<NSP: On behalf of West and myself, I present you all with the long-overdue conclusion to the Hawthorne/Thatchett/Sasha/Detective storyline. Thank you for your patience and a most interesting ride. />

* * * * *

Each step had taken its toll. Each time her foot came to rest in the empty desert sands felt like it would be her last. Each time she shifted her weight forward to her next foot she expected it to collapse, to finally fall down and never rise again. She had continued this way for... for as long as she could remember. Then, suddenly, there was something in the distance. A single sparkle on the empty blue horizon. Step by step it grew larger and her steps grew easier. It wasn't long until she was running breathlessly. The single sparkle soon became a shimmer, then a distant building. Plated glass, gleaming in the hostile sun. It took only a moment for recognition to dawn on her, but her pace only quickened as she swiftly closed the distance. She came to a stop only a few paces away. For some reason it had never occurred to her that the hanging sign on the door would read anything but "Open." She stood there, lost, uncertain. The lights shine brightly from inside, their electric hum joined by the soft mechanical whirr of the refrigerators. Eventually, the sweet songs of comfort won her over. Hands shaking in anticipation, she reaches forward and tries the door. It resisted momentarily, grinding against years of collected dust and grime, but eventually it gives way.

Inside she feels almost at home. It takes only a moment for her to spot her old apron, nametag still affixed, slung across the counter. Something deeper than instinct took over; something dark yet familiar had complelled her here, something that now held her willing prisoner. Succumbing, she puts on her apron, flips the sign on the door, and takes her position behind the deli counter. Now, there she stands. How long ago was it since she discovered the precious Convenience Store? How long since she again donned the robes of her past? The clock did not tick, the sun did not set. The air was stagnant, the store a living still-life. But something had changed. Something had awakened her from her trance, only... only now she could not remember what it was. Looking, everything seemed as it should be. The lights buzzed and flickered as they always had, the meat slicer purred quietly in her hands, the cold wet feel of the meat... that was it. Something... she felt something cold an wet pressing against her cheek. Something...

Voodoo Snowflakes opens her eyes slowly. Everything seems dark and faded. The air had grown cold, but there was still a vague hint of warmth emanating from the gravely valley floor. Finally her eyes fix on a figure, something standing right in front of her. She struggles to recognize it. Then, suddenly, whatever it was stuck its cold wet nose against her cheek again.

Voodoo: Oh. Hello little doggy.

Voodoo slowly pushes herself from the ground and leans back against the astrovan. She compulsively reaches down and begins gently stroking Thatchett's head. Looking around, she surveys the valley. Coming down from the detective's car, she had been in a near-daze. Her head buzzing and spining, something deep inside of her had stirred. But now everything was clear. She thinks clearly for the first time in days.

Voodoo: What... what happened?

Thatchett: You collapsed.

Voodoo: I what? When?

Thatchett: Several hours ago, right before...

Voodoo: ...before?

Thatchett: Right before that.

Thatchett slowly cranes his neck toward the large pile of burnt-out wreckage that stands in the space once occupied by the "reactor." He shivers.

Voodoo: It exploded?

Thatchett: In a way, but... but not really. It did not explode like a car explodes. You know, like in the movies. There was this great crashing noise, and then... then part of it was just gone. No fire, it was just like it was swallowed up into the night, and this is just what is left behind.

Voodoo: It's alright, little doggy. Is there anyone else around? Is everyone ok?

Thatchett: No, no one's ok. Those two creeps just vanished into thin air and I've been too afraid to see if Hawthorne or that other guy is ok.

Voodoo: That other guy? The Detective? What are you afraid of, is there something still out there?

Thatchett: Something... never left.

Voodoo: They might need our help, we can't just sit here in the dark all night. Come on.

Voodoo slowly rises to her feet, steadying herself against the side of the astrovan. She instantly spotted the prone figure of Hawthorne lying only feet away from the wrekage. She carefully felt her way across the valley as Thatchett followed closly behind. Once the two get close enough Voodoo neals down and instantly began to check for a pulse, while Thatchett began his univeral revival trick of prodding Hawthorne's in the neck with his nose. Slowly Hawthorne begins to return to conciousness. As the color slowly returned to Hawthornes cheaks, Voodoo began tending to a small gash on his left temple.

Hawthorne: What... Who are you?

Voodoo's hands go to her hips. She adopts a sardonic expression.

Voodoo: What? You don't remember me? I'm hurt.

Hawthorne: What?

Voodoo: I'm the friendly deli-girl from the Convience store of the Damned, don't your remember, you stopped in once. Granted, allot of strange stuff happened that day, but I'm supprised you don't remember me. Oh well, nobody remembers a smiling face.

Whilst Hawthorne fough with the cloud of confusion that still surronded his head, Voodoo helped him to his feet.

Voodoo: Hey doggy, where... where did the Detective go?

Thatchett sniffs the air, and with Hawthorne and Voodoo stumbling behind him, guides them to the Detective. He had propped himself up against a small bolder. While his face seemed lifeless, his chest still rose and fell shakily. Voodoo quickly runs to his side and gently begins to shake him.

Voodoo: Detective? Detective? Wake up!

Voodoo tears off a thin strip from her robe, and tries to hastily bandage the Detective's wound while Hawthorne stands staring in silence. Voodoo tries again to wake the Detective. As Voodoo shakes him for the second time, and cold and bloodstained hand grasped her by the wrist. The Detective's eyes open, and for a moment he stares deeply into her face. Eventually he releases her from both his gaze and his grasp. His hand moved slowly and uncertainly to his coat pocket, and managed to produce a cigarette. The Detective brings the cigarette to this mouth, clenching it between his teeth with a grim expression. Hawthorne kneels down, producing and snapping open an elegant silver lighter. The Detective's eyes widen at the tiny flame hanging before him, but they are drawn the lighter below. Recognition flickers across his face, dancing in the small light. After a moment he seems to come to a decision, leaning his head forward slightly to touch the cigarette to the orange glow of the lighter... his lighter. He takes one long deep drag and holds his breath appreciatively. He glances up at the sliver of sparkling midnight sky above him. He closes his eyes and lets out the breath slowly in a gentle rush of smoke. The cigarette drops from his lips and rolls away. A gray whisp grows from the round crimson ember. Voodoo leans over and starts to shake the Detective before she feels a heavy hand on her shoulder.

Hawthorne: Let him go. It's over.

Voodoo: But he--

Hawthorne: He believed in justice. He shot his last bullet for it. That was what he was waiting for all this time. Let him go.

Voodoo clenches her fists in frustration. She bends over and picks up the Detective's last cigarette, rapidly burning away to ash. She places it to her lips and takes a breath. Choking down a cough, she throws it into the darkness. A tiny spark splatters in the distance as she turns from the carnage with wet streams running down her cheeks.

Voodoo: Get me out of here.

Hawthorne looks down at the anguished still figure of the Detective. Gently, he opens the Detective's coat and slips the lighter in his pocket next to his half-empty pack of cigarettes. He stands up and brushes his hands against each other introspectively.

Hawthorne: Ok.

* * * * *

Sasha sits in her workroom with her back to the door. A tendril of smoke snakes its way up over her head, gleaming a dull white in the dusty frosted illumination from the windows in front of her. In the distance she hears a quiet abortive buzz coming from the warehouse.

Bzzzzp.

She lets out an explosion of smoke, scattering the gentle air in the room. Gray sparkles go everywhere as dust swirls against the green-gold shafts of light. Outside, she hears the grating noise of brakes squeaking and tires skidding to a halt on loose gravel. She meditates on the engine's puttering vibration for a few seconds before it spins to a halt. Her brow creases as she tries to identify the vibration. A dying engine on its last breaths, certainly. Probably domestic. She blinks when she realizes that the vehicle has stopped in front of the warehouse.

She runs through the warehouse and bursts through the front door, only to slide to a stop in front of the Astrovan. Hawthorne stands before her in a stained and threadbare Air Force uniform. He nods silently before turning and sliding the back door open to reveal a limp figure in a stained white terrycloth robe. He gently urges Voodoo out and lifts her in his arms. Sasha holds the door open as Hawthorne slides through. Thatchett drops from the open door and trails behind them as they work their way through to the back room.

Sasha walks to an old bed covered in boxes of electronic junk. She sweeps the boxes aside and helps Hawthorne settle the unconscious Voodoo into bed, covering her with an old blanket. Silently, the three walk slowly back to the Astrovan. Hawthorne steps over to the hood and smacks it with an open hand. The bent rusted hood pops open and Sasha's breath catches in her chest. A mess of spliced wires and hacked-together tubes have replaced the engine. Half the normal operating mechanism has been replaced with duct tape. She notices two loose hoses hanging in the top center of the carnage. Sasha smoothes back her dirty blond hair with greasy hands.

Sasha: My god, what happened to this thing? How did you even get it running.

Hawthorne: Blood and hope. I don't think she'll start again.

Sasha: I wouldn't even try. Let me get the door open.

While Sasha works on opening a large garage door in the warehouse, Hawthorne pops the Astrovan into neutral and lets momentum roll him back into position. Sasha returns and they push the Astrovan forward into the warehouse while Thatchett calls out directions. With the Astrovan ensconced in the warehouse, Sasha takes another look at the engine and sighs deeply. She distractedly prods at a couple hoses and starts looking for the battery.

Hawthorne: Mind if I use your bathroom?

Sasha: 'round the back, look for the blue sign.

As she pokes around under the engine, Thatchett nudges against Sasha's leg.

Thatchett: Hey.

Sasha: Hey.

Thatchett: Whadd'ya think?

Sasha: I think it's going to take a while. Hey, could you fe-- um, grab me that 3/4 under the '54?

After a while, Sasha becomes aware of footsteps coming from the back of the warehouse. She slides out from under the engine and does a double-take as Hawthorne comes around the corner. Thatchett stutters.

Thatchett: Uhh, boss... what, uhh...

Hawthorne bites his lip as he runs his hand over his smooth jaw and through his freshly cut hair. He shrugs self-consciously. He adjusts the aged uniform and walks over to them. He kneels down in front of Thatchett, with a hand on his head. They exchange a quiet look.

Hawthorne: Hey T, would you go make sure Voodoo's alright?

Thatchett: Ok, boss.

Thatchett slumps dejectedly as he wanders off to the back. Hawthorne steps to the Astrovan, leaning on the edge of the open engine compartment. Sasha gets up and stands next to Hawthorne, mirroring his posture.

Hawthorne: You think you can get her running again?

Sasha: It's going to be a trick. I'm going to need to do a full rebuild. I'll need to get some parts in and do some custom machining. If you just want her to start, I could probably get out out in a week, ten days. Proper job will probably be at least a month.

Hawthorne: I need to get going, I can't stay. I know it's out of the blue, but I need to ask you for a couple of favors.

Sasha: Name them.

Sasha: Take care of Voodoo. She's in bad shape... I can only imagine what she's walked through the last few days. I've only seen hell; I think she's traveled it, and right now I think that's a road I need to travel. She probably won't wake up for a while, but when she does she will probably need a little help getting back into things.

Sasha: Ok, sure. What else?

Hawthorne: Look after Thatchett. He needs someone right now. I would take him with me, but...

Sasha: I understand. Of course I'll look after him. What do you want me to do about the Astrovan?

Hawthorne: She's yours. Scrap her, fix her, do whatever you want. I've poured my blood, sweat, and tears into her, and she's given it all back a thousand fold. I would like nothing better than to see her get the rebuild she deserves, but right now I'm not the one to do it, and I just can't drop that burden on anyone else...

Sasha: I'd do it anyway. Engine like this... I get an excuse to do some stuff I've been meaning to try. She'll be waiting for you, better than ever. Hey...

Sasha flushes slightly. They both look down at the engine. Hawthorne nods sadly and looks at Sasha sideways. His hand brushes against hers, then he turns and starts for the door.

Sasha: Hey, I have an old truck... salvage job, but it'll run. Keys are in it. You can have it until I fix the Astrovan.

Thatchett reappears. Hawthorne nods at both of them.

Hawthorne: Ok. I'll see you two.

Sasha: See you.

Hawthorne walks to the door. A burst of gleaming light filters through the open door as he slides through silently. Thatchett looks over at Sasha. Their wet eyes meet as Sasha slides to the floor. Thatchett scampers over and looks up at her as she hunches over with quiet sobs. He puts his head in her lap. He barely hears her whispers.

