...*taps screen*

Hello! ...I am alive!

...Oh boy.

So, I've been busy. Very busy completing my last year's worth of essays for university. It isn't an excuse, and I probably should have put something out to tide you all over, and I'm sorry. But I'm here now, and hopefully I can update things faster. I have to admit, the break did me good, I burned through an entire episode in one day after months of being stuck. But hopefully we won't be as long gone as we were this time!

Now, reviews!

Reality Show Rejection/Samaritan Prince: First of all, nice new name! And also, yes and yes! Both of those actually make total sense in my mind and it's canon to me.

Game-Watch: Ha! Thanks for understanding! Hope you understood where I was as well!

AaronCottrell97: What are the odds, right?

MattPrice01: I hope this one is more your size, my friend!

Radical Sandwiches: Hmmm...interesting idea. I'll leave them for the end of the season, but feel free to speculate about our missing figures nonetheless!

UGX7: Yes, that was it! He was the Hogwarts Express...they had to downscale.

jsw: I cannot stress enough that Arthur is not a role model.

The Nerdinator: WHEW! 700! And yes. Yes he does.

Garchomp65: That was more a joke of Thomas's pathetic walk back and the Charlie Brown theme is a reference to the Christmas special which is infamously used as code-word for depressing music. A stupid joke, I admit.

Streakofscarlet: His defence is that he is Thomas. He's gotten off scot-free every time.

HunterCreeper712: Thank you, man! Yeah, I think Annie and Clarabel are ones that I can work on. While they're in every season, they're also doing nothing for the most part, but I will try and incorperate them more into things as you suggest!

MaggieMull99: Thank you! It's honestly rewarding to hear that I'm people's favourite! I hope this rewards your patience and that you have a good time with it!

Guest: BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!

CUE THE THEME!

Emily exited with little fanfare. No one could notice that her time had been far, far briefer than even Toby's.

And still, Edward and Gordon waited.

Suddenly, Arthur returned, beaming with pride. "Well, now that wasn't too hard, was it?!" Several whistles of outrage were ignored as the peacock strutted before them, his smile never fading. "Now, we'll be temporarily putting my interviews on hold today. I rather think you've all had a lot to think about-"

"THANK GOD!" said the ever so subtle Gordon.

"-and as such, I want to move onto something a bit more…practical."

"Practical?!" James snorted. "What, like trust falls?"

…..

AN HOUR LATER.

"Welcome to Trust Falls Cliff!"

"HOLY HELL IT'S SO BLOODY HIGH!"

…..

THE PAST.

Percy is a little green engine who can shunt and pull.

Do you find that sentence draining, or obvious since we've been doing this for who knows how long now? Well tough. We're going to keep hearing stupid stuff like that forever now, so you might as well get used to it! We've got like fifteen of these in this script alone!

Oh, oh, look here's another one! He pulls passengers AND freight!

What makes this different from near any engine on this Island at this point does not present itself to me at this time, so shut up, it's not a plot hole! He works at the docks and the quarry. BOTH! At the same time! I know, what originality!

Well beggar me if that isn't the most original thing ever, this is rid-GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME-

….

ACTUAL DRUGGING BREAK.

…..

Heyyyyy everyone I'm back. No more negativity from meeeeee! I was in Boys from the Black Stuff you know! Hahahaha! Let's go back to our funny British engines doing quaint and amusing things!

Bloody hell it feels like it's taken forever just to get back here!

Ahem. So as we were saying. At the docks and at the quarry, you can see Percy doing what he does best. Messing things up something royal. His favourite job is carrying the mail. It's certainly not something that he has begun to resent after so many years and is only continuing to say that it's his favourite job because some people hold a gun to his face. Not that at all. We promise.

But sometimes Percy has so much to do that he ends up running late. Ah, that is, as the kids say, a mood all right.

