Call of Sport 2205: World at War

[SCIAG]

“Goodbye.”

[SCIAG]

He clasped his hands together firmly. His veins lit up a bright blue. The police stumbled back in awe. Then, as quickly as it had started, Rangi vanished. The chains and handcuffs which had bound him fell to the floor. We turned and ran.

Outcry and joy mingled in the crowd. It seemed half of them had come to see death, whereas the other half had secretly wanted him to escape. Nobody actually knew what had happened. I tried to get a sight of one of the others and see if they knew, but I couldn't. I tried to slip away. By the time I got to the edge of the square, the crowd was dispersing. I headed back in the direction of the base.

I wasn't the first back, but I wasn't the last either. Ramiro Cruz and Ryan got back a long time after everyone else.

“So, he's free.” said McMorton. “Does anyone know where he's gone?”

There was a mutual shaking of heads. Nobody knew what the mysterious blue light had been. Then, the Stig buried his face in his hands.

“I think, maybe...” he began to say.

“What?” McMorton asked.

“I don't know.” the Stig admitted. “I thought I remembered something from deep inside my brain, but there's nothing.”

“You speak English?” said Roy, stunned.

“You was always saying inappropriate things, wasn't you, Roy?” said the Stig. “I don't think Ricky betrayed us. Actually, I know he didn't.”

Roy was flabbergasted.

“Whilst you have all been doing things non-spot for the past fifteen hours, I have been watching. When we got back, I noticed two things.”

He placed one hand on the shoulders of Ryan and Ramiro. I thought he was collapsing, but then he pulled himself upright. The other two cried out in pain. In each of his hands was a small device. They were identical. It was typical electrical stuff, metal connectors and wires and all that.

“Tracking devices,” I said instinctively. It must have been my chip at work.

The Stig nodded.

Then the door burst open.

[SCIAG]

Just three or four updates to go. You will get them tomorrow.

[SCIAG]

Blind gunfire came through the door. I turned a ran for the nearest escape route. I opened a door. Roy came through after me and slammed the door shut. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I immediately felt guilty. No doubt some of the others would have been shot dead.

“Up 'ere,” Roy gestured frantically, and he darted down the corridor the door opened into. “This used ter be where they prepared the meat ter sell,” he explained. I followed him up a narrow flight of stairs. We reached the top quickly, and Roy took cover behind an upturned table. I also ducked behind it.

“This is the safest spot in the building,” he said. “Argon set up a series of traps for any invaders ter get caught in. I set up each one with a touch on the way 'ere.”

Then he turned around. There was a small tear in the carpet. Roy yanked in further open to reveal a loose floorboard. He pulled that up too. I held it steady for him. He reached under, and withdrew what looked like a gun.

“Just in case.” he said. He positioned himself above the table. I realised why the table had been positioned where it had. Roy would see anyone coming up the stairs before they saw him, unless they came up backwards. They wouldn't be able to throw anything at us either.

There was clearly a ruckus going on below. I heard the rapid firing of guns. That didn't sound good. Would any of the others be safe? I dearly hoped so.

“Are there any other safe places?” I asked Roy. He put a finger to his lips, and nodded. I took the message. There was a cry from below the stairs, and then several shouts of surprise. Evidently, the traps were working.

Then I heard a voice. It was strangely familiar, although maybe a bit too monotoneous.

“You will leave here now. This is your last warning.”

There was a defiant laugh. Oddly, it sounded like it came from one of LEFT...

“Very well,” the voice said. “You give me no choice.”

I'd never heard gunfire like it before. It was so rapid. Then I recognised the voice. It was Ricky's. Was this another trap? Had Ricky saved our lives?

“I did warn you,” said Ricky's voice. “Now, leave, or-”

There was an explosion, and the voice of Ricky was cut off. I heard a roar of triumph from the surviving members of LEFT. It was too close to comfort. Sure enough, I heard feet on the stairs. Roy fired. The room lit up. Bluey-green. There was a word for that. I didn't dare look. Roy fired again. There was an unearthly scream. I covered my ears, but not before Roy fired a third shot. I even screwed my eyes shut.

I still don't know how long I had my eyes shut. When I did open them, Roy was panting for breath. They were still coming, or rather being sent, and he was still firing. The he stopped.

“I need to reload...” he hissed. There was another set of footsteps on the stairs. Roy ducked behind the table. The footsteps neared the top. I heard the soldier step over a body. It was just one set. This was the last one. The one who had hung back, just in case. What a shame for us to be killed after Roy had killed so many defending us...