Outside, a diesel engine roars to life. The sound of rubber on gravel sprays out as the dull roar recedes into the distance.

Sasha: ...a road he needs to travel.

* * * * *

Gravel sounds a hard rain across the undercarriage, a roaring background of pings and clangs punctuating the dusty desert air. The dirt road had disappeared some time ago, and he was now following a barley-etched path along the side of a shallow ravine. A thick plume of sand and dust follows him, marking his path for long minutes after his passing.

An empty blue sky looks down on him, silent and dry. Eventually a small black dot finds its way over the dust plume. A hungry desert scavenger following a thousand years of instinct drifts slowly above the rusted pickup truck as it sails over the sandy plain. The driver locks his gaze on on the bird but his mind was deeply occupied with another task.

The burning light of the desert sun illuminates the cab of the pickup truck, revealing the the lettering on the man’s ragged blue dress uniform shirt, burned in dark black letters:

"Lt. Hawthorne."

* * * * *

One story ends, but the story goes on...

There is little any being, God or Mortal, can do when trapped in his own mind. Even a hand of the NeS can suddenly find himself enemies with himself. Mayaal was discovering this first hand.

Mayaal BELOVED GOODNESS -- WHERE ARE
MY SINS!? ignorance! [/i] BLOOD is not
a CAGE COLOR IS A CRIME OF TOUN GE[/color] TONGUE TONGS ON THE BRAIN ! I can ReAd P ain in [/size]POOR GRAMMAR ignorance? [/color]

The space of leet around Mayaal vibrated and twisted. The very seal of his tomb was his own immense power, and was literally tearing a space within the darkness of leet. Twin Suns stood feet from the quiet and still body of Mayaal. Legs crossed, head tilted down, the peach-pink figure seemed at utter peace. This was, however, deceiving. Twin Suns could feel the raging swells and rapids within the powerful hand of the NeS. The black-coated figure unlaced the wrist of his white-sunned glove, revealing an intricate patterned tattoo covering each and every inch of his peach-pale skin. Twists and designs laced around his fingernails, crawling along his thin digits, looking more like wounds than tattoos.

He held out his arm, aiming towards his liberator.

Twin Suns Forgive me.

The colors and words tormenting Mayaal suddenly finished. In their place came a warm sensation of happiness. Each and every facet of Mayaal's limitless being caught flame, and for only a sentence in a story, were happy. In the moment after the period, pain came. Overwhelming pain. Pain that could not be defended against. Blood-boiling flames of sheer pain shone through the words of pain, and Mayaal awoke, reading the vision of a tall black-coated man replacing his smoking hand.

Twin Suns Do not consider me your pawn. Do not consider me a part of your cause. I am simply repaying my debts, and seeking your allegiance against what seems to be both of our captors.

Mayaal couldn't specifically read the man, for his words were so bold; so bright that Mayaal could only decipher the man through his effect on the world of leet around him. Looking down at himself, Mayaal discovered the blood-bonds that held him captive. A moment of realization halts Mayaal for what feels like an eternity. The words of the NeS read clear. Bahc had betrayed their roles, and endangered the very fabric of the NeS. Worse, Mayaal lay dormant; powerless to the coming of darkness.

Mayaal We must overthrow the powers of darkness. We must rebalance the NeS, or all is lost.

Twin Suns You must not have read correctly, old man. I do not care for your cosmic role, or your mission. I want revenge on the being that has captured us both, and I offer you my allegiance. Take it or leave it.

Mayaal FOOL! Your selfishness and indecision could be the end of the world which we know it. We are not the proprietors of our own fate. A time ago, the NeS was a falling star, and its pages turned at the huff of a writer-god. Now, in days old, there is little in the way of the Plot. Evil and Good must fight for lines on even a smaller plot, on even thinner a page. Your irresponsibility could be all of our undoing. Are you so prepared to accept the role of NeS' ender? Only the maker himself could or should claim such a role.

Twin Suns scoffed, his head lowering

Twin Suns Fine.

The unreadable flame spun on his heel and began walking away from Mayaal and his prison.

Twin Suns Be that your fate. This story was doomed from the title

Moments pass with only the muffled sounds of footsteps crawling along the floor of leet

Mayaal I can tell you how to gain your revenge.

Twin Suns stops.

Twin Suns Yes?

Mayaal The rules of the NeS do not permit me to lie; if you help me achieve my goal, I will deliver Bahc, and the power you need to defeat him. I, however, need your binding agreement.

Twin Suns I will be your warrior as long as my life is not lost before the end of my revenge. My story will be known before I have died, or your cosmic responsibilities are failed.

Mayaal You are bound to me by these words. You understand?

Twin Suns I have no qualms.

Mayaal Good. I don't believe that you have the knowledge to free me from this prison, so your job will be completed without my direct assistance. I will need you to retrieve a certain set of tools for the task you are about to complete...

B.U.M.P.!

M.U.S.T.!

B.U.M.P.!

M.U.S.T.!

B.U.M.P.!

Could it be? A Battle between the B.U.M.P.! and the M.U.S.T! to decide on the fate of the Never-ending Story's activity? FIND OUT IN THE NEXT POST!

...have we reached a new low?

Meantime ... while the NeS has been plotfractalling, Morthrandur (marriage celebrant and wedding planner extraordinaire) has organised Gebiyl and Young's wedding. Today is that day, yes, this very day, this very hour, this very minute ...

Gebiyl and Young, both dressed in 'de rigeur' evil black, Gebiyl with red bow tie and Young with a bouquet of red flowers, are standing before Morthrandur, in the Siberian bunker.

Morthrandur: Dearly beloved, ...

Gebiyl: psst ...

Morthrandur: ... we are gathered ...

Gebiyl: ... psst ...

Morthrandur: ... here to ...

Gebiyl: ... PSST ...

Morthrandur: ... WHAT?

Gebiyl: Where ARE the 'Dearly beloved'?

Morthrandur: Oh, get over yourself, Gebiyl. You have no friends, your relatives hate you, and your bride's been kidnapped from people who hate you.

Gebiyl: Oh right.

Morthrandur: We are gathered here today ...

Suddenly, Gebohq, Bhac and a figure covered from head to toe in what looks like a sheet rush through the door.

Gebohq: Stop, I object!!

Morthrandur: You can't object. This isn't a court case and you aren't a lawyer.

Bhac: That's enough, Morthrandur. Semantics won't get you out of this one. Besides I can make you an offer too intriguing to refuse.

Morthrandur: Really ... and what are you proposing?

Bhac: I propose a trade.

Morthrandur: A trade ... what for?

Bhac: I propose a trade for Young with ...

Bhac pulls the sheet off the figure next to him.

Bhac: .... Young! You see, I cloned her!! ... !!!

Gasps all round.

Gebiyl: But how ..

Morthrandur: But why ...

Young: I don't think she looks like me one bit.

Geboqh: Well, not so much from this angle but (moves three steps to the right) from here she's a dead ringer.

Up on the air above our motley crew, a huge gap in the time-space continuum is appearing. Initially just a small grey circle, it is spinning and growing larger ...

Bhac: Oh no, a plot hole!

Gebohq: Where did that come from?

Bhac: Page 16 - Romanov tells me that Young's blood is virtually uncloneable, that only Russian ingenuity can provide a solution, but then ... oh, go read it.

Without warning, an attractive, statuesque, dark-haired woman dressed in a dark body suit, thigh high boots and a pastel pink bomber jacket, armed with a staff and a sword, falls through plothole and lands right on top of Gebiyl.

Calilmalith: Ow! I HATE it when that happens.

Bhac: And who might you be?

Calilmalith: (standing proudly) I am Calilmalith.

Geboqh: Who?

Calilmalith: CALILMALITH!

Geboqh: Calil ..maw... calilil mawl

Calilmalith: CAL - IL - MAL - ITH !!!!!

Geboqh: Hey, do you have a speech impediment?

Calilmalith: (brandishing her staff in Geb's face) Do you want to die dick-for-brains?

Geboqh: Umm ... that was unnecessary.

Calilmalith twirls her staff and places it on the ground with a neat sharp tap.

Bhac: Nice staff work.

Calilimalith: Thanks.

Young: Er, whoever you are, I think you've killed Gebiyl.

They all turn to look at Gebiyl who is lying very still on the ground. Calilmalith prods Gebiyl's prostrate body with her staff. Nothing happens.

Calilmalith: Wake up, stupid!

Still nothing happens. She kicks him in the ribs. Nup, still nothing. Finally she kneels down puts her hand just above his nostrils.

Calilmalith: He's breathing.

Morthrandur: Couldn't you have done that first without the prodding and kicking?

Calilmalith: You got a problem, Sunshine?

Morthrandur: Cut the attitude or I'll ...

The air about Morthrandur starts to grow thick when Clone Young, who has been standing as though hypnotised, lets out a loud girly exclamation.

Clone Young: Oh ...

She runs over to Gebiyl, her eyes bright and shiny. When she speaks, Clone Young sounds a bit like Russian barter brides sound in movies.

Clone Young: He is very handsome, isn't he?

Young: She is definitely NOT my clone.

Bhac: Well, I never said the cloning process was perfect.

Clone Young is now cradling Gebiyl's head in her arms.

Clone Young: I think I would like to take him home ... to how you say 'NeShattered'. That is good, yes?

Everyone: Yes!!

Bhac: Except you're already here ...

Calilmalith: Is that where I am? NeShattered?

Young: We're really not sure. That's where I was taken but then there's been something about a Siberian bunker which is in the real NeS ... so I'm a bit confused. Just go with the flow ...

Calilmalith: (under her breath) What the **** have I fallen in to?

Bhac: ... It's us who have to go.

Clone Young: Oh. (brightly) OK.

Geboqh, Young, Bhac and Calilmalith leave the way Geboqh and Bhac came. Morthrandur watches menacingly. He would stop them but a plan is forming in his mind. Let them go for now.

Calilmalith: Where are we going?

Bhac: We need to get into teh secret base of Jim7.

Calilmalith: 'teh' secret base? Shouldn't that be "THE secret base"

Bhac: Shhh ... yes, but what was once a typo has become an established NeS convention.

Calilmalith: Sorry, I'm new here.

Is Clone Young all she seems to be? (Probably not!) Will she and Gebiyl marry in NeShattered? (Does anyone care?) Will Gebohq and Young marry? (Umm ...) How did Bhac get back from State of 1337? Why do Geboqh, Young, Bhac and Calilmalith need to get into Jim7's secret base? What is Morthrandur plotting? Why did Bhac clone Young? What IS Bhac's plan? No really, I have no idea.

Meanwhile, ensconced in the warm cosiness of his arm chair, Arkng Thand is watching these events. He is displeased. Characters entering the NeS through plot holes while plausible, is not really acceptable. Yes, yes, it's been done many times before but it is too easy. Of course, debating the pros and cons of this writer's device could keep him in published papers for years, assure his tenure, get him invited to be guest speaker at the most prestigious conferences, but still, he doesn't like it. He takes a long draw of his pipe, slowly blows out the smoke and ponders ...

Calilmalith makes her way out of the Siberian bunker with Gebohq, Young and Bhac, when she notices something rather odd -- Gebohq, Young, and Bhac are no longer with her.

Cali: What the hell?

She looks out into the Siberian wilderness ahead... not exactly the most inviting of environments. Calilmalith turns around, and down back into the Siberian bunker. The bunker has certainly shown heavy signs of battle, but something stranger seems to hang in the air. Is it residual plothole air? She couldn't be sure. Upon reaching the main bunker area, however, she finds Gebohq again.

Gebohq: Well there you are! We have an evil me to take care of!

Cali: Huh?

Gebohq does not stop to explain, though, and runs down to what looks like a wedding reception. Sure enough, his evil counterpart is doing battle with a number of NeS heroes that, just like nearly everyone else, shouldn't be there, and yet, they appearently are. Calilmalith watches as the Otter chugs down a bottle of Bacardi at the reception bar. As she was about to dive into the action, a familiar robot comes in and grabs her.

Thrawn42689: No! Let's get you out of here.

Cali: I don't know who you are but--

Thrawn42689: They're not real. Trust me, human.

Calilmalith: ...you better explain what's going on here.

Thrawn42689: Follow me, and I'll tell you what I know.

Reluctantly, Calilmalith follow him, back out of the Siberian bunker. Thrawn42689 talks to her as he does so.