That evening (Which evening or day we're talking about, I'm not sure) Percy was moving at such a pace that snails could easily do five laps around him. He slowly, emphasis on slowly, backed the last set of flatbeds back into the yard, and jumped in horror.

"YOU ARE LATE, GREEN MERCHANDISE SELLING ENGINE." The Yard Manager, now a member of the Railway Board, threatened. "I WILL HAVE TO SPEAK TO OUR TOOL, SIR TOPHAM HATT, AND INFORM HIM OF YOUR HENIOUS CRIME. IT IS NOT OUR WISH TO DESTROY A SUITIABLE VENUE OF PROFIT, BUT IF WE MUST, WE WILL."

Percy didn't really care about destruction, or his own come to that. He was too busy being knackered and coughing up seaweed. A mermaid had popped up, he would later tell the other engines, and shoved it in his face when he had demanded three wishes of her. The other engines looked at Percy oddly, and decided as one that he was clearly on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The bus had already left the station in that regards, unfortunately.

Of course, he didn't tell it to the engines then, as all of them were also asleep. James managed the impressive task of making his snoring sound snug.

Then Percy heard voices. This wasn't abnormal for Percy, who heard voices telling him of the future and the past and also that Thomas really needed to die at least thrice a week. But this time, they weren't coming from inside his head. They were coming from the other side of the shed wall.

It was the Fat Controller, and he was talking to Percy's driver. Carlin swayed on his feet like a jelly in an earthquake.

Percy tried not to listen. He didn't try very hard, so he heard what was said.

"PERCY HAS BEEN LATE TOO OFTEN THIS WEEK!"

"Sir, it's eleven at night." Carlin said, so weary that he couldn't even summon up the strength to swear.

"HE MUST GO TO THE SCRAPYARDS TOMORROW!" Carlin loudly hissed at the volume of his voice.

"THE FAT CONTROLLER WANTS TO SCRAP ME!" said Percy, who had inherited from James a slight problem of the vocal chords, in which his whispers sounded like bellows. He worried all night long.

He worried all night short as well, but that wasn't as dramatic.

…

The next morning, the sun shone and the birds sang. It was an Elvis Presley this time around, but Percy was in no mood to listen to the nearby cuckoo screeching out Blue Suede Shoes.

"THE FAT CONTROLLER WANTS TO SCRAP ME!" he wailed.

"Boil your head." Henry said, helpfully.

"AND ALL BECAUSE I WAS LATE!"

"The Fat Controller wouldn't scrap a really useful engine!" declared Thomas.

"Yeah, so you'd better be worried!" chortled James. There was a very loud sigh from Edward that indicated that he didn't honestly give a rats arse about what was going on.

"And you, Percy, are a really useful engine!"

Percy felt better and decided that no, it wasn't time for Thomas to die that week. He then glanced AT the time and swore. "Shit! I'm going to be LATE!" He decided that if he was quick, the Fat Controller wouldn't send him to the scrapyard.

"My word!" said Edward, watching in amazement as Percy shot out of the sheds, across the turntable and out of the yard with lightning speed. "Greasing the rails really does help, apparently!"

Percy's first job was to pick up pipes from Brendam Docks. Cranky was clearly high, and not just because he was a crane. He was taking his time unloading as Percy shot in, banged his buffers on the truck and roared "HURRY UP SLOWCOACH!"

(Somewhere, a rather battered old carriage looked around in confusion at her familiar nickname, before returning to her book)

"Listen…pig! I'll take as long as I like!" Cranky had been creating a new poem on the nature of butterflies, and how their deaths were a symbol of the pointlessness of it all. He decided that very clearly, he should have focused on how Percy proved that there was no meaning to life, not even one that Darwin had figured out. Defiantly, he went slower than ever.

And if one considers how fast Cranky usually was, that was damnably slow.

The moment Cranky was finished, Percy took off. Carlin was apparently sleepwalking, for that was the only reason that could explain why Percy appeared to be in complete control. Neither he nor Percy had waited for the pipes to be tied down.

