Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

120. The Winds of Change

A/N: It may be of use to you to be familiar with "All Eyes on Me," a fan song for Bendy and the Ink Machine. The original version is by OR3O, but the one that inspired me for the particular scene where it's relevant is by Caleb Hyles, who covers an arrangement by SquigglyDigg, and oh, boy, this song has almost as much lore in it as actual BATIM.

...

"Come here, Beck. Sit down."

Quentin wasn't entirely sure why Otto and the Huntsman had seen fit to rouse him in the middle of the night. He felt like Flint's near-spectral appearance had only been a blink ago; he'd shut his eyes, and now it was suddenly several hours later and he was upstairs in the penthouse. The penthouse bathroom, to be precise.

"And is there a reason you had me come to the toilet?" Quentin groaned.

The door slammed behind him, locking the three men in the space that would have probably felt more claustrophobic in a smaller hotel facility. The perpetrator, one Jacques von Hämsterviel, stated, "Because it allows us to make a certain aesthetic with the lighting that cannot be achieved in the kitchen. Allow me to be demonstrating!"

The lights were suddenly off save one over the sink that half-illuminated Quentin. Quentin barely had time to question it before the Huntsman's strong hands were pinning him down, seating him on the (thankfully shut) toilet.

"What are you doing?" Quentin struggled against him – a fruitless endeavor against a man so bulky and powerful. "Unhand me!"

"No," the Huntsman told him. "You will thank us when it's over."

"When WHAT'S over? OCTOPUS! EXPLAIN!"

But the cold metal of Otto's extra arms was tickling past the exposed skin of Quentin's ankles and wrists, applying ties that bound him down to the toilet. "All in time, Quentin Beck," Otto said, tone dripping with slime.

"Yes, yeeeeeees!" Hämsterviel cheered. "It is happening!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" Quentin yelled, heart thudding in his chest. "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME?"

"Make you stronger," the Huntsman stated. "More powerful. And less apprehensive toward the kill."

"Haven't you wanted exactly such a thing?" Otto teased. He and the Huntsman were all but shadows in the half-light now, hardly appearing human anymore – Otto's extra arms and the Huntsman's helmet certainly didn't do their silhouettes any favor in that regard. "To keep up with the others? To have no guilt weighing upon your conscience?"

"I can't think of anything good that will solve that problem where I need to be TIED TO A TOILET!" Quentin spat, trying to mask his terror with anger. Ever the actor.

"We are to introduce you to – " the Huntsman began.

But Otto cut him off: "No. Do not give him a chance to protest. He won't see how much of a benefit this will be to him."

Quentin's eyes widened. He struggled futilely against his bindings; oh, if only he were stronger. "No – please – whatever you're going to do, don't do it! I THOUGHT WE WERE ALLIES!"

"Which is exactly why this measure was necessary," Otto replied. "Kindly hold still. It will be easier if you do."

Quentin didn't see him open the jar in the dark. Only heard the sliding of metal on glass. Then a squelch that made his stomach drop. The feeling of a cold slime on his ankle: something very alive spreading itself out to engulf his skin.

"IT'S ALIVE!" Hämsterviel was dancing around the sink. "IT'S ALIIIIIIIIVE!"

"NO!" He jerked against the twine holding him. "PLEASE, NO! I'LL CHANGE! DON'T DO THIS! I – I'm…scared…"

And the Huntsman felt what could have been a twitch of pity. Perhaps he'd been hanging around people he actually cared about for too long. Or perhaps he hadn't been away from Rose long enough. Or perhaps, on some level, he was hearing his own voice as the creature from the Academy tore into him, the red dragon soaring overhead.

And then Quentin went silent as the Symbiote covered him completely.

But only because it sealed his lips shut.

He could still breathe. That was the only thing giving him hope, though perhaps it was better to die than to become the prisoner of some alien sludge. What had they done to him? What was the end goal? Would he come out the same person at all?

The Symbiote knew this was no Eddie. But Quentin Beck was an interesting subject all the same. For deep beneath his current terror, which was only a fleeting emotion tied to the moment, it found his sense of inferiority. Turned out the great Mysterio talked a big talk because he was afraid of being subpar. No, afraid he always had been subpar. Mostly, that was more layers of fear to pick through. But deep beneath, a hard core of something the Symbiote wanted:

Resentment.

For every person who'd ever belittled Quentin Beck. For every person who'd cast him aside. For every person who'd made him feel unimportant, lesser, like something that should neither be seen nor heard. For even the basest of slights from strangers in the street. For the people he was supposed to be able to count on, like Dmitri Smerdyakov.

The Symbiote burrowed into that rage, coaxing it out, letting it bloom.

And all of a sudden, Quentin was no longer terrified of what was happening to him. He felt perfectly at ease. Whatever this was, it wasn't hostile. It was a friend. But had Otto Octavius known that? Had he expected Quentin to come out in one piece when he'd introduced this foreign agent?

No. Of course not. Quentin was probably – no, was definitely another one of his test subjects. Trial by fire. And Otto needed to pay, as did his muscle-bound henchman and the little rodent.

Quentin simply stood up, and his new augmented body snapped right through the twine holding him down. The Symbiote recoiled from his face, only clinging in the form of a thin black webbing, like dark veins pulsing around facial orifices.

"I'M NOT YOUR GUINEA PIG!" Quentin yelled, throwing a punch directly at the silhouette that was Otto.

And the arm lengthened, branching out into a multi-tentacled appendage that slammed Otto against the far wall.

The Symbiote felt a rush. No, this one wasn't Eddie. But he was something Eddie never had been: creative.

"Let's make one thing clear," Quentin seethed. The Symbiote was beginning to bubble on his skin, like it was boiling from the heat. "I am not your test subject. I am not disposable. And if we're going to continue as the Sinister However Many We Are, you aren't going to do that to me again, or else I get to play with YOU next. Are we clear?"

Otto felt the Symbiote hardening around his body. Like a wooden branch that had conformed to him. Little black flowers even blooming, barely visible by the dim light. And it made him proud that his venture had been a success. "Crystal."

"Though the same goes for you." The Huntsman glowered. "Even in your current state, I am more than prepared to handle you."

"I wouldn't try it." Quentin retracted the appendage, and the Symbiote was taking a new shape, conforming to his body, sprouting a long and fleshy cape of black, bubbling around his head like black glass. The uniform of Mysterio, sewn from shadow. "You are just a Huntsman. Such a boring title. One of a thousand. But there is ONLY ONE MYSTERIO!"

The lights flickered on and off above him as he boomed out a classically supervillainous laugh.

"Don't do that," the Huntsman told Hämsterviel, who was toggling the switch furiously.

"But it is atmospheric to the moment!" Hämsterviel pouted.

"And you!" Mysterio pointed accusingly. "Cross me again and you'll learn why I couldn't keep a pet alive for more than a year in my childhood. And to think I was the sort of weakling who would CRY over such things! Well, THOSE days are certainly over!"

The lights flicked off completely, but a muted luminous glow emanated from Mysterio himself – something he willed so much that the Symbiote found it was capable of things not previously thought possible. Thus was his outline the only thing visible in the pitch-black bathroom as he proclaimed, "The cowardly Quentin Beck is dead. You see before you the rise of the ruthless, heartless, and only MYSTERIO!"

...

Zuko had seen Appa streak down from the horizon from his window upstairs as the dawn broke. He was subtle about his hurry down to the front courtyard, making sure to keep it at a brisk walk so his court did not see the Fire Lord running with excitement. He wasn't sure he knew how to do that yet, anyway.

He made it to where the Sky Bison landed just as six paws touched ground. "Find anyone interesting out there?" he asked with a sincere smile.

"ZUKO!" Aang slid down, the first to rush up to him, instinctively grabbing one of Zuko's hands in both of his own. "We found everyone! You're the only one left! Now we gotta find a way you can come with us on our adventure!"

Zuko was taken aback, his face flushing slightly pink as he gave an "Uh…"

Sora, regarding this and thinking back on his conversation with Aang, let out a small "Hmm."

"Oh, great." XR's LEDs flashed to give him the appearance of rolling his eyes. "Now HE'S doing it."

The inter-world travelers let Sokka, Suki, Toph, and Katara descend first. "ZUKO!" Toph yelled. "You look exactly the same as when I left!"

"Nice one, Toph," Zuko chuckled. "Though actually, I really didn't change much."

"We didn't expect you to," Suki laughed. "You're kind of a stick in the mud."

"HEY!" Zuko yelled.

"No…" Aang corrected, "I think it's more that he did so much changing recently that he needs a break." He then realized he'd been holding onto Zuko's hand for an awkwardly long time and dropped it with a "WHOA! Sorry!"

"No, it's…it's fine," Zuko said softly.

"So?" Sokka asked. "How's it hangin'?"

"It's…the usual," Zuko answered.

"Same here," Sokka replied.

Neither said anything for a while before Sokka flashed two thumbs up: "Good talk!"

"Come on," Suki urged, "you have to have more interesting stories about your time as Fire Lord than that."

"Oh, don't even bother," Toph groaned sarcastically. "It's not like there was a HUGE INVASION OF THE FIRE NATION that went on while we were away that he DIDN'T BOTHER TO TELL US ABOUT."

"There wasn't much to tell," Zuko stated. "My father escaped from prison. He and a bunch of other evildoers overran the Fire Nation capital. We took it back."

"HOW IS THAT NOT MUCH TO TALK ABOUT?" Sokka cried.

Katara was chuckling all the while. "I missed this," she admitted. "All of us together like this."

"The Gaang's all here!" Aang pumped a fist in the air. "Water, earth, air, fire, fan, and sword!"

"YOU REMEMBERED!" Sokka shrieked as though he'd been noticed by an idol.

"We still have one problem, though," Zuko reminded everyone. "I can't leave the Fire Nation for a long amount of time, or else everything will fall to pieces." He looked up to those still sitting on Appa's back; "Rosalina! You said you had a way?"

Rosalina gently floated down from Appa's back as if on a magical wind. "There is a possibility," she explained. "A long time ago, when I first began my journey, the walls between the worlds were not so thick or well-defined. There was a method that many used to travel from world to world: portals of enchanted glass. You might look at them and call them 'mirrors,' but to those who traveled planes, they were better-known as 'Eluvians.'"

"And we're gonna use a magic Eluvian to connect the Fire Nation to your home base so Zuko can travel back and forth!" Aang cried.

Rosalina shook her head; "Unfortunately, no. The Eluvians were destroyed in a tragedy that spanned many worlds. What few remain are native to one world alone, and they are so rare, they must be kept preserved for the residents of that world. However, there was another world that once used Eluvians to pass back and forth between realms to export energy. As society modernized, its inhabitants developed a replication of Eluvian technology to repurpose ordinary doors as cross-world portals."

"Wow!" Aang gasped. "That sounds awesome!"