Thrawn42689: Ever since this "Young" was brought here, a lot of strange things have been happening. Granted, "strange" is a pretty relative term, considering, but it's strange enough for me to have been staying here, trying to figure out what this is all about, and I've come to the conclusion that a paradox has been formed here.

Cali: ...ok, and...?

Thrawn42689: When two story conventions appear to conflict with each other, but can both co-exist, a paradox manifests itself. What you've seen is the effects of that manifestation, or it may be the manifestation itself -- I'm still not sure. Plotholes seem to be a side effect of this phenomenon, though until now, I hadn't seen anything as significant as a whole new character appear, such as yourself.

Cali: I see... I think. How do I know you're real then, and not part of this... whatever?

Thrawn42689: I've wondered that myself, and that's part of the problem. Paradoxes are dangerous, and as far as I can figure, you shouldn't be here. You should go before things get worse.

Cali: I can take care of myself.

Thrawn42689: Look, human, you can go crawl in a hole for all I care, but some others I know might prove to be more trouble than they're worth if they were to find out I let you slip by. See those woods over there? If you go in there, then go north, then west, then south, then west, you'll find youself at this old house marked "Haunted House of Heroes." Go inside and make yourself comfortable -- the people there won't mind. Most of them are still out on some mission, last I heard, but they should be back shortly. I've been dealing with them. You'll find better stuff with them than you will here.

Cali: Hmm...

-------------------------

Thand: "Hmm..." indeed.

Arkng Thand, having viewed the events that have unfolded with Calilmalith within a palm-sized, circular mirror, stows it away in his breastpocket, and returns to his latest reading material, "Catch 22."

Thand: Don't you just love how I so often read things that are relevant to the present events of NeS?

Like a mail-order Russian bride, Thand.

Thand: Well pardon me for trying to crack a joke.

((NSP: This post follows this post from NeShattered.))

Wai and Ricky fall out of the portal, and find themselves in a prison cell with all the others -- Gebohq, Antestarr, Young, Ariana, Sarn Cadrill, Voodoosnowflakes, CoolMatty, Mimiru, Subaru, Losien, Maybechild, The Otter, Semievil, Sugarless, The Patriot, and The Last True Evil holding Amal's hand. A few other random people seem to be in the ragtag group as well, apparently having jumped through at, well, random.

The Otter: Ahhhh prison bars, an all-too familiar sight.

The Patriot: What's the meaning of all this?

In a hellish-yet-showy flash, Jim Seven appears, on the other (not imprisoning) side of the cell.

Jim Seven: Did you all think I'd just hop in and save all of you on a whim? Now that you've kept Evil Geb from screwing NeS up by marrying what's-her-name, I have to keep YOU all from screwing up my gig. You'll find that the cell that you're in is quite inescapable, and signal-proof as well. Can't have you people teleporting or sending out messages. Anyway, I'll visit y'all later -- I have some busienss to attend to.

Before anyone can get a word in edge-wise, Jim Seven dissapears.

Geb: So... who wants to play 20 questions?

*wave of awkwardness over the whole group*

Oh no! Out of the frying pan and into the oven! How will our ragtag group escape from this one?

Man in Rags: I'll answer that one, Narrator. They won't.

Ugh, what a filthy disgusting man you are. and you smell awful.

Man in Rags: get on with the introduction already.

Oh, right. Job to do and such. but really, cant you do something about the smell?

Man in Rags: *glares threateningly*

*Ahem* Right. across from the huge cell in which are kept the heroes, there is another smaller cell. it is appropriately cell like; bunk, bucket, etc. there sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall is a man with longish hair, and thick full beard, both filthy and tangled. he wears a collection of rags that seem to be made of bits of blankets. He addresses the heroes.

Man in Rags: Jim is right. there is no escape. hes had me in here over a year now. and to think i trusted him.

Young: We made the same mistake. Or, rather, they all made the same mistake, i was just brought along for the ride.

Otter: I'd ride y-OW!

Maybe: This is getting too predictable. You need some new lines otter.

Otter: And you need to ta-OW!

Man in Rags: *Chuckles* Never thought i'd miss that...

Young: Miss what, exactly? A chauvinist and a feminazi dueling it out?

Maybe: Hey now..

Young: Sorry, just playing to the stereotype. but seriously, just who are you?

Man in Rags: You dont recognize me? they had posters for my capture all during the riots in Britain and France. you know, the ones to regain control from the forgotten characters and the demons?

Young: Yeah, we missed all that. Evil geb, wedding and such.

Man in Rags: even still, most of you should recognize me.

Geb: You do look vaguely familiar...

CM: And I smell magic. even over the urine and whiskey.

TLTE: Is it that guy who did the thing with the other guy, at that place that one time?

Antestarr: no he had darker hair, i think. werent you in that movie with keanu?

Man in Rags: oh for chrissakes *Stands up* Its Ford, guys. i hate guessing games. waste of freakin time.

Geb: Ford? You're the one with the magic car?

Sarn: No that was some other guy.

Geb: Oh, right.

Antestarr: No Ford's the guy who had the evil rubber duckies.

TLTE: That was ernie.

Antestarr: Hrm...

TLTE: Ford is the one who helped us through hell the first time.

Ford: Ding ding ding! we have a winner! *cough cough*

Geb: Oh yeah, what happened to you anyway?

Ford: Let an uprising against some demons and forgotten characters. swept the streets clear of them, then got the demons mostly out of central government, other than the ones who were actually doing a good job. the poster were cause the demons wanted me dead.

Losien: How'd you end up here?

Ford: You kill a lot of demons, i guess jim gets pissed. he caught me and locked me up.

Geb: and the part about inescapable?

Ford: True.

TLTE: and we cant get a signal out?

Ford: Also true.

Sem: Fuq.

Ford: At least the liquors good.

In the depths of the forest, Calilmalith is searching for the "Haunted House of Heroes". She is not happy. Her face is glowering as she stomps through the undergrowth, digging her staff into the ground, slashing at bushes with her sword. She is lost.

Calilmalith: (muttering wildly to herself) If I ever catch his metal butt again, (slash bush) I'll give him woods. And what sort of directions are those? (slash bush) Go north, then west, then south, then west - I don't even have a freakin' (slash bush) compass (slash bush, slash bush).

Can you stop that please? We don't take kindly to wanton destruction of forests in NeS ... and if you don't stop, I'll just narrate you somewhere even more unpleasant.

Calilmalith: You can't do that!

Try me.

Calilmalith: Calilmalith is just about to answer when lo and behold ... she sees the Haunted House of Heroes in a clearing up ahead.

Oh, trying to take my job now, are we? I get no appreciation around here at all. But yes, Calilmalith IS at the Haunted House of Heroes. She drags her sorry butt ...

Calilmalith: Be nice

.. nice backside up the stairs and opens the door.

Calilmalith: Hello? Hello? Anyone here?

Down in the prison cells, our heroes hear her - and are heartened and happy.

Geboqh: Did you hear something?

Losien: Shut up, Geb ... I've got a nosebleed. We must be underground.

Antestarr : That's altitude, stupid. You get nosebleeds at altitude, not underground.

Losien: Who are you calling stupid, moron?

Maybechild: Now children, play nice ...

Antestarr: You keep out of this ...

The Otter: I say chaps, keep it civil ...

Losien: Don't you breath on me, you old drunk!

The Otter: I'll have you know I haven't touched a drink in ages, young lady ... someone should spank your backside.

Losien: I'll get you for that ...

Losien launches herself at The Otter who steps backward at the same moment as Maybechild grabs Losien. Just as it looks like it is going to get nasty, Calilmalith bursts through the door, sword high, staff at the ready. Everyone stops and stares at her.

The Patriot: And who might you be?

Calilmalith: (proudly) I am Calilmalith.

Geboqh: Who?

Calilmalith: CALIL ... haven't we already met?

Geboqh: I don't think so ... why, who do you think I am?

Calilmalith: A big nobody?

Geboqh: I'll ignore that. So what was your name again?

Calilmalith: CAL - IL ... oh, just call me Cali.

Young: Well, whoever you are, are we glad to see you!

Calilmalith: Don't I know you?

Young: I don't think so ... why, who do you think I am?

Wai: Is there an echo in here?

Calilmalith: Oh, never mind. So you want me to get you out of here?

All: Yes.

Calilmalith: Sure of that? (she pauses, kind of like comics do when they've just made a joke and are waiting for the big laugh) Just joking ...

Calilmalith bangs her staff twice on the lock of the heroes prison cell. It swings open with squeak.

Semievil: That's all it takes? To open an inescapable prison?

Calilmalith: Hey, I just do what's written. Take it up with the writer.

The heroes all pile out and head up the stairs to the "Haunted House of Heroes".

Calilmalith: (to Losien as they run up the stairs together) I like your fighting spirit.

Losien: Nosebleeds make me do that.

Down in the prison cell ...

Ford: Hello? Hello? Anybody? Oh well (sigh) ... at least the liquor is good.

Meanwhile, back in NeShattered...

The bartender sets down a beer in front of the Unknown Man -- yes, Unknown! That's my story and I'm sticking to it -- who reaches into his pocket to pay, stopping suddenly when a glowing portal appears to his right.

Unknown Man: Oh no. Oh no no no no no. Not this time you don't.

The portal begins shrinking, almost imperceptibly at first, but then faster. The Unknown Man shrugs, sighs, and stands. Hey, neat alliteration!

Bartender: Where are you going?

Unknown Man: Sorry, got to move the story along.

He returns the bartender's utterly bewildered expression with an equally puzzled one, turns back to the portal, and takes a running dive through just as it closes --

The Haunted House of Heroes

-- and his head connects with TLTE's chest as he tumbles into the NeS proper. Both fall to the ground, but after a moment to recover, TLTE drags the Unknown Man to his feet, holding him by the throat.

TLTE: You! What are you doing here? You're dead... Losien killed you!

Unknown Man: (gasping) I think... that's probably wrong. Because I'm... alive... y'know? Maybe... you ha... you have me mistaken for... someone else?

TLTE gives the Unknown Man a rough shove, sending him back to the ground.

TLTE: (coldly) I know exactly who you are.

Unknown Man: (glaring back up at TLTE, suddenly furious) Oh, you do? Then tell me! I have no idea who I am or who you are, I remember nothing that happened to me before about two years ago, I do and say things that make no sense!

He rises.

Unknown Man: So yeah, if you happen to know who I am, that would really be a terrific help to me. (shouting in the Russian's face) Who am I!?

TLTE: You are Michael MacFarlane.

MacFarlane's eyes go wide, his enraged expression replaced with one of sudden, though tentative, recognition.

Michael: MacFarlane... Michael MacFarlane... the Writer?

He looks around at the other heroes, trying to make sense of what he's just said.

Michael: Is that right?

Well, is it? Find out next time!

The adventure continues!*

TLTE: Impossible!

MacFarlane: No, no I remember!

TLTE: If you are a writer, then it follows that -

Otter: Yeah yeah, huge paradox, infinite proportions, catastrophic implications. Like we haven't heard that before.

TLTE: This is important -

Otter: Then go cry about it to your Soviet mother because I don't care! I just survived a deadly secret mission in an alternate reality and if you think I'm about to get started on some other nonsense then you've got another thing coming! No sir, The Otter's taking a well-deserved vacation!

MaybeChild: 'Well-deserved'? But you didn't do anything!

*This remark greatly offends Otter.*

Otter: What I did was a bang-up job!

MaybeChild: No, what you did was stand around and crack lame observational jokes while people died.

Otter: A bang-up job!

MaybeChild: Repeating stuff twice doesn't help your argument.

Thrawn42689: It's true. Shouting doesn't convince anybody.

Sarn: You survived?

*Thrawn shrugs.*

Sarn: Amazing. You redshirt nobodies usually die in the first few minutes. Congratulations! I hereby promote you to acting senior ensign, jg!

Otter: Oh sure, everybody go and take his side!

Cool Matty: I think you need to calm down, Otter.

Otter: I'll tell you who needs to calm down! Nyyah!

*As Otter freaks out Geb notices the HHH's mail drop-box is crammed full. He pulls out several stupidly long beaurocratic-type documents.*

Gebohq: 'Here is your 2007 income tax return, please complete promptly'?

MaybeChild: Great. Nobody thought to file our income taxes before the big adventure.

