"Why would they do such a stupid thing?", Jeff mumbled under his breath.
It was forenoon on Tracy Island and the mail plane had come by not even an hour ago. Like usual, it didn't land and just dropped off a postbag with a small parachute attached to it, hoping that nothing fragile was in there.
This bag was typically very heavy. It included all business letters addressed to Jeff Tracy, a lot of leaflets, invitations to certain events, subscription-based newspapers they got talked into, the occasional package and many, many, many letters to the Tracy bachelors.
Lonely hearts, looking for a twin soul – and for a quick way to make a lot of cash.
And if you need to know, Alan's the most wanted with, on average, 30 letters – a week. The logic behind it being that he is the youngest and will therefore most likely live a few years longer than his brothers, which increases the chance of him inheriting all the dough from his father.
And if you are interested in the other stats: Alan's followed by Virgil with around 25 letters. Virgil's followed by Gordon with 15 letters. Gordon's followed by Scott, who gets like 10. And Scott's followed by John, who receives 2 – in a month. This has to do with the fact that most are unsure whether he's still alive.
Where were we?
Oh Right! Jeff!
He was going through the mail and found a letter from the Governor of New York. In this writing, they describe the plan to move the Empire State building to another place and invited him to watch the spectacle live. It would take place two weeks from now.
Now you might ask yourself questions like: What building project was that important, that they had to move the ENTIRE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING to another place? And the even bigger question: Move it where? New York is jam-packed with buildings. Where would they find the place?
All of these questions will (most likely not) be answered later.
Scott looked over his father's shoulder to read the letter. The plan seemed purely fictional. Surely no one would really do this.
"Tin-Tin, can you man the typewriter? We need to write a nice letter."
"Mr Tracy. I'm an engineer, not a secretary."
"And I am your boss, so you do-", but Jeff was cut off by a signal coming from John's portrait.
"Go ahead, Julia!"
John showed up on the screen, looking rather unimpressed.
"Hello, to the worst father in the world! A fire has broken out at an oilrig in Libya. The fire is small at this moment, but it might enkindle other wells. The caller says that it is too dangerous for them to get close to it."
"Alright, thank you, James. Brief Scott and Virgil on their way there.", and Jeff hung up on John, before he could respond.
"Okay Scott, you heard him. Get Virgil and away you go."
"Yes, sir ..." Scott grumbled and went out to the balcony to grab Virgil. He was looking forward to a quiet day of drinking ... in moderation.
"So where were we ... Oh, right! The Typewriter, Tin-Tin."
"Mr Tracy, with all due respect, but couldn't Alan do it?", Tin-Tin countered, a little annoyed.
"Alan's busy with cleaning the Roundhouse. My mother will come by next week."
"Then what about Gordon?"
"Gordon's in the pool right now, so he would get the paper soaking wet. I also doubt that he knows much about spelling big words..."
There was a silence between them. Tin-Tin looked at Jeff with tired eyes and Jeff looked back at her expectantly. Until she finally gave in.
"Fine...I'll do it."
"Thank you, Tin-Tin. I can always rely on you."
"I get the feeling that I am the only person in this house that can be relied on", she whispered so only she herself could hear it. Then she sat down in front of the table with the typewriter on it.
And we are already in the middle of the action.
The endless sky was partially clouded in dark smoke. It was almost too quiet for a situation like this. The entire area has been evacuated out of safety reasons. Well – almost the entire area, but we'll learn more about that soon.
Thankfully, the fire had stayed at the already blazing well and didn't spread further. An ambulance soared past with its siren howling, probably trying to get a hurt person out of here.
Out of the smoke that had gathered at the ground emerged the Firefly, IR's main fire fighter vehicle. A craft that is equipped with a heat resistant shield for protection and clearing of rubble and a nitro-glycerine gun for putting out fires. Virgil was at the wheel, wearing his asbestos-suit.
"Firefly to Mobile Control. Going in now.", Virgil radioed to Scott.
"Okay, Virgil, you've got only one chance.", Scott answered. He was watching with binoculars, standing at a safety distance of at least one mile on another platform, while Virgil was risking his life in the flames ... I'm beginning to see a pattern.
The Firefly lowered its shield and went forward to the burning well. Once he was in front of the inferno, Virgil pulled a lever which resulted in the nitro-glycerine gun coming out from the shield. He took aim and shot the nitro-glycerine shell at the fire.
