A pair of chocolate brown eyes blinked themselves awake as the young woman attached to them shook her head, trying to wake herself up as she took in her new surroundings, her vision blurred.

"Ugh..." Hilary groaned. "Where am I..." She blinked a few more times, looking around some more "Did I pass out?"

"Well, yes and no," said a gravelly voice. Hilary turned to see Barthez walk up to her, grinning as he continued. "You didn't full unconscious from any fault of your own, but you did go to sleep nonetheless." He looked closer at the girl before continuing. "As for where you are... well, I'll leave that for somebody else to say."

"How... how did I get here?" Hilary asked, her voice slightly strained.

"Myself and several others brought you here," Barthez replied.

Hilary shook her head. "So, what's your master plan here, exactly?" she asked. "I'm not exactly top-tier blading material, so it's pointless trying to get anything from me to get your little army of weirdos."

"Oh, you're not here for me or Boris," Barthez smiled, clapping his hands and causing the lights to turn on in a flash, briefly blinding Hilary before he continued. "You're here for them..."

He pointed to his left, and Hilary followed his direction, turning her head to her right and seeing the Bladebreakers, all locked up in metallic, cylindrical containers as several lines of plastic were hooked up to them, stuck onto their foreheads by small suction pads.

"And that's not all!" Dr. K chimed in, a little more joyful than was necessary as she and Barthez stepped back from Hilary's view, allowing her to see other teams in similar situations as herself and the Bladebreakers.

"Wh... why are you doing this?" Hilary asked, trying to fight off tears. "There's no need for any of this! Taking Dizzi, setting up this whole tournament, kidnapping us... and what? Just to turn a better profit in the world of beyblading by using super soldiers?"

"You're forgetting the revenge factor," Dr. K said. "When you and the rest of those brats destroyed my laboratory... I wasn't sure that I'd ever find a way to cope. But Boris discovered me, and he made me feel like I matter again."

"You were brainwashing kids already to the point of psychosis!" Hilary yelled. "One of them even died because of your neglect for his safety!"

Hilary was then cut off from any further speech as the female doctor's hand slammed itself harshly against her cheek. "He died because he was weak..." Dr. K growled, clearly not happy with the memory.

"He died because you failed..." Hilary said, remaining defiant despite the sharp stinging throb of pain in her left cheek. "And I won't let your failure kill billions more out there!"

"Aw... you think that you stand a chance?" Dr. K grinned. "You said it yourself: you're not exactly top-tier beyblading material."

"Leave... her... alone..." said a groaning voice.

Barthez turned and chuckled as he saw Tala stirring, his eyes heavily opening as he continued. "She... has done... nothing wrong... and neither... have the rest... of us..."

"It's not me that you need to convince with that," Barthez said. "There's a lot more to what Boris is doing than just you."

"But you do play a pretty big part," Dr. K added. "Oh, I do so hope that you're not too exhausted from the tournament to be of any use to us."

Tala grinned. "Boris... he'll find you... he'll... he'll get you..."

"You know, it's so funny that you mention that," said Barthez. "Because he's here, too!"

Tala looked around. "I... don't see him..."

"That's because he's not in one of these tubes," said Barthez. "He's getting the extra special treatment from Boris!"

"Why... do you need... him?" the Blitzkrieg Boy continued. "He's not... a blader... either..."

"We need him because we know that he has connections with the authorities," retorted the female scientist. "He has his fingers in so many pies. Probably would explain how he got his figure."

Before Tala could speak, Dr. K pressed a button on the side of his tube, sending a shock-wave into the wires connected to him that caused him to sputter and scream in pain before he fainted again, his head falling limply unconscious.

"T-Tala!" Hilary called.

"Oh, calm down," said Barthez. "He's not dead. He doesn't need to be dead for... I'd say another ten minutes, maybe?"

"If Dizzi weren't so resistant," added Dr. K, "we'd be miles ahead by now. Hell, we'd probably be past Tokyo and into the UK by this point."

"Tokyo?" Hilary asked. "UK? What... what do you mean?"

Dr. K giggled. "Aha! Yet another secret that we can't reveal," she giggled. "But, trust me... you're going to want front row seats..."

As the two turned away, Hilary started to put two and two together. 'Oh, no...' she thought, her eyes widening as she realised. 'It's a virus... they're going to it up computers the world over to sell their... well, whatever it is... to kids everywhere!' She looked left and right frantically until she remembered where Tyson was.

