Legion of Occult Heroes #4

For the benefit of the glorious and wonderful Russ Allbery, this takes
place moments before UN #13...



                     Marmalade Dalek Productions Presents
                     ------------------------------------


           -*  T H E  L E G I O N  O F  O C C U L T  H E R O E S  *-

                                  Issue Four

                            "Character Exposition"

                                By Paul Hardy

                              An ACRAPHOBE title

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

	Outside, the light was beginning to fail. The sun fell
slowly beneath the horizon, but still cast it`s light into the
entrance lobby of the LNHQ, though weakly. The lobby was silent, and
empty of any movement, save for a television tuned to no station, that
buzzed with static and filled the lobby with another, ghostly glow;
from deeper within the building, there was a red light that did not
penetrate far out into the lobby, but lit the edges of objects with a
crimson line. The television showed nothing, but was still being
watched; on the sofas and chairs were three bodies, sat watching the
dancing cathode ray tube with dry, empty eyes; they wore colourful
costumes that fitted them tightly, showing limbs empty of life; one
man`s hand still clutched a remote control, though it did not move.
	The fountain had ceased to work; no water sprouted from it to
fall into the pool, and the pool itself was still, and dead, like the
body that floated in it, drowned in water that had a scarlet colour;
the body was not so intact as those in the chairs, for the skin
beneath the costume had began to slough away from the flesh, and the
face that looked beneath the water showed a white skull beneath the
flaps of skin that had slid away.
	From the lobby, one could see that the lights within the
cafeteria were all crimson, with no shade of white coming from the
ceiling; inside, the room was a mess. Upon the many tables, piles of
dirty dishes smeared with cream and chocolate and jam were heaped,
some still bearing half-eaten pieces of sumptuous cheesecake which was
now squeezed between the layer upon layer of plates that rested, often
precariously, upon the tables. Many plates were in pieces upon the
floor, their contents scattered widely upon the unclean floor, some
bearing footprints. One kingly cheesecake rested against the skirting
board of a wall, below the great smear that led up to an explosion of
cream and cheese and filling. Deep amongst the crockery, supported by
chairs or slumped upon the floor, were five bodies in costumes; one
sat upon a chair, resting there with head hanging back over the edge,
looking and gaping up towards an empty ceiling, his mouth smudged with
cheesecake, and his hands caked with the remains of many
confectionaries. Through the door to the monitoring room could be seen
two bodies slumped over consoles beneath monitors that waited
patiently for input that never came. The dead glow of the monitors lit
the backs of the two corpses with a white glow that mixed with the
emergency lights to make a pinkness of them.
	Through the internal entrance to the cafeteria, red was the
only colour that could be seen. For some reason, the main power had
failed, and the emergency backup was all that was left; red lighting
filled the corridors and rooms, describing the interior in shades of
scarlet. Every corridor was empty, and dust had begun to settle on the
floor, a thin layer that showed no footprints. Several of the doors to
rooms had been left open, and, within, one could glimpse scenes of
death that were too numerous to be counted; the dead were the only
occupiers of the building.
	At the end of the corridor was the door to the Peril Room,
which was open. Inside, the lighting was different; full and bright,
showing every shade, every last detail of the room.  
	In the middle, drawn chalkily upon the steel floor, was a
great, wide, pentangle of sorcerous and powerful design, decorated
with sigils and symbols of many and complex nature, described not only
in simple chalk but with media that were terrible and awful to
describe; blood was the least of the materials used to create the
design. Candlesticks stood at crosspoints on the design, candlesticks
that had once held candles, but now rested in the midst of small
mounds of wax, that had dripped down and congealed at the bases. At
the leading point of the pentangle, on the far side of the peril room,
sat a figure in a trenchcoat. Unlike the bodies elsewhere, he was not
unmarked or unsullied; something had been at work upon him, something
that seemed to have eaten away his skin, his life, his years; his
darkened, furrowed skin drooped from brittle bones; skin so wrinkled
as to almost be falling to pieces. His hair had mostly fallen to the
floor, and lay upon his shoulders and the floor in clumps and
heaps. His eyelids hung down in folds over his eyesockets, folding too
deeply within, showing that the eyes themselves could not be
there. Underneath the trenchcoat, he seemed to have no figure; the
shape beneath was one that belonged more to a skeleton than a man. He
sat cross-legged, thin leg resting on thin leg, his hands placed on
each knee. Bony, wrinkled fingers clutched at something in each hand;
partially concealed within each palm was a withered, dried eyeball.
	Opposite him, across the room, were more bodies. Sat in a line
against the wall, they were in even worse condition, so much so as to
be completely unrecognisable; there were seven, and each of them was
burnt, cremated inside their clothes, costumes which were barely
singed; blackened flesh clung barely to charred skulls. Upon each body
were points where the burning seemed to have been more intense, where
the flesh and bone had been made ash. Upon each forehead, upon each
chest. They stared with their seared eyes at the pentangle, at the
centre, where there was nothing. A circle of seven feet`s diameter
within the design, which was empty of any mark or remains. Even of dust.
	And then there was a burst of light.


	The smoke cleared slowly. Green Trenchcoat, Leviathan Lass,
Demon Boy, Occultism Kid and Particle Man found themselves on a
metallic surface, surrounded by slowly dissipating smoke that obscured
their vision. Warily, they tried to peer through the veil.
	"Is this it?" asked Andrew.
	"I think so," said Person. "It`s the right address, anyway."
	"Interesting design," said Occultism Kid, kneeling to examine
the floor. They could see that they were inside a chalked circle, from
which many lines led away. Ths smoke was beginning to reveal from it`s
writhing mist the form of the room that they were in. Green Trenchcoat
began to look a little pale.
	"It`s the Peril Room..." said Kirsty "And... there are..." she
gasped, as she began to make out figures by the wall. Seven of
them. Occultism Kid continued to examine the pentagram, and walked out
of the circle to follow it`s lines and meanings, muttering to himself
as he did so. Person, Andrew and Kirsty began to see the scene in the
Peril Room.
	"Oh god..." said Andrew as he saw the state of the seven by
the wall.
	"How could...?" asked Kirsty. She couldn`t ask any
more. Particle Man turned round to see if there was anything else. He
saw, at the far end of the pentangle, another figure, sitting in a
trenchcoat.
	"Another one." he said. He looked closer. "Uh, Occultism Kid?"
	"Yeah?" said OK, distractedly.
	"I think we`ve found your counterpart."
	"Oh? Oh." OK turned to see the body. "Oh, shit." He walked,
slowly, to stand in front of himself. The others in the room, apart
from Green Trenchcoat, turned to watch, concerned. Occultism Kid stood
over the body, and trembled. It was him. Withered terribly, mutilated-
but it was him. He kneeled before it and looked closer. With shaking
hands, he touched the skin on the face, eyes wide with fear; tracing
his finger down the cheek, he found that the layers of skin were thin
and taut, and rubbed away like the skin of a brittle onion. He removed
his hand and looked at the finger that had revealed bone on the face,
at the pieces of skin that clung to it; he wiped them off, and closed
his eyes. 
	"Occultism Kid... are you...?" asked Andrew.
	"It... it looks like he-" OK swallowed a dry throat- "drained
himself. Completely. I... it`s something terrible. He sacrificed his
soul." Occultism Kid took one of his counterpart`s dry hands. He tried
to open it, but the joints would not move. So he broke the fingers,
with a crack that made the others jump. Inside, he could see where his
other self`s eyes had gone; held tightly in the hand, and as withered
as everything else; a tiny, puckered grey ball, bulging with
misshapen iris at the front. Occultism Kid spoke quickly, with
trembling edge in his voice. "This is a scrying spell. Powerful
one. He shouldn`t have had to do this!" He threw down the hand and the
eyeball, and turned away from the body, rising from his knees. He was
still shaking, as he walked away.
	"But why...?" asked Person.
	"I don`t know," said Occultism Kid. "He must have been trying
to find you three, but... that spell was too much."
	"Sit down," said Kirsty. "Rest for a bit." Occultism Kid
nodded, and sat down on the floor, where he closed his eyes and hugged
his knees. Person knelt by him and put a hand on his shoulder,
gently. Occultism Kid did not register the hand in his features, but
his shivering subsided a little.
	"What about them?" asked Andrew, indicating the seven charred
corpses by the wall, that still stared with empty questions at the
heroes. Occultism Kid raised his head, closed his eyes, and breathed
deeply.
	"Power," he said. He opened his eyes. "This whole thing took a
great deal of retcotheric energy to accomplish. They died for it." He
raised himself and walked cautiously towards them. The others followed
him with their eyes. "But it was still too much... even to scry you
out and boost Particle Man into the aether... Damn it!" The
exclamation was followed almost by a sob. "It wasn`t _necessary_!"
	"Who were they?" mused Person.
	"Costumes are a bit charred... but that`s definitely Kid
Kirby," said Kirsty. "How could anyone do this?"
	"And Ultimate Ninja, as well..." said Andrew.
	"Those two I don`t recognise," said Person.
	"No... you wouldn`t," said Andrew. "You never knew them."
	"GrimLad and Mr. Trenchcoat. God, they died trying to find
us," said Kirsty.
	"That one... I think it`s Sig.Lad," said Occultism Kid.
	"And there`s Continuity Champ," said Person. "And the other
one... bloody hell..." 
	"Acton Lord?" said Andrew, surprised. "Why the hell would he
help...?"
	"It must have been... terrible..." said Kirsty. "If _he_
decided to help the LNH for this..."
	"But why?" asked Person. "Why would they be in here if there
was a threat of some kind?"
	"They were after us... but what could we have done that they
couldn`t? I mean... that`s Continuity Champ, for god`s sake. And Acton
Lord. And all the others," said Andrew.
	"How long ago did this happen? Green Trenchcoat? Could you-"
Turning to face Green Trenchcoat, Kirsty gasped. His face was pale
with sweat, his eyes distracted far away, and a visage of fear
gripping his face in terror. "Green Trenchcoat? What-?"
	All the others looked towards Green Trenchcoat with surprised
questions. Green Trenchcoat seemed not to notice them; instead, his
attention was far elsewhere, and his distress mounting, his face
growing more afeared.
	"What is it?" demanded Occultism Kid. "What are you seeing?"
Green Trenchcoat still didn`t hear; his mouth was beginning to open
wide as his eyes seemed to stare intently and with widening fear at
something that could not be seen. It grew, and grew, and at the limit
of his terror, he collapsed to his knees and began to convulse. 
	The heroes rushed to him to calm him, as he shook and gibbered
upon the chalky floor, smearing strange substances upon his
trenchcoat. He convulsed so greatly that he had to be held down, the
heroes straining to keep ahold of his thrashing limbs. "Keep him
down!" screamed Occultism Kid. "I`ll calm him!" Person, feeling rather
grateful for his recently-expanded physique, prevented Green
Trenchcoat`s legs from kicking too wildly, whilst Kirsty and Andrew
took hold of his arms. For a moment, Green Trenchcoat`s head was left
to thrash wildly against the floor, bashing his skull without any
regard for pain, until Occultism Kid sat upon his chest and took hold
of his head to cease it`s movement; above the drooling, maddened face,
he made a complex sign with his left hand, and pressed it into Green
Trenchcoat`s face; he muttered a word in a language long dead, and
Green Trenchcoat went limp.
	"Okay," said Occultism Kid, "That should do it."
	"What did you do?" asked Kirsty.
	"Kind of like a sedative. Whatever it was that scared him like
that, he should be able to deal with it now. He`ll wake up in a
moment." The heroes relaxed their grips on Green Trenchcoat, and
looked worriedly at him, as he lay unconscious for a moment; and then
his eyes opened, he swallowed, looking far more calm though still
distressed.
	"What was it?" asked Andrew.
	"Dead..." said Green Trenchcoat, quietly. 
	"Who?" asked Occultism Kid.
	"Everyone... everything... dead..." Tears pooled in his
eyes. "Everyone`s dead..." Green Trenchcoat broke down, sobbing, and
Andrew and Kirsty held him, half-sitting, as terrible empty sorrow
flooded through him.
	Occultism Kid looked intently at Green Trenchcoat. "Tell us
more," he said.
	"I have _told_ you!" shouted Green Trenchcoat from where he
lay. "No life remains."
	"Do you mean all the people? In the LNHQ?"
	"Everywhere."
	"Net.ropolis?" asked Person, aghast. But Green Trenchcoat
looked levelly at him, denying that answer.
	"The whole... planet?"
	"It`s _soul_... is dead. The Earth Spirit is dark and
empty. Everything that lived has fallen."
	There was a hush as the heroes tried to grasp this.
	"How? When?" asked Kirsty, urgently.
	"I know not... how. But the last thing that lived ended a week
ago."
	"But... what about my duplicate?" asked Person.
	"That explains the bodies here, at least partially..." said
Occultism Kid. "They kept him alive."
	"Was it aliens? Or demons? Or what?" asked Andrew.
	"No, you do not comprehend! Everything. Everywhere. Is
dead. The living world is a grave. The halls of gods stand empty. Hell
is a hall of unmoving atrocity. On worlds lit by distant suns, races
unnamed by man fell as humanity did. Not even the spirits move. They,
too, are gone."
	"What about machine intell-" said Person.
	"Even they."
	"But computers still work, right?" said Kirsty.
	"If they had no soul."
	"Then there`ll be some records left. In the monitoring room,"
said Kirsty.
	"Yeah. That sounds good," said Person.
	"Let`s do it," said Andrew.


