Disclaimer: Nothing, absolutely nothing belongs to me. All characters belong to their rightful owners respectfully. No profit is being made out of this story, please don't sue.

Author's Notes: A big shout out to Turbo Man for his contribution to this story, which I couldn't have completed without him. My hats off to you, and best of luck on your future writing.

I'd also like to give another shout out to Michael Sarrazin, who passed away during the writing of this fanfic. We'll miss ya, buddy, rest in peace.

Epilogue: The Perfect Year

The sun had set. Night had come. The post-race party had begun.

Photographers assembled round the proud Mary Poppins, holding in her hands a shining trophy with Michael and Jane. Behind them was Optimus Prime, shaking hands with his partners. There couldn't have been a better team in the race than them.

"We owe you our sincerest thanks, Optimus Prime." said Mary Poppins. "Jane, Michael and I have had the most wonderful time in this race with you."

"A bloody good show!" Michael exclaimed.

"Watch your language, Michael." Mary warned him firmly.

"Will we ever see you again, Optimus Prime?" Jane had to ask. "We'll sure miss you when you leave."

"I can't say for sure." replied Optimus Prime, rubbing his chin. "It all depends if…"

"…if you so kindly, hand me your trophy!" Judge Doom interrupted.

He and his Toon Patrol stepped in as photographers were shoved aside. Doom was holding his Decepticon in his hand, who was in the form of a Walther P-38 pistol. None of them were happy at all by the fact that Mary Poppins and the Autobot leader had beaten them in the race. In fact, they were VERY pissed off.

"The Gumball is finally finished," spoke Megatron. "now I will destroy each and every one of you worthless Autobots and these foolish humans, and take the Gumball Trophy for everything it's worth!"

"And we shall start with you, Mary Poppins!" Doom pointed his gun at her.

Frightened photographers backed away, Michael and Jane gasped in horror, while Mary remained calm. Optimus Prime was forced to intervene.

"Think again, Megatron." he said, taking the trophy from Mary to show it to his rival. "It just so happens that NEITHER of us are the real winners of the Gumball Rally."

The Toon Patrol were shocked to see Optimus Prime holding in his hand not the Gumball Trophy, but a silver trophy…meaning that he and Mary Poppins had in fact finished second place in the race. Doom lowered his gun, frowning in disbelief.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded to know.

A finger suddenly tapped his shoulder.

"Ahem, excuse me," said Michael Bannon, carrying a bronze trophy, "but I believe you and your Decepticon buddy left this behind near the finish line."

Doom accepted the bronze trophy…while photographers assembled round his group and Megatron, snapping away more photos. Megatron transformed back into his robot form, harboring mixed feelings about this sudden turnout.

"Hmm…I suppose it's better than nothing, Megatron." Doom said. "Though I wonder, if Mary Poppins and Optimus Prime didn't win the Gumball Rally…then who did?"

"See for yourself." Mary answered.

Optimus Prime pointed to the direction to where the true winners of the Gumball Rally were standing with their Autobots. Hello Kitty, My Melody, Pom Pom Purin, Badtz-Maru and Cinnamoroll were gathered round the glorious golden Gumball Trophy, offering each other hugs, cheering with triumph and waving at swarming photographers with all their love, kindness and appreciation. Kiki and Lala applauded to congratulate their friends, while Pulsar and Tempest shook each other's hands for a job well done.

"How disgusting." Megatron grumbled.

"Apparently, somebody arrived at the finish line well before we did." said Mary Poppins. "Well then, it appears that this game between us, Mr. Doom, is far from over. In fact, you might say that it has only just begun. Who knows, there could just be another Gumball Rally along the way for next year." she winked.

"Hmm…" thought Doom, rubbing his chin. "…if what she says is true, I suppose we can let this race last a LITTLE while longer. What do you say about that, Megatron?"