But before she could yell out his name to try and wake him up, Barthez was soon in front of her, blocking her view of her boyfriend with his snakelike features and eerily wide grin as he spoke softly.

"Why, whatever is the matter?" he asked, looking back at Tyson before turning to Hilary. "You want your boyfriend to wake up?"

Hilary feebly nodded. "Please... don't hurt him... or any of the others..."

"She's actually learning," Barthez grinned. "But, sadly, we can't just let you all go." He shrugged. "And besides, we don't get to decide who lives or dies. That's up to Boris. And, unfortunately for you, he's more or less decided on the latter option."

In Boris' office...

Mr. Dickenson started grunting, looking up from the chair that he was tied up to. He would have spoken were it not for the duct tape around his mouth working as a makeshift gag of sorts to stop his cries.

"Are you going to give me what I want or not?" Boris asked, kneeling against the desk where Dickenson was sat.

The former chairman gave some muffled cries before shaking his head, giving Boris his answer. The devious man simply nodded his head at one of the nearby guards, who grabbed a bucket of icy water and splashed it at Dickenson's face, staining his clothes and skin even further.

But this wasn't the only torture that the poor man had to go through; there were some bruises on his face, as well as some blood pouring from his nose, painting his usually white moustache a garish crimson; the skin under his suit was no doubt going to look sore whenever he could change clothing, as he had been shocked a few times also.

He frantically looked to his trusty driver and friend for an answer, but he was still unconscious, his head hanging and eyes closed as he breathed deep breaths. Dickenson then looked back at Boris, reluctantly closing his eyes and nodding.

Boris grinned and looked at one of his guards before jerking his head in the chairman's direction. The guard nodded, walking over and untying Dickenson's hands from behind his back before removing the tape from his mouth.

"I don't understand why you'd need the extra money anyway..." Mr. Dickenson shrugged, rubbing his sore wrists. "It seems to me like you've got most things sorted."

Boris nodded. "I do, for the most part. But all of the resources I had to save over the past eight years, while enough for the short-term plan, won't be enough for the long-term. More money means more upgrades to our technology."

"Well," Dickenson grinned, "at least you're not going to make the next generation of bladers into a bunch of burglars and thieves." He then scratched his nose, turning to his friend. "What about Jones?"

"What about him?" said a guard, rudely interrupting. "He's not all that important, anyway. Can't we just kill him and dump his ass in some river?"

Boris glared at the guard in question. "No. Two reasons. One; even with all of the help I have that can drive, we can only go so long without falling under suspicion, which is why a friendlier face is needed than your gruesome mug." He then took a small breath. "And two; we could always use an extra delivery boy."

"You're not going to chip him as well, are you?" Dickenson asked.

"Only if he doesn't listen to us," Boris replied. "The same goes for you. As much respect as I have for you, if you so much as even think about double-crossing me, then consider my respect as mercy, as I will let you live long enough to regret it." He then gave a short chuckle.

"You're only letting me live to use my influence in the blading world," Dickenson spat. "Don't think that just because I appear jovial and nice that I'm gullible. I know that you want more from me than just my money."

Boris smiled. "You were always smart." He walked over to Dickenson, putting a hand on his shoulder. "But just think about it; with our combined influence and resources, we could take over the world together! Both of Beyblade and just the world itself!"

Dickenson shrugged his shoulder away from Boris' hand, stepping back. "I don't want any part of that. I don't even want to give you the money to do so. The only reason that I am is because I want everyone down there trapped in those tubes to be safe."

"And that shall happen," Boris nodded. "I am a man of my word, after all. They'll be safe."

Dickenson squinted a bit. "But you need them still, don't you?"

Boris shrugged. "Well... yes, I do. I just need a little more time to sample their data and see how much different they'll bey-battle after the experiments are done."

"Experiments?" The chairman raised his voice. "You're not putting chips into them, are you?"

Boris grinned, giving Dickenson his answer before speaking. "I have to take every measure that I possibly can. I swear, as soon as it's all over, they will have the chips removed and then they will all be back to normal."

Dickenson growled. "You will remove those chips from them now! I've seen what they've done to other bladers because of your recklessness!" He then gave Boris a hard shove, only to be restrained by two guards moments later.

The evil genius slowly got up, wiping his mouth a bit. "Heh... heh... that was a good one..." He then looked at his guards. "Let go of the man. Show him some respect."

The former chairman looked intently at Boris, a bit confused before Boris started speaking once more. "You know what? You deserve something special for that." He then spoke into his earpiece. "Dr. K, let's give these chips a test run."

