June 12th, 12:00 PM: Rebellion HQ.
"How's Wright doing?" Cliff asked.
"He's been better, but he'll pull through," Piazza said. "Oh, Brian, just the person I've been looking for. You did good out there. I mean, nobody else spotted that fuel line. By the way, there's something for you up in your room."
Brian made his way up there and opened the door. "Stacy?"
She turned around.
June 13th, 8:00 AM: Rebellion HQ.
Brian walked into the room with a slightly bouncier step than usual. Shef laughed.
"Aha! Somebody got laid!"
Vaughn smacked him in the back of the head. Shef turned around to glare at him, at which Vaughn just shrugged.
Piazza stood up at the room of the room. "Alright, guys, the end is at hand. The Boss is extremely paranoid. Two days ago he shot Selig simply for being the messenger. Our spy is telling us that he's planning a last-ditch attack on New York. Of course, one should question the sanity of such a plot, considering that we defended Boston so easily. But that isn't important right now, what matters is that he's planning to do it. You guys proved to be our best spec-ops team during the Battle of Boston, so we're keeping you together."
Nods of approval.
"Alright, you guys are going to be patrolling the most sensitive area of the city: Manhattan. Any objections?"
Nope.
"Alright, you guys get outta here and head for the Apple. I still have lots of briefing to do, so I'll catch up with you guys at the Shea base."
As they walked out, Shef looked kind of ticked off. "What's eating you, Shef?" Cliff asked.
"Why is Shea Stadium our base? I mean, there's another potential base like what, 20 miles away in the Bronx. You ever hear of it? It's called Yankees Stadium. It's a lot better than that dump Shea. I mean that place is a ----ing sewer -"
Brian, Pedro, Vaughn, and Cliff all pointed to the Mets logo on the shoulder of their uniform. Shef looked sheepishly at the Yankees logo on his. Ortiz looked at the Red Sox on his and shrugged. He was the neutral third party.
"You're the last remaining Yankee in the Rebellion, Shef," Cliff warned, "do you want it to stay that way?"
Shef glanced away. Whoopsies!
They climbed into the bus.
"Anybody else -" Vaughn was about to ask.
"Don't you even dare," Shef threatened.
Vaughn gave him an incredulous look. "I was about to ask if anybody else is ready."
"Oh."
"Damn, man! That's twice owned in the past half-hour!" Pedro laughed.
Piazza's voice came on the radio. "Hold up, boys. Look around you. See anything missing?"
They looked. "Nope."
"Yes, you are missing something. It's a little bit of the feminine touch. You have an additional member of the team coming on. I wasn't originally going to put her on, but she scored near-perfect on the training test. Higher than even you, Cliff."
"No ----ing way."
"Yes ----ing way. There she is now."
Brian looked out the window. A girl was walking up. She had war-paint on her face and was carrying a Spas-12 over her shoulder. She looked kind of fam... iliar... Brian gaped in disbelief.
"Stacy?"
June 13th, 8:15 PM: The bus.
Brian was staring blankly off into space, trying to comprehend this. His girlfriend was going to fight too. Ortiz poked him.
"Earth to Brian. You still here?"
"Uh... No... Er... Yeah... Eh... No..."
Ortiz looked up and announced to the congregation, "We lost him."
Brian snapped out of it. He looked up at Stacy. "Why?"
"Piazza told me about your little situation. I felt I needed to help."
Cliff stood up. "That's good enough for me. Let's get to to work."
But nothing happened that day.
June 14th, 6:00 AM: Dawn of the First Day. 72 Hours Remain.
The Office.
"Boss, I can't agree to this plan. You would end the world just to kill one single pitcher?"
"Yes. If I can't beat him fairly, I have no qualms about ending civilisation."
"I can't condone this. No, I WILL NOT!" Steinbrenner turned red and jumped from his seat. He turned to leave.
"Steinbrenner, GET BACK HERE," the Boss had a look of calm anger on his face. "I know what you have done. The Rebellion is focused solely on New York now. They know we are to attack."
The Boss looked up. "And you were the only other one who knew about the attack. I have deduced it. YOU ARE THE SPY. Kill him, boys."
Jeter and A-Rod stepped out of the shadows behind the Boss, who said, "He is a traitor to the Organisation. You have your work cut out for you. Kill him."
Jeter and A-Rod looked at each other. With a nod, they pushed over the Boss's chair and leapt over the table to Steinbrenner, who patted them on the shoulder. "I have the upper hand now, Boss."