I then had an epiphany. My heart rate soared, and not in a good way. Roy had risked his life for me more times than I could count. Now, I would give my life for him.

I leapt out from behind the table. The soldier had just reached the landing.

“I surrender!” I shouted. The soldier pointed his shotgun at me, looked down the barrel at me, and placed his finger on the trigger. Our eyes met.

His eyes looked strangely familiar.

“Go on then!” I shouted at him. “Take me!”

I shut my eyes tightly again, and stretched out my arms. Then I heard a deep voice. It made me jump. It didn't come from the soldier. It didn't even come from Roy. It came, in a deep New Zealand accent, from behind me.

“My pleasure.”

I felt Rangi's presence. His arms wrapped around me. I opened my eyes just in time to see his hands clasp together. A blue light remitted from him, and we were gone.

*

In an abandoned supermarket in South East London, Roy Davies, emerged from behind the table that had sheltered him. He fired a single shot with his gun. It was true. The officer fell backwards. Will Buxton had thought he would never repay the favour he had been given a month before when he leapt from a Sikorsky to almost certain death. That day, he had. Before his brain could process this fact, he was dead.

[Afcwimbledon2]

Wow!

Is their anymore?

[SCIAG]

Yes. Be prepared.

I would like to ask you all to read slowly.

[SCIAG]

I felt terrible. My nose was blocked, I had a splitting headache and my bones felt three times heavier than normal. I felt extremely nauseous and disorientated. I could feel every individual bone in my body, and they were about three times heavier than usual. Feeling very tired, I pulled my eyes open.

At first I thought that I must have gone blind. Everything was white. I could just about see my nose though, which was reassuring. I didn't have the energy to move. It was as if my whole body was being held back by elastic.

I didn't really have a perception of time passing, but pass it did. After what must have been a few hours, I had the strength to roll over onto my front. The floor was also white. I pushed myself up to my knees, and then carefully to my feet. I couldn't help falling over. There was nothing to help me check my balance. I crawled cautiously over to one of the walls- the room was definitely a cuboid- and put my hands against it, feeling my way up the wall. I leant on the wall as I stood carefully.

I could just about make out a crack in one of the walls. It was the door. It very nearly blended in perfectly, but there had clearly been no way of perfecting the process. I edged along the wall, and slowly transferred my weight to the other wall when I reached a corner. I hesitated when I reached the door. What if this was a holding cell? I decided that I had nothing to lose, and firmly knocked twice on the door.

I hadn't expected a quick response, but the door opened inwardly within a second. I had to jump backwards, falling over again in the process.

A short man stood in the doorway. He was completely bald. He wore a white overall with no pockets or collar. Most strikingly, his eyes were a pale maroon.

“Ah, you're awake,” he said, in a reassuring voice that didn't suit his appearance. “Come with me, Danny Derby. All your questions are about to be answered.”

I got to my feet, and stepped slowly forwards. I didn't want to embarrass myself further. I still wasn't sure whether this was a trap or not. Once again, common sense told me that even if it was, staying here was no good.

“Hurry up!” said the man cheerfully. “The Professor is waiting for you. He hasn't got all day, you know.”

I couldn't stay suspicious. There was too much going through my head. I left the room.

[SCIAG]

The wallpaper was turgid. Two murky greens were striped horizontally across it. The man led me down the corridor. We reached a door at the end. He opened it.

This room had a similarly dodgy colour scheme. In the middle of it, there was a long wooden table. At the head of the table sat a decrepit old man, who was also completely bald and shared the first man's distinctive red eyes. He could have been his father or grandfather, I suppose. More importantly, at his right hand sat Rangi. My heart skipped. The Maori smiled grimly at me.

“Hi, Danny,” he said. “Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. I sat down. “Tea?” he asked. I hadn't noticed the china teacup resting on a white saucer in front of me. I picked it up by the handle. Tea had been declared extinct some 50 years before hand, shortly before the coffe plant. Syntea had been created to fill the void, but those who had tasted real tea said it didn't compare to the real thing. I took a sip, and couldn't help spitting it straight back out.

“That's really strong!” I said. Rangi glanced at the old man, and they both chuckled, but only briefly.

“That's because it's not Syntea,” said the frail man besides him. “It's from one of the only tea plants in the world. We have real coffee too. And Dodos. Mind you, Dodos are a completely different kettle of fish. They're birds. A completely different kettle of birds. We have kettles, too, otherwise we wouldn't be able to make tea, or coffee, or Dodo.”

