In Which Many Things Are Explained And Many More Things Are Blown Up

OzBat stirred, and raised a hand to his soot-smeared forehead. His head ached terribly, but not from the punishment he had taken earlier -- otherdimensional imps are remarkably resilient that way. But there was a throbbing pain behind his eyes and a visceral feeling of danger in his gut.

"Something... something is going horribly wrong on the NEB," he muttered, half-deliriously. "I can FEEL it."

A figure stepped out of the shadows. "Yes indeedy, you insufferable little pest. Something's been wrong with the NEB for YEARS. But I'm going to set it right, finally. At last all you no-talent wannabes are going to get what's coming to you."

OzBat's eyes widened in shock. "You? We thought you were DEAD!"

*

Inside the Mystifying Machine, Greg Hatcher bit his lip and thought. He had hated leaving T-1000 behind, it was a really crass thing to do to a relatively new NEB contributor that seemed to sincerely want to help, but what really rankled him was that, like T-1000, HE was good at mysteries too, and the answer to this one seemed tantalizingly just beyond his reach.... the whole situation seemed somehow familiar, and not just because he'd recently been killed (again.)

"What we need is Al," he muttered. "Al was really good at figuring out a dozen different out-of-control plotlines and bringing them all together."

"Al's in France," Golden Lion put in helpfully. "Maybe we should go to France."

Demonicuss snorted. "France wouldn't be NEARLY far enough."

Abruptly Greg pulled the van over and cut the engine. "Look here, you guys," he said sharply. "Enough. We haven't got TIME to go running around in circles any more. People are DYING. We need to figure this out NOW. What do we KNOW?"

Everyone scowled and furrowed their brows and thought.

*

Explosions rocked the NEB. Z-Mage's hands began to glow a deep crimson and he laughed as he saw the approaching Nod troops. Let the NEB run red with blood, let the heavens themselves fall, let....

"Let me through, willya? We're trying to get to the exit."

Z-Mage whirled, his rage at being distracted forgotten in his astonishment at the two figures standing behind him. One was a lanky, unshaven fellow in a black leather duster, the other a nattily-dressed young man in a gray pinstripe suit and fedora. Z-Mage almost burst out laughing as he saw the pistols in their hands. "Who are you," he said, barely holding in a snicker, "and what do you expect to do with those ....popguns?"

"We're just trying to get back where we belong," said the man in the leather duster. He had a slight accent -- not British, exactly, but close. "My handle's Max Zero, and this is Archie Goodwin."

"Private op from New York," Goodwin added cheerfully, and tipped his fedora.

Then the air seemed to -- ripple, somehow -- behind the three figures on the ridge, and a huge, misshapen figure materialized. It was holding a medieval axe.

"Holy cow!" Goodwin blurted, and scrambled to get out of the way of the creature's battleaxe as it swung. "Easy there, fella!"

"He's not going to take it easy," Max Zero said grimly. "That's an Asgardian Frost Giant... he won't stop until we're dead or he is. Run!"

*

Greg ticked off points on his fingers. "Okay. So far, except for Tango, everyone attacked has had something to do with the NEB. Attempts were made to kill Lion and me, and we both write for the NEB. Demonicuss and Z-Mage here were suddenly faced with the threat of their fictional namesakes. OzBat's the NEB moderator and the fictional Z-Mage and DeMonStar took him down too. The NEB's the common thread. Somehow Tango must tie into that too, though I'm not sure how..."

"What?" Howyadoin asked.

"Wasn't talking to you. Look, you guys, the monkey thing with Plan 9 was just a distraction, whoever set that up must have KNOWN how silly that was, he just played on Plan's megalomania, his love of being a villain." Hatcher frowned, concentrating. "There was a guy once -- he HATED the NEB. But he's dead."

*

OzBat blinked and tried to sit up. "Jerry Stanford? B-but you've been gone for YEARS... Conn Seanery and Joe Grendel destroyed you."

"And now, I'm back." Stanford sneered. "Back to destroy your little insular elitist fan-fiction fiefdom. I've been lurking here for MONTHS, planning all this. Persuading howyadoin to attack you, encouraging Plan 9 with mad monkey dreams, and freeing fictional villains from their own timelines to wreak havoc on you all. Even as we speak, all the walls you've so carefully built between the fictional worlds are collapsing. The NEB is being overrun with ALL the stupid characters from ALL your stupid little stories. Soon they will destroy each other, and the NEB will be gone forever."

That's why I feel so sick, OzBat realized with horror. His life was directly tied to the NEB -- Stanford's action was automatically destroying him, too, piece by piece, as the NEB fell.

"Just call me the editor," Stanford chuckled. "Know what that means? Look it up."

"Someone will stop you," OzBat said, trying to muster what little strength he had left.

"Yeah?" Stanford laughed. "Who?"

"Maybe me," came a voice.

Stanford whirled.

A swashbuckling, charismatic figure stood at the entrance to the Fortress. "Couldn't help overhearing," he said cheerfully. "I was just next door at the Planet offices. I don't think we ever actually met, Stanford," he added. "My name's Tango."

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