Freddie is lying on the floor of the janitor's closet, clutching his stomach, groaning in pain.

Carly, who had been keeping guard outside the door, peeks in to check on them upon hearing the noise.

"Sam! What did you do to Freddie?!" she accuses, pointing her right index finger at the blonde.

"Chill, it really wasn't me this time. The box with the shirts in it is protected by some type of pain-inflicting shield spell."

"Oh great, now Mary Sue is a witch too? She doesn't even carry around a broomstick or wand. How rude!"

The injured boy makes a full recovery and returns to his feet.

"Her forces are too strong. We must find another way to penetrate Mary's success bubble."

"Too bad it isn't made of bubble gum or I could just chew my way through it," Sam whines.

The three web stars stay hidden in the closet for the remainder of the school day, failing to find a clearing to scurry out. By the time the last bell rings, they are asleep on the floor and fail to hear the twisting of the door knob.

Mary Sue snickers to herself as she finds her favorite "puppets" set up perfectly for manipulation.

"What's wrong with people these days? I hardly have to work for anything anymore. Where's the fun in that?"

Carly's eyes slowly start to open, coming into focus in the direction of the spy.

"Mary...?"

A smirk appears on the face of the terrorist.

"I see you've made an unfortunate misjudgment. I have friends in high places, and they've got all the power necessary to defend something as petty as the theft you three were plotting."

Carly stands up and sweeps the dirt off her clothing.

"The only pre-plotted crime here is that we've wasted so much time focusing the story on this wimpy battle against you. It's a bore when you come through wearing a name tag and showing off your perfection so bluntly. You, Mary Sue, are a fake. For the character that truly holds that title never speaks their true name and their identity's only implied for the observant ones."

"Mary Sue's" body starts to give off smoke, starting from her toes and working its way up to the tips of her hair follicles.

"Om Nom Pomegranate! Your words have burned me! Curse you for being so smart! I was the anti-Mary, and as you have discovered, this leaves the real Mary Sue still to come. Getting rid of her will not be so easy as getting rid of me, so prepare for a battle, Miss Carly Shay..."

The being evaporates into the produced smoke as Carly's two sidekicks awake in the background.

"What the..." they both question in unison, looking to Carly for an explanation.

"We've all been tricked. This whole time it was the wimpy anti-Mary causing chaos."

"Well hit me with a car and call me pancake batter...she had me thinkin' she was the real chiz."

"Guess it's time to return to the fanfiction campfire and listen to the storytellers until the next Mary Sue comes around," Freddie leads, beginning to snap his fingers to the tune of Mary Had A Little Lamb to teleport them to the campground.

They arrive just in time to hear a new story begin. Carly peeks to her left at Sam and gives a disapproving glare.

"Psst, you can't listen to your Pearpod right now! We need all six of our ears to pick up on leads."

"Relax. It's not turned on. Ya know I have a low tolerance for the stories where one of us dates Freddie and the other is suddenly jealous. None of those ever have Mary Sues because they're too busy messin' the three o' us up..."

"That's not fair. If Sam gets to tune stuff out then so should I," Freddie complains.

"Do you guys want to destroy Mary Sue once and for all, or what?"

"I could just go study hacking and computer programming until I find a way to design a button that finds and sabotages her for us," Freddie insists.

"What a fluffernutter. The net of fanfiction has no shortcuts. One by one is all the search power there is."

"Okay, we can officially stop listening to this one. I was cool with Mrs. Benson chaperoning a trip to the beach until she started getting chased by a kangaroo with a power saw because she was checking out the lifeguard that was born with an unusual stomach pouch."

"Who comes up with this chiz?"

"Only the knockiest of hobs."

"Don't you mean the hobbiest of knobs?"

"Whatever."