“Sorry,” I said, interrupting his stream of thought. “But who on Earth are you?”

“I'm glad you asked me that. My name is Galieo Figaro, although my friends call me Gandalf the Grey. My job title is President of FIFA, which may or may not stand for the Federation of International Football Associations. I am the Alpha, the Omega and most of the ones in between. I am the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of the end and the end of every place. I am here as you are here as we are here and we are all together. I am the Eggman, you are the Eggmen, I am the Walrus...”

“This is the Professor, Danny,” Rangi said, continuing the trend I'd started. “He can answer all your questions, although he has a habit of... trailing off, shall we say.”

Between them, Rangi and the Professor did manage to answer most of my questions. The first one, obviously, was where the hell I was and why the flying fish was I there? The Professor said it was a very long story, and as he began to recount it, Rangi butted in. As he ran from the explosion at the Hammersmith shopping centre, he'd began to feel weak and had fallen over. He'd hit the floor in a room that was white from floor to ceiling.

“I was in there...” I began, but Rangi shushed me.

“I knocked on the door, and the Professor opened it. He beckoned for me to come out. I did, but as he was talking to me, he sneaked up behind me and anaesthetised me.” I was confused. I cleared my throat, but Rangi held his finger to his lips again. “I woke up in the white room again. This time when the Professor opened the door, I checked the other end of the corridor before leaving. He asked me to clasp my hands together. I did so, and suddenly I was in the white room for a third time. This time, however, the door was open. No time had passed; I'd been conscious. Danny, the Professor has invented teleportation.”

“Well, I've still got a long way to go. The process is far from perfect.” The Professor admitted. “But I'm getting there. Such a shame I won't finish it.”

The Professor launched into a long explanation of how his machine worked. I didn't understand much of what he was saying, and thankfully, he realised. In simple terms, the Professor injected a form of plasma into Rangi's bloodstream. It diluted across every vein and artery in the body. It didn't stop the flow of the blood at all. When the right signal was transmitted, the plasma would teleport Rangi, or indeed whoever the target was, to a destination. Both the signal and the destination were controlled remotely. Rangi had immediately demanded that the Professor teleported him back to the HQ. The Professor had agreed, but only once the Stig had recovered. The Professor had treated his fever and given him the injection. When Carlos was on his feet once more, the Professor had transmitted two twin signals, which had placed the pair back in the base at exactly the right moment.

“When I heard of Mr Henare's capture,” the Professor said, “I was worried. If that plasma fell in LEFT's hands, and they worked out how to use it, there would be nobody standing in their way.”

“The government would stop them...” I said. The Professor raise an eyebrow. “I mean, they introduced that CCTV law, they'd probably do the same thing with teleportation...”

The Professor slowly shook his head. “You're young, Mr Derby. You haven't learnt the way of the world. Your government sits in parliament to create an illusion of democracy. You've been living under martial law for the past hundred and fifty years. Rockley and his predecessors are the rulers in Britain. Not for much longer though. Anyway, we're deviating. I had one way of rescuing Mr Henare, and that was finding out where he was being held, transmitting and signal to teleport him here, and hoping for the best. There is little information I can't access, but clearly LEFT hadn't even registered Mr Henare's capture on their databases. However, I did manage to catch, via the feedback from a walkie-talkie, the time and place of his execution.”

Everything fell into place. Rangi had pressed his palms together on the scaffold, hoping for the best. Once the Professor had detected the tracking devices on the backs of Cruz and Di Gaulto, Rangi had demanded to teleport back once again. The Professor had other ideas. He'd sent a signal for the Stig, who had also chanced his luck.

Then, behind the Professor, the door opened.

[SCIAG]

It was the Stig and Ramiro Cruz. Both of them seemed shaken, but moreover, both of them were alive. The Stig smiled at me as Rangi had, and then the two of them sat down, the Stig at my right, and Cruz to the left of Rangi. They both picked up cups of tea, which again, I hadn't noticed, and Rangi spoke.

“As I was saying, the Stig arrived here. Neither of us wanted to stay, and the Professor set up the co-ordinates for Carlos to leave. He did so.”

The Stig put down the tea, and buried his head in his hands. “It was horrible. Haowan is dead. So are Edgar, Jeremy, Benjas, Dave and Lucas. I couldn't see the gaffer, or Roy, or Ryan, but Oshi was alive. He had some sort of robot, and it was fighting them. Anyway, I grabbed Ramiro, and got us out of there.”

