A.N.: You're right, Gandalf, some back patting is in order. For those of you who don't know, we've basically been working on this all summer. I mean, not like slaving away, but this has been a top priority project. So seriously, enjoy!

As the sunlight shone through the Scottish countryside, two horses appeared over the hill.

Two horses, ridden by two generals. One was Macbeth, the thane of Glamis. The other was Danquo, his comrade in arms. They talked as they rode.

"Aye," said Macbeth, "thine bravery was equally matched with mine own, in our battle against Mandonwald, o most accursed of traitors, and his dwarf of bewitched metals forged!"

Danquo replied "He called it a 'robot'. Kept claiming it was an invention ahead of its time. But yes, I was very good in the battle, wasn't I?"

Macbeth looked ahead of him, and held out his hand. "Stay," he said, "of what manner of apparitions block our way?"

Before them were three ragged witches. The Elder Witch, Francine, and Lisa. As the two men approached, the Elder whispered "Now come the soldiers. Forget not your allocated speech!"

The other two whispered. "What'd she say?" "She said to remember our lines."

The Elder spoke up and said "Behold, sisters, the thane of Glamis and of Cawdor. See before us the king hereafter!"

Macbeth's eyes were wide. "Thane of Cawdor? King?"

Danquo shoved Macbeth aside. "So, we're doing fortunetelling, huh? Well what about me?"

Silence. The Elder nudged Francine. She said, in a bored monotone, "Huh? Oh, yeah… 'Danquo shall be less than Macbeth, yet more, not as happy, but happier. Danquo, the father of kings, but nary a crown for himself.' There, did I say it right?"

The Elder shot her a glare before crying "Heed!" And, with that, all three witches disappeared into the mists of the heath.

Macbeth and Danquo looked at each other. "So… what do you think that meant?" asked Danquo. Macbeth opened his mouth to speak when they heard another voice coming from over the hill.

"MACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETHMACBETH!" A boy appeared, awkwardly running down the slope of the hill towards them.

"'Tis Marcross," said Macbeth. He and Danquo both mouthed "Oh no" at each other as Marcross ran up.

Panting and wheezing, Marcoss gasped out "Macbeth, the… the Thane of Cawdor was just imprisoned for treason. You're… you're the new Thane. Whew!"

Macbeth stared at the horizon, eyes distant. "Thane of Cawdor… just as the weird sisters hath spoke!" And, though now one else could tell, his mind now turned towards the witches' second prophecy…

The banquet was glorious. The lords ate greedily, drank deeply, and bellowed jovially and loudly. The dining hall was alive with merriment.

Amidst the celebrating, King Hector stood up clapped his hands. All the lords quieted down.

King Hector said "This is some banquet, huh?" Cheers and huzzahs were his reply. "Well, I just wanna thank my buddy Macbeth for hosting it, and letting me crash at his place tonight. He's been one of my greatest generals, and it's my honor to be his king." He raised his goblet. "To Macbeth!"

Macbeth smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. The other lords, not noticing, all raised their goblets along with the king and chorused "TO MACBETH!"

"For truth, wife, my heart feels vexed to think of such vile deeds done by mine own hands."

Macbeth's wife, Annie Macbeth, glared at him. It was just like him to come up with this plan with her, but chicken out when rubber met the road. "Oh, come on, Mac. This was your idea, don't you forget. We'll get the chamberlains drunk, they'll pass out, and tomorrow we'll blame them for the murder."

"Aye, but-"

"No buts. Go."

She watched as Macbeth, knife in hand, slowly opened the door and left the room. She shook her head. He came up with a plan to get power, but chickened out as soon as the wood met the road. She should have married Danquo.

Macbeth held both the knife and his breath. King Hector's chamber door was right ahead of him. His hands shook slightly. As something shimmered in the moonlight before him, he blinked. "Is this a dagger I see before me?"

He blinked again. "…ah, nay, just a moonlit moth. Mind it not."

He carefully pushed open the door and entered the bedchamber. He saw King Hector, sleeping peacefully in the bed Macbeth had provided for him. He took a deep breath. Steadied his hands. Raised the knife. Closed his eyes. Brought it down.

There was barely a sound. But he felt King Hector's warm blood.

Macbeth stumbled into his bedroom. Annie was waiting for him. "Did you do it?"

Macbeth nodded. "The king's blood, still ripe with life stolen, rests upon my hands and dagger."