	They had to carry Green Trenchcoat. Witnessing endless death
had drawn away much of his strength, and he could barely stand. So
Andrew and Kirsty kept him upright as the group left the Peril Room,
glad to leave the presence of the terrible, awful corpses.
	Outside, the corridor was empty, and red. "Emergency power,"
said Person, as he opened the doors to let the party through. Green
Trenchcoat, Andrew and Kirsty stumbled through the doors and blinked
at the change in lighting; it was darker, here in the corridors; the
most illuminated places were merely a glowing red, and the darkest
were a thick black tinged with crimson. The corridor, familiar and
strange, led off down into red darkness, and the party stopped with
chilled hearts, looking down it`s length. "Okay," said Person. "Let`s
do this slowly, just in case..."
	"Right..." said Andrew, from underneath Green Trenchcoat`s
arm. He and Kirsty hoisted him up a bit further, and began to walk
forward slowly into the corridor. Every step disturbed dust upon the
floor, and small, puffing clouds rose upon from where their feet
fell. Most of the doors to the residential quarters were closed; but,
after cautiously walking along for a few minutes, the party found one
that was hanging open. They paused, mostly from fearful curiosity. The
door showed little of the inside of the room; Occultism Kid said,
"I`ll take a look." The others assented with their eyes.
	Slowly, carefully, Occultism Kid reached for the door, and
pushed it to see what was inside. It was still red, and difficult to
see, but-
	A body on the floor. A gun in it`s hand. A ruined face. A
dark, dried smear on the wall to it`s side. They recognised the gun,
and looked away.
	"Master Blaster," breathed Andrew.
	"Let`s go..." said Kirsty. 
	"Yeah," said Occultism Kid.
	"Let... let us not stop again," said Green Trenchcoat. "We
will find enough atrocities without seeking them." They moved on.
	The corridor turned twice before it reached the cafeteria; the
heroes passed several doors that hung open, but they avoided
investigating. One door, though, was open so far as to make a hasty
glance impossible to resist; inside, they saw how Kid Chivalry had met
his end. They turned their eyes from the sight of his impalement, and
went on.
	At last, they came, haltingly, to the doors of the
cafeteria. In relief, they pushed them open and stepped within. They
were instantly surprised.
	The plates went on forever, climbing from the tables, the
chairs and the floor. And amongst them, the cheesecakes and the
bodies. "Cheesecake-Eater Lad?" said Kirsty, seeing the body that lay
back on a chair, smeared with everything that was sweet.
	"No. Don`t look," said Andrew. "The monitoring room, okay?"
	"Yeah. Sure," she said. They moved on again, through the
forest of abandoned tables, to where the lights of empty monitors
glowed through the window-glass of double doors. They pushed the doors
open, and stepped within. They weren`t surprised that there were
bodies here; Renegade Programmer and Multi-Tasking Man were slumped
over their consoles, dead, still, and unmoving.
	"Let`s, uh, move the bodies outside and put Green Trenchcoat
down on one of the chairs, okay?" suggested Person.
	"Right," said Occultism Kid. He and Person pulled the body of
Multi-Tasking Man from it`s seat, and, dragging him by the torso,
Occultism Kid took him out into the cafeteria. Person did the same for
Renegade Programmer. As the bodies were being dragged, Kirsty and
Andrew walked Green Trenchcoat over to one of the chairs, and let him
collapse into it. He did so with a sigh, coming to rest and
relaxing. "How are you?" asked Andrew.
	"A little better," said Green Trenchcoat. "My strength is
returning." The other two came in. "It is... strange. I am not drawing
my power from the Earth Spirit of this world. I am linked to the
Spirit of your world, instead." He indicated Person and Occultism Kid
as he said this. 
	"Damned odd," said Occultism Kid. "Well. Anyway. Who`s best at
computers?"
	"Uh, me, I guess," said Person. He sat at the monitor and
studied it. "Well, it`s working... got a prompt and all. I`ll check
the directory..." He typed ls, and began to get into the system. He
found something instantly. "Uh, this looks like a movie here. Dunno
what it is, but the filename`s RUN.ME.NOW, so I guess I`d better do
that."
	"Fine," said Kirsty.
	"One problem, though. It`s encrypted, and it`s absolutely
huge. It`ll take a while to get it ready."
	"How long?" asked Andrew.
	"About half an hour, I reckon. Maybe more, depending on how
the system`s feeling."
	"Okay. Well. We can probably do some more looking around, then-"
	"Ah!" cried Green Trenchcoat, leaping to his feet,
radiant. The others jumped in surprise.
	"What-" exclaimed Occultism Kid.
	"Someone lives!"
	"What?"
	"Who?"
	"Where?"
	"He is... north. Far north. He is making himself known... he
was hidden before, but now reaches out..."
	"Yeah, right, but who is it?" asked Kirsty.
	"I... do not know. But he is friendly."
	"Right. Okay," said Kirsty, thinking. "How about this: A
couple of us stay here to keep an eye on the computers. Green
Trenchcoat goes and finds whoever. Me and Andrew search the rest of
the LNHQ, and take a look at Net.ropolis-"
	"Actually, Blue doesn`t mind looking around Net.ropolis." A
blue canary jumped out of the birdcage in Person`s soul, and perched
on his shoulder, chirruping. "He can get round a lot faster and
report back faster as well."
	"Why do we need two of us here on the computers?" asked
Occultism Kid.
	"Do you really want to be left alone in this place?"
	"Uh, right. Good point."
	"What about Green Trenchcoat? I mean, we`d be sending him off
on his own..." said Person.
	"I am perfectly capable of surviving by myself," said Green
Trenchcoat.
	"Fine. Anyway, that`s everything. Any problems?" queried
Kirsty, with an edge in her voice that forbade the raising of
questions. "Right, then. Get on with it."


