By: Rabid Chocobo and Solid Jim

This is a co-write. A co-write is where we switch on and off with chapters, although in our case, whenever we want. We are that lazy. Har har.

A little sidenote: Jim is British, so he may spell some words differently, like "colour" or "behaviour". He also writes a whole hell lot better than I do too, so shut up.

Disclaimer: All characters are owned and copyrighted

Everything seem to be working smoothly. Rabid Chocobo, their short and stern boss, was keeping things the way they should be as everyone worked diligently. Solid Jim was drawing out the few pages for their book, Yud was slowly typing, deleting, and retyping every now and then, and Loony stole forbidden glances at Chocobo when he was suppose to be lettering in the words in the word-balloons.

In the background, there was an obnoxious blend of horrible reverberations that sounded like the screams of the damned. First, she could identify Eskimo's playing of the Star Wars theme on his CD player. Out blasting him was Edge, who was trying to drown out the classical score that he had been plagued with for oh-so-very long with some more modern music. The rest were unidentifiable. Luckily for everyone, Jim listened to his Blue Jam with headphones on. It wasn't that he cared for there wellbeing; it was just that he decided that if a mob of delirious fruitcakes running about and trying to kill each other was often looked down upon as a bad thing.

Chocobo had wisely bought herself a portable CD player and was mouthing along silently to the lyrics to songs by Sixpence None the Richer. It was a surprise to everyone that she hadn't said much that afternoon. She never was one to have a lot of things to say, unless she was angered or annoyed. Most of the time, she was, but not at the moment. She examined her nails silently, making a mental note to have them filed later. Earlier that month, Chocobo had discovered that the troublesome Eskimo had a thing against sharp things that hurt, so it would make a good threatening tool when her options were limited.

It wasn't until a familiar ringing sound that came from the kitchen that everyone suddenly stopped "working" and looked up. "Who would call us?" Chocobo heard Edge ask. Eskimo, seeing Edge distracted, quickly made a dive for the volume control and cranked it up to maximum. It felt as if all the glassware in the building might shatter.

"Eskimo, could you please turn that down?!" she yelled above the music. He took a minute to process the words into his brain, but the cold stare that she sent him made him immediately hit the pause button on the stereo. Getting up, she walked into the kitchen to pick up the telephone, which was about on its tenth ring.

Outside, everyone continued with their work, a little relieved that the "music" has temporarily ceased. "Who do you suppose that is?" Viper questioned. He was lying sprawled about on the couch. It wasn't until a few days later that he would begin his work at a company.

"Probably a telemarketer," Jim remarked, glancing up slightly.

"But even they don't call us that often. I mean, ever since that time we programmed our answering machine to mention Eskimo's name, we've receive less and less of those calls."

Jim shrugged. "I am not to be bothered with that kind of stuff." He suddenly realized that his stomach was crying out with all its famished glory, but he figured that it would be unwise to enter a room with Chocobo talking to someone on the other end of whom no one exactly knew. "Anyway, has anyone seen Nevermore?"

"I think he went job hunting, or something," Edge said. So that's why he's been keeping sober all month, he mentally added.

"Poor guy. There's just no place in this cruel, desolate world for an ex-espionage master like him," Loony said to no one in particular.

Jim coughed. "Are you talking?" Loony glanced at him quickly, surprised. "You weren't even there when we first met him."

Edge laughed to himself. "Heh. Remember? Freezing in an artic tundra, stumbling upon Campbell, the blackmail…that was back in the days when we still had Mongoose and Rufus."

"Whatever happened to those two, anyway?" Yud asked, the first time he had spoken since all afternoon.

"Rufus went to go run against fatman Palmer for President of Midgar and he appointed Mongoose Defense Minister after he fired Scarlet." The mentioning of the woman's name caused all of the males in the room to shudder.

The conversation stopped and everyone continued their work. It wasn't until a few moments later that the deafening, yet well known yell from the kitchen, that awoke everyone's senses.

"What the hell are you talking about?! I don't have any problems with my mind!" Chocobo argued angrily into the receiver of the phone before slamming it down, nearly breaking it in half. A string of curses followed, as well as different facial expressions from the team.

"What now, Chokie?" Jim called from his desk.

"School. Psychoanalysis test. Temper," she snorted.

Moments later, Nevermore entered, not bothering to cover up the great big smile that was slapped upon his face. He didn't seem to realise the tension that had built up on that room. "Guess who got a job as a bouncer?"

"You?! A bouncer?! Who the hell is running these places?" Squallid called. His voice seem to surprise everyone, as he had hidden himself in the closet for quite some time now, awaiting Eskimo's signal. Eskimo had been distracted by the music for a while and deserted his for a good two hours. Squallid didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, at least I'll be expecting a paycheck of some sort by the end of the week." Grinning at Squallid's temporarily crushed pride, he continued to speak. "Anyway, they give me a discount on the drinks, and on the party nights I get them free."

"I don't think this is going to help your drinking habit at all, Nevermore," Black Arts Viper said. Sitting at his desk, he was inking the pages that Jim had finished pencilling. "I mean, you do recognize that you're a -- "

"I don't have a drinking habit," he replied in a nonchalant fashion. "I can quit any time I want. Anyway, there's this really cute girl that I'm dying to hit on. So if you'll excuse me, I'll be off." And with that, he promptly closed the door and disappeared.

"Nevermore's gonna get drunk and Chokie needs therapy," Yud replied for no particular reasons after a few moments of silence.

"I'm not surprised," Jim muttered, wondering whether it was a good or bad thing.

Nevermore had been about to leave when he had realised he could do with a drink to keep his energy levels up, and that he still had a few minutes to get one. So he had wandered back round to the kitchen entrance. He now stood by the now empty fridge, surrounded by slowly-defrosting meat products. "We have run out of alcohol," he announced in a rather stilted manner.

"Well then, it's a good job you got a job. We know what'd happen if you were deprived."

Nevermore looked suspiciously at Jim, who had just walked in, leaving the others still hard at work. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Ooh, cold turkey!" He lunged at the food like a predator. "This'll be past its sell-by date in a week or so. I'd better eat it." He searched briefly for some bread with which to make a sandwich, but gave up after a few seconds and began to consume the turkey on its own.

"How is it that you're eating the food and doing no work?" enquired Nevermore, a shade annoyed. He tried to remember what he had last eaten, but was distracted by the lingering taste of what he had last drunk.

Jim changed his expression into something slightly closer to a smile. "My work is done. I can take a break until the next scripts are written. How is it that you're wrecking the kitchen and not at your place of employment?"

"I needed one for the road. Don't worry, it's only a five minute sprint." He changed tack. "You lead an easy life. Why don't you do some other work during the quiet periods?"

The question silenced Jim. His expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to be screaming in horror. After a pause so pregnant it could have been wearing a circus tent, he responded.

"I'd rather not."

Nevermore strolled to the crockery that had yet to be washed, and began to surreptitiously search for traces of ethanol in the glasses. "You really are lazy, aren't you?"

"Admitting it is the most difficult part," Jim smirked. Nevermore was either too distracted to notice, or simply too distracted to respond. Jim left the kitchen hoping fervently that Nevermore would not raise the employment issue again, or at least not in front of any of the others.

Nevermore eventually left the kitchen, harbouring the notion that maybe if he could depolymerise the polythene bags in the store room, he might then be able to react them with water. It then occurred to him that it might be easier to get to the nightclub and start work. It shouldn't be too difficult to talk them into giving me a drink, he thought, certain areas of his mind undulled by sobriety.

Jim returned to the working area, still finding the others working as usual at their desks. Yud, who was wearing that ridiculous so-called "Lucky Writer's Hat" that seem like something ripped off of Merlin's head, was typing furiously at his computer. Jim thought about berating him until he cried, but -- after considering that Chocobo was having a rough day as it is -- did not. I'll leave that for another day, he thought.

"Dammit, it's not fair," he heard someone mutter. Turning his head slightly, he could see Edge, who was painstakingly inking his pencilling. "Jim draws too fast! He gets done early and we still have to work."

If he had been born and raised a kind and considerate fellow, he would have walked over to Edge and given him a reassuring pat on the back, telling him about how great of a job of inking he was doing. But, being the selfish and uncharitable bastard that he was, declined and mentally cackled. With that, he flung himself blindingly onto the leather sofa and turned on a good show of "The League of Gentlemen".

A few minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty-five.

No screams.

He sat up suddenly, looking about to room for anything…suspicious. Growing up since infancy in his native homeland of England and then attending its confusing school academic improvement level systems had left him a mess of insecurity and extreme anxiety. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

"Hey, where's Chocobo?"

The others stared at him, also in confusion. "I dunno," Viper answered. "She kind of disappeared somewhere when you left to eat."

"Maybe she's in her room," Loony suggested. He paused, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Um, I'll go talk to her."

"You sicko!" Viper yelled from his side of the office. He turned to Jim, a forceful expression of his features. "Jim, go."

"But…"

"Go! You're the one who's got the break! We've got work to do!"

Muttering, he turned and headed down the hallway. Her room was the last door on the right, the one door that didn't have any posters or signs taped up. He sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked on the hardwood, the sounds echoing through his head.

No axe. No violence. No bad-mouthing. The tension thickened and he blinked, feeling very apprehensive. "Uh…Cho'…?" he called nervously through the door. There was silence. Finally, he heard a faint "come in". He did so, feeling very faint. This was the very first time she had let anyone into her private sanctuary, and now that he was inside, it probably meant one of the two things: One, she was planning to kill him. Or, two, she was planning to kill something else and then kill him.

She was laying on her bed, staring up into god-knows-where, with a devil-like grin on her face. "I'm gonna get those bastards for making me take those self-esteem classes."

"Self-esteem?" he asked. "I had to take those once. I think it was, um, ten times, give or take a few."

She sat up, her eyes filled with disbelief and wonder. "Ten times?!"

"Hey, I can pass if I want. But then that would be giving away an extra study hall and nap time." He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall. "I'll help you recognize the loopholes and ambiguity of it all and you can just keep on at it like I do."

They grinned evilly together, before breaking out into a mad cackle that even those down the hallway twitched and squirmed with fear.

Yud prodded disconsolately at the keyboard. With Jim out of the room, the vague aura of resentment that normally surrounded him had lifted, but he was still showing signs of unhappiness. The document he was typing read simply "FFFfffffuuuuuuuh." He was kicking the desk in quiet frustration, and had already snapped three pencils. Since they were on the opposite desk, he had had to walk across the room to do it.

Noticing this, Black Arts Viper broke off from whistling There Is Nothing Quite So Wonderful As Money. "What's the matter?" he enquired.

"Writer's block," Yud replied. "I sent Eskimo out into the community this morning, and when he gets back he's going to tell me what things happened to him. Until then, I'm stuck for ideas."

Viper watched Yud, trying to guess what he was thinking. "And is that all?"

"Well, now that Jim's finished pencilling and started lounging around doing nothing, I feel like killing him," Yud admitted. "More than usual," he added as an afterthought.

Edge looked up. "I wish I had his job. I'd be much better at it. He has low standards, and I'd feel better if he wasn't so open about it."

Yud smiled in a way that reminded Viper of a shark. "Well, why don't you? Get his job, that is. It could be a step in the right direction for this comic."

Edge began to look thoughtful. Viper wondered whether Yud really had Edge's interests at heart, or just revenge, but decided to keep it to himself. It's nothing to do with me, he thought. I just work here. Besides, Yud had now transcended the shark level, and was somewhere around the allosaurus mark.

"I don't know... I'd be making enemies."

Yud said nothing further. The seed had been planted.

Loony had been concentrating up to this point, but the earlier part of the conversation had by now had time to sink in. He looked confused. "What did you say about Eskimo? You send him out to look for strange events or something?"

"No, we send him out to cause strange events. There's a difference. You've seen the press cuttings in his room? They're all about him." Yud smirked. "I remember the time he caused the collapse of the entire Communist…"

Loony interrupted. "Wait a minute, some of those newspaper stories are about events in other continents. If you only send him out for a day, they can't all be about him. Anyway, I can't think of any comics we've done that are based on Eskimo."

"You'd be surprised. Name a story we've done."

Loony thought back for a moment. Then he remembered one that couldn't possibly have been Eskimo. "That one about those mercenaries in..."

"...the time of the collapse of Nazi Berlin. Yes, that was Eskimo. Don't ask how. It's best left forgotten."

Viper nodded in intense agreement. "Last time we spoke out loud about that, FBI agents were here by lunchtime, and searching under the floorboards. They only left when they got sick of Jim complaining about how America is supposed to be a land of freedom and yet you can be arrested for crossing the street."

Edge seemed to have reached a conclusion of sorts. "You'd support me if I wanted to be the penciller, right?" This time there was no mistaking Yud's grin. Yog-Sothoth, thought Viper and Loony simultaneously.

Eskimo laid low behind the tall, brick wall separating the senior center with the parking lots outside. Next to him was Squallid, who was under "special" training with his master.

"Now, remember, young one," Eskimo said, gesturing his hand towards the building, "the old folks can't see well. Just get out of their line of vision and fire away."

