Phil Bond in FROM INDIA WITH LOVE - The Misadventures of Phil Bond: Accidental Secret Agent

by TheOrange

Lost Episodes Reading Order < 21 >

<1 April 2001, Nighttime -- India>

Lights glimmer over a heat-blasted landscape, far too illuminated for such a moonless night (for those of you who know what phase the moon was *really* in on April first, please suspend disbelief). Behind a hill, strategically choreographed so that the camera can't see what's over it, a magenta vortex opens and a lone skidder slips out onto the parched earth.

His hair -- what can be seen of it -- is disheveled. His clothes haven't been changed in months. He smells worse than Marlon Brando's knee pits. None of this matters, not at this particular moment. Calloused hands search the dusty ground for the object that fell nearby. It MUST have fallen nearby...

PrimeX: Where is it? Where the hell is it?

After a few strenuous and anxiety-filled moments of groping in the quasi-dark, PrimeX's hands finally discover the beaten afro. Though it can no longer sustain its luminance for long, the digital display blinks obediently to life.

PrimeX: Is this it? Did I finally make it back?

The weary traveler limps over the nearby hilltop.

PrimeX: Am I really... home?

As he approaches the ridge, the ever-expanding sight horrifies him. Everywhere, fires are burning. He sees men scuffling listlessly back and forth among the flames, encouraging them ever higher. Not a single one of the men runs. Odd, there are *only* men. Off in the distance, he hears something slowly gaining aural prominence over the crackling of the blaze and the cries of the misfortunate. It sounds vaguely like singing.

Scraggly and unshaven, PrimeX whirls around quickly enough to make him lightheaded, but fights this biological urge. Still left half-lucid, he can barely make out a marching parade. He runs towards it, for all he can actually run. Wherever the group is heading, it has to be better than where he's at. Even over the blood pounding in his ears, he can hear the voices getting stronger.

Voices: <faintly> Da da da...

The group ducks behind some burning debris, and for a few anxious moments, PrimeX is afraid he's lost them. Dropping the afro, he collapses, and the world creeps away from him as hunger and stress finally take its toll. And almost as if to answer his half-imagined prayer, the group loops around the next bend. As he loses his grip on reality, the singing becomes more pervasive. Before long he is found. PrimeX looks up through weakening eyes and describes in the best terms what he thinks he sees.

PrimeX: It's... like a choir of angels...

The stunningly attractive women who surround him, all oblivious to the meaning of his words, look on in the deepest sympathy. They begin to part as the only one who could ever stand a chance to help comes forth.

PrimeX: Keep singing... never stop singing...

As PrimeX finally succumbs to unconsciousness, something registers in his brain that he can only liken to the voice of God.

Daler Mehndi: I am happy you like my song. I thank you for spreading love and humanity through my music universally.

And finally, for PrimeX, the world goes dark.

FROM INDIA WITH LOVE

</Title><Credits>

Starring: Phil Bond, Daler "The Big Pimp" Mehndi, Angelina Jolie as "Agent 37", and Phil's Girlfriend Liz

Co-starring: TheOrange, Chris Deschane, Senator Herb Kohl, George Takei as "The Boss," and David Foley as "Some Random Prostitute"

Guest Appearance by: Megatron, the Big Floating Head.

Story by TheOrange

Based Upon "Beast Machines: The Lost Episodes" created by Traegorn RavenHawk

</Credits>

Girls dance as fires rage around them. Out of the flames the form of a pudgy Indian man comes into prominence. He remains a silhouette of fire, and dances, dances, dances like there's no tomorrow. The women, unable to contain themselves any longer in his presence, rush to his portly, gyrating form. They subsequently turn into heated plasma and meld into the background. The image of the man finally solidifies, but still smolders around the edges. The last thing we see before the spectacle fades from view is an infectious, stubble-faced grin.

</OpeningSequence>

<3 April 2001 -- The Boss's Newly Redecorated Office -- The Agency>

Phil Bond: You wanted to see me, sir?

The Boss, staring out into space (which is really just a high-resolution projection of a starscape on his brand new view screen), doesn't make any indication that Phil had entered or indeed had said anything immediately upon doing so. After a moment, he glances over his shoulder at the accidental secret agent. Then, taking his hands from behind his back, he holds one arm out ramrod straight and palm-up, indicating the three solitary chairs across from his desk.

The Boss: Please, have a seat, Agent Bond.

Phil chooses the chair farthest to his left, which causes The Boss the minor annoyance of having to look somewhat sideways at him.

Phil Bond: This is new...

Phil admires the ceiling of the redecoed office, now a dome painted like the Sistine Chapel, except with characters from Kimagure Orange Road rather than cherubs and women with water retention problems. The lights which allow one to see the spectacle remain hidden inside a ledge that encircles the now mostly cylindrical room. The Boss circles around his stylish and flawlessly smooth desk to a captain's chair that would put William Shatner to shame.

The Boss: I'd like to commend you on a job well done. You handled the Bottalk situation admirably. And, even though you've had these last few months off, I'm sure you're ready to spring back into action, am I right?

Phil doesn't say anything. The Boss takes a seat in his chair, swivels it a few times just to hear the satisfying "new chair squeak noise," and rests an ankle tentatively on his thigh. He then splays his arms out to either side and looks up towards the ceiling with his eyes.

The Boss: Do you like the new look? I designed it myself.

Phil tries his hardest to ignore the bookshelves filled with the finest in Japanese Literature, Manga, and assorted Hentai books which line the remaining wall space.