At first, the fire did nothing much and just kept burning. Then it made an explosion that thundered across the field and produced such a shock-wave that the Firefly almost turned over.
"Aaaah!", Virgil cried out. He probably got an injury from the sudden movement. "Scott! Why is it always me that has to do the mortal dangerous stuff!?"
Nevertheless, the fire was finally out, and clean oil gushed from the top of the oil well. Virgil retreated with the Firefly back to Thunderbird 2.
Scott looked on with the binoculars. "We've struck oil! Good shooting, Virgil!", he joked, completely ignoring the fact that Virgil was probably in pain because of a whiplash injury.
Not so far from the site stood a camera van. It belonged to NTBS, the TV network. Beside it stood Reporter Ned Cook and his colleague Joe. They were smoking ... at the site of an oilfield ... that was already on fire. Yes, they are not the smartest lot.
They would do anything for a good story, but sadly, this 'good story' was kept from them.
"This could have been the greatest report of the year.", Ned Cook said to his cameraman.
"Well, we can't do a thing about it."
"I don't know why they're so touchy about having their pictures taken; we've got a job to do as well as they have."
Joe looked over at his 'friend' with doubt. "Ned ... with all respect, but I think their job is a little more important than ours."
"Oh, shut up! I'm your employer! You will agree with me whether you like it or not!"
"Technically 'NTBS International-Correspondence' is my employer ..."
"There you go again! I'm the one who flew you here with me and if you want to fly back again, you better do as I say!"
Joe sighed. "Yes, Boss..."
Meanwhile, International Rescue got ready to pack up and leave.
"Mobile Control from Firefly: returning to Thunderbird 2."
"F.A.B. I'm returning to Thunderbird 1.", Scott answered and packed up Mobile control. Virgil drove Firefly back into Pod 6 and got Thunderbird 2 ready for take-off.
Ned was finished with his cigarette, threw it on the floor and stepped on it for good measure. We don't want to start a fire now, do we? He then turned to his colleague. "Right, Joe. Get on that camera!"
"Ned, I don't like where this is going..."
"Just get up there! We're gonna get that story of the year!"
Joe was nervous, but followed Ned's orders and got up to the camera, which was mounted on the roof of the van.
"Thunderbird 1 from Thunderbird 2, ready for liftoff!"
"Clear to go! See you back at base Virgil.". Without another word Virgil put the vertical rockets on blast and was off.
Meanwhile, Ned has got into the driver's seat of the van and was talking to his assistant through a microphone. "O.K., Joe, as soon as Thunderbird 1 takes off, start shooting."
"Why did you feel the need to drag me into this?", Joe whispered to himself, but still got ready to film the take off. Ned stepped on the pedal (without a warning) and the man on the roof held on for dear life. He drove along the oil field to get the best possible position for filming the take off.
A few seconds later Ned braked (again without a warning) and yelled at his cameraman, "Right, Joe! Cover the take off!"
"Right away boss...", Joe said as unenthusiastic as ever and rolled the film.
This did not go unnoticed by Thunderbird 1 or Scott. "The Automatic Camera Detector! Someone's photographing the ship!", the pilot fumed. He told them from the beginning that filming was not allowed. Maybe he should have actually asked for them to leave to prevent this exact situation, but hindsight is 20/20.
Scott landed Thunderbird 1 directly Infront of the van and spoke to the Reporters directly. He took his microphone and said, in the strictest voice he could muster, "I told you guys — no pictures!"
Now Ned took out his own microphone to shoot back, "Listen, buster! You've done a great job here today! Now let me do mine!"
Scott could see him through the side window of Thunderbird 1. "I said: NO PICTURES! Please destroy them! Or I'll come down there!"
"If you think I'd do that, you're crazy!", Ned argued.
"Ned, don't you think we should give-", Joe began, but was cut off when his boss put the pedal to the metal and drove off. For some reason, Ned believed he could outrun Thunderbird 1 ... in an old van.
Scott just sighed and went after them in his craft.
While Ned was speeding along the terrain, Joe held onto the camera screaming for his life, "NED! NED! Please let me down! Stop the truck!"
"No deal, Joe. This is the best news story we have ever had! I'm not gonna lose it now!", he replied. Joe looked skywards and prayed to every deity there was.
Scott was still chasing after them, or more like leisurely cruising besides them. He took another look at them and sighed once more. He pressed a button, and a blue light was cast on the van. This made Ned look up and finally stop. "What's going on?!"