His young apprentice nodded, scribbling into a small palm-sized legal writing pad. His master continued. "Their spawning points are usually when 'Matlock' is on and around the bingo room. Be wary, young one, frail as they seem, their "Flying Cane" attacks are quite strong."

Writing in the last of his master's words, Squallid closed the writing pad and tucked it into the breast pocket of his T-shirt.

"What are you guys doing here?"

They turned their heads suddenly, and saw Tifa Lockhart, the overly-corrected bar hostess from Midgar. Her dark brown eyes looked strangely at them.

"I am training my young tyro in the ways of the Bastard," Eskimo replied. He stood up, dusted himself off, and bowed reverently to Tifa. "You seek Jim, do you not?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I thought he might be here with you."

"No. Jim's way is the way of the Naysayer. We are the order of Bastards."

She stared at them, taking a few steps away. "Oh. Okay…um, is he at home?"

"He is."

Forcing a smile, she turned and left without any further comments, her long brown hair swaying in the breeze. They stayed silent, finally speaking when they were certain she could hear no more. "She's got a nice ass," Squallid observed.

"Damn Jim," Eskimo muttered. He picked up a choice pointy stick, examining it closely for flaws and errors. He pointed it towards the outdoor dining area of the building, where old and withered inhabitants were eating their mush kidneys and such. "Come. We've work to do."

"Aye."

As they wrecked havoc amongst the residents, Tifa was speeding on her shiny red new motorcycle. "I hope Jim is gonna be impressed with this," she giggled to herself. Ever since Cloud had gone delirious with Mako poisoning, she had been aiming towards cultured and educated men of society. Then she met Jim. He wasn't the best looking of men, nor was he the strongest. But his violent outbreaks and cold-hearted behavior made her crazy for him.

Pulling up into the small driveway of their home/office, she climbed off the motorcycle. She straightened the wrinkles in her air-tight mini-miniskirt and smoothed out her hair. Lookin down at herself, she was truly satisfied. Finally, she slapped on the cutest smile she could manage and knocked on the door.

Yud answered it, and his jaw hung slack at the sight of her. "Hi," she said sweetly. "Is Jimmy home?"

His mind stopped. Of all the men, she wanted to see Jim. Jim! Jim, who was pessimistic and quiet. Jim, who had violent mood swings and an unpredictable behavior. It made Yud angry, to see the world's most beautiful woman want to date the world's most dark and quiet man.

A thought entered his mind. He was going to prevent this. He was going to make Jim boil in jealousy to see her go out with him instead. A broad grin spread across his face, and he answered. "Yes, Jim is home. He's in Rabid Chocobo's bedroom."

Her eyes grew wide-opened with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, he's in her room. Right now." He pointed down the hallway and Tifa turned red with anger.

"Oh, is he?" she snorted. And with that, she marched down the hallway.

Within, they were busy laying out a map of the school and writing notes and plans next to certain labeled rooms. "Let me paint the gym," he whined. She stared at him.

"No way! I wanna paint the gym."

"Well, at least paint it blue," he said huffily.

"I want to paint it green," she argued.

"Blue!"

"Green!"

"Oh yeah?" he retorted, lashing his hand out to smack her upside the head. She ducked, and he hit the small container of paint, spilling the contents onto the floor. "…oops. Heh heh."

"Shut up," she said, not really angry. She kneeled down and began cleaning up whatever she could with a small paper towel. "You're lucky these are washable paint. Now get me some more paper towels." He did so and also began cleaning up.

Chocobo looked down at her red shirt, seeing that it too had paint on it. "Dammit," she muttered, taking it off to show her black T-shirt underneath. She balled up the shirt, which was soaking with paint, and flung it to the door. It issued a loud "thwack" upon making contact with the door. "I'm glad I took that off."

Tifa's jaw hung slack from her head. That was Chocobo's voice! She ran up to Chocobo's room, and put her ear against the door.

"It would've been worse if you kept it on," came Jim's voice. There came some more wet, scrubbing noises. Tifa gritted her teeth in anger, this time planting her head against the door.

"This damn thing is too droopy," she heard Chocobo say.

"Well, at least it's not like yours."

"Shut up and press harder."

Tifa's hands balled up into fists, as their came more wet and slapping sounds. Finally, her vision nearly blind with anger, she yelled, "THAT'S IT, I'M COMING IN!!" She kicked down the door, and found Jim and Chocobo looking back at her curiously. They were kneeling on the floor over a greenish looking spot on the carpet with a oval-like sponge and a few wet paper towels in their hand.

"Um, can I help you?" Chocobo asked.

"You're…cleaning up paint?" Tifa said, a touch of embarrassment and relief in her eyes.

"What did you THINK we were doing?" Jim said. He didn't wait for an answer, and instead resumed scrubbing the now soaking-wet fading green spot on the rug.

"Never mind," Tifa answered. She smiled. "Glad to see you're okay."

"Whatever."

Nevermore stood by the door, counting the windows on the opposite building. There were fourteen of them. He knew this for a fact, as he had already counted them forty-seven times. There was little else to do but continue to count. Occasionally somebody would try to enter the club, and would undergo the necessary strip-search, but he hadn't been able to throw anybody out. Quite a few of them had guns, but they were able to show him licenses, and after all it was the in season. At a more high-class establishment this might have mattered, but the Orange Hedonist was not what you'd call high-class. High-risk, maybe. The patrons seemed to be in a permanent state of almost violence - an ugly brawl that continually promised to start at any moment.

The street lights were beginning to switch on. Those that worked. About one in three had been vandalized, stolen or the victim of arson. Another third were struggling dismally to light. The one nearest to Nevermore appeared to have been tied in a knot. He decided not to dwell on this, and instead thought about the girl he was looking out for. He cast his mind back to the Thursday before, when she had caught his eye as she passed. He had found her strangely captivating, and had sprinted after the bus she was on in order to find out where she was going. It had turned out that she was a frequenter of the Hedonist. While he didn't consider this to be his only reason for getting a job there, he conceded that it was probably a factor.

He suddenly realised that he had been so lost in thought that he'd let a man in without checking his inside pockets. Not wanting any trouble, he entered the building to make sure he didn't have any unauthorized knives or chains.

Inside the club the air was filled with smoke. Anyone else would have quickly set off the fire alarm, but Nevermore was familiar with the room's carcinogenic atmosphere after scoping the place out the week before. Squinting to make out the figures through the noxious haze, he became aware that the people were all moving in a bizarre fashion. They staggered around, jerking their heads about madly and thrashing their arms like windmills. There was no question about it - these people were dancing. The music playing was no different from any other on offer. It had no lyrics, no players and no tune. It was a continuous loop of about three seconds of synthesized bleeping, and Nevermore immediately decided he wouldn't be able to listen to it for more than a few minutes without going insane. Judging from the crowd, he wasn't alone.

His eye was caught by the group of people milling around at the bar. They formed a solid wall, and he desperately searched among them for the man he had seen. Finally he noticed him. It wasn't too difficult. He was the one leaping up and down waving a pool cue, shouting "Which one of you lot is Mechninja!?"

Nevermore was about to intervene, when a vaguely familiar voice at the other side of the room called out "That's me! I'm Mechninja."

The irate man turned and charged through the mêlée of dancers. Nevermore attempted to follow him, but was drastically slowed down by dancers, unconscious people, and a man who tried to sell him hallucinogenic substances on three separate occasions in the same minute. By the time he reached the other side, the unfortunate person who had spoke was now being beaten to a pulp. "This should teach you to stop sending us those letters!" shouted the man, and Nevermore suddenly realised that he had actually seen him on television a month before, representing a law firm on the news. What was his name? he wondered. Wasn't it Adrian Fadanoid? He was still shouting abuse at the poor unfortunate in his grip.

"If you start trying your old tricks again then you can..." Suddenly the man seemed confused. Through the pain, the figure he had pinned down was doubled over in hysterical laughter. Puzzlement then gave way to more anger. "What the hell do you think you're laughing at!?"

Speaking in gasps, the mangled form responded. "The... ha ha... the joke's on you! I'm not really Mechninja at all!"

Suddenly the smoke seemed to clear. "Eskimo!?" shouted Nevermore. He could foresee trouble if he failed to sort this out. "Look, pal," he said hastily to the incredulous lawyer, "it's Fadanoid, isn't it? I think it would be best if you left. I'm sure you don't want to cause trouble."

"Well, I... how did you know my name?"

Nevermore had the vague impression that there was more to this situation than met the eye, but decided that dragging it out any more would probably be risking his job. "Never mind about that, Fadanoid. If you just leave quietly, we won't press any charges."

"I suppose that sounds reasonable." Fadanoid looked at the barely conscious Eskimo. "Is he a friend of yours? You ought to watch him, he's an idiot." The burly lawyer strode in the direction of the exit without waiting for a reply, leaving Nevermore to pick up Eskimo and move him to a safer place.

"Unnh... beware of the..." Eskimo muttered upon exposure to the cold air outside.

"What on earth are you playing at, Eskimo? That guy could have killed you!"

Eskimo seemed unfazed. "It was a joke."

"How did you even get in? I sure as hell didn't let you through these doors."

"Me and Squallid made a secret tunnel! He's in there right now, waiting for the signal."

Nevermore didn't like the sound of this. "What's the signal?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I haven't decided yet."

"And what is he going to do when you make the signal?"

"Oh, we were just going to improvise."

Nevermore breathed a sigh of relief. At least they hadn't had a proper plan. The Hedonist might still be standing by the end of the night. "Look, you just go and fetch Squallid back out of your tunnel, fill it in again, and go back home. In that order. It's late."

"Okay," said Eskimo. He had worn himself out anyway, and the fight had made breathing quite painful. "Shall I take the bomb out too?"

"Yeah, you do that," Nevermore replied absently. It only occurred to him twenty minutes later how close he had just come to a horrifically violent death. Then he put it out of mind, and wondered whether the girl would show up that night.

"So," Chocobo said, her voice almost dangerously friendly. "What gave you the idea to come barging into the room like that?" She stood up, straitening her black T-shirt and picked at the green paint that was dried to her hands. Looking back at Tifa with narrowed eyes and the corners of her mouth pulled up in what seems to be a grin, she waited patiently for an answer.

Tifa, who looked like she had stuffed water balloons into her shirt and starved herself for months to get a skinny little waist, sweated and gulped. She had heard stories about entering Chocobo's room without permission. "Well…uh, you're not going to believe me, but…um…" The fact that Jim was in the same room and listening with engrossed ears didn't make her situation anymore bearable.

"Well?" Chocobo asked. She crossed her arms and tilted her head of naturally jet black hair to the side.

"… I thought that you…and Jim…were, um…You know…" she winked a couple times and waited for a response.

"You have something in your eye?" he asked, the message going completely over his head. He didn't really know what Tifa was saying, but the sight of her afraid and semi-terrified he found quite amusing.

Sighing in frustration, she finally blurted out. "Oh, for the love of, I thought you two were having … personal contact!"

Chocobo stared at Jim quizzically, who stared back in a manner of horrified terror. "With him?! Good lord, I'm thirteen! That's just nasty."

"Do you Americans unthinkingly categorize matters of which you do not comprehend under the subject of procreation?" he said. The choice of words which he had chosen to her airheaded girlish conduct had caused all but her to stare in confusion.

"Never mind," he muttered, shaking his head. "Forget I said anything." He picked up the used wet sponges and paper towels and threw them in a nearby trashcan, which was overblown with paper, pencil shavings, and an empty carton which had previously contained their beloved poundcake until it was "mysteriously" missing a week or so back. Dropping the matter, he turned back to look at Chocobo.

"I'll let you off the hook just this once," she said. "For one, you're a stranger. Two, you're an airhead. And three, I'm sure you spent lots of cash on that plastic body of yours, and I'm sure you don't want us to mutilate it."

Tifa, though insulted by that last part that she heard, nodded her head repetitively. Chocobo pointed a slim finger out the door and she dashed out within picoseconds. "Well, that was certainly interesting," she heard Jim say.

"I don't know why she wants to date you, or you to date her."

"Me date her?! I beg to differ, Chokie. I have better things to do than to put up with plastically-enhanced women." He went to leave her room, but turned around to speak to her just before he left. "Besides, she's three years older than me."

"And I'm four years younger than you."

"Hmm. Makes me think how you can still be so intimidating."

She gritted her teeth. "Shut up and leave."

He retreated back to the living room, where all of the people were just wrapping up on their work. "How's everything goin'?"

Edge looked at him with nervous eyes, "Um…things are going…fine."

"Did Tifa drop you a 'hello', Jim?" Yud asked, his eyes screaming with delight. Jim looked at him, almost certain that he had something to do with it.

Almost "nothing". He does have something to do with it. He thought about killing Yud without delay, but declined when he came up with an even better idea. I'll get him later. Let him torture himself with the fact that in due course, Death will be at his door. "Yes, Yud. Tifa did come bye. She said hello to you too." He managed to pull the corner of his mouth up into what came close to a grin. He "smiled" grew when a drop of sweat came off on Yud's forehead and made a decent down the side of his head. The tension was growing. Excellent.

