Crack. Snap. Rustle, rustle.

Simon held aloft the small piece of paper detailing his fortune. "You will be slain by ninjas," he read, adding, "in bed," as per the traditions of his order.

He ate the fortune cookie and considered the message. slain by ninjas in bed, eh? Fine by him; he'd been sleeping on the basement couch for the last few weeks. This was not out of any preference for his basement, but rather because a contracting company had fixed his roof recently and demanded to take the bed as payment, instead of something traditional like money. Bunch of jerks.

At any rate, the possibility of being slain by a ninja, much less several ninjas, while in bed, was obviously nil. But Simon knew better than to miss the face value of a fortune. Once, he'd found one that informed him he would find truth and happiness inside of a month, and wound up sleeping through Canada Day. He was determined not to make this mistake again.

A general meeting of the house residents was held. "Okay, so, ninjas are coming to slay me," Simon explained. The cat was unruffled, and the hamster ignored them both in favour of a piece of broccoli it had salvaged from the salad bowl. The broccoli was three times larger than the hamster, who nevertheless made up for the difference with sheer determination of jaw action. Simon sighed, put the hamster back in its cage with the broccoli, stuck the salad bowl in the fridge on the pretext that he'd eat it later, and sat down heavily in his remaining unbroken chair. He drew a crumpled napkin out of his flannel shirt pocket and smoothed it down against his jeans, trying to decipher the notes he'd written during breakfast on a subject he couldn't remember now. Something insightful, no doubt.

The phone rang. Click. "Two kings."

"Simon?" The voice on the other end was female. Youthful, yet utterly world-weary at the same time.

"Hey, Paula." Simon liked Paula, vaguely. She'd been involved in three world-saving events now, one of which Simon had been priveliged to help with. Supposedly, the fabric of space-time had ripped open recently and dropped an eerily similar version of Simon from another dimension with 'author powers' into the thick of things, but Simon refused to put any stock in this fable. It sounded too much like a party he hadn't been invited to. "What's up?"

"Not much, I just had Chinese take-out for dinner. I got a weird feeling from my fortune, though."

"Really?" The cat decided that now would be a delightful time for a reassuring pat, forcing Simon to make room on his lap while juggling the phone over to his other hand. "What'd it say?"

"You will be slain by ninjas."

"Neat."

"Kind of, yeah."

"No, not kind of. Just straight-up neat. You know why?"

"No, but the bizarre desire I had to call you up and tell you probably has something to do with it."

"Because I had some Chinese tonight too, and my fortune was the same as yours! See? Neat."

Simon couldn't see it, but Paula glanced across the room at Jeff. After the incredibly strange events that surrounded the last time she'd saved the world, she'd moved in with him. His fortune had been the same. She decided that now would be the best time to explain this to Simon.

RECAP: It's also a good time to explain that Ness, having transformed into a floating brain with eyes and run off with a catgirl, met a grisly fate involving a remote planet in a solar system beyond the scope of time exploding into shrapnel and shredding him into bits, while King Poo had helped the Mu elders raise a new Kingdom of Dalaam into the air and was now alternating his meditations between inter-universal communication and the Peanut Cheese Bar mystery (ie. "How do they get the peanuts into the cheese?") Simon himself had moved back to Threed after the girl he met while filming the movie of the time he saved the world (as chronicled in the original Greatest Interactive Fiction Ever) left him for a pop-singing sensation from Summers. She left him for a director who was thirty-five years older than her, and then she left him for a female Russian country-western guitarist who wanted to create a controversy. The FoursideStar said that they'd all been abducted by aliens after that, so Simon decided that the matter was closed and got on with his life, which mostly involved spending the money he'd made from the movie, playing video games, and occasionally writing down things he thought were interesting and posting them on the Internet. END RECAP.

"Hmm," Simon hummed. "Where'd you order your food from?"

"Johnny Zoo's Yakuza Yummies, it just opened out by Snowwood. It's not a chain."

"Then it can't be a promotion, I got mine from the Ho-Lee Chow here in Threed."

"I thought you didn't even like Chinese food?"

"Just the rice. I'm a fan of the sticky ribs." The doorbell rang, forcing Simon to promise Paula he'd call back. He hung up the phone and went to the door, peering through the glass to ensure that there weren't any ninjas there.

Something large and silver was on his doorstep. Secure in the knowledge that ninjas usually wore black or red, Simon opened the door. The large silver thing turned out to be the lower half of a large reptilian creature. Simon looked up. It was maybe twice as tall as he was. "Are you a ninja?" he asked it.

"No," it replied in a voice that assured him there was no sarcasm or misleading intended.

"Great!" Simon gestured up to the top of his house. "I'd invite you in, but I just had the roof done. Fair warning, the folks next door will probably talk your ear off." He started to close the door, but the dinosaur - there was no doubt that it was a dinosaur by now - stuck a claw into the frame, preventing Simon from getting it shut.

"Aren't you going to, say, ask me what I want?" The dinosaur glared at Simon, who stared back as though to say that he already knew what it wanted. When it occured to him that he might be wrong, he decided to speak his mind.

"I thought you were campaigning for the Eagleland Conservative Alliance."

The dinosaur rolled its eyes. "A common misconception. I'm actually quite left-wing."

"Really."

"Yeah." If the dinosaur noticed Simon's apprehension at having his door held open by a giant claw, it didn't mention it. "I can't vote, being a Tyrano and all, but I find people often dislike the political views of people they don't understand, so my socialist conscience makes them vote against me. A conservative government tends to cut health care, which means more sick people for me to eat. Did you say something?"

He hadn't, but he chose to use the opportunity. "Want to go down to the pub? I'm kinda peckish."

"We won't get good service with me there, I'm afraid."

"That's okay. They never have good service anyway."

*

The Threed Pub was by no means a glamorous affair, but it did have one redeeming aspect: a patio area large enough to hold a Tyrano. Simon glared at a waitress until she brought some chicken wings. Silver (the Tyrano who was Simon's guest this evening) had the unnerving habit of eating wings whole, bones and all, like tiny dumplings. He could have just dumped the whole basket down his throat, but felt that would be impolite.

Simon balanced a wing delicately between his fingers, trying to hold it so he could devour it without getting too much sauce on his hands. "So what you're trying to say, and I'm only repeating it because I love the sound of my own voice, is that I'm going to doom the intertwining multiversal fabric of reality because I'm going to get in a fistfight with myself."

"Well, not in so many complicated words." Silver was by no means an example of prehistoric dinosaurian intelligence; he prided himself on being smarter than your average Utahraptor or Wetnosaur. Nevertheless, he was a fan of speaking clearly, rather than dressing up important explanations in fancy words. "But yes, the barrier between the two worlds is breaking down again. The Author Simon thinks I'm his character. He's temporarily forgotten about you."

"And that could mean trouble if we run into each other. But he can't possibly be the only author..."

"He's not. Hopefully, the other authors will be smart enough to keep their characters apart from them, thus avoiding even more confusion."

(At the exact moment Silver said that, on the far side of the barrier between the worlds, JamesPicard_007 was wearing a bucket on his head and wondering how it got so dark so fast.)

Simon shrugged, not knowing anything about his authorly counterpart and not really caring either. "So what am I supposed to do? We really should keep the door shut, if the universe is so important."