The Boss stood up and dusted off his jacket. "Flee, then. I will still be the one who brings down the Moon and ends the world."
Steinbrenner and the Duo left, leaving the Boss to his machinations.
June 11th, 6:05 PM: The Rebellion Base. 71:55 Remains.
Piazza sat down at his console and almost instantly an alert came up from his secretary. Piazza read the notice.
"No... He can't be THAT mad..."
Piazza called an emergency meeting. The threat of Armageddon now loomed.
"Basically, this is how it's going to go down," Piazza went on. "They're going to launch a massive attack on New York to try and distract us, and he's going to have some contraption his scientists are designing right now be sent up to the Moon and push it out of its orbit towards Earth. I have no idea how we're going to stop that."
Brian spoke up. "We can't stop the Moon, but we can stop it from starting to fall altogether."
Shef sat in the corner with his arms crossed. "Now does assassination sound like such a bad idea?"
Piazza looked down. "Unfortunately, Gary, it doesn't. We don't know where the Boss's offices are, though."
"I do, though."
Steinbrenner walked into the room, flanked by Jeter and A-Rod.
"He's based in my own Yankees Stadium. That's why he's left New York for last, because it's his base."
Ortiz asked, "Who exactly is the Boss, anyways?"
Steinbrenner lowered his head. "Not even I know. The Boss has always concealed his identity using some sort of hood. He's real paranoid about people knowing who he is."
"So we're dealing with an evil Little Red Riding Hood?" Shef asked in a sarcastic tone. There was chuckling. Comic relief.
"When's the attack?"
Steinbrenner looked at his watch. "Sometime tomorrow."
-------------------------------------------------
June 14th, 12:00 PM: Shea base. 66 Hours Remain.
Piazza and the crew went over the war plans. Yankees Stadium would be heavily defended. Assaulting it will not be easy. But it had to be done.
"Alright, Pedro. There's a limo entrance over here. The bus isn't going to fit. So MAKE it fit."
Pedro nodded and smiled at the thought.
"Wright, you'll be in the Harrier jet. Most of our airforce was lost in the... Attack on Chicago, so the Organisation won't be expecting something from the air. You'll commence general bombardment."
Wright nodded.
"Cliff, Brian, Vaughn, Shef, Stacy, and Ortiz, you're the welcoming party. After Pedro drives you in, storm the place."
Shef twirled a Desert Eagle around his finger. "Good. Can't wait to wring the Boss's neck."
Piazza turned to point again at his videoscreen map when it went dark. Static. And the shadow of the Boss came up.
"I know what you fools are doing," he declared. "And you will fail. I have more firepower here than you can even imagine."
He held up a remote control of a sort. "And I have this. By the 16th, the moon will be blasted out of its orbit and will struck the Earth with sufficient force to blow it to pieces. You can say goodbye, now."
Static, blackness, and the map came back up.
"What a mother----er," Stacy mumbled.
"Hmmmm..." Brian stroked his chin in thought. "He said he was going to blast the moon out of its orbit. That means that there are explosives involved. Explosives... That can be used to..."
"Destroy Yankees Stadium," Cliff finished the thought.
"And the Bronx, too," Shef added.
Ortiz spoke up. "But is anybody gonna miss it?"
Shef glared. A scrub ran up to Piazza with a folder.
"Hmmm, mumble mumble..."
He looked up. "The Boss isn't bluffing. There's a rocket being set up in the Yankees Stadium field. Countdown unknown, but I'll trust the Boss on this one. He isn't one to bluff on his threats."
June 14th, 5:00 PM: Shea base. 61 Hours Remain.
The crew ate dinner in the clubhouse. A heavy tension hung over the room. Tomorrow would bring a lot of battle.
June 15th, 6:00 AM: Shea Base.
Dawn of the Second Day. 48 Hours Remain.
The first stirrings of battle.
"Piazza, we've detected Organisation movement from Yankees Stadium."
"Alright, guys. Are you ready?"
Silence was his answer. "Then go."
June 15th, 6:10 AM: Shea base garage. 47:50 Remains.
No sooner were the crew settled into their positions when Piazza came on over the radio.
"Good lord. There's 50 times more of them than we expected. Guys, we'll have to put our assault on the Stadium on hold. We need you to help us defend the city against the Organisation first."
Cliff gaped. "FIFTY TIMES MORE?"
"At the very least."