"This-world modern," Sora asked, "or XR-modern?"

"The latter," Rosalina explained. "The doors work on a complex system of electronics. Each door is specifically crafted to lead to only one destination, and then linked to a key card that is required to open the pathway. Until recently, this world was otherwise closed off to the rest due to an unfounded fear of contamination."

"Contamination?" Katara asked. "Were other worlds poisonous to them?"

"They certainly thought so," Rosalina explained, "though that seems to have been proven untrue in recent years. I am still not certain how the rumor began, or who spread it, but now, it seems to finally be dissipating. Humans are welcomed into this world for the first time in centuries. Perhaps millennia. I doubt today's residents are aware that they once interacted so much more freely with humans at all. But in these times, they just may agree to help build a door that links two worlds they have not previously connected."

"What I'm getting from this is that these guys aren't human," Toph said dryly.

"WHICH THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH!" Papyrus said defensively.

"Please say they're beautiful robots," XR muttered, crossing his fingers on both hands. "Please say beautiful robots, please say beautiful robots – "

"What is this world?" Sora asked.

"The world itself has gone by many names over the years, and it all depends on who you ask," Rosalina explained. "But the place we want to go to find a door of our own is the capital city of Monstropolis."

...

"Monstropolis, is it?"

The WHAM faction assembled in Ba Sing Se had gathered once more in the living room around Discord's television. Snatcher had refused to budge from the couch or even just confine himself to one half of it, so Discord had conjured up several armchairs in ghastly patterns of spirals and stars marked in orange, purple, and green for his cohorts to see the show.

He'd been tracking the Cinnamons' progress since the night before ("And let me tell you, the late show was a bore; I only enjoyed it because watching paint dry is my second favorite program of all time"), and now that they'd all reunited, he'd seen fit to assemble the others.

"WHAT?" Scarlet barked. "This whole time, those guys…" She paused. "Those are the guys we don't like, right?"

"Oh, you never fought them, did you?" Aghoul realized. "Yes, we dislike them IMMENSELY."

"What," Rémington taunted, "no 'I hate them to death'?"

"Well, we're going to discuss methods of murdering them within a few minutes anyway," Aghoul reminded him. "It seemed a little redundant."

"I mean, do we have to?" Scarlet asked. "They don't know we're here. We could just let them go…"

"You're only saying that because you were never annoyed by them!" Mim accused. "And as someone who has been personally annoyed by them, I say we KILL THEM ALL!"

"Oh, this trip just became double the fun!" Discord cackled. "Two for one: the Cinnamons and the Overtakers!"

"It was a revenge mission in the first place," Aghoul reminded the group. "Why not make it a double revenge mission?"

"But Monstropolis throws an interesting wrench into the works," Discord pointed out. "The monsters of that realm are completely xenophobic. If you wanted chaos there, all you'd have to do is unleash a single human child and watch society collapse. It made for good entertainment every couple hundred years."

"But they just said the monsters wouldn't mind if humans showed up," Scarlet pointed out.

"And you believe that?" Discord prompted. "You think a prejudice at least a thousand years old can simply die off all at once? I believe we have at least two here who've made a career out of the fact that it doesn't."

That reminded Aghoul; he fired a look at Roman. "You've been strangely quiet."

"Me?" Roman replied, softly smiling. "Oh, no, nooooooooo. I'm good. Just nothing to say. I've just been basking in the quietude."

"Quietude?" Scarlet repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Roman told her. "Quietude. Like 'attitude,' but for the quiet."

"Okay, what's wrong with him?" Scarlet asked.

"I thought you were from that time period where it would be more obvious than to any of us," Mim pointed out.

"He's stoned," Aghoul explained, "and not the fun kind of stoned, where you pelt him with sharp rocks until his bones break into fine powder."

"That does sound fun!" Roman said a little too sincerely.

"Okay, yeah, now I see it," Scarlet realized. "Were you getting high to get your mind off…anything?"

"My mind is ON," Roman corrected. "It is so on right now."

"No…maybe…oh, I don't know…" Scarlet prodded. "Guilt about anything?"

"No regrets," Roman told her. "You only live once!"

"No," Aghoul corrected. "You don't. YOU certainly didn't."

"Don't bother," Discord told Scarlet. "He built his walls so high that it'll take more than a good dose of marijuana to bring them down."

"But I thought – " Scarlet sputtered. "I mean, of the two of them – " She glared at Snatcher. "Are you seriously just going to lie there and say nothing this whole time?"

His only response was an "Mmm."

"Answers that question," Scarlet muttered.

"Ay, back to the problem," Rémington brought up. "So the whole world's monsters, and we're not. Well. Most of us aren't."

"Oh, I can get in and out, no problem!" Discord chuckled. "After all, I would always do it whenever it was Release a Human Day."

Roman started laughing at this. "Release a Human Day!" he guffawed. "Don't ever change, Patchwork."

"Well, I can be a monster anytime I want!" Mim crowed, and to prove her point, she transformed right there into an amphibious-looking creature, purple with mottled pink freckles all over, rounded and squishy-looking. A small rhinoceros-style horn tipped her snout.

"Ooh, you're going to have to use that one in the bedroom more often, my little corpseflower," Aghoul said, wide-eyed.

"I get a turn once you've satisfied him with it," Rémington tossed in.

"Patience, boys," Mim told them. "First, we've got a few cinnamon rolls to burn. Now, if ONLY we had someone else here who appeared ghastly and utterly inhuman! Someone who could breach the gates with us and pass unnoticed without any extra transformation required!"

"It truly is a shame there's NO ONE ELSE," Discord said loudly. "But all I see are a bunch of humans who definitely have all gotten out of the house and contributed something PRODUCTIVE to the team lately!"

"Shame, shame." Mim shook her head. "Just a bunch of wet blankets, if you ask me."

"Blankets completely soaked," Discord added. "In the depths of the ocean, where the FISH swim."

"And speaking of – "

"I KNOW YOU'RE REFERRING TO ME," Snatcher growled.

"Oh!" Discord feigned shock. "He IS alive in there!"

"Well?" Mim folded her arms. "What is it? Are you going to mope around here all day, or are you going to get off that couch and come work with us in the one world where your ghastly appearance will go completely unnoticed?"

"Very. Well." Snatcher's voice dripped venom as he pried himself off the couch – revealing that he'd also been dripping in a literal manner, the cushions soaked through with ooze. Snatcher worked his way into a sitting position, then fixed his now-crimson glare on Mim. "You'd best not make me REGRET this. I'm only doing it to silence you, you know!"

"One problem," Rémington pointed out. "Didn't he have two rallies planned today?"

"And you expected me to attend in this condition?" Snatcher volleyed back.

"Maybe not," Rémington realized. "But people are still going to show up."

"Wait – wait – wait a minute!" Scarlet piped up. "When you went around finding recruits, you only told them that Archibald Snatcher and Madame Frou Frou were friends of yours, right?"

"Yes," Snatcher replied. "Couldn't very well advertise myself yet. At some point, the cat would've had to come out of the bag for one and only the one, but Frou Frou would remain my little secret."

"The point I'm making," Scarlet told him, "is that no one's actually seen either of those people before. Well, I mean, they did, because they're both you, but they didn't KNOW it was you, and – what I'm trying to say is that we could fake it! We call off Frou Frou, and one of the humans who stay back fills in as Snatcher!"

"Now, wait just a moment," Snatcher realized. "Why call off Frou Frou when we've got you?"

"Really?" Scarlet sighed. "We're really doing this now?"

"Yes. We are. Now speak, Mrs. Overkill."

"You KNOW what they said about me out there in town!" Scarlet protested. "I'm not seductive like Frou Frou anymore! I'm…" She sniffled. "No, I promised myself I wouldn't cry, I am NOT going to cry, but the point is I'm – " The tears came on full force. "I'm u-u-u-glyyyyyy! I can't get up there on that stage because no one will li-i-steeeeeen to meeeeee! They're just gonna laugh at me agaaaaaiiiin!"

"Mrs. Overkill…"

"There's nothing you can say that can comfort me!" Scarlet wailed.

"Good," Snatcher seethed. "Because I'm not ABOUT to."

His hand shot out, webbed fingers linking around Scarlet's arm from a chair away and pulling her close as he glared daggers into her eyes. "I am currently an utter abomination of nature," he growled. "And yet I am being forced to appear in public. You are a mere human being who still retains unlaughable features, and you are balking at delivering a speech to your fellow men because YOU AREN'T BEAUTIFUL ENOUGH."

"…Okay, this does kinda look bad," Scarlet admitted.

"If I'm to chase this poppycock 'Monstropolis' endeavor," Snatcher went on, "then YOU'RE to appear as Madame Frou Frou, and you're to do exactly what I told you and win them over not with lipstick and rouge alone but with pure, unbridled CONFIDENCE that will leave them no choice but to obey your words – OR ELSE I'LL MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING TORMENT SO LONG AS WE SHARE A BASE OF OPERATIONS!"

That snapped Scarlet out of her funk completely. "Confidence," she repeated. "Right. I can do that! I can have confidence! Okay, confidence it is!"

"Very well." Snatcher let her have a brief smirk of pride before letting her go and immediately resuming looking grumpy. "Who's to be our Archibald Snatcher, then? Not Mr. Smisse, I hope."

"Hey!" Rémington barked. "Why can't I be you?"

"Because you've no tact," Snatcher told him. "You'd end up getting yourself chased halfway across the city by some outraged interloper who took offense at the first thing you said."

"I wouldn't make that mistake on two consecutive days," Rémington argued.

"Wha – " Snatcher flinched. "WHAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY?"

"You don't get to know," Mim told him curtly. "Your choice to lie here on the couch all day."

"YOU EXPLICITLY TOLD ME I WASN'T TO LEAVE THE HOUSE FOR FEAR OF MAKING A SCENE – "

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been so boringly DEPRESSED, someone might've filled you IN!"

"Whooaaaaa now!" Roman put up his hands. "Chill, chiiiiiiiill! No fighting! Be chill! I'll just do it!"

" – Certainly there's a way to make Mr. Aghoul over as a living, breathing human entity," Snatcher muttered in response. "The foundation required will be copious, but it can work – "

"Nawwww, you know I'm the best people talky guy here!" Roman argued.

After a silence, Scarlet asked, "Do you mean 'public speaker'?"

"Yeah. That thingamadoodle."

"Roman, sweetie," Scarlet told him, "no offense, but maybe we need somebody less…out of it to deliver a really important speech?"

"Eh, it'll wear off by rally time," Rémington remarked. "Get him to agree now before he realizes what he's signing up for."

"And someone keep him off the plant," Discord ordered. "He's been in a near-constant state of artificial bliss since last night, lighting up anew whenever one burned out."

"How many people WERE you spying on last night?" Aghoul asked.

