Never before had the students of Hollywood Arts been so wracked with tragedy. In the space of a few short days, Tori had suffered a nasty breakup, and then been arrested after she chased her two-timing ex through the streets brandishing a baseball bat; Andre's beloved grandmother had been killed in a plane crash in the Amazon, resurrected as the leader of a zombie army, then hit by a freight train; Jade's parents had caught her and Beck in flagrante delicto, and were threatening to ship her off to a convent in the mountains of Albania. The gang gathered in the Vegas' living room to commiserate.

"So, we were evicted from our house," Cat was saying, "but it's all going to be okay, because we're sleeping in my dad's car! At least, for as long as he can make the payments."

"You think you've got it bad?" said Robbie. "Rex has come down with leprosy! Just look!" He held up the hole-ridden dummy.

"That's termites, you nitwit, not leprosy," Jade shot back. "It's. Just. A. Puppet."

"Liar! LIAR!" He shrieked.

A weary Tori closed her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples. "I swear, sometimes it feels like we're all nothing more than puppets, whose strings are being pulled by some malevolent force more powerful than we can conceive."

A disembodied voice came from the air. "That, my dear, is because you are."

Everyone, even Jade, screamed in terror. "What are you?" shouted Beck. "A ghost? A demon? Answer us, for heaven's sake!"

"Oh, I'm far, far worse than any ghost or demon," said the chuckling voice. "I am…your AUTHOR!"

"Our what?" said Tori.

"Hey, I get it!" piped up Cat. "We're all characters in a work of fiction, and you're manipulating us for your own amusement! Tee hee hee!"

"Why, yes, my little cuckoo redhead," the voice answered. "Evidently your ditziness allows you to see the fourth wall that separates us."

"So…you're like God, then?" Robbie said slowly, the idea seemingly unfathomable to him.

"Well, if God were unemployed and still lived in his parents' basement at age 35, then yes."

"But why are you doing this to us?" cried Andre. "Can't you just let us be happy?"

"What, you want a warm and fuzzy fic? Psssh. Forget it! It's much more cathartic to torture you this way – it makes me forget the total emptiness of my own existence!"

"All right, I've had just about enough of this-" Jade threw a punch at the unseen voice, but struck only air.

"Oh, don't be silly, my little pseudo-Goth-you can't touch me! You and I are on entirely different ontological planes! You might as well expect Othello to bloody Shakespeare's nose!"

She continued to punch the air, with increasing desperation. The voice ignored her futile efforts. "Hmmm…what misery shall I inflict upon you next? Perhaps have Sikowitz captured by Somali pirates? Or fill Tori with an uncontrollable urge to dump baked beans on her head? The possibilities are endless!" It giggled with a maniacal glee that would put Vincent Price to shame.

At last, Jade collapsed on the couch, exhausted. "Okay then. Obviously I can't beat you down, so there's only one way left to stop you. We'll just have to do the one thing that a good fanfic writer must never, ever permit – go completely out of character!"

"No! You mustn't! Anything but that!"

Beck slumped on the couch, a bottle of beer in his hand, his hair disheveled and his gut protruding alarmingly. "Don't people just, you know, suck? I wish everybody would just crawl in a ditch and die. BUUUURRRRP!"

Andre shoved his keyboard aside. "Songwriting? What kind of a pansy-ass career is that? I'm going to run for Congress! And I'll take money from every single lobbyist and special-interest group I can find in the process!"

Cat, her brow furrowed, was deep in thought. "You know, it's awfully difficult to be cheerful when you consider the ineluctable march of entropy and the fragility of human life. What else are we but mere sand, waiting to be blown away by a capricious gust of wind?"

Trina came down the stairs. She wore sackcloth and ashes, and her face was lighted by a beatific smile. "Well, I've finished my daily self-abasement ritual. Time to go feed those starving orphans in the Calcutta slums!"

"And I'd better attend to my harem of supermodels," said a suddenly tuxedo-clad Robbie, in the deepest, most suave voice he could manage. "They do get so very lonely when I leave for more than ten minutes."

"Stop it, stop it!" cried the author. "You're ruining everything!"

"Oh, you want us to stop, do you?" Jade's voice dripped with contempt. "Fine. Put everything right again!"

"I refuse to succumb to extortion from my own characters!"

She shrugged. "Have it your way. So, has anybody heard from Sinjin lately?"

"He's still a dashing international superspy, so far as I know," replied Tori.

"Sigh…all right. You win." The disembodied voice was exhausted and broken.

In a flash, Rex was whole again. Andre's grandmother was restored to life, hale, hearty, and deranged as ever. Mr. and Mrs. West conveniently "forgot" their daughter's indiscretions; Cat reclaimed her home, and Tori's police record was wiped clean. All, in a nutshell, was right with the world once more.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," said the author, "I'm going to go curl up in a fetal position in the corner and weep softly." His voice faded into nothingness.

"Don't you guys feel just a little bad for him?" said Tori.

"Oh, can it, Vega! It's not our fault he's a loser." Jade bent over her PearPad.

"I know, but he sounds so sad. Maybe we could throw a party to cheer him up, or…" Without thinking, Tori walked to the stove and poured a steaming pot of baked beans on her head. "Hey! Author guy! I thought you promised to leave us alone!"

A slow chuckle arose – not from the heavens, but from the other corner of the room. Tori turned slowly, her face darkening. "…Jade? Are you writing nasty fanfics of me now?"

Typing furiously, Jade made no reply, save for a wicked, wicked grin.