A/N - More clues as to the identity of the Overlord. Any further guesses? Remember, he's canon!

...

John's head pounded exponentially worse as he slowly and very reluctantly came to, wishing he could have stayed out of it and thus blissfully ignorant of his latest predicament, which naturally sucked ass as usual. He tried to reconnect with a great dream he'd just been having about making love to... to… Tey - no, Eliz – No, no, no – Lah - Lahrrr – shame, but no. Mar-Mara? Shame, but yeah. Sooo… NNN…Nuh- Nuhn – Nuhnuhnuhnan -Nan- Nancy? His… oh, God, who was she to him? Then he remembered. He really had been married once. He hadn't made that up. But… to whom? Which one? An admixture of beautiful faces and curvaceous bodies danced suggestively about his fragmented memory, constantly reconfiguring themselves to come up with his type. His dream woman. He wasn't sure if a single one of them was real or just some amalgamation of perfect womanhood. Someone he could return to. Someone who missed him. Damn!

Okay, exiting Cloud Cuckooland and back to The Real World via Lalaland and Oz. Next stop.

He felt himself being manhandled. Restrained. Not that they were any of them men to actually manhandle him so far as he could remember, but hey. Semantics. Bottom line, he was being jerked around. Dragged. Same old. He wondered when he would ever be able or allowed to get around anywhere under his own steam ever again.

He could feel his feet and knees and even his nose and forehead scraping against a concrete floor as two… two… whateverthefucktheyweres tugged him along by his arms like he was some old suitcase with about the same motor skills and sentience as one. He couldn't even squirm away, though he tried. What the -? Oh yeah. Now he remembered. Those Pegasus Galaxy zip ties around his elbows and wrists.

No worming his way out of those.

Seemed they'd added handles to 'em.

Made the zip ties more user friendly.

Jeez.

He fought to keep his face off the floor, but his neck refused to fully co-operate. Just to add to the fun and games his head also seemed to be swaying loosely from side to side when it wasn't scrubbing concrete. He could feel the ache and burn in his neck as muscles and sinews strove to keep his face from receiving irreparable damage. He reckoned his nose and forehead and chin were beyond grazed by now, if the receding snail trail of blood and snot was anything to go by.

At this angle or orientation or what-have-you, he should have been making love to her. Though she would never have wanted him trussed like this, nor he her. He'd loved her. Another memory. They were few and far between and pretty much random but he would take what he could get, especially the good ones. Those were aiding in his recall. Still those curves morphed in and out from one striking, voluptuous woman to another. He took note that they all had one thing in common. Great boobs. John rolled his eyes. Yep, he was a boobs man all right. Li'l Shep and The Boys were currently attesting to that big time. He needed to distract himself. Like that would be hard. He reluctantly focused on the pain instead.

The skin between his shoulder blades felt puckered, taut and more than a little numb. Still prone, still trussed, and yeah, incapacitated, John tried to rotate his shoulders to no avail. He flexed his fingers, clenched and unclenched his fists to try to get some feeling back into his arms even on the move like this. His neck was killing him by now as he fought to protect his face, and the pain launched endless sneak attacks on his shoulders and back. He bucked and jack-knifed once or twice, and shimmied just a little to get some feeling back in his extremities. He received a short sharp smack across his left temple for his efforts, which of course slammed his right temple right into the floor.

John felt his vision gray at the edges even as he was still reliving that dawn yearning for someone long gone from him. Good thing that part of his steadily awakening if not twitching anatomy wasn't free to trail the floor else he'd've scored a groove in it. Thankfully they weren't dragging him around in circles, otherwise he'd be going round and round right now like a stylus on a record on his mom's or maybe his maternal grandma's old record player.

Down, boy! Down! G-Good b-boy…

"Be still!" John knew of course they didn't mean Li'l Shep. One let go of his luggage handles causing the other to drop him. John groaned, and writhed on the spot as he connected bodily with the floor none too gently. He guessed he wasn't still enough. He stole a glance at them in time to see a booted foot about to stamp on his head, and that was when gray became black.

When he next came to, his orientation and position in relation to the steadily moving floor let him know he was still being dragged along but at least his treacherous body was no longer attempting to do the stylus thing. Thankfully his ardor was spent, though he felt a little frustrated at that. John wondered if Purgatory might be a real place after all. Unrequited lust had no place in Paradise. When he next lifted his head, blood from his scraped forehead trickled into his eyes and mouth. John blinked rapidly to clear it, and licked his lips. Yep, blood not sweat. He spit it out onto the floor, adding a decorative spatter effect to the snail trail.