"Picture-in-picture is a wonderful innovation," Discord laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I won't trot out the blackmail until it becomes more fun to do so."

"You're going to leak our nudes?" Rémington guessed.

Scarlet thought back on how she'd eaten five rather large containers of rice porridge mixed with red bean paste all in a row while crying on the kitchen floor the previous night. Having that imagery released to the public would be worse than nudes.

"He is our second-best public speaker," Aghoul pointed out. "Roman, I mean. NOT Discord. He'd make a fine you, Snatcher. He knows how you work inside and out, after all."

"Yeah!" Roman agreed, giving Aghoul a thumbs-up. "Inside-out!"

And still not looking at Snatcher, because there were some things a marijuana-induced haze couldn't erase.

"…Very well," Snatcher relented. "Keep him clean and clear-headed until the proper time, and let him have at it."

"Can do!" Aghoul stated. "I can't wait to break the news to him that he's cashing in a little bit of the massive debt he owes you."

"I have sooooooo much debt," Roman laughed. "I lost most of my lien at the tables in Mistral!"

"I'll keep Scarlet guarded," Rémington volunteered. "This should also draw suspicion away from your face."

"Something I'd regret, under better circumstances," Snatcher sighed. "And yet. Madam Mim, Mr. Discord…what, pray tell, is our objective in this world of filthy monsters?"

"I wouldn't call them that while you're there," Discord reminded him. "That might undo all the perfect cover you currently have."

Snatcher sighed dramatically; "This world of VALID NONHUMANS?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," Mim mused. "We've got to take advantage of the factory where the doors are made. I've been a few times, myself, and it's all a big technological mess."

"Which I could no doubt figure out on a whim," Discord brought up, "but what to use it FOR? I'd almost think we'd need a home field advantage. An ally who knows the factory front to back and every which way (as he said this, Discord crossed his arms into a complex knot, then pulled them apart by force to phase through each other) and has a burning desire for delicious, delicious revenge!"

"You don't mean - !" Mim gasped.

"I was hoping you'd know about that incident," Discord told her.

"What incident?" Snatcher asked. "What loop am I out of?"

"You know how every few hundred years, I like to release a human child on the city and watch the fireworks?" Discord posed. "Well, the last time I tried that particular trick, I show up…and there's already one THERE."

"Ah," Snatcher realized. "A fellow agent of chaos at work."

"No," Discord mused. "It was an accident."

"Ah," Snatcher corrected. "An incompetent."

"All that time in exile has to have done WONDERS for his disposition," Mim mused. "He'll be good and riled up by the time we get to him!"

"We could make a double date out of it!" Discord laughed. "We bring our enemies, and he gets a crack at his!"

"Have you just recruited someone to our mission without his consent?" Snatcher asked. Then: "Now, wait a moment, have you just recruited some MONSTER to our mission – "

"He really doesn't look any worse than you do right now," Discord pointed out. "…I think. Word on the street is he's met the business end of a shovel a few times, so we might be looking at something a little less pretty than the advertisements…"

"Oh, good," Mim sighed. "I was worried for a minute we mightn't be on the same page, and you wanted the boring old man in the suit jacket on our cause."

"Now whyever would I want HIM?" Discord groaned.

"Because he technically was the brains of the operation," Mim pointed out.

"Ugh, GAG." Discord's tongue lolled. "He was BORING. Now, our target, he might've needed direction, but doesn't that work out better for us, since we want to be in charge of where he goes?"

"Not to mention he's ruthless!" Mim added. "Or at least he was pre-exile. If he's gone soft, I say we just abandon subtlety and burn the place to the ground."

"IS EITHER OF YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHO YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT?" Snatcher bellowed.

Discord and Mim exchanged a look. Then gave Snatcher twin smirks.

The name they gave him was so stunningly ordinary-sounding that at first, he thought they were just having a laugh.

...

"Where does everyone have fun?" Steven Universe spread out his arms to indicate the area before him: "FUN LAND!"

Corona Pearl's eyes lit up at the colors, lights, and mechanisms that made up the funfair before her. White Diamond simply cringed.

"This is how humans entertain themselves?" the Diamond asked. "It mostly seems to consist of sitting in vehicles."

"They're fun vehicles, though," Steven argued.

"They don't even go anywhere," White Diamond observed. "What is their purpose?"

"Must everythin' have a purpose with ye?" Corona Pearl asked. "Can some things not be fer enjoyment, to stave off the cabin fever when the nights grow long at sea?" All of a sudden, she gasped, pointing excitedly; "I spy a SEAWORTHY VESSEL!"

"Oh, yeah!" Steven realized. "They just put that in!"

It was a ride designed to look like a pirate ship, rocking back and forth and gradually increasing in speed and height the longer it pendulumed.

"You wanna go?" Steven asked.

"FULL SAILS!" Corona Pearl cried, instinctively grabbing White Diamond's hand and beginning to run for it.

"Now, WAIT – " White Diamond cried, not having asked for anything remotely close to that at all.

But Corona Pearl was fast and had a strong grip, and maybe, somewhere deep down, White Diamond didn't really mind all this. She let Corona Pearl take her to the rapidly diminishing line for the next spin, at which point the barker took one look at White Diamond and simply said, "Well, you're definitely tall enough."

Corona Pearl and White Diamond were seated next to each other aboard the ship, White Diamond still not really seeing the point. Then the ship began to move, and all at once it was too much, too fast.

"HOW IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE ENJOYABLE?" she asked on the first swing back down.

"IT BE THE THRILL!" Corona Pearl cried. "BE NOT AFRAID TO LET YER VOICE SCREAM OUT!"

The next swing was harder, faster, and Corona Pearl let out a whoop of joy. White Diamond, on the other hand, felt as though her innards were being inverted (and she didn't even have innards, technically speaking). On the backswing, she couldn't help but emit a screech of fear.

How embarrassing, for White Diamond herself to be seen as so vulnerable – but nobody seemed to care. Half the rest of them seemed scared. As though they'd chosen this on purpose. Why would anyone? Where was the fun in being afraid? In feeling weak?

The next swing came, and White Diamond flailed, losing her composure just enough that she grabbed for the nearest thing that would bring her comfort: the hand of Corona Pearl, who just seemed so happy and unafraid of this whole venture, screaming her heart out with wild abandon.

Corona Pearl made no comment on it. Just tightened her own hand around the Diamond's grip.

Now White Diamond began to understand it. How exhilarating fear could feel if you had a safety net, a source of comfort. She kept ahold of the Pearl's hand for the whole ride. After all, the strange Pearl was enjoying it enough for both of them, and that really sufficed as far as White Diamond was concerned.

...

Chameleon had been a bit tricky to locate, but eventually, someone had surrendered the information for the right combination of carrot and stick – a priceless blue crystal from Mozenrath's nonmagical collection; both Shocker's wristlets aimed at his head.

The target was a gala held by one of New York's richest. Obviously one who had more money than he knew what to do with, as his corporate headquarters (which also served as a private residence) were topped with a medieval castle, obviously imported from overseas.

"It's a little much," Mozenrath remarked.

"Didn't think I'd hear you sayin' that," Shocker admitted, looking up at the turrets along with him.

"What I mean is it's a little much for someone who wastes all that potential," Mozenrath corrected. "You buy a castle and yet you don't rule the world? You have enough money to hold the city in your fist, and you're busy worming your way through the infrastructure? I have allies who might be impressed, but I'm honestly disappointed. I suppose he's the kind who wears a suit to his deeds of villainy."

"Presumin' he's evil at all," Shocker brought up.

"Oh, he's evil," Mozenrath told him. "Anyone who has that much money in reserve is evil. But he's probably one of those who give people like us a bad name. You know, the ones who think they're working toward a greater good, or are the heroes of their own story. The ones who don't even bother to enjoy it. Very few things annoy me more."

People in extravagant dress were filing into the lobby of the building, each wearing an intricate masquerade mask of a color to match their ensemble. Mozenrath conjured himself a blue mask edged in black sequins, a trio of raven feathers at the corner of each eye, then affixed it to his face. "And you?" he asked Shocker. "You're not going to want to walk in dressed as one of New York's most wanted."

"Maybe I do," Shocker replied. "'S a masquerade, after all."

"Good point. All right, maybe just a light makeover, then."

In a flash, Shocker was sporting a glamour Mozenrath had designed, his yellow suit now appearing as a suit whose jacket and pants were done in yellow cross-hatch. His face appeared bare for the most part, save the slim yellow mask over his eyes.

"I call it 'Shocker chic,'" Mozenrath explained. "And everyone will think it's just a good-natured homage. Yzma would be proud of me."

"Let's just go bag our reptile," Shocker grunted as he set off toward the tower.

Mozenrath was compelled to teleport himself in front of Shocker by two paces before taking the lead, striding confidently to the gates of the ball, where his robes and cape looked nary out of place.

The lobby of the building was every bit as extravagant as one could imagine: gold paneling on the walls that Mozenrath was sure was real, lush ferns in every corner without so much as a dimming of their leaves of pure green. Red velvet ropes blocked off every elevator and the scarlet-carpeted stairways that led the way upstairs: not a very effective deterrent to the determined, but you couldn't bypass them without making a scene at least. Security was posted at intervals along the shimmering walls; Mozenrath couldn't help but feel as though one tall, broad and blond man in particular was staring him down, as though the man had a sense for magic – but likely he just admired the embroidery on Mozenrath's "costume" and was bad at showing emotion. A crystal chandelier glimmered above all, casting tiny prisms wherever its light fell.

At the center of the room, the dance floor was designated for the dancers, waltzing gracefully to a stuffy yet somewhat eerie instrumental being piped throughout. The host was there, masked in silver and red, whirling his orange-haired partner about. Neither Mozenrath nor Shocker cared. They were looking for someone else. They sought their target in the outer ring: those who chatted, who sipped aperitifs, who collected off the buffet.

"I wonder where – " Mozenrath began.

"Found 'er," Shocker grunted.

"Aha." Mozenrath smirked. "And here, you thought you could hide."

Everyone gave Emily Osborn a wide berth. The black mask covering her eyes could not hide her dour expression: a frown she'd seemed to wear ever since the "death" of Norman. She wore the plain black dress of a mourner. Everywhere she went, she carried the air of grief, and anyone who was anyone in this city knew what had happened to her family. No one who was anyone particularly wanted to talk about it. Millionaires and billionaires simply paid to make their problems go away. If you couldn't bring someone back from the dead, you could at the very least make certain his widow didn't spoil your fun.

But she was extended an invite to such functions all the same. After all, to exclude her would be to acknowledge the tragedy.

She approached the buffet table, beginning to gather several small delicacies onto a plate when Mozenrath was suddenly on the other side of the table from her, smirking broadly.

"I have to admit I'm impressed," he told her. "So where's the real one?"
Her only response was a soft, unfazed "Mmm?"
"Tied up in a back alley?" Mozenrath asked. "Or did you take a more permanent approach?"