	Green Trenchcoat flew over Net.ropolis. The city was a dead,
barren wreck; shattered and torn in some parts, singed and broken in
others, and everywhere the signs of death; but no stench, no
decay. Bodies lay where they had chosen to fall, if they were lucky;
many others had died in other ways, unwillingly even in the face of
certain eventual demise- or perhaps not. Green Trenchcoat flew over
scenes that would have disturbed him, had he cared to look; a canary
flew with him and also saw.
	"Aren`t you going north?" asked Blue Canary, reaching into
Green Trenchcoat`s mind to communicate, and finding it a barren,
hidden place. "Hello?"
	"I have something else to attend to."
	Blue paused. "Friends and relatives?"
	"I would rather be alone."
	The canary mentally shrugged. "Be seeing you, then..." Blue
banked away from Green Trenchcoat, and headed towards the city. Green
Trenchcoat flew on, towards the suburbs, sparing a glance for the
canary as it flew to examine the debris of Net.ropolis. He didn`t envy
Blue. He didn`t envy himself, either. But he had to go. He soared, a
green streak, to an apartment building on the fringes of Net.ropolis,
a place where young corporate executives made their homes, a building
dead but still standing, unlike some others in the area- he noted a
fallen warehouse, burnt and charred, metal spine remaining, looking
like a house of sticks. He landed on the roof, not wanting to see the
apartment from the windows, and walked to the lift housing. The lift,
of course, wasn`t working; all power was gone, and Net.ropolis was
dark. So he pulled open the doors with green force, and floated down
into the dark lift shaft, down along the cables to another set of
doors that he could feel were at the right level. These he also ripped
open.
	He walked into and along the corridor. So familiar; even dark,
empty and dead, he had lived here for so long; he had made a home of
this place. Here, with Martin. He arrived at the door, and hesitated.
	What was within? How had Martin died? Would there be atrocity-
would there be another woman- would there be anything? Green
Trenchcoat- Vicky- stood in fear at the closed door. There was
something wrong; this was not a job for Green Trenchcoat. So he
changed.
	Underneath the trenchcoat, his body changed into her
body. Above the trenchcoat, it was now Vicky`s face that looked
worried and distressed, beneath her long, dark hair; this was
better. She could face this better as herself. Green Trenchcoat could
not feel this properly. Vicky could.
	Vicky pushed at the door; it was locked. She unlocked it with
a delicate tendril of green force, and pushed it open. She stepped in.
	Inside, the light from the fading sun made long shadows of
everything; and everything was a mess. There was no calm order to this
place, the calm order that she had always been the one to keep in
place; Martin had let the apartment fall apart while she had been
away. Pizza boxes littered the kitchen; he could cook- better than
her- but he hadn`t bothered. The lounge was just as bad; and the
number of empty bottles was disturbing. All hard liquor, cheap
brands. Martin had good taste in whisky- but this stuff should have
sent his tastebuds screaming. And he wasn`t in here. So Vicky tried
elsewhere.
	He wasn`t in the bedroom. Vicky walked around, and
remembered. That recent time. Many others, in here for real, not some
copy in another world. There were more bottles in here, some
half-full. Clothes were spread around on the floor, mismatched,
unlaundered; he hadn`t washed anything for ages, thought Vicky,
counting the shirts and noticing how dirty they were. It made sense in
the situation but- it hurt, to see such evidence of him falling
apart. The door to the bathroom was open a little. Vicky felt cold,
and decided to look in there. She pushed the door open.
	And there was Martin. In the bathtub; a little water, red with
his blood, his face, his beautiful face, dead and staring, with no
expression. Vicky shivered and felt tears rising. She rushed to him,
and dragged him so she could hold him; a dead weight in her arms as
she sobbed and cried in wretched despair and his stubble scratched her
cheek. She held him like that for minutes she did not count, holding
him and wishing him to live. He never moved, no matter how much she
tried to animate his heart; she moved in upon his cellular structure,
and tried to start it from the lowest level; but something down there
and deep had given up. She let him go, to rest back into the bath; she
closed his blank, dry eyes and stood.
	She turned, and spotted something. Balanced on the edge of the
sink was an envelope. With her name on it. She grasped for it
immediately, and tore it open.


	Vicky-

	I`m sorry. I couldn`t take the waiting. There`s only a few
days left- it won`t make any difference. I don`t even know if you`ll
ever come back. But please- if you do find me- forgive me. It was too
much to bear, without you.

	I love you.

	Martin.


	Vicky leaned back against the tiled wall and rested her head
in her hands, she sobbed, and moaned. And then she raised her head and
screamed it out, sliding down the wall to rest there, crying beside
the body of her lover.
	"Help me Martin... help me... I don`t... know..."
	Later, she left and flew north.


        Blue Canary flew down into the streets of dead Net.ropolis,
perching on a lamp post. He looked about the place. He tried to
think about something else, but the scene was clear and real: bodies,
everywhere. Lining the streets. These people hadn`t chosen to die
peacefully at home, or fulfilling their fantasies. Every single one
had committed suicide, and still carried the weapons with them; and
everyone that had done so wore a robe, a simple white cover draped
over their ordinary clothes, though the white line of bodies was
continually spattered with blood.
        These bodies were everywhere. Blue leapt from his perch, and
climbed into the sky, trying to spot a pattern: there. Along the roads
leading to that structure... where he remembered that the venue for
the RACcelestial Madonna Pageant had been built. Here, though, it was
different; instead of the open air stage, someone had built a great
open air church.
	Blue flew towards it.


	"Anything in particular you want to check...?" asked Andrew as
the lift ascended. 
	"Well... no. Not really," said Kirsty, looking pained.
	"What is it?"
	"Just... everyone`s dead, Andrew! I, I wanted to get away for
a moment."
	"You-" Andrew swallowed. "You want to be alone?" He ached, and
Kirsty saw it. She moved to him.
	"No," she said. "I just wanted to get away from the others. I
mean... Person and Occultism Kid are nice, but they`re... well... 
aliens. No. I mean, this isn`t their world. Shit. Aliens. That must 
have sounded really horrible."
	"Yeah. But I know what you mean."
	"And Green Trenchcoat, well... since when could you ever talk
to him?"
	"Never, really."
	"I wanted to go up and have a look at where we used to live."
	Andrew nodded. "Yeah." The lift reached the floor. They looked
out into the dark corridor. "Mine`s first." They held hands, and
walked out into the redness together. Andrew`s room was a few doors
down, and they came to it quickly. Andrew took a key from his belt and
unlocked his room, and they stepped inside.
	"Well, nothing`s different..." said Kirsty.
	"No," said Andrew. "It feels different." The room was as they
remembered it; eye-bending, as the shelves that took more space than
they should have stretched into impossible space, the posters that
covered the rest of the walls- Eraserhead, Raise the Red Lantern, Leon
the Pig Farmer, Man Bites Dog, a few smaller ones here and there, a
few notes on the board, one of which had curled and collected dust
within it`s cusp; the tidy but familiar room, where everything had a
place but didn`t necessarily live there all the time. But there was
something different. Something about it was dead.
	"It`s the lighting," said Kirsty. "All this red light..."
	"No... well, maybe. But it feels so still. So quiet."
	"Hmm," said Kirsty. She went to the window, and looked out
into the landing bay. Down beneath the window, she could see the forms
of dormant flight.thingies, and one that had landed badly, breaking a
strut and half-falling against the side of the bay. There was no one
down there. At least, she thought, no one decided to kill themselves
that way.
	Andrew looked around his room, running his finger over the
dust that had accumulated on the sides of his video collection. He
followed his finger as it trailed across the names of films, and then
looked down on his bed. There, still wrapped in cellophane, was a
widescreen copy of Once Upon a Time in the West, which he had bought
before Israishus had ordered him and the others off on the mission
against the Shishirishni, and never returned to open. Not here, not on
this world. On the cover, Henry Fonda stood, bowlegged, in his moment
of death. Andrew picked it up, and turned to Kirsty, who was still looking
out of the window.
	"I was just thinking," he said. Kirsty turned away from the
window. "I haven`t been taking it in. Everything`s dead. You remember
Hitch Hiker?" Kirsty looked puzzled.
	"I never read it."
	"Arthur Dent. Just after the Earth gets blown up. He, uh,
tries to make sense of it. He thinks, the Earth is gone. No, he
couldn`t quite get that. America, he thinks, America is gone. No, he
couldn`t get that either. He`d never seriously believed it existed
anyway." Kirsty giggled, and stopped herself. "England is gone, he
thought. No. Trafalgar Square, he thought. Trafalgar Square is
gone. Slight tremor. Every copy, he thought, every copy of every, uh,
Woody Allen film has been wiped forever. That gave him a nasty
shock. MacDonalds, he thought. There is no longer any such thing as a
MacDonalds hamburger. He passed out." Andrew smiled, painfully. "It
isn`t funny, is it?"
	Kirsty crossed the room. "No, it`s funny," she said. They put
arms around each other and held onto their bodies
tightly. "Just... bitter. Like a lemon. Still good. But bitter..."
resting her forehead on his shoulder, she began to sob for the world,
and he joined her. They cried on each other`s shoulders, and made each
other warm. 
	After a while, they stopped. Andrew took the Time Out film
guide from his belt, and threw it away, putting the video in it`s
place. "I want to keep something," he explained to Kirsty. She
nodded. "Your room?" He asked.
	"No," she said, sniffing at the runny nose that tears had
induced, "I`d only just got it looking good, back there, you know? I
don`t want to see it it how it was. All a mess."
	"You want to go back, then?"
	"Where else can we go? At least there`s something there."
	"I haven`t got anything..."
	"Oh, come on! You`ve made friends over there. And there`s
always your uncle."
	"You must be joking-"
	"No! He might be different. Have you thought of that? Things
turned out different over there. He might have gotten better. Or
something."
	"Yeah, I suppose... but." he sighed. "If you`re going there,
I`m going there. I don`t want to lose you."
	Kirsty looked at Andrew, and saw in his eyes that he meant
what he said; she leaned forward and kissed him; closing his eyes, he
returned the kiss.
	The bed, as it turned out, was rather useful.


	Blue alighted on a pew, and looked around. Within the bowl of
the great church was a scene of massacre, all the more horrible,
because nobody seemed to have inflicted it upon the people who had
died; in row after row of makeshift seating, lay the empty bodies of
the thousands who had chosen to die here, to die by the knife. Every
throat was empty to the cold, rustling air. Blood had coloured every
wall, every floor, every chair, every body; the sun was setting, and
through clouds on the horizon, a dry red infiltrated. Shadows of
horror were long in this place. There was too much red.
	Blue looked around, trying to find any clue as to why these
thousands had taken their lives; he noticed that all the blades were
similar, crudely made, as though done in a hurry; he reasoned that
they had been handed to the congregation as they had entered the
church. He hopped from bench to bench, and quickly grew sick of the
endless suicides. He leapt up, and circled the church; perhaps, he
thought, the pulpit? He flew there, to the structure high above,
looking down on all the rows of seating. He perched on it`s edge, and
looked down into it. There was a body within, as dead as the others,
though this one had not committed suicide; he had waited for the death
that had been coming anyway. His face was in shadow, turned down, and
Blue hopped onto the floor of the pulpit to see who it might be; he
stood in the shadows and edged forward to get a look at the face; he
recognised him.
	Self-Righteous Preacher.