Nevermore returned to find the others engaged in typical evening's activity. Yud was watching his James Bond videos. Rabid was playing Metal Gear Solid on the PlayStation. She was stuck at the Psycho Mantis scene, mainly due to her inability to resist the temptation to kill Meryl. She grinned evilly as the redhead fell to the ground once more, and seemed unaware of the "Game Over" screen. Jim was listening to sound files on the computer, but they were inaudible to the observer. He had started using headphones, by popular request, and there had since been fewer complaints of nightmares. Noises in the kitchen indicated that Eskimo and Squallid were preparing a snack. Edge and Viper were talking.

"You're back early," remarked Edge.

"Yeah, I know. There was a bomb scare, and the building was evacuated. Anonymous caller." Nevermore's face showed only honesty. Thank god for mobile phones, he thought.

"Eventful day, then?"

"Yeah. It's Eskimo's fault." Seeing Edge's expression, Nevermore decided to elaborate. "This guy beat him up. Fadanoid, that was his name."

Edge looked surprised. "Adrian Fadanoid? He was on the news, wasn't he? Works for Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson and Johnson. The ones that were having those financial troubles."

"If you say so. I only remembered the name."

"They made some bad decisions. Most notably in the Retrograth case. Brendan Retrograth killed twenty eight people, and was found standing over their corpses holding a blood-stained knife, shouting 'I just killed all these people.' After the Johnson firm tried to defend his case, their fortunes went down somewhat. They ended up getting money from somewhere or other, and made a fresh start. Reckon this has anything to do with their money problems?"

"I can't say I care. It's got nothing to do with me."

"Well, you've got a point," Edge had to admit.

I don't know what Eskimo's been up to," remarked Viper, "but Yud was typing like a demon for at least an hour after he got back. Must've been a good day."

Nevermore looked at him strangely. "Good for some," he muttered.

Jim remained lost to his headphones. He considered the day's events thoughtfully. It was rather worrying. The suggestion of employment. Yud's plotting. The doctor demanding that he... no, that hadn't happened at all, had it? He took the headphones off, to aid his mental state. Let's question Yud, he decided.

"So, then, Yud, what have you been up to today..?"

Jim's ominous tone sent Yud onto the defensive. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Less than nothing, in fact." Jim could tell he was lying. He was avoiding eye contact, sweating profusely, and had just chewed through his wristwatch.

After a moment it became clear that Jim wasn't saying anything more, and Yud breathed a sigh of relief. He decided it was time for action. "Psst. Edge."

Edge looked around warily. "What?"

"Well, are you going to ask about... you know?"

"Keep it down!" Edge hissed frantically. "Not while he's in the same room, I'm not!"

"Don't worry, he can't hear us. Look, he's put the headphones back on." It was true, Jim did seem to be dead to the world, to all intents and purposes. He was mouthing something about a dying DJ, which usually indicated a Jam-induced trance.

"Looks like you're right. Well, okay then. Um, Rabid?" Edge sounded suddenly polite and apprehensive.

Rabid Chocobo didn't seem to hear at first. She watched Meryl run down the corridor, and smirked as the polygonal woman triggered the concealed Claymore mine. It had been a bad day, and violence was the quickest and easiest solution. It was no substitute for the real thing, though. It was just as she was wondering who she could pick on that she realised somebody had mentioned her. "What?" she snapped, wheeling round.

"Um... ah heh heh... well, you see..."

"What? Out with it."

Edge looked around for moral support, but none was forthcoming. "Well," he continued, "it's about the organization. Of the comic. And making it. I... that is, we think that things could be improved... if... I were to... um, djmsjb."

Chocobo's expression swiftly changed from irritation to confusion, making a brief stop at incredulity along the way. "What was that? Speak up, you're not making sense."

"Do... Jim's... job." And, painfully, knowing that this could never be reversed, "Instead... of... Jim."

Chocobo glanced briefly at Jim, but he obviously hadn't heard anything. "Discontent amongst the lackeys?" she smirked. "How pathetic."

Yud chose this moment to speak up. "I support Edge in his request. He would do a much better job."

Chocobo looked at him with some surprise, and then sat for a moment looking thoughtful. "Well, I don't think I could allow you to do that."

Yud almost fell off his seat trying to hide his anger. "Why not?" His effort not to raise his voice at her was superhuman, as he knew his life depended on it. And his job.

"Well... if we were to switch people around, the overall style of the comics would be altered, and that would alienate our fan base." The excuse didn't sound particularly sincere, and it wasn't. The main reason for her decision was that the only other job Jim could really do was scriptwriting, and it would be a dark day when that happened. Some things were never meant to be drawn.

Nevermore, who had been quietly listening to the conversation so far, considered saying something, but then realised how much Jim would be annoyed if he did. Then he realised that he didn't really care, and said it anyway. "Well then, how about if Jim gets a job until the next script is finished?"

Chocobo considered this. "That sounds quite reasonable. I'll tell him tomorrow."

Yud grinned. The plan had failed, but Nevermore had done the work for him. And what was more, Jim would never realise that he was the one who had initiated it all. Life was good.

Jim thought dark thoughts. It's amazing what people will say in your presence when they think you can't hear them, he reflected. As he turned the sound back on, he thought about what he would do to Yud. He decided that psychological torture was his best option, and vowed to plant the headphones on Yud as he slept.

The kitchen was still and pitch black. The faint ticking of the clock's second hand could only be heard, followed by a loud ring, indicating that the time was exactly twelve midnight. The rest of the crew had gone to their bed and the computers stayed silent until the coming morning where upon they would all fire them up and take them through another process of technical persecution.

They were unaware that Jim was sitting in that kitchen, waiting for the right "moment". In his hand he nursed a glass of lukewarm milk, lest someone would find him and accuse him of something ridiculous, like insomnia or being murderously-inclined at the wrong time.

What was going through his mind could not prevent him from letting out a yawn. He kept his eyes closed for a while, resting them for what was coming ahead. When he opened them, he saw a moving figure in the darkness, heading towards where he was sitting.

"Chokie?"

"GAH!" she yelled, whirling around. She panted, looked about frantically and saw that it was only Jim. She let out a sigh of relief, and spoke in a whisper. "Don't scare me like that."

"You're lucky the whole place didn't wake up." They were silent for a while. "What are you doing up?"

She looked surprise, and began to stutter and sweat. "Oh, uh…I was, um, going to use the bathroom and I thought I heard someone in…here. Similar question, what are you doing here?"

He found no reason to lie, for in his lifetime, he discovered that telling the truth hurt. Usually, the other individual. "In exactly four minutes, I will sneak into Yud's room and deposit these headphones onto his ears and play hours and hours of recordings from Jam." He held up the tape player and the headphones as if to punctuate his point. "And for more hilarity (revenge, whatever), I will also hook this hidden camera up onto his dresser." He held that up too.

Chocobo stared at him in confusion, as if to mentally ask herself if this were all a really weird dream. "I'm going back to sleep." She walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jim back at the kitchen table where he was sitting.

His watched beep, signifying that it was time.

Yud tossed and turned in his sleep. His expression was difficult to decipher. Confusion? Wonder? His eyes closed even tighter as he flailed his arms weakly.

Yud shook his head violently and made a quiet whining sound. He seemed to be at once distressed and relaxed.

Yud found himself standing in a street. Nothing seemed familiar, and he felt a sense of detachment, as if it had nothing to do with him. He watched himself walk distractedly along. People were looking at him. They were laughing. Some of them pointed. Unable to comprehend why this should be so, Yud continued to walk. The bus stop seemed familiar, and so he waited, and tried to ignore the stares. Seeing the bus, it felt like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years. He stumbled out into the road to greet it. But before it could hit him, he found himself in the hospital. The doctor was telling him something. He was saying that Yud was in a coma. Yud didn't feel like he was in a coma, but the doctor seemed quite sure. Yud wanted to leave now, but the doctor said no. First he needed samples. Yud didn't remember why it was necessary to give them five pints of his blood, but he was having difficulty remembering anything. Running out, he tried to attract the attention of the strangers. They hur ried on past, even the ones he recognized as old friends. He attempted to attract them by throwing himself off a high balcony, but as he felt the ground hitting his feet he realised he had only stepped off the pavement. And then his only friends were the stray dogs, leading him through alleyways to find choice scraps. And then even they were turning against him, exiling him from their society, despite his desperate pleas.

And then the meaning of Yud's expression became clear. He was terrified, a man in a living hell. He wanted to wake up but couldn't. He would remain trapped in this nightmare for a further eight hours.

Now he was talking to the doctor again. He had a pain in his chest, but the doctor wanted to play hide and seek. Yud was getting angry, but the doctor had vanished, and the desk was making a laughing sound. Outside again, Yud shouted at the people, asking them to help make it stop. But nobody understood, and they told him to take the first right and then the next left after the cinema. But Yud became confused, and instead went in a third direction, turning in upon himself until he was tired and wanted to die. But when he tried to suffocate himself with a car exhaust, the car's owner became very angry and kicked him about the street. And then the birds were making him upset with their singing, and so he told them to stop, and they stopped. But still a sound annoyed him, and he ran down corridors and through doors to escape it, but could find no sanctuary. And then he realised the sound was himself, whistling the same tune over and over and over again, like an alarm clock...

And then Yud found himself walking towards people who looked at him oddly, as if they were seeing not him but a fatigued and befuddled soul. Their stares angered him, and he shouted bad things at them. He with the glasses and blank expression Yud called a deceiving scoundrel. The one who he knew had once been part of an idea, but had hesitated, he shook and insulted. He despaired at she with the angry expression, and bellowed that this plan had gone wrong because of her. And then he found himself running, running out of the door and down the streets until he lost all his breath, and lay down in somebody's garden and went back to sleep.

Mornings had always been a bitch to Jim. All of them were the same. He would wake up, mutter to himself disjointedly about nothing in particular, then charge down the hallway in hopes of getting to the bathroom first before everyone else.

The pungent aroma of Loony's scrambled eggs and pancakes breakfast was in the air, and it awoke most of them. He had a rough time landing a job -- both out in society and in the offices -- so he spent most of his time cooking and preparing meals while trying his hardest to impress Rabid Chocobo with his skills. "Dammit, how long do these people sleep in?"

Black Arts Viper was the first to wake up. His blonde hair was a tangled mess on his head, his eyes clamped shut, and his walking unbalanced. "Urg," he said, which translated to "Give me caffeine."

Moments later, Jim emerged, fully dressed and somewhat semi-cultured. He wore his usual jeans, T-shirt, and thick glasses, along with his dour and insensitive expression. Only his hair was slightly out of place, but nobody seem to mind. Not bothering with morningly greetings, he headed straight for the refrigerator, took out a full gallon of milk, and chugged down half of it. Taking a seat next to Viper -- who was on the verge of sleeping sitting up -- he finally spoke to Loony. "Hey, eggs for breakfast again?"

"Yep. You know when Ms. Chocobo will finally wake up?" he asked, flipping a pancake with his spatula.

Loony zoned out for a while to himself, even though the pancakes were burning and he could smell his char. "Mmm…" he said to himself. "Chokie in the shower…"

"Uh, Loony…"

"NOTHING. Heh…I uh, said nothing!"

Viper, who was next to him, opened his eyes slightly to see just a little bit, seeing nothing but a big gray blur and some really bright light. He muttered to himself, clamping his eyes tight together again, praying that the caffeine would work its way through his system at a more prompt pace.

Nevermore, who slept on the couch due to a lack of space, came staggering in, rubbing his eyes and barely being able to stifle a yawn. "Nyup, nyup…Mornin' people."

Silence, except for the sizzling sound of Loony's scrambling eggs.

"Everyone awake yet?"

"You wish," Jim answered. Nevermore took a seat across from him, taking an old newspaper from the previous day and reading the business section.

"Hi, all."

They looked up. Chocobo strolled in, wearing her usual red shirt over the black T-shirt and a black skirt. Her hair was still wet from the shower. "Hi, Loony. That smells wonderful."

"Thank you," he answered, barely being able to hide a blush. Without thinking, he added, "After you taste my perfect meals, you'll come back begging for more. You'll follow me around everywhere, begging me to throw beaten eggs into your heated pan."

There was an odd and eerie silence, one that even frightened Jim. He cleared his throat, and Nevermore coughed, looking over his newspaper to see what might become of Loony.

Loony noticed the tension, finally realizing what he had just said. "Oh, damn."

"Riiight." Chocobo backed away before quickly taking a seat next to Nevermore.

Not long after, all of the household was eating their breakfast. Nevermore looked up from his meal, and noticed that one seat was missing. "Where's Yud?"

"I'll go get him," Chocobo volunteered, and left her seat. They ate in quiet for a while, wondering why the aroma of generally fried fat hadn't awaked the sleeping man's appetite. All, except for Jim, who was trying to keep a sly grin from spreading across his face, were confused.

Moments later, she came back to the kitchen, shaking her head sympathetically. "Poor guy. He's delirious. He's huddled up on the corner of his bed muttering something about comas and dogs and laughing furnitures."

"Maybe he ate something," Edge suggested, shoving a fork piled with his breakfast into his mouth.

"I don't know. Poor guy. His eyes look kinda pale and blank. You know, dilated or something." She shrugged and continued eating. Jim was on the verge of breaking down into a fit of hysterics. He quickly finished his meal and left the room, heading for the back door.