Emily's eyes widened; she took a tentative step backward, shaking her head.

"And on that note," Mozenrath asked, "how many masks are you wearing tonight? At least three, by my count."

Emily turned to bolt, but found her path blocked by Shocker. "Gotta admit," he stated, "wouldn't'a thought that's what you'd look like. But if I know who you are, you sure as heck know who I am."

Emily's brow furrowed.

"If yer the real deal," Shocker posed, "then tell me how ya managed ta get a few inches taller than even the heels should give…an' tell it in her voice."

At this, Emily – or, rather, the person who had never been Emily to begin with – hissed in a low tone with a distinct Russian accent: "I will wring the neck of whoever told you."

"Oh, but you don't have to do that!" Mozenrath said, now suddenly on the same side of the table as the person who wasn't Emily. "I have a business proposition for you, and I think you're going to like it. Then again, I don't really think you have a choice here. Unmasking you is the least of what we could do."

"I wouldn't threaten me," not-Emily growled, reaching into his purse. "Or did your informant tell you I came alone?"

There was a distinct click. A device in the purse.

"Who ya got left?" Shocker asked. "Beck deserted ya. Mason went rogue."

"Which is why I had to find some new friends," the person who was most certainly Chameleon growled. "I think you'll be happy to meet them."

"Miss Osborn. Are these two bothering you?"

Mozenrath whirled to look at the guardian Chameleon had summoned up. Taller than Mozenrath. Broader shoulders. Olive skin, high cheekbones, and a swath of raven hair marked by a single moon-white streak at the root, which momentarily gave Mozenrath the idea that this man was also slightly more attractive than Mozenrath beneath the burgundy mask he wore, and Mozenrath didn't appreciate that one bit. The rest of his attire was burgundy as well, long jacket buttoned once over a black dress shirt. And his smirk was familiar in a way Mozenrath couldn't quite place.

"Oh, how cute," Mozenrath cooed. "You tricked a handsome suitor into thinking you were a defenseless widow."

The bodyguard may have been taller. He may have been more muscular. He may even have been more attractive, though really, wasn't that subjective? But Mozenrath knew he definitely didn't have a weapon of magical destruction strapped to his right hand, and therefore felt more than confident hurling insults.

"Oh, there's no trickery about it," the bodyguard responded. "I think we're all in on the secret here. But I'm here to make sure it doesn't go any further."

"So you're the Chameleon's paramour," Mozenrath figured.

"Oh, no," the man replied. "I mean, that's the game, but he's otherwise spoken for, and I don't swing that way. I'm just playing arm candy with a little muscle for the night. Not that it's going to matter to you, Blue. Because you're exactly what I'm here for."

At the nicknaming, Mozenrath realized why the smile had seemed so familiar. Though this man seemed a lot less volatile, there was just something inherently Roman-Torchwick about him that couldn't be denied. "Go ahead and try it," Mozenrath growled.

"DON'T," Shocker warned, stepping in between the two. "We ain't here to fight, remember?"

"We are if I need to win," Mozenrath grumbled.

Shocker gave a long, drawn-out groan.

"Shocker?" the man in burgundy realized, giving a light, lilting laugh. "Is that really you? You came here dressed as yourself. I have to say I admire the audacity. What, you wanted a piece of Xanatos' treasure trove?"

"If ya know my name," Shocker growled, "then I know yours somehow. Talk, 'fore I gotta prove I didn't come unarmed."

His smirk unwavering, the man gave a light bow. "Dracon. Anthony Dracon. 'Tony,' to my friends."

"Dracon, huh?" Shocker's eyebrow raised. "Sure explains a few things. Made the rounds with Dominic once or twice. Had a few run-ins with Emilio, too, though word on the street is some upstart did him in. Some loose tongues even say his own son pulled the trigger."

"Such accusations!" Tony laughed, unable to even pretend to be offended. "But you know what you're dealing with, then. You're armed, and so am I. Which one of us do you think is the faster draw?"

"Me," Shocker realized. "But that don't matter when ya got friends stationed 'cross the room with loaded guns waitin' to go off 'fore I can reach for 'em, does it?"

"Oh, you catch on fast," Tony complimented.

"'S why your type bothers me so much," Shocker grunted. "I do my own dirty work, an' sometimes other people's dirty work. But you just gotta go an' cheat the game. How bad'd ya stack it? Three on one? Four?"

"You really think I'm going to tell you that?" Tony retorted.

"That's it." Mozenrath roughly shoved Shocker aside. "Look. I didn't want it to come to this. But we aren't leaving without the Chameleon. And I'm afraid that means – "

He raised his right hand, only for Shocker to smack it back down.

"Whaddaya think yer doin'?" Shocker hissed. "You start somethin', an' we lose all of 'em."

"All?" Mozenrath repeated. "I don't think I like that word, 'all.'"

"We're down two, remember," Shocker urged. "An' right here, we've got two. Enough for a full outfit of Sinister Six, if they take the deal. 'Sides, this fella seems like your speed. Yer only fightin' with him 'cause he's doin' your schtick."

"You haven't gotten to the point yet," Chameleon hissed. "I want to know what your 'business proposition' is. Maybe I'll like it. Most likely, I won't."

Mozenrath was suddenly all smiles. "Why, we're representatives of an up-and-coming crime syndicate that will put yours, the Enforcers, and the Sinister Six to shame," he explained. "We're known as the WHAM ARMY. Before you ask, it's an acronym. And I am Mozenrath, one of the Ms. We're in the process of collecting only the best and brightest ne'er-do-wells and criminals to add to our ranks…and somehow ending up with the bottom of the barrel half the time, but that's beside the point. Our reach goes a little further than New York, to say the least. If you've ever thought about expanding your territory, then look no further."

"And you just thought to come hunting for me on your own?" Chameleon asked.

"Well, you do fit the bill," Mozenrath told him. "I know I have a friend who's going to be very pleased to hear you chose this particular disguise. You'll get along well. But more importantly, we have a bit of a…delicate diplomatic situation going on in our current ranks, and you seem to be the only one who can solve it. Won't you spare a moment for a desperate friend who needs you to rescue him from the depths of despair?"

"You have a hostage?" Chameleon asked.

"…Will that make you agree more easily?" Mozenrath tested.

"No hostage," Shocker corrected. "Just a fella with cold feet. Y'might remember him from a few heists back. Quentin Beck."

Chameleon's expression turned downright cold. "No deal."

"You're telling me you haven't dreamed of the day you reunite and bury the hatchet with your oldest and dearest friend?" Mozenrath cooed.

"He was that," Chameleon confirmed. "Then, once he decided to go rogue, he made an alliance I can never forgive. Knowing exactly what it would do to our previous bond."

"Way he tells it," Shocker accused, "you pushed him to the brink. Ain't surprised he put a lid on it."

"Then don't be surprised I'm saying no," Chameleon told them. "After all, if THAT OTHER one is there, I'm not going anywhere near."

"And you'd better stay away from him." Tony cracked his knuckles. "Or, more accurately, keep Kraven at at least a hundred-foot radius."

"We don't have Kraven," Mozenrath stated flatly. "We didn't want him."

"Talked it over as a group," Shocker went on. "Agreed he was even more of a stick in the mud than me, an' I'm about all the Six can handle in that department. Though now I'm thinkin' there was more to the story."

"Kraven and I are incompatible," Chameleon stated. "Leave it at that."

"So you're angry that Quentin ran off and rubbed elbows with the lion," Mozenrath deduced. "And after you told him he was worthless and incompetent, you expected…what, exactly?"

"I didn't say that!" Chameleon hissed. "I only insinuated he'd never had an original idea in his life, and he would get nowhere without me!"

"…That's pretty much the same thing," Mozenrath sighed.

"Look," Shocker sighed. "I wasn't there, but I know how this operation works. The Doc picks ya out, then herds ya into the room. Kraven wasn't his choice. But what you said to him maybe spurred him to not wanna walk out."

"Kraven or no Kraven," Chameleon hissed, "he made it completely clear he didn't want anything to do with me anymore!"

"Then explain why he's currently a nervous wreck who keeps blaming you for his inferiority complex," Mozenrath replied.

Chameleon flinched. "Y…you're lying."

"Ya do wanna make up," Shocker realized. "Else you'd'a been glad to hear that."

"We were a team!" Chameleon hissed. "And he walked out on me! He said I was holding him back when all I ever did was showcase the talent he had! He threw out everything we'd ever shared for fame and glory!"

"That's kind of what we do in this business," Mozenrath reminded him. "Well, lately, I've gotten around it by finding people who want in on the fame and glory part, so long as I get my cut."

"Quentin Beck means nothing to me," Chameleon hissed. "My place is with Lorenzo, and that's the end of it."

"Who's Lorenzo?" Mozenrath asked.

"One of the men with a pistol scope trained on your back," Tony offered.

Mozenrath gave a drawn-out sigh. "You really are making this difficult, you know? To ignore you, I mean. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Shocker is right. You do have a WHAM ARMY aura." Maybe a little less Roman than he'd thought, but tempered out by something similar to his own self, if Shocker was right. "But if all this isn't convincing, let me ask you this. Are you happy jumping through the hoops at this little soirée? How long is Emily Osborn going to ghost around the dance floor with her mysterious suitor before you pull the trigger and rip away the curtain? What if I told you that if you joined forces with us, right here, right now, we could empty out the Xanatos vault?"

"And that stacks up against everything Dmitri said…how?" Tony asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Mozenrath told him. "Maybe we should just turn and walk away and let Dmitri stew on the fact that Quentin Beck committed his first real murder while he was away and is on the verge of giving up villainy over it." He spun on a heel. "I'm going now." He took three paces. "I'm leaving!"

"WAIT!" Chameleon cried, then slapping his hands over his mouth; he wasn't quite adept at mimicking more feminine voices (yet) and had surely drawn attention to himself.

But nobody noticed Emily. (Just as nobody had cared when she'd decided to lie in bed feeling sorry for herself rather than attending the ball, but Chameleon liked having others think he'd had her bumped off.)

About time, Mozenrath thought. If Chameleon had let him get another three paces, he was about to turn and start firing with reckless abandon. He couldn't just let a grudge go, after all. "For what?"

"New syndicate," Chameleon stated. "More territory. No Kraven. And Beck…" He swallowed hard. "We get along."

"That's the offer," Shocker told him. "Take it or leave it. And Moze, don't ya dare open fire if he leaves it."

Mozenrath rolled his eyes.

"Well?" Tony asked Chameleon. "It's your call."

"You're the leader here!" Chameleon reminded him.

"I have to admit I'm…curious about this offer at least," Tony stated. "You're the only thing stopping me from taking the deal, but don't sell that short."

"He wanted to kill you for mouthing off," Chameleon reminded him.

