Darkness fell and chaos ruled. People were running and jostling everywhere, oblivious to the band's pleas for calm – considerably harder to hear without the microphone. Fred tried to hold very still and not be trampled, but in spite of it several people hit him in the back, knocking him against the table.

"Yikes!" Shaggy flailed.

"What's going on?" Mary Sue demanded.

"My glasses!" Velma wailed.

After a seemingly endless moment, the power came back on, and another passed before people started calming down again. The gang was slightly frayed but none the worse for wear. Shaggy and Velma started looking for her glasses on the floor as Mary Sue hurried back from where the roiling crowd had deposited her several tables over.

"Are you guys all right?" she asked.

"Like, what happened?" Shaggy said.

"I don't know," Fred said slowly. "It seems like too much of a coincidence that the power went off at exactly midnight."

"And only for a minute," Daphne commented.

Some semblance of calm was beginning to return to the club. Nearby, the waiters joined forces with a couple of patrons to right a couple of tables that had been overturned. Mr. Wilson approached through the crowd. "Is everyone all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Fred replied, "we're all fine here, Mr. Wilson."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry! There must have been a power surge, or something . . . I can't imagine what could have happened. I just hope this hasn't ruined your evening."

"Like, at least there wasn't anything scary in the dark this time!" Shaggy quipped.

Velma put her glasses on – and started. "Don't be so sure!"

Fred and Mary Sue spun around. A tall, pale man with dreadlocks and round-framed sunglasses stood directly behind them. They scuttled away in fear, and Mary Sue dropped her purse at the pale man's feet. He took his hands out of his white overcoat and snatched it off the floor. Reaching in, his hand emerged with the key to her parents' nightclub, scattering her wallet's contents on the floor.

Shaggy dived under the table, Scooby dived under the tablecloth, and everyone screamed and huddled together instinctively. The pale man, oblivious to their reaction, stepped into the shadows next to the stage, shimmered, and then was gone.

"He – he looked like a ghost!" Daphne's voice shook along with the rest of her.

"Any idea what that was?" said Velma.

Mr. Wilson sighed heavily. "I'm afraid I do, but I wish I didn't."

"You recognized him?"

"Only by reputation." When Daphne glanced down to where he still had his arm around her waist, he stepped back hurriedly and straightened his jacket. "When I first bought Club Hel many years ago, the previous owners told me a legend about this place."

Shaggy was still under the table. "Was it about scary dreadlock ghosts?"

"Not exactly." The Frenchman sighed again. "They say that many, many years ago, there was a cruel, violent Pawnee warrior chief, who everyone recognized by his long, braided hair. He terrorized the settlers in this area until the cavalry finally hunted him down. The soldiers buried him where he fell." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, that was over on the corner of 43rd Street and Jefferson."

"But," Mary Sue stammered, "but that's where my parents' club is!"

"Really." He glanced at her before his eyes met Fred's ominously. "That was on December 31st, 1875."

"Jinkies! One hundred years ago tonight!"

"But what did he want with my key?" asked Mary Sue.

"I've heard," Mr. Wilson replied, "that the shamans of his tribe predicted that he would return one day, and drive the American settlers from his land once and for all."

"I just remembered," Shaggy gulped, "I have an appointment. In Albuquerque."

"Hold on, Poulet Petit," Velma interrupted.

Fred put his chair back on its legs. "Mr. Wilson, where does that door near to the stage lead?"

"The back rooms," he replied. "There's nothing there but storage rooms, and you can get to the kitchen and the offices through the halls . . . if you kids would like to look around, I would very much appreciate your help. But if you'll excuse me, I must try and put the place in some sort of order again."

"Thanks, Mr. Wilson." Fred knocked on the tabletop. "Shag, Scoob? Come on! We've got a mystery to solve!"

"Uh oh . . ." Scooby's tail drooped.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Shaggy announced, but he followed along anyway as they filed through the door.

No-one was expecting what was on the other side. It was a hallway, with an oddly high ceiling and what looked like stone walls, with stained-glass windows that didn't appear to open on anything at all. It most certainly did not look like the back rooms of a nightclub.

"Wow," said Daphne.

When the lights went out, everyone was on more or less equal footing – except for Neo, whose code vision was not affected by the lack of light. As such, he saw very clearly the two suit-wearing men nearest him and Trinity leaping up from their seats. One reached for a gun in his jacket; the other brandished a fork. It was a simple matter to deliver a crushing blow to the gunman's chest with the heel of his hand and take him out of the fight. Neo lashed out at the man with the fork, catching him across the face. As he reeled, Neo planted his right foot and spun into a roundhouse kick that hammered into the man's head and swept him to the floor.

The lights came on abruptly to reveal the patrons milling about chaotically, the club on the verge of panic. Another exile moved up behind them, but Trinity, gratefully taking advantage of renewed visibility, stepped in and landed a vicious kick to his knee. He crumpled in pain, and she kicked him in the stomach, sending him skidding across the floor and knocking another minion flat on his face as he rushed to reinforce the others.

Yet another man leapt up from his seat, hurling himself bodily at Neo. He ducked and, as the man sailed overhead, grabbed him by belt and lapels and hurled him at the wall. The exile twisted in the air to get his feet pointing at the wall, and when they made contact he broke into a downward run. Just as he reached the floor, Neo seized a plate from the vacant table and hurled it like a Frisbee. The man looked up a fraction of a second too late, and the plate caught him in the neck, scattering decorative cauliflower.

Downstairs, the club staff could be faintly heard appealing for calm. Trinity glanced over the railing; some of the patrons had fled, but others were still around, mostly looking eager to get back to the party. "What the hell was that about?"

"I don't know," Neo replied, "but the Merovingian is gone." He gestured at the now-empty seat at the place of honor at the table.

"So are the twins." Trinity looked around, but they could have been anywhere.

"Damn it." Neo leaned over the edge, scanning the milling crowd. "I can't believe I didn't see them leave!"

"We'd better get down there and find out what's going on." They pushed their way to the stairs and hurried back to the dance floor. There was no sign of the Merovingian here either, but the waiters and a few more exile minions were putting tables back on their legs and sweeping up broken plates and spilled food. Amazingly, many of the guests were still trying to make a party of it, dancing in spite of the lack of music, and a few were rolling the fallen mirror ball around for some reason.

Neo and Trinity had no idea what was going on, but neither of them wanted to admit it. He was just about to suggest they head for an alcove and call Morpheus when he saw the door next to the stage swinging ajar. "Over there!" he said, and they hurried over, reaching the door just as it closed. He grabbed the handle, turned it, felt something catch, turned it again, and then got it open.

They found themselves in the same cathedral-style hallways they had seen the last time they were here – but where exactly in the twisted maze of code under Club Hel, they had no idea. No-one else was in sight.

"Left or right?" asked Trinity.