	"How's it coming?" asked Occultism Kid. Particle Man looked at
the screen and tried to guess the amount of time still remaining from
the steadily increasing number that was incrementing itself in the
corner of the screen.
	"Give it... another quarter of an hour? Something like that."
	"Bit longer than you originally thought."
	"Yeah. Some bits of the system are down, I think." Particle
Man leaned back in his chair and tried to relax. He rubbed his brow,
and squeezed his eyes shut. Occultism Kid took a book from his
trenchcoat pocket, and tried to read up on some useful arcane
rites. He couldn`t concentrate. He flipped through pages, trying to
find something that would grab his attention and stimulate interest;
but the ancient latin wasn`t really conducive at the best of times. He
snapped it shut, sighed, and looked at the screen. The number of bytes
loaded in grew slowly. All the runtime was devoted to that, so he
couldn`t even play any games. He shifted about in his seat, edgy, and
wondered why he felt so. Just paranoia? Maybe. Green Trenchcoat had
said that there wasn`t anything left alive, but... no. Green
Trenchcoat was trustworthy, in this at least. Occultism Kid had felt
that when he calmed him. But still there was that feeling, that
somebody, or something, had to be behind this. It couldn`t just be
natural processes. Natural processes didn`t commit suicide. The image
of his duplicate flashed behind his eyes again. He didn`t really want
it to. He stood up, and Person glanced over at him.
	"I`m, uh, going to get some coffee."
	Person paused. "Out there?" he asked, perturbed.
	"I`ve seen plenty of bodies before."
	"Comes with the territory, I suppose."
	"Pretty much, yeah."
	Person shrugged. Occultism Kid went out, into the cafeteria,
into the redness, and, avoiding the bodies and debris, found the
coffeepot. It wasn`t on, and needed refilling. He found the coffee, and
got a new filter. When he tried to wash out the pot, he found that the
tap wasn`t working. Cursing, he tried the power. That was off, too. he
slammed the pot onto the counter and stomped back to the Monitoring
Room.
	"Power`s off," he said to Person. "No coffee."
	"Oh, well..." said Person. Occultism Kid saw his duplicate`s
body again, and felt chilled. He`d seen bodies before... oh, dozens,
hundreds. Every kind of horrible thing that could be visited upon the
human body- between heaven and hell, he`d seen most of them, sometimes
as they were happening, sometimes long after, but it was never
pleasant to look at. Feeling it was the problem. He could never work
out how the trenchcoaters managed to survive losing so many friends in
so many ways; he`d asked Withnail, once. "Don`t make friends," replied
the Englishman from inside the whisky bottle he`d been in the middle
of crawling into.
	But even seeing the bodies of people he didn`t know... he
hadn`t gotten used to it. Not really. He kept quiet and wore a
straight face, and everyone thought he could take any horror. But it
churned his stomach all the same.
	And this... this was him. Him, if he`d grown up in a different
world. Forced to such terrible lengths. That was his face that had
peeled off in his hand. His eyes torn from their sockets. His body,
sitting in the Peril Room in a dead world- trying to save it- and
failing. Him, who had given everything and died in agony anyway. The
image wouldn`t go away, wouldn`t be stilled. He looked up at Person,
who was quietly watching the screen, thinking about something. Talking
to Blue, maybe. Occultism Kid remembered; Person`s duplicate had died
as well. And he seemed so calm. Maybe he knew something.
	Quietly, Occultism Kid said, "How did you feel?"
	Quizzically, Person replied, "About what?"
	"Seeing yourself die. You know. The you from here."
	"Oh." Person seemed to slump, to grow suddenly
tired. "I`ve... been trying not to think about it."
	"Yeah. Me too. But I couldn`t. You know? I just kept seeing
him. That... terrible face..."
	"I didn`t look at my body."
	"...Why?"
	"I... I stood there in sickbay. He was in the meditube, but
that was closed. I could have looked. I could have opened it. But I
just stood there."
	"Were you... scared?"
	"Terrified. Because it`s going to happen, isn`t it?"
	"What?"
	"One day we won`t be fast enough. Somebody- I don`t know,
Acton Lord, Tsar Chasm, the Time Crapper, whoever- will get to us and
that`ll be it. Dead. No more Particle Man. End of series."
	"No. We`re... we`re the heroes. We don`t die. And if we do, we
come back."
	"Yeah, right. Have you seen Lost Cause Boy lately? Or
Flatulence Lad? Or Back-History Boy? Or the Golden Retriever? We don`t
always get a new series. Sometimes they just forget us."
	"I wouldn`t know. I haven`t had a series for ages."
	"You know what I mean."
	"...Yeah. I know. I just... I never really thought, I know
this sounds stupid, but I never really thought I`d die."
	"You`ve got to sometime..."
	"Not necessarily. August isn`t going to... you can get
yourself made immortal, you know. There are ways. I just assumed I`d
find a way sometime. I never thought that I might just get it all
taken away from me someday. I thought I`d be able to fight- but, but
he couldn`t! None of the people here could. They just had it all
ripped away from them, with no chance for survival, no matter how hard
or tough or special they were. And that... that could happen to us."
	"Yeah."
	There was silence.
	"Ordinary people have to live with this all the time, don`t
they?" said Occultism Kid.
	"I suppose so," said Particle Man. "It`s been a long time
since I was anybody ordinary. And even then it wasn`t true."
	"How did you handle it? Knowing that body was there, in the
meditube?"
	"I... I just thought about something different."
	"I tried that. It didn`t work."
	"Maybe... well. I really had something to think about. Someone
to think about." Occultism Kid looked at him levelly, waiting for him
to go on. "Catalyst Lass."
	"Seriously?"
	"Seriously."
	Occultism Kid sighed. "Lucky you."
	"Look, it`s bad, yeah, but it can be good as well. It`s a kind
of cosmic balance. If there wasn`t any bad shit, then there wouldn`t
be any good shit. The highest high is the same distance from the
middle as the lowest low."
	"Yeah, but you usually don`t get to experience both in the
same lifetime."
	"You get the chance."
	"No. You don`t! Life`s too random and meaningless. What
happens, happens. There`s nobody up there with a set of scales."
	"How can you be so sure?"
	"I`d have heard of them."
	"Okay. I suppose. But still... you`ve got the chance that
things will get better. It can still happen."
	"Yeah." Occultism Kid looked down. "I suppose that`s true."
	"It`s shitty now. But when we get back, it`ll be
better. Okay?"
	Occultism Kid smiled wearily. "Okay." His smile turned into a
wry grin, and he chuckled.
	"What is it?" asked Person, curious.
	"Demon Boy and Leviathan Lass." He broke into
laughter. "They`re upstairs, screwing..."
	"Really?" asked Person, grinning.
	"Hammer and tongs," chuckled Occultism Kid. 
	"How do you know?"
	"Oh, nothing. Just a change in the atmosphere. Life in death,
huh?"
	"Bit of an obvious metaphor."
	"Good one, though. How`s the computer coming along?"
	"Not too long."
	"Great. Hey, didn`t we used to keep a gas stove in a cupboard
in the canteen? Just in case the power went out?"
	"I think so. Why?"
	"Coffee."
	"Good idea." Grinning, Occultism Kid rose and left the
monitoring room, to try and put together a pot of good, old-fashioned
low-tech coffee.


	In lands of mist and snow, Green Trenchcoat was flying north,
seeking something that lived. Fogs and blizzards parted to let him by,
giving him way through their bleak, impenetrable interiors, closing
after his sudden passage and growing dark once more. He glowed green
against the whiteness that he flew over and through, keeping warmth
within and wind without; the green trailed behind him a short way,
leaving marks in the sky that lasted a second, making green punctures
in clouds and green shadows on ice. Ahead was what he sought; whoever
it was, they were actively calling to him, wanting him to come,
needing him to come. Below him, the last of the mountainous edge of
Greenland fell away, and he flew on over endless ice. He passed at
speeds beyond those of sound, but still he could see below the
scattered bodies of creatures that once had lived here. A Polar Bear
lay upon the ice, on it`s side, it`s midriff rising up in a great arc,
it`s mouth hanging open, and blank eyes still looking upon the ice
that it had died upon, with no question that could be easily
understood or answered. A pack of seals had lain down together for the
last time on ice further on; the holes in the ice that they had carved
with their teeth had healed over and could barely be seen. Here and
there, seabirds had fallen from the sky, and frozen to death before
the greater end could reach them. Green Trenchcoat could only shudder
and fly on, trying not to see their eyes that asked why they had died
in vain.
	The sky grew lighter as he flew north; further south, the
night was approaching, but up here, the sun would not be setting for
months. The ice was clean, sparse, and endless. Beneath it, freezing
seas churned; on it, drifts of snow were piled. The bodies of animals
thinned out as he went on; he was being led to the pole, to the
world`s furthest point, and few creatures fared that far. The clouds
thinned and rose, leaving only cold bands of white, high above; the
sun shone down full upon the Arctic, and Green Trenchcoat saw, upon
the far horizon, a shadow of something that he could feel was his
destination. He grew closer, and saw that the shadow was cast by a
mound of snow that looked unnaturally made. He headed for it.
	He slowed, and landed by the mound. It was only shoulder
height, and looked roughly made, though the cold had frozen the snow
together to make it fairly solid. Furrows in the surface showed that
it had, perhaps, been pushed together by hand. He walked around it,
and found that it had been made to protect something; it had been
pushed up around something, and one side was left free, leading into
the centre. There, buried in the snow, was someone. A hand and a leg
protruded; otherwise, whoever it was was covered entirely. Green
Trenchcoat approached the centre, making the inside of the mound a
strange green with his aura, and reached out with green force to scoop
away the snow; revealing the body bit by bit; freeing the person
within the mound. Tattered jeans. A black trenchcoat.
	There was a breath, a gasping in of a man who has waited long
for air. The man opened his eyes, looked up at the sky, and then
forward, at Green Trenchcoat. He spoke, in a thin voice that was air
without substance, a whisper: "You came... thank you..."
	Green Trenchcoat leaned forward, and offered the man a hand,
to pull him up. He grasped it, and was dragged upright, though he
seemed to have little strength; he collapsed into Green Trenchcoat`s
arms, and coughed, wheezingly. He looked up, and his face was worn,
and battered; but still alive.
	"Once..." He coughed. "Once I would have foreshadowed great
events. Once I would have led you into stories unfathomable, for
reasons unknowable. But now... I am simply... A Stranger...." He
collapsed, unconscious. Green Trenchcoat checked his pulse; he still
lived, and had some time left- a day, or two. He entered the
Stranger`s body with green, living energy, and gave him sustenance,
revitalised his blood, awakened his mind. He set the Stranger down,
sitting against the mound. The Stranger opened his eyes again, and
smiled, painfully, at Green Trenchcoat.
	"What happened?" asked Green Trenchcoat.
	"Oh... the end of all things..."
	"Yes, but how? Why?"
	"There was nothing... you could have done."
	"Then why did you call me here?"
	"The last... way to survive. The Greek ideal of
immortality. This place must be remembered..."
	"Yes..." Green Trenchcoat lowered his head. "But... how did it
happen? Please. Tell me."
	"You are hurt..."
	"Yes."
	"I should... I should have told you that dividing yourself as
you did was... unwise... but I remained aloof. So many regrets..."
	"What happened?" pressed Green Trenchcoat.
	"The world... the world above... abandoned us."
	Green Trenchcoat was perplexed. "Heaven...?"
	"No. The creators. The writers."
	"I don`t... I don`t understand."
	"Take me... take me south. To your friends..."
	"Very well." Green Trenchcoat lifted the Stranger over his
shoulder, enveloping him in the green aura, and felt shocked at his
meagre weight. Troubled, he rose in the air and began the journey back
to Net.ropolis.