"It's too late for that," Silver replied ominously. "The barrier will open again, in a matter of time at least. It would be better to close it quickly than to try to stop it now." He stood up just as the waitress walked over with the bill, indicating that he wouldn't be paying for this, much to Simon's chagrin. "I'm going to head for the Underworld and lay low until everything's back to normal. This isn't my fight," he added as Simon tried to speak. "If I got any more involved than I am now, it would just keep making things worse. It's bad enough that I came and warned you."

Simon frowned. "You didn't really answer my question."

"Oh, fine." Silver rolled his eyes, noticing a particularly juicy looking city counsellor on the far side of the street. He'd have to make this quick. "Keep in touch with Paula, Jeff, and Poo - they're instrumental to your success. See ya." With that, he bounded over the patio barrier, snatched up the hapless politician in his jaws, and disappeared down the street.

*

The phone at the Winters lab rang fully ten times before Paula picked it up. "Hello?!" she demanded, a little annoyed at being interrupted and much more annoyed because she only knew one person who was so persistent.

"Hey, Paula, it's Simon again. Listen, remember that whole deal with the doppelganger of me from about a year or so ago?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Who's calling?" Jeff asked from the floor, where he was pawing around trying to find his fallen glasses. Paula stalked over and handed them to him, adding impatiently that it was Simon and thus missing the whole explanation.

"...I guess what I'm saying is you might've been right," he was saying. "I think the fabric of the barrier is going to tear apart on us if we don't do something right away."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Paula asked, emphasizing the 'you' in hopes that it would scare Simon away.

"Well, the dinosaur guy said I should call you. So I kinda assumed you'd have something up your sleeve."

"Well we're a little busy right now, Simon." Click. Paula didn't want to be so short with him, but... ahh, screw it, she thought to herself. It wasn't often that she and Jeff got time to themselves anymore, and she'd lost count of the number of times they'd saved the world anyway. (She'd also stopped complaining about this facet of her life, because Jeff was always quick to remind her that the number was three.)

Simon stared at the phone, wondering if he should redial, but decided against it. Fate was a fickle mistress (which wasn't exactly what he was thinking, but the uncut version is a bit too... unprintable) and if the Chosen Four, or maybe it was Three now, were needed again, then they would be dragged into it one way or another. He wanted to call Dalaam and get Poo on the line, but their new kingdom still didn't have phones yet. It would take some kind of crazy magic to hook up with them, and Simon hardly had any of that. Which reminded him - "Oh, bloody heck," he said as he remembered this - he hadn't unleashed the power of his Wolf Pendant recently. Which would be a perfect way to drop Poo a line.

A longish time in the mysterious past, Simon had died. Luckily, back then he'd been a computer genius, intelligent enough to program a sort of reanimation avatar, which was constructed in the form of a wolf named Clarence. As soon as Simon had been revived, he incorporated Clarence into his brain, whereupon the entire universe was destroyed and reformed, just when he'd thought he was starting to figure it out too. That really bothered him. Along the way somewhere, he'd also crossed paths with an unfortunate coyote named Sgis who had seen some rough times himself and decided that Simon's body would be perfect for a comeback. This configuration of mental wildlife sometimes caused problems, in the form of a seven-foot-tall werewolf named Siggel, who exploded forth when Simon got kind of angry, but he prided himself on his self-control which kept those sorts of problems at a minimum.

At any rate, Clarence the wolf had superior magical abilities that Simon lacked, and all he had to do was concentrate on the pendant around his neck to change forms. The only problem was that since Clarence was smaller than him, he'd release a burst of energy every time he transformed, and could only change back if some kind of power knocked him back to his human form. Sgis stayed in the background now, having changed from a philosophy of vengeance to one of idle recreation, happy to watch Simon goof around and nod to himself about how he would've remembered Mach Pizza's phone number on the first try and so on.

Too bad Simon hadn't recapped this to himself nine months ago. He could've gotten his tarot cards back.

Six seconds and a controlled explosion that accidentally levelled his microwave later, Clarence the wolf was speaking telepathically with King Poo of Dalaam. <Ahh, young Clarence. How are you and Simon?>

<Not so hot,> Clarence telepathed as he nosed his way into a bag of chips. One of the advantages of being a telepath is eating and talking at the same time without grossing anyone out or becoming incoherent. <He ate a fortune cookie the other day, said something about getting killed by ninjas.>

<Not killed,> Poo corrected. <Slain.>

Another advantage of telepathy was that you never really got surprised enough to do a spit take. Clarence swallowed a chip and started hunting for another. <How'd you know? I thought you ate Dalaamese food.>

<I have been receiving visions, as have my advisors.> Poo sent a mental image of multiple wise men displaying scrolls of ancient writing, highlighting the bits that were apparently about ninjas. <The balance is shifting again, wolf. The ninjas were all but exterminated in the last battle. This has enhanced their abilities.>

<The Inverse Ninja Power Theorum, right.> The Inverse Ninja Power Theorum states that the power of a group of ninja stays constant, no matter how many of them may be part of the group. Thus, a single ninja is almost completely invincible, two ninjas are not to be reckoned with easily, ten ninjas are a hardy crew, and a hundred ninjas are only dangerous if you're allergic to "cute" and "fluffy." <What're they after?>

<They have an incomplete job involving a group known as the "authors," who live in another universe. I believe this universe is adjacent to ours, and I've been trying to reach it. But the barrier is too strong.>

<The barrier!> Clarence shook his head; it was hard to remember Simon's thoughts sometimes, even though they technically shared a mind. <That Tyrano mentioned that it was weakening, I think! The ninjas must be trying to finish these Authors off!>

<I see. It's more serious than I thought.> Clarence felt as though he could sense Poo's whole mind awakening; in fact, Poo was raising himself from a trance. <We must meet. Perhaps if we can pinpoint where the barrier will first be breached, we can preempt the ninjas and pass to the other side before them. Then we'll be ready for their attack.>

<Pinpoint?> Clarence snorted, which passed through the void of telepathy as a sort of broken radiator noise. <Come on, man. Where does every single freakin' calamity always happen around here?>

Poo considered this. <Alright. I'll meet you in Fourside.>

*

Poo sat on a bench behind the Fourside Dinosaur Museum, feeding pidgeons from a bag of sesame seeds he'd bought from a street vendor. "This is unsettling."

<You're telling me.> Clarence pawed at the nylon cord around his neck. In the forty minutes they'd spent exploring Fourside, the most noteworthy thing that had happened was Poo getting a ticket from a cop for not keeping his "dog" on a leash. The Flavor building was under no duress, it was business as usual at the Dept. Store, and the Dinosaur Museum was as boring as a lecture on molasses. The Topolla Theatre had booked an ABBA tribute group, so clearly there would be no crooked contracts keeping the group from leaving. Even Jackie's Cafe had turned up no leads; the back room, once a hideaway for the Mani Mani statue, had been converted into a wine storage facility. The revelers were no longer annoying, the shopping ladies were much less cranky, and the taxis were of average humor even if their drivers weren't.

In short, Fourside was normal.