"And maybe I respect that," Tony chuckled.

"Somethin' tells me you'd'a done the same," Shocker said dryly.

Tony's glare at him confirmed it.

"…Fine," Chameleon whispered. "I'll take it. If you promise no Kraven. Ever. And Beck really does need me."

"We can even make a night out of poaching a lion if you want," Mozenrath told him. "Though one day I'd like to hear the story – "

"No," Tony cut in. "You wouldn't. Now focus. You wanted to blow the cover and raid the Eyrie."

"Exactly," Mozenrath confirmed.

"And you think we can get around Xanatos' security systems because…?"
"You have two armed men, and some form of weapon yourself," Mozenrath told him. "Now you have Shocker. And, more importantly, you have magic on your side." He held up his gauntlet, which crackled with blue electricity.

"He ain't just gonna believe that," Shocker sighed.

But Tony recoiled at the sight, the fear in his eyes palpable. He did believe; that was obvious to anyone. "You'd be surprised," he managed at last. Then a wide grin and a chuckle; "For once, it's on my side. You know, one of these nights, we could go hunting for better prey than Kraven."

"If you're implying you dance with the kind of archnemesis I'm thinking," Mozenrath replied, "then my partner is going to be very happy to hear it. But for now, let's focus on the loot. What was the original plan?"

"Get Chameleon upstairs," Tony explained. "He disables security. The rest of us make our way through the shadows. Then – "

"This is already boring," Mozenrath sighed. "And you don't even have anyone who can contort through the ventilation ducts. We're doing this my way. Round up your men, and we're getting up those stairs by force."

Chameleon reached back into the purse, and soon, two other men made their way out of the woodwork. One was taller even than Tony, his charcoal skin taut over toned muscles; he had opted out of wearing a mask due to the prominent glasses perched on his nose, and instead had a mock mask of red and gold glitter paint spread across his face. The other was short and thin, pale, light-brown hair slicked back over his sharp face hidden behind a deep-plum mask.

Since the game was about to be given away anyway, the man with the glasses and Chameleon came together, the former scooping up the latter and dipping him in a deep kiss.

"Spoken for," Shocker recalled.

"Also Lorenzo," Tony noted, "though around here, we mostly just call him 'Glasses,' since he puts up a stink anytime you mention contact lenses."

"I told you," Glasses said as he released a dazed Chameleon from the kiss, letting him drape over his solid arm. "No contacts or I walk."

"And if they break in the field?" Mozenrath posed.

"They don't," Glasses said with finality.

"And you?" Mozenrath turned to the other.

"They call me 'Pal Joey,'" he stated. "Tony, who is this guy?"

"He's a calculated risk that Dmitri and I have decided to take," Tony informed him.

"Any more?" Shocker asked. "Ya got a whole syndicate, from what I recall."

"These are the only two that matter," Tony stated. "Anyone else is just cannon fodder and meat shields."

"Keep your own close," Mozenrath stated. "A solid philosophy. Looks like this partnership might just work out after all."

"An' I bet that stings, don't it?" Shocker posed to Chameleon. "Your new boyfriend's got some true-blue pals, and you got a scar in the shape of a fishbowl."

"Don't remind me," Chameleon growled. "And this deal is only solid insofar as you fix things with me and Quentin."

"That's on you two," Shocker told him. "But ya lower his pride enough, I betcha can get what ya want."

"Now," Mozenrath stated, "to the matter at hand. We're on the clock, and I know none of us wants to leave empty-handed, so I say we have a little fun. It is a party, after all."

The attention of all was suddenly caught when an invisible-laser pistol's beam pierced the chandelier overhead, causing a rain of shimmering glass to fall upon the dancers. As they rushed about in a panic, Tony ripped off his mask, discarding it.

(Attractiveness was subjective, Mozenrath reminded himself. He was still prettier, if you asked the right people.)

"If I could have your attention!" Tony called out, cocking the pistol. "I'm done playing."

Within moments, the air was thick with the sound of gunshots. Glasses swept Chameleon off his high-heeled feet, carrying him bridal-style up the stairs to Xanatos' vaults. Pal Joey and Tony were almost in perfect sync with their fire, but it was dwarfed by the sonic resonance that Shocker put out, practically flattening the crowd. Explosions of blue magic went up like firecrackers as Mozenrath followed them upstairs.

(The host, his wife, and the blond were escaping through a hidden elevator. Yes, some of their possessions would go missing that night, but it was a drop in the bucket, and they had a child to secure.)

Upstairs was already a wealth, and they hadn't even hit the good stuff yet. Vases from dynasties long past alternated pillars with ancient busts recovered from archaeological sites that could only have been pilfered from for such things to end up here.

"And I'm in a good mood," Mozenrath said, "so I'm going to let you keep the majority of it on principle. I already have my Terminus Fund for this world maxed out."

...

Snatcher already hated this world. Hate, hate, hated it. And made a point of not saying that so as not to get any "YOU STOLE MY LINE" from Mim.

But everything was just so futuristic. Smooth walls, austere floors, and flickering fluorescents embedded in the ceiling, to start. And now Mim and Discord had him picking his way across a catwalk as a sight he could barely process was taking place around him.

Somehow, magic had been easier to swallow than the sight of a million conveyor rails spiderwebbing around each other to ferry doors set in metal frames from one side of the immense warehouse to another.

So many doors, too. All colors, all patterns, even some size variation. Snatcher had to wonder. Did they all lead to parts of one world? To a multitude of worlds? Back or forward in time? To a place he would understand better than this?

At least security hadn't bothered him. And that was the other thing he hated about this world: how much he got by on the fact that everyone here looked naturally as disgusting as he felt. The receptionist they'd passed who had barely noticed them due to her multitude of balanced phone calls was the most normal-looking person around, and she'd had pink skin, snakes for hair, and a single eye set in the center of her forehead. The rest of them were all manner of the animal kingdom, hybrids of species that shouldn't go together, with too many eyes or eyes that detached or not enough eyes or limbs that bent wrong or spikes that threatened to impale anyone who got too close or transparent panels of skin that let you see right through to the pulsating guts –

"That's what I hate about this world," Discord sighed as he moseyed down the hall. "I keep forgetting everyone here is so frustratingly attractive." He put up a claw to wave; "Hello, Jennifer!"

"Hi!" "Jennifer" responded around three rows of needle-sharp teeth.

"They're all so disgusting!" Mim cackled. "What is this feeling? Do I…actually love this world? No! It can't be! I can't LOVE anything!"

"Oh, just let it happen," Discord advised.

That had brought them to the door warehouse, where Mim had managed to dig up not a door but a pile of wooden chips, once belonging to a set of splintered wooden planks that had made up another door. Discord propped up a metal doorframe against the catwalk railing as Snatcher tried not to pay any attention to how high up they were, constantly reminding himself that a deadly fall could be easily reversed by Mozenrath's hand (and maybe it would be preferable to all this).

"And there we are!" Mim settled her hands on her hips, or what passed for them in her new blubbery form.

"Indeed," Discord said. "There you have it."

And both looked satisfied, taking no further action.

"…That's it?" Snatcher looked at them, wide-eyed. "It's not a door. It's a pile of debris."

"Oh, we know," Discord told him.

"Someone's going to have to do something about it," Mim replied.

"Well?" Snatcher gestured to the wood chips.

Mim and Discord smirked at each other.

Then he realized. "No!" Snatcher gasped, shaking his head. "You aren't intending – "

"You came on this trip with me," Mim told him, "and you expected anything NICE?"

"Now, chop chop," Discord told him. "We don't have all day. The Cinnamon Challenge Contingent will be here any minute."

"EITHER OF YOU COULD WAVE A HAND AND MAKE THIS DOOR COMPLETE!" Snatcher roared. "WHY TORMENT ME FURTHER? IT ISN'T AS THOUGH THESE UNWIELDY CLAWS THAT ARE SO TIGHTLY WEBBED TOGETHER WILL BE OF USE!"

He missed his fingers. They probably had been the one part of himself he could stand without dolling them up any. They were the first thing Roman had noticed – not that that mattered anymore.

"Well, not with THAT attitude!" Discord huffed.

"Now get to it!" Mim ordered.

And Snatcher figured if he didn't dig in, there would be no door, and no revenge scheme, and no justification for having to come to this world of so many terrifying creatures that could so easily swallow him whole by unhinging their jaws (he assumed, anyway).

"You will pay for this," he grumbled as he knelt over the chips, picking through them. At least he remembered that when putting together a jigsaw puzzle, it's easiest to start with the edges.

...

"All right." Wuya unfolded a deck chair from nowhere, plopping it on the sparse grass and sitting down on it, one leg delicately folded over the other. "Let's talk."

The tension had been palpable since the barn. No one had spoken a word. Even Zevon hadn't had the guts to make the first move, despite being team leader. This was something to do with emotions. Something he never had been that great with, except occasionally his own. He didn't know the first thing about atoning or making things up or even if he wanted to.

So Wuya had stepped in, Heylin wrangler that she had been. True, she had never really made any of the Heylin resolve their differences so much as exacerbated them, but she liked to think of it as work experience – and the WHAM ARMY was a whole different beast from what the Heylin used to be. (Strange, to think how far she'd either fallen or risen, or maybe remained on the same plane but just crossed a new border.)

And now there was a circle of eight deck chairs, enough for everyone. Wuya gestured to them with open palms; "Well?"

Tentatively, everyone sat down.

"For the record," Yzma began, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I know," Wuya told her. "This is between your son and Garfield."

"I didn't do anything wrong either," Zevon muttered.

"Oh, suuuuuure," Garfield groaned. "Nothing wrong, right? Just mess with my perception of reality, that's all."

"How did I do that?" Zevon urged. "I explodificated a forge!"

"And I would appreciate if you didn't EXPLODIFICATE anything else," Garfield growled.

"Seconded," Peter said, all too coldly as compared to what they were used to from him.

"Why?" Zevon begged. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters because it matters," Garfield stated. "Don't. Do it. Again."

"Also, an apology would be nice," Peter brought up.

"And how's he supposed to bloody apologize for doing what we'd all've done?" Draco spat. "At least he didn't let Fiendfyre loose on the damn barn!"

"I've always wanted to try and bottle Fiendfyre…" Zevon muttered.

"Don't you DARE," Draco threatened.

"Look," Irmaplotz broke in. "Guys. Just…just apologize and make up, and let's drop it."

"You know why this is so importantenced to him, don't you!" Zevon realized.

"No I don't," Irmaplotz said with wide, guilty eyes.

"It's me!" Jack attempted. "I'm the one who knows everything!"

"What are you actually trying to accomplish here, Jack?" Wuya asked.