"Where's he going?" Nevermore asked.

"I don't know. Outside, I guess. Maybe he left to spy on the cute neighbor girl sunbathing," Eskimo said. They stared at him. "Well, he could be."

Outside, on the side of the house, Jim was soundlessly laughing on the grass, shaking like a wet puppy. Just that exact moment, he heard the sound of a car door slamming shut. Immediately stifling his laughter, he sat up and saw a skinny, anorexic like woman with a blue sleeveless turtleneck shirt cropped short to show her flat abdomen and ribs. Her hair was brown with red highlights, and she spoke with a middle-class British accent. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know a Nevermore who works at the Hedonist?"

"Yeah, he's inside," he answered pointing to the front door.

She didn't thank him, or even make eye contact with him. She simply sniffed a response and walked -- actually, she kind of strutted -- to the front door.

"Won't Nevermore be surprised."

A ghastly apparition appeared in the room. It was Yud. He seemed to be having some difficulty in walking normally. His perception of reality was still a little askew. After the hideous lethargy of the night, everything seemed now to be abnormally accelerated. He stared at the floor. "Edge, Chokie... about what I said... I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean any of it."

Edge stared at him. Chocobo told him, "See what I mean? He's delirious! He clearly doesn't know what he's saying."

Yud stared back at them for a very long time. Eventually, he spoke. "You mean... I... didn't it really happen?" He tried desperately to recall at which point the dream had become reality. The scene still seemed so vivid, but then how would he have ended up back in bed? And in any case, surely if he had really said that to Chocobo, he would already be dead. Yes, it could only have been part of the dream. He was safe.

Or was the dream even over? How else could he explain the sudden appearance of a toast rack on legs? Blinking a few times, he realised that it wasn't really a toast rack at all. It was a woman. By the look of her, she could have auditioned as the poster girl for the Eating Disorder Awareness Campaign. She had about as much flesh as a fast food meal. When she spoke, he was put in mind of a very snide icicle. "Where's Nevermore?" she said abruptly.

Nevermore froze at the mention of his name, and turned around slowly. He smiled in what he hoped was an enigmatic fashion. "Hello, Antimony. I didn't expect to see you here. Where I live. How did you find out where I live?"

"I looked at your records. They're in the filing cabinet in the back office. I have my ways."

All of the others were by now looking somewhat puzzled. Finally Chocobo spoke up. "Nevermore, do you know this person?"

"Actually, yes. Antimony Carter is a... um, a colleague of mine. She's a barmaid at the Hedonist." He turned back to the underweight Antimony. "What exactly is this about?"

"After you left last night, the building was checked and no danger was found. We opened again, but we couldn't contact you to summon you back. As a result, there was a violent brawl which cost us literally tens of dollars in repairs. The phone number you gave us was actually for the speaking clock in Morocco. You must have made a mistake." Somehow, the way she said the last word caused all of the males in the room to wince.

"Ah," said Nevermore, wondering what to say. "I can pay for the repairs, if that's what you want..."

"You already have. I'm here to tell you we need a real phone number."

Nevermore appeared calm, but the way he was drumming his fingers revealed to the observant that he was thinking fast. "We don't have a phone here. I have my mobile, but I have forgotten the number, and it is currently being repaired."

Antimony stared at him as if she was trying to read his soul. After an uncomfortable pause, she spoke a final sentence. "Bring me the number," she said, and turned to leave. With a superhuman effort, she was able to ignore Eskimo's sniggering.

"What are you laughing about!?" exclaimed Nevermore with some annoyance, after verifying that the barmaid had indeed left.

"Heh heh... I thought Antimony was a man's name," Eskimo replied.

Nevermore chose not to respond. "She's the girl I saw the other week," he sighed. "If I'd been close enough to get a proper look at her at the time, maybe I wouldn't have gotten into this mess. She's the most irritating woman I've ever met. And now she keeps bothering me! She must be some kind of sicko. If she gets hold of our phone number, it'll be the end for me."

Chocobo didn't exactly look sympathetic. "Well, now you know what it's like," she said, glancing at Loony. She then turned her attention to Yud. "How are you feeling now, Yud?"

Yud thought about this. His metabolism still seemed abnormally slow, and he was getting flashbacks every time he blinked. On the other hand, 'galling domineering harlot' was a bad thing to call anyone, and it was comforting to know that he had never really said it. "I'm feeling okay, thanks," he replied, with the careless abandon of one who doesn't know that he talks in his sleep.

Antimony swept past Jim, nearly pushing him off of the narrow sidewalk that led to his front door. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, more sarcasm in his voice than courtesy.

She sniffed, bringing her head up as if she had just been struck with an uppercut. "Excuse yourself, worm," she snapped, and continued to march away to her red sports car where she promptly sped off, leaving a blackish gray gas billowing in the wind.

He glared at her for a while, then decided to drop the matter. Stepping inside, he could see that they had all begun their mid-morning rituals of putting together at least half of the book. Chocobo was at her desk, checking and double checking yesterday's work. Jim took a seat at his own desk, and glanced at the script that Yud had written. He immediately set to work, scribbling out according to the script. It entailed a senior's center and a local pub, a bomb threat and a fat lawyer. Randomly making up a name from the top of his head for the pub, he finished the first few panels. "God, my life is easy."

Yud, whose desk is located from across Jim's, heard what the British man had said. Peculiarly, the British man was somewhat on cloud nine since he awoke.

"Is something bothering you, Yud?"

He spun around and saw that it was only Viper, who was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and white shirt, carrying a briefcase. "You look a little… aghast."

"Oh. Nothing," he curtly answered. Trying to forget the horrific images imprinted into his brain, he changed the subject. "Where are you off to? You look so fancy-schmancy."

"You moron!" the ex-mercenary yelled. "I've been working there for almost a month. Don't you ever pay attention?!"

"Oh…sorry. I, uh, forgot." Suddenly, the thought of amnesia entered his head. Was he losing his memory? Or is this all a suddenly slip of the mind?

Yud nodded, and Viper left. Jim had been watching the two during their short conversation. Specifically, he had been watching Yud, looking for unambiguous symptoms. "Heh heh. Denial. So far, so good," he muttered to himself while finishing page one.

They spent the rest of the work hours in silence, with a few phone calls from telemarketers. But after they let Eskimo answer it for a while, they no longer had unwanted calls. In fact, even the expected calls never got through.

"You guys can take a break now," Chocobo said. She blew off some eraser dust off of Jim's finished work -- completed with Edge's inking and Rufus' lettering -- and piled it all into the 'Out' box. Standing up, she pulled her arms behind her back, stretched, and gave a big yawn. Loony, who was sitting in the desk next to her, stared with eyes that were about to fall out of his head. "What the hell are you staring at?"

"Oh…nothing."

"Whatever." Turning to Jim, she asked, "When do you think Viper will be home?"

"Soon, I guess. Why?"

"He said that he'd play a few rounds of Tekken 3 and Darkstalkers before dinner."

As if on cue, the door slowly opened and Viper stepped in. "Hiya, everybody. Where's Chokie? I want to see if I can have this guy play games with us."

"I'm right…" she began, and suddenly trailed off as another man stepped in through the door. He, too, wore glasses, and had a thick head of black unruly hair and a blue T-shirt. Her mouth slacked opened, and her she could almost feel her jaw smack the floor.

"Chokie, this is Hal Emmerich, my coworker. We call him Otacon."

"Hi," he said, extending his hand. She blinked a few times, shaking her head as if to see if it were really true. He leaned over to Viper, whispering, "She doesn't look dangerous…"

"Just keep calm," Viper whispered back.

"Oh, hi," she replied, barely a whisper. She shook his hand. Yes, she was going to like this friend of Viper, she was.

"Welcome to O'Donnell's, may I take your order?" droned the adenoidal youth with forced cheerfulness.

"Actually, I'd like to know if you're taking on new employees." Jim avoided the other man's eyes. This was something he'd rather not be doing. However, he didn't know what the alternative was, and this was because he didn't want to think about it. "I'm seeking part-time work," he added, with visible self-disgust.

The youth shrugged. Unsurprisingly, his badge revealed his name to be 'My Name Is DARREN.' Without turning, he raised his voice. "Hey, Kim, are we taking on workers?"

From behind the fryers, obscured by a haze of vapourised fat, a female voice replied. "Dunno. I guess so."

"Is there some kind of form I have to fill in, or an interview or something?" Jim asked with some trepidation. Filling out lengthy forms in triplicate was not his idea of a fun way to spend a morning. Conversely, if there was an interview he might end up giving the wrong impression. Or worse, the right impression.

"What's your name?"

"James Burrows."

"Do you have any will of your own?"

"Well, not particularly."

"Then you're in. O'Donnell's needs people like you."

This surprised Jim. Obviously this Darren wasn't a very good judge of character. The only reason he'd come here was because he'd had some hope that they might refuse to employ him. However, clearly their standards were lower than he had expected. He could have seen this happening back in England, but not here. Oh well, a job was a job.

"Uh, if you come back here I'll give you your standard issue O'Donnell's apron and your standard issue O'Donnell's hat." Darren spoke in the manner of one who remembers a ceremony from long ago, but never expected to end up one day doing it all by himself. "O'Donnell's employees must remember the following at all times: Courtesy, Hygiene and Service With A Smile."

"I don't suppose you'd be familiar with the well-known phrase or saying 'One out of three ain't bad'?" ventured Jim, but Darren didn't seem to hear him.

"Those are the things we make," Darren continued, gesturing at the menu boards above. The boards were adorned with the hideous countenance of O'Donnell the jester, looking unnaturally happy for someone who hears the sound of ringing bells wherever he goes. Menu items included the O'Burger, the O'Double, and the O'Vast, along with less popular choices such as the O'Crab sandwich. "Kim tends to make the food, and I serve it. But now we can introduce a sort of rota system, I suppose."

Jim decided that something seemed slightly odd about the whole scenario. "Do you actually have a manager here?" he asked.

Darren looked pained. "Well, we used to, but that was before he left. It was nervous exhaustion. We never heard of him again. We thought they'd send someone new along, but it looks like they never found out. So we've been running the place as best we can ourselves."

"Why can't you contact the head office and ask for a new manager?"

"They'd just ask us why we haven't said anything about it for so long. And then we'd be out on our ears. Sad but true." Darren suddenly looked tragically like something out of the Simpsons. He only looked slightly less jaundiced, too. "Anyway, you can start work right away. There'll probably be a rush on around lunchtime."

Sure enough, after a long period of inactivity, during which Jim familiarised himself with the facilities and utilities, there was indeed a customer. "Welcome to O'Donnell's," said Jim in a drab monotone. "may I take your order? Chokie!?"

Chocobo was clearly just as startled as he was. "What the hell are you doing here!?" She paused for a moment. "I'm amazed you were able to find employment so quickly."

"Yeah, well maybe it's because I'm an ethnic minority. You wanted me to get a job, so I did so. Now tell me what you're doing here. As is the tradition."

She sighed. "I'm on my way to the school. It's about my temper again. I have to take this new psychological normality exam."

"Sounds like a multiple-choice one to me. It'll be easy. Anything else going on?"

"No, nothing. Well, there was that colleague Viper brought round. What was he called... Hal Emmerich, that was it. Stop smirking or I'll decapitate you."

"Otacon? I met him once before."

"Really? What do you know about him?" asked Chocobo, a little too enthusiastically. Like Jim, she hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him before having to leave.

"Well, when I say met, I only spoke to him briefly. We had nothing in common. Well, actually we had everything in common, but you know how it is."

This seemed to annoy her. Still got the touch, he thought to himself. "Look, can I have an O'Burger? I need energy for the exam. It's an hour and a half long!"

"And it'll only take twenty five minutes to complete. Trust me. I know these things." Without turning, he raised his voice. "One O'Burger to go, Kim! No, Hal was a good enough guy, as far as I recall. It's just that I only spoke to him for a few minutes."

Chocobo could see that she wasn't going to get anything useful out of him, and changed the subject. "Who's Kim?"

"One of my two fellow workers. She does most of the cooking, since Darren was never trained in cooking, and Kim was never trained in training people. This place isn't actually run by anyone, it just gets regular deliveries courtesy of the head office."

"Interesting. Will you even get paid?"

"I think so. It seems we just divide the takings amongst ourselves at the end of the week. It strikes me as somewhat dishonest, but I'm not complaining." Jim had already considered the moral implications of the scenario, and had decided not to think about it any more. "I expect all this exam business," and not being able to talk to Otacon, he mentally added, "has you pretty heat up?"

"Well, yeah, quite."

"I expect you're quite angry. I expect you could lash out at any moment."

"I expect you're right.

"Oh, good. I have a video you might like to look at. It concerns Yud. Ah, it seems your burger is ready. Here you are..." - he handed her the rather pathetic item - "...try to enjoy it."

"I'd better be off, or I'll be late. How much is that?"

"If you're in a hurry, just give me a five. I'll give you the change when you've forgotten about it."

She would have argued the point, but didn't have time. "Here, take it," she sighed, throwing a tattered note at him.

"Remember to choose whatever answer a normal person would," he said as she turned to leave. "And above all, have a nice day." Already he was able to make this last phrase sound like "I hope you die of leprosy." I'm a natural at this, he thought.