Megatron was feeling reluctant to let Optimus Prime and his Autobots go, let alone spoil his chance of incinerating Michael Bannon and everything that was to do with the Gumball. Yet he couldn't deny the fact that he had actually enjoyed the race immensely, despite not winning. Perhaps there would come another opportunity for him to show that he was the best Transformer in racing. Besides, such a feat would certainly gain admiration and respect amongst his fellow Decepticons.

"Fine." he finally agreed. "But know this, Prime. When there is a Gumball, there will always be Megatron."

"And there will always be Optimus Prime." said the Autobot leader.

"Then it's settled." Mary said, offering a hand to Doom. "Until we meet again, Judge Doom. I would be more than delighted to compete with you again."

Doom accepted her hand, shaking it firmly.

"Until we meet again, Poppins."

Fireworks were lit, crowds were celebrating and everyone was having a good time at the Okinawa Peace Memorial Park. Transformers accompanied their partners, who feasted on a hearty meal with exquisite Okinawan cuisine.

Amongst them, Yuffie Kisaragi was grumbling to herself, having to buy food and drinks for the entire Final Fantasy cast.

"Why am I doing this, Tifs?" the ninja girl exclaimed. "You guys didn't even win the race! This is so unfair!"

"True." said Tifa. "But we did come in fourth place…which technically beats ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the other racers. We happily agreed that that was close enough."

"OOOH!" Yuffie grumbled.

"Suck it up, Yuffie!" Rebecca Chambers nudged her on the shoulder, gulping down on her third Calpis bottle. "None of this would have happened if you let me have that drink in Hokkaido."

Elsewhere, Junsa approached Team Rocket and their Decepticons.

"Just came here to remind you bunch," she said, "that you're all expected to be in traffic court, starting next week on the dot at eight o'clock sharp. I hope you've got your lawyers ready."

Just then, Joi-san appeared with a letter in her hand.

"Excuse me, Junsa, but I believe there's a message for you." she said.

Junsa accepted the letter and opened it. After reading its content, a large sweat drop formed on her head.

"The Shell company is pressing charges against you, Junsa." Joi-san said with regret. "Apparently, you didn't pay for their gas in Kanto."

Junsa groaned as her face turned blue with embarrassment. Team Rocket and their Decepticons laughed and pointed fingers at her.

"HA-HA! Serves you right, Junsa!" Nyarth taunted.

With everyone in high spirits, it was time to spice up the night. Blaster transformed into a ghetto blaster boombox, while Soundwave transformed into a videocassette recorder. Both of them burst out with loud deafening music, turning the peaceful park into an enormous dancing party.

Skimbleshanks and Mr. Conductor were cheering on for the Fat Controller, who broke down into an incredible break dance at the center of the park. Yun and Yang waltzed in with their newfound girlfriends, Hinata and Sakura. Stephanie joined Sportacus to perform their dance routine once again, though she was oblivious to the fact that Quagmire was behind her. And soon, other people joined in the fesitivity.

Outside of the park, Frank Drebin watched as people danced away and grooved through the night. It was one night that was to remember for everyone, but for him, it was one night to regret. Since he was unable to beat Michael Bannon in the Gumball Rally, he had to let the man go Scott Free, and according to their bet, he had to persuade his friends back in the US to lift Michael's ban and let him return to their country.

"Hard luck, Drebin." Michael Bannon patted him on the back. "But I can't believe that you were THIS close to beating me. Honest to say, you impressed the hell out of me out there. You're a better racer than I thought. In fact, I believe you could outrun Roscoe any day."

"Oh, really?" said Drebin, raising his brows. "Well, I guess you don't know your own strength. I hate to admit it to you, Bannon. but you drove like one son of a bitch out there. For a man of your age, no cop in the United States would stand a chance to outrun a man like you."

"Thanks…and that's exactly why I'm making new plans for next year."

Drebin frowned in confusion. "What kind of plans?"

"Well, at a gorgeous night out like this, I feel bad to spoil too much for you. But I will say one word."

"And what's that?"


Drebin's face turned pale as he chocked on his bottle of beer. "What? Already? Surely you can't be serious!"

