"A House In Ruins"

By Steve Seinberg

Mr. Terrible was waiting for Prometheus to spring into action, but it wasn’t happening. Terrible was staring at the other man’s hips, as he’d been taught years before during his two weeks’ worth of high-school football (before he’d realized that a disciplined practice schedule would interfere greatly with his juvenile delinquency activities, and had dropped the sport); it was about the only useful bit of info that the head coach had ever imparted during those two weeks, Terrible still felt, and it had actually served him well over the subsequent years.

The idea was that if you focused on an opponent’s head or shoulders up top, or on their legs down below, they could oftentimes elude you through use of some kind of feint – they’d false-start a move in one direction, and then shoot off in another, leaving you in their dust to pick up the jock-strap you’d been faked out of if you’d fallen for the deception. On the other hand, as the coach had correctly pointed out, an opponent can’t go anywhere without his or her mathematical midpoint tagging along for the ride, so if you stayed fixed on their hips and didn’t let any phony white noise distract you, you could stay with them every time.

Terrible was trying to apply that same reasoning now, only Prometheus wasn’t moving. For a moment or two, Terrible thought Prometheus was just trying to lull him or something, or force Terrible himself to make the first move…but then he realized that Prometheus himself wasn’t moving at all. In fact, despite various cross-breezes from explosions in the surrounding area, and from people flying, and throwing things, and dashing about at super-speed, not even Prometheus’ long cape was rustling.

And then Terrible realized that he wasn’t feeling those cross-breezes anymore, either, all of a sudden…or hearing further explosions, or the deafening thunder of super-powered combat. Somehow, the place had fallen deathly quiet, so placid it was eerie. He was afraid to look away from Prometheus, for fear that the man would suddenly spring into action the second he did, but finally the suspense dragged on for too long, and Terrible could feel his back getting too tense from holding the same defensive posture, so he very nervously darted his eyes past Prometheus…

Nobody was moving. Everyone and everything seemed to be frozen. Off beyond Prometheus’ left shoulder, this big metal goon called Girder was in the background, having just hurled a giant chunk of broken stonework at the JSA’s medic, Dr. Mid-Nite, and not only was Girder stock-still in his follow-through pose, and not only was Mid-Nite poised while gravity-defyingly balanced on one arm in mid-evasive somersault, but even the big slab of thrown masonry was hanging motionlessly in mid-air, halfway between the two combatants.

Terrible stood up straight, baffled. He looked around and saw similar scenes all over the arena environs. People were frozen in mid-punch, mid-leap, mid-collapse. He saw a fresh bomb-blast beginning to mushroom up from where one of the Double Dare girls had grabbed up an explosive pod from the fallen Fastball and chucked it at that Hourman guy, who looked bigger and more fearsomely muscular than Terrible would have expected (although Terrible was admittedly sparing more scrutiny for the overall form of the Double Dare babe in her little yellow and black swimsuit, with the matching long gloves and thigh-highs – something about the waist-length French braid this one wore turned him on, although this wasn’t the time to analyze exactly why…). Double Dare-girl had missed “the Man of the Hour,” as he was sometimes called in the press, and the blast, frozen as it was in its early stages, looked like a piece of weird, smoky orange modern art about the size of a medicine ball. Terrible had never seen anything quite so bizarre.

“Ah,” said a voice from behind him, “the space between moments. Like a secret room where you can observe all the world’s most intimate details to your heart’s content.”

Mr. Terrible whirled around, and found himself face to face with the only other person who didn’t seem to be frozen: the time-master himself, Chronos, in his visual assault of a costume. “You have something to do with this?” he asked the man, already knowing the answer.

Chronos laughed. “Of course! Who else? It seemed like the most opportune juncture in which to act – couldn’t let Prometheus beat you to death.”

“I don’t…man, I have no…why not? I mean, not that I’m ungrateful, but…?”

Chronos smiled at him – it was weird, the guy wore a full head-mask which would seem like something that would obscure a guy’s features pretty severely, only this one was molded so spandex-tight to Chronos’ head and face that it was like it was painted on. Terrible could see every expression, every tic and twitch the guy made.