Gebohq: 'Notice of failure to submit income tax return on time'?

Losien: Is that bad?

Thrawn42689: They usually just make you pay a late penalty.

Gebohq: 'Notice of failure to file income taxes with supplementary late charges'?

Losien: What about that?

Thrawn42689: Well, their next recourse is a court summons. But they'll still work it out with you.

Gebohq: 'Notice of missed court date'?

Losien: And then?

Thrawn42689: Then they just seize your bank accounts and liquidate your assets.

Gebohq: 'Notice of seizure of property'?

Losien: What if you're broke and you don't actually own anything?

Thrawn42689: I'm not sure. I guess they'd have the legal right to arrest you.

*At that moment several police cars pull up outside the HHH. The cops enter the HHH lead by two smartly-dressed FBI agents.*

Agent Wilkens: Special Agent Wilkens. I'm looking for Mr. Ohq.

Gebohq: Wow, it's the X-Files!

*Geb turns to Thrawn.*

Gebohq: Wait, were you saying things about stuff?

Just then...

Rob X: *snore*...*snort* Huh? Wha? Did I hear someone talking about me?

Putting a hand to his ear, Rob X attempts to better hear the voice, despite the voice being far too far away for the sound waves to carry properly.

Rob X: ...oh, it's just taxes again. Stupid taxes stealing my thunder...*grumble*

With that, Rob X falls back asleep.

In the writers realm.

GebtW: Glad to have you back Ford. we missed ya. srsly.

FordtW: Good to be back. I think. sorry i flaked on that epic thing i was gonna do, but you know...

GebtW: Know what?

FordtW: With the girl...

GebtW: I'm afraid i dont understand.

AntetW: And you never will. Really, though, its pointless, geb has a two track mind. Writing and Donuts. anything outside that...who knows. but good to have you back. you havent happened to have seen MacLongname anywhere have you?

FordtW: No, i'm sorry, i havent. check his room? i heard he retired there when his character died.

AntetW: yeah, i know, but e seems to have disappeared.

FordtW: *shrug* I dunno, man. Sorry. but hey can i have some space? ideas are flowing.

GebtW: You're posting again?! so soon?! Fantastic! *slapping his chest Star Trek TNG style* Miss Jenkins? send up a box of glazed for Mr. Ford here!

FordtW: I'm fine, really, thanks. just need to be left alone for a bit.

AntetW: (aside to Ford) No worries, mate. there is no 'Miss Jenkins.' little joke. on him. gave him a ST insignia and told him it was a functional communicator. its a riot sometimes.

GebtW: Miss Jenkins? *grumbling to himself* Oh, if she doesnt have the presence of mind to answer i'll just have to go down and talk sense to her.

geb walks out in a huff

FordtW: what now? wont he figure it out?

AntetW: nah, he'll be distracted by something before he makes down the hall. anyway, good writing to ya.

he turns and walks out


FordtW: *chuckling* god i missed this place.

He turns and begins typing


-------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile(NeScount...is this even still a viable joke?) in the inescapable prison block....

Ford the Hero: *singing quietly to himself.* To meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. *hic* Coming from youuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Friend is a four letter *hic* woooord.

Ariana: You have a rather nice singing voice.

Ford the Hero: When i go fi..Huh? whozzat then?

Ariana: Oh, i'm sorry, i have the advantage of you. We haven't officially met. I was in the cell across from you a little while ago. You're Ford the Hero, right?

Ford: Thass me. *takes a swig from a bottle then proffers it towards her* Whiskey?

Ariana: No, thank you. I just came down to find my earring. it seems i lost it when we left the cell.

Ford: Its over by the bench. i noticed it sparkling when i once again was left alone with nothing but a bottle to comfort me.

Ariana: Sorry about that. You're quite observant, arent you?

Ford: 'S one of the things i'm known for, yes.

Ariana: *suppressing a smile* Interesting. Ah yes, here it is. *picking up the earring from the ground* Now i have something for you.

She walks over to Fords cell and reches to a spot right next to it. she pulls forth keys to the cell. they jingle as she waves them at Ford.

Ford: You've got to be *****ing me.

A few posts ago, while the cast of characters were still imprisoned in their cell...

The Patriot: What luck, my Russian rival. It would appear that you have no place left to run and hide.

TLTE: Right. Luck...

The Last True Evil pulls Amal behind him. The Patriot pulls out one of his pistols, aims it at The Last True Evil's head, and cocks it. The others immediately notice what's going on.

Otter: Hey! What do you think you're doing?

The Patriot: Stand back, everyone! This man is dangerous.

Maybechild: You idiot! He's with us!

Sarn Cadrill: *to Voodoo* Did she just call the Patriot an idiot?

The Patriot looks towards Maybechild, then at the others.

The Patriot: Are you saying that you all are in an alliance with this man?

CoolMatty: We're not working for him. He's working for us.

TLTE: Not for you, mageling...

The Patriot pulls out another pistol, and aims it with an intimidating presence at the others.

The Patriot: What is your agenda with this Russian?

Sugarless: We don't have an "agenda," Mr... Whoever You Are.

The Patriot: Do you not know who I am?

Sarn Cadrill: He's the Patriot! Please forgive my ignorant friends, sir. They don't know better. We're heroes, and might I add that it's an honor to be in your presence.

The Patriot: Professional heroes?

TLTE: Not all of them, but Gebohq is, and we all--

The Patriot: Silence!

The Last True Evil steps back.

The Patriot: So... you all are God-fearing believers in truth, justice, and the American way?

Sarn Cadrill: Yes.

Otter: More or less.

The Patriot: ...and the Russian here. He's a part of your group?

Sarn Cadrill: Yes sir.

The Patriot: Do you all not realize that this man is a villain? He was a keystone in a secret Soviet project, where there were hundreds of clones just like him. He's been linked to dozens of major international criminal acts. I don't know what he told you, but he's no hero.

Semievil: We know. He used to antagonize our group in the past, but he's one of the good guys now.

The others, Gebohq in particular, looks at The Last True Evil. They all kept silent. The Patriot takes no notice of this.

The Patriot: I'm afraid that's not good enough. I know this man better than any of you could. He can't be allowed to live.

Losien: NO!

Losien steps in front of The Last True Evil.

The Patriot: Stand aside, young woman.

Losien: No. I won't allow you to do this. You'll have to kill me first.

Amal: What's going on?

TLTE: Amal, you need to go over to my friend in the blue-collar t-shirt, OK?

Amal: But I want to stay here with you.

TLTE: You can't...

The Patriot does not falter in composure as Losien and Amal stand in front of The Last True Evil.

Antestarr: Might I offer a suggestion? Killing The Last True Evil will only serve to complicate matters at this point. I can tell you that Losien, the woman there, will give her life to him, and the kid would certainly be traumatized. Instead, why don't you stay with us.

TLTE: What?!

Antestarr: You can keep tabs on our Russian friend, and we could certainly benefit from the expertise of a highly acclaimed professional hero such as yourself, if only for a little while. The moment he shows a sign of villainy, he's yours.

TLTE: I'd rather not, thank you.

The Patriot considers.

The Patroit: Which of you leads the others here?

Gebohq: That would be me, sir.

With careful respect, Gebohq steps up to The Patriot.

The Patroit: What is your name?

Gebohq: Gebohq, sir.

The Patriot: Let me see your credentials.

Fishing around in his pants pockets, Gebohq produces an electronic card. The Patriot looks it over.

The Patroit: Hmm... not much of a hero, are you? Still, your record could be worse.

The Patriot hands Gebohq back the card.

The Patriot: Do you trust this Russian, Gebohq?

Gebohq looks at The Last True Evil.

Gebohq: ...yes.

The Patriot: I sure hope so, son. I'm placing the responsibility on you should anything go wrong. Understand?

Gebohq: Yes sir.

The Patriot: Very well.

The Patriot puts his pistols away.

The Patriot: For now, the Russian may live. I will accompany you all so long as The Last True Evil is to never leave my sight.

The Patriot steps very close to The Last True Evil.

The Patriot: You better not even so much as blink an evil way, or so by the stars on the flag of my homeland, you'll wish you were never born. Got it?

TLTE: ...you have something stuck between your teeth.

The Patriot: I had some apple pie at that wedding ceremony and IT WAS AS GOOD AS THE AMERICAN DREAM, YOU COMMUNIST!

TLTE: You know that pie was evil, right? It was an evil wedding. It's going to go straight to your stomach.

The Patriot: ...I hate you so much.

Back in the present. Ford is still staring in amazement.

Ford: You've got to be *****ing me!

Ariana: Please, you've been saying that for 5 minutes now.

Ford: I know! but seriously! You've got to be *****ing me!

Ariana reaches through the bars and grabs him by the raggedy collar.

Ariana:*in a low growl, eyes glaring* Listen, punk, i've put up with your language long enough. I permitted it only because you are drunk and in shock. I am a lady and do not appreciate that kind of low brow language. It would be advisable for you to not use it in my presence, or the consequences will be dire. *bright and sweetly* Do we have an understanding?

Ford: Uh...buh...duh...Yes...

Ariana: *low again* Yes, what?

Ford: Yes, Ma'am?

Ariana: *Once again chipper and sweet* Wonderful. now take these keys and we can go back upstairs to our friends.

Ford: One question..

Ariana: Yes?

Ford: Where were those?

Ariana: On a peg in the wall, well within your reach.

Ford: Oy! i tried everything i could think of to get out of this cell, and the answer was right there.

Ariana: Well, if you laid off the bottle and actually thought about what you were doing you might have had a better time of it. now come on, i'm sure they dont miss us up there, but theres and intriguing fellow who just popped up.

Ford: Yes, Ma'am.

He follows her up and out of the dungeon mumbling about how much of an idiot he is.

And now for Mad Libs, NeS edition... (please post your results in the workshop thread!)

Back to a Few Moments in the Past Again.


(1)A NeS character name: _________
(2)Noun: __________
(3)Animal: ________
(4)Noun: _________
(5)Verb (present tense):_______
(6)Verb (present tense):_______
(7)Verb ending in ing: ________
(8)Adjective: _______
(9)Verb: ________
(10)Color: _______
(11)Color: _______
(12)Color: _______
(13)Adjective: _______
(14)Noun: ______
(15)Verb: _______
(16)Verb ending in ing: ________
(17)A number: ________



Back to a few moments in the past again:

(__1__): (sings) despite all my( __2__) I am still just a (__3__) in a (__4__)!

Losien: (__5__) to the Patriot. I still mean it if you even (___6___) about (__7__) TLTE, you will have to deal with me first!

Voodoo: Not again, this is so (___8___).

Sarn: We will (__9__) into three groups, (__10__), (___11___), and(___12___).

Voodoo: Sorry Mr. Patriot guy, but Sarn can act a little (__13__) sometimes.

Sarn: (___14___)teams, (___15___)!

Ford: You have got to be (___16___) me!


................


Meanwhile.... (NeS post Count # (___17___) in the writers realm:

VoodooTW: I'm having a hard time finding the right words so I figured the audience can pick them.

Agent Wilkens: First off, I should give you this.

Gebohq: What is it?

Agent Wilkens: It's a requisite M.U.S.T.! liscence of agreement. You all must stand here and do nothing as he reads the 364-page document that'll explain the rights you do and do not have under the law in this condition.

Gebohq: Don't you mean a B.U.M.P.! liscence of agreement?

Agent Wilkens: That expired after last year. This is the new policy.

Gebohq: Can I at least uh... read this while I go to the bathroom?

Agent Wilkens: I don't know. Can you?

Gebohq: ...May I?

Agent Wilkens: No.

Gebohq: Can I go before I read?

Agent Wilkens: No.

Gebohq: Nurrrrrrr.... *starts reading*

((Non-Story Post: Yay overly-elaborate B.U.M.P.! :awesome:))

Agent Wilkens: Are you done yet?

Gebohq: Uh...no...

Agent Wilkens: Well, I don't have all day. Read it on the way to the court.

Gebohq: But... uh... guys! A little help?

Maybechild: Have fun, Geb.

Antestarr: Send us a post card.

Gebohq is handcuffed and dragged away by Agent Wilkens to the police cars, which drive off.

Young: Shouldn't we go after him?

Otter: What? Go on another rescue mission? No thank you. He probably deserves it.

Semievil: Besides, even if he doesn't, he'll manage to find a way out.

Antestarr: Let's all settle in, then.