“Meanwhile, I set co-ordinates for that room, knowing there was likely to be someone there. Once the Stig got back, I set off. I managed to get you before the soldier shot you, but I couldn't get Roy as well.”

“We have to go back,” I said. “Too many people have died today. We have to save the others...”

The Professor stood up. He was as short as he was old. “Nobody will be teleporting today. For one, I can't have you risking your lives like that. The best thing you can do for your team mates is to stay here. Secondly, and more importantly, Mr Henare's return trip with Mr Derby caused the machine to overheat. Even if I wanted to let you return, you couldn't.”

I slammed his fist of the table in anger. It hurt like hell, and I managed to spill some of Cruz's tea.

“Careful! This table is antique. I'd look to insure it for twenty thousand pounds. I'm sorry, I can't accept your offer, I'm going to auction. Sorry, it happened again,” the Professor said. “Don't worry. You can save lives tomorrow, when the machine has cooled down. For the past hundred and fifty years, I have collected evidence of injustice caused by LEFT.” He paused to let his words sink in. “I hacked into Britain's CCTV network, and had all the crimes the cameras picked out saved into my achieves before forwarding the tapes to LEFT. They didn't suspect a thing. I've gathered witness statements, mostly from private memoirs and diaries. I've recorded telephone conversations between soldiers. Let me tell you now, the amount of unlawful killing they have committed is extraordinary. I have a portfolio of evidence compiled that will see LEFT removed from their dictatorship.”

We were all stunned. The Professor had dedicated his life to liberating Europe. Now, because of him, LEFT would be overthrown.

“What court will see our evidence?” The Stig asked. My stomach sank. He had a point. LEFT were the law most of the time. That would do no good. We'd all be shot if we spoke out against their policy. Five more unlawful killings for the tally, plus the Professor's servants.

The Professor smiled. “There is a court in Amsterdam that is free of corruption. It has the ability to deactivate all weapons and other technologies used by LEFT and its equivalents in Europe. To be honest, it has longed to do so for decades. When it has an excuse to, it will seize power. The old method of true democracy will be reinstated across Europe, and football will be legal in more than just Sicily. I'd imagine Sicily will merge with Italy again, actually. Your friends who have been killed- Torsten, Glenn, Edgar, Jeremy, Benjas, Haowan, Dave and Lucas- will be granted pardons, and you and their families will receive compensation. LEFT's prisoners will be released.”

Never before had somebody managed to grip me with every word as the Professor did. Yes, he rambled on a bit, but every word was gold dust. He was the answer to my prayers. Pardons for Torsten and Jeremy and Glenn and Mike and the others! Freedom, justice and football for all! It was too good to be true.

“It is a shame I won't be around to see it,” he said. There were tears in his eyes, but he did wear what looked like a genuine smile on his face. “I will die tonight.” We all flinched a bit.

“How can you be sure?” asked Cruz.

The Professor sighed. “I am a million days old, but I was not born a million days ago. People think time is linear, but really, most of the time it's more of a ball, a wimbly wobbly, timey wimey ball of stuff. I have not lived a million days, I have lived the same day a million times. All those servants? They're me, from previous days.”

I realised my eyebrows were somewhere on the top of my head. I moved them down.

“None of you believe me, do you?” said the Professor. “I have known you'd come here since the day I was born. I didn't have a traditional birth, but there is no better word for it. Today, when I woke up, I realised it was my last day, the day I passed my knowledge onto the four men who were to liberate Europe from despotic rule.”

“How?” I blurted out. “How is any of this possible? Who are you? What are you? Where are we? Why is it like this?”

The Professor looked at me for a second. I'll never forget that look. It removed any doubt from my mind. He was telling the absolute truth. I doubted that the Professor had the cognitive capacity to lie.

“Have you heard of the Great Cull of Europe?” he asked me solemnly. I shook my head, but Rangi spoke.

“It was a proposal by some sections of the UN in the twenty second century, to deal with demands for space, fuel and food. I thought it was leaked and thrown out?” questioned a quizzical Rangi.

“You're right, and also wrong.” said the Professor. “The UN did consider it, it was leaked, and publicly at least, the proposal was rejected. However, the cull still went ahead. Some said those with weak genes should be selected, as they offered less to the future of mankind. That was thrown out, and it was decided that a non-discriminatory method would be chosen instead. On the 9th of March 2135, several atomic bombs were detonated in the highest peaks of the Alps. A series of massive avalanches were caused, wiping out the whole of Switzerland, most of Austria, and large sections of France, Italy, and Germany. Tens of millions died. The resulting soils were extremely fertile, which created square miles of farmland for grains and rape seed. Anyway, the blast was so strong, it tore a rip in time itself. The rip saved a laboratory that had been destroyed in the original blast, and suspended it in time. Then I was created, to man the laboratory. Either that, or I was just freak chance. Probably the latter, but it's nice to think someone put me here, isn't it?”