In answer, Chronos didn’t speak, but rather held up one forearm, palm reversed so as to face himself, and pointed with his other hand right at the forearm. At first, Mr. Terrible had no idea what that meant – was it the secret greeting from some super-villain fraternity that Chronos mistakenly thought Terrible was a member of? Then he looked closer, and understood.

There was a long, silvery-white strand wrapped all up and down the man’s arm, like the thinnest, frailest piece of barbed-wire imaginable….a strand just like the one Mr. Terrible himself still wore around his own forearm.

“The Key,” he said. “You’re the other guy the Key had on the inside to get me out.”

“Very good! You see, you’re not as slow-witted as everyone says.”

“People say that about me?”

“Actually no, I’m just giving you a hard time – to be honest, nobody really talks about you at all to my knowledge.”

“Oh. Uh…thanks? I guess? But so anyway…what do we do now?”

Chronos looked around, then said “Ah!” and snapped his fingers, and walked a few paces away, and bent down to where someone had left a set of metal nunchuks lying forgotten in the rubble. He reached for them, and then for the barest split-second, Terrible could have sworn that sound and motion returned to the world around him…but then all was still again. Had Prometheus moved slightly? It was hard to tell, and the flash had been so brief that Terrible wasn’t even sure he hadn’t imagined it, but Chronos was now returning toward Terrible while holding the nunchuks.

He walked on past, and then positioned himself behind Prometheus like a clean-up hitter getting set in the batter’s box, gripping one end of the nunchuks, and clearly priming himself for a mighty swing. He looked over at Terrible. “Why don’t you stand over that way,” he suggested, indicating a clear spot off to one side with his chin. A trifle mystified, but not having any better ideas, Terrible complied.

And then sound and motion returned to the world again just long enough for Chronos to uncork a pretty good bash with his nunchuks that caught Prometheus in the back of the neck, just under the point where his helmet ended, so it was his lower skull that absorbed the impact, and not the protective gear. The assassin stumbled for a second, and started to right himself and whirl around…and the world froze again.

Chronos looked over at Mr. Terrible and grinned. “Some fun, huh?” He repositioned himself in accordance with Prometheus’ new alignment, got primed, and then repeated the process, scoring another beauty of a shot at the base of the killer’s skull.

“I’d offer you a try,” he said to Terrible as he geared up for yet another attack, “but it’s a lot harder to time things when someone else is involved. This way will be more sure, and we don’t want to mess around with someone as all-fired capable as Prometheus – trust me, this guy is almost as bad as Deathstroke.”

“That’s cool, I’m sure you know your business…” Terrible didn’t want to say anything – gift horses and mouth-scrutiny and all – but taking someone down this way wasn’t really his idea of a good time. He probably wouldn’t have used the word “honor” in describing his feelings, and he did recognize the practical necessity here, but there really wasn’t anything too respectable about beating a guy senseless when he couldn’t fight back. He just stood to one side and watched Chronos continue to apply his weird stop-motion beat-down to the “right” Prometheus, which either took about half a dozen blows more than Terrible would have expected, or Chronos was just being really, really, really sure. The time-wizard finally stood back, and reinserted the two of them into the normal flow of things long enough for Prometheus to collapse and lie still, and then everything froze again.

“Okay,” he said, sounding like a professor about to sum up the salient points from a long lecture. “We need to kill a couple of minutes until our ride gets here.”

“I thought you were our ride.”

“I was, but that involved me gimmicking Roulette’s teleporters by using codes I stole from her…only the Justice Society fried all her technology except for the life support. The teleporters are down, so we need to hitch a ride with a private party.”

“A what now?”

“Someone who can teleport on his own.”

“Oh. Who?”

“Ever heard of the Fadeaway Man?”

“Uh…I think so. Some old guy with a magic cape that Hawkman beats up a lot?”