Young watches with some confusion and concern as everybody goes their seperate ways. At the moment, only herself, Antestarr and Thrawn42689 (aka Thrawnbot) are left around.

Antestarr: Listen, Young, Sem's right. Besides, most everyone here has their own interests in mind -- they could never work well enough together to pursue Geb. It's why I dissolved the group some time ago.

Young: I... I don't feel well.

Antestarr: Go lie down for a while. I'll be with you shortly.

Young shuffles away, exiting the scene.

Antestarr: So, I wasn't expecting you to be here. What was the latest on the Siberian site?

Thrawnbot: Siberian shwa?

Antestarr: You know, the phenomenon? From the conflicting story conventions?

Thrawnbot: ...wiggity-whack?

Antestarr looks at Thrawnbot. Still looking at him, he pulls out a communication device and presses a button on it.

Thrawn42689: *over the comm. device* Hello, Antestarr.

Antestarr: Hello. Where are you right now?

Thrawn42689: I'm still at the Siberian site, collecting data on the paradox. Why?

Antestarr continues to look at the person in front of him.

Thrawnbot: So, are we gonna do anything evil? I haven't done evil in a while.

Thrawn42689: ...Hello? Are you there? Ugh, I ****ing hate humans...

MEANWHILE (NeScount: 243 since it's last been funny), in a remote location of the Haunted House of Heroes...

Wai: *in a communication device* Master Thand, please respond. I have urgent news.

Thand: *over the comm. device* Hello, Wai. What's this news you bring?

Wai: In my time in NeShattered, we came across a person who says they are the avatar of NeS. I'm sending you my report on my time in NeShattered now.

Thand: Hmm... I'll read over your report and call you again soon. Good-bye, Wai.

Wai: Goodbye, Master.

ELSEWHERE, in a random bedroom within the Haunted House of Heroes...

TLTE: Amal, this is going to be your room, OK?

Amal: Is this going to be your room too?

TLTE: Uh...we'll see. For now, I want you to stay here, OK? No wandering around except to go to the kitchen and the bathroom -- I don't want you to get lost.

Amal: But... I want to be around you.

TLTE: I can't. Not now, I mean. There's a TV with some movies and videogames you can play with while I'm gone.

The Last True Evil bends down to Amal's level. The Patriot leans close behind The Last True Evil.

TLTE: ...would you mind? I'm trying to make the kid here feel better.

The Patriot does not back off. The Last True Evil sighs, and lifts Amal's chin up with his hand.

TLTE: Hey. I'll be back soon. I promise.

Amal: OK...

The Last True Evil walks to the door, and holds the door for The Patriot to exit first, managing to grit a toothy smile for him. The Patriot glares, exiting the room, and The Last True Evil closes the door behind him. Michael MacFarlene, Losien and Maybechild get up from the seats they had been waiting in, and approach The Last True Evil.

Losien: Do you think leaving Amal like this is the best thing?

The Patriot: Yes, Russian, do you?

TLTE: We all have matters to discuss, and Amal... he should not become too dependant on me... it can't be helped...

The Patriot: Is that so? Just like your heroic leader being arrested? You could do nothing then too?

The Last True Evil glares at the Patriot.

Maybe: Alright, boys, settle down. Let's go see what the others are up to.

Michael: Perhaps we can stop by the kitchen? I'm kind of hungry...

MEANWHERE-ELSEWHILE, in yet ANOTHER part of the Haunted House of Heroes...

Sugarless: AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Mimiru: What's wrong?

Sugarless breathes heavily as she continues to look down the hallway.

Sugarless: I see dead people...

CM: Oh, that. There's a reason we call this place the HAUNTED House of Heroes, you know. Geb said he excorsized the place, but we still have the occasional ghoul, it seems. Don't mind them, though -- the spirits usually just moan and complain about the thermostat and go damning your descendants, blah blah blah.

Sugarless: ...right. So, I meant to ask this earlier after near-death by delicious wedding cake, but uh, why have I been having the strongest craving for mushrooms?

Subaru: Do you like mushrooms?

Sugarless: No, not really.

Subaru: I'd say it's probably a side-effect of the methods Maybechild and I used to save your life.

Sugarless: Probably?

Subaru: Yeah, probably. I mean, maybe you're just weird too.

Sugarless: Gee, thanks. I'm going to see if I can't find something in the kitchen then.

Mimiru: We'll follow.

Back with Wai, his comm. device blinks, and he answers it.

Wai: Hello, Master.

Thand: Wai, this "Ricky" is not the avatar of NeS. You also know this person as Red, the lady in the red dress. You must apprehend her, now.

Wai: Yes, Master.

AT THE KITCHEN, where most all the characters are conviniently converging...

Wai: Everybody! I've made an important discovery! The person we knew as "Ricky" is not the avatar of NeS!

Everybody sits there, emotionless. They turn towards the camera, knowingly. Ricky/Red sits all shifty-eyed.

Wai: ...we also need to get a hold of --hey, where'd Red go?

Sarn Cadrill: You mean that lady in the red dress who looked a lot like our Denny's waitress? She was right next to me a second ago...

Wai: Damnit! We need to find her!

TLTE: Later, comrade. First, we have some other matters to--

Suddenly, a scream is heard from downstairs.

Voodoo: Was that the angel-woman? I think she went back to get something she left behind.

Calilmalith: Well it sounds like she's in trouble -- we should find out what the problem is.

Otter: Back downstairs, in that creepy complex of questionable chambers? Count me out.

Semievil: Nice alliteration.

Otter: Thanks. I mean, if nothing else, doesn't anybody wonder why Jim Seven threw us in a prison in our own basement?

The Patriot: You ask too many questions. This situation calls for an expert hero -- follow me!

The group follows The Patriot (well, The Last True Evil isn't so much "following" as "being dragged by The Patriot" at the moment), with Sugarless swiping some mushrooms she found in the process.

ARE ARIANA (and Ford, and maybe the stupid main characters charging into the unknown) IN TROUBLE? WILL GEBOHQ GET OUT OF THE LEGAL TROUBLE HE IS IN? IS THIS NARRATOR MAKING THE SITUATION SOUND MORE DIRE THAN IT LIKELY IS?

...Wouldn't you like to know?

Otter: Don't you think it might be a good idea to think about things before you go flinging yourselves into potentially life-threatening danger?

*However, The Patroit, Calimath and Voodoo have already run off.*

Otter: Nobody listens to me. Well, I've had enough!

Antestarr: Hey can you guys back me up? I think we've got a big problem here.

*Semievil walks over to where Ante stands with Thrawn.*

Otter: Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?

Antestarr: No seriously, I think we've been infiltrated. Get your gun.

Otter: I don't think so. No sir, this Otter's done bailing everbody out!

TLTE: Comrade, this is potentially serious.

Otter: Don't 'comrade' me, you Kruschev-loving Stalin-commie!

TLTE: ...that doesn't even make sense.

Otter: Oh doesn't it? Well then how about this: I quit!

Antestarr: You quit?

Otter: That's right! From now on I'll take care of my own business!

*Pause.*

Antestarr: Alright, whatever. Sem, TLTE, help me out here.

Semievil: Sure.

Otter: I'll be a private detective! Tracking felons through the foggy London night, cracking the most difficult cases with the help of my trusty sidekick!

Thrawn: Why are you guys looking at me like that?

Somewhere, in an undisclosed location in South America's Patagonia region, a location that is on the exact opposite end of the planet from the Siberian site, a device sits, waiting. This device consist of twenty strange solids the shape and size of books, ten white and ten black, placed in an alternating pattern on a circular, mechanical track with a diameter of approximately twelve meters. The device does not look crude, but nor does it look complicated.

The book-like solids begin to open...

----------------------------

Within a deep, hidden corner of the Dreamstate, lies a heavy box, firmy planted to the ground. Within that box is a plot-hole, a plot-hole that will forever exist within that box because of its reason for existing. I do not know what that reason is, but only that it makes this plot-hole rather special. There are nine other boxes, with nine plot-holes like this one, deep in the hidden corners of nine fundamental dimensions of the NeS. And, in the opposite corners of those nine dimensions, and in the opposite corner of the Dreamstate, lie ten other similar boxes with existances of a similar kind, except that they contain what are called "white" plot-holes.

These boxes begin to open as well...

---------------------------

In the undisclosed location in the Patagonia region, each white "book" reveals a force that reflects one of the ten "white" plot-holes, and each black "book" reveals a force that reflects one of the ten unique plotholes. The forces begin to attract to an opposing force on the opposite side of the circular track, generating a point of prismatic energy in the center. The point of engery begins to grow, and soon, appears to threaten to grow beyond its confines. The track begins to spin, however, and its growth is woven inwards. The device continues to spin, folding this strange new creation in its center...

---------------------------

In his tower within the Dreamstate, Arkng Thand peers into his small, pocket mirror, witnessing the activation of the device in the Patagonia region.

Thand: I knew those oors of mine would prove useful if I kept them around long enough.

Arkng Thand pockets his mirror away, leans back in his seat, and smokes his pipe.

*Gebohq is seated in the back of Agent Wilkens' police cruiser.*

Gebohq: Can't we make some kind of deal?

Agent Wilkens: No.

Gebohq: Please? I'm too pretty to go to prison!

Agent Wilkens: I'm sorry, Mr. Ohq, but you made your bed when you decided not to file an income tax return, and now you're going to sleep in it.

Gebohq: Hmph. You don't sound very sorry.

Cop Driver: What kind of salary do you get for heroing anyway?

Gebohq: No thousand a year.

Cop Driver: How do pay for your headquarters? And your high-tech gear?

*Geb shrugs.*

Gebohq: I dunno.

Agent Wilkens: It's ironic. Your yearly income easily puts you into the lowest tax bracket - had you filed on time, you would have qualified for a sizeable monetary return.

*Removing his aviator shades Wilkens turns around in the seat and looks Geb in the eye.*

Agent Wilkens: But now you're a felon.

*Geb shrinks into his seat.*

Back at the HHH, Antestarr has taken charge and is pointing his gun at Thrawn42689

Antestarr: Alright, I don't know who you are or who you work for, but you had better start giving me the straight dope because my trigger finger's getting itchy.

Semievil: Wow, that was so hardcore.

Thrawn42689: I don't understand. I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-Nine.

Antestarr: I think I just said to give me the straight dope. Not this cock and bull dope.

Semievil: That one not so much.

Antestarr: Because I have the real Thrawn on the other end of this communication device...

Semievil: That's a funny thing to call your telephone.

Antestarr: ...and lord knows there can't be two of you.

*As the interrogation continues, Sarn notices a new arrival entering the HHH.*

Sarn: And who might you be?

Antestarr: What? I just said that.

Thrawn42689: I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-Nine.

Sarn: I was addressing the new arrival.

Semievil: Who are you talking about?

Antestarr: Great. He's going space-happy again. Somebody get the whacking stick.

*The figure approaches Sarn.*

Sarn: Don't worry, fellows. I'll handle this.

*Sarn stands, adjusts his uniform Picard-style and speaks out in his captain voice.*

Sarn: That's far enough. Identify yourself.

*MaybeChild wanders in just in time to see Sarn talking to an empty space.*

MaybeChild: Whoa, Sarn's gone space-happy. I'll get the whacking stick.

Sarn: Dammit man, I was fully innoculated from the Reticulan Asteroid Fever! Can't you see that I'm trying to protect us from this intruder?

*Maybechild fishes around behind the couch and pulls out a large block of wood. Ante urgently motions for her to sneak up behind Sarn.*

Antestarr: Uh, right. And you're doing a great job! Protecting us. From the intruder.

*Maybe tiptoes into position and raises the whacking stick above her head.*

Antestarr: Because we don't want to be intruded on.

Semievil: Certainly not.

Antestarr: That would be bad.

Sarn: Well then stand aside, commander, and allow me to do my job.

*Sarn looks around, but the figure is gone.*

Sarn: Hm, he appears to have disappeared. Ensign, get me a full sensor sweep -

*With a lound thunk Maybe brings the whacking stick down on Sarn's head. Sarn collapses.*

Sarn: Oof...I've been wounded...beam me directly to sickbay...

*Maybe and Semievil carry the comatose space captian to a room where he can sleep off the hit, and hopefully wake up somewhat saner.*

Antestarr: Right. Now, back to this.

Thrawn42689: I'm telling you, I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-Nine.

