~Hey, remember me? ;) Well, around the anniversary of Toontown's closing, I started thinking that the game and its players deserve a proper send-off, one with some form of closure. And I thought this would be a lot more fun and mysterious than just "We blew up all the Cogs. Game over."

I can't promise how often I'll be able to update this, as I am busy with other projects. But I'm *very* excited about this, and I have a ton of ideas, and I'm committed to seeing this through to the end. Anyway, I hope you like it - and that it can maybe even help all of us make peace with our favorite game's closer. ~

Sellbot Headquarters was a darn sight better than it had been for as far back as the Senior Vice President could remember.

The floor was still smudged with several years' worth of grime, but in much smaller doses. Puddles of oil that had dried and gelled into something like those awful quicksand traps the Toons used had been mostly scrubbed away by the paws of some of those very same Toons. Stray pipes had been de-rusted and gathered into leaning piles until someone could figure out what to do with them. As the head of the Sellbots, that authority fell on the VP, though it confused him the way a lot of things did. He hadn't been around for the entire construction of Sellbot HQ, and he certainly couldn't recall where every pipe went.

Now, if they had some Micromanagers around here, they would probably have known…

And, with Gyro Gearloose's air filter installed, the factory's thick black smoke – the Toons called it "pollution" – had been cut down to a thin gray stream that was much easier to breathe in. The VP's cough was nothing more than a tickle in his chest now, and he hadn't felt hot in the hard drive for weeks.

Best of all, it was peaceful. The VP could hear the comforting drone of his Cogs' voices, from the Cold Callers' sweet metallic chirp to the deep rumble of a Mr. Hollywood, but they weren't raised for a battle. Every now and then, a Toon would come by to check on the Sellbots and make sure they were living up to their end of the bargain – no kidnapped Toons hanging in the cage above the launchpad.

They never picked fights, though. The VP didn't have to listen to the gear-grinding sound of a Cog whirling into a windup, only to explode. That alone made it all worth it. He would do anything for the lives of the Sellbots he was so fond of. Miss Weird Curly Megaquack, his small dog associate, had described it as "love." The VP wasn't ready to go quite that far – it was a very Toony concept for a Cog brain to handle.

The VP shut the lobby doors behind him with a creak and rolled his way back up to his office atop Sellbot Towers. The night air was cool and crisp, and he could actually see a few twinkly things poking through the smoke. What was the Toons' name for those?

"VP."

The sound of his own name made the VP's fingers twitch frantically at his sides. It was spit out, like an insult, no, more like a command. A command like that could have come from…

The Chairman of the Board.

The VP whipped around, nearly landing his bulky body flat on his happy face. Just as he'd dreaded, a monstrous shadow loomed in the VP's office door, its red eyes focused right on him. The Chairman hadn't come calling since before the VP had gotten sick, and it was making his stomach do circles again just to imagine what the boss of all Cogs was doing here.

"S-sir?" the VP stuttered.

"Do come in, boy." The Chairman's voice sounded almost kind, most unusual for him. It pulled the VP closer. "I believe we have some urgent business to discuss."

No, he couldn't have found out that the VP had told Scrooge McDuck's location. No, he would sound much angrier if he had. Maybe, the VP thought happily, maybe the Chairman had had a change of heart. Maybe he no longer considered Bossbots better than Sellbots and Big Cheeses better than Flunkies. Nothing could have made the VP happier!

It was – was "hope" what Miss Megaquack had called it? – that sent the VP trundling cautiously into his office. There wasn't as much sticky stuff for his aging treads to get caught in anymore. The Chairman sat perched on his short wooden stool – the Cog bosses didn't own chairs, and the Chairman took his stool with him wherever he went – one long metal leg crossed over the other.

"Sit down," the Chairman said. As the VP squatted his upper body down on his giant gear-waist, the Chairman held out a steaming mug of oil. The good stuff, too, the kind only the Chairman and his favored could afford.

The VP hadn't been one of the Chairman's favorites for a long time. Not since back before he'd had any competition. This, then, had to be a peace offering, it just had to.

"Do forgive me for barging in uninvited," the Chairman continued, folding his fingers around his own mug. "But I wanted to talk about your Sellbots."

The VP felt his happy-face grin growing wider. His Sellbots were one of his favorite things, so he was sure he would enjoy talking about them. "Yes, sir?" he asked eagerly, sipping his oil.

"I'm sure you are quite aware they are the laughing stock of Toontown."

The VP drooped. This was a conversation they'd had too many times already, and it tugged at someplace in his chest. "Well – sir – you know those Toons – they laugh at everything – "

"Ah, yes, true." The Chairman's wobbly electronic mouth lifted slightly at one corner, as if his oil tasted bad. "And doesn't it just sicken you?"

The VP paused to consider that. He still wasn't used to that bouncing sound that came out of Toons when they were happy. It was odd, and unfamiliar, and sometimes it was so shrill it did cause him to wince.

But sicken him? No. Not anymore.

Luckily, the Chairman didn't appear to be expecting an answer. "It's a pity, really, about the Sellbots," he said. "They have such potential."