"But, sir, without Dickenson's funding-"

"We'll get it. He already gave me his word."

Dr. K sighed. "Very well. What do you suggest?"

"Hmm... well, since we've had them long enough, let's give Joseph a test against..." He thought playfully. "Aha! How about Ian? We've had him for a while. And before you bring it up, yes, I'm aware of the difference in skill. This is just a test run; nothing more."

Back down at the lab...

"I'll get right on it, sir," Dr. K said, turning to Barthez. "Free Joseph and Ian. We're going to test our new technology on them."

Barthez nodded, pulling a needle from his pocket. "Adrenaline. Should wake them up and keep them up long enough to battle and show off what we need."

"Are you going to push that into their chests?" Dr. K asked.

Barthez shook his head. "No. Just inject it into their wrists. I would try the necks, but there's too much connected there from the machines. Same with their chests, with the added part of that being dangerous if done incorrectly. Besides, the wrists have a better pulse, so they should carry the adrenaline right up through their bloodstream."

The female doctor nodded, and Barthez reached into his coat pocket to pull out a shining, chrome key-card, which he slotted through a small electrical panel on the side of Joseph's tube, causing it to open up with an elongated hissing sound. A pair of nearby guards hastily removed any wires attached to the Saint Shields blader as Barthez moved over to Ian's tube, repeating the process.

As Ian was released, both sets of guards held the unconscious bladers up as Barthez walked over to Joseph first, reaching for his wrist and carefully pushing the needle of adrenaline against it, injecting it carefully so as not to cause any damage to him, but pushing hard enough for it to break the skin. After this was finished, Joseph's eyes slowly opened up, and he spoke groggily.

"Oof... where-"

Before he could carry on speaking, his body jerked forward for a brief second, his feet barely managing to keep him standing upright as he slumped before he held his head down for a brief second, shaking it back and forth before looking up at Barthez.

"What would you have me do?"

Dr. K smiled at the success, but she wasn't expecting the voice to sound so robotic. Barthez, meanwhile smiled and pointed to his left, wordlessly instructing Joseph to walk over there as Dr. K took a needle from Barthez. "I want to try it now."

"Go ahead. Just remember to go for the wrist."

The dark-haired female doctor nodded, holding up Ian's wrist and following the same path that the Brazilian had done as she pushed the needle firmly, yet gently, into the skin, injecting the formula into Ian's bloodstream and causing him to snap awake.

Instead of resisting at first, Ian simply stared straight at Dr. K, asking, "What shall I do?"

Dr. K grinned, pointing to where Joseph was. "I want you to challenge him to a bey-battle."

Ian simply nodded, walking over to the bey-dish as he picked his launcher and beyblade from his pockets, Barthez commanding Joseph to prepare and do the same, which he did, staring at Ian from across the dish, the eyes of both bladers almost seeming lifeless as they aimed their launchers.

"Open the dish, you moron!" said a nearby guard.

"Oh... right..." said the scientist being spoken to, typing some keys on his computer to open the dish, which was just a grey, metallic bowl, with nothing special about it, minus the lights over head to help the bladers as they fought.

Boris began counting down from his booth, speaking into the chips in the bladers' brains. "3... 2... 1... let it rip..."

"Let's go, Vanishing Moot," Joseph said, his voice monotone.

"Go, Wyborg," Ian replied, equally as robotic.

They both launched as unenthusiastically as they spoke, but the blades that they launched appeared to be all business, instantly clashing against each other ruthlessly, without any word or command from the bladers.

Barthez grinned, looking at a nearby computer as the researcher sat there was calculating the battle data. The screen showed a side-by-side comparison of the bladers before they got the chips implanted, then after, with the latter of the two screens showing a vast improvement.

"Excellent... the chips are already improving their skills..." He stroked his chin in thought, talking to the scientist as he enhanced the screens. "Are there any issues?"

"Not so far, sir," he replied. "Even without the money from Dickenson, we could have something good here."

Dr. K then interrupted. "It wouldn't hurt, though," she grinned.

As selfish as she sounded, she was right; the extra money would help in the long run when it came to their research and their overall plan. Plus, Barthez knew that Dickenson wouldn't decline the offer if it meant getting his bladers back.

Back at the battle, Joseph and Ian continued to battle furiously, their blades grinding harshly as they each pushed for dominance, neither one giving an inch until they both pulled back, circling each other.