She half-walked, half-jogged her way down to her school. Being the youngest member of the entire household meant that she couldn't drive, and she had too much pride to ask for a ride. Still, she had spent two whole weeks being a complete vegetable, so the walk could help her stretch her muscles a bit for her up-coming hockey tournament.

She secretly prayed that the test would only last twenty-minutes, as Jim had previously stated oh-so-confidently. Sure, throw something like a math or English exams at her and she could ace them. But a personality test? Her guts told her that the next hour or so was going to be all but hell.

They also told her to stop running, since they were painfully cramping up. "Dammit," she muttered sullenly, then slowly went into a walk. She was at the first intersection now, with only another block to trek. She had walked these streets since she was but a child, and knew everyone on it. There was cute little Curtis Hoette who loved to play with red toy trucks, old man Hawkens who ran a tailor shop, and giddy Ms. Phillips who owned the naughty women's lingerie shop.

And there was also Crazy Lady Dorris, who lived in a shack on the side of the road with her five-hundred mangy pet cats and her shotgun "Harold".

While waiting for the "Walk" light to flash, Chocobo remembered her first encounter with the old lady during a Girl Scout cookie sale when she was in third grade. It resulted in having her run away screaming like a crazy banshee as the old lady blasted her shotgun behind her. That day marked the end of Chocobo's carefree and optimistic life.

Shrugging off the memory, she dashed light-footedly across the street as the "Walk" signal flashed. Checking her watch, she noticed that she had only five more minutes until the exam started. Breaking into a sprint, she ignored the pangs in her stomach and raced down the sidewalk. Screw it, I wish Eskimo hadn't stolen my bike, she thought.

Normally, one could walk at a normal pace to the school in about ten minutes. Breaking the record - if there ever was one - she arrived in the classroom panting and wheezing at two minutes flat. Collapsing into a seat towards the back, she breathed in precious air and waited for the professor.

After receiving enough oxygen to get a clear vision, she could see that there were a few other kids with her. Tommy Blaken, a flabby boy with more chins that she could count on her fingers and toes, and Amelia Burnie, known to her classmates as a "blonde bombshell" and a "fashion queen". To Chocobo, she was a ditzy airhead. She didn't know why the blonde moron had to take the test, and outspokenly, she didn't care.

There was also Mike Luning, the loser of a football player from her Biology class who had been trying to get himself laid with her for two consecutive years, and Alice Morry, the prim and proper neat freak who worried about nothing but her hair, nails, teeth, and how straight the pink frilly piece of crap of a bow on her head is.

"OOOooohhh!!!" Amelia squeaked. "I broke a nail!"

"Uh huh eheh huh huh huh huh…" Tommy said, stopping in between chuckle to breath through his tiny nostrils.

"Oh, Christ," Chocobo muttered to herself. Standing up, she moved to the very back of the room and in the corner, where no one would recognize her or speak to her.

Just then, Mr. Morry, Alice's father, walked in and carried with him a small manila folder with papers in it, which Chocobo assumed to be their tests.

"Class," he started. They looked up obediently, except for Tommy, who couldn't lift up his head completely due to its weight. "Our school board have selected you special students for a reason. You all in here have 'special' characteristics that we would like to analyze, so that in the future, we could send it into to your place of employment where they could use it to further degrade and demoralize you since we had a tough time doing it in the first place. Understand?" He said it in a nonchalant and overall "friendly" voice. The group, being the airheaded morons that they were - except for Chocobo, who began to feel worried - nodded in unison.

"Daddy," Amelia whined, "do I have to do this? This is so, like, boooo-rrring. I mean, I would rather do my nails." She did a pouty face that made Chocobo want to grab her by the hair and smash a brick into her face.

"Yes, you do, dearest pumpkin," he answered, bending over to squeeze her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. "You see" - he turned to face the class again - "You all in here have special characteristics. Take Miss Chocobo here. She's a little…short tempered."

"Up yours, dick-bitch," she muttered under her breath.

"We're doing this so that we could understand you children more. That way, we can relate to you when others are in need of help. In fact, don't think of it as an exam. Think of it as a survey, so that we can understand you better." He opened the folder and took out a packet of papers, passing them to each one. "Please mark your name and date. Pencils down in one hour."

Chocobo moaned as she looked over her test. So, they wanna analyze me, huh. I'll show them. Grinning, she read the first question. It read:

"Sex:"

She gleefully filled in the empty space with her scribbly chicken-like scratches called handwriting. "No, thanks."

"Height:"

"Twenty feet."

"What do you look like?"

"Two legs, two arms. Some facial features. Teeth."

"Are you single?"

"I’m sure as hell not plural."

And the questions continued for five more pages. Looking around, she could see that some of the other kids were still struggling with the second question. Heh. Jim was right. This IS breezy.

Eskimo was bored. The phone hadn't rung in two hours. The last telemarketer had hung up rather hastily after he had proposed to her. All of the others were playing on the PlayStation with the new one, the one with the messy hair. Eskimo felt a little left out. Normally by now Yud would have sent him out with Squallid Snake, but not today. Yud wasn't acting normally, and Squallid had gone to sleep. Eskimo looked at Yud again. He was watching television. It looked like a video of the test card. He was desperately trying not to blink. Eskimo decided not to disturb him, but to go out by himself. It was probably what Yud would have wanted. He wrote a quick note to the others - "Gone to do things - E." - and put it into his pocket for safekeeping. Then he went into the kitchen, grabbed some supplies and left. Nobody seemed to notice.

The sky was unnaturally blue. He decided to go and trouble the old people again. However, his plans were dashed when he found that they were all sleeping to keep their energy up, and could not be woken. What else can I do? he wondered. Eventually he decided to see if he could get back into the secret tunnel he had dug the previous night. As he strolled through the streets, eating the biscuits he had taken from the kitchen, he pondered Yud's behaviour. He was quite sure that it was to do with Jim. It normally was. Yud would probably be fully recovered by the evening, if Eskimo was any judge when it came to abnormal mental states. And he was. Arriving at the Orange Hedonist, he saw that it looked a lot different by day. For one thing, the doors were barred with chains, planks and combination locks. This was not a nice area. The lamppost nearest to the club had now completely disappeared. He walked round the block to the suspicious looking dry cleaners on the corner. If he went through the "staff only " door, down the corridor and through the third door on the left into the toilets, the entrance to the tunnel would be concealed in the penultimate cubicle. That was the plan, anyway. In actual fact, he was stopped before he could go through the first door.

"Hold it right there. You don't look like an employee." A man with long hair and a shotgun was sitting in the chair behind the counter.

"Hello. I wasn't expecting anyone to be here," Eskimo replied, somewhat unnecessarily.

The man cornered Eskimo. "Are you the one that broke in last night? What did you see?"

Eskimo tried to remain calm. What would Yoda do? he wondered. "I sense much anger in you. You must use the Force for good, not for evil."

"What are you talking about? No... I don't want to know. Why were you around here last night? What were you doing?"

"Me and Squallid made a secret tunnel. We didn't see anything incriminating. Who are you?"

He stared at Eskimo suspiciously, He suspected that he was either pretending to be stupid, or he really was stupid. "You think I'm telling you my real name? You can call me Mechninja, like everyone else."

"Mechninja? Oh, you must be the one that's trying to extort the law firm."

Mechninja looked around frantically. "What the... who told you that!? You'd better not say anything!"

Eskimo grinned. "Nobody told me, I just worked it out myself. That man Fadanoid is after you."

Mechninja clearly didn't know whether to be annoyed or curious. "And what else can you tell me about myself?" he asked semi-sarcastically.

Eskimo looked grave. "Strong within you is the Force, but correctly use it you must."

Mechninja regarded Eskimo, trying to work out whether he was for real. "What exactly do you do?"

"Eskimo's task is to do interesting things. I am Eskimo."

Mechninja stared at him. Simple, and yet strangely perceptive, he thought. "How would you like to make some money? All you have to do is help me get what the Johnson firm owes me. You can have fifteen percent."

Eskimo's eyes lit up. Mechninja could swear he saw some kind of monetary symbols in them. "Okay! I have a plan. Now I must depart." Before Mechninja could protest, Eskimo had darted off.

Once outside, Eskimo carried on travelling the streets. He decided that he was hungry. He had finished his food supplies some time ago, and it was now lunchtime. The Force will guide me, he decided. His wanderings lead him to O'Donnell's. Once inside, he saw a familiar face.

"Welcome to O'Donnell's, may I take your order? You!?" exclaimed Jim, exasperated. "Am I fated to only serve people I know?"

"Good afternoon, Jim."

"I mean, this is beyond a joke. First Chocobo, then that idiot who asked me for money the other week, then someone I know from college who was here on holiday, would you believe it, and now it's you!"

"You know, I always wondered. Why aren't you at college anyway? Are they not fussy about attendance?"

"Well, I decided to take a year out. It's not normally done in the middle of a term, but for some reason they made an exception in my case."

"Did they say why?"

Jim considered this. "I believe his exact words were 'No, no, please, no, oh god, not my face, not my face.' Anyway, do you want food or not?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd like an O'Burger, with extra lettuce, another burger, another bit of bread in the middle, cheese, pickles, and a bit more of those sauces!"

Jim shot him a look of death. "You mean an O'Vast."

"Well, if you say so. And heat it up extra! I mean really, really hot." Eskimo grinned diabolically.

Jim sighed. Theirs not to reason why, he thought. Without turning, he raised his voice. "One O'Vast but very very hot!" Darren had gone out for some fresh air, as the grease particles played merry hell with his sinuses. Jim was getting used to taking the orders now. He looked at Eskimo, trying to see a way in, but the strange one was a blank screen. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Eventually, Jim tired of Eskimo's smile. "I hope you can pay for this food," he sullenly muttered.

"I have wealth. Fear not."

"You'd better have. I need money. Ah, it seems your burger is ready. You'd better be careful, it's hot."

Upon receiving the burger, Eskimo swiftly crammed it into his mouth without making any attempt to chew or show any manners. He then threw himself at the floor and rolled around in an alarming manner. "IT'S HOT! IT'S HOT! IT'S BURNING ME! CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

"Eskimo, you moron, I told you it was hot!" shouted Jim. Seeing Eskimo's anguish, and unwilling to be the one to take the blame for this, he grabbed for the phone and dialed the emergency services. No answer. Damn, it's 911 here! he remembered, and tried again with the correct number. This time it worked.

There was a clatter from behind the fryers, and a quiet expletive, and Kim ran out to the front. "What's happening!?" she asked.

"It's Eskimo, he's burnt himself... yes, ambulance please. O'Donnell's, it's near that place with the trees. You know, where the shops are. That coffee shop. Yes, by the book shop. Well, it's just down the road from there. Towards the... you can see a water tower, I think, as you go towards it. And then... look, you can't miss it. Hurry up, we've got an idiot here who's burnt himself!"

Kim had managed to force Eskimo to spit out the burger, and was now making him drink water. "How long will they be?"

"I don't know. Could be a while; I didn't give credit card details."

"You... oh, yeah. Heh heh. Of course, different in England, isn't it?"

"Yeah, back home you don't have to be poor to be unable to get proper medical care. Eskimo, you fool, are you okay?"

Eskimo smiled weakly. "I'll live." Without changing, his smile began to radiate menace. "Of course, you do realise I'm going to have to sue you."

She skipped merrily to the front door of her home, all the while humming a peculiar song. Yes, she thought, now I can have some free time to myself…

Luckily, she had arrived home before the storm struck up. The sky was suddenly dark and shadowy, and the sound of thunder was clear to even a deaf man's ear. There was a quick flash of lightening, and it began to pour.

Really pour. The rain beat down on her, rendering her semi-wet. Eager to retreat into her warm and cozy home, she went for her keys.

Tucking a hand into her shirt pocket, she found that it was empty. No keys. Dammit, don't tell me I left it in my other shirt. Frantically, her hands searched all of her other pockets. "Arrgh!!" she exclaimed, full of frustration. I knew I should've called the guys to fix this door bell.

Knocking lightly on the door, she waited for an answer. Inside, Viper and Otacon were busy with their forty-ninth round of Tekken 3, Yud had completely zoned out and had taped his eyelids open, and everyone else was fast asleep. Unaware of Otacon's presence, she kicked the door angrily. "Open up, it's me!"

"Hey," Viper said, turning to Otacon, "didja hear somethin'?"

"No." Using the time to his own advantage, he took an 1/8 of Jin's life gauge.

Tuning back to the game, his friend exclaimed, "No fair! I wasn't looking!"

Back outside, she was wracked with aggravation and she was a dripping mess. "Open up!" she yelled. Her voice was muffled by the crack of thunder and lightening and the sound of beating giant raindrops. "Screw it, you $@#^'in LOSERS!!!"

"I swear, I'm hearing something," Viper said again, turning around.

"Probably just the wind."

Being one who had a short fuse, she stood back, got some leg room, then kicked down the door.

"What the f-"

"YOU MORON!!!" she screamed, and pouncing on Viper and attacking his throat. "You $@#%'in mother ^$%#@'in IDIOT!!"