Phil: <deadpan> ... Why didn't you tell me?

The Boss: Well, to be honest, this IS my office, and I don't see how--

The Boss looks at Phil, who doesn't seem to be in a joking mood.

The Boss: <steepling his fingers> Oh, you mean the whole "you're really Phil Bond even though we told you that you weren't after we told you that you were, so now you're angry and upset" thing? Yes, I've been meaning to bring that up sooner or later...

Phil Bond: I don't think "upset" begins to cover it.

The Boss: You have to realize what a delicate situation this is. Mind wipes can be tricky things. There's a danger inherent in telling an agent who's been mind-wiped about his past. In almost 100% of past cases it has led to permanent regression. However, no one has ever been under as long as you have, and it quite frankly baffles us.

Phil Bond: So what... does this mean that I might not be the real Phil Bond?

The Boss: <swiveling in his chair> Don't be silly. We could never make a mistake like that.

The Boss takes a moment to gaze into the nearly imperceptibly moving star field.

Phil Bond: Where's 37? I thought she was supposed to report here with me.

The Boss looks over his steepled fingers to Phil, swiveling back and forth in a tight arc using his one uncrossed leg.

The Boss: Actually, that's precisely why I've called you in. Agent 37 and Agent 69 were ambushed in their most recent mission. We lost contact over a day ago.

Phil bolts upright at the news, but due to the domed nature of his chair strikes the top of his head against it's unlikely curvature, and sprawls himself on the ground over the image of the seal of the Agency. As he recovers, Phil marvels at how the edges of the seal dissolve into a sort of mottled Navy blue that seems to change hues and patterns as he looks at it. Seems like there's not a single bit of wasted space in this new office.

The Boss: <without even getting up> Are you alright?

Phil Bond: Agent 69? You sent her out there with DESCHANE!?

The Boss: He's decided to go into acting and change his name, like most of our agents do. He would now like to be referred to as Jeremiah Isthar.

Phil Bond: Are you kidding me? She's out there right now with that rookie--!

The Boss: Jeremiah has been pulling to become a field agent since he joined the Agency, and I thought this would be a rather benign mission in which he could prove himself. NONE of us could have expected... this.

The seal over which Phil is still somewhat sprawled dissolves, and the entire floor seems to turn to glass as the quasi-three dimensional image of an Indian landscape comes into focus, and immediate begins rushing towards Phil, who can't help but feel a rather extreme measure of vertigo. Finally, the world stops moving, and a small blinking indicator appears over a seemingly nondescript city.

The Boss: Their last known location was here, where Daler Mehndi was giving a benefit concert that would aid the U.N. in sending medicine to underprivileged areas...

Phil Bond: Daler Mehndi?

The Boss: I see you've heard of him?

Phil Bond: You could say that.

The Boss: We had heard that there were some strange things going on in India over the last few weeks, so we sent in this team to investigate. After making their scheduled rendezvous, they attended the benefit under cover, as planned. And then, we got this...

The Boss touches a spot on the impossibly smooth surface of his desk, which begins to glow slightly. Hidden speakers spring to life without so much as a crackle or fizz. Such aural clarity only serves to amplify the crackles and fizzes of the recorded transmission.

Jeremiah Isthar: >FIZZLE< We've encountered a... >CRACKLE!< ...can't believe what I'm seeing, it's >WHIRR< ..incredible display... >POP< ...Agent 37 has already... >SKREECH< ...absolutely ENORMOUS! >FIZZLE WHIRR pop!<

Phil Bond: What, that's it?

The Boss: Yes, unfortunately. Something was jamming the signal. We still haven't determined what -- it didn't seem that there was any advanced equipment present. At any rate, we need to you keep your eyes open. Contact us the moment you find anything.

Phil Bond: Why me? Aren't there other agents that are better trained to handle this sort of thing, you know, ones who actually KNOW who they are?

The Boss: All are currently on assignment...

Tommy: You have to attack the ground, not just land. ATTACK it!

TheOrange: Dude, so why don't you stick around and be our triple jump coach?

Tommy: Because... the world needs me.

TheOrange: Huh?

Tommy: ... never mind.

</cut>

The Boss: ... and Agent 37 is your partner.

Phil Bond: She's a big girl. She can handle herself.

The Boss: Yes, she certainly can can't she. ... I mean, "Dismissed!"

Phil Bond: If I may, sir... you brought me all the way here, just to tell me that?

The Boss: Well, no. I wanted to show off my office to someone, but they had all either been captured...

Phil Bond: ... or were on assignment.

The Boss: Right. Best of luck, Agent Bond.

<Elsewhere, inside a customized 777 to the next concert location>

PrimeX wakes up in the semi-dark, panic-stricken. He calms moments later, after taking in his surroundings. The curvature of the left wall ends abruptly in upright bars, creating a barrier to his right. He is capped on either side by aluminum plates, which separate him from other cells. He relaxes. Though a seemingly odd reaction, he realizes that no dinosaurs will snip at his limbs while he sleeps, no primitive cultures will be rumbling through his pockets for fancy metals (if he indeed even HAD pockets any more), and -- most importantly -- he no longer had to put up with those disgusting, foul, *Autobots.* He sighs, content.

PrimeX: Free at last...

Suddenly, the thought occurs to him that he should be concerned about where he is, rather than where he isn't. He sits upright. His injuries seem to have been healing nicely. His clothes have been changed again, most likely while he was asleep. Not that it mattered -- the girls were all loyal to their master. They would do nothing to betray him.