	The lift descended, falling slowly through the levels of the
LNHQ. Within, Andrew and Kirsty waited for it to complete it`s
journey, holding hands and looking quite contented. A frown passed
over Andrew`s face. "We still need something else..." he said.
	Kirsty asked, curiously, "What?" 
	"We can`t just go back to the other dimension and carry on
with things... I don`t know. I just want to do something to say, well,
goodbye to this place. To put it behind us."
	"No. We`ll never do that."
	"I know, but still... we can`t come back, can we?"
	"No. No, it wouldn`t be a good idea."
	"So we`ve got to do something..."
	"A funeral?"
	"Yeah. Something like that."
	"The last funeral I went to, it didn`t work."
	"Then we`ll do it differently."
	"How...? Hang on."
	"Got an idea?"
	"Yeah."
	"What is it?"
	"Tell you in a moment." The lift doors opened, and Kirsty
left, pulling a slightly bemused Andrew behind her. They picked their
way through the cafeteria, avoiding bodies, tables, plates and
cheesecakes, making their way back to the monitoring room. The warm
smell of coffee flooded out as they opened the doors and
entered. Occultism Kid had a small kettle on a gas stove, and within,
hot water scavenged from some unnameable source was bubbling away,
throwing out a cone of steam that spread upward into the air.
	"Hey, where`ve you been?" exclaimed Occultism Kid, half-filled
mug of coffee at his lips.
	"Oh, looking around. Seeing if anything was left. You
know. That sort of thing..." said Kirsty.
	"Uh-huh," said Person, smirking at Occultism Kid.
	"Hey, you want some coffee?" asked Occultism Kid. "Only
instant, I`m afraid..."
	"Uh, yeah, I could do with some," said Demon Boy.
	"Me as well," said Kirsty. Occultism Kid busied himself with
the making of coffee, throwing granules into mugs, adding water and
topping the mixture up with coffeemate. "How`s the file coming?" asked
Kirsty.
	"Another minute or so," said Person. Occultism Kid handed out
steaming mugs, which Andrew and Kirsty accepted gratefully. They
sipped and felt warmer, though the taste left them grimacing a little.
	"Told you so," said Occultism Kid.
	"Oh well," said Kirsty. "At least there`s caffeine in here..."
	"Staff of life," affirmed Person.
	"Mm," affirmed Kirsty, drinking.
	Person raised his head, as if hearing something. "Blue`s
coming back."
	"Did he find anything?" asked Andrew.
	"Yeah... he`s... it wasn`t very nice."
	"How bad...?" asked Occultism Kid.
	"Give him a few seconds and he`ll tell you," said
Person. And, seconds after he had spoken, Blue Canary flitted through
the door, and perched, on the edge of the console. "Blue..." said
Person, concerned. "Yes. It would be better for them all to know."
	They heard, or perhaps felt, the words. "It`s bad out
there. Bodies in the streets. Some buildings have burnt down, or
collapsed. Mostly, there hasn`t been much damage... I think they all
knew they were going to die."
	"That would account for the suicides..." said Occultism Kid.
	"No. There were more, so many more..." Blue`s voice was
steady, steadier than the ears that heard it. "There was some kind of
cult, they held a ceremony in an enormous church before the end... all
the followers killed themselves. Every one. They were all in white
robes, they gave out knives, they`re everywhere out there... and it
was Self-Righteous Preacher who was leading them."
	Eyebrows were raised. "Was he different here?" asked Person.
	"No," said Kirsty. "If he changed, it happened after we
left. But... how did he change so much? I mean, he was always
annoying, but he wouldn`t have done something like this."
	The computer let out a short chime. "It`s finished," said
Person.
	"Anybody need more coffee before we start?" asked Occultism
Kid.
	"Yeah," said Person. Andrew and Kirsty declined, still with
steaming mugs.
	"Right..." said Occultism Kid, making a coffee for Person.
	"Okay then," said Person. "Here goes..." He ran the program.


FADE IN

INT- ULTIMATE NINJA`S READY ROOM

                            ULTIMATE NINJA

 This is the final record of the events that have taken place in this
 universe. If you can hear my words and see my face, then you must be
    from some other universe, and passing through our dead, barren
 world. I would say that this file exists to warn others of the peril
 we faced and failed against, to help you overcome it yourselves, but
   that would be pointless. What is killing this universe cannot be
   stopped. If it happens to your universe, then you, too, will be
   powerless. All this is... all this is is a record. A plea to be
remembered. Go and tell your friends that we once lived. I am Ultimate
Ninja, leader of the Legion of Net.Heroes, and I have about a day left
               to live. Continuity Champ will explain.

CUT TO

INT- DRIZZTSAT

                           CONTINUITY CHAMP

It began... well. From what we now know, it began with the creation of
  this universe. For a long time, we believed that this universe was
   real, and depended only upon itself for it`s existence. We were
    intended to believe this. In truth, our world was created as a
fiction, written by people in another universe, and our world entirely
     depends upon theirs. This was revealed to us two weeks ago-

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ LOBBY

  SECURITY CAMERA SHOWS A GROUP OF NONDESCRIPT PEOPLE ARRIVING IN A
                            BURST OF LIGHT

                        CONTINUITY CHAMP (v/o)

          -when the writers themselves appeared in the LNHQ.

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ CONFERENCE ROOM

SECURITY CAMERA SHOWS WRITERS TALKING TO SENIOR LNHERS

                           DAVE VAN DOMELEN

    -sorry. It just- there was nothing we could do. They`re taking
 everything away from us. The net will be closed down in a couple of
                                weeks.

                            CATALYST LASS

        But what does this mean? What's going to happen to us?

                                wREAM

   We won`t be able to write any more. So nothing more will happen
            here. We`ll never be able to come back, so...

			    MARTIN PHIPPS

		   Your universe will... it`ll die.

			  PARKING KARMA KID

			We`ll cease to exist?
				   
			   DAVE VAN DOMELEN

 No. It`ll be worse than that. This universe exists on it`s own, but
 it`s still tied to ours... we`re not sure what exactly will happen-

			    CATALYST LASS

      You don`t know? You created this place and you don`t know?

			   DAVE VAN DOMELEN

 We... we aren`t gods. We`re just people. Most of us will be going on
  the run soon. For you people... it, it probably won`t be pleasant.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

Who are these people? Take me to them. I will show them fear in my blade.

			      ISRAISHUS

  Calm yourself, Ultimate Ninja. There is nothing we can do in their
	   world. It seems to be above ours, and inviolate.

		       HARITH JAMEEL AL KHAFIZ

  He`s right. You can`t do anything in our world. We really wish you
  could, but- people like you don`t exist there. Can`t exist there.

			      KID KIRBY

		      How else might we survive?

				DRIZZT

		  We don`t know. There may be ways.

			      ISRAISHUS

Can you not simply- write something? To say that we all lived- as much
	      as I hate the cliche- happily ever after?

			   DAVE VAN DOMELEN

   We would, but we don`t have control any more. Another writer is
messing things up. They want to turn this into a morality play, about
		    the pointlessness of fiction.

			      ISRAISHUS

		    ...Now I know how Job felt...

			    MARTIN PHIPPS

This is probably the last thing we can write. A collaboration. We owe
		     you as much as we can give.

				DRIZZT

		     But this is all we can give.

				wREAM

			   We`re... sorry.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

		    You should have fought harder.

			      ISRAISHUS

		No... there was nothing they could do.

CUT TO

INT- DRIZZTSAT

			   CONTINUITY CHAMP

   The writers left us with doom as our only certainty, but with no
 knowledge of where it was to come from. In retrospect, what happened
makes sense. The world above was overtaken by a religious revival that
    denied many freedoms; it was fitting that there should arise a
			    religious foe.

CUT TO

EXT- OPEN AIR CHURCH- DAY

		       SELF-RIGHTEOUS PREACHER

 And I speak unto you the true word! This world is judged, and judged
 vile! It is hateful in it`s maker`s eyes, hateful not by His design,
 for he cannot do other than make perfection, but hateful in what we
 have made of it, we, the sinners, outcast from Eden! Given a second
 chance by a merciful Lord and yet failing to redeem our promises to
our creator. The covenant lies broken and shattered upon the poisoned
earth. We have failed our charge and yet- even yet- the Lord allows us
one last chance for redemption, a chance we surely do not deserve, for
	       we are as gutter rats beneath His glory.

CUT TO

EXT- OPEN AIR CHURCH- DAY

THE CONGREGATION, DRESSED IN WHITE ROBES THROWN OVER OTHER CLOTHES,
ARE HANDED KNIVES

		    SELF-RIGHTEOUS PREACHER (off)

   I say you this: give your blood to your Lord. Carve through your
     sinful veins. In this last consecration you may find peace.

CUT TO

MONTAGE OF WORSHIPPERS COMMITTING SUICIDE

CUT TO 

INT- DRIZZTSAT

			   CONTINUITY CHAMP

 There was nothing we could do. Self-Righteous Preacher`s new gospel
 spread too far, too wide, and he was protected by many superhumans,
some villianous, some heroic, who had equally been taken in. We could
  only watch as he killed hundred of thousands. But he was only the
first taste of what was to come. Working together, Doctor Stomper and
	       Organic Lass made an alarming discovery.

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ LAB

			     ORGANIC LASS

Whilst treating a patient for cancer, I noticed that something unusual
was happening even in her normal, unaffected cells. I examined closer,
  and found that certain interior processes were beginning to fail.

			    DOCTOR STOMPER

  Essentially, the most basic, simple processes of life are breaking
  down. We have studied and examined as wide a range of subjects as
	possible, and found that this breakdown is universal.

			     ORGANIC LASS

Unless some way is found to reverse the breakdown, all life will end.

			    DOCTOR STOMPER

From the time of this recording, we judge that there is approximately
			a day and a half left.