"Gack! Chokie, I thought I -- GACK!! -- you were -- UGH!! -- he was…"

"Hey, hey," Otacon said, running up and breaking them apart. "We didn't hear you. Honest. I was here m'self." He said it in an innocent and benevolent voice, the kind that had her drifting upon it for a few picoseconds.

Blushing slightly, she released her grip of his neck. "Okay." Standing up and dusting herself off, she added. "I'm gonna go shower and change." Taking a last good look and studying his features, she turned and left, leaving wet and soggy spots on the carpet as she walked.

Viper gasped for breath, clutching at his chest. "Thanks, Otacon."

The man grinned. "No problem." He looked up and towards the direction that she had just used to departed from their presence. "Mm…she's a cutie, awright. Kinda aggressive, but I like that." He made a weird grin on his face that made Viper squirm.

At that point, Jim came home, making a dramatic entrance and all. At the same second that he swung the door open, a crack of lightening struck behind him. He, too, was a dripping mess. Except he looked much worse than Chocobo since he had to walk home during the storm.

"Hi, Jim!" Viper said, as enthusiastically as ever. He stared back at him with cold eyes, his brows furrowed as a warning. "Didja meet Otacon yet?"

Otacon grinned weakly at him. "You're not to cheerful, huh."

"Nope. Is anyone using the shower?"

"Chokie is," Viper answered. "Oh, before I forget, this is Otacon. He's a coworker of mine."

"We've met," Jim answered, nodding towards his friend. "Chokie was talking quite a bit about you."

Otacon's eyes widened with hope and joy. "She…did?"

"Well, she spoke about three sentences with your name in it. I guess that counts," Jim replied, shrugging. As he did so, some of the water dripped from his clothes like a faucet and onto the floor. "By the way, if you see Eskimo, tell him to keep out of my way. I'm not particularly happy right now."

Otacon glanced at his watch, which read 6:48 PM. Looking up to Viper, he said, "Well, I'd best get going home now. See ya at work."

"Bye."

As he disappeared behind the door, Squallid was busy sneaking down the hallway. As the others were in the living room -- or, in Jim's case, the kitchen -- he was standing outside of Chocobo's bathroom door. Snickering, he opened with slowly, being careful of the fact that she had sensitive.

He saw her clothes lying on the toilet seat. Quickly, he snatched the bundle and quietly closed the door again. Then he dashed out into the living room, laughing.

"What the hell is so bloody funny?" Jim enquired. His features were sort of pale, since the house was somewhat cool and his clothes were drying off. "And who's stuff is that?"

"Can't talk," he replied. "Stealing." Before Jim or Viper could catch him, he made a leap out of the window, shattering it about on the floor of the living room.

"&%^$#!!" Viper cursed. "How's he gonna survive that fall?!"

"What'd he swipe anyway?" Loony asked. They turned around to see him standing at the entry-way of the room. He yawned, which meant that he had previously been napping.

Suddenly, there came screams of obscenities and curses from the bathroom. Chocobo came dashing out of the bathroom, dripping wet and only wearing a towel. "Which one of you $@#%'in little bastards took my clothes?!"

"Ah, the mystery is solved," Jim commented. "Now that you're out of the bathroom, may I use the shower?" Not really waiting for a response, he sprinted down the hallway and into the bathroom. Chocobo, who was too busy to notice, continued to curse.

"I just saw Squallid come running out of here with a bundle of stuff. Your clothes, maybe?" Viper suggested.

"Probably," she growled between her gritted teeth. Loony stared at her, feeling a wave of tingling emotions sweep over him. "TURN YOUR HEAD AWAY, PUNKASS!!!" she screamed at him. He fell over, and immediate ran out of the room. "Well, I'll get Squallid some other time. I'm gonna go get dressed."

"But wasn't Nevermore suppose to come back with our laundry from the Laundromat a while ago?"

Sighing loudly and holding back the temptation to kill all things living and inanimate, she struggled the words out of her mouth to get a coherent narrative. "I'll just borrow Jim's stuff for the time being. It's a little big, but it'll do."

At this point, most of the household were gathered around the living room, rubbing their sleepy eyes. "What happened?" Edge asked, barely being able to stifle a yawn.

"Squallid swiped my clothes, now I have to wear Jim's stuff. That, and he just came in and stole the shower while I was yelling and screaming."

He emerged from down the hallway, fully dressed with dry clothes and toweling his head off with a green bath towel. Not noticing the others, he spoke to Chocobo while drying his hair. "Dammit, Cho'. Next time clean the tub out after you shave. It's like a bloody rug in there." Looking up, he could see the others crowded around her, snickering and muffling their laughter.

She, on the other hand, was turning an interesting shade of purple.

Nevermore stood outside the Orange Hedonist, trying to shelter himself from the downpour. He wanted a drink, but more than that he wanted to avoid Antimony, and so he had to stay outside, with the lesser of the two evils dripping from his hair and soaking right through his clothes. In the distance, lightning struck. Nevermore considered himself that the nearest lamppost had disappeared, as it meant he was slightly less likely to be hit by lightning. So I can look forward to the onset of hypothermia instead, he thought gloomily. He wouldn't have put his coat in to wash at the Laundromat if he had realised he wouldn't have enough time to wait for it to finish. He'd had to leave the clothes there while he'd run across town to the club. At least he knew the clothes would still be there later. There was nothing in there that was worth stealing.

Someone was coming down the street towards him. It was time to do his job. "How old are you? Do you have a convincing fake ID?"

"Forget it, Nevermore. I'm not going in there. Anyway, you know how old I am."

Nevermore looked up in surprise. The figure silouhetted against the background of the slightly-less-dark street was Jim. He looked out of place here, and he clearly knew it. "Didn't think this was your scene, Jim," Nevermore smirked. He was damned if he was going to make this easy for him.

"Yes, very amusing, now could you stop? I need to talk to you. Did you hear about Eskimo?"

"That Fadanoid would've hurt him a lot more if it hadn't have been for me. The guy needs looking after."

Jim looked quietly scathing. "So you haven't heard, then. I was referring to his 'accident' at my workplace. The freak is going to sue me." He reached automatically for his inside pocket for a mint. He didn't offer one to Nevermore, and Nevermore didn't ask for one, as he knew from experience that they could be used to strip paint.

"So what's this got to do with me?" asked Nevermore, his eyes watering slightly from the fumes.

"I think you know. You remember how you persuaded Squallid that black was white, and he nearly got run over at that zebra crossing? Or how about the time you told me that Germany would have won World War Two if it hadn't been for the USA, and you got away with only minor bruises?"

"What are you getting at?" Nevermore knew full well what Jim was getting at, but wanted to hear him say it.

"Do I have to spell it out?" He sighed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? I want you to present our case in court. There, I said it. Happy now!?"

"Why me? It's not as if I'm the only one qualified, is it? In February, you persuaded that angry mob that Leonardo DiCaprio was guilty of high treason, and must be executed."

"That was easy. I knew what they wanted; all I needed to do was give them a reason to want it. If they'd been a calm and docile mob, I wouldn't have stood a chance."

Nevermore considered this for a few moments. "True," he conceded. "But I suppose if they'd been a docile mob, then you wouldn't have needed to persuade them to lynch someone else."

"Look, are you going to represent us or not?"

Nevermore wondered whether to hold out for Jim to offer to do absolutely anything in return. It didn't look like happening. Jim was quite well-versed in cliché. Nevermore decided to make the move himself. "Will you do something for me in return?" he asked.

"That depends what you want me to do, doesn't it?" Jim was always cautious in these situations.

"Not much. Could you please just go into the club, and try to persuade Antimony that I've emigrated? Actually, no, tell her I'm dead."

Jim was less than enthusiastic. "What? You want me to voluntarily talk to that skeletal, conceited... actually, that sounds quite reasonable. I'll be right back." So saying, he darted through the doors into the haze of smoke inside.

Nevermore wondered what could have caused this bizarre change in attitude. Then he glanced up the street and saw the answer. "Hello, Tifa," he said to it. "I didn't know you came here."

"Well, I was told that Jim was around here. I wanted to apologise to him about... well, to apologise to him about."

Nevermore wondered vaguely how she was able to walk around without falling over. "I suppose I'm supposed to send you in there," he sighed.

"Thanks!" She strolled into the club. Nevermore listened out for unusual sounds, but it was difficult to make anything out over the constant mindless beat of the music and the slightly less frantic drumming of the torrential downpour. It rains on all of us, regardless of social standing, he mused. Although it seems to rain a bit more on those who are making a career of standing out in the street. Thunder rolled. The storm promised to go on as long as it possibly could. Eskimo had been acting strangely lately. Nevermore wondered what he was trying to achieve. He would have to sort out the details of O'Donnell's' case at come stage. Ah, here was Tifa again. She looked angry. She started to stomp down the street, but turned back for a moment. "What kind of a name is Antimony, anyway!?"

"I don't know, Tifa," he replied rather pointedly, but the remark sailed over her head like Mir.

Chocobo rooted through Jim’s dresser, muttering curses from several different Oriental languages as she examined his insignificant and overall pygmy array of shirts and jeans. Her hair was beginning to dry, and if not given the proper care of blow-drying, it would curl out as if permed on cardboard towel rolls.

Dammit, she thought, how tall does this guy have to be?! Yes, it was a known fact that Jim was one of the tallest persons in the household, towering over Chocobo at a good one foot and something inches. Once, she and Nevermore had watched wide-eyed as he pick up Squallid by the ankles and calmly threatened to toss him out an opened window for eating his turkey and mayo sandwich.

Squallid. What gave him the idea that he could take my clothes like that. Of course, this would give her an excuse to feed to the FBI when they go searching for his body down some godforsaken river or an abandoned warehouse in the ghetto, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

"What are you doing?"

She turned around to see Jim, who looked calm and collected, but was nevertheless confused to see her rummaging through his things and wearing a towel, her hair already beginning to swing out.

"Squallid took my stuff. Nevermore didn’t pick up the laundry."

"Okay. But…why my stuff?" he asked, bemused. "Why not Loony’s? He’s about your height."

She stared at him, not a hint of anger in her eyes, but moreover incredulity.

"Oh…yeah. That. Forget it." He scratched his neck, embarrassed. "That little bugger is sort of a pain, isn’t he."

"He’s more than a pain," – she closed that one drawer and moved one level down – "He’s a nut-fuckin’ bastard."

"You Americans are so foul-mouthed." He walked over to his bed and threw himself on it, crossing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the ceiling light. "But that’s what makes you amusing. Anyway, he’s outside right now passed out on the floor. Viper’s trying to revive him. I guess seeing you in a towel was a little overwhelming."

She muttered a curse. "Why does he still live here?"

"I dunno. I figure he could get a job elsewhere and stop taking up space around here. All he really does his lettering and gawking at you like a horny little schoolboy."

"Maybe I’ll fire him and get someone else on our staff to do his work. Then I’ll just pay one person less."

"Yippee. More oxygen for me," he remarked in a monotonous and sarcastic tone. Turning onto his side, he faced his back to her and curled up against the wall.

I tire of this conversation. "Don’t you have anything that isn’t so big?"

"My socks, I guess. Listen, dim the lights a little and try to shuffle around quietly. I’m in need of some sleep."

"Sleep? Now?" She turned to him, confused. "You didn’t even eat dinner yet. Are you okay?"

"How kind of you to enquire about my well-being. No, I’m not okay. Eskimo is going to sue me, Nevermore now taunts me, I had to duck under a table that smelled of human bile to avoid being seen by Tifa, and I had to speak to that Antimony bi – I mean, woman."

"Antimony? Why’d you have to talk to her?"

"Why don’t you ask Nevermore about it."

"Nah. I’ll let it surprise me." She picked up a pair of his dark blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of socks. "I"m gonna go dry my hair and get dressed. Then you can shower."

He muttered something, sort of like an affirmative or maybe even a curse. One thing that’s for sure was the fact that he was going to sleep like the damned.

Yud sat with Eskimo, watching Star Wars again. He wanted to watch James Bond, but worried that the accents mignt have a bad effect on him. He was back to normal in most respects, but had passed out on the floor in a foetal position an hour before, when Jim had used the word "Rothko" in a strange way. He had by now forgotten most of the details of the previous night, but if he tried he could still remember the feeling. He tried not to, though, as the unholy fusion of dark colour made him feel ill. Only one clear memory remained, and that was the one of shouting angry words at Jim, Edge and Chocobo. He was now being very quiet, almost to the point of reclusiveness, simply because he didn't want to say anything that might reveal what he had said in the dream. He wondered what had happened to some of the others. Jim had vanished, presumably to his room, and Nevermore was still nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he's fetching the laundry, Yud realised.

This was more or less the case. Nevermore had indeed gone back to the Laundromat, and had collected the now relatively clean items of clothing. He was now walking to Jim's workplace. Now seemed as good a time as any to start working on the case, and indeed, to decide whether it was worth doing anyway. He arrived at O'Donnell's shortly before its closing time. Inside, all was quiet. Kim was switching off the fryers in preparation for locking up. Nevermore decided to use the subtle approach. He directed his remark at the room in general. "Hi. How's business?"