PrimeX: We've moved again, haven't we...

Voice: Who is that?

The voice startles PrimeX, who hasn't heard another human speak to him since that one, glorious day. He stands in his rather luxuriously furbished cell and looks across the small corridor to another cell. He sees the form of a rather professional-looking young man with a funny haircut.

PrimeX: You may call me... er... Pedro. <peers closer> You work for the Agency, don't you?

Voice: What agency? There are lots of agencies.

PrimeX: <shaking his finger> Tsk tsk. You can't fool me, boy. Why are you here? Trying to stop the Master? It is a fool's errand boy. He will not stop unless he wishes to stop. It would be best for you to simply stay in your place and wait this out. We may be here for quite some time.

Voice: I can't accept that! This mission failed because of me. I will get out at any cost.

PrimeX: Ah, such a fire in you. I have come to expect as much from members of the Agency. Except, you seem quite a bit more... hinged that most of its members.

Voice: Just you wait... I'll move up in the ranks and start making REAL changes to that humdrum organization.

Primex: <clasping his hands together> Oh, I am certain you will. I am certain you will at that. <looks down hallway> Ah, excellent! Dinner!

Voice: Dinner

Before either stranger can talk further, some women dressed in flowing sheets and shining jewels come and open their cell doors. The pair are lead down to the opposite end of the hall, which ends abruptly in a stairwell, leading down.

PrimeX: So, tell me your name, boy.

Voice: Ch-- I mean, Jeremiah Isthar.

PrimeX: Jeremiah Isthar? Excellent. <ignoring their escort> So, Jeremiah Isthar, what would you say if I told you that I know how we can get out of here?

Female #1: <thick Hindi accent> There is no escape.

PrimeX: Yes, of course, my dear.

Jeremiah Isthar: I'd say I'm all ears.

PrimeX: <looks at Isthar's ears> Yes, you certainly are at that. Worry not, boy... you will yet prove your worthiness to me... and to the Agency...

Phil Bond: Dammit dammit DAMMIT!

Senator Herb Kohl: Was it that bad?

Phil Bond: You have no idea.

Senator Herb Kohl: Try me.

Phil Bond: I'd rather not.

Senator Herb Kohl: Fair enough.

The Senator taps the window behind him, and the glass slides down. Phil watches unimpressed as he sees the evening sky whip past him at hypersonic speeds. The "driver" takes a moment to turn back to the Senator.

Senator Herb Kohl: We'll be dropping off Mr. Bond first, Eugene.

The rather miniscule man nods in agreement.

Phil Bond: <muttering to himself> Damn, I suck.

Senator Herb Kohl: What's that?

Phil Bond: I said "watch out for that duck."

Eugene swerves the air vehicle suddenly, as it narrowly avoids a collision with a rather large jumbo jet.

Phil Bond: What the hell am I going to do...

<Feel-Good Sublet of the Summer -- Madison, Wisconsin>

Liz: Hey, poopie-head! You seem sad. What's up?

Phil: I've failed. I've failed so miserably that I can't even bring myself to tell you how miserably I've failed.

Liz: Still can't beat Oracle of Ages, huh? Don't worry, I don't blame you. It was really tough. Just look at how many times I died trying to beat the last guy.

Liz waves her Game Boy Color in front of Phil. Below a rather victorious-looking Link and Nayru sits the smug little number "007."

Phil: This has to be some kind of sick, cruel joke the universe is playing on me. How am I supposed to find Daler Mehndi now?

Liz: Well, I'm off, silly. Don't be asleep when I get back!

Phil Bond: Where are you going?

Liz: To the concert, remember?

Phil Bond: Concert? Well, okay. Have fun.

Liz: Are you sure you don't want to come? I'll be soooo cold, and you could be there to keep me warm.

Phil considers this for a long moment.

Phil Bond: I'd better not. I might infect you with my failure.

Liz: Okay, well, whatever. Don't have too much fun without me.

Phil Bond: <turning on his computer> I won't. Trust me.

Liz: Bye bye!

After Phil watches her leave, he tries to console himself by visiting his usual message boards. Nothing works. In desperation, he fires up AOL Instant Messenger.

Zac Shipley: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Hey, Phil. How's it hanging?

Phil Bond: Not now, Shipley.

Zac Shipley: <via AOL Instant Messenger> I'm sorry, that's too obvious. I was just trying to get a rise out of you.

Phil Bond: I don't have time for this!

Aerosurge: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Someone call me?

Phil puts Aerosurge and Zac on his ignore list.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Jeez, man, you'll never believe what I slept through today!

Phil Bond: ...I've lost her. It's all my fault.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Dude, this cat chick on He-Man is freakin' hot. Would you get it on with a cat chick? Her name's Katrina. Cute, huh?

Phil Bond: You don't seem to understand. It's all my fault. Liz went to some concert at Camp Randall with her Scorponok, and left here all alone to think about it...

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Holy crap on a "is my roommate dead?" stick! That's TODAY?

Phil Bond: What? What's so important about this concert? She didn't tell me anything about it.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Dude, Daler Mehndi is performing in Madison today! His stuff is HOT! Tunak Tunak Tun, Tunak Tunak Tun, Tunak Tunak Tun, DA DA DA!

Phil Bond: !!!

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Ah, now I see. That sort of thing makes much more sense if it's typed.

No response.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Phil? Hello?

Still no response.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> Dammit, you always do this to me. Hello? Is AOL starting to ghost you, too?