“Please, whatever you do, do not mention Hawkman to him, alright? He is our ticket out of this slapstick routine, you know.”

“Got it – no Hawkman discussions. So but then my next question would be…where the hell is the guy?”

“Well, the arrangements I made with him were rather last minute – as in, I literally made them just this last minute before I found you – so I had to agree to some terms I normally would have haggled over.”

“Yeah? Such as…?”

“The Fadeaway Man apparently has an enormous schoolboy crush on a nubile young villainess called Virtuoso, and he insisted on taking her out first, trying to score some points.” Terrible looked blank. “She inherited the special violin used by the Fiddler after his recent demise, and has essentially filled his niche. She is quite an eyeful, too, I have to say, although the Fadeaway Man is old enough to be her…well, let’s be kind, and say great-grandfather. But hey, good luck to him, you never know what women will go for.”

“Heard that. So what do we do while we wait? We’re basically frozen outside of time here, right? So correct me if I’m wrong, but if time isn’t passing for anyone else, and Fadeaway Guy isn’t in the House, then we could stay here forever by our reckoning, and he’d never make it back…right?”

Chronos smiled again. “Very good. I’m impressed – the few other people I’ve treated to this glimpse at the world between moments didn’t understand it at all. And you’re correct, in order to link up with the Fadeaway Man, we will have to reenter the normal flow of time. However, I thought we would do that away from here. I set up a rendezvous with the Fadeaway Man before I came for you, so we can walk there now, and then I’ll set things in motion around us again, and we’ll simply wait for him to show up.”

“Well…can you do it here for a minute first?”

“Whyever would you ask me to do that?”

“Well, just from watching you work, it looks like when you’re, uh…‘between moments’ like this, you can’t do much to interact with anything else that’s not, right?”

Chronos nodded, looking impressed. “Again, very good.”

Mr. Terrible pointed at the fallen assassin at their feet. “Well, this guy has something we’re supposed to bring to the Key. It’s what he sent me in here for in the first place.”

“Yes, of course. Excellent – I was going to suggest that you retrieve it anyway. If Prometheus still has any of his wits about him, I’m sure the Key told you that I’d rather not be seen. Better he recognize you as the one going through his pockets – you understand.”

“Hey, it’s a small enough price to pay for a ride outta this nut-House.”

“Fabulous. Alright, why not crouch down there, and get ready – once I reinsert us into the time-stream, it’s anybody’s guess how long he’ll be out.”

“Okay,” said Terrible, primed and ready. “Go.”

Chronos did whatever it was that he did in order to hit that “Go-button,” and a few seconds later, Mr. Terrible was rising to his feet and bearing aloft the Ghost Zone key.

And whaddya know – mission almost accomplished…

In her almost three years of holding down the mantle of the Phantom Lady, Dee Tyler had never seen such a massive congregation of costumed criminals.

The Freedom Fighters – the group of crime-stoppers she’d spent most of her career with – saw their fair share of action, sure, but a lot of that was dealing with regular street-level crooks, or intelligence agents, or military personnel from other nations. Compared with the track records of groups like the Justice League or the Titans, or definitely of the JSA since the WWII days, the Freedom Fighters hadn’t mixed it up with the super-villain set all that much. Finding herself in a scene so wall to wall teeming with them would have been a bit overwhelming, but for the fact that Dee Tyler was continually surprising herself with just how cut out for this life she really was.

She was a bit more concerned, though, for her friend and Freedom Fighters alumnus, Ray Terrill.

After dispatching that first wave of fleeing villains, and taking care of a couple more isolated wanderers, the remnants of the stealth squad had made it all the way to the main arena, which, as expected, was pretty much the precise center of Roulette’s facility. There they’d managed to link up with Mr. Terrific and with Dr. Fate, who had gone on up ahead of them earlier, and was now weaving enchantments to put any villains in the vicinity into a deep artificial sleep. No sooner had they pushed into the arena and gotten Terrific to his feet, then Dee saw the Ray show up out of nowhere, totally disregarding their battle-plan.