Cliff rubbed his eyes and turned to the group. "And the decision is?"
A minute later the bus roared out of the garage and turned right into Manhattan rather than the Bronx. A Harrier rose of out of the base behind them. Wright radioed in. "Good lord, Piazza wasn't kidding. There's a ----ing sea of black swarming from the Bronx."
The bus led a charge of over 50,000 Rebellion cars into the City. This would be a battle of cataclysmic proportions. Pedro turned onto Broadway at Times Square. All was quiet. Even the huge TV screens were still functioning, showing MSNBC's coverage of the battle.
Then a sonic boom, and all the windows and screens shattered. A stealth fighter rocketed down past Times Square from 7th Avenue, and the Organisation's trademark black cars poured down. Rocket salvos rained down on them from the Rebellion ranks, but it was like slapping at the ocean. Pedro rammed a couple of cars with the bus to try and get some maneuvering room.
"Damn," he said, "it's almost as if it's a normal day at the city."
"Yep," Cliff said as he was reloading his P90. "Complete with road rage and everything."
A missile was let fly directly at the bus.
"Oh ----!" Ortiz yelled.
A Harrier dipped down low and left a chaff in the path of the missile. Its targeting system went haywire and it diverted itself into a mob of Organisation cars. BOOM.
"You can kneel down to me later," Wright radioed.
"And do what, exactly?" asked Shef."
Silence.
"Ha!" Shef laughed.
Pedro was getting frustrated with being stuck in traffic. He backed up the bus, and floored it. Bump bumpity bump bump went the bus as Organisation cars were crushed underfoot.
"Flattening'm like bugs," Pedro laughed.
"It's almost as if Mo Vaughn's sitting on them!" Brian cracked.
"Hey, man, that ain't funny," Vaughn pouted.
Stacy pulled back from her window. "----, I'm out of buckshots for the Spas."
Cliff foraged around in his gun bag for a bit, and pulled out a bazooka. Stacy's eyes widened. "Please?"
"Sure."
Fire one! 3 cars down. Fire two! 2 more. Fire three! 4 more. Oh baby. Stacy came back into the bus looking like she'd just been laid by Brad Pitt.
"I had no idea you were such a pyromaniac," Brian inquired.
"You never asked."
"Ba-ZING!" Shef said. Brian glared at him, and he quickly turned back to his firing post.
Pedro got some open ground. "Alright, we're behind the battle lines now," Cliff said half-to-himself. "Now we should focus on getting some of the stragglers."
Now, we move on to the big picture. An overwhelming defeat at Times Square forced an Organisation retreat. It was now not rank-and-file warfare, but guerrilla.
"This is MB at Carnegie Hall. The Organisation has garrisoned the building. What should we do?"
"Bellhorn, you dope, we're not using the codenames anymore. We dumped them like a week ago," Floyd stated.
"Well, sorr-ee, lord and master. Anyway, what should we do?"
"Take it out."
Explosions.
"----."
"What?"
"We missed!"
Pedro raised one finger. "Strike one!"
"Try again, dammit."
Explosions.
"----."
Floyd smacked his forehead and dragged his hand down. Pedro, "Strike two!"
"Again."
"Explosions."
"----."
"You're kidding me."
Pedro punched the air. "Strike three! You're OUT!"
"Try again?"
"No, no. We'll handle it."
The bus quickly made its way to Carnegie Hall, which was the only building standing for a hundred feet. "Oh. My. God," Floyd held his head in his hands. "Pedro, please."
Pedro fired the bus's missiles. Explosions and down Carnegie went. A flaming jet flew overhead. Wright's voice came up on the radio. "Aha! I got a bogey! Oh, wait... no... NO! THE OTHER WAY! THE OTHER WAY!"
"What's the matter, David?"
"It's heading straight for the Empire State Building!"
"It's a kamikaze pilot! Somebody take it out!"
Missiles flew up from all areas of the island. All missed. Within a couple of seconds, the plane hit the 70th floor of the ESB. The impact was so enormous as to knock the top 12 floors, the Observation Deck, and the antenna clean off the building. After 5 seconds of silence, the top part of the ESB landed on top of an Organisation squadron, squishing them. Brian was the first to speak. "Well... It wasn't a total loss."
"Uh oh, I've got some -------s behind me."
"Dip down, Wright. Maybe we can handle some of them for you."
Wright's Harrier dipped down into the urban canyon of 7th Avenue. Stacy leaned out the window with the bazooka. She timed the fire perfectly. A flaming hulk of an Organisation jet hit the ground hard and rolled like a flaming barrel down the road a bit.