The lack of discomfort in his limp legs and trailing feet let him know they'd fared a little better than he usually expected in this type of situation as they were covered for a change. Li'l Shep remained cooperatively limp. He suspected none of that would last long. Bad guys had a habit of stripping you, making you feel vulnerable, taking away any last vestiges of your identity, and even molesting you in an effort to get a rise from you both literally and metaphorically. Not that he had any identification per se, no – dog tags! – what the fuck?! - but at least he had some sense now of who he had once been, and that man was clearly a soldier, a damn fine one at that, he reckoned. Maybe even one worthy of being a buddy to someone or several someones way back when.

He already knew he hadn't been born a slave. He was John and apparently he was once a colonel. Okay, he'd at least reached the rank of major. He reluctantly recalled how he'd been captured as an enemy soldier and an infidel, and had been dragged along like a kit bag then pitched into a sweltering tent. Pretty much like what was happening to him right now.

Those bastards had molested him and tortured him. For weeks on end. He'd been expected to do someone's bidding in more ways than one, but he never gave in to their demands despite what they did to him. They even tried to 'coerce' him to make a video tape decrying the West. He'd held out despite being threatened with a beheading which happily never came to fruition thanks to being rescued in time else he wouldn't be around to tell the tale, though the beatings had been brutal, and his ordeal was all caught on tape. Said tapes were subsequently handed over to 'objective' Western reporters. The wobbly, handheld camera footage never aired States-side, ending up being confiscated and classified, so barely anyone he knew ever found out what really went down during his captivity unless they happened to be on a roots tour of Europe at the time and happened to tune in. And that was a good thing. He remembered breathing a sigh of relief at that. Torture he could take. Shame and humiliation, no. So he'd been rescued back then. Given what it took to extract him, he sure as heck couldn't give in now.

His feet were still zip-tied together. He could feel something sharp digging in around his ankles, chafing them. The socks they'd given him were sports socks. They rode low. Didn't give his heels and ankles any defense against zip ties, but at least he could feel his feet. The zip ties crossed his ankles just above the sock cuff, of that he was certain judging by the stinging sensation and pressure on his Achilles tendons. He didn't need them to be sliced and diced if he ever wanted to be able to walk again. Under his own steam. Some day. Real soon. Huh.

It was probably a good thing his head was bowed - okay, trailing the floor, analyzing it up close and personal and leaving his own forensic evidence (in the form of spit and blood and snot) of having passed by this way at least once - since he could feel his face had flushed with shame at his little outburst just before they whacked him into oblivion. His eyes stung and watered, and his nose was blocked. Had he been crying? Was he crying right now? Chances were.

Although he couldn't wipe any tears away, he hoped they'd at least dry on his face without leaving telltale tracks. Fat chance. He imagined his face streaked with red as blood and tears raced down his cheeks, veered around his nose, and hurtled towards the playing chicken drop-off aka his chin. So obvious then that he'd been crying. John felt himself hyperventilate. Crying was a dead giveaway as to his current state of mind. It also showed weakness. His breathing became too rapid for comfort.

Comfort? What was that? Huh? Right up there with healing and respect and maybe even love. So, right up there. 'Up' being the operative word. Well, he was right down here. The distance between up there and down here was too great by far. It was a vast, deep pit, and John didn't have a metaphorical handy dandy rope ladder with which to extricate himself. He imagined his team dropping a rope ladder down to him. Because they cared. Maybe even loved him. Once upon a time.

John, we have you! Climb up! If you cannot climb, we will come down there. For you! cried the harlequin.

He reached up a shaky hand.

Not!

You are nothing but a scarecrow in winter, John! declared the tramp. That means useless!

In! Win! Ter! added the whiteface like he had nothing original or clever to say.

The three of 'em grinned at him as they jerked the rope ladder a few times, making sure it was out of reach each time he snatched at it until he finally realized it wasn't worth the agony of hope. They all belly laughed, and slapped each other on the back even as John suppressed a squeal of misery. John stared up at them in defiance, stood four-square, hands on hips, though he couldn't stop himself from tearing up.

