Islington: Insects.
Hordes of Time Trusts rush to the single Smith but are suddenly severed in two by a giant fireblade. Scores upon scores of them dismembered and halved by the monolithic flamesword.
The Time Trust 1639: Ahhh! We're dying!!!
The Time Trust 528: Ahhh! We're dying!!!
The Time Trust 472, 673, 758, 1754, 934, 2457, 834, 725, 1663, 753, 12, 643, 288, and 266: *Hlurrrrlk! ! !*
The Time Trust 528: Ahhh! We're dying!!!
Fused: Whoah, SHIT that was close!
He says as the steel inferno rushes over the top his head. Dogg sets his Super Soaker70thousand to "Holy" and fires a geyser of baptizmal water pausing the Death Angel's mechacide. The singled Smith pauses and begins to walk towards Dogg then suddenly freezes.
Dogg: C'mon, baby, c'mon.
Islington stares at the JLRian with rage and fire explodes from his eyes.
Agent Smith: Ohhh. You want to leave us, Mrs. Dogg? You love him, don't you? It's love that binds you, isn't it? You disgusting meatsack. Well goto him and show him how much you love him.
The Mrs. Dogg/Smith walks to him takes his sunglasses off, then contorts his face backwards and opens his mouth wide as a woman's face comes out. The Smith's upper torso metamorphoses into an attractive young woman.
Mrs. Dogg: I'll always love you. He won't let me go. I'm sorry.
She then warps back into the suit-clad agent and thrusts his elbow into Dogg's sternum, throws a left hook into his gut then launches him airborne with a right uppercut. His watergun drops to the asphalt and the stream of Holy Water dissapates releasing Islington. The Death Angel realizes he cannot move his legs as he was bound by the Divine Water. 15 Agents with their fingers dug deep within his foot send black metallic liquid swirling and crawling up his calves. Outraged, he swats at the Hero with the watergun firearm. His hand sears the back of the Agent Smith attacking Dogg into a firey explosion that sends them both crashing through a boutique's salon window. The Smith contorts and reveals the body of Dogg's wife, still and lifeless.
Dogg: No. Baby, please, no. . .
He pulls himself with his half-broken body towards hers and clutches his beloved wife in his arms. He weeps and buries his face into her hair. After a few sobs, consciousness fails him as the explosions outside muffle into barely audible drumming.
*BLINK*
Dogg finds himself in what he can only relate to as a dentist's chair. He's reclined but the chair is not soft. It's cold. It's metal. Much like the room around him. He sees what looks like his new teammates in similar chairs but asleep in a dreamlike state dressed as paupers. He too is wearing a poorly knitted and long-sleeved shirt with holes eaten out of it. He attepts to raise his head but finds it stuck to the headrest. A man looking at 3 screens with green code raining down them swivels his chair around revealing himself.
The Time Trust: Hello, Dogg.
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Fused: Have I said that - -
JLR: Yes, Yes this really sucks!!!
Fused: I'm just sayin' . . .
Wednesday: I've gotta say I happen to agree. We were crying about Vegi-La 6 hours ago. Take a look around us. It's War of the Worlds mixed with Cirque de Soleil. It's a terror alert 4 alarm code red clusterf- -
SpandexMonkeyMan: Hey shut up! Youre not the leader! You don't get to talk! I'm the winner!
Wednesday: What?
SpandexMonkeyMan: I win!!
Britannica: You're not talking much sense, chap. I think that fall may have knocked a few loose.
SpandexMonkeyMan: Shut up! Whadda you know, smart guy!? You should show respect when youre talking to a prince!
Fused: Dude, that's pretty gay.
Wednesday: Very good. I approve.
SpandexMonkeyMan: Shut up! I rule you both! And I can steal your powers!
Ace: Ok ok! You're a badass. We all get it. The bottom line is that we're stuck in a situation now that's completely out of our hands. Too big for even you, SMM. We've faced some ridiculous odds before, but Wednesday's right. It's pandemonium. We've written, er, fought ourselves into a corner and it's gonna take some major clean up to get us out of it. Or some sort of miracle.
The oily onyx liquid-metal consumes the Death Bringer Islington. His angellic form pulsates and writhes to reshape into the form of a 15 story tall Agent Smith.
