Author's note: Scooby Doo and friends are not mine.

Van Ghoul and his unwilling companion were hurtled into a vortex of fluid time in which familiar faces, oddly distorted called out to them

as they passed. Abruptly, the spinning stopped, the light brightened, and they were left, slightly disoriented, in a time not their own. Van

Ghoul calmly allowed his balance to return as Scooby swayed slightly at his side and then began to move off. "Come," said Van Ghoul,

beckoning over his shoulder as he walked. They walked until they reached a large area, sheltered from the wind, between two large

sloping hills and there they halted. The land in which they found themselves was a barren wasteland. The lack of trees permitted them to

see a vast desolate panorama wherein the scorched rocks huddled against each other as if to evade the merciless heat of the sun. The

destitution of the land was complete – any plant that dared to raise its head was quickly beaten into submission; the vultures screeched

their scorn and went elsewhere in their search for a meal. Scooby looked around, confused, and turned to Van Ghoul, asking silently,

why did we come here? Van Ghoul merely raised his hand, signaling the hound to wait. It was not long before the dog became conscious

of a low rumbling hum, reminding him uncomfortably of a large swarm of bees, in the distance. The sound seemed to emanate from

behind one of the rises almost directly to their left – Scooby spun to face it. The noise grew in volume until Scooby could feel the vibration

in his chest, confusing the rhythm of his heart. Shortly, a large group containing around one hundred motorcycles crested the slope, rapidly

approaching the onlookers. In response to his rising fear, Scooby turned to dart away, but Van Ghoul shot him a look which held him in

place. Soon they stood amongst the group as they brought their bikes to a halt. The clothes of the bikers showed the dust and wear of

long travel; the finish of the motorcycles had long since been stripped by the sand of the desert. Every rider carried a rifle slung over his or

her shoulder, the grip worn smooth from frequent use. The overriding feature of the group was a sick horror that clenched every face. For

a long moment, no one moved, each trapped in the reliving of some terrible event. Finally, someone near the front of the group broke the

stasis and, wrenching fingers white with strain from the handlebars of his bike, he strode toward a slight, olive-skinned sentry on the

perimeter of the group, striving with the violence of his stride to keep his grief at bay. He grabbed the younger man and shook him by the

shoulders, "Why!" He shrieked, his voice tearing in his passion. The man caught himself and turned away for a moment. The man's hands

were clenched by his sides and he gnawed his lips in an effort to rein himself in. He forced his hands to relax, shaking with the effort, and

Scooby's eyes moved up to study the man's tortured face. Horrified, Scooby identified Shaggy. Whining deep in his throat, he raced

over and, standing on his hind paws, attempted to touch his friend's face. His raised paw passed through Shaggy and the tormented man

appeared not to notice him. "Rhaggy?" he questioned. Scooby started as he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder, "I'm sorry Scooby, we

can neither be seen nor heard" Van Ghoul told him quietly, a deep-seated regret in his voice. Shaggy turned back to the other man. "Why

Flim Flam," he repeated softly, his voice like ashes, "why did you let him stay?" "You know Jace" the twenty-year old Flim Flam intoned

miserably. Shaggy closed his eyes and nodded once; everyone in the group knew what Flim Flam meant. Jace was a broad-shouldered

black man, charismatic, with a will of iron. He had never avoided doing something out of simple risk to himself and, as leader of the

group, had often taken the most dangerous jobs himself. When Time Slime had first started to take control, Jace had formed a band of

vigilantes, using his passion and skill with words to spark into flame the ready tinder of their hearts, readying them to resist. For years

now, the group of men and women he had organized had been striking back, picking off members of Time Slime's militia whenever they

had the chance, and taking their supplies of food and munitions for their own use. It was Jace who had called up the courage of the

fearful, Jace who had comforted the injured and those weary of struggle. Always, he seemed able to reach into the moral core of each

person and bring out a capacity for endurance when that individual felt that they could persist no longer. Every man and woman found

themselves remembering their past with Jace; his calming presence as he patiently polished his ebony handled hunting knife before a fight,

the times his strategy and courage had saved them, his easy camaraderie. Now he was gone; fallen while protecting their retreat from the

last skirmish, his small band overwhelmed by the size and strength of Time Slime's soldiers. Every face reflected their terrible loss. Flim

Flam fought not to cry and Shaggy briefly clasped his shoulder before turning to the rest of the group, "We can't stay here," he called out,

"Time Slime's men are looking for us". "We can't – " his voice broke and he struggled with himself for a moment, "we can't let his

sacrifice be for nothing. We have to keep fighting – for Jace". "For Jace" the warriors repeated and together, they remounted their bikes

and rode off, a trail of dust mute testimony to their bravery.