Wow, so most of you didn't freak out over the Mysterons arriving! That's good! My thinking is this. We've already done a lot of shit on Earth. Why not take it to the next level and make the next threat something intergalactic. I don't have a movie to build off on any more (No, I know what you're going to say, but the DTV's are feature length specials, not quite movie length), so I have to get creative to get the same feel of it. Prepare for a shitton of references to Gerry Anderson shows in the story section. Namely to Terrahawks, another show that we might reference at some point. Also referenced are John Carter of Mars and War of the Worlds, which I threw in because NERD. ...Oh, and the entire story of the Mysterons is based pretty much on the actual story from the show, with my own beginning and end tacked on. Hope you enjoy!
AaronCottrell97: That it does.
Reality Rejection Service: IT IS THE FINEST HERB EVER. ...Also cocaine.
Bronze Shield: University is a real pain in the arse as it turns out. :/
Game-Watch: Eh, fair enough. Also, yeah, the Mysterons. Basically, prepare for me to get my geek on again!
MattPrice01: THAT MEANS A LOT. I hope you enjoy what I'm leading with here!
JD145: Well you'll see in this chapter what happened to OJ. I'll go into more detail in a future chapter, but yeah, that still holds up. Glad you enjoyed it!
Radical Sandwiches: Quite so! The stupid WILL NEVER STOP.
Australian Guest: It IS a dad joke!
Trainmaniac: Captain Scarlet, but close enough!
bigyihsuan: I'm...going to take that in a good way? XD.
UGX7: Thanks for the reminder, I edited it after you had pointed it out. Yes, another few bite the dust.
GreatWestern1522: One day, perhaps.
CUE THE THEME!
A brand new tank engine was racing across the Island of Sodor. He was followed closely by a large truckload of paparazzi. He was very happy to get started, and he didn't want to be late. As he drew into the station, he passed Duck, who seemed to recognize him.
"RAGHT ON TIME." said the Fat Controller, having a stroke. Or something, I'm not sure, his accent appears to be growing thicker with every passing moment. Thomas and Percy stared admiringly at the big tank engine. He looked smart. Then again, so did Gordon. And then he had to open his mouth and ruin things. "THISCH IS ARTHUR! He is here to shunt trucks, pull freight and sell merchandise!"
"Nice-to-meet-you." puffed Arthur, reading off the cue cards. "It is an honour to be in your...presents? ...Oh for goodness sake- Sally! There's a typo! I wouldn't make such a fuss about it normally, but you know, the cameras are rolling."
"Ah don't worry!" Thomas was puffed up like a balloon on so much pride. "I know it can be a little intimidating for a newbie to come to such a popular show as ours but-"
"Hmm? Oh, no no no, I'm sorry, you misunderstand. It's my show that's under threat!" Arthur glanced to his own camera crew, who waved. "Arsin it with Arthur! Yeah, we're trying to see if we can't get your old slot."
The balloon was promptly popped and replaced with a lot of rage. "THE HELL!?" Thomas was filled with anger. "HATTY HE CAN'T DO THAT, CAN HE!?"
"He can, actually. He's basically paid a lot of money to do this, so shush. He's also got a spotless record, and I don't see any of you arses with that thing! Also, don't call me Hatty!"
"What is a spotless record?!" asked Percy, who hadn't taken his medication and was feeling a bit dim.
"It means-" growled Thomas through teeth that were so tightly locked together they might just shatter from sheer speech alone "-that he's never been naughty, made a mess or been anything other than a perfect perfection machine of pure perfect! EVERYONE LIKES HIM!"
"True." said Arthur, modestly.
Thomas hated Arthur. With a passion.
...
"So this new fellow. Who is he?"
Duck let out a long, drawn out sigh. "Arthur is, for lack of a better term, a minor celebrity back on the mainland. And bear in mind, I am using 'celebrity' with all the sarcasm I can muster."
"I've never heard of him."