Crickets chirp.

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> That's it! I'm logging off!

Phil runs almost blindly to the football-field-turned-outdoor-stage. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the rioting, suspiciously single men, and piles of dropped purses and women's cosmetics. Similarly ignoring the messages of fatigue pummeling his brain, he finally makes it to his destination, only to see...

Nothing.

The stadium is empty, save a few scraps of paper. All is desolate. Bonfires rage outside, along with upset and protesting students. For the first time ever, the measures that the University of Wisconsin took to resist anti-Vietnam demonstrations are put to the test. Angry male students become even more enraged by the staircases that lead to nowhere. Others fall down slippery slopes that lead to thick Plexiglas windows more narrow than the human body. The rest simply gape in awe at the statue of Abe Lincoln, now standing erect for the first time in the school's history.

Phil turns around and walks home.

<Feel-Good Sublet of the Summer -- Madison, Wisconsin>

TheOrange: <via AOL Instant Messenger> You know, it's not the end of the world.

Phil Bond: Shut the hell up.

TheOrange: There are plenty of women just waiting to be all over a spy hero stud like yourself. Remember when you shook hands with Venus Terzo last year? Did you notice the unusual way in which she cradled yours?

Phil Bond: So what?

TheOrange: Dude, I think she wants you.

Phil Bond: Like I care!

TheOrange: That's just it! I've noticed this about you: you DON'T care.

Phil Bond: What are you talking about now?

TheOrange: For a secret agent, you're so suspiciously monogamous. If I were the one working closely with a girl like Agent 37 -- who thought that I was her old boyfriend, no less... oh yeah.

Phil Bond: What are you saying?

TheOrange: You need to get out more. Be true to your idiom! See the world! Live in the moment!

Phil Bond: "Love the one you're with?"

TheOrange: Exactly!

Phil Bond: I never knew you were this unscrupulous. Or this much of an insensitive prick.

TheOrange: I'm not, I'm just setting up your next scene.

Phil Bond: Alright, so, what do you think I should do now?

<Elsewhere, again>

PrimeX: So, your partner is Agent 37? Ho ho, this is rich. This is so much better than I could have hoped!

Jeremiah Isthar: Why do you say that?

PrimeX: I've already told you that I used to be Agency. Don't worry, we'll get you and your partner out of here soon enough.

Jeremiah Isthar: Good, because there's no way I'm going to fail in my mission! I CAN'T. I... I won't.

PrimeX: That's the spirit! Exactly what I wanted to hear. Now, in this new crop that we've picked up there's this one girl who brought something very special on board with her. Get it for me.

Jeremiah Isthar: But how am I supposed to do that?

PrimeX: That's for you to figure out! You're a member of the Agency! Do what you have to do!

Jeremiah Isthar: But--

PrimeX steps in closer to Jeremiah Isthar, and stares him down, even though he's slightly shorter in stature than the secret agent-in-training.

PrimeX: Do you want to save your partner? Do you want to prove that you have what it takes to be Agency material?

Jeremiah Isthar: Of... of course.

PrimeX: Then you must do this! Not only for yourself, but for the helpless creature you dragged in here! Take responsibility, boy!

Jeremiah Isthar steels himself, set on his task.

Jeremiah Isthar: I'll save you Ange. I won't fail. Just hold out for me. Don't give in and don't give up. I'll take you away from this terrible monster that calls itself a man...

Agent 37 looks up at the cabin ceiling through her Lennon-style shades as she shift slightly, cradled in her deep pillow of a bed.

Some Random Harem Girl: The master is coming!

Agent 37 sits up in attention. All around, the cargo hold is filled with multi-leveled tiers of women, all lounging in luxury in the nicely padded prison fashioned for them. Agent 37 is on a raised platform, somewhat apart from the rest. This is a waiting area, designated for those who are to spend time with the "master" in turn. Agent 37 has been waiting for quite a while.

A rather attractive young girl, not much older than 20, slowly makes her way onto the platform. Agent 37 watches inconspicuously as the girl talks to some of her new friends.

Random Harem Girl: You look exhausted.

20-Something Chick: Yes... I was with the Master all night.

Another Random Girl: Really? What was it like?

The girl plops down on a pillow and smiles to herself, gently tracing a finger just below her exposed clavicle before answering.

20-Something Chick: He was... absolutely amazing!

The girls all giggle together. Agent 37 doesn't so much as crack a smile. It's not long before the entire hold explodes into a din of frenzied conversation.

The Master has entered.

Everywhere, all of the girls shout and scream and beg to be next. As he passes through, Daler Mehndi smiles and greets every one of them who cross his path. Agent 37 sits up in her pillow bed, genuinely interested. She slides her shades back up her nose as he makes his way back up the podium and looks coyly away, as if disinterested. She feels him looking at her, and turns for a moment to stare at him. His face reflects back at him in her glasses, and she holds a slight smile for a few moments. He hesitates for a moment, smiles back, and selects one of the other girls on the podium.

Daler Mehndi: I am picking you for the one who is being next.

Lights dim in the hangar, and a spotlight shoots down upon the solitary duo. Holding Mehndi by the wrist, the ecstatic girl is lightly pulled up from the floor. Music begins to play slowly, as violins fill the cabin air. They begin to spin silently together. Then the music goes into full tilt, the lights switch back on, and everyone begins dancing. As if unnoticed by the crowd, the pair slip off into another compartment together.

