The starship Throat-Ripper casts itself into orbit around the small blue planet. Aboard its bridge, warlord Zug Rogar peers balefully, and turns to the figure at his side. "You say their defenses are nothing?"

The other nods, "When they behold the mighty weapons you bring, they will crawl on their bellies and surrender."

Zug Rogar allows a snarl to escape from his lips. "You would betray your own planet, Azeban?"

Azeban chuckles, "I have my own reasons."

Zug Rogar nods. "Nevertheless, I know they have sent numerous expeditions to assist the Rannians. I will send two of my new recruits down with you to explore their defenses, and I will plan accordingly."

Azeban bows his head low, "As you command, warlord of the B'au W'au."

The Tarantula and Goody Rickels share a serif of grape juice as the latter fine-tunes the Galaxy Broadcasting System's field monitors.

The Tarantula sips the juice from its plastic cup, his pinky extended. "A wonderful veenteege," he asserts.

Goody Rickels looks up at his exceedingly Gallic companion. "Mm hmm," he mutters vaguely, taking a sip himself as he returns to the monitors. "Hmm," he says again, this time more querulously.

"What ees eet?"

"Hmm ... eh?" Goody Rickels scratches his forehead. "It looks like some sort of alien presence, not that far from here ... doesn't appear to fit any of the existing profiles."

The Tarantula quickly places his cup on the tabletop, and leaps to his feet. "A first contact!" He grabs Goody Rickels by the arm, "We must go to represent Earth, and meet ze beautiful alien women!"

Goody Rickels blinks. "Hey wait, they might be dangerous. What if this is the beginning of an invasion force? I think I ought to summon the other ... urk!" He is pulled to his feet by his partner who promptly encases the science advisor's wrist in two of his artificial arms.

"No time! Off to ze Tarantula-Mobile!"

The shuttle lands, otherwise undetected, in the Abandoned Warehouse District. Azeban looks out the window and turns to his allies, "Are you sure you want to join this battle? After all, you are not native B'au W'au."

The first of his companions nods. "We must make a name for ourselves in the galaxy as something other than the Space Canine Patrol Agent Rejects," says Catdog. "Hoodoo Hound and I had no luck in our call to form a Space Canine Substitute Agency, but then we were offered a chance to prove ourselves here, and we mean to do just that." His tail twitches wildly.

"Zug Rogar's plan seems to have worked well ... here come the cowboys, just like in the old days." They watch as the Tarantula-Mobile advances on the craft.

The Tarantula exits his vehicle. "I am ready for ze alien hordes," he says, "let zem come out to do zere worst!"

Goody Rickels cowers behind his ally. "I hope zat ... er, that web gun I made for you is cleaned and fully loaded, is all."

The shuttle bay door opens, and they see what appears to be a housecat descend from the craft. Goody Rickels steps up, "It looks like I can handle this one." He leans down and snaps his finger several times, "Here, kitty kitty kitty."

The cat pads up to the human, and athletically bounds up his arm onto his shoulders. Goody Rickels barely has time to react when the creature morphs into an angry dog, and attempts to tear at his throat. "Acgk! Help!"

"Never fear," says the Tarantula as he fires strings of fast-hardening nylon from his web-gun at Catdog. As he does so, Hoodoo Hound steps forward, his 'evil eye' causing the web to scatter chaotically.

"Fear? I fear getting my throat ripped out a lot more than I fear fear itself!" Goody Rickels struggles frantically with Catdog until the Tarantula approaches, seizing the animal within his auxiliary tarantula-arms and tossing it at Hoodoo Hound. The two animals roll into a pile and then run back with their tails between their legs. Goody Rickels gasps and struggles to his feet.

Azeban peers at his allies, "That didn't last very long."

Catdog says, "What're we going to do? We can't report back to the warlord that we were defeated so easily!"

Azeban hops off his control chair and pads over to Hoodoo Hound. "Your evil eye couldn't do any good?"

Hoodoo Hound lowers her head, ears flattened back. "I ... sometimes it's more bark than bite."

Azaban nods, "I think I can help you with that. All you need is proper motivation." As he whispers in Hoodoo Hound's ear, his fur crackles with ancient magic, as he augments the other canine's hex power with his own. "After all, you can't let them get away with this. They're the ones who took your puppies."

Hoodoo Hound blinks. "Puppies? I ... I don't have any puppies ... "

Azeban whispers, "That's what they want you to think. They made you forget, because they hated the fact that you had parented them with a toaster. And then they took the toaster away, too ... "

Hoodoo Hound's evil eye crackles with energy, "Those ... those curs!" She runs out of the ship, focuses her evil eye on the pair, and blasts them with a reality-warping chaos hex.