"Terrible," groaned Darren, who was busy removing the inedible waste from the fryers and sealing it in regulation O'Donnell's secure waste drums. "Some idiot customer hurt themselves on a burger. Now they want to sue." Darren looked a sorry sight. "To think this tragedy could have been averted. It used to be O'Donnell's policy to display warning notices to remind people that cooked food can be hot. But it was detrimental to business, so they were scrapped."

"Now the corporation stands to lose thousands!" Kim chipped in. "Sorry we can't make you any food. We weren't expecting any more customers. News spreads fast."

Nevermore thought carefully. "Surely if the signs were removed because of company policy, the incident has nothing to do with you."

Darren didn't look up, but continued to scrape the burnt grease from the surface with a spatula. "Oh, yeah, in theory. But there's no way we'll be able to keep our jobs. For one thing, we're not running by official company policy, and they're going to notice that now. And anyway, the reputation of this branch will go down the fat disposal grinder. They'll shut it down. And then I'll have to go back to living with my parents!"

Nevermore stared at the poor youth. It was at once comical and tragic. Somehow it seemed more tragedy than comedy, though.

"And of course Kim will have to go back to her old job. This shouldn't be happening; it's no way for a respectable girl to make a living."

Nevermore stared through the mist of condensing cholesterol with incredulity. "You mean..!?"

"She was an air hostess. You think you've seen jet-lag, walk a mile in her shoes."

Nevermore sighed at the compelling tragedy of the small burger bar. "Do you know who'll be representing you in court?"

Kim spoke up. "Well, I've heard that the opposition will be represented by Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson and Johnson. I don't know how we can beat a big firm like that. We don't have any money to speak of. Jim - that's our other employee here - said he might be able to get us cheap representation if he was lucky."

"Comes to something when our last hope is a friend of a coworker who only joined today," sighed Darren. "You know the strange thing? That guy Eskimo, who's suing us, seemed to know Jim. Maybe he's trying to get revenge or something."

"No, I don't think so..." muttered Nevermore. He blinked and looked up again. "Um, sorry." I'm tired and I need a drink, he thought. The knowledge made him feel more alert. He thought carefully for a few moments. "Yes. Right, I know all I need. My name's Nevermore, and I will present your case in court. Can I have a drink?"

To say that Darren and Kim looked surprised would be to say that Guinard is a small island off the coast off Scotland. They did indeed look surprised. "I can't believe we just told you all that stuff," mumbled Darren. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't difficult. But I can't really stay and talk. I have to go and work out why I decided to take on the case."

"Do you think you can do it?" enquired Kim, in the voice of one who has seen enough small packets of peanuts to last several lifetimes.

"The alternative hadn't occurred to me," admitted Nevermore, as he turned to the door. "You just carry on as normal. Jim will be back to work tomorrow, if I have anything to do with it."

It was late, and Nevermore decided to take the bus back home, as there was a stop just outside O'Donnell's. He didn't have any money, but then he needed the practice. "Paid for your ticket?" asked the conductor, inevitably. Nevermore looked out of the window into the darkness outside. It was either night, or the windows had become particularly grimy. The conductor had still not gone away, and his expression made it clear that he meant Nevermore. "Where's your ticket?"

"I thought I didn't need one. It is late, after all."

"Makes no difference," barked the man, clearly no pushover. "Pay up."

"It's not that simple, is it? By paying, I enter into a contractual agreement with FastBus Incorporated; one which both parties must keep. A contract cannot be broken. The entire basis of the contract is destroyed if either side fails to meet demands. And this would throw the entire issue into confusion. If the contract is broken, how, in retrospect, can I ever have paid? I don't want this paradox to arise, and neither do you. Now, we both know that life is full of uncertainties, and it is impossible to tell whether the contract can be upheld until a certain point. This bus is a vehicle, all vehicles are fallible, and hence this bus is fallible. It could suffer an unscheduled breakdown at any time. If I were to pay, this would constitute fraud. Thus, logically I cannot pay you until you are able to prove beyond doubt that this bus will definitely reach the next stop."

Nevermore sat back confidently. The conductor was worried. He had never been trained for this situation. "You just... you can get off at the next stop," he muttered, and moved on.

I need more practice, Nevermore decided. It could wait, though. He carried on home.

It never ceased to amaze Nevermore how nobody ever seemed to acknowledge him when he got back at the end of the day. He was also surprised by those rare occasions when somebody saw fit to violently attack him as he walked through the door. "Nevermore, you damn bastard, where the hell have you been!?" yelled Chocobo. "You were supposed to bring the laundry back several hours ago!"

"Hey, I have clients to think of! I'm not that late."

She glowered. "Have you any idea of the hell I've been through?"

"Probably not," admitted Nevermore after the briefest of pauses, and went off to sit down, stopping only to throw the newly washed clothes in a heap in the corner.

Yud was currently playing Tekken with Eskimo. Eskimo was winning, and Yud was accusing him of using the Force. Viper and Edge had finally got round to boarding up the window, and were finishing off the task. Nevermore reasoned that this was probably his last chance to speak to Eskimo before he realised that they were opponents. "Yud, does the phrase 'Jessop Jessop Jessop Jessop Jessop' mean anything to you?"

As Yud fled the room in terror, Nevermore moved over and sat in his place. "Hello, Eskimo. How are you feeling?"

"Just fine, thanks!" Eskimo replied brightly.

"I understand you're seeking legal help."

"Not any more, thanks, I got what I need. Now I can carry on training Squallid."

"Training him? You're training him to steal things for you, aren't you?"

Eskimo looked hurt. "We prefer to refer to it as liberating material things in the just name of the Cause."

"I see." Perhaps they plan to steal something, Nevermore mused. He was pretty sure Eskimo had spoken to this Mechninja person at some point, but wasn't sure exactly when, or why. It was never easy to tell what Eskimo was thinking, and always difficult to make him tell. In any case, Jim had just appeared.

"Hello, Nevermore. Are you..?" He noticed Eskimo, and glared at him briefly before turning back to Nevermore. "Did you consider it?"

"I'll help you. I'm not sure why." Nevermore glanced at Eskimo, who had gone back to playing Tekken, and seemed oblivious to the conversation.

"Eskimo?" said Jim kindly. "As an employee of O'Donnell's, I have a duty to ensure the customer's wellbeing. However, since I am now off duty, your safety is not currently my responsibility. So watch out."

Nevermore continued to think about the mystery. What Eskimo is doing is not right, he decided. And I don't want Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson, Johnson and Johnson to win this case. They don't deserve it. He glanced at Jim with a look of slight torment. And let it be understood that I'm not helping Jim. I'm just saving the workers at O'Donnell's. It is my duty.

"Mornin’ Loo’," Chocobo called out to Loony, who was once again doing his morningly ritual of cooking breakfast.

"H-hello, Miss Chocobo," he answered, his whole body wracked with shyness and nervousness. "Um, how are you this morning?"

"I’m good, thanks," she answered. Not exactly the best of English grammar, but what would anybody expect at nine in the morning.

"Oh, that’s nice." He looked up from his cooking and tried to focus on her eyes without having his own straying to parts where they shouldn’t be. "Um, what’s wrong with your hair?"

Instead of being in the usual style, she had pulled them back and made it into a very small pony tail barely even down to the nape of her neck. "Oh, um, I … thought I’d try something new."

There was a long and eerie silence. "You couldn’t fix it from last night, could you."

"No," she answered curtly.

He shrugged. I’d better change the subject. "I’ll have this omelet done in a few minutes. In the meantime, did you mail that finished book?"

Her mind stopped. Dropping her head into her hands, she muttered. "Oh, crap, no. I have to mail it today since the post office isn’t open tomorrow."

"Yeah. Thanks to Squallid offending and berating that mail lady, I don’t think she’ll drop by here for a while."

"Dammit," she muttered. "I don’t want to ride my bike two miles to the post office…"

"You don’t have a bike anymore, remember? Eskimo stole it."

"Reality continues to kick my ass." Grumbling, she got up from the kitchen table and walked out the back door, grabbing a big yellow envelope overstuffed with papers and overall the comic book contents.

"She’s sooo cute," Loony sighed. He could barely smell the fire as his omelet lit ablaze.

"Um, Loony…"

"Huh?"

Jim stood at the entrance to the kitchen, a bemused look in his eyes. "Loony…the food…"

"Wha – Aackth!! Put it out, put it out!!"

He watched, slightly amused, as Loony raced to grab the fire extinguisher and put out the flames. Shaking his head at the site, he sighed. "Where’s Cho’? She’s usually up by now."

"She went to the post office to mail the finished book. She’ll be here in probably a few hours. Yah! Back you!" He sprayed more foam from the extinguisher at the fire.

"Okay. I’m gonna go grab a bagel from the café." Just as he said that, the phone rang. Seeing that Loony was busy with the flames and no one else was present, he grudgingly picked it up and muttered a greeting. "What?"

"Hello, Ms. Chocobo?"

"Good lord, no. I’m James Burrows. Who’re you?"

"I’m from her school, St. Clare."

"Oh yeah. She told me to tell you that you’re a donkey punching moron and to go drown yourself in a septic tank."

"What?!"

"Oh wait…are you Mike Luning?"

"No! I’m her principle!"

Jim was undaunted. "What do you want?"

"I was calling to tell her the results on her personality test."

"Oh. In that case, let me get a pen." Instead of reaching for some writing tools, he was about to hang up on the shrill sounding school official.

"Actually, it’s quite confidential, and I won’t need you taking a message. I’ll call back some other time."

Confidential, eh. I smell some blackmail… he thought, grinning. "Alright then. I’ll tell her that."

The man on the other end was taken aback. "Wha? Aren’t you going to try to worm it out of me?"

"Why should I? You told me it was confidential."

"Bribes? Payolas? Anything?"

"Nope. Listen, sir, it’s none of my business, really. So, good day to you."

"No no no! That’s not how it is!"

It’s working. I can sense his confusion. Trying his best to sound perplexed, he asked. "Oh? Then how is it suppose to be?"

Jim held back a chuckle as Chocobo’s principle sighed in total frustration. "Oh, hell, I’m going to tell you anyway. She scored perfectly on her exam and we’re going to send her to a special school with her consent!" he screamed.

Bingo. "Okay, goodbye."

"No no, wait!!"

He hung up the phone, grinning all the way. So she’s a "gifted" child now, eh, he mused. Excellent. This actually could be the one thing that he could tease her about without the fear of his own death following shortly.

"Who was it?" Loony asked. He was using his spatula to scrape the burnt cinders off of the skillet.

"No one important."

Jim found himself alone in the work area, since Eskimo and Squallid had left to visit the Johnson firm, and Nevermore had gone to shadow them. Loony was currently cooking some more food, and Viper had agreed to go to the shops for supplies to replace those tainted by the miniature kitchen blaze.

Jim thought about his current situation. Eskimo was suing him, he hadn't had time to get any breakfast, he had to go to work in a few minutes, Tifa kept following him, Yud was almost certainly plotting his revenge, and there was nobody around to complain to about it. Jim sighed. I wonder what it would feel like to kill someone? he wondered. To take a human life? To destroy a soul? He stood suddenly up, and paced around the room. "I need to annoy someone with details of my problems, or I'll go insane..." he muttered.

As if on cue, the door opened. "Just caught the last post," said Rabid Chocobo, walking in from the coldish morning outside. "Hey, where is everybody?"

"Oh, here and there," said Jim, quietly. "There was a phone call for you. From your head."

She looked puzzled. "My head's been attached to my shoulders this whole time."

He stared back with quiet incomprehension for a moment, then shook his head. "Principal. Whatever. It was about the psycho exam thingo."

"Have the results come through? What did I get?"

Jim gazed at one of the posters on the wall, and leaned against a desk. "Nah, you wouldn't be interested."

She glared at him. "Tell me, Jim, or I'll..."

"Yes, all right, all right. Well, after a brief but amusing misunderstanding in which I told him that you'd said he should drown himself," - he surreptitiously watched her face for a reaction - "he told me."

"And..?" prompted Chocobo, once it became clear that the pause wasn't going to end.

He shifted his gaze from the side wall to the ceiling. "Well, let me put it this way. Would you say you have aspirations?"

"Only in the pollen season. What did he say!?"

Jim smirked. "You beat the system. They think you're a genius!"

She ignored his quiet sniggering. "Funny. Now what did he really say?"

"I'm not joking. They want you to go to a special school! For the gifted!"

"Really? If you're joking..."

"I'm not. Chokie is a genius. Let it be known."

"And they want me to... a school for the gifted? Wow."

"Yeah, I know. Hilarious, isn't it?" He noticed the look on her face, and stopped smiling. "Oh, come on now, you're not actually thinking of... you're not, are you?"

She stared into the middle distance. "Oh, I don't know... it's tempting..."

"But you can't... the only place they can mean is the Reggie Kray Academy! That's miles away! We'd have to..." He stopped abruptly, and shook his head. "No. No, I'm not getting involved. I have enough crises on my hands as it is. Let the others deal with it. I have to go to work. And then I have to help prepare our case. You just stay and bask in the glory." And so saying, he strolled out.

Chocobo sat down. Moments later, Viper walked in carrying two large plastic bags, with albumen slowly dripping from the left one. "What just happened?"