"Great." She took the knife. "I'll take care of the rest. Just go with the plan, and we'll be on the royal thrones in no time."

Two people stood in the hallway. One was Macduff, the loyal Thane of Fife. The other was Jessica, King Hector's sister. Macduff looked at her sadly as she wiped her eyes. "My lady, my condolences cannot be expressed with mere mortal tongue."

Jessica sniffled. "Thanks, Macduff. Who did it?"

"T'was two of Macbeth's own servants. But he has murdered them for grief and rage from the king's blood on their hands." He lowered his voice. "But methinks that they were mere pawns."

Jessica wiped her eyes. "You-you mean you think someone hired them to do it?"

"Indeed and that same knave might put his designs on you next."

Jessica thought for a moment. Then she nodded. "You might be right. I need to get out of here until I can figure out a plan."

Macduff nodded. "May the fates grant you the fairest fortune, my lady."

Jessica thanked him, and quickly left.

Danquo lay in his bed, thinking. It had been a nice ceremony, no doubt about that. Macbeth had definitely fit the image of a kingly figure, standing there in his crown. With Jessica having fled the country, Macbeth had taken on the throne as one of King Hector's closest kinsman.

But Danquo remembered the witches' prophecy. They had told Macbeth that he would be king, but told Danquo that it would be his descendants that ruled. The whole thing mad Danquo suspicious. He turned over to try and sleep.

Macbeth glared at the hired assassins. "Explain, knaves, what meaning lies behind the serpentine phrase 'sort of got them'? And make haste with thine clarification, or any wistfulnesses thou hast for the dungeon will be surely healed!"

The disgraced Mandonwald, and his robot beside him, cowered before their new employer. "We-we got Danquo, we got him real good! But his son, Keance… got away. But we can take care of it! We'll find him! Pleeeeeeeeeeeease don't throw us back in the dungeon!"

But the please went unheeded. Macbeth yelled several Shakespearian curses at them, called for the guards, and had them dragged away. After they were gone, he paced.

This was bad. Danquo's heir lived. Macbeth could not let any descendants of Danquo on the throne, he HAD to prevent the witches' prophecy from coming true. He would find other assassins, better ones, to track down and finish off Keance.

But for now, Macbeth had a banquet to host.

Macbeth raised his glass. "To Danquo, friends, may his memory live ever on and the foul doers of his death be caught! We shall feast in his name."

The lords at the banquet all raised their goblets and drank. They were sad about Danquo's mysterious murder, but not sad enough to avoid partying.

Macbeth smiled as he looked around. A large banquet, all the lords of Scotland, and it was all his, it was…

Macbeth's blood ran cold. A ghostly figure stood by the table. Danquo.

All the color drained from Macbeth's face as he gaped in horror. Danquo's ghost looked right at him, fury in its eyes.

Danquo pointed right at Macbeth and bellowed, in a ghostly voice, "MACBETH! How DARE you murder me!? ME! YOUR BEST FRIEND! I will NEVER forget this! Maybe I should just HAUNT you for the rest of your DAYS, huh?"

Macbeth slowly backed away. "Fly, fly apparition! Away! Haunt not mine eyes!"

All the lords had stopped and stared. They watched King Macbeth yell at an empty space in terror. They whispered amongst each other, confused.

With a howl that was a mix of terror and anger, Macbeth finally charged the apparition. He ran through it and crashed into the wall, thrashing and clawing wildly at nothing.

At this point, Lady Annie jumped up from her seat and exclaimed "Okay, it, uh, it looks like His Majesty has a sudden malady! But don't worry, I'm sure it will be gone in a few days! In the meantime, uh, maybe it'd be best if you all leave! Don't worry! He'll be back to normal soon!"

Annie hurriedly ushered the confused and uneasy guests out of the castle. Then she ran over to Macbeth, who sat slumped against the wall, panting. She grabbed him by his collar and yanked him to his feet. "What's the matter with you?!"

Macbeth looked up at her, his eyes wide. "My lady, there are three witches which I must make haste to see."

The witches watched as Macbeth staggered away from them, overwhelmed by the visions they had just shown him.

Francine puffed herself up with pride. "Weeeeeell, I don't know about you two, but I did a fantastic job there. That kid with the branch and the crown? That was mine. Inspired, if I do say so myself."

Lisa cleared her throat. "We all did good, Francine."