"You wouldn't have. He's...how can I put this? You know how you have some people who make a living out of doing trailers for films? Or maybe being announcers for things? Arthur is essentially that, just in engine form. He did a few pieces of work for the Iron Circle, mostly recruitment videos and the like."
"So we really shouldn't feel bad about not recognising him at all?"
"No!" Duck laughed at Toby and Edward's sighs of relief. "Now, I've got to drop off some flour trucks to the market for some unknown reason. Probably trying that ridiculous idea to make the world's biggest cake again."
"AGAIN!?" Edward and Toby said in unison.
"They've been trying since before the war started!" sniffed Edward.
"Well, they're trying again." Duck groaned as he started off. "Still, at least I'll get some sort of peace and quiet there."
"EDDDDDDWAAAAAAARD!"
"Peace and quiet." muttered Edward. "I wonder what that's like." He put on his best smile for Thomas. "Morning, lad. What's the-"
"ARTHUR."
"...Yes?"
"When can we firebomb his shed?"
"...Never?"
"BUT WHYYYYYYY?"
"Because it's immoral, illegal-"
"MOST OF THE BEST THINGS ARE!"
It took Edward a moment to regain his equilibrium. True, Thomas had come a long way since the early days, but in some cases, he could slip back into the old habits of being a very whiny and boring child in an engine's body. "This is about that bloody show isn't it?"
"NO. HE IS A MENACE AND HE MUST BE STOPPED!"
"Thomas, just suck it up and deal with it. He'll be here for...maybe three days? At the most? And then he'll be gone."
"EDWARD NO."
"EDWARD YES!"
...
The three engines soon got to work. Thomas and Percy were bumping trucks like nobody's business. True, this was pissing them off and there would most likely be hell to pay later, but they had to work out their aggression somehow.
"Join in, Arthur!" Thomas said, primarily so that he could see just how weak Arthur was. Or so he told himself.
"Ah...no thanks. I have to think about the truck demographic after all."
"The what?"
"Trucks watch my programs! Apparently seeing the 'brotherhood' take it to all the other railways across the world gives them hope that one day the oppressive regime of engine-kind will be removed and they can bump into things willy nilly."
"...What kind of show is it again?" Thomas asked, suspiciously. He was now fully convinced that Arthur was one of those dirty truck-lovers. Engines who, GASP, didn't hate trucks with a burning passion.
"Oh, it's a travelogue. Sort of showing how railways are run, what they do, how they act...thinking that this one might make for a good...middle episode. You know, the semi-famous Island of Sodor and it's cast."
Thomas looked at Arthur. Then at the trucks. Then at Arthur again. Internally, he was screaming out "SEMI FAMOUS!? HAS YOUR SHOW EVEN BEEN NOMINATED FOR A BAFTA?! NO, DIDN'T THINK SO, YOU TWIT." But externally, he was merely grinning cheerfully.
That should have been Arthur's first warning.
"Hey, Arthur." said Thomas, with the calmest of calm voices. "There is a train full of fruit over there destined for yon market. You'll get to see plenty of the Island then. Why not take it?"
"Oh! Ta!"
"ROOT ROOT TOW! WE WANT TO GO! THE FRUIT'S GOING OFF CAUSE YOU'RE TOO SLOW!"
"How RUDE!" said Arthur, who was scandalised.
"That's actually one of their more original songs." murmured Thomas. He paused, and then getting his second idea of the day, idled up to him with the single most devious smile ever recorded on the Island. "The Fat Controller doesn't like trucks singing! He hates it! Says it reminds him of his ex-wife after eating too many vegetables! So, to get the full Sudrian experience, you must stop them!" He barely managed to stop himself from bursting into a full series of giggles.
Arthur shot him a grateful glance. "Thanks! So I will!"
"Aheh. Hehehehehehehehe." Thomas giggled as Arthur headed off and began to shunt the trucks into line. "He's screwed!"
...