As the action moves away from the podium, Agent 37 notices one girl still asleep on the floor. She takes her shades off, and slides gently over to where the other is sleeping. The girl clutches a nearly complete Scorponok to her chest. The music rouses her, and she awakes to see Agent 37 nearby, looking at her. Agent 37 smiles warmly. It's time to get down to business.

Agent 37: <shouting over the music> What's your name?

The girl stares wide-eyed, barely understanding over all the noise.

Liz: Huh? Where am I? How did I get here?

Agent 37: Don't worry <helps Liz up>, it's going to be fine.

Liz: Who are you?

Agent 37: <smiling again> Call me Ange. Don't you worry about a thing. Just stick with me.

Agent 37 wraps an arm around the shorter Liz.

Agent 37: ... I'm going to make sure that you're next.

A rather attractive but overly-dressed woman stands on the street corner, smoking a cigarette. It's not a particularly cold night, but she seems chilled. Actually, she's more angry than anything. No one's come by for hours except for police cars, all seeming to race towards the vicinity of Camp Randall. Of course, a police officer is the last person she wants to take notice of her.

Hooker: Damn. You'd think I'd be hot for business on *this* night...

The hooker takes another drag from her cigarette, then flicks it out into the street. The spray from a broken fire hydrant puts it out. She figures it must have gotten that way while she was taking a break in the little boy's room, where occasionally it's easier to find customers. It's not something she does often, especially since urinals creep her out to some extent. She can't explain it, really, it's just a concept she's never been comfortable with. She starts pacing a little, wondering if she shouldn't have moved to Quebec after all. Then, as if in luck, she sees a white Jetta pull up to an abandoned gas station. She watches as the driver gets out and tries to elicit gasoline from the ancient pump. Between puffs of her cigarette, she calls over to him.

Hooker: They're closed!

The bewildered driver looks around until he sees the hooker in the dim light. He then takes a good look at the gas station and turns back to her.

Phil Bond: You're right!

The hooker watches Phil screw his gas cap back on until it clicks. She intercepts him before he can get away, and taps on his window. Phil slowly, almost painfully, winds down the window by hand. The hooker looks over her lighter at him as she ignites another cancer stick.

Hooker: You could try PDQ.

Phil: <looking somewhat bewildered> Yeah.

He's about to start the car when the Hooker blows a little smoke his way.

Hooker: Hey, could you give me a ride?

Phil ponders this question for a moment.

Phil Bond: Sure, why not? It's not like I have anything better to do tonight.

Hooker: <to herself> Aha! Score!

She walks over to the passenger side in her high heels and puts her hand on the door handle.

Phil Bond: Wait, let me get that for you--

Its too late. She pulls, and the handle comes off.

Phil Bond: Right. Don't worry about that. I'll fix it later.

Hooker: <staring at the door handle in her hand> Uh huh.

She passes the disembodied handle over to Phil through the open passenger window, and fearlessly puts out her cigarette on the gas pump. After Phil opens the door for her, she steps in and gives the door a good slam (you people and your potty-minds, I swear). The car pulls away from the abandoned station. Behind them, the gas pump explodes, and the previously leaky fire hydrant goes into full spray, putting out the flames.

The hooker, turned around in her seat, watches somewhat disinterestedly, yet still glad that she wasn't around when the thing blew. She swivels back around and looks out the window for a moment, then leans against the door and looks at Phil.

Hooker: So, what are you doing up so late?

Phil Bond: I, uh... just got off work.

Hooker: I see. So I suppose you want to go to bed real soon.

Phil Bond: Naw, I got up right before work. I'll be up a while longer.

Hooker: Oh. You wanna go for a little ride below the Beltline?

Phil Bond: <smiling inwardly> I dunno... you sure you wanna do that?

The hooker covers herself up a little and sits ramrod straight in her seat, staring at the road ahead.

Hooker: Uh oh, you're not one of those guys from Student Impact, are you? Because if you are--

Phil Bond: What!? No! Just relax. I kind a feel like having a night on the town, know what I'm saying?

Hooker: <relaxing> Mmm, I certainly do. I just hope you can float this boat.

Phil Bond: Worry not: <pulling out his Federally-issued charge card> the green is covered.

Hooker: Did you learn nothing from Jerry Springer?

Phil Bond: Huh?

Hooker: Never mind. Just drive.

Phil Bond: Okay. Well, I hope you're in good shape.

Hooker: Why's that?

Phil Bond: Because this is going to be murder on your thighs.

Liz: Wow, you have a cool boyfriend too? Isn't it great? He helped me pay for this Scorponok, which is in no way cute.

Agent 37: Well, that was certainly nice of him. My, er, "boyfriend" is pretty sweet, too.

Liz: Really? What's he like?

Agent 37: Well, he's kinda quiet.

Liz: Mine too!

Agent 37: And he doesn't like it too much when you poke fun at him...

Liz: Yeah!

Agent 37: And he's courageous to a fault. He'll do anything to get me out of here.

Liz: Wow! It's almost like we're talking about the same guy!

Agent 37: Yeah. But... he always keeps me at arm's length...

Liz: That doesn't sound like my boyfriend at all. You want mine? We could trade and I could whip yours into shape.

Agent 37: I don't know, he sounds like a real find. If I were you I wouldn't trade him for the world.

Liz: Yeah, you're right. You probably couldn't handle him, anyway.

Agent 37: Hmmm...

Hooker: I've never experienced anything like that before!

Phil Bond: Wanna go again?

Hooker: Absolutely! How are you holding up?

Phil Bond: I haven't maxed out yet!