She couldn’t say she was surprised; they’d had the same problems with him in the Freedom Fighters. Back then, however, they’d been following the lead of Uncle Sam, a guy who seemed like a cross between Abe Lincoln and somebody’s kindly, old-school grandfather. Sam had a way of making it seem like avoiding his disappointment was the most important thing in the world, and the Ray had really responded well to that kind of authority figure (or, as well as he was going to respond to any kind of authority figure). Hawkman, on the other hand, was about as loveable as a cold steel broadsword, and was hardly the same kind of quantity as Uncle Sam...and to complicate things further, the Black Canary pushed some admittedly chauvinistic buttons for Ray, and having Nemesis constantly griping about him didn’t help in the slightest. Dee knew there would be trouble coming when she looked up after felling the buzzing Injustice Society hoodlum known as the Killer Wasp to see Ray come streaking in from an impromptu escape tunnel that the Wasp’s teammate, Geomancer, had just opened up with a wave of his earth-moving hands, and then a second later Ray needed to be saved by Nemesis herself from certain death. To make matters worse, not only did Ray need Soseh to bail him out like a runny-nosed rookie, but the rescue had forced her to abort the beating she was about to hand Geomancer, and this allowed him to open up another of his tunnels to the surface so more of his cronies could flee the scene.

After that, Ray was on his best behavior...but she hoped it wasn’t too late. Bailing out on Hawkman up above would surely bring consequences, and ticking off Nemesis even further wouldn’t help. Ray, for his part, seemed to know he was in trouble, as he dutifully hung back near Fate and Terrific, taking a defensive position – something he hated doing, as it was far less glorious than wading into enemy forces – and cut down any bad guys still resistant enough to Fate’s magics and stupid enough to come at them, and he was wearing this cartoonishly hang-dog look of contrition the entire time.

It was at about that point, though, that the tide seemed to turn, and the majority of the rebellious forces were put down. Dee linked up with her love, Hourman, and asked him how much Miraclo-time he had left on the clock.

“Forty-one minutes,” he said, without needing to look at the hourglass icon on the underside of his wrist. He looked like his fists were itchy without anyone around to slug. Just then, the JSA’s heavy hitters arrived, and they had those Hybrid people in tow, all of whom looked a bit fatigued, but like they had more than enough anger to see them through the rest of the campaign. This told Dee that it was a pretty safe bet that something had happened to Roulette’s mind-controller, although most of the JSA still had no idea exactly what had become of Tap, or of Roulette herself, for that matter.

“Hawkman could use some help up top,” the Black Canary informed them, one hand pressed up to her earpiece. “Sand closed his tunnel behind us as we were coming in, but it looks like someone opened up a matching one here that we can use.” She was regarding Geomancer’s handiwork.

“That was that Geomancer character,” Hourman told her, “and Soseh followed them – not sure if any bad guys went up after her, but we should probably check – Fate’s got most of this under control now.”

The Canary immediately sent Captain Marvel, Hippolyta, and Power Girl hurtling up toward the surface to help their comrades up top, before turning back to the group still assembled there. “Any signs of Roulette, or her pet goblin? Or the Hybrid’s leader or the other prisoners, for that matter?”

Mr. Terrific appeared at their side. “Tap is dead. That small glacier over there used to be him – the new look is courtesy of Killer Frost. Haven’t seen Roulette or the Harpi. Olympian must also be around somewhere...”

Liberty Belle interrupted. “I already found the holding cells, Michael, and they’re all empty. I think the locks all got sprung when your virus hit the systems.”

He nodded. “Then Olympian has to be around, and if no one’s seen him or Roulette or the Harpi, odds are looking bad for Roulette – we should probably find them. There’ll also be a thin young Asian guy with a metal hand walking around carrying a magic sword, and most likely skewering anything that gets in his way.”

“We made his acquaintance during the forced entry party back that way,” the Canary told everyone. “And I hate to admit it, but we must have lost him in the confusion.”