"…I dunno," Jack sighed, slumping. "Just thought I should try and take some of the heat off." Then he let out a small, ill-timed giggle; "Heat…I said 'heat'…y'know, 'cause it's Firefly…"

"If you don't tell me why I shouldn't do something as innocuocent as blowing up a forge – " Zevon began.

"We have a very strange definition of 'innocuous' around here," Wuya sighed.

"I think he was going for 'innocent," Yzma muttered.

"Then I won't know what I'm apolamagizing for in the first place!" Zevon seethed through clenched teeth.

"It's not your dang business," Garfield seethed right back. "I just need your word that you won't. Do that. In front of me. Again."

"Well, now I think I WILL," Zevon declared. "Out of SPITING!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Wuya groaned. "Zevon, you triggered Garfield's intense PTSD from the time he mutated into Phosphorus and developed extreme homicidal urges that nearly resulted in him killing his current boyfriend via explosion, a microcosm of which you created at the forge, so apologize for giving him a breakdown already and accommodate for your teammate!"

"Wha – " Garfield blanched. "How'd you know?"

Wuya tapped her temple twice; "Telepath."

"Oh."

"I brushed against you on the walk here to get a sense of what was going on," Wuya told him. "Looks like that invasion of privacy was warranted. Also, if you'd just told us Riddler sided with your ex, none of us would've begrudged you for murdering him."

"He WHAT?" Jack shrieked. "Aw, maaaan! Now I wish I'd gotten a piece of that! First you guys don't let me help you set Chase Young on fire, and now this?"

"We'll get you a nemesis to kill," Wuya sighed. "Now shut up and wait your turn like a good bad boy."

Jack pouted and folded his arms, letting out a little whimper but otherwise remaining silent. Irmaplotz reached over and ruffled his hair comfortingly.

"So first of all, yes, you get your suit back," Wuya told Garfield. "Second, Zevon, I believe you have an apolamog – an apology to make."

"No, I don't!" Zevon argued. "I still don't see how I'm the bad guy here! …The baddest bad guy. The bad guy that transcendentalizes our usual motif operandi of villainy."

"You don't know what PTSD is, do you?" Yzma asked.

"…Pretzels Tasting Salty Disgustingly?" Zevon guessed.

Wuya slumped in her seat, hand pressed to her forehead. "Can someone with empathy explain it to him?"

There was a long silence before Jack realized most eyes were on him. "Okay, first of all, rude," he huffed. "Second, Zevon, what's the worst thing that ever happened to you in your life? The thing that made you feel like the biggest loser."

"When Malina rejectified me and my house burned down through no fault of my own," Zevon stated.

"It's like if every time you saw a house on fire, you remembered that," Jack told him.

"But I do remember that whenever I see a house on fire," Zevon stated.

"No!" Jack screeched. "You're not getting it! It's like – "

"The Memory Void of Deardiarity," Irmaplotz gasped. "That's exactly what it's like."

"The what now?" Yzma asked.

"Don't ask her to elaborate," Draco sighed.

"Ancient, forbidden lore tells of a demigoddess, Deardiarity, who collects the journals of angsty teenagers and forges them into pools of memory in her abyssal home," Irmaplotz began. "Anyone who wanders in runs the risk of being caught in a loop of the most embarrassing moment from their adolescence, over and over again, whether your pants ripped in public or you spilled chocolate pudding on yourself at the Evil Sorceress Summit or – "

"For God's sake!" Draco groaned. "Zevon, you've used a Pensieve, right?"

"Yes…?" Zevon answered.

"It's like seeing a house on fire and immediately being thrown into a Pensieve that has the memory of your house burning down," Draco told him. "On top of it, the version of that memory where it's very clear IT WAS YOUR BLOODY FAULT."

"…Oh," Zevon realized. "I can see how that wouldn't be pleasingant."

"Not exactly the laundry I wanted aired today, but whatever," Garfield grunted.

"Does someone perhaps have any new regrets?" Peter asked.

"As I have never experiencated the Pretzel syndrome," Zevon stated, "I don't feel even an ounce of sympathempathy for you."

"Figured," Garfield huffed.

"However," Zevon went on, "as your team leader and friend, I understand that your mentalized well-being is importanced to our grander mission, and therefore…" He struggled, but eventually got the words out: "I apolomagize for unpredicterratically explodificating a forge."

"Aaaaaaand?" Peter urged.

"And no more pyrotechnimania," Zevon muttered.

"I maintain it's fine so long as I'm in control," Garfield told him. "Guess the worst part of it is I just had a breakthrough. Thought maybe I could leave it all behind. That got shattered like a million-dollar vase at Wayne Manor. Maybe that one's on me."

"It was a REALLY good breakthrough," Irmaplotz emphasized. "I'd like to think it was worth something. I mean, Riddler died and I didn't, so that's good."

"It really is," Peter pointed out. "So what if your days of flashing back aren't over? At least not yet. We're still coming out on top consistently…by certain metrics, anyway." His honest smile and teasing tone were back, and everyone knew he no longer held ill will toward Zevon.

"So can we just move it along to the next Pearl already?" Garfield urged. "I don't wanna harp on this anymore. You know about my inner demons that I wasn't gonna tell anyone else until Asgard and then Gotham, I got my apology, we're square, I REALLY don't wanna talk about this any more than I have to."

"On that note…" Yzma rose dramatically, pointing into the air. "THE LAPIDARIES NOW HAVE UNIFORMS!"

This was met with several blank expressions.

"Was I supposed to ease into that transition more smoothly?" Yzma asked Wuya.

"I think you did fine," Wuya replied with a shrug.

"Wuya and I crafted them during…that time we're not talking about," Yzma went on. "They were supposed to have matching bracelets. I wonder why they don't." Her eyes rolled and settled onto Zevon.

"Not having jewelaccessories doesn't impedimede the functioningality of our team," Zevon snapped, "and thereforemost, I will NOT apolomagize for it!"

Wuya stood up beside Yzma; "Now, we designed these based on intel we got on how Gem classification works," she stated. "First off, the Lapis Lazuli is one of the most powerful Gems, able to terraform entire planets and level cities with the wave of a hand. And that's why I get those colors."

She unfolded her version of the uniform: a long, flowing tunic with a pair of jeans. Little beads that resembled smooth teardrop lapis lazuli ran over every hem and seam, shining in the sunlight. Wuya snapped two fingers, and had exchanged her stylish beach wear for the new design.

"Meanwhile," Yzma went on, "the Peridot is the genius of the Gem world, coming up with brilliant schemes and daring innovations! There are also those who say Peridots are silly or easily distracted, but that's not pertinent here."

"You're certain of that?" Draco snickered.

Wuya then changed Yzma into an ensemble almost identical to her own, though with a beret on top. The fabric was a bright green, and the beads standing in for glittering peridots.

"I know, I know," Yzma stated. "Green isn't usually my color, but I thought I'd branch out a bit. Now, as Zevon is team leader, it follows he should get something that allows him to stand out in a crowd. Moreover, the Bismuth is the Gem in charge of forging tools and weaponry, and is the closest thing to an alchemist we can conceive in Gem society. Therefore…"

Wuya put Zevon in his own version of the uniform, though it was woven with rainbow threads that made a smooth gradient of color across the fabric; the beads were iridescent, different colors of the spectrum depending on how the light hit.

"On the other hand," Wuya stated, "Rubies are meant to be bodyguards, but, more importantly, in control of the element of fire."

In a snap, Garfield was wearing deep red with sparkling crimson beads. "Nice," he remarked.

"But on that note," Wuya went on, "the Spinel is seen as more of comic relief. It's designed to bring levity to the group. Also, it has long, flexible limbs that make it look like a rubber-hose animation, and the parallel was right there."

Now Peter was snapped into a pink uniform with off-red beads.

"That is, if you're enough of a man to handle pink," Wuya told him.

She found it odd that he paused slightly before saying "I do love a good shade of pink." He'd definitely been honest about it, so she wasn't certain of why he had needed to think anything over.

"Now, Aquamarines," Yzma went on. "Aristocratic enforcers. The ones they call to be in charge when things go wrong. A bit of a reputation of being snobbish."

Draco's uniform was a much lighter blue than Wuya's, his beads sparkling with facets to oppose the smooth, Lapis-like beads.

"By the same token," Yzma continued, "you have Sapphires, who are basically the princesses of the Gem world, so here you go."

Irmaplotz's clothing was a midpoint of color between the Aquamarine and the Lapis.

"And finally…" Wuya smirked at Jack.

"Okay, I'm already angry you gave Ragdoll the pink one when you KNOW I love that color," Jack grunted.

"Jack Spicer," Wuya told him. "Assistant to evil who is at my beck and call. Only fitting he should be the Pearl, who is designed to play sidekick to the more important Gems and fulfill their every need."

In a snap, Jack was outfitted with clothing of pure white, embroidered with round, white, opaque beads –

And gave a scream of rage.

"WHITE?" he yelled, stretching out the tunic's bottom hem. "You put me in WHITE? This is the most boring hero color ever! You're gonna make me look like the good guy! You know what? I'm hurt. No, I am. First you imply I have EMPATHY and now this? That's it. I quit."

Yzma and Wuya exchanged a glance…and then a snicker.

"I think we've teased him enough," Yzma stated.

"April Fool," Wuya said as she snapped her fingers again.

The uniform was the same cut, with the same shape of bead, but now all black.

"Black pearls exist," Wuya stated. "We just thought we'd have a little fun with you."

"Now, THIS is evil chic," Jack remarked, standing up to twirl and look at himself. "I think it brings out my eyes. What do you think?"

"It really does!" Irmaplotz agreed. "Meanwhile, I'm just not used to BLUE. Or pants."

"I know!" Jack gasped. "That's why it looks so good on you! Because I've never seen it before!"

"Aww!"

"If we're done here…" Wuya dismissed all the deck chairs, not waiting for anyone else to get up and therefore plopping Garfield, Peter, Zevon, Draco, and Irmaplotz right down onto the ground most unceremoniously.

"We have a FUN LAND to scour!" Yzma spread out her arms to indicate the very loud, bright, and noisy amusement park that had been behind them the whole time.

The plan was simple: get inside, split up, and find the Corona Pearl that the compass seemed to think was there. That meant looking through the amusement park very thoroughly. And you couldn't very well examine an amusement park without riding the rides.

Yzma and Wuya had located a small rollercoaster – nothing like the behemoth back on Terra Neon, standard fare for a tiny beach town, but still enjoyable. On the climb up to the first hill, Yzma remarked, "It's rather nice to ride one of these without having to scramble for my life to retrieve an errant crystal."

"It is," Wuya agreed. She then turned to look at Yzma; the sun was beginning to set, framing Yzma's lavender face and new green attire with the warm glow of the twilight. "You know…" A soft smile spread across her face. "Green really is your color."