CUT TO

INT- DRIZZTSAT

			   CONTINUITY CHAMP

At last, we knew the form of our end. We have since contacted as many
   other races as possible, but have found that the same effect is
  constant throughout the universe. An experiment was conducted with
 Particle Man, to discover if evacuation to another universe would be
  feasible; unfortunately, the process of breakdown travels with all
   living matter. Even mystical and machine organisms are affected,
though we cannot begin to explain how. Those from other universes who
 had been in residence here seem to be unaffected- and most have left
 or are in the process of leaving. Constellation has set himself the
 task of attempting a solution- but he holds little hope. There have
been disappearances, which we assume are the result of as-yet-unfound
 suicides. The most disturbing of these is that of Israishus. If the
man who founded the entire paranormal defensive forces can see no way
out of this situation, then how can we? We began to despair. And then-

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ LOBBY

			       STRANGER

  Once, I would have offered the greatest yet furthest hope. Once, I
    would have led you to where you most needed to be. Now, I must
			remain... A Stranger.

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ CONFERENCE ROOM

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

		   So what exactly are you saying?

			       STRANGER

I cannot offer true hope. But there is a last chance for the bleakest
			      salvation.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

		     Right now I`ll try anything.

			       STRANGER

	    The Legion of Occult Heroes must be recalled.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

  They`ve been missing for three weeks. No one knows where they are.

			       STRANGER

		  Nevertheless, they must be found.

CUT TO

INT- DRIZZTSAT

			   CONTINUITY CHAMP

 We are now engaged in our last mission. What little hope we have has
 been pooled into our search for the missing members of the Legion of
      Occult Heroes, Green Trenchcoat, Leviathan Lass and Demon
    Boy. Occultism Kid is preparing his spells, whilst GrimLad and
 Mr. Trenchcoat have been assisting him. Unfortunately, Occultism Kid
 reports that the magical constant of the universe has fallen so low
that only blood sacrifices of powerful beings can achieve our aims. I
   shall be travelling to the LNHQ shortly to give what help I can.
		       I am not alone in this.

CUT TO

INT- LNHQ CONFERENCE ROOM

OCCULTISM KID IS RESTRAINING SIG.LAD, WHILST ULTIMATE NINJA
INTERROGATES ACTON LORD

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

		...But why? Isn`t your aim corruption?

			      ACTON LORD

This is not corruption. This is death, the end of all things. You may
think that you are the only ones to discover the effect, but I have my
 own capabilities, and enough facilities on Andale Atoll that I could
     see it. Everything is going to die. Every last microbe. Even
	 me. Corruption needs something living to work upon.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

	 Why don`t you just admit that you`re scared to die.

			       SIG.LAD

		    Bastard! I`ll kill you first-

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

			  I`d help you. But.

			      ACTON LORD

  You need me. Your plan is desperate. Sacrificing myself will be no
		    hardship. I`ve done it before.

			    OCCULTISM KID

	     You don`t even know what we`re trying to do-

			      ACTON LORD

And neither do you! The Stranger hasn`t told you, has he? And nor will
 he. But while there`s a chance, I`ll help you to seek it. No matter
		      how small that chance is.

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

			       Sig.Lad.

			       SIG.LAD

				What?

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

 We don`t have a choice. I hope you understand that. I know how much
 you hate him- I hate him barely less- but if you lay a finger on him
    I`ll have your heart in my fingers and squeeze it to it`s last
			  drop. Understand?  
			     UNDERSTAND?

			       SIG.LAD

		(grimaces, fumes, but does not object)

CUT TO

INT- ULTIMATE NINJA`S READY ROOM

			    ULTIMATE NINJA

 There is little more. Running this program will activate an archival
process that will store all the memory of this computer system onto a
 specially prepared CD-ROM. If you who see and hear me are the Legion
  of Occult Heroes, returned at last- you will know what to do. The
Stranger will guide you. If you are not- then take this disk, and keep
      it safe, for it is all the memory that this universe will
	have. Nothing else will remain, but bodies, and ruins.
	       This is the Ultimate Ninja. Signing off.

FADE OUT


	The light that had reflected off their faces faded, and
resumed it`s more constant glow. In the new light could be seen tears
and despair on the faces of Andrew and Kirsty, and simple shock on
those of the others. The two natives had been holding each other for
most of the time, holding each other and sharing the
trembling. Occultism Kid and Person turned to them, not knowing what
to say, or how to comfort them, or anything that could help, could
alleviate the loss of their world that had seemed so solid. Nobody
spoke, for nobody could.
	There was a smooth, whirring sound. The CD-ROM unit on the
console opened, it`s tray moving out to reveal the CD held upon
it. Kirsty took her arms from around andrew, and moved towards it. She
reached for the CD, and picked it up by it`s edges, holding it and
turning it to make the colours reflect and change; there was no
writing upon it, no marks at all. She turned to Andrew.
	"This is everything?" She said, disbelieving. Then to Andrew:
"Say something."
	"I... I can`t think of.."
	"Quote something, then."
	Andrew paused, searching his mind. He found something. "'The
rest... is silence.' No. This, instead.
	"'What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a
dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead,
you were sleeping the big sleep, you weren`t bothered by things like
that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just
slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or
where you fell.'"
	"Yes," said Kirsty. "It doesn`t matter how they died, or
why. Just that they`re gone and they aren`t coming back."
	"Why do we still have to live?" implored Andrew of the empty
air.
	"I don`t know," said Kirsty. She found, upon the console desk,
a thin case for the CD, and placed it inside, giving it to Andrew for
safekeeping. Andrew looked at it through the clear plastic for a
moment, and then put it in a belt pocket along with the video he had
taken from his room.
	"It doesn`t make sense..." said Occultism Kid.
	"I don`t think it`s supposed to," said Andrew.
	"No- I mean, how did you survive? Like they said, just coming
to the looniverse shouldn`t have saved you. It didn`t save Particle
Man."
	"He`s right," said Person. "There`s still something missing."
	Kirsty looked up.  Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth
opened. "Shit..." she said.
	"It isn`t..." said Andrew, not wanting to believe what he had
thought of along with Kirsty.
	"The BASTARD!" screamed Kirsty. She stood, angrily, turned and
addressed nothing. "LEVIATHAAAAN!!"
	

	The room disappeared, and a new landscape took it`s place with
a roar of buckling continents. She stood now, alone, upon barren,
broken earth, on an island bounded by chasms, deep in which rolled
rivers of boiling stone. The sky boiled with black, dirty clouds that
grasped all moisture and trapped it in the dark, oppressing masses
that spread from horizon to horizon. Lighting flashed to earth, away
on another island, thunder rolling like a juggernaut soundwave. The
islands went on forever, amongst the chasms and streams of lava; they
moved, not floating, but jostling, as though pushed by something
below. There were roars of unknown source, from down there in the
deeps. Kirsty screamed again.
	"LEVIATHAAAAAN!!"
	There was a voice. Dry, enormous, rolling up from the chasm,
from every chasm.
	%So You Have Realised, At Last.%
	"Why? Why? Why couldn`t you just let us die?"
	%I Have Need Of You.%
	"Fucking BASTARD!!" There was no reply to that. Kirsty
breathed deep, and choked on air that could not truly be said to be
breathable. She tried something else. "If you saved us, then why not
the whole world?"
	%It Was Beyond My Power.%
	"So why are we so important?"
	%As I Have Said... I Have Need Of You. All Three Of
You. Here. In The Future. In The Past. You Are Necessary.%
	"What`s so fucking important, then?"
	%More Than You Can Imagine.%
	"I won`t do it!"
	%You Will. You Will Have No Choice.%
	"I... I HATE YOU!"
	%You Should Not. I Have Saved Your Life, And Made The
Transition To A New Universe As Easy As It Could Be Made. You Should
Be More Grateful.%
	"You don`t have the faintest idea, do you? Not the faintest
fucking idea!"
	%I Will Return You Now. Before You Abuse Me Further.%
	"...bastard..."
	%One Thing More: The Time Has Come To Fulfill The Contract
That Your Ancestor Made. You Have, At Last, Found A Consort.%
	"What? ...no. NO!"
	%Bear A Daughter. The Last Of Your Line.%
	"NOOOOOOOO!!!"
	

	And then, Kirsty was screaming to the Monitoring Room, to a
shocked audience. She stopped, realising, seeing the expressions on
the other`s faces.
	"What the hell happened? Where did you go?" asked Occultism
Kid.
	"Kirsty? What happened? ...Kirsty?"
	"Oh, Andrew..." she cried, pressing her face against his
chest.
	"It was the Leviathan, wasn`t it?" said Andrew, voice cold.
	"Yes," said Kirsty through sobs. "It did everything... took us
out of this universe and slotted us into their universe like it was
nothing..."
	"You were talking to the Leviathan?" said Occultism Kid.
	"What did you think it was, the tooth fairy?!?" shouted
Kirsty. She softened immediately afterwards. "Sorry... It`s just..."
	"Yeah," said Person. "It`s okay. We understand."
	Andrew held Kirsty for a while, until she regained control. He
gave her a handkerchief, and said, "We should be getting on."
	"Yeah," she agreed, blowing her nose.
	"Indeed," said another voice. everyone turned to the door,
which had opened. Green Trenchcoat had returned, supporting a man in a
black trenchcoat, who had just spoken.
	"Stranger!" cried Andrew.
	"Yes... it is I," replied the Stranger, wearily. "I, who have
survived, only to tell the tale."
	Occultism Kid and Person were puzzled. "Uh... sorry to be
rude... but I don`t remember you looking like that. Didn`t you used to
have a hat? And shades?"
	The Stranger looked at him, with dark, deep eyes, deeper than
the space within an eyesocket should allow. "You are of another world..."
	"Yes," said Person.
	"Every world... has it`s own Stranger. Yours and mine are no
exceptions."
	"The Ultimate Ninja said that you`d know what to do," said
Andrew.
	"Yes... I remember his words. I remember his death. My
purpose... was much the same as his, in his final actions... before we
began to seek you."
	"So there`s no way to really save the world?" asked Kirsty.
	"No... all that can be done is to keep it`s memory alive."
	"So you lied to them?" said Andrew.
	"I... I had no choice..."
	"And they thought they were saving the world," said Andrew
bitterly.
	"Does it matter now, Andrew? The dead are dead. Let them lie."
said Kirsty, tired.
	Andrew sighed. "Okay. I suppose you`re right."
	"It is time... that we left. I have my last duty to be
discharged, and it must be discharged upon your world," said the
Stranger, indicating Occultism Kid and Person.
	"Fair enough," said Occultism Kid. "Shouldn`t take long."
	"No, wait," said Kirsty. "There was something we wanted to do,
first."
	"There is nothing... left here..." said the Stranger.
	"No," said Andrew. "There are memories. We need a funeral."
	"A funeral? How?" asked Person, bewildered.
	"A symbolic one," said Kirsty.
	"Yes," said the Stranger. "It would be fitting."
	"What were you thinking of?" asked Andrew.
	"A cremation. Burn Net.ropolis."
	"How?" asked Andrew.
	"I don`t know. But we can find a way."
	"I think I can help," said Person.
	"You`ve got something that can do it?" said Kirsty.
	"...I`ve Got a Match."