"Damn, she's good," Oritz was in love.
"Don't even think about, Ortiz. She's mine." Brian was protective.
"Fine, whatever."
The radio crackled once again. "This is Piazza here. The Organisation is routed. You guys were exceptional. We only detect around 50 Organisation forces around the entire city. Now, I know you want to go show the Boss what's what, but it'd be much better if all of you were fully rested for the job. Back to base."
June 16th, 6:00 PM: Shea base.
Night of the Final Day. 12 Hours Remain.
It was time.
The bus came out of the garage again. This time, though, there were no wisecracks, not even from Sheffield. After a couple of minutes, the ominous Yankees Stadium came up.
Piazza came up on the radio. "Be wary. The Organisation is prepared for one last stand."
As if on cue, an Organisation jet formation flew by overhead. Wright was in hot pursuit. "I got a bead on one'f'm."
A missile flew and a jet dropped. His Harrier danced a dangerous dance inbetween the lines of anti-aircraft fire emanating from the stadium.
Brian was impressed. "Damn, can you teach me to fly?"
"Maybe," said Wright wryly.
Stacy lifted her now-beloved bazooka and fired off. A mid-air explosion and a flaming ball fell into the Harlem River.
"Whoa, nelly," Wright said. "I've never seen that before... Shooting down a plane with a bazooka."
Stacy shrugged. "Hey, don't get too full of yourselves now," Cliff pointed out, "we got company on the ground."
Black cars poured out from the Stadium. "Set?" Floyd asked.
"More than you'll know."
Pedro fired first with two missiles from the bus's launchers. Cliff's P90 shredded some cars as well. Brian's Spas-12, borrowed from Stacy after she fell in love with the bazooka, bombarded the enemy. Shef had himself a merry ol' time with a grenade launcher. Vaughn had a Barrett sniper rifle, the kind that can shred through concrete walls.
The Organisation was quickly defeated.
The radio crackled. "How cute. You managed to defeat my army again. But now I have an ace in the hole that will guarantee victory for me. From me with love."
The earth rumbled.
"What the hell's happening?" Shef asked.
A large mechanical groan sounded all around them. "I dunno," Brian wondered.
A huge mech hand slammed on top of the stadium, knocking the "Yankees Stadium" lettering off with its impact.
"WHOA!" Pedro backed out of the way of a falling T.
"Holy mother of god!" Wright's Harrier pulled a steep nosedive to avoid a second flailing hand.
It stood. It towered almost as high as the Empire State Building itself. A translucent circle was on its chest. It looked down upon the Rebellion's bus with its electronic eyes in a way that almost suggested disdain.
And then it unleashed an unearthly roar.
June 16th, 9:00 PM: Yankees Stadium. 9 Hours Remain.
"Holy god."
"Whoa ----!"
"I'm hungry."
Such were the reactions of the Elite, as the crew had become to be known in the Rebellion. After finishing its roar, the mech resumed looking at the bus.
"Pedro."
"Yes?"
"Get us the ---- out of here."
Pedro slammed the bus in reverse and pulled a tail whip to face the other way. Wright's Harrier blasted over them, away from the mech.
"Sorry guys, but this wouldn't be much of a help."
"Piazza?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you see what we're seeing?"
"See wha - ho-lee ----. Uh, Cliff?"
"Yes, Piazza?"
"GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!"
Pedro needed no confirmation to floor it. The bus peeled out and began accelerating.
"----, Cliff, I can't get enough speed on this!"
Brian looked back out the window. The mech took a step. The foot landed in front of the bus.
"AIIIE!"
They swerved into a side street. Pedro wobbled and the bus slammed into one side, then the other, of the alleyway.
"Hold'er steady!" They came back out onto a main street - only to have a building crash in front of them.
"WHOA NELLY!"
They swerved to the left, Pedro hit the gas.
"Dammit, if only I had a little more power on this thing..."
Cliff reached over his shoulder and pressed a button underneath the speedometer. It flipped up, revealing a red button with a single word above it: "Propane." He pressed it, and the bus damn near popped a wheelie.
"Whee doggy!" Pedro yelled in delight as the bus began accelerating like a sports car.
"The mech's up ahead!" Shef pointed out.
It picked up another building and tossed at them. "Oh..."