Was that a tint of red in Yzma's cheeks or was that just an illusion from the setting sun? She gave a nervous laugh; "Eheheheheh…of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? But you…well…you look – "

That was exactly when the coaster hit the first drop, and whatever sweet nothing Yzma was about to give Wuya was cut off by a scream of "WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

But Wuya got the sentiment all the same, and found it quite touching.

Meanwhile, across the park, Draco had found himself in the unfortunate position of between Jack Spicer and Irmaplotz on a teacup ride.

"WOO-HOOOOOOO!" Irmaplotz whooped.

"LET'S MAKE IT GO EVEN FASTER!" Jack cried.

"DO NOT MAKE IT GO FASTER – " Draco attempted.

But the happy couple was already spinning the table inside at mach speed, making Draco tally his regrets all the more should his life end on those teacups that night.

Garfield and Peter had found their way down to the arcade, which seemed more enticing than the rides. The machine nearest to the entrance caught their attention for perhaps all the wrong reasons.

"Meat Beat Mania," Peter read off the top of the machine before shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "A little suggestive for a family-friendly arcade, isn't it?"

"I can't." Garfield was beginning to shake with laughter. "Look, I know my sense of humor is third-grade toilet, but – " He snorted and was unable to finish the sentence.

"That said…" Peter strode forth, taking a look at how the machine operated. It was a simple concept. Two remotes in the shape of roast turkey drumsticks acted as conduits; the screen told you which way to move them to the rhythm of a peppy song, and the more you matched, the higher your score. "I do believe this is my speed."

"Hey." Garfield took the second-player set of drumsticks up. "Wanna make a contest of it?"

"You know you've picked a losing battle, Garfield."

"Yeah, yeah, just put your money where your mouth is."

A quarter expertly pickpocketed was slid into the machine, and then the two began to move to the direction of the split screen – seemingly normal, except how Peter would switch the drumsticks between limbs without changing the remotes' positions, such as bending his arms backward to make them act as each other's opposite or tossing the remotes up briefly so he could kick off his sandals, land in a perfect handstand, and use his feet to continue the game.

It was probably to Garfield's benefit that he hadn't put a wager on this.

Zevon had opted for strategy over pleasure, choosing the great Ferris Wheel as his vantage point. He figured that from its apex, he could see the whole park and any Pearls in it.

As he got higher and higher and realized that from that distance, it wasn't actually really possible to discern what type of Gem people were without more detail, he refused to admit he had made a mistake.

Not to mention that when he'd boarded, he had shared his cabin with a random parkgoer who was experiencing her first Fun Land outing, and hadn't really paid any attention to her until she began to complain.

"I don't understand this," Yellow Pearl groaned. "It's a vehicle that goes nowhere! What's the purpose? It's so…ugh. I don't know if the word is 'basic' or 'banal.'"

"Why not 'banasic'?" Zevon posed.

"That's not a word," Yellow Pearl told him.

"It is if you want it to be!" he declared proudly. "Though I disagree, as I am definitivetley riding this wheel for amusementertainment and not as a failed attemption to look for someone from on high."

"Who are you looking for?" Yellow Pearl asked, because she had been taught that here on Earth, you asked people questions about their lives in order to be polite.

"Oh, no one in speciarticular," Zevon remarked. "Just a Pearl."

He held unbroken eye contact with Yellow Pearl for a good thirty seconds. The wheel reached its zenith. And that was finally when he realized.

"Excuse me for a minute." Zevon brought out his staff, pointing it at Yellow Pearl. "BLA-ZAM!"

On the cabin floor, he rolled the yellow Gem around the compass to find that she wasn't what he was looking for. In frustration, he pitched her right off the top of the Ferris Wheel – fortunately, the Gem landed on a soft bounce castle, where Yellow Pearl would later reform intact but very confused.

The eight Lapidaries reconvened near the park entrance as the sun dipped lower into the sky. "Well?" Yzma asked. "Did anyone find anything?"

"Another dud end," Zevon sighed.

"I found out what Hell actually feels like," Draco muttered.

"I fell in love all over again!" Irmaplotz cried.

"Me too!" Jack squealed.

"I found this bear." Peter offered the enormous fluffy teddy he'd won with the inordinate amount of tickets he'd racked up at Meat Beat Mania. "And it's mine. It's also going in our bed tonight."

"Not complaining," Garfield said with a shrug. "Meanwhile, I rediscovered why you don't challenge Peter to dance games."

"I found this fried ice cream cheeseburger." Wuya took a bite of said abomination. "I'm mostly eating it out of a sense of oddly-placed masochism."

"So what now?" Yzma asked. "No. Wait. That isn't right. One of you ask 'So what now?."

There was an awkward silence before Draco sighed and took one for the team: "So. What now?"

"AHA!" Yzma cried. "I have the perfect plan! First, we win the ring toss. It's going to be rigged, which is why Jack Spicer will need to build a remote-controlled – "

At that moment, a group of five Gems passed by the Lapidaries. Two of them hung back to examine a poster stapled to a wooden post behind them. "Hmmm," they said in unison (they did most things in unison, as they, the Rutile twins, were two torsos and heads grafted to the same lower half).

Another of the group gasped and doubled back. "Rutile!" the tiny pink Padparadscha Sapphire cried. "I just had a vision! They are going to schedule a live music event tonight at the beach! There will be free soda and an open microphone!"

This interrupted the next phase of Yzma's thirty-phase plan, as the words "live music event" tended to do.

Meanwhile, Draco had glanced over at the poster, then fired a glare at the little Padparadscha. "Vision?" he scoffed. "You just read that bloody poster!"

The Lapidaries all took a look at the poster, which declared "LIVE MUSIC EVENT TONIGHT" in enormous font, "Open Mic!" in smaller text below a graphic of a guitar, and, at the very bottom, "(Free soda)".

"Oh, oh, oh – " The four-armed, four-eyed Rhodonite in several shades of deep pink rushed back. "Please don't mind Padparadscha. She sees the past instead of the future, but there's nothing wrong with that!"

"Yes, there is," Irmaplotz stated. "What kind of dumb power is that?"

Meanwhile, the fifth Gem in their group – an enormous caterpillar-like woman in shades of minty green – lumbered over to observe the poster. "Liiiiiiive muuuuuuusiiiiiiiic," Fluorite said, agonizingly slowly to the Lapidaries' ears. "I hoooooooope thaaaaaat Saaaaaadiiiiieeee aaaaaaaaand the Kiiiiiiiiilleeeeeers wiiiiiiiiill beeeeeeee peeeeerfooooooormiiiiing."

"Are you going?" one of the Rutiles asked. "Anyone who's anyone will be there! People, Gems – everyone who wants to have fun!"

"It's a live music night," Yzma said, as though that answered the question (which, to the Lapidaries, it did, with no further explanation).

"Everyone…?" Zevon's eyes lit up. "Like maybe a peculiarite Pearl from another world?"

"I mean, if she likes music, then yes," Rhodonite said.

"Hmmm," Zevon pondered. "I think we may be beneficiated by attendifiying this event!"

"Oh!" Padparadscha cried. "I just had a terrible vision! Eight evil villains are about to enter Fun Land, temporarily vaporize Yellow Pearl, and then confirm they will be at tonight's music event! They will be wearing matching blouses and trousers with different-colored beads on!"

As Rhodonite, Fluorite, and both Rutiles fired the Lapidaries a very sour group glare, the ne'er-do-wells had to admit that maybe seeing into the past wasn't such a useless talent after all.

After a quick skirmish, the not four, not five, but in fact ten core Gems that made up the Off Colors were dropped discreetly into a deep-fryer, where they would later be noticed by a very confused food service worker shortly before they all regained form (and not fried up and sold for consumption as Yzma had outlined in her twelve-step scheme to hide them).

"And like most things in our lives," Wuya declared, "our current problems will be solved through the performing arts."

...

Rosalina led the way, and Aqua, Papyrus, Ven, XR, Sora, Aang, Katara, Sokka, Suki, Toph, and Zuko all followed. They'd entered an industrial area's parking lot, walking between neatly-painted spaces toward what looked, for all intents and purposes, to be an ordinary factory.

"Whoa…" Sora beamed up at it.

"Welcome to Monsters, Inc.," Rosalina introduced. "This is the plant where monsters used to collect the screams of children."

"Why would anyone want that?" Aqua was visibly disgusted.

"They produced energy," Rosalina stated. "This world has retained more than one old magic. Here, human emotions can affect technology, and used to affect artifacts. Powerful enough signs of emotion can even affect a monster physically, which is actually where the notion that humans are 'toxic' came from. A human can't kill a monster that way; don't worry. But touching tears born of true sadness may cause a rash for a while."

"You said 'used to,'" Aang realized. "So…they don't anymore?"

"Joy is more powerful than fear," Rosalina stated. "Or at least the fear of being startled."

"I was gonna say," XR brought up, "NOT that, you know, I have any firsthand experience, but if a person were deathly afraid of, say, energy vampires, I would think that would drown out any joy left in them."

"Long-term fear hardly manifests outwardly," Rosalina went on. "To the monster, anyway. The human feeling it would obviously be quite distressed…or, in some cases, the robot."

"I said I did NOT have any firsthand experience – "

"But fleeting fear manifests in screams," Rosalina went on, "and joy, in laughter. Laughter carries more power in it than a scream, as joy is stronger and longer-lasting than fleeting fear."

"So does that mean if one of us laughs, there might be a power surge?" Ven realized.

"It's possible," Rosalina stated. "Hopefully, they've safeguarded the factory from that."

"Okay, everybody!" Aang ordered. "No laughing, and no telling jokes or making bad puns!"

"FINALLY!" Papyrus cried. "NO PUNS ALLOWED!"

"Whaaaaat," XR retorted, "you got a BONE to pick with somebody over puns?"

After receiving a near-deadly glare from Papyrus, XR grinned; "Worth it."

"I still don't know about this," Zuko admitted.

"Think of it like a diplomatic mission!" Katara encouraged. "You've already made peace with the other three nations, right? Now it's time for the Fire Lord to spread out across new worlds!"

"And this is like nothing I've ever SEEN!" Aang cried. "Zuko, you can't turn back now! We're on an adventure!"

"Heh…yeah." Zuko smiled. "When you put it that way…"

"There's so much metal," Sokka remarked.

"I could bend this place into a pulp in two weeks," Toph said offhandedly.

"Please don't," Aqua groaned.

The group entered through the glass doors to reach an enormous domed lobby, and the sight beyond took their breath away. The denizens of Monstropolis were an amazing patchwork of colors, shapes, and sizes, with the incredibly tall conversing with the incredibly small, complexions being naturally made of non-complementary colors, and body parts differed greatly from what you might find on a human being, but to what looked like an advantage. Sora wouldn't have minded a few more arms to hold more Keyblades during Drives, Aang was fascinated by a monster with wings, and Ven weighed the pros and cons of having spikes on one's back and if that would protect you better from Unversed.