        Clouds had gathered, in the darkness after the sunset. Low,
obscuring, but not threatening, they hid the stars and held themselves
close to the world. On them, now, was reflected a colour, a dull
redness that came from below. For there, underneath their blanket,
Net.ropolis burned.
        The blaze had been begun at the centre, in the commercial
district, where all the shops and offices were; great skyscrapers were
become columns of fire, bursting flames from their windows and
lighting the surrounding areas. Fire spread quickly amongst the lower
buildings, taking hold of anything flammable and transmuting it to
ash. Metal, stone and brick shells resisted terrible heat, and gave
the flames a habitation, a place wherein to consume and feed upon the
contents of the many buildings of the city.
	The fire burned with more than natural heat; plate glass
windows melted in their frames, dribbling down to the ground. MAny
windows simply shattered under the force of heat, sending shards
tumbling into every sheet. The streets were lit, not by the old sodium
glare, but not by the dancing, inconstant, yet fierce lamps of flame
that shined out of the holes where windows once had been, casting
indistinct, fluttering shadows from lampposts and cars and sculptures;
the streets themselves were free from flame, tarmac borders around the
conflagrations that were once buildings. One car had been ramraided
into a jewellery store before the end; as flames danced around
precious stones, eating the velvet cushions that they lay on, the car
waited for the flames to reach it; soon, they were all around, and the
petrol in the tank could stand no more of the heat. It burst, and the
store coughed a bright orange fireball out onto the road, which melted
into smoke, rising, looking for the sky.
	The people and animals also burned. Flames caught hold of
uncountable white robes, worn by the bodies scattered through the
streets, and turned their cheap cloth black and charred in
minutes. Underneath that, other clothes burned; hair caught light; and
the cremation of a population began, the turning of untouched corpses
into ashes, lying on the roads where they fell, in the buildings they
chose; reduced to grey powder, charred bones rising from the last
remains. And then, the winds; heat was not constant, and air moved
from one place to another, moving faster as the differences grew
greater, stirring the ashes and lifting them into the air, to fly up
with the smoke of a burning city, to obscure the clouds and then fall,
again, to earth. In the great, stadium church, the worshippers were
dessicated and scattered, the pulpit collapsing in the midst of tall,
uncaring flames, to break upon the melting ground and collapse into
charcoal.
	The fire spread out from the inner districts. It took hold and
would not be dissuaded. There were explosions, where there were things
that could do so; petrol stations ignited and leapt into the air with
oil-refinery plumes of burning; in one building, an arms cache that
would never be claimed took light and demolished a street, the sounds
of dead warfare crackling across the city. Vehicles left scattered
took light and blew themselves up. Buildings collapsed for want of
support. The fire roared and flared and burned, and transformed the
city, making a crematorium of a forgotten graveyard.
	The heroes stood upon the roof of the LNHQ and watched. The
fire was yet distant, but they felt it`s heat flooding at them. Andrew
and Kirsty stood with arms about each other`s shoulders, eyes drying
in the hot night. The Stranger leaned on Green Trenchcoat for support,
and watched with dark eyes from which tears could not fall. Green
Trenchcoat glanced, momentarily, to a suburb, and wondered how long
the fire would take to reach there. Occultism Kid and Person stood
apart; this was not their world. This was not their funeral. They were
guests, not mourners; they watched, solemn, Blue Canary perching on
Person`s shoulder, and hoped that they would never see this in their
own world.
	Ashes began to fall. At first, they mistook them for snow, but
they were warm, and did not melt; when caught in the hand, they simply
crumbled, and fell as dust to the ground. They piled slowly, forming a
layer on the roof, on the ground, on the streets, on the heroes`
shoulders and hair. Nobody tried to shake them off. They saw, in the
distance, in the centre of the city, the death of a skyscraper. It`s
structure weakened, it could no longer point insolently at the
heavens; the base could no longer hold the height. Girders cracked
with heat, and sloughed away from themselves; strangely twisting, the
structure began to fall, turning as it did so, falling in on itself,
and then to the left; it fell straightly then, and crashed across a
half mile of city, crushing buildings and remains, leaving a darkening
scar across the map, and a cloud of dust to rise and join the natural
clouds above.
	The heroes watched on, for an hour, for two; the fire spread
towards them, and the air grew hot. They could not stay for much
longer. The fire was only a couple of blocks away, when Andrew and
Kirsty decided that it was time to leave. They went to the rooftop
lift housing, and left behind the burning city; it raged on for a day
and a night after they left, and all that remained of the city of
Net.ropolis was a great blackened plain of rubble, sitting at the
centre of a dead universe.


	There was a burst of light, and a clicking of weapons being
armed. When the light faded, there stood in the Peril Room a small
group of people that was one stronger than the group that had
left. The computers looked at the newcomer, judged by his condition
that he was no threat, and decided not to vapourise him. Catalyst Lass
ran to the group.
	"What happened? Where did you get the Dvandom Stranger from...?"
	The group, silent, with ashes in their hair, could not answer
swiftly. Person, heart full, walked to Cat and embraced her as though
she might disappear; puzzled, she hugged back, and then pulled
away. "What happened...?" she asked.
	"It was... there wasn`t anyone there. Just a dead world. We
gave it a funeral," said Person.
	Cat gasped; she had found the ashes on Person`s shoulders, in
his hair, and guessed what they were. "We burned Net.ropolis,"
explained Person. Cat walked to the Legion of Occult Heroes.
	"I`m sorry..." she began, but Kirsty stilled her.
	"We`ll talk about it later," she said. "The whole story."
	"But-"
	"The Stranger has business, first," said Green Trenchcoat.
	"Yes..." whispered the Stranger, hanging onto Green Trenchcoat
weakly.
	"But who...?" asked Cat.
	"Every world has it`s Stranger, Catalyst Lass," said a
familiar voice from the entrance of the Peril Room. There, in black
trenchcoat, and deeply brimmed hat, was the Dvandom Stranger. He
walked forth into the room, towards his counterpart.
	"I have... a charge... to deliver..." said the Stranger.
	"I know," said the other, looking sadly at him. "Your time is
done, and your rest is soon."
	"Was it... worth it?"
	"There will be remembrance. Your universe will not be
forgotten."
	The Stranger reached out a wavering hand, and placed it on his
counterpart`s shoulder, raising his head and looking to where his eyes
lay, deep in shadows behind wraparound shades. "Then... I do discharge
my duty."
	The Dvandom Stranger clasped a hand upon that which lay on his
shoulder. "Be at peace," he said, softly. "Be a stranger no more."
	The Stranger glowed white, and faded from existence. His
counterpart reached back his head, and shuddered as something entered
him. Then he stood, alone. He took a few steps, slowly,
hesitantly. And then collapsed to his knees.
	Heroes rushed to him. He waved them away, saying, "The burden
is heavy, but I will bear it." Leaning heavily on his editorial staff,
he brought himself once more to his feet. "I carry the weight of a
universe with me. And I swear to you, it shall never be forgotten." He
walked slowly, bent over, out the door. No one bothered to look after
him. They knew he wouldn`t be there.
	"You guys lead a really freaky life, you know that?" said
Master Blaster.
	"Give it a rest," said Andrew.
	"I would like to know what happened whilst I was absent," said
Green Trenchcoat.
	"Well," said Kirsty, "Come to the Monitoring Room with us."
	"The CD?" said Andrew.
	"The CD," said Kirsty. "There`s another way to make sure
people remember. I want to mail everyone the movie file."
	"Yeah," said Andrew. "Good idea. Let`s do it."


	Later, Andrew and Kirsty were sat in Kirsty`s room, resting,
having showered and explained the events of the day to those who
needed to know. The movie file had been mailed, and many people had
come up to the LOHers and offered condolences; Andrew and Kirsty had
recieved them gratefully, but Green Trenchcoat had taken it all rather
stiffly. He had retreated to his room, and not been seen for hours
since.
	"I`m starting to worry about him," said Andrew.
	"Oh?" said Kirsty.
	"He`s changed."
	"How?"
	"More- well, bitter, almost. And he seems to have expressions
sometimes."
	"Maybe that`s a good thing..."
	"I don`t know. He just doesn`t seem very happy. I think I
should talk to him."
	"What, a man-to-man talk?" said Kirsty, sarcastically.
	Andrew shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "Depends on what`s up, I
suppose."
	"Well... later."
	"Yeah."
	Kirsty frowned. "There was something else that happened when I
was talking to the Leviathan."
	"What?"
	"It... well, you know I`m sixth in line?"
	"Yep."
	"It wants me to have a baby."
	"What?!?!?"
	"It... wants a successor."
	Andrew was quiet for a while. "Do you...?"
	"No! No, I don`t. Look, I really don`t want to get pregnant
anyway, okay? And the poor girl'll probably have a horrible life. I don`t
want to bring someone into the world who`s going to have to deal with
this sort of shit."
	"Fair enough. I... don`t really think I could handle a kid,
myself..."
	"You`re not the one who`s got to look like a whale for nine
months..."
	"Ow."
	"Sorry."
	"S`okay."
	They didn`t speak, for a while. Then, Andrew said, "Lots of
precautions, okay?"
	"Yeah."
	Another quiet moment.
	"One thing really pisses me off," said Kirsty.
	"Another thing?" said Andrew with a raised eyebrow.
	"Yeah, another thing."
	"Go on."
	"Our writer. I mean, yes, the Leviathan did all this to
us... but who`s behind the Leviathan? He is, isn`t he?"
	"Hmmm," said Andrew. "Hadn`t thought of it that way."
	"You think we can get hold of him again? I want to have a
word..."
	"Dunno. We could try shouting `Oi! Writer! Get yer arse down
`ere!`, I suppose..."
	"Seriously."
	"...I haven`t the foggiest."
	There was a knock at the door. "Go on, see who it is..." said
Kirsty. Andrew sighed, rose, and answered the door. Outside, was a
short man with red hair and a long, black coat.
	"May I come in?" I said.
	"Ah..." said Andrew, eyes wide. Kirsty sprang up.
	"Yes. Get in here..." She almost hissed. I entered, and sat
upon an easy chair whilst Andrew and Kirsty sat on the bed, looking at
me suspiciously.
	"You did call," I said.
	"Aren`t you supposed to be on the run?" asked Andrew,
acidically.
	"Uh, no. Different universe."
	"Okay. Why are you doing this to us?" asked Kirsty, hard faced.
	"...I don`t know, really," I said. "I started writing a story,
and it kept getting bigger. And so here we are." I shrugged.
	"Do you think we`re stupid?" asked Kirsty, angry.
	"No." I sighed. "Look... I know it`s tough." Kirsty raised an
eyebrow, disbelieving. "When I write these stories, I have to feel
some of what you feel so that I can write it properly. So I do know
it`s tough, okay?" They didn`t answer. "Right. Well. I`m sorry. But
you`ve got stuff going for you that I don`t have."
	"Oh, yeah?" exclaimed Andrew. "Like what?"
	"Each other, for a start," I said. "And something else. No
matter how bleak it gets, remember this. You`ll get a happy ending. It
won`t be what you expect, but... things will work out. For all three
of you."
	"Oh, how kind," said Kirsty, tartly. "What do you want us to
do, bow down and say thankyou?"
	"I won`t be getting a happy ending," I said. "I`ll be lucky if
I get even a tenth of the happiness you`ve got now."
	"What do you want, sympathy?" said Andrew.
	"No..." I said. "I just thought I owed you... well,
something. To let you know that things will work out."
	"And how much shit have we got to get through first, eh?" said
Kirsty.
	I sighed. "Well, anyway." I rose. "The next few weeks`ll be
pretty quiet. There`ll be plenty of stuff going on around here, but
you won`t be much involved."
	"So what will you be doing instead? Tormenting ants?"
	"No. Helping Green Trenchcoat. Oh, there will be one thing
happening, but I shouldn`t worry too much. It won`t be a
problem. Anyway." I headed for the door. "I`ll be seeing you..."
	"Come back any time," said Kirsty. "Just as long as we`re not
here."
	I looked up at the giant Totoro. "I wish they made these in my
world," I sighed as I left.
	"Prat," said Kirsty to the door.
	"Yeah," agreed Andrew.


