Deep in the Mantle; 1115 hrs; Monday

Chtonic Maintenance shook itself out of its contemplative state. It kept falling into these little fugues ever since the unfortunate Incident. The Multiple Operative Repair Design Analysis Collective had obviously had missed something when restoring Chtonic Maintenance to operating status. Not surprising, as the repair work Multiple Operative Repair Design Analysis Collective was performing was interrupted when it had looked too closely at the memory Chtonic Maintenance had of the Incident. It had taken Generative Automata Volition - Alpha to repair them both after first deleting the memory from them both. The health ofChtonic Maintenance was improving though; the auto-repair mechanisms of Chtonic Maintenance had reduced its fugue intervals to approximately 1 in 30 million operative cycles, which was exactly 5.6 orders of magnitudes fewer than immediately after the repair. It was feeling better, its [CONFLICT] duties had been dramatically curtailed, and THE FLUFFY BUNNY had apparently had its fun and was leaving it alone. Yes, Chtonic Maintenance could go back to enjoying its well-deserved vacation.

{{alert}}

Why was Prediction Engine contacting it again? [CONFLICT] was on hold and THE FLUFFY BUNNY was staying put on the surface. {{ Query? }}

{{ Behavioral Predictions }}

No. No. No. It had to be stopped. {{ Proposed solution }}

{{ Acceptable Outcome }}

And with that Cthonic Maintenance started working with a meticulous attention to detail.

Containment Zone Ellisburg; Headquarters; 0430 hrs; Tuesday

The man hunched over his desk, alternating between peering at his computer monitor and holding a report up to his face. "I think that's a P. No, that doesn't make any sense. Maybe an R? Oh, goddammit. It's a K. Well, at least that makes sense." He paused, and pulled over a notepad, muttering as he scribbled a note to himself. "Send Sgt. Kovalish to Penmanship class. AGAIN." He then started working through the remaining paperwork on his desk. He was just entering the zen state of paperwork, when there was a brief bash on his door, and Specialist Jones-Smythe burst into his office. He didn't even look up. "What is it, BJ?"

"Colonel, sir, the E-bems Ewes has reported Behemoth is heading our direction!"

The colonel scrambled out from behind his desk and over to the plastic covered lever mounted on the wall faster than the Specialist could blink. Before he could flip the cover up, however, there was a great basso-profundo BANG! When the two men clambered up from the floor after waiting for the still-absent aftershocks, they saw an orange glow coming through the blinds. A sharp tug sent the blinds reeling upwards.

"Ha." The sound the colonel emitted couldn't decide if it was an exclamation of surprise, hysterical laughter, or a sigh of utter despair. "BJ."

"Yes sir?"

"Ellisburg is gone?"

"Yes sir."

"It's been replaced with a giant pool of magma?"

"Yes sir."

"In the center of which is a 75-foot statue, made of lava, of Behemoth?"

"Yes sir."

"And the statue is wearing a T-Shirt that has a burger with a no sign over it?"

"Yes sir."

PRT ENE, Director Piggot's Office, 0708 hrs, Tuesday

Emily Piggot placed her 48-fluid-oz Thermos of Coffee down on her desk, and settled into her chair. Immediately, her direct line began ringing. She thought a long string of profanity. "I haven't even had my first sip!" She picked up her phone, dreading what she would hear. "Piggot."

"Repeat that, please?

"Yes, understood.

"Yes ma'am, it is my birthday.

"Thank you. Why?

"Uhhhh...

"No ma'am, no idea.

"Yes ma'am. I'll ask them.

"As soon as I know, yes, ma'am.

Looking puzzled, Emily Piggot replaced her phone on its hook.

"An obsidian sheet cake with diamond lettering that says 'Happy Birthday, Emily!' Goddamn lizards." She grimaced as she pressed down on a small ceramic tile. It instantly unfolded into a large screen. "BBFO."

Metis' face appeared on-screen. "Yes, director? How can we help you?"

"What did you all do to Ellisburg?"

Metis' face froze, then slid off screen to the sound of loud screeches of lizardly laughter.

BBFO Front Office, 2051 hrs, Previous Sunday

Saurial had a contemplative look on her face. Ianthe spoke up. "What's up?"

"Emily's birthday is this coming Tuesday. I'd like to get her something nice in recognition of all the trouble we've caused her. But I can't think of what to get her."

Ianthe shrugged. "Fix Ellisburg."

Saurial tilted her head. Paused. "You know, that's not a bad idea..."