Boris grinned, speaking into his earpiece. "Let's see if we can make their personalities seem more like them," he said. "They seem too robotic."

Dr. K nodded, then turning to the scientist at the computer. "You heard the man. Hook up to their chips and... well, you'd better know how to do the rest, for your sake."

"I got it," the scientist replied, feeling more than a little threatened as he went about what he was told to do. "Let's see... there's the right link... and... we've got it..."

Dr. K and Barthez then turned to Joseph and Ian, both of whom looked just as focused as before, but actually acting like they would, with Joseph smirking and being generally snarky whilst Ian was calm and collected, thinking about his next move.

"Come on, Vanishing Moot!" Joseph said. "We can't wait around!"

"Hold your position, Wyborg!" replied Ian. "We can work around this!"

However, as much like their old selves as they were now, they were both still obedient to Boris. Dickenson took note of this from the booth he was in, looking on in awe at how well the bladers were doing.

"As much as I hate to say it," he said, "this is truly remarkable work."

Boris grinned. "I'm certainly glad that you appreciate it."

Dickenson looked remorseful. "If I give you that money..." he started.

"Then it will help my research in even more leaps and bounds," Boris replied, his smile unwavering. "In all honesty, we just need the extra cash for distribution purposes to other countries, but we could always make some tweaks to our own technology with it too."

"And you swear that you'll let them go?" Dickenson remained hesitant. "No double-crosses, no lying... you'll let them go home, right?"

Boris grinned. "That I will. And I won't even be worried about them trying to stop me; they'll be too out of it, not to mention that the tournament is officially over now, so none of them have any reason to stay when I release them. And plus, they wouldn't be strong enough to stop my new breed of bladers."

Dickenson remained doubtful, looking down into the dish as Ian and Joseph continued their battle. Wyborg and Vanishing Moot were both in a clash, pushing hard against each other before breaking away, hitting each other with light slams.

Boris turned to his earpiece. "All right, call the match off. We've shown enough."

Dr. K nodded up at the booth, then looked over at the closest scientist, who was already typing away at his computer. In just a matter of seconds, the two bladers called their blades back and just about put all their other equipment in their pockets before the chips in their brains went to work.

"How does this shut them down, exactly?" Dickenson asked as the two bladers were knocked out and carried over to their containers by nearby guards.

Boris smiled. "When they need to be put into sleep mode, the chip secretes a harmless gas chemical to the sleep centre of the brain. It can be targeted to other areas, much like earlier to get Joseph and Ian blading more like themselves, not to mention the amount we can use. We can put them out for anything from ten minutes to ten days if we so wish, and even longer than that."

Dickenson put his hand on his chin, thinking to himself. 'I've never been so hesitant in my life... if I say yes to the funding, then I get my bladers back, and I'm sure that we'll have more than enough strength to take on Boris' new forces and overthrow him once and for all... but I wouldn't have any proper reason to do that if he keeps his word of letting me go scot free. But then again, if we fail, he could very well send Beyblade into a dark era... an era where nobody would want to perform the sport any more unless they were forced to. An era that I'll have had a hand in. They would be the best of the best. That goes without saying. But it's not worth the cost of their sanity...'

"Is he okay?" a guard asked, waving a hand in front of Dickenson's face, who stood back.

"I'm fine. I'm just thinking..."

Boris glared a warning at his guard. "Leave him to it."

Dickenson smiled briefly at that before sitting down, going back to his thoughts. 'So, we know what happens if I say yes. But if I say no... then I won't get my bladers back. He'll keep them, and use them to experiment on, which is much more beneficial to him since they're all at the top of their game. He doesn't get the extra money to distribute the chips out, but he could get that from somebody else, and he may not ask them quite as nicely as he did me. But saying no would only be a slight delay at best, and an incurring of wrath at worst. Having said that, I could try to get the word out to all the families out there. Warn them to get away, and put anybody that will care enough to listen on alert to watch out for themselves. But would that just cause more panic? How long would it truly delay things? I just don't know...'

Boris walked over to Dickenson. "Is everything all right?"

The former chairman nodded, clearing his throat. "Everything is fine. I just... it's a lot to take in..."

"Take as much time as you need. When you feel as though you're ready, give me your decision..."

Dickenson closed his eyes and mulled it over in his head some more, silently thinking over the conclusions and permutations of what his choices would be. After a while of thinking it over, he smiled at Boris.

"I've reached a conclusion," Dickenson said.

"And what would that be?" Boris asked.