<These pidgeons don't fight back, the guy in the back alley sells diet soft drinks now... bloody heck, I don't even get fleas from rolling in this grass anymore.> Clarence demonstrated by rolling back and forth as best he could with the leash restricting his motion. <Fourside sucks.>

"Have patience. Something will happen, probably before I finish this bag of seeds," Poo predicted. Clarence rolled his eyes; optimism was alright, but if you could hang out anywhere in Eagleland for more than an hour without something happening, then it was time to move.

The bag of seeds emptied out, the pidgeons abandoned Poo for an elderly couple with a sandwich, and still nothing had happened. <Let's just get outta here,> Clarence said, pulling at the leash. <We should go to Winters and see what Paula and Jeff are doing. That'd be way more productive than this.>

In fact, Poo had already thought of this, but every time he tried to connect to their minds in a trance, he'd gotten no response. Clearly, they were too busy to have psychic visitors, so a physical visit would be useless. "They would probably ignore the doorbell," he explained. "Come, we'll buy a newspaper. Maybe there's some international news."

The international news consisted of a slight rise in the Scaraban national currency, the Monkeyflum; a breakdown of the prices of hotels in Summers, which was considered "in-depth" because there was an article next to the bar graph; and a small story in the corner about a ninja convention that was rumored to be held in the Deep Darkness.

Clarence sneezed on the paper. <Unbiased media. You get what you pay for.>

*

The businessman didn't even flinch when Poo and Clarence teleported into view right in front of him. He was a tough businessman, yessir, and he didn't have time to bother with local goings-on unless he thought they might affect the economy. When Poo approached the doctor, however, the businessman decided to intervene. "Excuse me, sir! Hold on a moment!" And then he fell over; Clarence had lain down in his path. By the time he got up, Poo had finished talking to the doctor. The businessman's doctor. Dang it all, they hadn't even booked an appointment, much less paid...

"The doctor informed me that the ninja convention was being held at a sacred place in the Darkness," Poo explained to Clarence, "but being ninjas, they never bothered to illuminate the jungle."

Clarence cast a dull glance into the inky shadows. The Hawk Eye's effect was long-lasting, but still only temporary, and the jungle had gone dark again after years of neglect. <Let me guess. You want to march straight into the darkness so we can get the drop on them.>

"You won't get lost," Poo promised him.

<Oh really? Why not?>

"Because I still have your leash here."

Poo waded into the swamp, dragging Clarence behind him like a stubborn refrigerator. "Come on, it's not that deep. You only have to hold your breath for a minute or two."

The wolf's paws slid against the muddy bottom, unable to catch a grip, but Clarence attempted to resist anyway. <It's not the deepness so much as the muck. I'm wearing a fur coat here, this kind of stain never comes out.> But Poo yanked on the leash, toppling him face-first into the muck. Clarence pulled his head out, spluttering with annoyance. <Fine, great. I'm covered in slime now, or at least I hope it's slime. Let's get this over with.>

The darkness fell upon them quickly, like a blanket statement covering one of B. H. Pirkle's misguided policies.

*

<Do you have any idea,> Clarence began, and then his head went under the filmy sludge. <How difficult it is,> he continued the moment he emerged, apparently forgetting that telepathy worked without the necessity of air, <to time my breathing when I can't see where I'm going? How long is this one going to be? I'm still trying to decide whether I'd rather die of swallowing the infectious microbes, or of good old fashioned drowning. Or maybe my lungs will explode! Who knows!>

Mentally, Poo was blocking Clarence out. Finding his way through the swamp without light was more difficult than he'd expected. He was glad that Clarence apparently had no sense of direction; they'd already hit dead ends twice, and if Clarence knew that there'd be no end to the complaints.

<Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Stupid Zap Eels! Some kind of mad scientist must've created them, because there's no way something so annoying could evolve on its own!>

Alright, so it couldn't possibly get worse. At least, that was what Poo thought until he walked into the oak tree. The territorial oak tree.

"Clarence, listen to me," Poo whispered. "Right in front of me is a Territorial Oak. We must not disturb it." He tugged on the leash until Clarence was next to him. "Follow my lead, move as slowly as you can, and don't make any noise. Do you understand?"

Clarence barked. The Territorial Oak could be heard shuffling around, probably preparing to attack. Poo slapped his forehead, getting some swamp juice in his eyes, which kind of stung. He felt a pull on the leash; Clarence had just rushed the Oak. What was he - Poo didn't have time to wonder; something knocked him over, and he fell backwards into the water.

A moment later, the world turned white, which looked very impressive through the water and Poo's shut eyelids.

Poo sat up and looked at Clarence, who was grinning like a devil in the red glare of the Territorial Oak's post-mortem pyre. <One bark for yes and two for no, right?>

"Thank you for knocking me over," Poo said, wringing out his ponytail. "I take it the thrill of blindness was wearing thin for you?"

Clarence didn't answer. He was charging again, probably avenging his electric shocks on some unfortunate eel Poo thought, until he heard the victim squeak. <Hey Poo, I caught a ninja, can I keep him?>

"Don't let it eat me!" the ninja begged Poo. This, combined with the ease of his capture, convinced Poo and Clarence that his current horde was still somewhat numerous, and therefore powerless.

Poo grabbed him by the collar and shook him a bit. "Tell us where your friends are gathered!"

"I was scouting," the ninja quavered. "We were going to jump you when you came around the bend."

"How? Have you got some kind of dark vision?"

"Well, not all of us, exactly." The ninja squirmed; he was a shy person and really didn't like conversations much, to the point where he couldn't even get a library card to check out some self-help books. That was why he became a ninja in the first place, so he could hide behind a mask and excuse himself from dinner parties. "There's, um, a new member in our group, though."

<A new member?> Clarence asked, although Poo had to ask for him because the ninja's brain power was too low to pick up telepathic frequencies.

"Well... more of a leader, sort of, I mean he came from a group that was all but destroyed, I think."

"He came alone?"

"Yeah."

Poo tossed the ninja over his shoulder and started heading towards the bend, towing Clarence by the leash again. As they came around the corner, the rest of the ninjas came into view, trying to hide behind shrubs or under the water, and not doing a very good job of it either. "Your scout is somewhere behind us, recovering from a wolf attack. I suggest you go get him, and don't bother coming back." All the ninjas scurried past them, except for one. He was dressed very casually, in a pair of sweatpants and a black 'Ninja State University' jacket, with no mask. A shower cap adorned his head; he pointed to it.

"You're probably wondering about this. It's quite useful." He twisted his wrist with a loud cracking noise and a stream of long, white hair shot out of the cap. "See? I can be anyone, go anywhere. Razorblade Fingers!" he shouted, and suddenly, wherever he ran his fingers through his hair, the follicles fell away from his scalp. "Hollywood Shadow!" The remaining ponytail of his hair turned jet black, his skin turned a Dalaamese tan, and his eyes became very nice. "I can even be you, your highness."

<Woah, business by day, party by night,> Clarence suggested. <It's like, the ultimate mullet, right? You should call it the Mullet Cap.>

"You use an interesting power, one I've not seen for years," Poo said. "Would it be called Rallets?"

The Mullet Capped ninja chuckled. "You truly are wise, or at least wiser than the wolf."

Clarence was mystified. <What the heck is 'Rallets?' Sounds like a rat mallet to me.>

"There is a power known as Stellar," Poo explained. "It uses the energy of the universe to create power. The founders of Stellar based their abilities on the constellations, as each had its own unique ability."