“His name is Claw,” said Terrific, “and he was another prisoner here – not necessarily a bad guy. Might want to keep an eye out for him.”

“Okay,” said the Canary. She regarded Liberty Belle and the Hybrid’s speedster, Touch ‘N’ Go, who looked positively radiant after guzzling up about a city’s worth of kinetic energy from Professor Zoom. “Can you two do a high-speed search for Roulette, the Harpi, and Olympian? If Roulette’s still alive, try to keep her that way so we can interrogate her about her activities and her technology. If not...well, at least try to find the body, and bring the others back here if they’re still around.

The speedsters were already gone by the time the Canary put a period at the end of her last sentence. “Michael, are you okay to travel?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. You’re with me. Let’s see...the Avenger already teleported herself up top...Ray – surprised to see you here. No, we’ll talk about it later. Pieter, you’re in charge down here until Hector’s finished tucking in the entire installation. Ray, Dr. Mid-Nite is in charge – you just keep any and all stragglers still on their feet away from Dr. Fate. Also, keep the speedsters with you, and if they show up, keep Olympian, the Harpi, Roulette, and this Claw guy here, too. Once Fate is ready, he’ll transport everyone topside; we’re sealing this tunnel behind us. Okay, then, Hourman take point, hit the tunnel. Phantom Lady, you’re right behind him. Michael, you’re next, then all you Hybrid members. Actually, you with the wings – Pteradon, right? – That tunnel might be a little close for you, if you want to wait with the rear-guard group, that might be best. Sand, you bring up the back with me, and close this passage as we go. Let’s move, everyone.”

Dee Tyler hit the dirt stairway at a run, in awe at just how capable her new group was, and so proud to watch her man lead them all up and out of darkness (and glad he’d get some more bad guys to pummel, as she knew how much he hated to waste any Miraclo-boosted time).

Her only regret, and one which she mostly pushed back into a “worry about it later” file in her mind, was that this mission might not end so well for the Ray. Still, as bizarre as their situation was – it was long after midnight, and she had the Hybrid’s metal man climbing effortlessly along behind her in a tunnel beneath the earth leading up from the ruins of a secret villainous fortress – she’d never felt more at home, or more like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

There in the darkness, she clutched fondly at Rick Tyler’s Hourman cape as he ascended, and she smiled a secret, Phantom smile...

“We don’t have much time here, man – I mean...once you put us back in real time, we don’t. That Fate character is zapping everybody off to dreamland, you know?”

“I know. The Fadeaway Man will be here. Trust me. And we’ll be safe here in the holding cell area. I already checked – the prisoners have all taken their leave, and the heroes already sent their super-speed girl to have a look. They won’t be back until much later, during the mop-up portion of the festivities.” They were again in the space between moments that Chronos so clearly loved, and as they entered the prison section of the House, Mr. Terrible saw that all the cell-doors were dark, all the shock-field barriers now fallen silent. Chronos snapped his fingers for effect – although Terrible understood that the gesture was just for show, and for his benefit – and the world regained sound and motion again. Terrible had to admit that it was a pretty damn neat trick, and useful as all hell.

“So we just kinda hang out here and chill?”

“Unless we want to miss our ride, yes.”

“’Kay. Hey, man, can I ask you something?”

Chronos gestured in a “Go on” sort of way.

“Why’re you willing to cross both Prometheus and Roulette? I mean, I get that they probably won’t end up knowing it was you who helped me out...but there’s always a chance, right? So why risk it? I’m just curious, is all. Is it the money? I mean, the Key does come across in that area – I freely admit, I’m all kinds of on board for the lack of haggling I had to do with him.”

Chronos shook his head. “No, the money’s always nice, but I can get money on my own.”

“With that time-stop voodoo? Yeah, I bet that’s right.”

“It’s more a case of greatly disliking Prometheus, just in general. You scored a lot of points with me when I heard about your adventure with him during that Dr. Psycho affair – I still get a chortle out of that, even to this day.”

“Always happy to entertain. And Roulette?”