He received another smack-down for having the audacity to lift his head. He scrambled to get his own feet under him. That just elicited kicks to his thighs, calves and ankles. He conceded defeat, and sank into their grasp, letting them drag him. He reckoned he should learn to pick his battles. He kept his fat blab shut because he knew once he opened it he would be goading the bad guys in an instant and there'd be no stopping him. Plus he needed to retain whatever energy he held in reserve for whatever was about to go down.

John flexed his hands to get some feeling back into them. Since his body was being controlled, subdued and beaten, John allowed his mind free rein. He gave into further pondering. Like he always did in these situations. Now that was a sad thought.

It had been torture, pure and simple, and John had fallen for it. Because it was psychological and not physical, John had caved, not recognizing it for what it was. What, he was some kind of rookie at this? He knew how to play the game! If his mind didn't, then his body did. Had to. It had to!

The Overlord had shown him the jumper to test his resolve. Okay, torture him. Why not tell it like it was? Oh, God, how it had hurt him to his core to be that close to a jumper, and not be able to fly her. It was his ship. His! They were all his one way or another! His and no-one else's! John felt his guts twist as he relived that recent memory.

He'd've flown that fucking, conniving bastard Overlord anywhere he wanted to go. What was with him? He'd been tortured by professionals. Heck, even as part of his on the job learning curve. And latterly – pretty much just because. Then again, maybe he would have been able to set the jumper on auto pilot, then launch an attack on the Overlord and his cronies, unless, of course, they'd thought to cuff him to the controls. Or duct tape him. Duct tape? What the fuck? Where did he dredge up that crazy idea from? He remembered finding duct tape in his downed jumper. Someone had done that to him. Years ago. It was partly why he was in the mess he was right now, and right now he didn't get why the sonofabitch hadn't just taken him up on the offer of flying him anywhere he wanted to go unless it was all down to mind games.

Though flying a puddle jumper was nothing compared to –

…to…

...to?

Activating Andromeda!

No!

John's stomach turned, and not from his probable latest concussion. His emotions were shot to hell. The Overlord and his cronies had both subdued him and riled him up big time. Who knew what conflicting chemicals and hormones were coursing through his body right now?

He managed to raise his head long enough to anticipate becoming physically acquainted with a column of water with no fucking fish swimming in it to speak of as they slammed his right shoulder into it probably just for fun like he was a human battering ram. In an abortive endeavor to distract himself from how his shoulder now hurt like fuck, wondering if he'd dislocated something, he thought long and hard about his new pal the column as opposed to thinking about boobs. There wasn't even a single, solitary floater. Just some algae. The water was still and greenish. Stagnant, not blue and bubbling. Like… it should be? On… Atlantis? Anyways, a restaurant lobster tank this wasn't. There were decorative plant pots here and there filled with dead plants, all shriveled up like they'd been around a real long time.

Ten thousand years give or take?

It was like the place was useless, had lost its purpose. He guessed this was where he came in.

They hauled him up a broad flight of stairs. The control room?

Oh, please, no! I can't do this! John scrunched his eyes shut. Yeah, he was doing the ostrich thing. Sticking his head down a proverbial hole. Fat lot of use that was, but he couldn't help himself.

John drew in several heaving breaths as best he could while still doing the luggage thing alongside the ostrich thing but no longer the stylus thing. He knew he could trust himself this time. The Overlord had made a big mistake showing him his one weakness, whereupon he could now steel himself, focus all his remaining energy into continuing to steel himself. Keep on keeping on. The joke was on the Overlord as John didn't belong in this decrepit old bat of a city any more than his captor did, so perhaps he could resist her. Resist him. Activating Andromeda was not high on his to-do list. Not until after he got home, and could return with back-up. And he now knew home was Atlantis. She was a babe compared to Andromeda.

Torrell had done him a favor by calling him a dumb, stupid trusting Atlantian. That'd clued him in to his origins. Maybe he would find his brother after all. Or at least find out what happened to him. Maybe he could even go after him. Set him free. And then there was his team to confront. Find out why they did what they did, though he seemed to remember it was about the boy.

What boy? Why? Yeah, it was about the boy not about a boy. But what fucking boy?!

Some pathetic scrap of humanity came to mind. A kid. Around four or five-years old. Looked like a bundle of sticks wrapped in rags. Had John saved that kid somehow? Was that why his team did what they did? How this all began? He'd – saved the kid by taking his place? So, it was about the boy then. Another boy, not the boy he once was.