"Oooh." Carlin said, as he glanced back. "A chain. How f**king classy." He turned back as they rounded the bend. The suspicious sound (The sound that sounded like a ton of pipes falling off a truck and hitting the ground) only made him spur Percy on.

The little green engine needed no encouragement. He was so blinded by what a good and totally not screwed up job he was doing that he blithely shoved the trucks into the appropriate siding and hurried off, blind to the world.

Carlin, meanwhile, wondered what the hell Henry's driver had put in his tea the previous night. It felt incredibly, whatever it was. Like he'd somehow managed to surpass reality.

He next arrived to collect some tar for the men working on the road. For whatever reason they'd not used the helpfully marked 'TAR WAGONS' because productivity was something that no one on this island considered. And the cameraman wasn't going to give him a friendly nudge, was he?

"Be careful!" Carlin said. "Tar is sticky stuff! Much like the rumours that I'm constantly on the verge of a nervous shutdown!"

But Percy wasn't being careful. The rails were once again greased to perfection, so he rattled along at a speed that he really shouldn't have been going. He somehow managed to teleport up Gordon's Hill, and then promptly went down said hill the hard way. Carlin leaned over the side and was violently ill.

So far, so normal.

What wasn't normal was Gordon waiting with the express. Percy didn't see him, too busy planning how 'not-dead' he was going to be over the coming years.

The brake-van, for whatever reason, went sailing down one side of the points. Gordon watched it go in vague surprise, before turning around to see his tar shaped future heading towards him.

"Oh no James is never going to shut up about-"

And then they hit him. The flatbeds managed to do a full ballerina twirl midair, the lids of each barrel were also incredibly loose. Which in fairness, was not on Percy. Gordon didn't have time to consider this, however, as his nose promptly inhaled the black stuff right up there.

"Oh." Carlin said, finally coming back to the land of the living. He paused, and then sheepishly remarked. "Whoops."

Luckily, no one was hurt-

"OH REALLY!?" roared the big blue engine.

-but Gordon was very cross. So again, pretty much par for the course for him. "Now 'ook what 'ou 'one!" he shouted, nose stuffed up to the nth degree. "What 'ill the Ffffffffffffat Controller say?!"

"He'll say "Oh dear Percy, here, dry your eyes?", or something like that." Percy said, hopefully.

"NO HE WILL NOT." Gordon said.

"OH NO. TIS THE END!" Percy wailed, and decided to run away. Gordon, watching in dumbstruck bemusement as the little green engine backed away from him, felt a strange case of déjà vu.

Harvey was along later to clear things up (Not the actual tar, that was a job for the cleaners) when the Fat Controller arrived on Thomas. The little blue engine had nothing better to do than be the Fat Man's personal chariot, apparently.

"Where is Percy?!" boomed Hatt, three representatives from the Railway Board handing him spools upon spools of script written upon ticker tape. It was cheaper that way. "He has caused confusion and delay!" He was already getting sick of that particular catchphrase!

Gordon didn't know. And frankly, he didn't care. "He left very quickly, sir! …Can I go now, sir? I think I'm beginning to set."

"He heard you at the sheds, sir!" piped up Thomas, the little sneak. "He knows that you plan to kill him!" The Fat Controller's blank stare confirmed Thomas's thought process, and he amended his words thusly. "He thinks you're going to scrap him."

"But how could he have possibly misunderstood my incredibly specific-"

There was a long pause. The Fat Controller sighed.

"I need a word with Percy. You must all help me look for him!" He paused, as the Railway Board pressed another section nof the script into his hand. "And by all, I mean Harvey and….who is 'RED MERCHANDISE SELLING ENGINE'? …Oh James. As the budget will not allow us any more engines."

And so they left.

"BUT SIR!" protested Gordon. Already he could feel the tar hardening and sticking to the rails.

….