Antestarr: And I'm telling you that's impossible because there can't be two of the same person.

Voice: I'll handle this.

*Otter comes running into the room. Dressed in an old-fasioned cloak and a deerstalker cap, he is wielding a magnifying glass in one hand and a pipe in the other.*

Otter: I will be happy to take on The Case of Two Thrawns for a nominal fee, my good man.

Antestarr: ...what are you doing?

Otter: I'm starting my new life as a private investigator! Impressed?

Antestarr: Definately not. And I wouldn't take your help for free, let alone pay for it.

Otter: But I haven't got any cases. This could be my big break! Come on man, help me out!

Antestarr: Otter, I'm not playing around here.

Thrawn42689: Hey, do you have a Doctor Watson guy yet?

Otter: No, do you want to be my sidekick? I can cut you a share of the profits.

Thrawn42689: Sweet! I'm in!

*Antestarr rubs his forehead.*

Antestarr: This is so stupid.

Semievil: How are you going to investigate him if he's also your sidekick?

Otter: That kind of inside-the-box thinking is the reason you heroes have never cracked a single case.

Semievil: Well, I don't think we were ever really trying to do exactly that...

Otter: Nonsense! Come, Dr. Thrawn. Let us alight to my laboratory.

*'Detective' Otter leaves.*

Meanwhile, Young has been sitting curled up, head in her knees, on an antique canopy bed in a random bedroom. She decides to get up and walk over to an elliptical, full-length mirror that stands on the floor. Her wedding dress seems monsterous on her short, small frame. Young looks over towards the nearby wardrobe dresser (large enough to start silly stories about a fantasy land where a lion won't eat your head).

Young: Hmm...

She moves over to the large wardrobe and opens it. Inside are a wide variety of dresses and attires conviniently sized for a woman her build and height.

Young: I certainly hope the previous owner doesn't mind me trying these on, but I can't be walking around in a wedding gown anymore.

Reaching behind her back, Young begins to undress...

erm... OK, we're seeing some backside... uh...

CAMERA CUT PAST THE UNDRESSING AND DRESSING PROCESS, YOU DIRTY CAMERA MAN!

*a heavy whump is heard, and the view falls to the ground.*

...

*camera cut to Young wearing a standard high-class Victorian dress, complete with standard shaping corset underneath*

Young: Hrm... no.

*camera cut to Young wearing a traditional Japanese kimono*

Young: Pretty... but too restricting.

*camera cut to Young wearing a pair of boy's overalls over a white shirt*

Young: Practical... but not pretty enough.

*camera cut to Young wearing a yellow day dress with a bonnet*

Young: No...

*lots of camera cuts of Young wearing a variety of period outfits, and some strangely not-period (or gender-appropriate) outfits as well, with the cuts finally stopping at Young wearing an Old West tan-brown prairie blouse and skirt*

Young: Well, not exactly the epitome of elegance, but... there's something about it I like.

Young spins around, and feels an unusual amount of weight on one side. She feels the side of her outfit and notices a hidden pocket-strap, an inside, a pistol. She draws it out, looks at it, aims it at the mirror, and smiles...

Startled at her own reflection, she quickly puts the pistol back in the pocket.

Young: Maybe I should see how the others are...

Looking at the mirror one last time, she exits the room.

The Patriot, Calilmalith and Voodoo charge downstairs to locate the source of the screams. They reach a landing somewhere between where they’ve come from and the dungeon …

The Patriot: You've got to be *****ing me!

Calilmalith: Language please.

The Patriot: Sorry, but these story lines just get more and more ridiculous.

Voodoo pushes between Calilmalith and The Patriot.

Voodoo: Holy s**t, will you look at that!

And well they may look – because Ariana and Ford have swapped heads.

The Patriot: Extraordinary. How did it happen?

Ariana: *almost hysterical* I don’t know, I DON’T KNOW. One moment we were running up the stairs, next there was a strange purple light, and then … THIS!!

Ford: *pointing to his chest and prancing about a bit* Look what I’ve got!

Ariana: Shut UP! Don’t you dare touch those!

Ford: *in a happy silly voice* Stop me, stop me, ha ha ha!

Ariana: I am going to kill you!

She lunges toward him.

Calilmalith: *stepping between them brandishing her staff* Stop! This is not solving anything.

The Patriot: I agree. And I suggest we get off this landing and back up the stairs before anything else odd happens.

Calilmalith: *growling* Yes, so get moving before I am compelled to kick your sorry butts!

Ariana: Hey lady, growling is my trademark.

Calilmalith: Not anymore, sunshine, not anymore.

The Patriot: Back upstairs, everyone. Now!

The Patriot, Calilmalith, Voodoo, Ariana and Ford head back up the stairs.

Voodoo: Hey, Ariana? If Ford has your … you know, then you have his … well, you know.

Ariana: Oh my god. So I do. I've always wondered what it was like … oh don’t let him know. He’ll like the idea of me … umm, you know with his ... er, you know.

Ariana and Voodoo duck their heads close to each other and giggle like schoolgirls. Suddenly there is a loud popping sound, like a cork being pulled out of a bottle, and a flash of purple light.

All the heroes except Calilmalith: Aaaahhhhh!!!!!! Aaahhhaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Calilmalith: Oh no, No, NO!!

Calilmalith is transforming. The expression on her noble face is one of horror. Her proud Amazonian form is deflating like a balloon. If you could could block out the sound of the heroes screaming like pussies you would hear a gentle 'pzzzzzz' sound - you know, the sound you get when you hold a balloon opening tight so that it deflates slowly. Her form crumples, burbles and wavers, then her mis-shapen form suddenly flies wildly around the room, like a balloon set free, complete with appropriate balloon farty noises {Calilmalith the Writer: Okay, YOU think of a better way to write this} until it stops abruptly. Where the proud warrior woman once stood, is a little old lady, slight plump, sweet and motherly.

Granny Cal: Hello, dearies. Never fear, Granny Cal is here.

The other heroes: Aaaahhhhh!!!!!! Aaahhhaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

somewhere in the midst of the screaming, Ford fondles his/her new self.

Ford: Huh. Not nearly as much fun as i expected.

*Meanwhile, Young enters the completely normal and not in any way disturbing ground floor of the HHH and walks in on Ante's interrogation.*

Young: What are you doing?

Antestarr: You should be resting. You're not well.

Young: I might be feeling sick, but that doesn't mean I need to be waited on hand and foot.

Antestarr: It's just that I've got this guy backed into a corner and I don't want you here if he gets violent.

Thrawn42689: Hi!

Antestarr: Shut up!

*Ante waves his gun at Thrawn.*

Young: Fine. I'll come back when you're done being super action heroes.

*Young turns on her heel and leaves.*

Antestarr: It might not be safe is all!

Semievil: Ever heard of tact?

Antestarr: Go after her. She needs looking after.

*Pause.*

Antestarr: Please just do it.

*Sem gives Ante a questioning look and then exits, following Young.*

Antestarr: Now, where were we?

Thrawn42689: I was just saying how I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-nine.

*Young wanders down the hallway until she comes to an open door. Peering in, she spies Sarn lying down on a cot with a bandaged head.*

Young: Sarn? Did somebody hurt you?

Sarn: Hello, young lady. Although I was the victim of a cowardly close assault, never fear: Captain Sarn T. Capdill will fly again!

*Young smiles in an understanding way.*

Young: I see.

Sarn: They thought the space madness had taken hold of me, which is absurd because the doctor gave me my annual innoculation. But enough about me; what brings you to this sickbay?

Young: Oh, I don't know. Just at loose ends I guess.

Sarn: Ah, I know the feeling well. The exhilarating terror of armed combat leaves a hole that no amount of peacetime soldiering can fill.

Young: Yeah, and on top of that Antestarr thinks that I need to be protected from every potential threat ever. It's pretty stifling.

Sarn: You know, since I've been confined to sickbay for the duration of my recovery I've begun dictating my memoirs to the onboard computer for eventual publication. You'd be welcome to listen in.

Young: Sure. What's the title?

Sarn: 'New Crazy Story: The Adventuresome Capers in the Life and Times of Intergalactic Space Captian Sarn Cadrill Podcast, Episode One.'

*Young laughs, but not in a mean way.*

Young: Sounds exciting!

Sarn: Well, I'm not one to brag, but I smell a movie deal.

Young: Let me just some snacks.

Sarn: Very well. Computer, commence recording.

*Young exits the room to raid the pantry while Sarn resumes said dictation.*

Sarn: Stardate eight-six-three-three-one, point two. After single-handedly destroying the Rigellian Space-Crab threatening to eat the peaceful inhabitants of Zolfrab Nine, I ordered Helmswoman Jupiton to set course -

*Sarn stops as he feels himself being watched. Looking to his side, he sees the same figure that had appeared in the HHH's main hall and as a consequence earned him a beating.*

Sarn: You there! Halt!

*The figure walks towards Sarn. Upon standing the bedside, it stops and looks down at Sarn.*

Sarn: Well? Who are you?

*No response.*

Sarn: What the devil do you want?

*Nothing.*

Sarn: You may have been able to turn my crewmates against their captain, but you can't stop me!

*The figure leans in close to Sarn and speaks in a whisper.*

Tsolo: Tsolo.

Sarn: Tsolo?!

Young: Pardon?

*Sarn looks towards the door as Young enters with a bag of chips. He returns his gaze to the bedside, but the figure is gone.*

Young: Well, the story must be heating up to make you shout like that.

Sarn: This is no story. I saw it again.

Young: Saw what?

Sarn: It was the same person I saw in the lobby. It came back to me.

Young: There's noone here. Just me and you.

Sarn: I'm the only one that sees it. I don't understand why.

*At that moment, Semievil enters the room.*

Semievil: There you are, Young.

Young: You say that like you've been looking for me.

Semievil: Uh...

Young: I bet Antestarr put you up to this. Ugh. Does he think I can't do anything right?

Semievil: I'm sure he means well...

Sarn: I hate to interrupt, but I feel it's my duty to inform you of a new great danger recently uncovered by me.

Semievil: Oh?

Sarn: It's this mysterious figure that keeps appearing, but I'm the only one who sees him. Don't worry though - I'll have engineering work on a solution.

Semievil: How long has he been spouting this stuff?

Young: Just started now.

Sarn: You've got to believe me!

Semievil: Sure, I believe you. We all believe you.

*Quietly, Sem hisses to Young.*

Semievil: Get the whacking stick. I'll keep him distracted.

Young: I don't know, Semievil. This sounds pretty believeable.

Semievil: You find it believeable he's been visited by the ghost of Christmas past.

Young: I'm just saying that maybe we should entertain the possibility.

Semievil: Your argument would have a lot more weight if you weren't dressed like a cowboy.

*continued from last post*

Young: Whatever, Sem. You just wish you could look this good.

Sarn: So anyway, it's this guy Ts-

Sem begins discreetly inching towards the whacking stick

Young: I'm serious, Sem. Let's hear him out.

Sem: Are you sure you're not Serious Sam?

Sem chuckles to himself. Young and Sarn stare at him blankly. Seriously, Sem. What the hell?

Sem: What? I've been wanting use that line for a while.

Amatuers... Always have to work with Amatuers...

Sem: Yeah, and it's real professional for the narrator to speak directly to the characters...

Suddenly, Sem is struck by a random bolt of lighting. He falls to the ground, comatose, his body charred.

Young: What the hell?

Bast*rd.

Young: Now that's just not fair.

Oh, ok... Fine. Sem makes a miraculous recovery. He gets up and brushes himself off.

Young: Better..

Unfortunately, the lightning bolt has had a serious side effect on Sem. His skin has turned a shade of lavender.

Young: This is rediculous.

Sem: Oh come on now. Turn me back.

pfft. I'll think about it.

Sarn: So like I was saying guys... This guy.. Apparently, I'm the only one who can see him. It's like that time back on Roumulark VII when I had to single-handedly fight off a horde of flesh-eating, cyber amazons using nothing but a toothpick and a shoelace.

Sem blinks.

Sem: How is it like that exactly?

Sarn: Well, it's not really. I just like to bring that story up. I'll be getting to that soon in my memoirs.

Sem: See Young? We need the whacking stick.

Young ignores Sem.

Young: So what does this guy look like?

Sarn: Well he's really tall. Almost as tall as the giant, flesh-eating arachnid warrior prince of Clackdor IV that I single-handedly killed with a pinecone while my crew was being held captive by her army of oversized ant-creatures.