The VP was sure the light bulbs on his head had lit up brightly. Potential. That was a word salesmen used a lot, about products or customers that showed promise. It wasn't something the Chairman talked about often. He'd given up on the VP only a few hours after the VP's first defeat, and it still stung –

But if the Chairman was reconsidering –

Then all my troubles are over!

Encouraged, the VP took another drink of his oil. "Really? I mean – truly?" For the eighty-sixth time since he was booted up, he wished he had a more formal vocabulary.

"Indeed," the Chairman said. "Powerful moves, excellent knowledge of when to use them, many wonderful group attacks." He set the mug down on the VP's desk and laced his long fingers together. "Did you know a Level 11 Mingler can do more damage than any other Cog in all of Cog Nation?"

The VP wasn't sure whether to puff with pride or deflate further. He had, in fact, known of The Mingler's threat levels (The Minglers being their proper name), but he had been trying to move away from all that fighting. They were Sellbots, not Battlebots, and the war against Toons was giving them far more losses than profit.

Still, coming from the Chairman, it was a high compliment. The VP decided to accept it gratefully. He nodded, said, "Yes, thank you," and busied himself with his mug.

"And I'm not foolish enough to give up on an enterprise when it could still prove useful," the Chairman went on. The words didn't sound the way the VP had always dreamed they would. "You mark my words – I am going to whip the Sellbots back into shape!"

"You mean, like, with treadmills?" The VP glanced down at his chubby stomach.

The Chairman made a harsh noise. A laugh, the VP guessed, only nothing like the Toons' laughter. "No, not with treadmills, my simple one. With training and discipline and backbone. They need to be raised with a warrior mindset."

The VP opened and closed his mouth until he could hear the hinges creaking. Nothing would come out but a dribble of oil.

"And I see only one thing holding them back." The Chairman's voice was as thick and smooth as the oil itself.

Fear thundered in the VP's chest like those Storm Cloud gags right before they rained. "Wh-what's that?"

The Chairman leaned in closer, eyes glowing red dots. "You."

The VP couldn't keep his head from spinning to reveal his unhappy face, though he knew that would only make things worse. His salesman smile wouldn't crank up. He took another sip of oil out of sheer lack of other ideas.

This time, the panels that served as the Chairman's lips flared black. "I do not recall you having that disgusting slurping habit last time we spoke," he said. "Did your Toon friends teach you that?"

"I don't have any Toon friends," the VP said automatically. The lie came easier than most, because a month ago it was the truth.

Most everything in Sellbot HQ, including the Chairman himself, was a predictable shade of gray. But now the lines were blurring until it all seemed to merge together. The desk became the Chairman became the floor became the sky outside.

The VP put a hand to his head. It couldn't seem to find its way around the light bulbs.

It was rare to see the Chairman smile, but his electric line was curled upward. "Now is the time when you ask what I put in your oil."

"What did you put in my oil?" The VP was curious – he'd heard the Toons were now serving something called "coffee" at a restaurant in the vicinity of Cashbot Headquarters – apparently the dream-themed neighborhood put some of them right to sleep –

And then an all-too-familiar wave of dizziness spun the ground beneath him. One too big for the amount of smoke the factory was pumping out.

He asked it again, in panic this time – "What did you put in my oil?"

The VP could see just enough of the Chairman's face to make him cold all over. "Cream pie filling," his boss chuckled wickedly. "I know how it just does wonders for your gears."

Of course – it was instantly familiar. The VP raised both arms and tried to hold himself steady, but the chirping sound in his head was too loud. He couldn't stand.

The Chairman gave him one quick, effective shove to the chest, the VP's most vulnerable hit spot whenever he was stunned. The VP heard more than felt his treads shoot out from under him, his body crash to the ground. It wasn't as long a fall as the one from the edge of the ramp, but it still shook the room.

"You see, it really is quite straightforward, VP." The Chairman closed his chilly fingers around the VP's upper arm. "All you need is a carrot and a stick."

The VP's teeth wouldn't come apart to scream. He could barely focus on wondering what in Cog Nation either of those objects was. Everything in a Cog's programming insisted he never fight his maker, but the VP had to try. He pulled and shifted and revved his treads into third gear.

But the Chairman was even bigger and not nearly as clumsy, and once the VP was on his back, he was helpless. He could feel every wire quivering as the Chairman rolled him, with hardly any effort, onto his right side, forcing him to turn his back what was happening.

In sheer panic, the VP swiped one hand backward, hoping to catch the Chairman off guard. He landed on metal stronger than anything on his own body and heard the Chairman rattle out loud sound effects that the VP was glad the little Cold Callers weren't around to hear.

Cold Callers, Telemarketers, Name Droppers, Glad Handers, Movers & Shakers, Two-Faces, The Minglers, and Mr. Hollywoods flooded the VP's mind as the Chairman's grasp found the back of his neck. There was the pressing and the holding of something, some button or switch the VP had never been aware of. The last thing he remembered saying was, "What are you going to do to my Sellbots?"

And the hiss he got in return said, "Everything."