Arthur was puffing on by the windmill with a cheerful little song in his head, and the cameras tuned directly onto him. He had the feeling that he was going to have a grand old time.
He was wrong. So very wrong.
He was about halfway along when the trucks began to sing. "CHUG CHUG CUFF, YOU CHUG AND HUFF! YOU'RE SO RUSTY YOU CAN'T EVEN PUFF!"
"My word that is terrible. And shut up! Trucks should do as they are told-Oh shit, cut the feed, cut the feed!"
"Can't!" hissed the cameraman. "And besides, they're trucks. They don't mind."
This angered the trucks. They couldn't sing? Fine. A lesson would just have to be taught! "We'll show him! He can't push us around!"
"I am literally right behind you pushing."
"SHUT UP DAD." said the trucks.
He struggled over bridges and huffed and puffed through tunnels. It was as he mounted Gordon's Hill that the trucks put their plan into action. "YOU CAN'T CATCH US!"
"Why would I? We're literally attached! OH GOD."
And off they shot. But there was trouble ahead. Duck had stopped at a level crossing, watching as a lorry much like the ones that had caused so much trouble crossed over. Amazing what you can do with a bit of recycling, eh? But even as Arthur's driver tried to apply the brakes, it was already too late.
The Phantom Slide Whistler did not, it must be noted, cover up the large amount of curse words that came from either Arthur or Duck's mouths as the trucks somehow imploded and sent fruit over everything. Including a very baffled signalman.
"NOT SO FUNNY NOW, IS IT?!" hissed James as he passed. Duck would have gladly given him the middle finger, but he had none.
Arthur was upset. His spotless record was ruined. And also, the fruit stank. The townspeople, it appeared, would also no longer be getting the biggest cake ever made this year.
...
It was taking Edward all of his strength to not slam Thomas into the wall. "WHAT DID YOU DO."
"Wh-What do you-"
"WHAT. DID. YOU. DO."
"...You can't be mad at me."
"Tell me, and I'll think about it."
Thomas told him. Edward was mad. And that was why Thomas rushed over to escape from that. Unfortunately he ended up staring at the two messy engines. "PEEP PEEP! What a ruddy mess!"
"I hate my life." Duck half-sobbed. The Fat Controller was very annoyed. And also apparently had only just woken up.
"Was going on here?!" He asked. And no, that's not a typo. That's what he said.
"Trucks. Singing. Told them to stop. Your wife makes weird noises. Went too fast."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh dear." said Duck, becoming steadily aware that Arthur was digging himself a hole the size of New Mexico for his grave.
"It was all my fault." sighed Thomas, aware that everything was going to come out. He told it quickly, so that he could get the punishment over with quick.
"Arthur it's, ehehehehehehehehe, fruitless for me to say anything. ...I said fruitless. ...I said fruitless. FRUITLESS!"
"We get it, sir." said Duck.
"But you weren't laughing."
"No we weren't."
"...Whatever. Thomas, clear up the mess!" And as Fatty left, Harvey arrived, having been warned before hand by Toby to hurry up. And thus, the tidying up began, they were lucky enough to get Butch's help, and unlucky enough to catch Tom Tipper lying with his van for some reason. You fill in the blanks.
Thomas took the loaded trucks away, and both Duck and Arthur went off to have a wash and a long think about their futures.
Later, Arthur was having the squashed fruit removed when Thomas pulled up. Henry was still staring up at the sky, wondering why it was that the clouds were trying to fight him. He would show them!
Thomas sighed. He had had Edward draft an apology for him. "I am...sorry that I played a trick on you. That was wrong of me. Very wrong. So wrong. I am in fact, a big dumb blue boy, who really needs to get a grip, and also loves to make smart people look dumb. I am so stupid." He thought Edward had gone slightly overboard on the latter half.
"Thanks for owning up." muttered Arthur, who was already beginning to let go of the grudge.
"Maybe spotless records are made to be broken."