The Elder witch rolled her eyes at both of them. Of all the rookie witches to get stuck with…

As Macbeth stumbled away from the witches' heath, one thought stood out in his mind: the spirits had told him to beware Macduff. He would make sure that Macduff would be a threat no longer.

Far away, in England, Macduff himself was talking to Jessica. After being suspicious of Macbeth, and fearing that his suspicions would place him in danger, he had fled to England just as Jessica had done. The two had met, and compared their suspicions, and agreed that Macbeth was guilty.

Jessica was saying "So, the army is almost ready. In a couple days we'll march back to Scotland and overthrow Macbeth."

Macduff nodded. "May this boldest of endeavors prove fruitful, my lady."

Suddenly, they heard a loud voice, crying "MACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFFMACDUFF!"

"'Tis Marcross, the messenger," said Macduff. He and Jessica mouthed "Oh no," to each other as Marcross ran up.

"I came all the way from Scotland to find you. Assassins attacked your home! They killed your wife, your kids, and all of your servants. There were no survivors."

Macduff's face paled. Then he looked down and closed his eyes, saying nothing. Jessica put her hand on his shoulder.

Marcross held up his hand. "Also, look at this weird rock I found on the way over here! Look at the funny stripe on it! Isn't it neat? Huh? Isn't it neat?" He bobbed up and down excitedly. "Oh, yeah, sorry your family was killed and stuff."

Jessica glared at him. "I think you should go now, Marcross."

"Um… don't I get a tip for coming all this way?"

"GO!"

Marcross scampered away. Macduff took a deep breath and looked up. His eyes were glistening. "My lady… if the question on my lips is of no impudence… is there yet any room left for another lord in your army?"

Lady Annie feverishly scrubbed her hands, as if in a trance. She was muttering to herself.

The only witness to Annie's insanity was Marcross, he had gotten back to Scotland just in time to see it. He peered at her from around a corner, wide-eyed.

Trying to clean something that only she could see off of her hands, Annie cried out in fury. "Out! OUT! Damned spot!"

Marcross pointed. "OOOOOOOOOH! Potty mouth! Potty mouth!"

Annie whirled around and shrieked at him "Shut the hell up!"

"DOUBLE potty mouth! DOUBLE potty mouth!"

Annie ran at him.

Marcross screamed and ran away to tell all of Scotland that Queen Annie was insane and a potty mouth.

Macbeth sat on the Royal Throne, decidedly less happy than he had thought he'd be sitting on the Royal Throne.

He was unhappy because he was nervous about the witches' prophecy. Granted, his wife having recently hung herself wasn't very cheery either, but it was mostly the witches' prophecy.

When the witches had shown him the spirits, one of the things he'd heard was that he would be safe until Great Birnam Wood came to his castle on Dunsinane Hill.

This shouldn't have worried Macbeth. After all, surely forests couldn't move? He had nothing to fear.

…and yet, he was afraid.

He glanced apprehensively out the castle window, where he could see the forest blanketing out to the horizon.

He blinked.

The trees at the edge of the forest were moving closer.

He blinked again. It had to be a trick of the eyes. It had to be. The forest couldn't be moving. But it was. He could see the front-most trees approaching the hill.

Macbeth leaped off of his throne and yelled for the guards.

Macduff peered out from behind the tree branch he was holding in front of him. "I must confess, my lady, a more cunning invention I ne'er heard the likes of."

"Thanks." Jessica looked around her own branch. "Okay, when I give the signal, tell the men to charge the castle. They might have seen us by now, but the advantage is still ours."

Silence.

"Okay… now! Now!"

With a great cry of "FOR HECTOR!" Jessica's army surged out from their tree camouflage and charged Dunsinane Hill.

The battle was short, but bloody. Jessica and Macduff fought well, and so did Macbeth. Marcross watched it all from behind a rock, eyes as big as saucers.

He watched as Macbeth and Macduff faced off by the castle door. He watched as their blades clashes, and they said things he couldn't hear. And finally, he watched as Macduff cut off Macbeth's head and held it up for all to see, blood from the neck staining the grass below.

Marcross threw up, said "Cool!" and threw up again.

And so, the battle was over. Jessica and Macduff had won. Jessica was crowned Queen of Scotland. Macduff had avenged his family. And, incidentally, he and Jessica eventually got married, making him the king. Jessica was still the one in charge, though, she was by far the best ruler Scotland had ever had so far. And the only woman one. Make of that what you will.