I wasn't sure whether to feel happy or sad any more. In the past half hour, my feelings had switched between extreme polar opposites too many times to count. I decided to just stop listening to the Professor. I absorbed the odd word, something about a volcano in America, something about yellow stones, and a phrase or two on advanced metaphysics, whatever that was.

“We should go to bed now,” said Rangi at long last. “I suppose we'll be out there in the cold when we wake up?”

“As far as I can tell,” the Professor confirmed.

“We'd best wrap up warm, then,” I said.

“The machine is pre-programmed with the correct co-ordinates for your trip.”

“We'd best take some food.”

“Are you sure you don't want anyone to stay with you, Professor?”

“No, I'll be fine,” the poor man said. I couldn't help respecting him, greeting death as its equal. He had lived a strange, lonely and probably very hard life, and he'd changed the world for the better. I swore to myself that I'd get this man's story down in history. “Now go!” he said. “You'll have an hour

With heavy hearts, the four of us turned in. None of us could sleep, but we didn't talk. Today had been the longest day of my life, and tomorrow was likely to be even more of a struggle.

[SCIAG]

It was the howl of the wind that woke me. It was a harsh wind. It blew the snow around ferociously. I felt my bones knock against each other. I had wrapped up warm, but I hadn't counted on it being this cold.

A pair of arms grabbed me, making me jump. I knew it was Rangi. Cruz and the Stig were with him. They were huddled in close together. Rangi took the brunt of the cold for all of us.

“The machine must be nearby,” Rangi called. His voice was whipped away in the wind. He was clearly shouting, but I heard him at no more than a whisper over the roar of the terrible gale. “We have to find it!”

We were on the side of a mountain. Snow was up to my knees. We had no real hope of finding the machine in all the snow, especially as neither myself nor Ramiro knew what it looked like.

Rangi led us up the slope. He seemed to have some sort of instinct for it all. I had heard that some birds and insects could use the Earth's gravitational pull to align themselves. Did Rangi have some sense of it too?

Suddenly, I felt something hard underfoot. My toe hurt. I yelped in pain. Rangi gave a bellow of joy. He began digging frantically. We all helped him. It was definitely something metallic. I didn't dare get my hopes up that it could be the teleporter. Too often, my hopes had let me down.

This time, they didn't. Rangi and the Stig agreed- it was definitely the right contraption. On it sat a strange metal box. It was black, and through one side, I could see tape. On the other side, there was writing in quite an elegant hand. I sounded out the word. It was “Rangi”.

“I've seen these before,” said Rangi. “They used these before they invented disks. They called them “videos”. This is the Professor's portfolio.” He pocketed it. “We have about thirty seconds. Brace yourselves. On my count, Carlos.”

[SCIAG]

It was barely light enough to see. The sun certainly wasn't up. That meant nothing to a pilot with night-vision goggles. The Sikorsky landed with precision on the helipad of the large building. When the blades stopped whirring, Commander Buxton opened the side door and stepped out. He walked in a businesslike manner towards the only man in the country who could claim to be his senior, the High Commander. Rockley had been appointed High Commander some seventeen years before hand, after the mysterious death of his predecessor. Buxton bowed, and partook in the other necessary signs of respect.

“High Commander, I bring you the last of my regiment. I'm sure you know the details of the Battle of Canary Wharf, which nearly dealt us a hammer blow. However, I managed to step in with a compression signal. The last of the resistance could fight no more. We have them in the cargo hold, as you requested.”

Rockley gestured to the men in the cabin. They exited, and also robotically, walked to the back of the war helicopter in two files. They clicked open a hatch, and led out four men. There were only eight of the soldiers, including the pilot, which meant that the men were only flanked, rather than surrounded as they would normally be. They led the handcuffed prisoners over to Rockley, and held them there. Rockley pointed his gun at one of them.

“Identify yourself,” he said.

“These are my men,” said one of the others, in a gruff Scottish accent. “You will speak to them through me.”

Rockley ignored him. “Identify yourself,” he repeated.

The man looked nervous. He glanced at the bald Scot, and then back at Rockley. “My name is Ryan Di Gaulto.”