Then, almost as if he had heard him, Scott replied, "I've electromagnetically wiped the videotape, Cook. The entire recording is blank. I'm sorry about this, but we must protect ourselves... so long." Then Thunderbird 1 flew away.
Hearing this, Joe opened the camera to check the film. Ned got out of the car to look too.
"He's just bluffing! It's not possible! ", Ned exclaimed. And surely it sounded pretty unbelievable. Erasing a whole reel of videotape by shining a harsh light on it for a few seconds? That was just illogical – But thankfully it was an illogical world they lived in, so it made perfect sense.
Like proving the point, Joe took out the tape and spoke, "He wasn't bluffing. And it is possible. There goes your story, Ned.". He then let the smoke-filled, blank tape fall on Ned's shoulder. And that was when Ned's his last strand of patience, if he had any to begin with, snapped.
"JOE! We are going home!"
"Thank god..."
"And you will fly economy!"
"Aw!"
Cruising at a save height, Scott finally called Virgil. "Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2. Take-off from danger zone delayed. Everything now F.A.B.. Fill you in with details later."
"If you want to tell me that you got held back, because you had to flirt with a, and I quote: 'hot piece of ass', I don't want to know it, and I certainly don't want to hear about their appearance.", Virgil radioed back.
"No, no Virgil. Just trouble with the news crew..."
"Oh.", said Virgil and made a slight pause, "We should have sent them away."
"Yeah, we totally should have..."
"Well, F.A.B. Scott. Will radio base and report."
Back at Tracy Island, Jeff was still dictating his letter to Tin-Tin.
"It was good to hear from you, and I was delighted to receive your kind invitation. However...", but he was cut off by the signal on Virgil's picture.
"Go ahead Virgil.", he answered. "No, Tin-Tin! Don't write this down!".
Of course, Tin-Tin knew that she shouldn't write this down, but her patience was wearing thin, and maybe she could convince Mr Tracy this way to get his lazy butt up and write the letter himself.
Virgil gave his report. "Rescue operation is successful. Returning to base. Scott delayed on take-off. The news crew caused some trouble"
"Always those annoying reporters", Jeff muttered and answered his son "Good work, Virgil. Keep in touch.". Then he hung up and turned to Tin-Tin again.
"Now, er... where were we?"
"However... Go ahead Vi-"
"Ah yes! Cut the part with Virgil out.", then he began the sentence anew.
"However, due to other pressing business I shall have to decline. But I would like you to know that your scheme, to move the Empire State Building, strikes me as being daring and imaginative. Redevelopment of obsolete areas is vital. But so too is the preservation of national monuments and institutions. The Empire State Building is such a monument."
"Are we done now?", Tin-Tin asked.
"Yes, we are finished Tin-Tin", Mr Tracy replied and looked at what she had written. He was overwhelmed by the misplaced commas and periods, the wrong uses of tenses and misspellings like 'ampaier steid bildin'.
Jeff looked at the paper, then at Tin-Tin, who just smiled at him sheepishly.
Finally, he said, "I'll go get the dictating-typewriter."
"Yes, you should...", said the woman with a sharp glance.
The two Thunderbirds were still on their way home. Virgil flew over the ocean when his radar gave a signal. He called Scott to report. "Thunderbird 1 from Thunderbird 2. Picking up radar reflection of a surface vessel."
"So? Probably a tanker or a pleasure boat or something. What's so special about it?"
"Have you ever heard of a pleasure boat going 200 knots?"
"200 KNOTS!? That must be a high-tech vessel!" He went through all possible options. A Battleship? A Destroyer? The one submarine Gordon won't shut up about? Then he finally found a match. "That's probably the Sentinel. The Navy's new strike vessel."
On the surface of the ocean, the USN warship Sentinel was speeding across the water. The Commander looked out front with content while the First Officer checks over the machinery.
"Speed 200 knots, sir.", stated the officer.
"Right. Ask Missile Control for routine report.", the Commander ordered.
Then over the loudspeaker came a voice (which might sound familiar to some) giving a report. "Unidentified object approaching. Height: 2000 feet. Air speed: 5000 miles per hour."
The Commander looked down to the tracking system that was on the controls. "O.K., Scanners. I have it on my screen. Give me its course."
"Yes sir. 0-9-6, magnetic.", answered the scanner.
The man in charge looked at Officer Clayton in shock. "You realise what this could mean?", he asked in a demanding voice.