"And then repaired. Just like friendships."
"...That sounds like shite."
"Yeah, it does. Still, I'll have plenty of times to practice."
Thomas's smile froze. "Huh?"
"Oh, my show got cancelled. But so I don't sue, Sir Topham Hatt has put me on the railway full time! You're going to be hearing a lot more from me! We're going to be besties!"
Thomas felt like screaming.
...
It took Zero quite a while to stop screaming and frantically trying to get away from the mysterious voice. Eventually, his hysteria was solved by a rather unorthodox method.
"DID YE JUST SLAP ME?!" Zero's mouth hung open. Then a thought appeared in his head, and he ran with it. "How did you slap me?" He suddenly froze as two sickly rings passed over his face. The only presence thus far of these...things.
"WE ARE THE MYSTERONS."
Silence then. Zero paused, cleared his throat and cautiously asked. "And that's supposed to impress me?"
"...ARE YOU SURE THIS IS THE RIGHT ONE?"
The two green eyed tugs nodded, or did the closest thing they could at any rate. Zero got the impression that the Mysteron, whatever the hell that was, was sighing to itself.
"WE ARE BEINGS OF PURE ENERGY. IF WE WISH TO ASSAULT YOU, WE WILL. YOU ARE THE ONE KNOWN AS CAPTAIN ZERO."
"...I am. Who's side are you on?"
"OUR OWN."
That was fair to Zero. He didn't necessarily think as himself as being on any side either. Just the one that wasn't marching across Europe looking ridiculous and holding some notion of racial purity. "So, what...what do you want with me? ...Actually, first question, I am not feeling any pain."
"NO."
"I was shot."
"YOU WERE."
"And also blown up."
"YOU WERE DEAD AN HOUR AGO. YOU WERE DROWNING AND BLEEDING OUT AT THE SAME TIME. YOU WOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD IF NOT FOR US."
"...I...I have questions."
"AS TO BE EXPECTED FROM A LESSER LIFEFORM. NONETHELESS, WE SHALL GRANT YOU OUR STORY."
"...Can I just get the basics-?"
"NO."
"Ah. Continue."
And so the Mysterons told their tale, though for sake of argument and to save time, we shall tell you it in a somewhat more truncated form.
They were one of many indigenous lifeforms created on a planet that the humans referred to by Mars. There were many other types, some matched the ideas of Martians held by H.G. Wells and Edgar Rice Burroughs, and still others had forms that were too wonderful or horrific to describe. Nonetheless, the Mysterons had managed through primarily their intense mental being to take control of the planet and establish themselves as the dominant life-form.
There had been some minor hiccups, of course. A base set up in the year 2020 had come very close to wiping out the whole planet due to a war started by a collection of non-human beings, but for the most part they kept themselves to themselves. The Mysterons had become even more powerful in the time since they had been placed in charge and the events that changed their future forever. Soon they had merged into a collective, with their mental powers being so great that they were able to use an ability called retrometabolism. Essentially, the power to recreate or alter matter to their whims. Healing, reconstructing, creating entirely, it was of no issue to them.
This sounded like bullshit to Captain Zero, but he was a simple man.
But one day, in the Earth year 2068, things escalated. A survey mission on-board a ship known as Zero-X mistook two large towers that the Mysterons had created as the batteries of some great weapon and blew up their city. Seconds later, after reconstructing said city, the Mysterons went on a rant about how unenlightened the humans were, and then declared war on the entire planet for the actions of three men.
Zero was pretty sure that that was the textbook example of overreacting, but he was a simple man.
And thus began the War of Nerves between the Mysterons and the organisation SPECTRUM. In total, the entire war lasted three years, mostly being conducted through acts of subterfuge on behalf of the Mysterons through the work of the ill-fated Captain Black, launcher of missiles, who had been killed and then reconstructed as their loyal servant. Unfortunately, they accidentally created their greatest challenge, in the form of a similarly turned man who was code-named Captain Scarlet.