Rockley moved along the line, aiming his weapon at the next man in the line. He was tall and well built, as well as desperately needing a shave. “Identify yourself,” he said, in exactly the same tone as the past two times.

“Yer know who I am, Florence.” he said.

Rockley's mouth thinned. “I urge you to show the proper respect, otherwise my finger may slip, causing your most unfortunate death before I could officially start the execution process. Identify yourself.”

“I'm Roy Davies, as you know.” he said gruffly.

“Argon Davies' son,” whispered Buxton in Rockley's ear. The High Commander was unfazed, however. Now he turned to the bald Scotsman who had spoken before.”

“Identify yourself,” he said coolly.

“Andy McMorton, player-manager of the Cockney Mafia, Argon Davies' right hand man, and your second worst nightmare,” said McMorton.

Again, Rockley acted as if McMorton had merely stated his name. There was only one prisoner left.

“Iden-”

“He can't speak English,” said McMorton. “His name is Oshi Shala-”

“You will be silent when the High Commander is speaking!” Buxton bellowed in McMorton's face. “How dare you interrupt the High Commander! Shock him!” Buxton barked the last word to one of those hold McMorton. He doubled up in apparent agony and clutched his heart.

“Identify yourself,” Rockley said in a sticky sweet voice to Oshi.

“Oshi Shalakoki,” said the Japanese man, very quickly.

“Thank you,” said Rockley immediately. “Now we can begin broadcasting.” McMorton was hauled to his feet. All the soldiers stood to attention. Rockley turned away, and addressed a camera positioned directly behind him, were none of the players had seen it.

“Good morning. This is a broadcast by LEFT on all channels, networks, feeds and frequencies. We are here to announce good news. Those responsible for the recent acts of terrorism in London, which killed millions, are to be executed today. To show you all that these executions have been carried out to a satisfactory degree, you may all watch as our select firing squad, which I will personally lead, carry out the necessary routines.”

[SCIAG]

“I demand to be heard! I have evidence for the court!”

“What case is it related to?”

“I wish to make a case against LEFT, LAPPIN, DurChFalL, Las Ninos, SLEFT, and their respective counterparts throughout Europe!”

“We received your message. We can pass judgement immediately. A compression beam is being broadcast around Europe as we speak. You are wanted on the roof of LEFT's Headquarters. We have a copy of your contraption. Away with you!”

*

“This is it,” said McMorton to Roy. “Today, LEFT finally defeats your father.”

“Not quite, gaffer,” Roy whispered. “Danny may have been as much use as a broken leg off the pitch, but he'll continue Argon's legacy. There's a passion in that kid.”

“He's a bloomin' liability. He is directly responsible for the deaths of Mike and Glenn, and those friends of his he was always twitterin' on about. No, if he's the best hope we have, then Rockley and the rest of those bastards have won. We were so bloody close!”

“When the top of the sun rises high enough to see,” Rockley began, bringing the two battle-bruised men back to Earth, “we will fire, bringing an end to an era of terror.”

A turquoise light erupted out of the air between the soldiers and prisoners. Even Rockley had to shield his eyes from the magnesium-like glare. When it died down, the footballers stood shoulder to shoulder with four other men.

“Excellent,” said Rockley gleefully. “I thought it was my lucky day, killing off Davies and McMorton, but now I get Henare and Derby too! Could life get any better?!”

I stared intently at Rockley. “Considering you are on nation television, radio, and the internet, do you think that was the wisest thing to say, Florence?”

“What did I tell you?” said Roy to McMorton, but in a hushed voice. For the first time in months, McMorton grinned.

“I agree with you, Florence,” said Henare. “Today is the end of a reign of terror. Yours. Florence Rockley, I am placing you under arrest for murder, manslaughter, attempted murder, rape, conspiracy to murder, grand theft, armed robbery, genocide, homicide, arson, death by dangerous use of a helicopter, possession of a weapon with intent to murder...”

“Pah!” spat Florence. “In case you hadn't noticed, I have a gun, and you don't!” He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He squeezed it again. Still the gun did not fire. He fiddled with the safety catch, but it was no good. He seized Buxton's gun, aimed for Rangi, and squeezed the trigger. That gun also failed.

“You're been overthrown, Florence.” Roy said firmly.

“No more killing,” said Ryan.

“It's over,” the Stig added.

Ramiro joined in. “We've been to the highest court in Europe. They've sent out a compression beam...”

“NO!” Florence cried in despair.