No-one had saved him from those pervert clowns that day. That was the day he became a bundle of sticks wrapped in rags.

John sniffed.

They yanked him out of his sorry-assed musings by body-slamming him into something hard and angular. He felt his ribs crack. That made his eyes fly open all right. They'd smacked him into the console. He could feel a bruise form around the stinging and grating in his ribs, could even visualize the colors forming now he was so well versed in Bruisology. He thought at least one of his ribs might be cracked. He wondered what Ology that might entail.

One of his captors whirled him around, and slammed him against a wall. Dazed now and aching around his mid-section, John gazed around him in an abortive effort to regain some equilibrium, and to get his bearings. And to take his mind off the growing, throbbing, radiating pain.

It was pretty. She was pretty. In an aging gracefully kind of way. She had... good bones. Ain't no facelift could fix ugly. So this was the old gal Andromeda's control room, huh. It had huge stained glass windows with a few panes missing. A solitary beam of sunlight took a stab at him, shocking his system, making his flesh tingle. The bad guys dropped him, and he rolled in an instant onto that patch of floor where the sunbeam struck, hoping for more to come his way, and basked in their welcome caress when they burst through cracking away like whips, stroking his abused body, incongruously imbuing him with hope however fleeting. After all, it wasn't like there was an actual human being who would ever consider caressing him, at least not without the inevitable, subsequent torment. He was too beat up these days anyways. He wondered if he might at least have good bones, though he preferred not to see them as a rule. He liked his bones on his insides. Or was that branches?

So, there was always at least the sun then. Maybe that was the elusive marriage made in Heaven he should seek. Maybe the love of his life was more celestial than carnate. Maybe that's why he loved flying in a puddle jumper. To do the glowy sex thing with celestial bodies to his heart's content. With his heart and not his... Okay, scratch that. He really needed to not think about two very, very full moons.

As they tugged him away from those warming rays and plunked him in cooling if not rapidly chilling shadow probably out of spite, he realized something was wrong with this entire fucking picture, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then his mind supplied a puddle jumper flying through a stargate in the open expanse below. A void where a stargate should be. That stargate was seriously conspicuous by its absence.

They left him lying there. In the cold. They could have left him in the heat, but like the Overlord would say, where was the fun in that? They were waiting. Jabbering in their weirdo lingo. John strained his ears to listen for what they had to say, telling himself he needed to remember if not practice how to speak 'Corgi'. Something about the Overlord being about to join them. Something about… doing something. No, making something happen. Awakening? No, not that. Not exactly. Close. It was - activation…

Activation?! Hell, no!

He could both hear and feel booted feet standing to attention as one. The Overlord had turned up with his entourage of three. Some sounds and sensations never left you despite memory loss. Then they yanked him upright. John squirmed and struggled in their grip, and somehow managed to get his feet under him. He whirled around to where a gate should have stood 'guts and glory' proud, but there was nothing there.

"No, this is not Atlantis, John, but like Atlantis, this city can do things for me that I could definitely get used to. I just need your help. Your precious gene. You could of course be my slave, but I prefer 'right hand man' or 'chamberlain'. What say you we bargain here? Come to some agreement? You will want for nothing."

Pause.

"You like women, John?" he added slyly.

The Overlord flapped his cape with a theatrical flourish, but caught it on a sharp edge of a damaged, rusting console. He yanked it away, tearing it, prancing about and kicking equipment in a fit of pique. John quirked a smirk. The man hopped on the spot, taking off his fancy gold slipper to rub a stubbed big toe protruding through a sock in dire need of either darning or simply tossing in the trash. The man was clearly a buffoon. A clever buffoon, he'd give him that. After all, he'd pretty much tricked an entire race of humanoids into doing his bidding. John wondered how. These alien dudes weren't exactly stupid, though they acted stupid around this idiot.

"Slave?" John croaked out as the Overlord pogoed on the spot to maintain his balance as he all but sucked his big toe. Overlord? John narrowed his eyes, nodding his head backwards. Something dawned on him; the Overlord's title was self-proclaimed.