Sem: Do you have any stories that don't involve flesh-eating beings?

Sarn: Well a few.. But those ones aren't nearly as good.

Young: So what did he do, Sarn?

Sarn: Well he came at me, snapping his pincers and I took my pinecone, hefted it up like so, and char-

Young: Not the flesh-eating arachnid warrior prince. This guy that only you can see.

Sarn: Oh, right. Well he just kind of walked over to me. And I asked him who he was, and he whispered his name in my ear.

Sem: Kinky.

Young rolls her eyes

Young: And what's his name then?

Sarn: Tsolo.

Sem: Tsolo?

Sarn: Aye, Tsolo.

96+*

Sem: Eh?

Don't look at me. I'm not writing this sh**.

Sarn The Writer: Sorry, my cat, Sophie, was walking on the keyboard.

Sem: Hmm.. So why didn't you just delete it.

SarntW: Cause she's just so cute. Hopefully someday she'll follow in my footsteps and become a great novelist.

Sem: You're a great novelist?

SarntW: Umm... Yes... Of course I am.

Sem: If you say so... *in a whisper* I don't want to get struck by lightning again.

SarntW: You know, I can read it just as easily when you whisper as when you speak loudly. Hell, I'm writing it.

Listen guys, I don't mean to be a busybody, but could we perhaps get back to the story?

SarntW: Right.

Just then, Voodoo Snowflakes walks into the room carrying a ham sandwich. She takes it over to Sarn.

Voodoo: Hey sweetie. How you feeling? I made you a sandwich.

Sarn takes a bite out of the sandwich.

Sarn: Mmm, ham. My favorite. This is almost as good as the feast I ate after single-handedly saving the Tremulans from an evil race of flesh-eating, pirate worm-monkies.

Voodoo: Almost as good?

Sarn: Well they gave me a ham sandwich and beer.

Voodoo: No beer for you. You had a nasty hit on the head.

Voodoo glares at Sem

Sem: What? I didn't hit him!

Sarn: No beer?

Sarn glares at Sem.

Suddenly, Voodoo blinks and cocks her head to one side.

Voodoo: Why the hell are you purple?

Sem: Damnit, I'm still purple?

That's lavender, you dolts.

Young: I'll explain later, Voodoo. Sarn, tell me more about this Tsolo guy.

Sarn: I'd be happy to, miss. But I am rather hungry and I'll need all my energy to recant such a tale...

The ham sandwich has mysteriously disappeared. Sarn licks his lips.

Voodoo: You didn't hit your head that hard.

Oh dear, will Sarn be able to tell his whole story without being interrupted by Sarn the Writer's lame sense of humor (or his cat)? Will Sem ever turn back to his normal color (snicker)? Will anyone ever actually advance the story? Find out next time on the Never-Ending STORY!

A generic female prerecorded message voice begins to play. "Thank you for calling the Taxpayer Advocate Service Case Intake Line. For english press one, para español aprieta dos...

If you already filed your return press one
If you have not filed a return but have been granted an extension press two
if you know your party's extension press three
to repeat this menu press four
if you have other general questions or wish to speak to an actual human being, please stay on the line our representatives will be with you shortly.


.........

Geb strains to keep the receiver to his ear using his shoulder and neck.


Another recorded voice: To insure quality of service you call may be recorded, you may be asked your social security number...


hold music.


........



Male voice: Thank you for your patience, we are experiencing a high call volume at this time. A representative will be will you in approximately,

Female voice: Five

Male voice: minutes. .

.........



more really bad hold music (you writers are getting 'really bad about not decribing thing when you have the chance.)

VoodooTW: Ok um, more cheesy music, how do I decribe bad hold music anyway? Like elevator music that really really tries too hard to be relaxing or make you feel happy?[/i]


Recorded Voice: "Thank you for your patience, if you wish to speak to a representative stay on the line or hang up and call again."

......



Hold music

Geb starts to fidget.

Real person on other end: Thank you for calling the Taxpayer Advocate Service Case Intake Line, this is Greg, how can I help you?

Geb: Um, I was told I might be eligible for a tax payer advocate?

Greg: One moment.

More hold music.

.......



Guard: Sorry but your time is up.
Geb. But I finally got a real person on the line!


Oh no! Will Geb be really be able to get out of trouble on his own ? Will the writers ever stop talking over the story?

On the ground floor of the HHH...

Antestarr: (waving his gun in Thrawn42689's face again) Who are you!?

Thrawn: I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-Nine.

Michael: Hold on, hold on. You're going about this all wrong!

He steps between Antestarr and Thrawn.

Michael: Let me handle this. (turning to Thrawn) Alright, we've got the murder weapon, and it has your prints on it. We even have an eyewitness who saw the whole thing.

Maybechild: Eyewitness?

Antestarr: Yeah, I don't know.

Michael: (ignoring them) Now, you can go to the chair...

Antestarr points menacingly to a wooden chair off in the corner of the room.

Michael: Dude, not helping. (returning his attention to Antestarr) Or you can tell us who you are.

Thrawn appears to consider this choice for a second.

Thrawn: I'm Thrawn Forty-Two-Six-Eighty-Nine.

Michael shrugs.

Michael: Worth a try. Your witness. Suspect. Whatever, I'm going to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, back upstairs, Sarn has finished recanting his story of the invisible Tsolo. Voodoo sits cuddled up on the couch next to him while Young and Sem stand nearby. Sem is still a healthy lavender shade.

Young: So that's it then. Is he still around?

Sarn: Nope, he disappeared when you guys came back into the room earlier.

Young: He.. disappeared? Or he left?

Sarn: I didn't notice.

Sem: Hmm, well they don't call this place the Haunted House of Heroes for nothing. Maybe it's a ghost.

Young: I don't think so. The ghosts usually stay in the basement.

Just then, Amal enters the room.

Amal: Hey guys, have you seen TLTE?

Sem: I think he's downstairs somewhere. Do you need something?

Amal: Well I was supposed to be waiting in my room, but I got bored.

Sarn: Cheer up, young lad. I'll tell you about the time I single-handedly altered the course of an oncoming asteroid populated by flesh-eating slug zombies using nothing more than a magnifying glass and the sun.

Amal: I think I've heard that before.

Sarn: What? Someone's going around using my copyrighted material? Oh, I smell a lawsuit.

Amal: *sigh* I guess I'll go to bed.

Amal walks dejectedly from the room and back into the bedroom. He strips off his shoes and lays down in the bed. Within a few minutes, he's asleep.

Voice: Amal.

Amal: huh?

Voice: I must speak with you. I took great care to arrange this meeting.

Amal: Am I sleeping?

Voice: Yes. I have a few gadgets lying around that allow me to reach out to people in their dreams. But I don't have much time, so I must be quick.

Amal: Who are you?

Voice: Amal, I don't have time. All will be explained soon. Let me just say that your life is in danger. Some among your present party wish you ill. I can't go into details. But just watch your back over the next few days. I'm working to configure this tool more effectively, so next time we speak we'll have more time. Just remember, I can help you. I'm on your side, and I can guide you to safety. I'll explain more later. Time is almost up now. Remember this one last thing. Some of the people you think are your friends have other agendas. Don't tell anyone we spoke, or the consequences wil-

The voice cuts off. Amal remains in the dream a moment longer, swirling in a black void.

Amal: Wait! What are you talking about? Wait!!!

Young: Amal?

Amal comes away suddenly in a cold sweat.

Young: Amal, are you ok? You were having a bad dream I think. We heard you screaming from the other room.

Amal: I... There was this vo- Umm.. It was nothing. Just a dream.

Young: Ok, can I bring you anything?

Amal: No. I'm fine. I'm going to go back to sleep.

Young: Suit yourself. See you in the morning.

Young leaves the room. Amal lies away for several more hours. Unanswered questions swirling in his head.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Southern Jersey, a red-headed woman in a grimy cowboy hat and an ugly green button-up shirt sits on the steps of some ominous building. She holds a scrunched envelope in her hands. She stands and it begins to rain. Her cigarette is immediately put out.

Red/Rick: ;_;

The weather takes a dramatic turn for the worse as Rick walks down the stairs. She pauses for a second to look back at Ominous HQ. She clenches her fists and dramatically looks up to the heavens.

Rick: You cost me my job, Gebohq!!! I don't know where you are, but I *will* find you!! And when I do, I'll finish the job that cost me my...erm...job

It rains harder.

Rick: >_> *scurries off*

As the purple light dissipates, Ford's body changes back to its own masculine form.

Ford: Oh well. Venu facile, facile vont.

The Patriot: Since when did you speak French?

Granny Cal: Ham sandwiches, anyone? I'll just whip up a few.

Gebohq languishes in his cell, put there after his call. An officcer comes up to the bars.

Officer: All right boy, what's it for you?
Geb: Whaaa?
Officer: Your last meal boy, what do you want?
Geb: My last meal, what are you talking about?
Officer: Your last meal, your scheduled at 0800 tonight
Geb: Oh last meal of the day, gotcha, can I get donuts some...
Officer (interupting) NO not last meal of the day, your schedualed for execution tonight. I hear it's goin to be a good one, though I'd imagine you won't like it much. Slowly chocking to death on deadly gas doesn't seem to be a good plan to me. Oh well I don't have to worry about it. Now you said donuts...
Geb: I'm to be executed because I missed filing on my taxes!
Officer: I don't know, I don't care, just know I'm supposed to take down the menu for a guy in a cell called Gebohq. And since I doubt two people in the world could have as crazy a name as Gebohq, your it now what do you want?

The officer continues to harass Gebohq, until his partner walks down. Yikes two officers now.. hmm what to do what to do.

Officer 2: Wrong man
Officer 1: What do you mean?
Officer 2: I mean wrong man, we're killing Qhobeg, not Gebohq, what's wrong with you? I'm supposed to take Gebohq to the bureau for questioning.
Officer 1: Are you sure your paper work is in order?
Officer 2: Of course I'm sure! I have the best record for paperwork screwups out of the whole department. (beams proudly) Only 1789.34 times has my paperwork been screwed up.
Officer 1: Wow that is impressive! I'm still below the 3000 limit thankfully, but I hope mine is not wrong, can you check it over?
Officer 2: But of course.
They sit down and go through the paperwork. It takes over 3 hours to check it all, but they do it.
Officer 2: Right, and so you were reading off the backwards copy for the forward impaired instead of the name of one to be killed in a nasty way sheet.
Officer 1: Wow such a basic mistake. I'm quit sorry about this.
Officer 2: Oh no problem, just make sure to fill out the unjust reading of death to a tax evader sheet and you'll be all set.
Officer 1: Great! This won't even go on my record.
Officer 2: Right you are. (turns to Gebohq) Well then let's go down to the bureau shall we?
Geb: Does this mean I don't get any donuts?

In the kitchen of the HHH...

Michael, absorbed in the task of pouring milk into a bowl of cereal, suddenly hears a voice from across the kitchen table. Startled by the sudden interruption, his hand shakes and he spills some of the milk.

Voice: Oh, hey. Mind passing me the milk when you're done?

Michael looks up to see the bloody skeleton from page three. He regards it coolly. The skeleton stares back with empty eye sockets and the perpetual toothy grin common to all those who no longer possess a face.

Michael: ...what the hell?

He plunges a spoon savagely into his cereal bowl, spilling even more milk in the process, and half turns away from the friendly undead creature, muttering "I really hate this place."

Skeleton: So you're, uh... you're done with the milk then?

Michael looks back over at the skeleton, who wears an expression that is either hopeful, or plaintive, or bemused, or... well, it could be just about anything, given his lack of facial muscles.

Michael: What could possibly want milk for? You don't have a digestive system!

Skeleton: Oh... you know, you're right! I really didn't think this through. I just wanted strong bones, see? They're kind of all I have left, besides a bit of blood that really doesn't do anything. And so I thought it might be a good idea to drink some milk. But I see now that won't really work.

Michael: Great. I'm leaving now.

Skeleton: Wait, wait! This is the Haunted House of Heroes, yeah? I've always wanted to be a hero! Take me with you, I can learn all about being a hero from you and your band! Bone up, as it were!

Michael: That might have been the worst pun I've ever heard. Ought to lock you in a closet for that one. (sigh) Okay, come on. You're new, I'm new; we'll work together for a bit.