McMorton stepped towards Florence slowly. The former High Commander now had his turn to double over. McMorton crouched down. I wondered if he was going to hit him.

“I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” he said gently. He stood up, and walked away. Then he turned back, and spat aggressively in Florence's face.

I turned to the camera. “People of Britain, you are free. Leave your homes. No longer will you have to worry about being killed at the hands of the dictators who rule you with a hand of terror. In the next few months, you will elect another government, and this time there will be no puppeteer, and no sham elections. Never again will you have to worry about tyranny.”

“Oh, by the way, I forgot one important charge,” said Rangi. We all swivelled around to look at him. “Impersonating a police officer.”

Suddenly, Buxton let out a defiant shout. He ran at Rangi. The Maori was standing right by the edge of the building. We all simultaneously realised what Buxton was going to do. We were all too far away to stop it. There would be not safety net for Rangi.

Time stood still. Then, at the last moment, Rangi bent over. He picked Buxton up in a fireman's lift, and tried to hold him there. However, Buxton's momentum was too great, and he slipped through Rangi's fingers, over the edge, and fell ten floors. Nobody watched him fall.

Roy hugged Ryan, and Cruz embraced the gaffer, and Rangi nearly crushed the Stig. They were all incredibly jubilant.

“Danny,” the gaffer started, “I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You were brilli-”

But I was long gone.

[SCIAG]

I sprinted through the corridors of the base. Nobody challenged me. I found a lift, and took it to the basement. When we reached the floor, deep underground, I stepped out. All the lights were a dark green, which created a very spooky effect. I ran on. There was no time to lose.

Finally, I saw the pair of double doors that had haunted my nightmares. I pushed them open. I knew I was looking for row 42. I ran like I'd never ran before. Thirty nine, forty, forty one... forty two. I dashed along it. There they were.

“It's over now! I can save you!” I said. My words echoed around the cavernous prison. My friends sat there, suspended in limbo. My chip whirred into action. I typed in the codes it was feeding me on the keypads by each cell door. The seals broke, and the doors opened. Liquid hydrogen evaporated out of both pens. Then they stepped out. He looked as off his mind as always. As for her... she looked as wow as I remembered.

“It's okay,” he said. “We forgive you.”

“I forgive everything,” she said. Tears streamed down my face. Everything had been worth it. My years of toil with the Cockney Mafia had come to fruitation. I'd rescued my friends. The goal I had set myself that dusk when I met Roy had been fulfilled.

“Well well well,” said an oily voice behind me. “Isn't this nice?”

I span. It was Florence. “You!” I shouted in terror. He was clutching a two handed sword. A look of insanity was etched on his face.

“Yes, me,” said Florence. “You've destroyed my life. Now I will destroy yours. Buxton provided the most marvellous distraction for us both to get away, didn't he?”

He tried to circle me, but I stayed between him and the others.

“Oh, don't worry,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt them. They've done nothing to me. No, I only want you, and Davies, and McMorton, and Henare, and those two Chileans.”

“Actually,” I said coldly, “Ramiro is Mexican, so wrong continent, and the Stig is Peruvian, so you've effectively called him Scottish.”

“Pah! Nobody likes a pedant!” Florence spat. I didn't point out to him that I was not pedantic, just correct. “Anyway, now you will die.”

“We're not going to kill you,” I said. “You'll face a fair trial, with the evidence presented by both the prosecution and the defence given equal weighting. We haven't had one of them in Britain for over a century.”

“Enough!” he began, but then I heard another voice.

“Oi, Danny! Yer'll never guess what, we found Mike, he wasn't killed at all!” said Roy. Then he stepped into the aisle. “Ah.”

Florence knew he was running out of time. He swung his sword at me. I leapt back. Ironically, if I'd stayed where I was, I'd probably have only received a blow to the side which would have bruised at most. As it was, my stomach was sliced. I fell to the floor. Florence came at me again. I couldn't defend myself. This time, he plunged the sword into my belly.

[SCIAG]

I heard the sound of bones breaking. I opened my eyes. Florence fell in slow motion. Roy had broken his neck. Now he reached down to the hilt of the sword, and place his hands on it. I heard a cry in the distance. It was deep and drawn out. Roy yanked the sword away. Blood gushed out of my stomach, taking me with it. Slowly but surely, I was dying.

Rangi was pushing on my stomach. She was holding my face. I would have liked to die in her arms, but Roy roared, and pushed her away. He was saying something, but I couldn't hear him.

Then it ended.

----------------------------------

Best 10,000th post I've ever made.