"Sorry, chief. Been there, done that. Don't think I've ever been that great at following orders. That just gets me in a whole heap of trouble, and those around me. You need to watch your step. Y'hear?" John shrugged in emphasis as best he could while still braced at the elbows and wrists by those luggage handles. He rested an elbow on a console for support. He wouldn't use his hands. Never his hands. Why?

Something… to do with… that gene the Big O mentioned?

"I expect you to activate this city for me, John. For us."

Activating the city took… an activating gene? His? Yeah, Andromeda's doors had opened for him and not for any of his 'fellow Olesians', but - he had some fancy gene? Cool! John rallied.

"Us? Like you and me? Master, slave? Torturer, torturee? King, chamberlain? Sad sack, poor sap? Wannabe, has-been? Nah, I'm kinda like done for the day. Y'know?" John leaned forward, and glared. "You had your chance with the puddle jumper, asshole, and you blew it," he added with a low hiss.

The Overlord stiffened.

"Seems I need to continue your training. We start small. Take him back to his cell."

Well, fuck that. He didn't want to go back, and from what the Overlord insinuated, he knew his services would always be required. There would never be any let-up. Continue training? Start small? Ouch. That was gonna hurt.

John tried to wriggle away. Fat chance he had of escaping, though he'd seen daylight for the first time in months. He'd been close to a means to escape. If he could just get his hands free, he could make a run for it. He suspected his legs would remember the general layout of the city even if this wasn't Atlantis.

And then something else occurred to him. He could even fly the city if she had juice, though he suspected her juices were all dried up.

"Untie my hands," he stated flatly.

John turned to show his fingers waggling, and put on his best puppy dog eyes.

"Request denied."

"If you want me to activate the city, I'll… I'll need my hands free," John whined, then slumped and bowed his head in an attempt to look defeated.

"Request denied."

"You fucking serious? Okay, I'll play along. Permission to have my hands free."

"Permission granted."

"And my feet."

"Request denied."

"I'll need to be able to move freely between the various stations here. Lookit - I'm weak. I'm injured. Sore as hell. I'm hardly going anywhere anytime soon. Plus you have your… " John nodded towards each of the five FMs in rapid succession, "…Men. To keep me in check. Whaddya say?"

John allowed his eyes to widen from puppy dog to saucer size. One of his meager talents, he guessed.

The Overlord scanned his face, then blinked a few times.

So no need for dinner plate size yet.

"Ask nicely."

Kidding, right?

"Permission to also have my feet free."

"Permission granted."

The man was such a freakin' two-year old. Who the hell was he? John stared at him. Nope. No clue, though their paths had crossed before. He remembered those cold brown eyes fixing on him. That raven black hair. He wished he could plant one on him, knock that mask right off of his face even if it meant another beat-down. He could take more just for that brief moment of satisfaction especially if most of the inevitable blows landed on his back.

John could see fine tremors in the Overlord's bulky body. The man was shivering. He couldn't keep himself warm either despite wearing way more layers than John. Wait. The man was sweating. He could see beads of it along his hairline. Why was he shivering then? Was it out of fear? Of him? A scarecrow in winter he might be, but if he could scare this man, this raven, this single, solitary carrion crow, then he had a purpose after all. He would survive. Fight the Good Fight. Escape. Get valuable intel to Atlantis. To Earth.

Just maybe he was a scarecrow for all seasons. How about that.

So Andromeda didn't even have basic power. Seemed her furnace was bust or in need of an overhaul. Hah. John looked around for space heaters, wall torches, or maybe a campfire or three. Big place to heat up. The old biddy wasn't even keeping herself warm apart from the occasional hot flashes. Maybe she was keeping the temperature low out of spite. That or she was entirely out of power. Unless of course she was going along with him, though she was freezing his ass off as well as everyone else's. Maybe she was even trying to do him some eleventh-hour favor like that other old biddy who once owned him. Ettifah. Yeah, that was her.

So was she or wasn't she out of power? John wasn't sure if he wanted to test that hypothesis or not. He would not place his palms on any equipment. Not even on the walls. She'd hummed after all. So not dead yet. But she was oh so close. John wouldn't turn her on. If in his mind's eye he conjured up a pair of sagging boobs… gnat bites… light switches... a flat chest even - he just plain couldn't turn her on. He could keep his metaphorical Li'l Shep in check as well as his actual one. So that was a big no to … awakening.

So he had some fancy gene then. The… ATA gene! That was it! That explained a great deal. Like how doors opened for him and no-one else when they took the 'castle'. Or as Torrell et al would say, besieged.