Michael walks out of the kitchen, still carrying his bowl of cereal, with the skeleton following him at a dead run.

What?

meanwhile, elsewhere in the HHH, somewhere near the Thingy2....

Gettle: Stupid MZZT. "Have to repair the Thingy." he says, "The fate of the world is at stake" he says. "Dont you want to see geb again?" he says. he still didnt have to take away my best friend...

Gettle wanders into the Thingy2 room, kicking debris and empty rolls of duct tape.

Gettle: Fate of the world my left cheek. there are all kinds of disused equipment in this place. he could have taken parts from them! stupid MZZT.

Suddenly he spies something on the floor. It looks vaguely like a mouse droid. it is quite obviously inoperational.

Gettle: OMG! Its you! *scooping up the scarred piece of equipment.* Oh i knew you wouldnt let those nasty "computer" guys hurt you.

TMTGB: ....

Gettle: Its alright. i know. They scared you.

TMTGB: ....

Gettle: but theres nothing to be afraid of now. i'm here and you're safe and sound with me.

TMTGB: ....

Gettle: Shhhh. nothing to fear.

Tsolo: On the contrary....

Gettle: Gasp!

TMTGB: ....

Oh my! What will happen next? Will Gettle be carted away by the mysterious Tsolo? Will Gettle Realize that TMTGB doesnt work anymore? Does TMTGB really not work anymore? Will you find out the answers to these questions?

Probably not.

But read on anyway, because the continued adventures of our heroes gets even more amazing!

not really.

TMTGB: ...

Hearing and Seeing Tsolo Gettle drops the mouse that goes bing

TMTGB: ...

TMTGB: ... in

TMTGB: ...ing

TMTGB: ... ring

Oh no what's wrong with TMTGB? Can it not go bing anymore? Is it to scared of Tsolo? Or just trying to rename itself? Or go completely unnoticed? Well I certainly don't know.

Meanwhile...
We zoom in, smash into a window, crap too far. Left Right, up down, over under, forward in time, backward in time, around in time, back to where it happened, ok ok I'll get on with it sheesh, what can I say it's fun to play with directions. Anyway, Gebs stuck in the car with a cop.

Geb: Oh stop there stop there!

Officer 3: I'm afraid I can't stop sir, I have to deliver you with all haste.

Geb: But if you don't stop you might be too hungry to drive the rest of the way, collapse at the wheel, and crash we won't be getting there any time soon at all. You really should stop, I know how much you like them.

Officer 3: I really shouldn't...

Geb: It's my last meal isn't it?

Officer 3: Oh fine, the drive through.

The Officer pulls up to the drive through, and out taking 2 minutes.

Geb: Your going to give me a donut aren't you?
Officer 3 (munching happily): No...

As the police car escorts Gebohq to the Administrative Office through a dense forest road, a deer jumps out in front of the car!

deer: o_o

The car crashes into the deer, sending the car crashing into a tree. Both Gebohq and the officer are knocked unconscious. Gebohq gets up, moments later, and surveys the situation. Seeing the officer unconscious, and not having a means to check his vitals, Geb breaks open one of the windows with a push-kick. Crawling out, he breaks open the front passanger window with his elbow.

Gebohq: OW!

Erm, ok, so he doesn't. He looks around, finds a rock, and breaks the window with that. He unlocks the door, gets inside, and checks the vitals on the police officer... finds a pulse. He looks over the rest of the officer's condition.

Gebohq: He seems to be fine. Looks like I better take this chance while I have it...

Our hero Gebohq quickly rushes to grab a doughnut.

...a doughnut? GEBOHQ!

Gebohq: What? When else was I going to get one of his doughnuts?

You're supposed to be ESCAPING! You know, running away? That thing you do oh-so-well?

Gebohq: But they said I didn't pay my taxes. I don't want to be in any more trouble with the law than I already am.

Oh for Pete's sake, Geb, this is the part in the story where you go on a parody of The Fugitive and eventually sneak into the heart of the bureaucratic maze and face this problem in your favor.

Gebohq: Oh. Well, I guess I'll go then...

Psst, Geb, the other way.

Gebohq: Where am I going again?

We'll get to that later. Just go! The police officer is about to regain consciousness.

Gebohq: OK...

Gebohq books it, just before the police officer is conscious again. Dazed, he surveys his situation, and notices Gebohq missing.

Officer: DAMNIT!

The police officer calls in on his police radio.

Officer: Emergency! I've crashed on Route 55, approx. 30 miles from the Administration Department, and my prisoner has escaped. Repeat, my prisoner has escaped.

The police officer, for the moment, receives only static.

Officer: ...ah hell, the convict ate my donuts too!

squirrel 4: HAhaha, stealing donuts from the cops, as easy as stealing candy from a baby

Geb: Damnit I forgot the donuts!

In the Writers' Realm...

Geb the writer: I--

Actually, before we do that, I want to know who thought of calling it a "realm." I mean, really, there's nothing mystical at work here. There's the fictional characters and places, and then there's the real people and places who write about the fictional characters and places. Shouldn't it say "In the real world, where the NeS writers are to be found..." instead?

Geb the writer: Er, well--

Then again, in the process of documentation, some of that "reality" could be said to be lost. That's not even trying to make heads or tails about how "true" the stuff said to happen in the "writers' realm" really is. Writers going off on their own fantastical adventures, interacting with their characters... All considered, maybe we should start having "writers' writers' realm" posts -- either that, or therapy sessions. Who knows? People might find it more interesting to read "The Writers of the Never-ending Story Thread!"

Geb the writer: Geez, um--

Bah -- fine! I'll keep my insights to myself! What is it, writer? What's gone on now that just HAS to be a story post all of its own, huh? Spit it out!

Geb the writer: I, uh... can't seem to find the other writers. I was hoping to nag on them to write s'more, but they seem to have all disappeared. I might have to... *shudder*... write my own post!

...that was your story-worthy moment?

Geb the writer: What? I haven't seen them in, like, weeks.

God, sometimes I wonder if my purpose in life was to be tormented so. Why don't you answer my prayers, Lord? I just want you to smite that writer, just the one! I'll start narrating the Bible, I promise!

Geb the writer: Fellow wriiiiiiters, where aarrrrrre yooooouuu?...

*camera pan, past a wall that Geb the writer just walked by, into a tight space on the other side of the wall, where three of the other writers have squeezed themselves ala The Matrix*

CM the writer: Jesus, he's like a vulture!

TLTE the writer: Shhhhh! We'll find a way out yet! He's just one man.

Krig the writer: *delirious* Lunch break... just going for a lunch break... then Geb came... forced to write more... never got to see sweet, sweet lunch...

The room begins to rapidly empty as the heroes go their separate ways; some to the defense of the HHH, and some on their own paths.

CM, Mimiru and Subaru are left alone in the room.

CM: Well that was quick.

Mimiru: Yeah. It was...

Subaru: Mimiru, what's wrong? You look like something is bothering you!

Mimiru: No, it's.... it's just... I want to get married.

CM: We are going to get married! I already proposed to you, did you forget that?!

Mimiru: Yes I know that! I mean now.

CM: What? Now? Here?

Mimiru: No not here! Back at the island mansion.

Subaru suddenly gets up and runs out of the room. A few moments later, a large thundering sound of jet engines can be heard outside.

CM: Where the hell is she going with our jet?

Mimiru: Maybe to give us some time alone?

CM: You're really serious about it, aren't you? I thought you would have wanted the rest of the gang here with us on our wedding day.

Mimiru: I did, at first. But I realized... we spend all our days with them. There's nigh a moment when we're truly by ourselves. I'd like to take this time that we do have, to really find ourselves again.

CM: *sigh* All right, all right. Let's go.

Mimiru: Hmm?

CM grabs Mimiru's hand, and closes his eyes.

Mimiru: Wait, you're not fully rested yet! You're going to hurt yo-

The two blink out, to the island mansion.

Mimiru: -urself.

CM: Ow, jesus! Damnit, I forgot how far away this was!

Mimiru: Now look what you did you idiot! I was trying to tell you, but you had to take off.

CM: Owowowowowow, just, just get me ibuprofen or something.

Mimiru: I'll be right back! Don't move!

CM: Yeah yeah I'm not going anywhere! Less yelling please! Ah God the bright sun isn't helping much either...

As Mimiru heads inside the Mansion for the pills, the jet Subaru was flying arrives, making a dangerous and quick landing inside the hangar.

CM: I wonder what the hell she's in such a hurry for?

A few hours pass, as CM lays down waiting for the headache to go away. Mimiru tends to him.

CM: Subaru's home, did you see her inside?

Mimiru: No, I haven't seen her at all. The mansion is pretty damn big though, remember?

CM: Don't remind me. I still have that pocket reference book with floor maps and information.

Mimiru: Still? You're hopeless.

Mimiru looks down at CM, who has his head propped in her lap.

She leans over and kisses him tenderly. They share a moment...

...until suddenly the door bursts open.

Subaru: Hey you love birds save it until after the wedding! Come on in!

Mimiru: What?

Subaru: No no, less questions, more walking. Come on, he's waiting!

CM: WHO's waiting?

Subaru ignores their questioning and shuffles them inside the mansion. She leads them to a large convention room. However, it looks more like a chapel, with fake stain glass windows, flowers, a couple of pews, and an altar. Behind the altar stands a familiar figure...

The_Mega_ZZTer: Hello, CM! Mimiru!

Mimiru: ...MZZT? What are you doing here? What's going on?

Subaru: Isn't it obvious? You wanted to get married, so here you go!

Mimiru: But how did you... so fast... and all the stuff I wanted... I mean...

Subaru: Listen, I've been preparing for this wedding ever since you two proposed. I knew you two wouldn't have time for it, so I took care of it. While it did take me a while to reconfigure this for such a small wedding, it didn't take me long.

CM: So that's why you were in such a hurry.

Mimiru: But, we're not ready yet! We haven't even practiced, or anything!

Subaru: Practice for what? MZZT's here, he knows what to do. And it's not like you're performing for someone.

MZZT: Just shut up and get up here.

CM: Since when are you a priest, anyway?

MZZT: A mystery of the NeS. But I am, so can we move it? I have places to be, you know. This was rather abrupt.

Mimiru: Right, sure.

MZZT: CM, do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife... blah blah blah... have and to hold, blah blah, etc etc...?

CM: Uhm, sure.

MZZT: Great, and do you Mimiru take this loser to be your love buddy... blah blah, etc etc...

Mimiru: *sigh* Yes, yes I do.

MZZT: Good, kiss the bride.

CoolMatty and Mimiru look eachother. Mimiru smiles, which makes CM smile also. CM pulls Mimiru close, and they kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

Oh come on, are they going to come up for air or what? How long is this going to take?!

Ah, finally! CM breaks the kiss, but stays close to her.

CM: Sorry, we'll have a proper wedding later...

Mimiru: It's alright... I sorta figured our wedding would end up like this...

MZZT: Oh, so you knew I was only registered to do Klingon weddings then?

CM&Mimiru: What?!

MZZT: Yeah, nabbed it at a Star Trek convention. Nifty, eh?

Mimiru: *********! Come here, I'm going to tear your hair out!

MZZT: No, wait! Wait! I won't do the banging of the sticks! I swear! The marriage is legal too! Please, don't hurt me!

Mimiru begins to chase MZZT around the room, when Subaru promptly re-enters the room.

Subaru: Guys! Hold up! They need us back at the HHH! Something terrible is going on!

CM: Did they say what?

Subaru: No, but we better hurry.

Mimiru: CM, teleport or plane?

CM: I want to be ready and able when we get there. Grab the plane.

Mimiru: Gotcha. Subaru, grab some new equipment and clothes, will you?

Subaru: Absolutely.

MZZT: Hey, what about me?

Subaru: You want to come too?

MZZT: I haven't been around in a while, I think it'd be cool to hang with you all again!

Mimiru: Great, fantastic. Start walking.

MZZT: What? Oh, come on! I said it was legal!

Mimiru: Not only that, the plane holds only 3.

MZZT: Fine, whatever. I'll see you all later then.

CM: Mimiru...

Mimiru: It's fine. You and I both know it wouldn't last.

CM: But I wanted to at least get a honeymoon...

Mimiru: We will... we will.

CM and Mimiru kiss one last time, then dart off in opposite directions to prepare for departure, back to the Haunted Hall of Heroes.