"They thought each constellation had an ability," the ninja sneered. "The power of Rallets was created by those who pointed out that the constellations wouldn't exist if you looked at them from a different point in the universe."

<So Rallets is just the sarcastic backlash of the scientific crowd against magicians.>

"I prefer to think of it as expanding my imagination."

<Well, I'm gonna expand my jaws so I can crush your head now, alright?>

"Oh, no, don't go to any special trouble for me." The ninja took two steps backwards and watched as Clarence ran to the end of his leash, choked as he ran out of slack, and fell on his backside. "Tell me, king of Dalaam, where did you learn about Rallets?"

"I've only known one other man who used Rallets, and his soul is merged with the very wolf who now seeks to collapse your skull." Poo gestured to Clarence, who had tried to bite through the leash but couldn't stomach the taste of the swampy saturation in the fibres. "I was almost certain he made it up as he went along."

The ninja shrugged. "That's mostly true, but when you find a name for a power that seems to do what you want it to, you tend to stick with it." He twisted his wrist and ran through the self-cosmetic process again, this time allowing the flowing white hair to retain its length, but changing it to dark green and yellow streaks. "I'm tired of standing here, and I suppose you want to know what I'm doing out here in the swamp. Follow me."

They marched along as well as they could with Poo restraining Clarence from trying to devour the ninja. In a matter of minutes they came blinking into the clearing where the darkness ended and the portal to the Tenda Village stood. When he saw there were no Tendas in the village, Poo cast accusing eyes at the ninja, who waved him off. "The Tendas have gone to visit their previously estranged cousins in the Lost Underworld. I hear there's a philanthropist with them, hoping to figure out their bizarre rituals."

<Good luck,> Clarence said distractedly, no longer as worried about the ninja as he was about getting into the hot spring. Poo dropped the leash, and Clarence tore off towards the pool.

"So, the Tendas are gone, leaving you to do as you will in their village," Poo theorized out loud. "What purpose brought you here?"

From out of his pants, the ninja produced a rolled-up paper nearly as tall as he was. Sweatpants of Holding, Clarence thought as he watched from the spring. We're dealing with an expert here. Oh, wait, did I say that out loud?

The ninja spoke again as he unrolled what turned out to be a set of blueprints, proving that Clarence had managed to keep his thoughts to himself for a change. "As you can see, these prints show every place you and the rest of the Chosen Four visited on your original adventure to defeat Giygas, down to every last hotel room." He stabbed a finger at the top corner, where an overhead drawing of the Tenda Village was. "We're up here. As you can see, we're in the corner of the universe."

Poo peered at the map. It seemed accurate enough, but the ninja's logic was insane. "Are you telling me that if I went south from Onett, I would end up not in Twoson, but in the Lost Underworld?"

"Have you ever tried to get through the southern Onett forests?" the ninja challenged him. "At any rate, it has already begun." He pointed to the cliff next to where the trading post Tenda usually stood; there was a large pile of drilling equipment. "Nine of my fellow Ninjas went in, but none of them came out. I am the tenth, and it occurred to me that maybe I should seek some outside help."

<Hence the hundred stooges out there,> Clarence said, shaking himself off as he emerged from the spring. <What's in there that's so important? The Holy Grail?>

"Come inside and find out." The ninja was already heading for the opening in the side of the cavern wall. As Poo and Clarence followed him, they thought they saw a door inside the hole. As it turned out...

"It's a door," Poo said, with mild alarm. He found his calm centre, then lost it again as the ninja opened the door. Beyond it was a plain green room.

A voice echoed out from the room. "BEWARE, YE WHO RISK ALL TO FIND THE BARRIER! ONE MISTAKE AND THOU SHALT NEVER SEE LIGHT AGAIN!"

"It does that every time you open the door," the ninja explained. "Then when someone fails, it belches something about 'this one has failed' and we get to do the whole thing again."

"And no one's found the secret," Poo whispered, almost unable to believe that the barrier could be so close at hand.

"Well, it doesn't tell you what to do until you actually get in there, as near as I can tell. So I guess the best thing to do is HIYAH!" Without warning, the ninja grabbed Clarence and threw him through the door, which slammed shut as soon as the wolf was past the frame. In a fifth of a second, Clarence had spun off the floor and bounced towards the door again, but it was shut tight, and no amount of pounding so much as dented it.

"THERE IS NO ESCAPE!" the voice intoned. "ONLY DEATH OR THE BARRIER AWAIT YE!"

Clarence snorted. <Okay then. Just fantastic.>

The voice gave Clarence his instructions. "EXPLORE AS BEST YE CAN, BUT OPEN NOT THE CLOSED DOORS UNTIL YE BELIEVE IN YOUR HEART WHICH IS THE TRUE EXIT! ALL OTHERS OPEN ONTO DEATH!"

<Horrible death, or just regular death?> Clarence asked, but the voice was silent. <Maybe I'm lucky and it's just diet death...> He looked around; there were open door frames to his left and his right. He went to the right first; this led to a red room with a closed door straight ahead and an open one to the left, leading to a blue room with three closed doors. He retraced his steps and tried the other open door in the green room, which brought him to an orange room. There was another exit to the right, leading to a brown room with an exit to the right - <That can't be it,> Clarence realized. <All of these rooms are the same size. I'd bet loonies to lasers that there's another room the same size behind that door, with some brand of death that doubled as the death for the left-hand door back in the blue room.>

The other door in the orange room was opposite the green room, and led to a yellow room with an opening to the right and - Clarence couldn't believe this - a closed door to the left. <No way is that the door. It'd lead back into the cliff. I'd probably die in a rockslide.> But a nagging sense of doubt was creeping over him. Any of these doors could theoretically lead to the barrier, even the ones he'd discounted. How in the heck was he supposed to figure it out?

The final room, the offshoot from the yellow room, was hot pink, with a closed door directly across from the entrance. Clarence blinked and shook his head; it was too bright in here. He paced back towards the blue room, thinking furiously. <Seven rooms, seven doors. Seven doors for seven rooms. Seven wives for seven grooms. Seven wives for seven brothers. I can't die now, I never got to see that movie...>

He continued to think in this way, eventually lying down on the floor in the blue room, his head slightly discoloured from the red hue of the next room over. He thought up every possible connection he could, turned the problem over in his head, feeling panicked even though the voice hadn't said anything about a time limit. Seven rooms, seven doors. The numbers kept coming back to him. Seven rooms, seven closed doors. How many open doors? He got up and ran up and down the halls, counting quickly, one, two, three... six in all. Plus the one door he'd dropped in by, that was seven. Seven, seven, seven. Twenty-one divided by seven was three, and all the rooms had three doors, except the ones that had two...

<Oh, of course.> He ran back to the blue room, realizing what it was that had unsettled him so much. No matter where you went in Eagleland, Scaraba, Winters, Summers, wherever, it was always the same.

Back when he - when Simon had moved into his new place in Threed, he'd gone straight to the upstairs hallway. It was at the front of the house, not in the middle, not centralized. He visualized it: a door to the left, the master bedroom. A door at the end of the hall, a bathroom. No door on the right.

And the harder he thought about it, the more he realized that every building in the world was exactly the same.