“Well...I’m not proud of this, especially after knocking the Fadeaway Man for a similar fixation, but...”

“You hit on Roulette, and she turned you down.”

“With extreme prejudice. In front of several of my associates. I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“Gotcha. Well...” He was trying to think of something to add, when someone else entered the holding cell area. He was about to greet the person he assumed was the Fadeaway Man, arrived at last to get them clear of the House, when he realized that this wasn’t an old guy in a magic cape...it was a furry creature that was growling at them in a hungry kind of way that would have gotten big-time predatory approval from that King Shark nut. Mr. Terrible also realized immediately that while Chronos could certainly shift them into the “between moments” space, that would only delay this confrontation – whatever this thing was, either the combats playing out all over the House, or Dr. Fate’s expanding sleep-spell had sent it into terminal freak-out mode, and it was ready to go all feral and meat-eater on their asses – and fleeing wasn’t really an option, as then they’d miss their ride home if the Fadeaway Man did show up.

“I got this,” he told Chronos, sounding a good deal ballsier about it than he actually felt.

The creature advanced on him, and even though the lighting wasn’t the greatest in the pens, he got a better visual handle on it, and saw that it wasn’t a wolf-man, which was probably everybody’s first instinct upon seeing a hairy, bipedal half-human marauder. This thing, however, would more properly be called a “were-lion.” It had the requisite mane and everything. And fangs and claws, too, of course, which Terrible did not at all want to experience up close and personal.

“He’s called Lion-Mane,” Chronos supplied from somewhere behind him. “You’re sure you can handle this?”

Terrible drew a pair of his own knives. “No problem – I got claws of my own.”

The first knife went in deep. It was a good hard throw, as true and forceful as the toss that had brought down one of Mr. Terrific’s T-spheres back in the arena. It lodged in Lion-Mane’s side, low in his ribcage, and went in up to the hilt. This clearly put the creature off its game, but even though its forward progress now had a distinct staggering, limping quality to it, it still came on, and lunged at Mr. Terrible.

Terrible brought his other knife around, going for the thing’s throat, hoping to sever its carotid artery if possible, and was shocked to feel the blade snap off against the lion-man’s collarbone. He’d definitely inflicted some serious damage first, though, as the beast stumbled away with a ragged-sounding roar, one hand/paw up to its neck, and Terrible felt hot blood on his own hand and wrist.

He looked down at the traitorous blade, which should have been able to stand up to much greater stress than that, and whose metal form should have delivered a much deeper, more fatal cut...and he realized that absolutely true to form...he’d made a Terrible mistake.

“Oh, good, just in time,” Chronos piped up from wherever the hell he was. Terrible heard the heavy rustlings of a big cape, and another man greeting Chronos, so obviously the Fadeaway Man had finally shown up, but Terrible now had another problem. A big one.

He turned toward the two criminals. “Look, guys...”

“Fadeaway Man, Mr. Terrible...Terrible, the Fadeaway Man. Shall we?”

“Great to meetcha, but look...”

“Mr. Terrible,” and the Fadeaway Man was already whipping his long heavy cloak around to encompass all three of them, not wanting to linger in case Lion-Mane made a quick recovery and decided to come back for another round.

Terrible felt the world falling away, shifting beneath their feet, and he didn’t get the time to tell the other two crooks what had happened...didn’t get to show them – before they reached the Key’s stronghold – that the faulty knife he’d stabbed Lion-Mane with, and which he’d broken practically in two, wasn’t one of his knives at all. In the heat of the moment when the creature had attacked, he’d accidentally grabbed the other item he’d had stuffed into his belt, right next to one of his knives.

The thing he’d stabbed the lion-beast with, and all but snapped in half – the predictably disastrous results he should have expected – was the Ghost Zone key he’d liberated from Prometheus. He’d had it with him and kept it safe for all of about five minutes.

The Fadeaway Man shuttled them between points in space much as Chronos had carried them between moments in time, and he really should have been thankful for the experience, and enjoyed the prodigiously unique ride...but all he could do was wish for some eleventh-hour reprieve. He had no idea exactly what the Key’s music would be like, but he was sure it would be bad, and he was sure he was only a few seconds from facing it.