Zero was not entirely sure how it was that Captain Scarlet had broken free of his conditioning (He suspected the Mysterons didn't either, glossing over it with a simple explanation about falling very, very far down, which even the Green Eyed Tugs looked a little doubtful about). Nor was he sure how it came to pass that the Mysterons who supposedly could recreate a lot in mere seconds had no ability to just telekinetically snap Scarlet's neck.
He was a simple man, but he had his limits. He then realised that raising his point might give the Mysterons ideas regarding himself, and so shut up.
The war ended for two reasons. The first was a matter of dissecting Scarlet, which he reluctantly agreed to, and creating a whole group of soldiers who were willing to stop the Mysterons with their own abilities from the results. The second was one that the Mysterons really should have seen coming. The other Martians grew very tired with their planet and culture being dragged through the muck, not to mention the steady belief that the higher ups considered all of them disposable as well.
Between both the civil war and the war of nerves, the entire Mysteron race was cut down by 95%. The five percent left alive were forced out of their glorious city, and summoning the last of their powers, attempted a way to avert the catastrophe entirely by travelling back in time.
They overshot. Drastically.
Arriving in the midst of the First World War, driven by misanthropic rage and the discovery that a remaining two percent had lost their lives in powering the experiment, the Mysterons had to take refuge. Their powers were still great, though not great enough to lay waste to the planet. They had taken over the bodies of two pirates. and their continued existence inside them had steadily removed any trace of self said pirates had.
"AND NOW-" they intoned "-WE HAVE YOU. YOU WHO THWARTED OUR PLANS ONCE BEFORE, EVEN IF BY PROXY. YOU WOULD, IF WE WERE IN MORE OF A STATE TO DO SO, WIPE YOU OUT. BUT YOU HAVE THINGS WE REQUIRE. BODIES. THERE ARE COUNTLESS OF US IN THESE TWO ALONE. WE CAN NO LONGER SUSTAIN THE FORMS."
"...Then take OJ. You've clearly done something to him."
"HE WAS UNNECESSARY. WE HAVE TRANSMUTED HIS ORGANS, HIS EYES, HIS EARS, HIS MOUTH, HE IS NOW TRAPPED INSIDE HIS OWN MIND. IT WILL BE MUCH EASIER FOR US TO TAKE OVER THAT WAY."
"Oh. Nasty." Zero thought for a minute. "And that's it? Ye need me to provide more of yon vessels?"
"...THERE IS ANOTHER MATTER. THERE IS ANOTHER HERE. ONE WHO'S ASSISTANCE WE WOULD GREATLY APPRECIATE."
"Does he have a name?"
"NAME. NOT IN THE MANNER YOU MEAN. A TITLE. A TITLE THAT IS RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING WE HAVE DONE. THE MALIGNANCE. IT IS A CRUEL TITLE FOR SUCH A GREAT BEING, BUT IT IS ONE HE HAS RECLAIMED."
"...Where can I find him? Wait, why would I?"
"THE MAN WHO SHOT YOU. THE TUG WHO SENT HIM. THE PEOPLE THAT WARNED HIM. YOU HAVE WORKED OUT WHO IS AT THE TOP OF THIS CHAIN."
"The Other Railway." growled Zero.
"DO YOU NOT WANT REVENGE? IT SHALL BE GRANTED TO YOU. AND ONCE YOU FIND THE MALIGNANCE, ON THE ISLAND OF SODOR, YOU WILL DISCOVER POWER LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE."
"Sounds like a crock."
"PERHAPS IT IS. BUT WILL YOU DENY IT?"
Zero sat on the paddleboat, and thought for a long time.
...
He walked back into his office three hours later, terrifying three out of four of the people he had met on that fateful day.
The Clown, of course, merely smiled. If anything, his smile was brighter.
"So-" said Captain Zero, as if they hadn't attempted to send him to his death "-about that job offer..."