House of D part one: The Tag of the Tarantula.

Clouds like plugs of bloodied cotton wool dab ineffectually at the slashed wrists of the sky. The Tarantula peers at the dapperly dressed man before him. The beams of the setting sun shine through the window, glistening on his carapace like the promise of a miracle. "I deed not think ze San Francisco Board of Supervisors would have an eentrest in zees case."

Harvey Milk smiles at him, eyes glinting like sapphires. "Just read on, guv," he says in his Cockney accent. His eyes range over the beautiful form of the hero before him as he roguishly strikes a match against the man's exoskeleton, lighting a cigarillo. "You saved me from assassination; I guess that means we're going out. It's the least I could do."

The Tarantula begins to read through the dentist's files, and what he sees turns his blood cold. He learns how his past had been a lie, how his adventures were all hallucinations he had undergone while under dental surgery ... and how the dentist in the question was the man he'd believed to be his deadliest foe, Dr. Cy Klopps.

"Klopps!" the man screams in fury, knocking the filing cabinet over and spilling the papers across the floor.

House of D part two: Return of the Fat Knight

Goody Rickels stands, holding the body of his kid sidekick, Potato-Head Boy. "Good soldier," he says, soothing the lad in his final moments. "Good soldier."

He stands, confronting the canine leader of the Mutants. The leader morphs into a feral cat, and leaps at the Fat Knight, claws sinking into his leg.

Claws ... piercing flesh ... he thinks to himself. Blood ... welling. Must ... fight on.

The man snarls, tearing the cat off and flinging it away, though it lands on its feet and begins to yowl angrily.

Goody Rickels unhooks an empty can from his utility belt and throws it at the cat, which scatters. Rubber can, he thinks to noone in particular. Really.

Catdog becomes a canine again, and leaps at the man's throat. This would be a good day to die, he thinks to himself.

House of D part three: Tarantula Times Three

The man in the hooded black cloak curses as he fires his webgun at the rooftop of a nearby building, propelling himself upwards. "You think you can defeat the Tarantula so easily?"

"Who better?" John Law follows, his own webgun racing after his opponent.

"Zees ees a trap from which you shall nevair escape," insists Joseph Levitch as he follows suit, his artificial arms propelling him quickly up his spider's line.

As the trio arises on the rooftop, Roger Crossart backs away slowly, his webgun pointed at first one opponent, then the other. The pair of Tarantulas advance on the third. "Best to surrendair now," says the younger man.

The older man nods, "What compelled you folks to attack both our teams simultaneously is beyond me ... did you really think you could possibly defeat us?"

"Don't underestimate the Syndicate," Crossart says as lunges backwards off the roof, simultaneously firing his line at the rooftop ledge to control his fall. The Gallic hero grabs hold of the line, his powerful muscles pulling the villain upwards, even as the writerly mysteryman encases the criminal in a fast-hardening nylon web.

As he is pulled up, John Law says to his concealed face, "Enough. We've won."

"You're wrong," Crossart grins beneath his hood. "Volthoom!" And with that word he vanishes, leaving the web casing to collapse to the ground.

"Sacre bleu!" blurts Levitch as he kneels to examine the casing.

John Law shakes his head, "What could he have meant by that?" Then he squints, as he looks skyward. "Joseph, we've been teaming up annually for years now ... have you ever seen anything like that?"

And the skies turn red as blood ...

"Blech to Lawrence Welk!" Goody Rickels and the Tarantula blink, confused, as reality snaps back into focus, the reality-impinging fantasies interrupted by the enigmatic battle-cry. Before them, holding up Hoodoo Hound by the scruff of his neck, is the former Tadwallader Jutefruce, also known as Super-Hip. "Bad dog!" he says as he shakes the animal. "Bad dog!" He tosses the animal back into the shuttle, and prepares to race into the vehicle to follow, but the door closes in his face, and then it takes off into the starry night.

Zug Rogar howls as he hears the team's report. "Return to G'Newt," he says to his pilot. "We must answer to The Leader. If we are lucky, he will not skin us all alive."

Catdog's mouth falls open in shock as he sees the starship Throat-Ripper ascends into hyperdrive. He turns to Azeban, "He's stranded us!"

Azeban nods, "Of course. You couldn't really have expected to succeed in this mission; Earth is loaded with special talents."

Hoodoo Hound says, "Then ... then why did you cooperate with the B'au W'au in the first place?"

Azeban stretches out aboard the shuttle floor. "I liked their food. It was something to do."

Hoodoo Hound says, "But we're stranded now. What're we going to do?"

Azeban grins toothily, his ancient eyes sparkling. "I'll think of something."