This place was the passage to the barrier, but until he passed throught it, he was still here. The rules still applied. And that meant the exit had to be in this room that inexplicably defied the rules. It couldn't be the door on the left, he reasoned deleriously, he'd already ixnayed that one. So it was either the door straight ahead, or to the right. He positioned himself in the opposite corner so they were on his left and right. Left, right, left right left right leftrightleftright oh screw it. He got up, walked to the door on the right, and shoved it open with his head.

Behind the door was a statue of a Kraken with a laser in its mouth. Clarence stared wild-eyed into oblivion. <Oh, son of a ->

*

Poo and the ninja looked up; a rush of air had burst through the door, swinging it madly before it slammed shut again, sending chills down both men's spines though neither of them showed it on their faces. "THIS ONE HAS..." the voice began, then paused. "ERR, HOLD ON."

There was no way anyone could have survived the trap. An instantaneous laser sweep, destroying every piece of matter in the room? Not a chance. It wouldn't even leave a trace. And yet... "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" the voice roared.

"I'm supposed to be feeding my cat," Simon replied. "This seems like a pretty good compromise."

"HOW DID YOU SURVIVE THE LASER TRAP?!"

Simon ran a hand over his flannel, but there was no dust to brush away; the rooms were all eerily clean, and now he knew why. "Easy. I have to absorb energy to change back from Clarence, and that laser did the trick. So I guess it's this door over here?"

"YOU CAN'T OPEN A DIFFERENT DOOR NOW! THAT'S NOT FAIR!"

"Not fair? Not fair?!" Simon looked around the room, trying to figure out which direction he should be yelling in. "Not fair is bringing it down to 'this door or that door' when you know that about seventy percent of people go to the right first!"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? OF COURSE THAT'S FAIR!" The voice was practically sputtering now; Simon half-expected to see saliva running down the walls. "IT MAKES IT AN APPROPRIATE BALANCE OF SKILL AND LUCK, SO THAT FATE WILL BRING THE WORTHY TO THE BARRIER!"

"Oh yeah, fate, eh? Well, maybe it was fate that I got a second chance!" Before the voice could try to stop him, Simon grabbed the handle of the other door and opened it.

And stared into a laundry room.

"ENTER THE ROOM AND AWAIT THINE REWARD." The voice was all business again. Simon did as he was told. There was a sign above the dryer that said to close the door behind him and knock four times on the next door.

Simon knocked. A moment later, the door was opened by someone Simon knew very well indeed.

"Hey, me." Author Simon grinned. "You're late. Get in here."

Simon stepped into the new world and looked around. It was some kind of apartment complex, he could tell from the ugly carpeting, but there was an enclosed feeling. "There are doors on both sides of the hallway."

"Yeah, it's a little funny at first, but I hear you get used to it." In terms of looks, Author Simon was Simon's twin, from the scuffed-knee jeans to the Catgirl Hunter t-shirt; the only difference was that Author Simon wasn't wearing flannel, since in his world flannel didn't come with temperature-regulating pseudomagical microchips woven in. For that matter, Author Simon's Wolf Pendant was just a rock on a string, and he harboured no illusions that he was any sort of lycanthrope or other mythical being.

They began to walk down the hall. Simon glanced over his shoulder. "So the barrier's just a laundry room."

"The barrier is whatever you want it to be," Author Simon replied. "It could be a rabbit hole, a television screen, even a football stadium. Hey, Ninja-Kun," he added as one of his neighbours, a masked ninja with a Starman insignia, passed by them.

Simon shuddered, but trusted Author Simon's reaction and pressed on. "But it's definitely the real world, or realer than whatever I came from, right?"

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that." Producing a key, Author Simon unlocked his room and stepped inside, switching on the lights to a modestly furnished apartment, mostly decorated with video game posters. "I think I'm as much a pawn in this as you are. Two weeks ago, this continent was nothing but radioactive fallout and bits of dead ninja." He opened the fridge. "You guys drink Wildcat in that universe?"

Simon peered over his doppelganger's shoulder. "It's made by Molson on our side."

Author Simon passed him a bottle. "Plus de changent, plus le même."

Simon gave him a quizzical look (nobody speaks French except in Summers) but let it slide. "So, what now? Ninjas?"

"Yeah, I think so. They seem to be the universal constant - you saw my neighbour." Author Simon picked up a binder, glancing through partly-written stories and character notes until he found what he was looking for. "Says here that you were brought to the barrier by that ninja with the Chia scalp."

"Bizarre hair notwithstanding, he seems pretty dangerous."

"He's incredibly dangerous. He's the last of a rather large group that was known as the Ninja Force 5000."

"5000?" Simon frowned. "So if 4,999 of them are dead..."

Author Simon nodded. "4,998. The Ninja Force 5000 was started by Falcon, but he got bored and quit. Anyway, the new leader runs on pure vengeance."

"Man, when are the ninja companies going to figure out how to run a ninja on hydrogen?" Simon complained. "I hate vengeance!"

"We'd better prepare for the fight." Author Simon went back to the fridge, got some pizza pockets, and tossed them to Simon. "You microwave those and I'll have a look for my Rallets Gem."

"Try not to let him steal it," Simon said as he punched in the cooking time. "He's got Rallets power too."

"That's okay, the gem's fake anyway. I was thinking of dropping it at what appeared to be the exact wrong time and then letting him pick it up in the scramble, so everyone would think I was down for the count, but then I reveal that Rallets comes from the heart and I totally flip out on him."

"Oh, well, that's good too. Speaking of flipping, am I supposed to flip these pizza snacks? Whoops, yours just exploded."

They discussed strategy as they headed back down the hallway. "Now that you've been through the barrier," Author Simon explained, "it'll weaken and eventually shatter. The ninja will be able to go straight to the laundry room from the door in Tenda Village."

"Then how do we close the barrier?" Simon asked.

"Well, come on, he's obviously the major evildoer in this story arc. We beat him and the barrier closes again, after a convenient time lapse allowing for goodbyes and proper dimensional homecoming, of course."

Simon put on a lopsided grin. "Only then there's like, a tiny bit of the barrier still left exposed or something, right?"

"Oh, man, I hope not. I'm busy enough as it is without having all kinds of characters interrupting me. Present company excepted, of course."

As they came to the doorway, they heard the sound of four knocks. "That's odd," Author Simon said, puzzled. "I would've thought he'd be crazy enough to just barge through the door." They stopped outside the door, looking at it, waiting to see if anything else would happen.

"Maybe we should just... open it." Simon reached slowly for the doorknob, then paused. "Shouldn't you be telling me to wait and then explaining this awesome plan for how we can figure out who's behind the door without opening it?"

"Shut up and open it," Author Simon suggested. Simon shrugged and turned the doorknob. And who should be behind the door but...

"Jeff Andonuts!" the author and character exclaimed in unison.

Jeff pushed his glasses up his nose. "Hey, guys. It's alright, Paula and Poo have the ninja tied up."

Author Simon was positively deflated. "What an anti-climax."

"Ehh, no big deal. Anti-climaxes are a way of life." Simon laughed and pointed at Jeff. "Hey, remember when that big fancy three-person Stellar attack turned out to just summon that dumb boat? Or when the lawyer-rocker guy figured out how to time travel, but then he disappeared and he didn't get to help in the final fight at all?"