A bunch of little kids go running by when the next game is called. The hooker suddenly realizes the inappropriateness of her attire.

Hooker: I feel a bit underdressed with all these little tykes running around.

Phil Bond: Don't worry, they're used to seeing unconventional fashion sense.

The hooker looks behind the counter at the girl with slightly spiky hair and multiple, multiple piercings. The girl pops her gum loudly.

Spiky-Haired Girl: You ain't got nothing on me, honey. Why don't you buy some threads to cover that fat ass of yours?

Hooker: These are my work clothes, you obnoxious little scag.

Spiky-Haired Girl: <sticking up middle finger> Sit and swivel, sweetheart. Or have you done that tonight already?

Hooker: <throwing away her white, nondescript plastic bag> You wanna go, bitch?!

Lady: Any time, you two-bit whore!

Hooker: What? Only TWO bits? <leaps> DIE!

Liz: Wow! You guys get to work together?

Agent 37: Yeah, we even have cool code names. I'm also an actress part time.

Liz: Wow! I thought I recognized you from "Girl, Interrupted."

Agent 37 sits for a moment, realizing that it's almost time to get down to business and dispense with the pleasantries. She's not proud of what she's asking this obviously sweet and innocent girl to do, but it's necessary if she's going too complete her mission.

Agent 37: So, do you think you can do what we were talking about earlier?

Liz: Uh huh! It'll be super-easy!

Agent 37 looks over Liz's Scorponok to see the girl who had been taken away earlier re-enter.

Agent 37: Good, because he's going to be here real soon...

<Nearby, in the dining compartment>

PrimeX looks at his watch, which hasn't worked since the first time he went through the vortex. Backwhen the evil, vicious Phil Bond... he shakes the thought from his mind. No matter what his watch would say, it would still be time to implement his plans.

PrimeX: <over his curry-laden meal> So, you think you can do it?

Jeremiah Isthar: I've never been more ready.

PrimeX: Good.

PrimeX suddenly stands up, and a few attentive female guards begin to approach him. PrimeX smiles, puts on the now non-functioning afro, and begins to dance, dance, dance like there's no tomorrow. They don't even notice Jeremiah Isthar slip out of the dining room, and clocking the female harem guard outside...

Hooker: You say you come here a lot?

Phil Bond: Yeah, it's a nice place. Me and Orange would come here whenever I'd get a new Ranma book.

Hooker: Who?

Phil Bond: Me and... ah, never mind.

Hooker: Friend of yours?

Phil Bond: Yeah. At least I think so. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for losing his gun.

Hooker: His what!?

Phil Bond: Never mind. Long story.

Hooker: Do you have any clue what happened to it?

The Mega-Head floats idyllically across the Cybertropolis horizon.

Megatron: It's done! It's done! I'm finished! Nothing short of Phil Bond can stop me now!

Galvatron / Unicron: We'll see about that...

</cut>

Phil Bond: Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.

Hooker: Walk me outside?

Phil Bond: Sure.

They go outside, and the hooker lights up another cigarette.

Phil Bond: Are you sure you should be doing this? Smoking, I mean?

The hooker laughs, then hacks for a few seconds.

Hooker: Believe me, honey, with my job cancer is the LEAST of my worries.

Phil Bond: Why, do you work in a textile factory or something?

Hooker: <smiling> You're cute.

Phil Bond: Yeah, I know. <sips coke>

Girls: The Master is coming!

Jeremiah Isthar, in the clothes of the harem guard he knocked out (for those of you into that sort of thing, it's a purple wrap with a rather intricately detailed transparent red headpiece) covers his face with a veil and walks in with the other harem guard girls. They politely pretend not to notice.

Mehndi scans the podium, quickly skirting around those who he deems not worthy. When he comes by Agent 37 and Liz, he locks eyes with the erstwhile actress once again. Liz just smiles and waves, still cradling her toy, making several failed attempts at looking coyly seductive. Mehndi smiles back and motions to his harem guards. They surround the podium.

Daler Mehndi: I am picking you for to being next.

Liz doesn't get it, but stands up anyway, looking rather like a cat about to dart under a couch, except with far less fur. The "Master" is about to begin the ritual dance when Agent 37 stands up and grabs him by the wrist.

Agent 37: No! I can't stand it any more! I can't watch you take one girl after another while constantly overlooking me. You make it even worse with the way you look at me every time, but always pick someone else. There can't BE anyone else! Only me! Choose me, next!

Daler Mehndi: Ah, yes. This is the sort of enthusiasm that I am to be liking. But you are not to being next, my dear...

Agent 37: <still holding on> Please! I can't bear to share you with anyone else!

While no one is looking, Jeremiah Isthar sneaks around, ready to grab Liz's plastic pile of pugliness.

Daler Mehndi: My Friends, I believe I am been having found her. At last...

Jeremiah Isthar Makes a grab for the toy, but misses...

Daler Mehndi: ... someone with who I can finally be spreading ...

Jeremiah Isthar makes another grab, and finally snatches Scorponok from Liz's grasp.

Liz: Hey!

Jeremiah Isthar: Yes!

Scorponok: ...

Agent 37: Jeremiah! What the hell are you doing? You're going to mess this all up!

Jeremiah Isthar: I came to save you!

Daler Mehndi: Be seizing him...

Agent 37: No! Jeremiah!

Liz: Scorponok!