Cliff grabbed the wheel and swerved to the right. Left! Right! Left! The bus slalomed with death as buildings rained down on them. "How the hell are we gonna beat this thing?" Ortiz wondered out loud. A missile blew by the bus and nnihilated an entire block behind them.
"Pedro, activate the jet mode."
He did as he was told. The bus lifted up and took off. The mech raised an arm and pointed it at them. "What's he doing?"
"I dunno, but you better get out of the ----ng way, just in case."
Just as they did, a laser beam seared the air. Cliff was aghast. "... Whoa."
"Hey, don't be going Keanu Reeves on us. We need smarts!"
"Well, we can't go back to the base, because that would reveal its location to the mech."
Wright's Harrier pulled alongside them. "I know what to do. Leave it to me."
"What are you going to - Wright?"
Wright didn't answer them. He activated the extra thrust on the jet and sped towards the mech. It flailed its arms at him.
"What the hell's he doing?"
The Harrier kept flying towards the mech... Then the circle on its chest shattered. A gigantic explosion emanated from the hole. The mech's eye's went dark and its limbs and neck went limp.
"D... Did he just what I think..."
Then the ---- hit the fan. The mech suddenly came back to life and roared with an intensity not seen from it before. It almost seemed as if... It were in pain. It screamed again, flailing at its head. After a couple of seconds, the head exploded, and the body began falling apart. A figure jumped from the shoulders and opened a parachute.
"It's Wright! He did it!"
Then the bus rocked and the back end was blown off. An Organisation jet had struck them.
June 16th, 9:40 PM: Skies above New York. 8:20 Remains.
"OH MY GOD!"
The difference in air pressure immediately created a vacuum. Cliff was standing up and began flying backwards.
"Not on my watch!"
Shef reached out and grabbed an arm. Brian offered his hand and Cliff's other arm went up to it. The Elite's weapons flew out the back.
"----, we're defenseless," Brian needlessly mused. It took him a couple of moments to notice that Stacy was clinging to his arm.
"----! I got no control! We're gonna have to land SOMEWHERE!"
"Cut off the engines! We can glide back to Shea!"
Pedro cut off the fuel, and the rocking stopped. The jet that hit them blew by and came back again for another go-round.
"Pedro, we got any missiles left?"
Pedro's voice was almost inaudible. "No..."
"But I got some!"
A Harrier came up behind the jet. It attempted some evasive maneuvers.
"I got more experience than that, bub!"
The Harrier followed. A missile flew. The jet half-exploded and left a fiery trail enroute to decapitating the Chrysler Building.
"Whoops."
Cliff smirked. "Hey, Piazza, I thought you said you weren't going to fly a jet ever again?"
"I lied."
"Well, that's one lie I'm glad to hear."
"You're cleared to land at Shea."
June 17th, Midnight: Shea base. 6 Hours Remain.
"You're meaning to tell me that we currently have NO way of getting to Yankees Stadium?" Shef asked in a vitriolic tone.
Piazza shook his head. "The Stadium is a veritable fortress right now. Trying to get there in a car would be suicide. You guys got as close as possible with the bus, and we don't have any of those right now."
Brian shook his head. "So we're going let the Boss blow the moon into the earth because we don't have a ----ing bus to get to the Stadium."
"Well... There is a way..."
"What is it?"
"We could try a HALO jump."
"Sign me up."
"We can't let you go alone. Cliff will have to go with you."
Cliff double-took. "Me?"
"Yes, you."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Floyd looked at the ground and chuckled. "Man, you always were a sonuva -----."
June 17th, 4:00 AM: Air above Yankees Stadium. TWO HOURS REMAIN.
Brian and Cliff had said their goodbyes to their significant others and to the other members of the Elite, and climbed into the plane. Piazza came on the radio. "Ok. We're gonna drop you right next to the stadium. After you infiltrate the stadium, a car is going to be dropped off by one of our other operatives -"
"Is it the Caprice?" Brian asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Yes!"
"... Anyway. Find the Boss, eliminate him, the end, we can all go home."
"You make it sound so simple. We're the ones putting our asses on the line."
"You volunteered."
"Touche."
"Ok. Jump right about NOW!"
Floyd and Brian leapt out of the plane. "Parachutes!"
They floated into the Stadium parking lot. Not too many Organisation here. Brian looked up. The giant hand-print left by the mech was still present on the top of the Stadium. Floyd pulled out his P90 and tossed a Spas-12 to Brian.
"You ready?"
"I came here to chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of ass. Er... Wait."