"Haha, yeah," Jeff agreed. "Or how about the time Lucille was thwarted by being complimented on how good her cake was, which stopped her crazy rampage?" They all shared a hearty chuckle at this memory, and then Simon kicked Jeff square in the groin.

Jeff flew straight up and hit his head on the ceiling, and then collapsed to the floor, his trademark green suit disappearing to be replaced with sweatpants and a jacket, his hair floating down in a circular motion before coming to rest on his bald head.

"Hey, this isn't Jeff at all," Author Simon realized. "It's the ninja. How'd you know?"

"He's a bad liar."

"But he recognized all your anti-climax stories!"

"What are you talking about? I made all that stuff up." Simon picked up the wig and examined it idly. "Anyway, it's still an anti-climax -" At that exact moment, the ninja leader backflipped to his feet again. "- or maybe not."

The ninja leader nodded respectfully. "So, you saw through my disguise. But I'll still be victorious. There's two of you, and only one of me!"

Simon snapped his fingers. "He's right. Inverse ninja theorum. We don't stand a chance."

But Author Simon refused to back down. "Don't we count as just one, since we're technically the same person?"

Simon shook his head. "That only works if you create a duplicate image with your ninja powers, not if you're from different dimensions."

"Hmm." Author Simon thought about it some more. "Hey, do werewolves count as ninjas?"

"I don't think so," Simon replied, raising an eyebrow.

It is at this point that something should be mentioned about duplicates from alternate dimensions. The generally accepted multi-dimensional theory dictates that if two duplicates touch one another, they will cause an inexplicable logic paradox, which usually resolves itself with an explosion. For the most part, this is wrong; touching your duplicate is usually no worse than touching yourself, unless you're dumb enough to use immense force on them, such as belting them with a right hook to the jaw. Nevertheless, the two Simons had been unconsciously avoiding unnecessary contact in order to minimize the chance of a paradox.

Author Simon curled his hand into a fist, belted Simon with a right hook to the jaw, and ran like crazy.

Before he even recoiled from the hit, Simon had transformed into Siggel, the seven-foot-tall angry werewolf. "He's all yours," Author Simon called out to the ninja before locking himself back into his room.

The ninja looked up at the slavering jaws of his new challenge. "So, ah... wanna play fetch?"

*

To the average Tenda, it would have appeared that Poo had been knocked unconscious while trying to teleport away from the distracted ninja just after the voice asked them to wait. In reality, he could've ridden the blow and started a fight there and then, but strategically he knew this would probably lead to disaster. So instead he faked a knockout, took a dive, and stayed down on the ground where he could meditate without interruption.

He started by testing the limits of the barrier, and discovered that while it was physically open, it was still blocking any mental motions. Moving further, he began to scan the Deep Darkness, where he discovered that the small horde of ineffectual ninjas was starting to get organized and work their way to the village. This was not good; he could require backup.

Earlier, Poo had told Clarence that attempting to contact Jeff and Paula would be useless, but now he didn't have any choice. He threw his mind all the way to Winters and tried to probe Paula's mind. No good; she was concentrating on something, perhaps a video game, and couldn't hear him. He tried Jeff instead and, discovering that the inventor was asleep, entered his dreams.

"Jeff, it is I."

Jeff was dreaming that he was trying to save Paula from a horde of zombies. "Huh? Poo? What're you doing here?"

"I need your help. Wake up and come to the Tenda Village. There are ninjas afoot."

"Man, I'd love to, but there's these zombies to deal with." Jeff pointed to the undead tax attorneys who were holding Paula captive. Poo waved his hand and they disappeared. "Oh, cool, thanks." Jeff woke up, threw off his blankets, put on his shoes, and went to find Paula. She was playing Resident Evil, but Jeff didn't have time to think about what a coincidence that was. "C'mon, Paula. We have to save Poo from ninjas." Paula groaned, but finally agreed to come when Jeff insisted that she wouldn't have to do anything. They got into the Sky Runner Mk. III and took off for Deep Darkness, where their landing was cushioned by a small crowd of ineffectual ninjas.

"I'm staying here," Paula insisted, but Jeff took her arm and coaxed her outside, where Poo had risen from his trance and came to meet them.

"So these are the ninjas?" Jeff asked. "They don't look so tough."

"They're not," Poo agreed, "but nevertheless they could overwhelm us by force of numbers."

Paula sat down on a rock. "Ugh! I hate this! Every time something threatens the world, it's always, 'call up the Chosen Bunch!' Doesn't anyone have an army any more?"

"Actually, we're not really saving the world," Poo explained as he unsheathed his Sword of Kings. "Simon's in charge of that. We're just sort of cleaning up."

"Really?" Paula's face brightened. "Why didn't you say so? PSI THUNDER!" A massive bolt of lightning hit a tree, which fell on a group of hapless ninjas.

Impressed, Jeff watched as Paula chased another ninja down with her frying pan. "Wow, Poo, you sure know how to talk to women."

Poo nodded and cut a ninja's leg off. "You have to know these things when you're a king."

*

Author Simon hadn't actually known for sure that Simon would turn into Siggel after being punched, but seemed like an appropriate sort of 'explosion' to go with the whole logical paradox, and the fight would provide a definite solution to both their immediate situation and the eternal question of werewolves versus ninjas. Author Simon, being an Author, felt this was a good narrative progression and therefore made perfect sense.

Simon's transformations were magical, rather than physical; when he wanted to switch bodies, he simply relied on the power of the Pendant and was converted to the new form. None of his personas illustrated this more clearly than Siggel. One moment, it was Simon falling backwards onto the ugly carpet, and the next, it was Siggel flying through the air at the extremely surprised ninja master. No burst of hair from all over his skin, no arching of the back or intense physical pain, certainly not the scream that turned into a howl as the unfortunate lycanthrope turned from someone intelligent to something feral. All the traditional symptoms of bipedal canine transformation were absent, which was why the last member of the Ninja Force 5000 was now having a large chunk of muscle torn out of his left arm instead of stabbing a writhing half-human form as it went through its unprotected change. (Of course, then the stabbing would have to be done with something silver, and there'd have to be a full moon out, but let's not get carried away in the specifics of werewolvery.)

With his left arm literally hanging from threads, the ninja decided to retreat into the laundry room. He hadn't even had time to draw his sword before Siggel had bitten him; now the blade was out, tinted slightly under the flourescent lights but with no victim to receive it. He slammed the door shut, barely holding it back as Siggel rammed it from the opposite side. It was no good; there was no lock for the door, and the ninja was definitely no match for Siggel in terms of pure strength. Instead, the ninja stepped forward, turned around, and pointed his sword straight towards the doorway, hoping to impale Siggel as he charged in.

A single piece of wood smashed out from the door, followed closely by a large clawed fist. The ninja stood his ground, though now he was trembling slightly; the hole in the door was level with his head. Siggel's eyes stared into the room for a moment, glowing green with swirls of grey, and then the whole door caved in under the weight of his leg kicking it. The werewolf stepped into the room, eyes never leaving his enemy, even as he ducked to allow his seven-foot frame through the door.