Jeremiah Isthar turns and runs, his girlish dress fluttering behind him. He doesn't get far before he is caught. Guards surround

Daler Mehndi: For please! Were you thinking that I am to being fooled so easily, my dear? I was to be knowing that you two are being from the Agency all along.

Agent 37: What? How?

The harem parts as a rather medium figure saunters up to the cross dressing Jeremiah Isthar, and snatches the plastic conglomeration from his grasp.

PrimeX: Me. Duh.

Agent 37: How is this possible! We saw you get sucked into the magenta vortex!

Daler Mehndi: Never be you minding that now. I will still be for taking you to my chamber so that we can spread love and humanity through my music universally.

Agent 37: You monster!

Daler Mehndi: I am being no monster! Come with me. You cannot resist.

Mehndi begins swiveling his pelvis, and half of the harem swoons. He starts waving his arms around majestically and to some unheard rhythm, and the other half follows suit. Soon, the whole room is swinging. Only Liz is left, standing motionless and bewildered, as she looks at her captive toy.

Liz: Scorponok... >sniffle<

Hooker: I must tell you, Phil, I had a marvelous time. In fact, I don't think I've ever had so much fun in my entire life!

Phil Bond: Really?

Hooker: Oh yeah! You know, I've never been out on the town like that before. Most men only want one thing from me.

Phil Bond: What's that?

The hooker only smiles, and gets out of the car.

Hooker: Well, this is where I get off, so to speak. <kisses Phil on the cheek> Thanks for reminding me that not all men are dirty, horny scum. I just may end up living my dream and moving to Quebec after all.

Phil chokes at the mention of anything French-Canadian, but makes no other outward indication of his general disapproval. Phil watches as the woman walks back to the exact same spot where he had seen her before, broken fire hydrant and everything.

Phil Bond: <to himself> You know... I think she was a hooker. <yells out window> Hey, are you a hooker?

Hooker: You mean you didn't know?

Phil Bond: Ha! Wow! Imagine that! What would Liz think if I -- oh my god, LIZ! I gotta find her!

Phil starts his car and drives off, the hooker waving at him. After a few minutes of not knowing where the hell to go, the car dies. Phil bangs his fists against the wheel until he notices that the gas gauge is barely touching the red above empty. He quickly realizes that he never filled up before his little excursion that night. He pounds the steering wheel a couple more times.

When a ninja lands on his hood.

Phil: What the hell!?

More ninjas begin to surround the car. Phil, not knowing what to do, doesn't get out of the car. Then suddenly, his eyes are assaulted by two beams of bright light. The ninjas stop and pause, then turn their attention to the new threat. One by one they fall by an unseen assailant. All that is visible in the dim nighttime light is the flash of a Katar (for the uninitiated, an extended punch dagger). As Phil's eyes recover, he tries to focus on the figure. He thinks he's blind until he realizes that the man's face is being hidden from a convenient shadow cast upon his face.

Phil Bond: <getting out of the car> ...the hell?

Conveniently Shadowed Figure: I thought you'd be needing a little help, eh?

Phil Bond: <looking at the unconscious bodies on the ground> Who the hell are these guys?

Shadowed Figure: They're ninjas.

Phil Bond: Uh huh. And, what are ninjas doing attacking me?

Conveniently Shadowed Figure: Well, the plot was starting to drag, so they conveniently appeared so I could conveniently kick their asses and conveniently tell you where your friends are.

Phil examines one of the still-living ninjas, and realizes that his costume is made out of a cotton / rayon blend.

Phil Bond: What the--?

Conveniently Shadowed Figure: Yeah, we didn't have time to get real ninjas. These guys are just chep Korean knockoffs. <kicks ninja on ground> Anyway, Daler Mehndi and your friends are at the airport inside a huge-ass plane, eh?

Phil Bond: <sarcasm abound> That's fantastic! Great! Thanks for telling me! But... one thing... how the hell am I supposed to get there when my car just ran out of gas!?

Conveniently Shadowed Figure: <tossing keys> Here, take mine.

Phil, awestruck but not ready to look a gift horse in the mouth, runs to the two blinding lights and gets inside the blue sports car. Whoever this guy is, his ride sure is sweet. Phil quickly back out, leaving the mysteriously Shadowed figure behind. It suddenly occurs to him to thank the man, but when he looks again, he's already gone, along with the ninjas. Phil floors it and doesn't look back again.

Phil Bond: Why the hell is the exit labeled going into town, but not leaving town?

As the road traces around the runway, Phil sees the plane. He briefly wonders how he's going to get inside, when the car jerks itself towards the fence.

Phil Bond: The HELL!?

The car rams through the fence without so much rustling its passenger, then, speed up along the runway until it skids to a stop mere inches away from a red convertible.

Phil Bond: Whatever man. That's one less problem I have to deal with, conveniently.

Car: Oh, my crimson goddess...

Phil runs towards the plane, which conveniently has a ladder leading to a conveniently open door. Phil runs into the dark, and feels along walls until there are conveniently no more walls. He inches along until he finds steps, then climbs the steps, and...

The light conveniently take the opportunity to turn themselves on. Phil is surrounded by women. Lots of women. And, on the podium before him...

Liz: Phil!

Phil Bond: Liz!

Agent 37: Phil!

Phil Bond: 37?

Jeremiah Isthar: Scorponok!

Scorponok: ...

Daler Mehndi: Please, let us not be doing the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" moment. That is being overdoing it. You, Mr. Bond, I am glad to be having the pleasure of your company. I have been told so much about you.

Phil Bond: Who...