Officer Clayton, of course, didn't know what it meant. He didn't even know how this ship really worked. He landed this job by having 'connections'. His work consisted of looking at the machinery, which he was very good at. But to seem like he understood what was going on, he replied, "I'm afraid I do, sir."
"Any notification from Central Control of military aircraft in this area?"
"Last report indicated this whole area to be at green."
"Right. Standby interceptor missiles. Get immediate clearance for launching."
Now, Officer Clayton wasn't the brightest, but he had a bit of common sense in him. He tried to appeal to the Commander this way. "Sir, don't you think we should make contact with this flying object, before playing with missiles?"
But the Commander had already gave the signal down the line to prepare for attack.
Up in Thunderbird 2, it was eerily peaceful. Virgil was worried. By now, the Sentinel should have realised that Thunderbird 2 was close by. Usually vessels would make contact, but the absence of such a call made Virgil jittery. Any minute now, there would be trouble.
To combat his anxious state, he did 3 things. 1: light himself a cigarette. 2: Put on an audiocassette. He picked 'West Side Story'. And 3: Call Scott to discuss the change of route to keep out of the way of the warship beneath.
"Thunderbird 1 from Thunderbird 2. I'm gonna change my course, Scott. The Sentinel must be tracking us, and we don't wanna give em a steer to our own base."
Scott agreed. "Yeah, good idea, Virgil. I'll do the same when I get closer. Resume course for base when you're out of range."
"F.A.B.", Virgil responded and followed through with his plan.
"It's changing course! Scanners, what's the new heading?", the Commander cried out. What did these terrorists have in stock for them?
The familiar voice from the Scanner spoke again, "0-7-5 degrees, magnetic, sir."
"That puts it on a direct course for New York. What is it, Clayton? What is it?". The Commander turned to the Officer, who again had no idea what was really going on.
At last Clayton decided to once more go the common sense route. "I only wish I knew, sir. It's too fast for an aircraft and it's too slow for a missile..."
The Scanners reported, "Message from Central Control, sir. No aircraft scheduled in your area. Treat unidentified craft as hostile."
That was enough for the Commander. He ordered, "Sound battle stations! All missile launchers to be at go!"
The interceptor missiles rose out of the deck of the ship, ready to fire at the unwanted guest. Everyone waited for the go signal.
Then the Scanners began their countdown. "Attack stations! Trigger interceptor missiles standby! Ten seconds!"
They took aim at Thunderbird 2.
"7! ... 6! ... 5! ..."
The missiles fired up their engines to launch soon.
"4! ... 3! ... 2! ..."
Everyone looked with anticipation.
"1! ... 0!"
"FIRE!", yelled the Commander.
Missile 1 and 2 launched from their position on the boat into the sky.
Virgil looked straight ahead. He thought he handled that pretty well. Soon he would be back home to relax by the pool. Everything looked good for him at this moment. He was about halfway done with his cigarette, and his favourite song of the musical was about to begin. He himself used to be part of the musical group in college, where he played 'Tony' for multiple years in a row.
The music stopped abruptly when Thunderbird 2 made a noise. He looked at the dashboard.
"Oh, just the missile alarm", he thought to himself and continued on. Wait! The missile alarm!
"Missiles!", Virgil blurted out, voice heavy with fear. He pressed the radio button, without caring who the signal went out to.
"Thunderbird 1 and Base from Thunderbird 2: under missile attack!", he yelled.
"You're what?! Virgil, switch on the jammer!" Scott urged.
On Tracy Island, Jeff looked up from his papers and Tin-Tin stopped her typing. She was back again on the Typewriter, after Jeff promised to pay her double for the hours where she was playing secretary. They both listened intently.
"Try and throw them off course!", Scott proposed very loud.
"I think it's too late for that, Scott!", Virgil replied almost hopelessly. He turned the stirring wheel hoping to avoid the attack.
"Well, take evasive action!", ordered Scott.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING!?", Virgil yelled. He tried and tried again, but it was no use. Sweat dripped down his face.
"It's no good, Scott! They still coming dead at me!"
"Then gain altitude, Virgil! Pull the goddamn thing up!"
In the least second, Virgil pulls Thunderbird 2 a few feet higher. These few feet were what separated the land of the living from the land of the dead for him. The missiles explode directly under the tail of the machine.
Virgil let out a rugged breath and swallowed hard. Over the radio, Scott asked for a response. "Are you OK, Virgil? Come in, Thunderbird 2!"