Somewhere in the folds of space, just adjacent to the world, Mr. Terrible heaved a most terrible sigh...

The Key was apoplectic. The Key stomping around the room angry and all but swallowing his tongue in a rage was of course better than the Key happy and preening – except for the scare factor that was part of the equation when it was Terrible himself that the Key was mad at. And that damn key-shaped blaster thing was right there next to him as he ranted and raved, which didn’t help...

Terrible tried to explain about how he’d at least had the presence of mind to grab the stupid Ghost Zone key in the first place when all hell was breaking loose around them, and so had clearly not forgotten the mission, and Chronos had even backed him up on how Lion-Mane had come out of nowhere, and it really had come down to them or the were-beast, but there was no mollifying the Key.

“Maybe you can fix it – you’re a super-genius, right?” That hadn’t gone over too well. The Key had slapped the remains of the Ghost Zone access device out of Terrible’s hand and across the room, which couldn’t have helped its condition any; it had already been broken nearly in half, with only the weird circuitry running through it to hold the two pieces together. It probably was beyond what something like a simple soldering gun could address. Still...what a crybaby this guy was.

Chronos and the Fadeaway Man were both hanging around to see the Key deliver Terrible’s scathing dressing down. They both seemed amused. However, when it finally came clear that the Key was done bitching, and was about to level that big, bad, key-blaster at Mr. Terrible, Chronos stepped in on his behalf.

“Look, Key – you said you were still interested in having me and maybe the Fadeaway Man here helping you to round up Prometheus, and maybe even staying in business together beyond that...like forming a ‘Terrible Trio’ or something. I have to say, I might be interested...but I can’t let you whack this guy.”

“What! Why on Earth not? What do you care for this blundering imbecile?”

“To put it bluntly, he cracks me up. I just like him, and I like his style. Plus, he’s been a part of zinging Prometheus on two separate occasions now, and he also – in a kind of roundabout way – was essential in sticking it to Roulette.”

“Ah, I see – Hell hath no fury like a time-lord scorned, is that it?”

“Maybe.” Chronos shrugged. “But look, the guy did everything he could, and he actually did well against Terrific in the arena and against Lion-Mane – he’s at least earned his freedom. I even grabbed up a ton of Roulette’s cash from her vaults while everyone else was busy head-butting each other, so I’ll give you back whatever she took off of Terrible when she took him prisoner, and we can all pretend those were the exact greenbacks he went in with.”

“And the retainer fee I gave him up front?”

“It’s still in that flea-bag motel where he was crashing, and you know it. Anton here can retrieve it for you, and we’ll just send Mr. Terrible on his way. Fair enough? And then we can talk about this new partnership, and hear what you have in mind.”

Invisible smoke poured out of the Key’s ears for a few minutes while he fumed, but he finally relented, and lowered his blaster. “Fine. Get this dim-witted vulgarian out of my sight. And Mr. Terrible – don’t ever let me see you again, or I will end your miserable existence. Understood?”

The Fadeaway Man stepped up, and as he was gathering the folds of his cloak in one hand, readying it to transport them to wherever it was he planned on leaving Terrible, the champion of “Foul Play” had his last say: “Hey, Key? Don’t let me see you, either. I’ll leave so many knife-handles stickin’ out of you, people’ll start usin’ you as a coat-rack...oh, and by the way – when you’re happy? You prance around like a junior high school girl. It brings shame upon us all. Now let’s get the hell out of here,” he said to the Fadeaway Man, who obliged with a swirl of his cape.

Before the teleportation effect completely took hold, Mr. Terrible had time to see Chronos grinning an evil, cackling grin and waving at him in farewell, and he knew that memories of the Key’s inarticulate scream of rage would keep him warm at night for many months to come...

And then they were gone.

Next Issue: Epilogues for everyone who’s been in and around the House these last ten issues...