The last strand of skin holding the ninja's left arm finally snapped. The appendage fell, striking the floor with a soft, wet noise. Siggel shifted his head ever so slightly at the sound. The ninja screamed his defiance and flung his sword at the werewolf point-blank; Siggel turned back, but too late. The sword shot straight through his chest, stopping when the the hilt thudded against his skin. The ninja leaned back, weary of standing what with all the blood loss from his shoulder, waiting only to see his foe fall to the ground.

But Siggel didn't fall. He didn't even flinch. With a snorting breath, he grabbed the sword in both hands and began to extract it from himself. It wasn't drawn out in a slow, suspenseful display of inner strength and courage; Siggel simply grabbed it, tugged on it once or twice, and then drew half its length away from him. Another grab and it was loose. He tossed it aside, where it clattered against a washing machine.

The ninja couldn't believe it. What would it take to stop a monster like this? An answer came to him: Rallets. He'd nearly forgotten about his innate ability to make up random powers on the spot. With a perfunctory wave of his hand, he tried: "Generic Catchphrase!"

Nothing happened. The ninja was forced to take a step back; Siggel was drawing it out now, stalking him like the injured prey he was. He tried again. "Rubber Headcheese!" No, of course that wouldn't do anything, it didn't even mean anything, really. "Maybe... Limb Regeneration?" he offered meekly as Siggel stared down at him, breathing sweaty breath into his nostrils. The stench was fairly intolerable, he couldn't help but think.

That was it. The ninja looked Siggel straight in the eye, intoned the words "Halitosis Mouthwash," and spat at him.

The result was extraordinary. Siggel lurched backwards, clutching at his stinging eyes, before falling to his knees. Now the ninja was grinning, even giggling a bit, as he tied off the stump of his severed arm with his jacket. He picked up his fallen sword; maybe the werewolf could survive a stabbing, but there was no mortal being that could live through a decapitation. "An eye for an eye..." he grunted, windmilling the sword over his head in a long, circular arc, bringing it slicing down on Siggel's unprotected neck.

"...and a head for an arm." For good measure, the ninja kicked the head across the room. A brief image of his feudal ancestors playing soccer passed through his mind, but he discarded it and turned to the exit.

He took a single step, and screamed as a searing pain shot through his foot. It felt as though a bear trap's jaws had locked onto him. He looked down to discover Siggel's head, still removed from the body, clamping down on him. No amount of shaking would convince the canine jaws to open.

"Don't you ever watch anime?" Author Simon asked, appearing suddenly, leaning on the slightly bent door frame. "Cut off a wolf's head, it'll still bite you."

The ninja was now sitting on the floor, trying to pry the jaws open with his remaining hand, unwilling to use his sword for fear of losing his foot. "Rrgh! I hate anime! Once I destroy all the geeks like you..."

"Geeks like me?" Author Simon repeated, vaguely bewildered. "Is that what this is about? Avenging yourself on all the people who you think have nothing better to do than write fanfiction all day? I'll have you know I have a life outside of this game."

"Is it just a game?" the ninja asked, gesturing towards the barrier. "When you stop thinking about us, we don't cease to exist! We have to live there, beyond the fourth wall, and it's getting damn crowded! Do you ever stop to think about how much anguish you cause, to the same people, over and over again?"

"Um." Author Simon hadn't meant to say that, but he was unsure of how to answer this tirade of accusations and his lips had moved faster than his brain. He tried again. "Um. Have I ever introduced a friend of mine named continuity?"

"Abstract doubletalk to convince yourself that what you've done has never happened before," the ninja answered.

Author Simon wasn't dissuaded. "You recognized all those anti-climaxes, even if Simon didn't. You know too much. Who are you, really?"

"I expect you think I'm some kind of author."

"You could be. Maybe not. I'm open to other possibilities and you're going to lose your foot soon." He shook his head. "You know what? I don't even care that much. If we keep going on this track then it won't be long before you're peeling off your face and telling me you're really Dark Figure or someone."

"So you're willing to admit that I am who I am - AAGH!" The ninja flopped backwards on the floor, clutching at his leg; Siggel's head had finally ground through the bottom half of his foot.

"Sure, alright. You're 'the Ninja,' you've got your own reasons for what you do, and you're evil. Now I'm gonna go find someone to put you out of your misery, and that'll be that, okay? No last-minute transformations, no secretly putting the last artifact into the holy circle and summoning interdimensional tentacle monsters, and no mysteriously disappearing only to resurface in the Old West and cause havoc in the timestream. Feel free to die of blood loss." Author Simon went to the other door, knocked four times, and stepped into the Tenda Village.

*

Paula, Jeff, and Poo had finished dealing with the last of the ninjas, taking out the last fifteen or so with a combined attack of Paula's Fire and Poo's Starstorm. Paula breathed a sigh of relief. "We're done. Let's go home."

"What do you mean?" Jeff asked, astonished. "Simon could still need help! We should -"

"We should get on the Sky Runner and leave before anything nasty comes out here," Paula interrupted. "You were the one who said we were just cleaning up."

Poo raised his hand. "Actually, I said that."

"Well, whatever! We're done," Paula repeated, turning on her heel and marching back to the Sky Runner. Jeff shrugged and followed her. Poo gave one last glance to the entrance of the Tenda Village, then decided that Simon was probably alright and followed his friends.

And so it was that Author Simon stepped out into the swamp to see the Sky Runner roaring off towards the horizon. Well, rats. Where was he going to find someone to finish off the ninja now? He turned and trudged back to the barrier. Maybe someone in the apartment complex had a gun, or something.

He returned to the laundry room to discover a fresh trail of blood, not yet absorbed into the carpet like the remains of Siggel, leading back to the apartments. Angrily, he rapped on the wooden door, kicked it open, and looked down the hall to where the ninja had dragged himself. "Why are you making this so difficult?" he asked, exasperated.

The ninja looked up. "Oh, hi. I was just... I don't know. I thought maybe I'd find a shuriken or something."

"I'd like to add final vengeance killings to the list of things you're not allowed to do," Author Simon said, stepping around the ninja, wondering who he could ask to help in this absurd situation. "You already got to kill Siggel anyway." He continued to walk down the hall, when he felt a pricking sensation in his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw that he'd been hit with a shuriken. "What did I just say?"

Unbelievably enough, the ninja was standing again, balanced on one leg, a second shuriken held in the fingers of his remaining hand. "I'm going to bring an end to the age of authors," he said. "You're just the first."

"You're off to a pretty bad start." Author Simon reached around and pulled the throwing star out of his shoulder. "I mean, I'm really not that tough, but you're short an arm and a foot already. What're you gonna do when you get to Skulryk?"

"No more talking! You die now!" With barely a flick of his wrist, the ninja launched the second shuriken into Simon's leg, just above the knee.

"Nice shot," Author Simon taunted. "You should maybe aim a little high- OW." He was interrupted by a third shuriken stabbing into his stomach, which hurt much more than the last two, especially as he fell to his knees. "Where did you get all of these?" he asked, wincing as he pulled the latest offender out of his skin, his head rolling forward until he was staring at the floor. "And why didn't you use them before?"

"Just didn't think of it." The ninja patted his pockets, looking for another shuriken. "Usually the katana is enough, y'know? It's magic and trippy and stuff."

Author Simon blinked. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the floor. "Did you just say... trippy?"

