Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Picture Show or it's never-filmed sequel. More and more of this is based on that.

Sunday, April/7/1974

Dear Diary,

Apparently hired killers from outer space, unlike the Postal Service, work on Sundays.

I know this because today Mister Guildenstern and Mister Rosencrantz found Granny's house and tried to attack. Luckily for us, they aren't very good at sneaking up on people.

At about 9:45, they showed up and knocked at the door. Thankfully, we were already awake. I was failing to make pancakes when we heard them.

"It's those damned kids again," Granny muttered.

With a look of determination on her face she marched out of the kitchen. To my shock, she grabbed a pistol from one of the cabinets before she left. Now I'm glad she had a weapon. If it were merely kids messing with her the pistol would've been an overreaction. But since there were alien assassins at the door…

After a moment we heard a gunshot and Granny shouting something unprintable.

"We should go help her," Mr. Bradshaw said.

At that, I rolled my eyes. "She can probably kill both of them on her own. But you're right. De Lordy and his cronies might show up… or something."

Mr. Bradshaw and I grabbed knives out of the kitchen drawer. Eddie's head hurt too much and Winslow/Martin was being a brat. So, the two of us slowly walked down the hallway.

From what we could hear, Granny was taunting them- presumably in the hope that it would throw them off. Clever old thing.

Taking a deep breath, Mr. Bradshaw slowly opened the door. The scene we came upon was strangely comical.

An injured Mister Rosencrantz lay bleeding pathetically on the lawn and trying to tell Mister Guildenstern to keep fighting. The former appeared to have been shot in the leg. Maybe both legs, actually.

Those guys really aren't very good at their job.

Granny was laughing.

"There's 6 bullets in this thing!" she shouted to us, "Now, I've got three left! If I kill that clever one, you can go for the strong, stupid one!"

And then she shot Mister Rosencrantz in the chest. I felt a bit sick when I saw the bloodstain spread on the front of his pinstriped suit jacket. She'd just killed him, I realized. Just as Mister Guildenstern told us that he surrendered I blacked out.

A little while later, I woke up in the living room. For some reason I was sitting in the comfy armchair in the corner. Everyone else seemed to be sitting or standing somewhere else in the room. That included Mister Guildenstern standing nervously in the corner. He's not much of a threat without Mister Rosencrantz telling him what to do. Strong, stupid one indeed!

"-and my contact in DC can provide us with various alien tech that we can use to defend ourselves against th-," Mr. Bradshaw was saying.

"Columbia is awake," Eddie interrupted.

Everyone turned around to look at me. I suppose they'd forgotten I was in the room. And I am one of the main reasons those aliens are chasing us in the first place.

"What have I missed?" I asked.

"Well, Mister Guildenstern just explained that Lord Dominus de Lordy sent him as a diversion of sorts. Apparently he killed off all potential competition as soon as the Queen demanded that your very-dead cadaver be brought to her. Mister Rosencrantz and Mister Guildenstern were supposed to make us feel even more threatened.

"How do you know all that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

To my surprise, Mister Guildenstern replied. "I toldss them."

"It's fine! I know we can trust him," Winslow/Martin explained.

I stared at him. "What?"

"He killed some people who were after me. I kinda killed their leader in a switchblade fight at a bar… it's not really important. What matters is that I owe Mister Guildenstern a debt now," Winslow said.

"With Mister Rosencrantz deadsss, I'm not allied with any specific personssss. Now I've got nobody to work for, and you are so nicessss," Mister Guildenstern added.

"Why did you kill those people chasing Winslow in the first place, though?" I asked.

"I thought theyss were competition. Mister Rosencrantz sayss we were supposed to kill anyone else who's after Columbia- the earthlingsss companion of the queen's son- and her boyfriend," Mister Guildenstern explained with a shrug. "And I always listensss to Mister Rosencrantz."

"Mister Guildenstern really does have a lot of useful information," Mr. Bradshaw said, though somewhat reluctantly.

"And he doesn't mind so much that I killed his friend," Granny added happily.

I turned to Eddie, addressing him directly. "If I die because we trusted this guy, please shoot Winslow with Granny's pistol."

Understandably, Winslow didn't take kindly to this. "Hey! It's not-"

"I will," Eddie said, glaring at his friend.

So we began plotting what to do next. We planned to meet guy that Mr. Bradshaw kept talking about. He'd supply us with weapons or whatever.

We planned to spend the entire day in DC, mostly just sightseeing and other 'fun' stuff while we waited for all the real insanity to begin. That meant we'd actually be using those aliases we invented for once.

After going back to the kitchen and throwing out the charred pancakes, we packed a backpack full of random items for our little day trip. That included (amongst other things): salmon jerky, my diary, a pencil, Granny's pistol, and extra bullets. I really hoped that nobody would need to search our bags. So far today, nobody has.

We all got in the van and drove to the city. It took about thirty minutes. And what an awkward thirty minutes…

Now both Granny and Mister Guildenstern were part of our little 'team'.

We all looked pretty strange- even by today's deranged standards- as we walked down the street. Between Mister Guildenstern's stuffy pinstriped business suit, my bright pink hair and glittery tap shoes, Eddie's dark leather jacket and boots, Granny's floral dress… the various styles contrasted starkly.

Soon enough we stopped at a generic (forgettable) Small Coffee Shop. You know, the sort of place where those artsy philosophy people sit in corners and discuss the troubles with society and/or where to buy the best drugs. The kind of shop that hosts poetry readings every week. The natural habitat of hippies and similarly frightening beings.

I hope that such nonsense will be over soon. There weren't that sort of people around when I was a kid… were there?

After Winslow ordered coffee for everyone, the five of us sat down at a table.

"So… we're supposed to be at my ally's office at about 1 o'clock. Since it's nearly noon, we've got to spare. Anyway, his headquarters are pretty near here," Mr. Bradshaw explained.

"What's his name?" I questioned.

"Marcus B. Mendax," he replied.

"Where do ya know him from, again?" Eddie asked.

Suddenly, Mr. Bradshaw looked nervous. "Uh… it's a long story. I've known that man since before you were born. He's helped me out before and I'm sure we can still trust him."

At that point the coffees were ready. That's also when I started writing all this down. I've got to stop now, though.

Apparently it's time to drive over to meet Marcus B. Mendax… whoever he is.

- Columbia (a groupie)

A/N: Their "ally's" name is very meaningful. Translate the last name into Latin if you want a bit of a 'spoiler' about the character. Also... guess what the first name of Brutus, Julius Caesar's so-called, was?

The next few chapters will be in first person from Columbia's point of view, though not in diary form. You'll see why...

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