"Don't even bother."
"K."
They walked up to a service door. Floyd counted off one... Two... Three!
They kicked down the door in tandem. Floyd mowed down an entire line and then the firing pin clicked. Brian took his turn to clear the hallway. They ran down and stopped at a corner.
Floyd handed his empty magazine to Brian.
"Toss it."
Brian took it and backhanded it into the hallway. A rain of bullets pierced the wall. "They ain't taking prisoners, man!"
Brian took his Spas, poked it around the hallway and fired off a couple of buckshots before the recoil caused his one arm to become too flexible. He dared to poke his head around. Nobody left alive. Cliff and Brian tiptoed down the hallway. It was quite... Too quiet. After coming out of the service hallways and into the concession areas, they were even more suspicious. There was nobody here. CRASH. A wall burst down. Brian and Cliff whipped around and focused their weapons on the offender. Cliff lowered his slightly.
"Jose Conseco? What the hell have they done to you?"
A muscle-bound hulk stood in front of them. A pack on his back had tubes that plugged directly into his back, legs, and arms. He didn't answer Cliff. Instead, he picked up a concession stand and hurled it at the pair.
Brian dove to the right, Cliff to the left. Brian raised his Spas and fired at Canseco. He recoiled in pain, but the bullet holes in his arm quickly regenerated.
"He's got accelerated healing, Cliff!"
"It's probably related to the ---- that's being pumped into him!"
Canseco took this little conversation break to break out a gatling gun that would make Vulcan Raven ---- himself.
"Oh ----. RUN!"
Brian and Floyd scrambled as the gun shredded everything in its path. Concrete, steel, concession stands, ticket offices, it didn't matter. The pair regrouped in a service hallway behind Canseco.
"Alright, Brian. You're the brains here. What do we do?"
"Let's see... I remember reading in some comic that, with beings with accelerated healing factors, a broken neck takes the longest to heal from. You've got a little more meat than I do, so while I distract him, you come up behind him and snap his neck. It won't kill him, but it'll stop him for a bit while we figure out what to do."
"Ok, let's - ----!"
Canseco wandered into the hallway and looked down the opposite direction of the pair. Cliff ducked back into the concession area. Brian hid behind a wall, waited until Floyd was in position. Then he jumped out. "Hey, you ----head!"
Canseco turned his head with an angry grunt. "What's the matter with you now? Can't function without having more juice in you than a Kool-Aid factory?"
Canseco's glare almost made Brian lose his nerve. But he saw Floyd sneaking up behind Canseco.
"So c'mon, then, big boy! Get me!" Brian fired a buckshot into Canseco's chest. He looked at it, then charged for Brian with an angry roar. Brian dove at the last second. Floyd jumped onto Canseco's back, got his head in his hands and snapped to the left with a sickening CrAcK. Canseco dropped, whimpering.
"Ok, what do we do?"
"Uh... Let's see... Batman beat Bane by ripping out his Venom tubes. Maybe we can do the same to Canseco?"
But Canseco suddenly jumped up and turned around to face the pair.
"Uh... Looks like he regenerates a little faster than the Hulk."
"Yeah. Run."
The two ran into the concession area again. "Run for the field!" Cliff ordered. They did, but Brian tripped. He turned around to meet his maker. Canseco stood about 20 feet behind him. Was that a car engine he just heard?
Canseco heard it too, and turned around - to recieve 3500 lbs of Chevy Caprice in the face. It landed on him then burned out, turning Canseco's face into a road painting.
"Who the -"
Wright poked his head out the driver's window and looked back at his handiwork. "Not a bad work of art, eh?" he asked rhetorically, and winked.
Cliff walked back and helped Brian up. "I never thought I'd be so relieved to hear one of your cheesy one-liners."
Wright stepped out. "According to Piazza, I'm supposed to report back to base now, but I think you guys could stand some company, can't you?"
"I'm always ready for company."
Wright pulled out a modified-looking Desert Eagle. Brian was intrigued. "What does that thing do?"
"It's a machine DE. See? It's got a big handle to hold 14 bullets, it's heavier to avoid recoil, and it has an automatic firing feature. One bullet per second."
"Damn. That could ---- somebody up."
"That's why I took it."
The trio, now, made their way to the field. The rocket towered above them. A figure was standing at the base of the rocket, bathed in shadows.
"Indeed. This is my final option, I suppose. To end the world, and civilisation as we know it. All because you wouldn't listen to me and stop playing baseball."