On a hill, not far from Dunsinane Castle, a tall boy and a shorter girl sat on a hillside. The boy smiled and took a deep breath. "Ahhh, smell that air. I love old-timey Scotland. So glad I decided to set this story here."

The girl looked at him. "There's one thing I still don't get: if Jessica became queen, what was all that stuff about Danquo's heirs being on the throne?"

The boy puffed himself smugly. "Well, if you were familiar with Scottish legend, you'd know that James VI, a Scottish king, was supposedly descended from Danquo- er, Banquo, through his surviving son."

"Oh, yeah. Keith didn't have much to do in this story, did he?"

"Well, I'm sure he will in some other one," replied the boy, not looking like he cared much.

The girl continued "Also, I didn't really see Jessica and Macduff getting together coming."

"Really? I thought they had good chemistry."

"Hmm. Well, it's your story."

And so, this story ended, but the adventure was just beginning.

The ten teenagers were spat out of the book.

"Oh my god, that was awesome!" Marcus shouted.

"I got murdered!" Hector gasped.

"So did I!" Danny also shouted.

"Wait," Keith said, cutting off all of the shouting, "Was that book open before?"

He was referring to a rather large novel sitting open on a podium.

"I don't think so," Gilda admitted.

"Should we investigate?" Lisa asked.

Bickering ensued, mainly from Francine, who just wanted to go home.

"Look, there's a flood warning right now," Keith said, "We can't just leave. So why not figure out why we're here?"

"Alright," Danny conceded.

"Yeah, I'm game," Annie agreed, walking over to the novel and placing her hand on it.

The Bennet household was always one filled with intense emotions, but never was that statement more true than when Mr. Hector Bingley moved to a nearby house and created the stir of the century… at least that was how it seemed from the inside. Mrs. Bennet had been fussing for her girls to start considering marriage for years now, and was thrilled that her oldest daughter, Lisa, was getting along so well with Mr. Bingley. Yet her anxiety was high every time he was nearby, much to the amusement of her husband. Lisa's younger sisters Francine and Gilda would frequently dream up what Lisa's wedding was going to be like, causing the eldest sister to constantly blush.

"At least these two have proper priorities," Mrs. Bennet defended one night after Lisa begged them to stop, "After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

"Or perhaps he's a murderer," middle child Jessica mused, not looking up from her book.

To say the least, Mrs. Bennet was not pleased. So now, Annie Bennet had successfully run off without being noticed only for it to begin to rain.

"Splendid," she muttered bitterly, "Absolutely splendid."

"Miss Bennet!" a distant voice called, "Miss Bennet!"

With some difficulty, she managed to identify a distant figure running towards her. It was none other than Fitzwilliam Danny. Her feelings towards him were… mixed to say the least. True, he was pompous, egotistical, and easily offended by even the slightest straying from decorum. However, he was also a friend to Mr. Bingley, so surely he could not be as terrible as their first few encounters would have led her to belive?

"Miss Bennet!" he panted, having finally reached her. Ankle deep in mud and soaked to the bone, he hardly looked like the prim and proper gentleman she had first met.

"Miss Bennet, I have spent far more time than I care to admit deliberating about what I am about to do," he informed her. His gaze was not breaking from hers, and she felt as though the intensity of that gaze might cause her head to combust. "For the grievances I have are not with you but with your family and their ridiculous behavior. However, I will bravely stomach their insufferable actions if it means that you will be my wife."

There was a pause.

"What sort of a proposal is that? You do not get to insult a person's family and expect them to say yes to your hand in marriage!"

"Well, excuse me for not being thrilled about the concept of having a sister-in-law like Francine."

"Shut up, Danny!"

"How dare you!"

"I'll dare what I want! You're being a jerk!"

"I am not the jerk here; you are the jerk in this situation!"

"Oh, come on! In what way am I the-"

In the library, a short girl was combing through the shelves.

"Ah, here it is," she muttered, pulling a huge volume off the shelf, "How do you think this one will pan out?"

"I'm not sure," a tall boy said as he stood up from the armchair he'd been resting in, "But I know it'll be good."

Together, they opened the book and disappeared just as several other people appeared.

"Seriously, who keeps leaving out all these books?" Manny asked, growing frustrated at how long this was taking. He had left Little Mean Robot at home, and his best friend got scared if he was alone for too long!

"Only one way to find out," Gilda reasoned.

Bitterly, Manny snatched the next book off the ground, not even noticing the familiar title.

A.N.: Any guesses as to the next story? It's a long one; I can tell you that.