TGP glided into the room, its movements silent and unnervingly smooth. It was a chrome-plated angel of swift, bureaucratic justice. A terrorist, having recovered from the initial shock, pulled a backup pistol from an ankle holster. Before he could even raise it, TGP was on him. Two small prongs shot out from the robot's wrist, and a crackle of blue energy arced through the air. The man seized up, his body convulsing as the taser did its work, before collapsing to the floor in a twitching, unconscious heap. The robot didn't even pause. It glided to the next armed threat, and the next, its movements a cold, efficient dance of subjugation.

The remaining terrorists, seeing their comrades dropping like flies, finally broke. Two of them made a desperate, panicked dash for a large, red alarm button on the far wall. They were almost there, their fingers just inches from sounding the alarm that would lock down the entire facility.

But they had forgotten about the mountain.

"Oh no you don't," Case's voice, a low, rumbling sound full of a hungry, cheerful menace, echoed from the doorway. He lumbered into the room, his massive frame blocking out the light, his footsteps shaking the very foundations of the control center. The two guards skidded to a halt, their faces pale masks of pure, primal terror as they stared up at the behemoth before them.

They didn't even have time to scream. Case opened his mouth, his jaw unhinging to a size that defied the very laws of anatomy, and with a single, wet, slurping sound, he inhaled. The two guards were pulled from their feet, their flailing bodies disappearing into the streamer's cavernous maw. He chewed twice, a thoughtful, contemplative expression on his face, and then swallowed with a loud, satisfying gulp. He patted his massive belly. "Tastes like chicken," he announced to his stream, a wide, goofy grin on his face.

The room fell into a dead, profound silence. The few remaining terrorists just stood there, their minds completely shattered by the sheer, unmitigated horror of what they had just witnessed. DragonSlayer paused his non-lethal beatdown, a look of genuine, stark terror on his face. Even TGP's optical sensor seemed to flicker with something that might have been digital disbelief.

And then, the lights went out.

The entire facility was plunged into an absolute, suffocating darkness. A new voice, a slow, confident, and utterly unhinged cackle, echoed from the main control console. The emergency lights flickered on, casting long, dancing shadows across the room, and revealed a new figure. He was a tall, wiry man in a general's uniform, his eyes wide with a manic, triumphant glee.

"Oh, you guys," he laughed, his voice dripping with a condescending amusement. "You think you're so clever. You think you've won." He gestured to the massive screen behind him, which now showed a countdown timer, already under a minute. "But it's over. That country, that glorious nation of the Star, will be destroyed. The bomb can't be stopped."

TGP immediately glided to a nearby terminal, a flurry of holographic interfaces appearing around its hands as it tried to hack into the launch system. After a few tense seconds, it let out a frustrated, synthesized buzz. "He is correct," the robot stated, its voice a flat, emotionless monotone that was somehow more terrifying than any scream. "The launch sequence is locked behind a quantum-encrypted firewall. I cannot stop the imminent chaos that the bomb will start."

The leader just laughed, a high, triumphant sound that echoed through the silent control room. But his laughter was cut short by another, more familiar sound. A soft, almost bored-sounding chuckle.

It was Bombom. He was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, a look of pure, unadulterated boredom on his face. "Look at this, Mr. Terrorist Guy," he said, his voice dripping with a condescending amusement that mirrored the leader's own.

The ethereal, blue-haired boy emerged from his back, a serene, almost lazy smile on his face. He looked at the massive, nuclear-tipped rocket visible on the screen, which was already beginning to vent steam, ready for launch. He just laughed, a silent, melodic sound that seemed to fill the room with a sudden, impossible cold. Tiny, beautiful snowflakes began to drift down from the ceiling. The blue boy waved a hand, a casual, almost dismissive gesture, and the image of the rocket on the screen was instantly encased in a thick, crystalline layer of ice. He laughed again, the snowflakes swirling around him, before he vanished, melting back into Bombom's form.

Then, the muscular shadow erupted. It didn't bother with a pose, or a roar, or a catchphrase. It just appeared, a towering phantom of pure, contemptuous power, and it punched. The screen showing the rocket shattered into a thousand pieces, and a deep, rumbling explosion, muffled by distance and a thick layer of magical ice, shook the entire facility. The countdown timer froze at zero.