Death Angel Smith: THIS. . .IS MY WORLD! ! !
Britannica: Well, mates, I hate to say it, but I'm out of plans and short one miracle.
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Dogg: WTF?!?!?
The Time Trust: I'm just now piecing it together myself.
Dogg: OH God. . . My wife. . .
The Time Trust: Seems to be showing signs of life, apparently.
The Time Trust swivels back around and points to the center screen. Past the green code is The Midnight Spectre 2.0 with his hands together above Dogg's wife. A white healing aura emmanates from his palms and her slowly breathing body.
Dogg: Are you telling me that they're in the Matri- -
The Time Trust: You can stop right there. It's exposition time anyway. You can allow me. As the wise knowledgeable android in the scene I believe I fit the role best. Seems as the CSF crossed into our world they could only exist here if they brought the rules they're bound by here with them. Smith can't exist if he's not in his virtual world.
Dogg: So for a time we were actually in The. . . I'm not saying that.
The Time Trust: You bet. Watch, I'll pull out Nuriko.
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NurikoK98: Even at 140 feet that suit is just fffffffffff'ugly! ! !
Tommy: I think some pin-stripes would look just fab, sugar-baby-honey-muffin-lickin's.
NurikoK98: I'm so glad you're my gorgeous heterosexual idiot boyfriend with a gay man's fashion sense. You're equivalent to the guy fantasy of the big-titted skinny supermodel girlfriend that loves sports, video games and baby-back ribs. Like my daddy usedta say- -
*brrrring - beep! brrrring - beep!*
NurikoK98: Ooh Ooh! ! ! Lemme take this call. I bet it's my stylist! . .wtf. . .? Who the hell is "operator". Hello?
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The Time Trust: Welcome to the real world, Nuriko.
Dogg: Well it's actually a fake real world. If it's based on fiction.
The Time Trust: That might be a redundancy. If the real world in the movie was already a fake real world, then- -
NurikoK98: What the #@^$! ! ! am I
WEARING ?!?!?!
Dogg: I think it's a beige cotton-polyester blend moth-eaten knit sweater. . . with no brand label. . .
NurikoK98: WHAAAAAA?!?!?!??!?!?!
Nuriko shoves past Dogg and knocks him to the metal grate beneath him then kicks Time Trust in his chair away from the computer terminal and presses some random buttons. She storms back to her chair and yanks the spike from the head rest and stabs it violently into the black hyper-terminal on the base of her skull.
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A Golden Dragon wrestles with the Death Angel Smith as the rest of the JLR and Time Trusts battle tirelessly against the barrage of normal sized Agent Smiths.
Smiths in unison: It's-USEless-to-reSIST-us. You-fight-the-inevitable. Let-go-of-your-pathetic "lives" and cleanse this planet of your vile existence.
NurikoK98: So YOURE the one responsible for that fashion travesty!!!
Nuriko picks up the gun and sets it to the primary setting: Wife-stealing Multi-Agent Smith Leg-Breakerering Computer Virus.
NurikoK98: Jag-off. . .I have a Biiiiig Big City sale to catch.
The Super Soaker 70Thousand erupts and a casdade of computer code crashes upon the Death Angel Smith. His teeth clench and he barrels over into a nearby apartment complex shattering tons of brick to the sidewalk below. The hundreds of other agents fall over and clutch their stomachs and heads as light pierces from the cracks in their teeth and fissures of their sunglasses. The Death Angel explodes and each subsequent Smith detonate as a 5 block diameter shockwave thunders shattering the glass of car windshields and building windows as far as the eye can see.
Time Trust androids and Justice League Reality heroes are strewn about the scene amongst a whirlwind of newspapers, leaves and street clutter. Nuriko collapses from the strain of holding the weapon and falls to her knees.
The Terminatrix: "Khourin Fujiyama"?
Nuriko is lifted into the air by her hair wrapped around the female killer-cyborg's fist and one well-tailored shoe falls off her foot falling three feet to the pavement. Tears begin to well in her eyes from the pain piercing on top of her head. The salty fluid balls up and rolls down her cheeks unblurring her vision to reveal the sight over T-X's shoulder: The CSF.
Moriarty: Now. . . where were we?