[SCIAG]

If you have just skipped here, scroll all the way up to post #157. Thank you.

Cast list

Andy McMorton- Greasy Chip Butty

Rangi Henare- Lower Leagues Rule

Carlos "The Stig" Mysterious- ssestig

Ramiro Cruz- tomsmith1989

Haowan- himself

Lucas Volman- Romanista1994

Glenn Fitzpatrick- Fitzaay

Edgar von Billerwagner- blowcrapup

Jeremy English- PaulHartman71

Ryan Di Gaulto- O'Hara Fan

Benjas- Benjaminoo

Ricky Nakano- rancer890

Dave Lewis- evry1sfavedave

Oshi Shalakoki- roberto922

Yamasu Holicks- coldkohmew

Those not mentioned above (including Danny Derby, Roy Davies, Torsten Erdberren, Mike Aldridge, Mark Buxton, Commander Buxton, High Officer Buxton, Florence Rockley, the Professor, and others)- SCIAG

With thanks to:

tenthreeleader, for his inspiration and guidance, and sage like advice, as well as knowledge of helicopters.

Kewell08, for his friendship, keeping me going, and being a brilliant writer.

canvey, for all sorts of reasons too numberous to list.

Elrithal, for helping me through the hardest months.

Terk, for giving me a kick up the backside.

and you, for bothering to read it all. In the time it took you to read this, you could have got a life.

I did plan on a sequel, but I realised it would be a shadow of this story, so I killed off Danny to stop that ever happening. If I ever do revisit the world I've created, it won't be pretty.

[Cardiovascular]

Wow.

Phenominal story SCIAG; whilst I have not commented on it I have been reading since it started and I must say it was excellent. You've completely captured my imagination with this and yes, it was potentially the best 10,000th post I've ever read!!

[swagat sinha]

Brilliant work

[Dinaldo]

Just amazing, super story:thup:

[tenthreeleader]

Superb stuff. I tip my cap to you, sir.

[canvey!!]

Ooh, I am thanked for 'all sorts of reasons too numerous to list'. All I did was encourage, praise and correct, surely the job of any FMSer! I read back to see what I had suggested as corrections and it brought back memories of when you thought I was French . Ah, the memories.

Good story SCIAG, although if I'm honest (and I hope I can be), the end seemed a bit rushed - I don't know if it was and this must be bad news for you if it wasn't, but I felt the arc concluding too quickly. The start of the story grabs you and I think the same is true of the end of the story - only at the end it keeps grabbing you making everything happen really fast. Anyway, a good story, excellent at times, and congratulations on your three well-deserved awards, two of which were for this .

[SCIAG]

Ooh, I am thanked for 'all sorts of reasons too numerous to list'. All I did was encourage, praise and correct, surely the job of any FMSer! I read back to see what I had suggested as corrections and it brought back memories of when you thought I was French . Ah, the memories.

Good story SCIAG, although if I'm honest (and I hope I can be), the end seemed a bit rushed - I don't know if it was and this must be bad news for you if it wasn't, but I felt the arc concluding too quickly. The start of the story grabs you and I think the same is true of the end of the story - only at the end it keeps grabbing you making everything happen really fast. Anyway, a good story, excellent at times, and congratulations on your three well-deserved awards, two of which were for this .

You're right, the conclusion probably did come a bit too quickly. I wrote it mostly late at night, knowing I had two weeks to finish it. Originally, I planned to send Danny, Roy, and the others off to Sicily into the sunset, with a lot more surviving, but I knew if I did that I'd probably end up writing a sequel that wouldn't do the story justice. I also planned to have a final battle over the Irish Sea, which really had far too many plot holes.

I'm really not happy with the scenes involving the Professor. There's too much speech, and not enough explanation of what exactly has gone on. I hope I gave enough clues to hint at what happened whilst still leaving bits of it to the reader's imagination..

Another problem is the very nature of writing this way. A lot of the ending was hinted at early on, but naturally, everybody forgets what happened eight months beforehand, whereas if you actually read it, you could get it done in two sittings (it comes out as 128 pages of size 12).

[Saxonaitor]

It has taken me absolutley ages to read this story every word of it top to bottom.

However it was worth every letter

My name is Galieo Figaro, although my friends call me Gandalf the Grey.

People think time is linear, but really, most of the time it's more of a ball, a wimbly wobbly, timey wimey ball of stuff.

That's not stolen from Doctor Who or anything SCIAG.

Brilliance is the word Well Done Indeed