PrimeX, holding Liz's Scorponok in one hand, walks out from behind Daler Mehndi.

Phil Bond: That's impossible! We all saw you get sucked into the magenta vortex! Nobody comes back from those.

Everyone stares at PrimeX.

PrimeX: What? There's no way in hell I'm slowing this scene down by explaining what happend to me. Maybe some other time, though. Anyway, yes, it's me, Phil Bond. I've come back in time to watch you die.

Phil Bond: This was all a trap... set for me? Why? What the hell makes me so important?!

Daler Mehndi: My friend here tells me that your are being the only one who can be standing in my way, so I therefore will be killing you now. Goodbye, Agent Bond. I am being sorry to see you go before we had a real chance to meet...

Phil Bond: ... kill you!

As Phil charges, Mehndi prepares a ball of flame from his hands. Phil streaks past the singer to ram headlong into PrimeX, who loses his grip on the large plastic toy. Scorponok goes flying, and lands back in Liz's clutches. Something evil glows in its little eyes...

Phil Bond: <pummeling PrimeX> Ange! Get Liz out of here!

Liz and Agent 37 stare at each other. Before they can do anything, Daler Mehndi splits into four versions of himself, each wearing differently-colored clothes. The harem begin dancing at his command. There's no way anyone can escape without being trampled to death by hundreds of dancing, stunningly attractive women (some might say that's not a bad thing).

Daler Mehndi: You are not to be going anywhere...

Agent 37: You! You're Liz!?

Liz: And you're his icky slut partner?

Agent 37: EXCUSE me?

Phil Bond: Why doesn't anything NORMAL ever happen to me?

PrimeX: Too weak to fight...

Phil Bond: Dammit, Deschane.

Jeremiah Isthar: Isthar!

Phil Bond: Whatever! Give me a hand here!

Jeremiah Isthar: I... can't.

Phil Bond: Asshole.

Jeremiah Isthar: Dick!

Phil Bond: Annoying little insect thing!

Jeremiah Isthar: Puny non-agent guy!

One of the Daler Mehndis turns to the arguing pair.

Daler Mehndi: Please be excusing me, but I am the one being the bad guy here who is in the poster. I am being the one you should fight.

Phil Bond: Stay out of this, porky!

Jeremiah Isthar: Yeah! This is personal!

Phil Bond: Look who's talking, cross-dresser. I always knew there was something screwy about you.

Jeremiah Isthar: I did it to save Agent 37!

Speaking of which.

Liz: Stay away from me, you hussy!

Agent 37: Wait, WHOSE idea was it to swap boyfriends?

Liz: GRAR! Die, BITCH! Scorponok, KILL!

The little toys eyes glow, as if in confirmation of the order. Liz throws the Scorponok at Agent 37, who expertly dodges the flying toy. Of course, it just happens to be in the path of the Daler Mehndi whose back is turned to them. He turns just in time to see his demise.

Scorponok: HUG!!

Daler Menhdi Clone: It is to be hugging me to death!

The other Menhdis disappear as the assaulted one crumples to the floor. Liz runs over to to fallen Indian man and takes her toy back.

Liz: Back Scorponok! Bad!

Scorponok: HUG!

Liz: No hugs for you, mister!

The harem has stopped dancing. All eyes are on the fallen portly one, as he coughs from being squeezed by the large plastic thing. The women start filing out of the plane, no longer under the pudgy one's spell.

Random Harem Girl: What the heck did we see in that guy, anyway?

Random Harem Girl #2: Like, I don't know! He's so, like, hairy!

Random Harem Girl: Oh, like I know!

Random Harem Girl #2: Like, oh my god, no way! I just love saying "orange."

Random Harem Girl: Orange!

Daler Mehndi: Please to be coming back! Don't leave me here! I am being insecure and am needing to be around many many women.

Phil Bond: Well, that was rather anticlimactic...

Flocked by dozens of gorgeous women, Kevin Spacey inattentively watches Fox News.

Reporter: <on television> ...police are still rounding up the hotage vitcims from the conspicuously large 777 parked on a Dane County Airport runway in Madison, Wiconsin today...

Kevin watches the screen as he graciously accepts a grape dangled in front of him. On the tv screen, several of the abducted women are shown to the public for dramatic effect, but only the most attractive ones.

Reporter: <on television> ...including big-screen mega-star, Angelina Jolie...

Kevin Spacey coughs at the mention of the name. He snaps to attention, knocking the three women where were on his lap onto the floor.

Kevin Spacey: Ange?

He glances over at the small framed picture next to him, on the floor. Getting up (and therefore throwing off several other girls), he runs over to the phone and dials a number that he hasn't dialed in a long time.

Kevin Spacey: Get me the boss. Tell him it's Agent 42.

Reporter: <on television> So, can you tell us anything about your rescuer?

Agent 37: <on television> I'm sorry, no comment.

Phil Bond: <on television> Are we on tv?

Agency Operator: <via telephone> I'm sorry, sir, but this number has been disconnected.

Kevin Spacey drops the receiver on the floor.

Random Ex-Harem Girl: <on tv> Wow, like, Phil? Can we, like have your autograph? And can you, like, sign it "Phil Bond?"

Agent 37: <punching ex-harem girl> Hands off my partner, bimbo!

Kevin Spacey: Th--that's impossible! He can't be Phil Bond!

One of the girls which Kevin had so rudely dumped on the floor pipes up.

Girl on Floor: Why do you say that darling?

Kevin Spacey: Because *I'M* Phil Bond!

The End?