"What do you mean?" asked Chocobo. Deny everything, she decided.

Viper shrugged. "I just met Jim out in the street and he looked... well, he seemed a bit..." He searched for the right word. "Actually, he looked just like he always does," he admitted finally.

"Oh. I think something's broken in that bag."

"In what bag?" He looked down. "Oh, damn it! And on the carpet, too! Now someone'll have to clean it up."

"Did you get everything? Chips? Milk? Red meat? Glucose? Alcohol?"

"Mostly. Jim asked me not to buy any drink. He said Nevermore thinks more clearly when he's desperate."

"Breakfast's ready!" Loony shouted. "I know you'll all be hungry, so I made extra!" He walked in. Noticing the distinct lack of people in the room, his face fell. "Oh. By any chance, are you two both very, very hungry?"

Viper shook his head. "Ate while I was out."

"Likewise," said Chocobo.

"Well, what am I going to do with these omelets?" Loony didn't look pleased.

Viper considered this. "Well," he said, after some thought, "perhaps you could use them to mop up the spilled egg there in the corner."

Loony traipsed off again, carrying the omelets by his side. Chocobo sighed angrily. "This is pathetic. Nobody's here to do work! Where have they all gone?"

"Well, Eskimo and Squallid went to the legal company, Jim's gone to work, and I'm not sure where Yud, Nevermore or Edge have gone. Want me to round some of them up?"

"Good idea. I think I'll come too. That way we can cover more ground."

Loony appeared from nowhere. "I'll help you, Chokie!"

She shot him a look of death. "Correction. You'll help Viper."

"Let's go," said Viper, and the three left, leaving the house empty.

"First thing’s first," Viper said as Chocobo closed and locked the front door. "We have to think like them. Where would I be if I were Yud, Nevermore, and Edge?"

"Well…" Chocobo began, dropping the keys into pocket of her dark red shirt, "First, I’d go to the hospital and dish out thousands to have myself separated into three sentient different beings."

"That’s not what I meant," he snapped, annoyed.

She snickered, scratching the back of her neck. "I know, I know. Okay, we don’t have to worry as much about Nevermore, since it’s almost certain that he’ll be home for Tenchi on Cartoons Network." Pausing for a second, she added, "That guy’s addicted to those animated girls like my hamster’s addicted to crack."

"Say what?"

"Oh. Nothing."

"What about Yud and Edge?" Loony chimed in. "The both of them have been acting strange."

"Well, that’s what we’re going to do," said Viper. "This isn’t a big town, so we’ll split up. Chocobo, what street are you going to take?"

"I’ll take the one leading to the park and check out the comic stores and game shops there. Yuddy could be looking at one of those Bond movies. I think it’s called Ivan Street." She pointed in the direction left of her to punctuate her comment.

Loony was about to go with her, but declined after she glared at him. "Um, I’ll take Scott Avenue," he said. Her glare faded and she directed her attention to Viper, who nodded. Little did she know that Scott Avenue crossed into Ivan Street. With a little luck, he could "accidentally" catch up with her.

"Great. I’ll search the street leading to the mall and arcades. We’ll at Mackey’s Ice Cream parlor in five hours," Viper arranged. Looking down, he set the timer on his sports watch.

"So that would be…three o’ clock then?" Chocobo enquired, also setting the timer on her less-than-fancy watch.

They silently agreed and split up.

A few minutes into town, Chocobo’s mind began to muse. So they want to put me in a special school, she thought, remembering Jim’s words. Certainly sounds tempting. I wonder whether I should go. She arched her neck to look at the side of the building and saw that it was only a cat. She continued her thinking. I can finally get away from the losers in my class. I could actually get my masters degree and have letters after my name when I’m an adult. But then there was the thought of being teased and made fun of by the others. Those nerds have better be eye-catching, she thought glumly. I wonder if I can still turn back if I’ve already enrolled…

Stopping outside an electronics store, she looked in through the window. It wasn’t crowded, nor was it empty. It was just right for a person who was claustrophobic, which – in this case – was Chocobo. She opened the door and cringed mentally from the shrill ringing sound that emitted every time a customer set foot through the door.

The clerk was a pimply-skinned teenager with bad teeth and even worse eyes. The glasses he wore were thicker than hers and Jim’s combined. "Hello," he said in a monotonous voice. "How may I help you?"

"Um, have you seen an Asian man wearing a suit and tie come in here? He’s about yay tall and his eyes are kind of dilated and bloodshot."

The boy snorted. "Ma’am, we haven’t any customers today except for you and that dude over there with the white lab coat." He pointed a finger over to the rack in the corner marked "PlayStation Games : Clearance! 30% off!". She stepped over slightly and took a closer look. That man was none other than Otacon.

Oh, dammit. It’s Otacon. I can’t have him see me like this. My hair is a frickin’ mess. She mentally cursed some swearwords that would’ve made sailors turn in their grave, a few of which escaped her lips.

"Ma’am? Something the matter?"

"Oh. Nothing. Thanks." With that, she drew the hood of her coat farther over her head and walked quickly out the door. "Curse my luck. ^$%# curse my luck…"

Meanwhile, Loony was hurrying along on the streets in his usual happy-go-lucky and carefree manner. He entered almost every store and shop and asked for the name Edge and Yud, all of them shaking their head but most of them throwing him out violently.

"I guess they don’t like me in those AOV shops," he said to himself. The cold air bit at his nose and he wrapped his scarf up tighter. "Stupid weather. One day it’s hot and the next day it’s about to snow." As he quickened his pace, he did not see the bundled up moving figure in front of him. He slammed into the figure, sending the both of them down.

"Hey, watch out you old hag!" he yelled, rubbing his side. "Watch where’ your bloody going!"

"Who the hell are you calling an old hag?!"

"Chocobo?!! I mean, I’m sorry. It was all my fault! I swear! Heh … please?"

"Never mind," she snorted. She shoved him off of her and sat up. "What the hell are you doing here? You said you were taking Scott Avenue." She dusted the grime off of her coat and pulled up her hood.

"I was. It just crosses this street, that’s all," he answered, praying to god and back that she’d buy his excuse.

"Oh. I see." She could tell that he purposely set this up, but made no comment of it. "Forget it. Just…trail along and help me find those two."

"Okay!" he said, trying to best not to sound excited. The mere presence of her was overwhelming for the puberty-stricken boy. The walked together in silence, neither of them making even an eye contact. "So…a penny for your thoughts?"

She sighed, frustrated, and walked a few steps quicker. As she crossed a local tavern, a drunken man staggered out and slammed into her, though it felt like as if he flew. "Dammit, watch where you’re going!"

"Uuiepwr…" he muttered, looking up and grinning stupidly. Suddenly, he clutched at his shoulder and yelled something that sounded more mockingly than urgent. "Ow! My shoulder hurts ‘cause you bumped into me." Looking up, he grinned a semi-toothless grin at her. "How ‘bout buying me a drink?"

"Screw you." She backed off and began walking away, but he clung to her leg and ankle.

"Come on, lady. Just one frickin’ drink."

"No! Let go!" yelled Chocobo as she tried to pull her leg from his grasp. Drunken as he was, his grip was still strong and stubborn. "Loony, grab something and help me pry him off." By now, most of the passing crowed were stopping to watch the strange spectacle.

"Lady, please? Just one little itty bitty drink?" He let out a belch that made her cringe and shudder.

I really wish I’d brought my axe and brick. Frustrated, she lashed out with her other foot and punted his head like a football.

"Aaah!!" he screamed, falling back and claming his hands over the injured spot. "You kicked me, you little %#$$@!!"

"Loo’, run for it!" Chocobo yelled. The two took off at full speed down the street as the now-sober man screamed obscenities and nursed his injury.

The Johnson law firm was based in quite an impressive building. What it lacked in height, it made up in shininess. From the other end of the road, it looked rather like a bad lens flare effect. Closer to, it was just possible to squint at the sign at the top of the five-story construction. A man on a moving platform was working on the sign. The number of Johnsons in the firm tended to fluctuate regularly as a result of family feuds and arguments.

Nevermore stared up at the platform, shielding his eyes from the reflection. He had no idea how it was possible for a building to reflect more light than was available. The platform was the same as one a window cleaner might use when working on a skyscraper. Unfortunately, it seemed the controls must be on the platform itself. He would have to find another way in. Eskimo and Squallid had gone in a few minutes earlier, and he needed to catch up with them. The only apparent entrance was through the front door. Looks like I'll need my cat-like agility and cunning, Nevermore thought, and then wondered why.

The reception was like the inside of a subterranean cavern. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised that it wasn't in fact dark at all. It was just the effect of the sudden contrast from the brightness of the building's exterior. He wondered what to say to the receptionist, who was currently staring at him as if he was a mouse in her sandwich. "Can I help you?" she asked, in an unhelpful tone of voice.

Nevermore smiled amiably. "Hello, I'm looking for two colleagues of mine." Taking a gamble, he added, "I believe they're speaking to Mr. Fadanoid."

She glanced down at the reams of paper on her desk. "Nobody's with Mr. Fadanoid right now, Mr..?"

Damn! "Tsunovabich. Sorry to have bothered you." He turned to leave, but dived behind a small yucca plant when she stopped looking. Now he faced a dilemma. There were three doors leading out of the reception, not counting the main entrance, and after he decided which one to use he would then have to use it without being spotted. I need a miracle, he thought, and waited hopefully for a few moments, but clearly none was forthcoming. He was on his own.

The receptionist continued to study her munitions magazine. After a couple of minutes she became distracted by the sound of a flying yucca destroying the replica Dali on the left wall. She turned instinctively to look at it, and so failed to notice Nevermore quietly entering the opposite door. After studying the mess of soil and pressed wood pulp for a while, the receptionist returned to her reading, safe in the knowledge that it was someone else's problem.

Nevermore studied the doors in the corridor. Either the receptionist had been lying, or he had quite a search on his hands. Footsteps at the other end of the corridor signaled another presence. There was nowhere to hide, so Nevermore strode along purposefully. The other occupant of the corridor turned out to be a rather pitifully thin young lawyer.

"Hi there," smiled Nevermore.

"Oh...hi," she responded, surprised. "What can I do for you?"

Nevermore turned the charisma up to eleven. "Well, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm late for an appointment. Do you know where the client in the O'Donnell's case is?"

She thought for a moment. "Oh, I think I know the ones you mean. They're meeting in the Pol Pot Suite. That's up on the top floor. There's an elevator just around the corner."

"Thanks," said Nevermore, and continued down the corridor, trying to shake the idea that he'd seen her somewhere before.

The top floor was more plush than the ground floor. The front windows of the building lined this corridor, and he could see the worker's platform over to one side. A brief search revealed the Pol Pot Suite, and he wondered how he could eavesdrop on the proceedings without being noticed.

Inside the suite, Eskimo and Squallid were sitting opposite Adrian Fadanoid and Herbaceous Johnson, one of the senior partners of the firm. The Pol Pot Suite was the nicest room in the building. The carpet was so deep-pile that short people got lost in it, and the seats and cushions were lined with the finest chinchilla hide. Oddly, a painting on the back wall looked rather like a portrait of Mechninja.

Herb Johnson leaned forward in his seat. He was a middle-aged man with startling hair, which looked like it had been carved out of marble. He wore a suit and tie, as did Fadanoid. The other two were dressed in their usual rags. "Now, we need to discuss the circumstances which lead to this lawsuit, Mr. Eskimo," said Johnson. "Clearly you have been through a lot of physical and emotional trauma..."

"No, I'm feeling okay," said Eskimo brightly, "but thanks for your concern."

There was a very awkward silence.

"Oh, sorry!" Eskimo said eventually. "I got confused. No, I don't think I'll ever recover from the trauma, actually."

"That's better," muttered Fadanoid.

"So, if you could just tell us in your own words what happened..."

"Did you just hear..?" began Fadanoid, but cut himself off. He'd thought for a moment that he'd heard the quiet swearing of somebody realising they were stuck in the air vent, but that was so unlikely as to be practically impossible, so he kept quiet about it.

"Well, I went into O'Donnell's, the fast food store, and bought an O'Burger burger from said fast food store. When I bit into said burger from said fast food store, I was burned by the unprecedented levels of thermal energy therein. Upon which the aforementioned trauma you mentioned occurred. The staff were kind enough to call me an ambulance."

"So they added insult to injury!" said Squallid.

Eskimo glanced at him distractedly. "No, they summoned an ambulance, they didn't actually tell me I was an ambulance. However, their failure to warn me of the possibility that I might injure myself on their food was surely the deciding factor in this incident."

"Who's in the painting?" asked Squallid.

Johnson looked annoyed, but answered him. "That's Bock Johnson. He founded this firm in 1837. Back then it was just an illegal gambling den, but we owe our massive success to him."

"Looks familiar," said Eskimo.

"No, you're imagining that," Johnson said quickly. "Nobody else looks like that."

"Nobody we'd care to acknowledge, anyway," added Fadanoid, and cringed from Johnson's stare.

"Enough time-wasting. We need to discuss fees. In a case like this, we would expect a percentage of the money you recieve..."

"Fine by me," said Eskimo. "Take as much as you want." It's not as if we can win the case, he thought to himsel