Everything froze, which wasn't half as strange or dramatic as you'd think, since Author Simon and the ninja were the only two people in the unchanging hallway. "You've gotta be kidding me," Author Simon said to himself, under his breath. The truth was so mind-numbingly obvious that he hadn't even considered it as an option.

"I guess this changes our relationship, eh?" The ninja leaned over, bracing himself on the wall with his hand. "Obviously you can't kill me now. Not if I'm you."

The details were still holding Author Simon back, as he went through the scenario again and again in his mind. Back when the various Authors were fighting against Dark Figure and Raltise, they'd run into dark clones of themselves. All the other Dark Authors had arrived on the scene right away, but Dark Simon only came into being when Dark Figure infected Author Simon with some kind of evil virus. He'd been cured, of course, but there was still the possibility that an earlier clone existed. And any version of Simon, original or duplicated, would rise quickly through the ranks of a ninja organization. What with all the mad skills and so on.

"Y'know something," Author Simon said, then stopped. At this point, knowledge was at a premium, not to be shared lightly. So he decided against releasing the information that not only could he kill his evil counterpart, Dark Ninja Simon as it were, if he so chose, but that he did choose to and was simply trying to figure out the most convenient way of doing so. The sword was most likely the Katana of Trippy Demon Attack, or at least a dark version of it, but it was still in the laundry room, and Author Simon didn't like his chances in hand-to-hand with the ninja, even with a one-arm advantage.

He had three shurikens. He threw one experimentally at the ninja's head. The ninja pushed off the wall, snatched the shuriken out of thin air, threw it right back into Author Simon's stomach again, and leaned on the wall again. End result: one more stomach wound. Author Simon dropped to the floor again, completely outmatched.

"I've had enough of this," the ninja declared. Pushing himself off the wall again, he began to hop down the hallway, gaining momentum as he went, leaping further and further with each bounce. Fifteen feet away from the fallen writer, he shot laterally through the air, spiralling like a football, intending to break Author Simon in half with a ferocious leg drop.

The leg never hit. Author Simon's neighbour Ninja-Kun, who had just walked through the door after returning from the Ninja Mart, dropped his bags and jumped in the way, knocking the evil ninja into the far wall and getting himself kicked into unconsciousness in the process.

Author Simon rolled over, took in the situation in a moment, and realized he still had a chance. Grabbing Ninja-Kun's bag as he stood up, he started limping back to the laundry room, pulling things out of the bag as he went. Ninja-Brand Dog Leash, no good; Ninja Cola, tasty but useless; Samurai-B-Gone, hey, now with lemon scent - a bloodcurdling scream behind him indicated that the ninja was coming after him again. Author Simon abandoned his search and concentrated on getting as far away from the ninja as he could, but he could hear the leaping foot coming up, as the ninja built up speed for another flying kick. Then there was the squishing sound of a plastic bottle full of liquid being stepped on. Author Simon risked a glance over his shoulder; the ninja had accidentally trodden on the Ninja Cola in his haste to catch up.

Turning away, Author Simon continued his quest through the Ninja Mart bag. There was a newspaper and some bread, and then a mysterious brown paper bag tied with an elastic band. Author Simon stepped into the laundry room and opened it up. There was a powdery substance inside, with an unmistakeable odour. "Dragonite," Author Simon said, as reverently as he might have said "unreleased Runaway Five bootlegs." This might just solve two problems at once.

Gently, he picked up Siggel's severed head and placed it at the top of its body. Then he upended the bag of Dragonite over the werewolf, shaking it to get out the last crumbly bits. A change began to spread over the werewolf. The fur began to retract, momentarily showing bare skin before it turned to slick crimson and emerald scales. The wolf's tail turned from brushy to spiked. Horns broke out of the top of the head, which had apparently reconnected itself to the neck, the eyes opening to reveal not the humanoid irises of a canine, but sharp reptilian eyes, as cold as the blood running through its veins. The dragon sat up just as the ninja appeared at the door frame.

"Let's see you catch this," Author Simon said. The dragon reared up, bellowed a roar not unlike Godzilla's, and charbroiled the ninja with the heat of a supernova. Once the sprinkler system put the flames out, all that was left of the ninja was a warmish black spot on the floor.

*

The dragon had reverted back to Simon, which was all according to Author Simon's plan. They were now holding a post-adventure meeting in Ninja-Kun's apartment, who had insisted that it wouldn't be honourable to let either of the Simons pay him for the ruined cola or the Dragonite. "So you're sure there's no more of these idiot clones running around?" Simon asked.

"Nah, I don't think so. If there were, they'd probably have shown up by now, demanding pizza or murdering us." Author Simon looked at his watch. "Where is that pizza? They said forty minutes."

Simon was still concerned. "What about the border?"

"What about the border?" Author Simon replied. "Once you go back through it, it'll close. And then it'll open someplace else, because it always does. The story never really ends."

"I suppose." A knock came at the door; Simon rose to answer it. A pizza delivery boy was waiting. "Hey, the pizza's here. You're not some kind of ninja, are you?" The pizza boy just raised an eyebrow, took Simon's money, gave him the pizza, and left. He was so bewildered that he forgot to ask for a tip.

Between bites of Mach Pizza's greasiest, Simon continued to question his author. "What's up with that Tyrano dude?"

"Oh, that's just Silver. He drops in here from time to time. I have no idea how he gets around the border, he's just smarter than me."

"But you created him."

"Sure, and I created you too - in my own image, Genesis-style. But you've grown as a person on your own. I told you, we're all -"

"Pawns in the game, right. I get the point, you've got Lewis Carroll in this universe too."

Author Simon thought about this. "Hmm, yeah. I should've said 'NPCs.'"

"Shoulda, coulda, woulda, didn't." Simon turned the conversation back to the barrier again. "It's not gonna take any special effort to get through again, is it?"

"Nah. You should be able to just hop through instantaneously. It's definitely not gonna be some big lost-in-space three month voyage."

*

Three months later, Paula gazed out at the ocean from an expensive restaurant in Summers. She'd just gotten married to Jeff, and the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Jeff's father spilled cake on Paula's mother, Apple Kid sprained his ankle on the dance floor, and there'd been a brief power outage when the mouse from the department store showed up. But nobody was abducted and no aliens had risen from the dead to wreak havoc, so it was successful in her eyes.

She turned to say something to Jeff, who was just coming back from the washroom, but found that it wasn't him. Instead, it was Simon. "Hey, Paula! I'm sorry, I missed your wedding, I'm really sorry, congratulations, gee, woah, it's been crazy, I'm amazingly sorry -"

Paula smiled, stopping Simon as he tried to launch into an explanation. "It's okay! Everything was fine. You didn't come to Summers just to apologize, did you?"

"No, of course not. I was just in the neighbourhood, thought I'd drop by. Oh, hey Jeff, congrats," Simon added as Jeff returned to the table.

"Hey, Simon," Jeff replied. "How're things?"

"Oh, man, I was just telling Paula how crazy it's been," Simon started before Paula stopped him again. "Alright, I know, you guys just wanna have a good time. Well, I'll leave you to it then. See you someplace else, eh?"

"Someplace else?" Jeff pushed his glasses up his nose. "Don't tell me you're still an adventurer, Simon."

Simon winked. "Don't you know? For guys like me, the story never ends." He turned around, walked towards the far side of restaurant, and then disappeared through the wall.