They searched high (Harvey went on a bridge, saw nothing and decided to go home for his tea) and low (James was sent to look at every station. EVERY. SINGLE. STATION.) but there was not a Percy to be seen. They looked to, and fro, and in-between, but there was no sight of him.

Strangely enough, Percy was in one of the first places they should looked. Namely, making a meal of his supposed 'last night' upon rails by bunkering down in the sheds. "What is to become of poor, brave, INNOCENT Percy!?" He wailed. No one was around to hear him, Carlin having gone off to have a wee. He felt very small and very lonely, as he was both.

Thomas was taking his time, looking around the old branch-line.. Then he sighed. "Oh god, I know where he is sir." He puffed back as fast as he could, and entered the very quiet sheds.

"PERCY!" roared the Fat Controller. "ARE YOU THERE?!"

"Siiiiir!" wailed Percy. "Please don't scrap me, sir!" He suddenly turned defiant. "OR IF YOU WILL I SHALL REIGN DOWN GREAT FURY-"

"Oh shut your mouth, you silly sod." Hatt said, wearily. "Scrap you! The very thought of it!" And he told Percy what had actually been said the previous night.

…..

"HELLO CARLIN!"

"Jumping balls!" shouted Carlin. He blinked. "Er….hello sir? …Why are you out here in the middle of the night?"

"I've been kicked out!" The Fat Controller's face fell. "Apparently my weight issues are giving Alice the vapers. Or something along those lines."

"….Are you sure she's not just vaping?"

"Whatever, it's weird stuff. So….I've been thinking. That poor mite of yours has been doing so much work and it's all too much for him, so-" Hatt threw back his head and loudly spoke unto the world "PERCY HAS BEEN LATE TOO OFTEN THIS WEEK!"

"Sir, it's eleven at night."

"HE MUST GO TO THE SCRAPYARDS TOMORROW!" Sir Topham had been so animated in his declaration that he accidentally swallowed a passing fly, and he spent the next ten minutes coughing it out. Carlin sat and watched awkwardly.

There was a long pause, as Hatt recovered. "So after he's-AHEM! After he's taken some scrap to the scrapyard, put him on mail duty and nothing else all week!" He nodded, turned away and walked off.

"What a strange encounter." Carlin remarked. He paused, and took a sip of coffee that Henry's driver had given him. "Why can't I feel my legs?"

….

"That seems highly improbable, sir."

"Shut your mouth, Thomas."

"Do you really mean it, sir!?" said Percy, who had somehow forgotten about his heroic last stand in the time it had taken for Hatt to re-enact his conversation.

"Well I've got to bloody shove you off somewhere, haven't I?!" Hatt swore.

"The mail! FOR A WHOLE WEEK! …. Yay!" Percy whistled to cover up his own feeling of bitterness at being type-cast again. Thomas also whistled, it was good to have his friend back….from what I'm not sure.

So Percy pulled the mail for a whole week. He was never late and he never made a mistake, and by the time he was finished he hated it. He had also decided to never listen to silly stories ever again, especially ones made up by his own fevered imagination.

Yeah. We'll see how long THAT lasts.

….

Arthur had attached a comical megaphone to the side of his face. It would have been hysterical, had four engines not been atop the large cliff face over looking a valley, and had not the remaining four been down below in terror.

"Now! I think you're all familiar with the principal of the thing! You're going to back off the cliff-"

James shrieked.

"-close your eyes-"

Edward let out a groan.

"-take to the air-"

Henry had palpitations.

"-and pray your partner will catch you!"

Percy didn't seem that bothered, really.

"All right! Let's see! …Henry, you're up!"

"I KNOW I AM! Ohhhh why didn't you let me have my stash of drugs back?!" He paused. "By which I mean, I've never touched ANYTHING OF THE SORT! …Are you down there, Toby?"

"Yep!"

"….I trust you!"

"That's nice!" Toby shouted back. Henry whimpered. That was not the response that he had been hoping for, in all honesty. He took a deep breath, backed up and decided that at the very least, he would die with a clear conscience.