The leader fell to his knees, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated disbelief. "W-WHAT?" he gasped, his voice a hoarse, strangled whisper. "HOW?!"

Bombom just laughed, a genuine, hearty sound of pure, triumphant satisfaction. He turned his back on the defeated terrorist, a gesture of supreme, casual dominance. "Alright, TGP," he said, his voice full of a smug, confident authority. "That's on you."

The robot glided over to the kneeling leader. A small compartment on its chassis slid open, and a thin, black cable snaked out, its tip glowing with a faint, blue light. It plugged itself directly into the leader's phone, which he had dropped in his shock. A torrent of data began to flow, the robot's optical sensor whirring as it downloaded every single file, every message, every last shred of the terrorist's digital life. After a few seconds, the cable retracted, and the robot turned to the massive, hungry streamer.

"Case," TGP said, its voice a cold, logical command. "Protocol dictates there can be no survivors here."

Case's face lit up with a look of pure, unadulterated joy. "Of course," he laughed. "I was starting to get hungry. Can I eat the remains of the rocket, too?" Without waiting for an answer, he lumbered over to the kneeling leader. The last thing the terrorist saw was a massive, gaping maw descending upon him.

A comment from Case's stream, spoken in a cheerful, synthesized voice, echoed through the now-silent control room. "Of course he would eat that man. He should have eaten the whole rocket to begin with. YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU'RE BANNED, MODS DO YOUR THING!" Case just kept talking to his stream, completely unfazed by the act of cannibalistic clean-up he had just performed.

Bombom's own stream chat, which had been in a state of blurred, censored chaos for the last five minutes, finally came back into focus.

LMAO

Bombom and Case is the best collab of all time

Too bad the stream was blured in the last 5 minutes, i wanted to see the action

don't worry, Case's stream wasn't censored

"Everything is now working perfectly," TGP announced, its voice returning to its default, pleasant monotone. "Sending encrypted data packet to the government. Mission accomplished. For now."

"That's it?" Bombom asked, a frustrated look on his face. "What about the whole invisible wall? You're just going to ignore that?"

"There are no invisible walls," TGP stated flatly. "Please proceed with the correct information. We must go now."

They walked out of the base, leaving behind a scene of pristine, evidence-free carnage. They arrived back in HozyHoo just as the sun was beginning to set, the city's golden buildings glowing in the warm, evening light. And, as if summoned by the sheer, unmitigated weirdness of their lives, a sleek, black Bugatti screeched to a halt beside them. The window rolled down, revealing the familiar, bald head and smug grin of the city's resident crypto-bro guru.

"Oh my boy!" the bald man laughed, his voice a deep, confident baritone. "We meet again. Where's your Bugatti?"

"It's in my garage," Bombom said with a shrug.

The bald man let out another loud, obnoxious laugh. "Yeah, that is great. Can't let the poors see your expensive car. What a nice robot you got there," he said, gesturing to TGP with his cigar. "He looks just like the guys that want to create the Matrix. Anyway, I have to go. My podcast is going to go crazy with this news." He sped away, a strange, rhythmic Indian music blasting from his car's speakers.

"Is that the guy that gave you that Bugatti?" DragonSlayer asked, a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief on his face.

Bombom just nodded. "Yep. He's super rich. And weird."

"Indeed," Nomu added, his own expression a mixture of confusion and a strange, professional respect for a fellow eccentric.

"He came without some nuggies?" Case whined, his massive frame slumping with disappointment. "Aw, come on. He's so done." Just then, a small, fluffy stray cat with one torn ear rubbed against his leg, letting out a soft, hopeful meow. Case's entire demeanor changed. His face melted into an expression of pure, unconditional love. "KITTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" he squealed, his voice a high-pitched sound of pure, unadulterated joy that was utterly terrifying coming from a man his size. "Awwwwwn, chat! Clip that cat! He's so cute!"

Just as Case was trying to scoop up the terrified feline, the guild's armored car pulled up to the curb. The driver opened the door. "Come on in," he said, his voice full of a weary, seen-it-all professionalism.

Everyone piled into the car and began the long, quiet drive back to the guild. Kenjiro leaned his head against the window, watching the golden buildings of HozyHoo blur into the deepening twilight. This party was a disaster. A chaotic, dysfunctional, and utterly unmanageable train wreck. But they had gotten the job done. And his collab with Case... it had been surprisingly fun. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all.

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