
"Yes, we did, but there's other news..."
"What's that?"
"Wright was recaptured."
"You're kidding me."
"Nope."
A gunshot. Selig slumped.
"Failure is not tolerated."