"I hope to God YOU DIE FIRST, JAMES!"

His conscience cleared, he took the plunge.

The screams, whipped away by the wind, did little to improve the moods of James and Edward. The fact that Toby apparently managed to catch him, using the flatbeds provided, did not reassure them in the slightest.

It was Percy's turn next. "I'm as FREE AS A BIRD!" He shouted, and practically dove off the cliff. He didn't scream, as a matter of fact when he ended up being caught by Emily, his immediate response was "AGAIN!"

James and Edward looked at each other nervously. Then, James looked back towards him. He gulped. "Oh. Oh well that's a shame."

"What?"

"Thomas's flatbed appears to be smaller than the others. With my Greek God physique, I'll never be able to fit on there."

"Nor will your ego." A thought, horrible and nasty, twisted it's way into Edward's brain. "Wait….so if you've got Thomas, then that means I've got-" His eyes widened "-Ohhhhh. No no no no no NO!"

Edward spent most of James's fall (Caused by him nervously releasing his brakes, then spending the remaining few seconds bouncing off the cliff and landing in a vertical line on the horizontal flatbed) contemplating whether or not his pride could take the blows inherent in admitting that no, he really did not want to do this.

Then he spent the five seconds between James screaming "I COME, OH GOD!" and landing with a "CURSE YOU GOD!" trying to recall if 'pride' was something he had ever possessed in his long, and frankly miserable, life.

"Now it's your turn Edward!"

No. This was it. His chance to prove that he, Edward, was afraid of nothing and no one, and certainly did not have problems involving Gordon and certainly did not think that Gordon would, in any way shape or form, deliberately not catch him. This was it. His moment. His chance to-

"I'M ALLERGIC TO CLIFFS!" He shouted. "I've just remembered that! So I'd better come down the normal way and-"

He started to move forward. He was immediately boxed in the face by a large boxing glove marked with the words 'FOR THE WUSSES', stumbled backwards and went off the cliff.

Edward became aware of several things as he fell. The first was that he was screaming. The second was that he was only aware of this because his throat stung like hell, as sound appeared to have abandoned him. The third was that someone had very helpfully laid out trampolines along the cliff face and the immediate area beneath it. Which was nice. And also explained where that loud 'PRANG' noise had come from when James had fallen off. The fourth thing was that everyone appeared to be watching him with some concern, all save Gordon, who was focusing with extreme concentration. The fifth was a rather beautiful pink butterfly that sped past his nose as he tried to angle himself for an easier catch.

The sixth was the butterfly flying into Gordon's face. The seventh was Gordon backing away in overdramatic fashion. The eighth was the gust of wind that pushed him slightly forward in a loop. The ninth was that his landing position was now face down upon the tracks, and the tenth-

"Oooooh!"

-the tenth was the fact that the entire left side of his face was now taken up by a large section of rail, with things like skin and bone having vacated the area as soon as they could.

"Ow." He said, weakly.

…..

"I think we all learned something today."

Seven engines nodded. The eighth was too busy having the embedded rail removed from his face by shoddy workmen, the Works already filled up with Bill and Ben's Playdough related mishap. Dazed and surprised would have been helpful at that point, as they'd run out of anaesthetic, and had therefore carried on with Edward fully awake and aware of the pain.

"Now, let's move on to our next method."

Seven engines groaned. The eighth stared in horror at the man with the chainsaw approaching him.

"Our next session will involve ART!" Arthur would have flipped his hair, had he the ability to. Or, for that matter, had he hair. "As I have created several sculptures of note, I shall be examining them! This is a judge free zone. Except for me, who will be judging them. Edward, as you are indisposed at present, you can create something later."

"Are you real?" Edward asked, breathlessly, as the chainsaw was raised above his head. "Or are you just some devil come to torment me?"

"Now you understand!" cried Thomas.