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


EPILOGUE: MALCOLM BARNSTABLE AND THE RAC.CTRE


	British Summer Time had ended, and the nights closed in
quickly on the Warwickshire countryside as Greenwich Mean Time
reasserted itself. Off the main road, hidden behind a small thicket of
trees, was a pleasant country house, not much more than a cottage, but
homely looking; A light shined from a downstairs window, illuminating
an oak-panelled room, and a man in a very comfortable chair, sipping a
glass of red wine, and reading an old, leather-bound book.
	Malcolm Barnstable was having a quiet night in, with a bottle
from his extensive cellar and a book from his unusual library. He did
have a television, but kept it elsewhere; this was a room for reading,
talking and (possibly most importantly) drinking. His last case had
ended successfully, and he had been surprised to find that he had been
reported missing whilst he had been uncovering a strange plot in
Faerie; so rest and relaxation were a very pleasant idea at this
point.
	There was a draught. He looked round, seeking the door and a
reason why it should be open. It wasn`t. He looked back, and jumped in
surprise. In the chair opposite him sat a grim and ghostly figure,
looking levelly at him.
	"Malcolm Barnstable?" said the grim person in a deep voice.
	"...Yes?"
	"Do not be alarmed. I am known as... the Rac.ctre. A grim and
ghostly figure of justice."
	"Um..." Malcolm tried to think of the best way to put a grim
and ghostly figure of justice at his ease. "...Glass of wine?" he
offered.
	"That would be most kind," affirmed the Rac.ctre. Malcolm
breathed a quiet sigh of relief, found another glass, and poured wine
into it.
	"So... to what do I owe the honour?"
	"I am bound by duty."
	"...Right."
	"I come here to... assess." The Rac.ctre tasted his
wine. "Very fine," he said.
	"I try," smiled Malcolm. "What do you mean by `assess`,
exactly?"
	"You have spent much time away from the lights of the
plot. This is to end."
	Malcolm sighed. "I suppose the NTB are after me for some
ridiculous scheme..."
	"You are already one of their number."
	"True. But it`s not a number anyone ever counts."
	"I must determine whether you be a force for good... or ill."
	"Really...?" said Malcolm, a little sarcastically.	
	"It is clear to me that you fight on the side of light."
	"Funny, that..."
	"You oppose the Incorporate Conspiracy. No other conclusion
can be reached."
	"Well. Somebody has to do it."
	"But why? Why do you feel it is your responsibility?"
	"I`m safe from them. Other people aren`t."
	"Would this explain your recent interest in the Legion of
Occult Heroes?"
	"Just a little research."
	"If you encounter the Conspiracy again... you might not be
able to escape them,"
	"I don`t have a choice. They`re getting too powerful. Taking
too many worlds."
	"Perhaps. If you`re so worried about the greater cosmic
situation, why do you run the agency?"
	Malcolm shrugged. "I like helping ordinary people as well, I
suppose."
	"You didn`t before."
	"One of the benefits of being able to reconstruct your own
personality."
	"True." The Rac.ctre looked into his wine. "I should be
going."
	"Cosmic duties?"
	"In a manner of speaking. I`m having a talk with the
Stranger."
	"...He doesn`t strike me as someone you could have a
conversation with..."
	"Ah, but he has a burden to unload. And I must help him."
	"Fair enough. Call by any time. There`s always a bottle in the
fridge."
	"Yes. I may just do that. And one more thing. This may come in
useful." The Rac.ctre tossed a small, nondescript device to Malcolm.
	"What is it...?"
	"A plot device. And now... farewell."
	With a sweep of a cloak, the Rac.ctre was gone. Malcolm looked
at the plot device, worrying about it. In the end, he put it on the
table and decided to worry about it later. Shrugging at the episode,
he went back to his book, and to his wine. Small pleasures, he
thought, can be savoured the greatest.

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

CREDITS:

Written by Paul Hardy, over a period of a bloody long time, with
interruptions orchestrated by William Shakespeare, the British
Federation of Film Societies, and the Radio Drama Society.

Leviathan Lass, Demon Boy, Green Trenchcoat, Malcolm Barnstable, Israishus 
and the Leviathan created by Paul Hardy.  
Occultism Kid created by Josh Geurink.  
Particle Man, Blue Canary and Kid Kirby created by H. Jameel al Khafiz.  
Ultimate Ninja created by wReam (Raymond Bingham).
Sig.Lad, Dvandom Stranger and Acton Lord created by Dave Van Domelen.
Continuity Champ created by Drizzt (Jeff Barnes).  
Master Blaster created by Robert Ramirez.
Organic Lass created by Rebecca Drayer.
Rac.ctre created by Badger (Matt Rossi).

All characters are tm and copyright their respective creators.


Thanks to:

Paul Scragg, for advice on biological details.
The irc people, for being generally mad and wonderful.

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

			     	  -PENTAGRAMS-


	-Blurgh. It`s been a long time. Here`s the mailbag on #3...


DAVE VAN DOMELEN:

>     Whoa.

	-That was pretty much the effect I was going for...


HUBERT BARTELS:

>The Spiny Norman scenes work beautifully. But I question the wisdom of
>posting the whole thing at once. At 1600++ lines, most people are
>going to simply pass over it. I did that to LOH #2 at first. It's just
>TOO much to read in a sitting when there are other postings and news
>to be read. You're asking for 10 minutes of the reader's time - way
>too much for someone at work or reading news between schoolwork. It
>works for books - but this is a different medium. I try to keep
>postings under 200 - 250 lines myself.

	-I know that length is a problem. Unfortunately, I can`t help
it- I write enough to tell the story, and that always seems to end up
at a ridiculous amount...


RUSS ALLBERY:

>BTW, LOH #3 is great!  Kirsty's mother is alive...and so is another
>Kirsty?  Green Trenchcoat is a woman!?  I love it...keep it coming!
>(And the way you handled Self-Righteous is nothing short of brilliant
>8-) )

	-I`m blushing... :-)


CHRIS GUMPRICH:

>You've done it again... just how much longer can you keep these
>1500+ line stories going?  And _weekly_ yet!  And... unbelievably
>enough,  EXCELLENT QUALITY!!!

	-I think the "weekly" bit has fallen by the wayside...


MARTIN PHIPPS:

>Well, I'm impressed... and a bit jealous.  Personally I wouldn't
>dream of putting characters through the kind of emotional torment
>the LOHers have just gone through: one can so easily go over the
>top into melodrama.  You, however, seem to know what you're doing.
>
>You surprised me... twice.  It wasn't until the phone rang that I
>realised what was going on and then I had to think for a moment about
>whether it made sense.  It seems to me that Continuity Champ Junior
>might have to question his judgement in this matter: he wasn't aware
>of the existance of a Kristy and a Vicky in our reality when he used
>the RoR to bring back LL and GT.

	-Hmmm.... well, since CCJr was, apparently, omniscient when he
had the Ring of Retcon, I think we have to assume that he knew what he
was doing. I didn`t, but he did...

>Speaking of Vicky, I remember thinking that the amount of time spent
>on "the woman" seemed to be a bit much; now I realise that you were
>delaying the surprise, keeping us guessing as to who "the woman" was,
>knowing that we probably wouldn't figure it out on our own except to
>realise that there was some connection between her and the LOHers.
>Again, you apparently knew what you were doing.

	-Thanx!

>Finally, you seem to have all the "voices" downpat: the Brits sound
>like Brits and the Americans sound like Americans. :)

	-That`s not hard. Hard is trying to do a Canadian voice... we
Brits simply cannot tell the difference :-(



	-Anyway, apologies for the lateness. Once term started, my
life went mad, and it`s still mad. But I`m clawing back my sanity...

	-Plug: DVANDOM FORCE #40!!!! Go ye and read it. It ties in
with this issue, and besides which, it`s utterly mad and
wonderful. From Dave Van Domelen, the man with the shapechanging
.sig. Ying tong iddle I po.



NEXT FROM THE MARMALADE DALEK:
------------------------------

U-Force Annual #1: Tourniquet has a quiet chat with Green Trenchcoat.

Malcolm Barnstable/Legion of Occult Heroes Special: Part of the
						    "Dummies Guide to Magic"
						    crossover.

Malcolm Barnstable: Motorway Madness: Malcolm`s first case.

The Barnstable Incident TEB: Pending me retyping the last chapter...

LOH #5: Alt.Comedy.British and... a crossover!
-- 
	  And these are the words of a supposedly literate student of
	       English Literature at the University of Warwick...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                 Paul Hardy - Despair - enubf@csv.warwick.ac.uk