"I am serious." Michael stared at Drebin with sharp eyes. "And don't call me Shirley."

With that said, Michael Bannon walked away and returned to the park, approaching the nearest person he could find, Jane Banks, and uttered in her ear quietly:


Jane took the message and passed it on to her brother, Michael.

"Gumball." she whispered.

Michael tapped Smart Ass on the shoulder.

"Gumball." he said to him.

Smart Ass passed the word round to his weasels, who spread out to do the same to other people. Meanwhile, Jane and Michael passed the word to Optimus Prime and Mary Poppins. Optimus Prime passed the word to his Autobots. The Autobots passed the word to the Decepticons. The Decepticons passed the word to Megatron and Judge Doom. And by that time, the word had spread like wildflower and had reached everybody's ear…






"Gumball." smiled Mary Poppins.

"Gumball." scowled Judge Doom.

"YOOO! GUMBAAAALL!" cried the drunk Don Vito.

There was no doubt about it. Michael Bannon was preparing another Gumball Rally. And who knew? With this year's race turning out to be a success, next year just might turn out to be perfect…

And so, the end credits began to roll, accompanied by the song 'The Perfect Year' by Dina Carroll.

Bring out the old, bring in the new,
A daring race to share with you.
At break of dawn, my helmet's tight,
We'll cruise the streets all through the night.

I don't need a speeding ticket,
All of the excitement's here.
If you're with me,
Next year will be the perfect year.

No need to heed the traffic laws,
We break the rules for a just cause.
The sirens fade and we will shine,
'Long as your face is next to mine.

I don't need a speeding ticket,
Shove it up between my rear.
Come race with me,
Next year will be the perfect year.

We don't need a speeding ticket,
We have nothing else to fear.
Just wait and see,
Next year will be the perfect year.

The race is won and hopes are high,
Dance one year in, kiss one goodbye,
Another chance, another start,
So many dreams to please the heart.

We don't need a speeding ticket,
The next Gumball Rally's near.
And face to face,
We shall embrace the perfect year.

We don't need a speeding ticket,
Everybody, give a cheer!
And face to face,
We shall embrace the perfect year.

The perfect year.

The End

The next morning came…

Michael Bannon was sleeping peacefully in his hotel room. After partying far too hard all night, he needed the rest. Too bad he forgot to turn off his alarm clock, and consequently, he was forced to wake up when it sounded.

Michael moaned and swiped the alarm clock away. While doing so, he was suddenly startled when his sight caught a glimpse of somebody in his room. He rubbed his tired eyes and saw that there was a shadowed stranger standing silently by his window.

"Who…who the hell are you?" Michael asked his uninvited guest.

"Oh," the shadowed stranger shrugged casually, "just an old friend, or maybe just an old enemy. After seeing how you forgot to invite-a me to the most important car racing event in history, I had-a no choice but to call on your old friend Drebin to come-a fetch you. But you know what, I'm-a very impressed with your fantastic performance on this-a year's Gumball Rally."

"Well, thanks." Michael yawned. "But I have to say that Drebin's become more of a dimwit than old Roscoe and you combined."

The stranger slipped out a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at Michael.

"YOU SEE THIS?" he said, raising his voice. "DO I LOOK-A LIKE A DIMWIT TO YOU? You never invited me to the race, so you insult me, my country, my honor, my dignity you insult! So now, YOU WILL-A PAY!"

The stranger pulled the trigger of his gun, which released not bullets, but water. Michael remained in his bed, his pajamas and blanket soaked after the pistol was emptied.

"You still-a like my old joke?" the stranger asked in a friendly voice.

"Whoa, wait a minute." Michael shook his head in disbelief. "You can't be…I thought you died from that car accident in Switzerland, that huge fall."

"Is that what they said about me?" the stranger said curiously. "Then you were told wrong, my friend."


Franco Bertollini stepped out from the darkness and into the sun's morning light to reveal himself.

"Ciao, Michael." he said. "Como stai?"