The former chairman grinned. "As enticing as the offer is, and as much as you've shown me, I shall have to decline."

Boris didn't flinch, simply flashing his usual wolfish grin at Dickenson. "I thought that you were smarter than that."

"I am." Dickenson nodded. "And that's why I'm saying no."

"I really didn't want it to come to this..." Boris said, regret heavy in his voice, "but you leave me no choice..."

"That's where you're wrong," Dickenson retorted. "You were given a choice a long time ago. It's not my fault that you chose wrong."

"And it's not my fault that you chose poorly."

Before Dickenson could respond, two guards behind him grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, with the same happening to Jones, despite his unconscious state. The former chairman kicked and wrenched to try to escape, but it was no good.

"I forgot to mention one of the stipulations," Boris muttered coldly. "If you were to say yes, then that would have been the end of it. But you said no. As a result, I regret to inform you that I'll have to make you say yes." He then reached into the left pocket of his coat, pulling out a needle with a clear blue liquid inside it. "And I really don't like it when people make the wrong decisions."

"Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, then..." Dickenson grunted. "You've been making the wrong decisions your entire life. Is it any wonder why you lose so often?"

Boris grinned. "As true as that may be, all of those wrong decisions have led to this point in my life. The point where my plan can finally come to fruition, with or without your help." He then sighed, almost sounding regretful. "It really is a shame that you had to make the wrong choice. I really was going to let you go, you know."

He then stepped towards Dickenson, pushing the needle into his neck, the former chairman soon falling unconscious from it before the two guards started carrying him away, not needing the orders.

As the guards went about removing Dickenson from the room, Jones started to stir from his seat. "Ugh... sir?" he asked, his eyes scrambling. "What... what's happening..."

Boris suddenly appeared in front of Jones, smiling. "Well, hello, there!"

Jones winced. "Urgh... ever heard of mints? What do you want?"

"I want you to do what Dickenson didn't: I want you to make the right choice."

"And what would that be?"

"Well," Boris started, "you could either agree to become my courier and help ship my chips wherever and whenever I want. Or you could say no, and wind up like your friend..."

"You... you bastard!" Jones yelled. "I'll get-"

Boris slapped the driver to silence him, knocking him over in the chair that he was in. "I didn't kill him. Don't worry. He's just incapacitated, perhaps for a very long time depending on your choice."

Jones replied by spitting some of the blood that gathered on his lips at Boris' feet, staining his right shoe with some of the crimson liquid. "I'll never work for you... I work for Dickenson and him alone..."

Boris smiled. "Ah... just as I thought; you're as foolish as he is... perhaps even more so."

He then nodded to two guards, who sat Jones back up in his chair before injecting him with the same thing that Boris used on Dickenson earlier, knocking the driver out before untying him from the chair and carrying him away.

As they did, Boris went with them, using the elevator alongside them as it went down to the ground floor of the lab. As the elevator reached the bottom, Boris found his way over to the tube that Tyson was in, smiling at him.

"I'm going to enjoy this while I can," Boris said. "I know that you can't hear me, but I wanted you to know something. When you wake up, everything that you and your friends fought for... it will all be gone. Your idealistic, naive way of thinking will no longer exist. It will be taken over by me... by everything that I've done to get to where I am... and there won't be a thing that you can do to stop it." He then took a deep breath. "It is a shame. Just think of how powerful you could be if you sided with me. Of how powerful you could all be. But, no. Every last one of you defied and declined my offer. And for that, you must all pay. You shall all be forced to see the results of your choices burned to the ground, and the ashes of your actions will be in your own hands..."

"Boris?" asked Barthez. "Is everything all right?"

Boris nodded. "I'm fine. Are we ready?"

"Just a couple of diagnostics left, but we're good to go."

"Good. Let me know when it's finished."

Barthez replied with a nod, going back to the computers he and Dr. K were nearby earlier as Boris kept his gaze focused on Tyson. 'Everything you fought for... it will all be mine... and you will have no choice but to watch all of your dreams die...'

And that does it for this chapter! The reason that it took so long was because I did agonise and debate with myself if I wanted this to be the last chapter or not. I went with not, so the next chapter may very well be the final one. Another reason that it took so long was because I've been doing more jobs around my house and stuff, and it took me a little while to figure out what I wanted to do with this chapter and to get into the right groove to write. But I found my groove, and I hope that the results of that made you happy in the form of this chapter. Tortured analogy aside, I hope you all enjoyed it, and I'll see you all for the next one. Take care, and stay tuned.