"Ok, Boss. End it. You're going to bite the big one anyway, might as well spare the world your fate."
The Boss turned around. "Me? Spare the world? And be defeated at the same time?"
The Boss stepped out of the shadows. "I'm BARRY BONDS, dammit. There's nothing in the world more important than me."
June 17th, 5:30 AM: Yankees Stadium. HALF AN HOUR REMAINS.
Just a couple of weeks ago, Brian had pitched in this stadium, under a clear night sky, to the roar of 50,000 fans. Now, the sky was blood red above them, the grandstands were demolished at the hand of a gigantic mech, and a huge rocket towered in the outfield. Quite a difference.
"I'll admit, I didn't expect you guys to get past Canseco," Bonds said as he strolled around, admiring his doomsday device. "That man was beyond juiced."
"Yes, we had to get some outside help," Brian said, with an approving glance towards Wright. He raised his gun.
"Well, if you won't surrender peacefully, we'll have to take you out of commission." Wright and Floyd raised their guns as well.
"And what would that accomplish? This rocket has a little thingy thing... I don't know what it's called, exactly, but if I die, the rocket will launch automatically. A tracer, I think it's called."
"A dead man's switch?" Shef asked condescendingly.
"There you go," Bonds nodded.
Brian lowered the Spas. ----."
"Hah! In half an hour, you won't be able to do THAT anymore."
Wright was enraged and tried to charge Bonds. Floyd held him back with an arm and shook his head at him.
"Quite a pickle, isn't it?"
Brian's mind raced. A solution, a solution, a solution. He... He can't think of one!
Outwardly, Brian threw his Spas down onto the ground in disgust at himself and turned around. "Right, throw down your gun. Fighting is useless. Wright sauntered over a bit to Brian. He pulled something out of his back pocket... A bomb?
"High-grade C4," he whispered, "if one of us can distract the Boss enough, we can blow it. But..."
"One of us will have to die," Brian completed the thought. "But who?"
"I'll do it," Wright offered. "I have to atone for what I did in Chicago... Seeing Floyd shot, I completely forgot that he had healing nanomachines and went crazy. Then I was captured by the Organisation and they turned me to their cause - for a battle. Then you guys took me back..."
"It was actually Vaughn's idea to take you down non-lethally."
"That oaf?"
"Yeah. I just thought of how to do it."
"Thanks."
"Eh, it was nothing."
"You boys done finished talking behind my back?" Bonds asked.
Brian turned around, picked up his Spas, and aimed it at Bonds.
"Hey, -----!"
Bonds turned around with an offended look.
"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you."
"We're not going down without a fight."
Cliff grabbed Brian and whispered fiercely into his ear. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Wright has a plan."
"Alright then."
"You'll regret talking to BARRY BONDS like that." Bonds pulled out two sawed-off shotguns from behind his sports jacket. "Prepare to be shredded."
Brian lowered his Spas slightly. "C'mon, Barry. Can't come up with a better one-liner than THAT?"
Bonds fired. The trio scattered. Brian popped up from behind a crate and took a couple of Spas potshots. But he made a critical mistake. While running from cover to cover, he stumbled. Bonds pounced on the opportunity. Brian's left foot quite literally blown apart by the two shotguns. Brian collapsed in unimaginable pain.
Now it was Bonds' turn to make the mistake. Instead of finishing off Brian, he walked over. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he asked arrogantly. Brian looked underneath his legs. Floyd and Wright were setting the detonator.
"Meh, I'm still better than you."
"You little ----."
Bonds kicked Brian in the gut. Brian coughed up a bit of blood and looked up at Bonds. "I just have to ask, Barry. Why? Why did you do what you did?"
Bonds, seeing a chance to sing his own praises, puffed out his chest. "Listen, Brian. I've run the MLB for the past 7 years. It's been all me. Selig? A figurehead. The real power behind the MLB was MY Organisation. When you popped up onto the scene, it occured to me that you could attain more star power than even I, Barry Bonds. Man who came with 10 homers of surpassing the Babe."
"Man, you still would have made the Hall of Fame even if I were to become famous."
"Yes, but I would not have been the most famous person in baseball history. If I didn't do anything, a hundred years from now people would mention both you and I, but I would be second to you. I wasn't able to stand that. So I ordered you to back off. But you didn't."
Brian looked back at Wright and Floyd. They had finished setting the detonator. Bonds noticed Brian's eyes and turned around. "Well, well. Somebody got clever."