"Still here, Scott. Boy, that was close. It exploded right beneath me. Feels like I've got some damage on my tail unit.". He realised he had dropped his cigarette on the floor. Quickly, he stomped it out. A fire on board was the last thing he needed right now.
Seeing that Thunderbird 2, or the Unidentified object, was still well in the air, the Scanners ordered for another attack immediately. "Trigger interceptor missiles, for second attack! Five seconds!"
"4! ... 3! ... 2! ... 1! ... 0!"
"FIRE!", bellowed the Commander again.
Missile 3 and 4 were now on their way to attack. Virgil took notice of them again.
"Here we go again, Scott!", Virgil said frightfully. At least now he knew how to avoid them.
"Get that jammer working, Virgil. I'm catching up on you fast!", Scott ordered.
Virgil switched on the jammer on his dashboard, and ... nothing happened. He flipped the switch again to make sure it was working properly. It wasn't the jammer that was wrong.
Scott got a panicked radio call from his brother. "They've changed frequency, Scott! They're on check! They're coming straight for me!"
Now Scott began to panic, too. He had to come up with a plan, fast.
"Hold present altitude, then climb one second before impact. We might be able to throw 'em.",
Virgil did as Scott said without reporting back. Now he had neither the time nor the nerve for that.
"More height, Virgil! You need more height!", Scott called to him as he saw his brother's painstaking attempts for the evasive manoeuvre in the distance.
Thunderbird 2 climbs higher in the air but it had no use in the end. The missiles explode as soon as they contacted the machine. The tail of the 'bird was now engulfed in flames, sending her crashing down. As a last afford, Virgil tries to get her back up again, but the controls no longer respond. A part of his dashboard goes up in flames and he sees red. Just then Virgil took a steeper dive than he had expected, making him hit his head on the stirring wheel. That, combined with the smoke in the cockpit, made him black out.
Scott called base "International Rescue from Thunderbird 1."
Jeff answered this call immediately. "Scott, how's Virgil?"
Scott hesitated at first. "I don't know, Father... I can't get through to him, but he's on fire. I can see him in the distance."
"I've been on to Washington and let's hope they can stop this senseless attack." Jeff informed. Tin-Tin stood behind him, anxious.
Meanwhile, the Sentinel had ordered for Missile 5 and 6 to be fired to finish the job. Just then, they got an incoming call from Washington.
"Washington, sir. Emergency call." Officer Clayton stated.
When they accepted the call they heard, "Message to Sentinel Commander. Stop attack immediately! Unidentified aircraft is a Thunderbird machine of the International Rescue organisation."
"Clayton, missiles 5 and 6, destroy them!"
Thankfully for Virgil, Clayton knew at least what button to press for this action. The Missiles exploded mid-flight, and the attack was over.
Scott called Virgil again to check up on him. "Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 1. Come in Virgil!"
But Virgil doesn't answer in. He was knocked out. His mind was no longer in Thunderbird 2. It was back at college at a rehearsal, where he and this girl called Lucia Montes were practicing for the famous meeting scene.
"Virgil, are you OK?", Scott asked, panicked as he saw Thunderbird 2 dive ever closer to the ocean below.
"I felt I knew something-never-before was going to happen, had to happen. But this is so much more.", Virgil mumbles through his almost closed mouth.
"Virgil, pull her up! Can you hear me? Come in Thunderbird 2...!", Scott screamed into his microphone, hoping to get Virgil to respond.
That wasn't part of the script. Virgil blinked rapidly.
"Virgil, you're crashing! Pull her up! Get a grip on yourself...", Scott yelled again.
Slowly, the knocked-out pilot regained consciousness. Virgil heard his brother over the radio. "You've gotta pull out of that dive!"
Just as Virgil was about to crash into the ocean, he woke up enough to pull Thunderbird 2 up in the last second. The craft levels out and Thunderbird 1 follows it closely.
Scott let out a sigh of relief. "Well, how does it look, Virgil?", he asked over the radio.
"Honestly... Not that good. Engines are running smoothly, but the tail section is giving trouble."
"Will you be able to make it back to base?" Scott questioned.
"I do hope so...", Virgil said. The smoke and the head injury were bothering him.
Jeff had called all the inhabitants of the island into his office to prepare them for Thunderbirds 2's arrival. "Right, here's the position: Virgil is trying to bring Thunderbird 2 back to the island. It's on fire and badly crippled."
He turned to his two youngest. "Gordon, Alan, standby on the firefighting equipment."