Though it wasn't a castle at all. It was an entire fucking city. With just a few spires visible. The rest of it was subterranean.

More answers. Which naturally led to more questions.

After some tugging and pulling and kicking and other general, meant to be intimidating roughing up including a painful kidney punch or three, they finally freed him of his bonds. He rubbed his sore wrists and ankles, then rubbed the back of his neck. He rubbed his lower back where they'd just punched him. He rolled his head as if fixing a crick in it. All delaying tactics while he scouted for an exit. They bought it, every last one of them looking duly exasperated like monster movie extras on some downtime between shots, acting all pissed that they had no lines and so couldn't snag themselves a SAG card. Then they all started bitching to the extent the semaphore ear waggling was a tad hard to keep track of. He was glad their funky language didn't incorporate Click else he'd be thinking in terms of Morse code.

Morse code? Morse code!

That was when he bolted.

…

"Take our ungrateful guest back to his cell."

Guest?

John snorted at that.

John didn't remember being recaptured, only dashing – okay tumbling – no, make that strategically forward and quite possibly backward rolling down some steep flight of stairs in an evasive maneuver designed to confuse the hostiles and evade enemy fire - yep, rolling worked - and taking a left through some double doors, then a right, which lead him to pretty much nowhere to speak of, but it was worth a shot. He'd fumbled his way along paneled walls, only to end up in what could be construed as a mess hall. He stared at it for a moment, his mind filling in a sea of either friendly or curious or respectful faces as they all shoveled down chicken tenders with a side of macaroni and cheese and a blob of fluorescent pink Athosian sweet potato bake and some green beans which were honest-to-goodness green for a change so he reckoned they'd been shipped in frozen from Earth. He also thought himself up a plate piled high with freshly cooked bacon and eggs over easy and sausages and hash browns and pancakes smothered in real maple syrup. It all made his mouth water and his stomach rumble as he imagined sluicing it all down with endless cups of coffee.

Way to torture yourself, John!

He dashed along an endlessly long hallway to… a double doorway to whatever lay beyond. Hopefully his feet had taken him direct to the armory or maybe a secondary control room. He could only hope. Pray - not so much.

He waved his right hand over a lit-up array inset into the wall at shoulder height in what could only be deemed to be the Ancient equivalent of a remote key to reveal - living quarters. They could have been his. Sure, had this been Atlantis. Only of course it wasn't. This was Andromeda. John sagged. He'd screwed up. Plus he was running out of time here.

The room was Spartan. Like he thought his own quarters might once have been on Atlantis. He visualized a surfboard, a guitar, and a mini refrigerator filled with turkipede sandwiches, roast beast jerky, and a six-pack of mead. Uhhh... make that beer. John gasped. It all made his heart quicken, and his stomach flip. He thought the lights on, but they flickered then winked out. Was the old gal having herself a hissy fit?

Come on, Ettifah! No, Andromeda! Andromeda! Andie! Sweetie? Sorry! Please don't be mad at me for that… I was only looking. Look but don't touch? 'M not a two-timer… I'm a guy… Hey! Y'know where we keep our brains! Right?

He patted his hands in the air in an appeasing manner as he tried to adjust his eyes to the encroaching twilight made even more dismal by room-darkening drapes. He rifled through drawers, feeling for a weapon, but came up with zilch. He contemplated breaking a window and climbing either up or down. Which way was the fucking armory?! He sucked in a deep, rallying breath.

Next thing he saw was a green flash which momentarily lit the room like some haunted house on Halloween, and he knew as the flash brought him to his knees that those horror movie extras had crept up on him and were now right behind him and most likely pissed as fuck at being given the runaround. John crumpled to the floor.

The décor changed out on him.

It was sadly familiar.

He was back in his cell after all.

Crap…

...

A/N – in case anyone's wondering if there is ever going to be any let-up whump-wise – I still have two more whump-filled chapters to go. After that - there shall be comfort after all the hurt. Yep, I shall allow him some, possibly 2 whole chapters of it, though it pains me greatly. Snorfle. Anyway, here's me off to work on ch 15, which will incorporate the Big Reveal if you haven't already guessed the identity of the Overlord, and of course much whump as the next chapter will be an 'activate the Ancient device or else' one. Always wanted to do one of those. Squee! XD