A bullet hit Bonds in the shoulder. He looked in shock at the wound, then turned around to face his assailants.
June 17th, 5:50 AM: Yankees Stadium. TEN MINUTES REMAIN.
"Where the hell did you two come from?" Bonds demanded of the pair.
A-Rod and Jeter stepped out from the shadows. "We used to play here," Jeter said. "It was one of the holy cathedrals of sports. But YOU -" he pointed at Bonds "have desecrated it. We WILL get you back for what you've done to our stadium."
A sound of a gun being cocked behind them. Shef stepped up behind the two, dual-wielding MP5's. "Damn right!"
Bonds looked down at Brian. "You orchestrated this, didn't you?"
"No, he didn't. I did." Steinbrenner walked up. "You insulted me like I was a nobody. I was the owner of the New York-goddamn-Yankees! And you treated me like I was a speck of dirt! Well, no more. It ends today, Bonds. When Shef came up to me with the offer of being the Rebellion's spy, I took it. I took it because I couldn't stand being your lackey anymore."
"It does indeed end here, George," Bonds said. He walked a couple of steps and glanced at his rocket. "No matter what happens to me, it ends with you DYING. You and every other pathetic human being on this planet."
At the mention of "pathetic human beings", Brian suddenly had a vision of Stacy's face and was met with renewed strength. Against the odds, he stood up on his shattered foot and picked up his Spas.
"Drop the shotguns."
Bonds turned around, seemingly not startled by this turn of events. He dropped the guns. "Last-ditch hero, eh? You don't have the balls to shoot me."
Brian shot a buckshot right over Bonds's head. "You were saying?"
"Eh, I've been wrong before," Bonds smirked.
Brian was enraged and shot Bonds in the leg. He stumbled.
"To quote somebody, 'not so high and mighty now, are you?'"
Brian held his Spas at Bonds with one hand. Bonds looked at the ground, then glared at Brian suddenly. He jumped up and punched Brian in the face with enough force to send him stumbling. A-Rod, Shef, and Jeter instantly plugged him with tens of bullets. Bonds fell.
"He's dead?"
"Not quite."
"Good."
Cliff and Wright ran by, picking up Brian. Brian beckoned out to Shef and the others. "What about you? Aren't you going to get out?"
Jeter turned around. "No. Once this stadium is gone, there's no reason for us to go on anymore. The Yankees as they were known are finished."
Brian was carried by Wright and Cliff, looking back at the last Yankees. He was placed in the back seat, and stared out the window in shock as Wright kicked the car in gear and floored it.
June 17th, 5:59 AM: Yankees Stadium. 15 SECONDS REMAIN.
A-Rod, Shef, Jeter, and Steinbrenner all sat in a circle, absorbing the last moments of Yankees Stadium with almost serenity. Bonds crawled over to the rocket. The rocket countdown was at 5 seconds, but the detonator was at 4. Bonds lowered his head and closed his eyes, conceding defeat.
"Out by half a step," he mumbled.
A flash, and Yankees Stadium and half the Bronx vanished.
June 17th, 6:01 PM: Shea base. Dawn of a New Day.
The car sped into the base to the cheers of all the remaining Rebellion members. Wright and Floyd stepped out, and Brian hobbled out on his bad foot. He absorbed the cheers, then remembered the Yankees and what they had done. He looked down at the ground.
He looked up to see Piazza looking at him with pride. Then he stepped to the side. Stacy was standing there. Her pants were puckered wet down along the insides of her legs.
"I was so worried about you, especially with the explosion..."
No more words were necessary. Brian hugged her.
The scene caused the cheers to die down. Piazza nodded approvingly, then went to congratulate Wright and Floyd on partaking in a job well done. Pedro and Vaughn were standing off the side with watery eyes and sniffling. They looked at each other, then hugged, blubbering like babies.
Even up at the Pearly Gates, Jeter, A-Rod, Shef, and Steinbrenner looked down, smiled, looked at each other, and wandered off into Heaven for eternity. Bonds, sitting and waiting for his judgement, looked down, and saw the beauty and pureness of the scene.
"My god... What was I trying to do? I'm so stupid! STUPID! STUPID!" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the face of the Big G himself.
"I think you've already suffered enough," he said. He and Bonds walked into Heaven. So, even for our antagonist, Barry Bonds, there was a happy ending.
But for Brian and Stacy, none of this mattered. Only one another.
THE END.