Then he spoke to Brains. "What are his chances, Brains?"
Brains didn't really know this answer, as they have never been in a situation like this. He tried to think it over logically. "Uh, well, s-so as the, uh reactor plant hasn't been damaged, uh, her chances are good."
Back in the cabin of Thunderbird 1, Scott grew concerned for his brother. "Is the reactor damaged Virgil?"
Through half lidded eyes, Virgil looked over his dashboard. "I can't tell, Scott. Instrumentations has suffered severe damage."
The cabin of Thunderbird 2 filled with smoke. Virgil became tired again, but he knew he had to hang on. Just a few minutes and he would be back home again. "How much further to base, Scott?", he asked, out of breath.
Now Scott had to embrace the role that he hated the most. The one of the supportive, hopeful, oldest sibling. This couldn't be further from his true character, but he needed to do what he could to keep Virgil going.
"Just another ten minutes, Virgil. It's just another ten minutes. You'll make it, Virgil. I know you will.", Scott said. That was also far from the truth, but he believed that the thought of an eventual landing would keep Virgil going.
In the Tracy Lounge, Jeff was overthinking the whole situation over and over. Which is the last thing that anyone should do in a moment like this. He imagined all the horrendous scenarios that might happen to his son.
Kyrano was very sympathetic to his situation and brought him some coffee to distract the man of the house. "Mr Tracy, have some coffee. Your boys will be safe. You'll see."
Jeff lost himself in thought. In his mind's eye he could already picture Virgil's corpse in the wreckage of Thunderbird 2. Kyrano's question brought him back to reality, even if he hadn't listened to a single word asked. "Hmm? Oh, er, what did you say, Kyrano?"
Tin-Tin came to his side. "Father asked you if you would like coffee, Mr Tracy."
"Oh. No, thank you. I'm nervous enough as is. I'd better get over to landing control. If they arrive at all, they'll be here in a few minutes.". Pictures of destruction played again in his mind as he got up from his seat.
Down at the runway, the palms swayed to the side to make room for foam poles that would extinguish the incoming craft. Gordon and Alan were already sitting in the cliff house , preparing for Thunderbird 2's approach, when Jeff and Tin-Tin entered.
Alan looked at his wristwatch, stating, "Two minutes..."
"I think I can hear them now.", said Gordon.
Up in the skies, Scott tried to keep Virgil calm and prepare him for the eventual landing. "We're nearly home, Virgil. We're nearly home."
Virgil pulled a lever and prepared for the landing. "Undercart, down. Flaps, down. Banking for, final approach..." Then he had a coughing fit right after.
He makes his approach and glides over the end of the runway just fine. "Easy does it. Easy..."
Thunderbird 2 makes a hard landing and bounces right back up, then down again.
Scott let out a breath of relief. The hardest part was over. He almost couldn't bear to watch.
Suddenly, the craft scraped down the runway. "The wheels! They've collapsed!", Jeff cried out while Tin-Tin could only watch in horror.
Thunderbird 2 was now an uncontrollable, burning force scraping down the runway. Virgil is being shook about, which really didn't help his already splitting headache.
"The wheels have gone! I can't hold her! I'm — I'M GONNA CRASH!", he yelled out.
"Release foam! Section B!", Jeff ordered to Gordon and Alan.
The poles shot their foam at the burning machine. Thunderbird 2 finally came to an abrupt stop. So abrupt that Virgil hit his head again and fell backwards into the burning cockpit, completely blacked out.
While Virgil was lying there, he began to see and feel weird things. Like he was having a dream. One that felt way too real.
First there was the feeling of smudging on his face. Then it felt like someone dug into the back of his skull. Someone forced him to open his eyes. Virgil saw a giant man with an ugly sweater who also forced him to move his mouth. That was when Virgil realised, he was just a head that was held by a giant hand. How scary is that!
Afterwards, his head was set on a body that hung from the ceiling. The body was still unfinished. His arms had no hands until those giant people put some there. Besides him hung Gordon, Tin-Tin, Penelope and many people he had never seen before. All looking rather lifeless. What kind of horror scenario was he creating in his head!? In front of him were many people who starred at him. Were these the people above?
Then he saw some faces that he recognised. Among the giants were the producers that were currently living with him. Then another lady came and picked him up by his strings to carry him somewhere. They lay Virgil down onto something. Then a man came and held a weird thing in front of his face. They made him close his eyes. All this time, he couldn't do anything like he was paralyzed.