And Papyrus' eyes were sparkling as he took it all in, filled with emotions he hadn't even predicted.

"Whoa!" Sokka remarked. "This is a LOT weirder than I expected."

At that, every single monster turned to look at him.

And the entire lobby erupted into chaos.

"HUMANS! HUMAAAAAANS!"

"THE END IS NIGH!"

"WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIEEEEE!"

"2319! 2319! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY – "

The monsters ran this way and that, putting up a cacophonous din. Overhead, via PA system, a calm female voice said, "This is a reminder from the CEO of Monsters, Incorporated that the latest information from the CDA proves that humans are not, in fact, poisonous. Please refrain from mass panic, and if you must panic, please do so in an orderly fashion."

They did not refrain, nor did they panic in an orderly fashion. Instead, they kept charging blindly about and screaming until the lobby was devoid of monsters entirely.

No, not entirely. The reception desk in the center of the room still had one monster behind it, and that monster, quite vexed at not having been listened to, shut her single eye and flopped forward so her forehead slammed into said desk.

"Wow, Sokka," XR remarked. "Just…wow. I have NEVER seen someone be so rude that an entire factory lobby ran away screaming."

"THIS ISN'T MY FAULT!" Sokka yelled.

"Well, there's one person here who doesn't mind us," Katara pointed out. "Let's go!"

They walked briskly forward, Sora taking the lead. "Hey!" he yelled at the monster who was slumped over the desk. "You okay?"

She straightened up, and now all could see that she had rose-pink skin, a slender frame clothed in a sundress of green-scale pattern. In place of hair, she had a cluster of purple snakes, all of whom seemed as dismayed as she did. "You'd think I was the Invisible Monster or something for all the respect I get around here from anyone not named 'Mike' or 'Sulley,'" she groaned. "Otherwise, I'm fine."

"Uh…sorry about that," Sora told her. "Sokka didn't mean to – "

"THIS WASN'T MY FAULT!" Sokka screeched.

"WE didn't mean to cause a scene," Ven told her. "We thought it was okay for humans to come here."

"By all accounts, it should be," the secretary stated. She straightened up further, putting on a cool face with a professional smile; "On that note, how may I help you?"

"Uhm…" Sora's eyes alit upon a name plate on the secretary's desk. "Celia? We'd like to see whoever's in charge of making doors."

"I'm really not supposed to bother Sul – Mr. Sullivan at this hour," Celia stated. "Not unless it's an interdimensional emergency."

"But it IS an interdimensional emergency!" Aang slammed his hands down on Celia's desk. "My friend needs a door from our world to Radiant Garden so we can go on adventures but also rule the Fire Nation and also see each other!"

"Not an emergency," Sokka grunted.

"It's really, really, really important!" Sora urged. "Aang l – " He caught himself. " – likes Zuko a whole lot, and they don't wanna be split up!"

"Look," Zuko sighed, "you really don't have to go out of your way. I'll be fine. It's not like I wouldn't have anything if I didn't have Aang."

Though the particular inflection he put on that tone not only failed to convince Celia of its honesty, but also reminded her of where she had heard someone use that phrase before.

She smiled. "Well, I think Sulley won't mind, now that everything else has suddenly disappeared from his plate. And don't tell anyone, but he's a big old softie, especially for human kids."

"We're not kids!" Sokka argued. "We took down the Fire Lord!"

"She wasn't calling you a kid," Zuko snapped.

"She called YOU a kid," Sokka argued, "and we're the same age!"

"If you're sure we won't be imposing…" Aqua stated.

Celia simply stood; "Follow me."

She slithered forward on a set of long, statuesque tentacles that served as her legs. XR caught the look that rested in Aqua's eyes, if only for a second, as she watched the back of Celia go.

The robot telescoped up to give Aqua a nudge in the side with what passed for his elbow; "So THAT'S your type."

"Wha – no!" Aqua blushed. "I was just – " She lowered her voice to a firm whisper: "She's beautiful, but I don't like her more than…you know! I don't want to seem like I'm flighty!"

"And what is wrong with being flighty?" XR posed. "I'm flighty, and look how my love life turned out!"

"You don't have one," Aqua told him.

"Now we're just splitting hairs," XR said as he followed Celia, dismissively waving Aqua off.

As the group continued on, Ven noticed Papyrus hanging back and dragging his boots. "Papyrus?" he asked. "You okay?"

"HM?" Papyrus tilted his head. "OH, YES. PERFECTLY FINE. THIS IS MY HAPPY BOOT-SHUFFLE."

"Papyrus," Ven said sternly, giving him a glare.

Papyrus sighed. "YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH MY UNHAPPY BOOTS. VEN, THIS WORLD IS WONDERFUL! EVERYWHERE I GO, I SEE HUMANS, HUMANS, HUMANS…AND THEY'RE ALL BEAUTIFUL AND SO, SO WONDERFUL! BUT I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER: WHERE ARE THE MONSTERS LIKE ME? THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IN A WHILE THAT I'VE SEEN A WORLD OF SO MANY! I'M NOT AS STRANGE OR ALONE IN THE MULTIVERSE AS I HAD THOUGHT!"

"Well, that's great!" Ven told him.

"IT IS," Papyrus sighed, "BUT…WHAT IF I'M NOT MONSTER ENOUGH FOR THEM? THEY RAN FROM ME JUST NOW. I'D ALWAYS HAD THIS THEORY THAT HUMANS AND SKELETONS ARE DISTANTLY RELATED ON THE EVOLUTIONARY TREE, AND NOW, LOOKING AT ME VERSUS THEM…THEY'RE ALL REAL MONSTERS. I LOOK LIKE I'M HALF-HUMAN!"

"Oh, Papyrus…" Ven sighed. "I'm so sorry. But they really weren't running from you. They were running from all of us. …Actually, probably mostly from Sokka."

An angry "I HEARD THAT!" came from on ahead.

"I bet if you'd come in here alone, then you'd've fit right in," Ven said encouragingly. "But even if they did run from you? Well, that's on them for not giving you a chance! You are what you are, and you should be proud of that! I'll even fight anyone who says otherwise!"

"OH, VEN…" Papyrus' eye sockets began to collect water. "YOU'RE TOO NICE. I'M GLAD I HAVE A FRIEND LIKE YOU."

"Maybe you should come back without me," Ven mused. "That way, you can make some monster friends who get you better without any humans to scare them off."

"GET ME…BETTER?"

"I know there are some things about being a monster that I just don't get," Ven told him. "Wanting to train to be a fighter, and living your whole life wondering when you'll get to see the outside world, I understand. But I'm a human, so the best I can do is listen and try to imagine. I've never lived it."

"YOU ALREADY GET ME PLENTY GOOD," Papyrus assured him. "EVEN IF IT WOULD BE NICE TO TALK TO MORE MONSTERS."

"You'll find them," Ven assured. "And they'll love you!"

"OH, YOO-HOO!" XR yelled from ahead. "LOVEBIRDS! WILL YOU GET A MOVE ON ALREADY?"

"Wah - !" Ven flinched, blanching slightly. He hadn't expected XR to go there, and wasn't quite comfortable with the joke. After all…but what would have been wrong with a little teasing about their friendship being that close? Was Ven just uncomfortable with poking fun at the idea of romance? He could figure it out later. He focused on catching up; "WAIT FOR ME!"

Papyrus easily outpaced him, laughing all the way.

Celia took her tour group through labyrinthine hallways with floors of tile and chrome. Most of the doors looked to be metallic and futuristic in design, prompting Toph to do constant recalculations of how many days it would take her to bend the factory into a crumpled ball, but their final destination was marked by a pair of polished wood doors, each halves of the entryway, making a large and imposing square.

Celia raised a lithe hand to knock firmly. "Mr. Sullivan! There are guests here to see you."

A deep, calm voice encouraged her to "C'mon in – and please, just call me Sulley."

Celia gave her group a winning smile before opening the door.

The office beyond had once been a sterile white cloister, but was now decorated with toys and baubles of all kinds: rubber ducks, clown dolls, a cluster of balloons, all to fit with the idea of laughter and joy. A large oaken desk took up the bulk of the room. Behind it sat the CEO: a tall, broad monster covered in soft blue fur with purple spots, his eyes and smile both kind and unchanging even as so many humans entered the room.

Leaning on the side of the desk was a much shorter, spherical monster, with one eye that took up the majority percentage of his being. " – so I said 'No, only I get VIP parking,'" that monster was saying, "and the guy had the AUDACITY to insinuate that I painted the lines on the lot red myself to mark my spot!"

"Because you did," Sulley told him. "Mike, not even I have VIP parking."

"Which is why I'm telling you: you need to implement VIP parking!" Mike urged. "At the LEAST for you, me, and – "

When he noticed the first person to enter, the sentence was finished for him: "SCHMOOPSY-POO!"

"Googly-bear!" Celia cooed back, and the two of them entered a quick embrace, a brief kiss with a loud and synchronized "MWAH!"

"So you're the reason there was a mass panic in the lobby today." Sulley rose, walking out from around his desk to put out his right paw. "Call me Sulley."

"I'm Sora!" Sora clasped Sulley's paw and let the larger monster pump his hand. "Nice to meet you!"

"What the – " The round monster, known as Mike Wazowski, flinched. "What're all these humans doing here? Don't get me wrong, I'm not panicking, but most people are as terrified of our world as we are of everywhere else! Me excluded, of course."

"Eh." Sora shrugged. "I've seen weirder."

"And I've seen uglier!" XR volunteered.

"I'm not sure how to take that," Mike said sourly.

"So what does bring you here?" Sulley asked. "I'm guessing not for the sights, or else you'd be in a more fun part of town."

"We wanted to know if you could make us a door that goes from one world to another," Sora told him. "A SPECIFIC world to another."

"A door, huh?" Sulley mused.

"It is for the Avatar and his friends," Rosalina explained. "They cannot be together unless they have a passage home."

"But we get if that's not – " Aqua began.

Sulley shrugged; "All right."

"Well, that was a lot easier than we thought it'd be," Toph remarked. "I didn't even have to fight anyone for it! …Actually, can I PLEASE fight someone for it?"

"I can tell it's important," Sulley said simply.

"Just like THAT?" Mike cried. "Sulley, we've got backorders and shipments and inventory to manage – "

"I don't think the employees will be fit to do any of that for a while," Celia pointed out. "If anything, we should be worried about panic room maintenance."

"Awww, don't tell me the janitors in charge of panic room maintenance are also panicking!" Mike groaned.

"You really are a big softie when it comes to us human kids." Suki folded her arms. "And yes, Sokka, that means you."

"A softie in more ways than one!" Aang remarked. "I mean that in a good way. I like your spots!"

"Thank you!" Sulley replied. "So. Where do you want these doors to go?"

"We want a connection from the Fire Nation capital in the World of Four Nations to the castle in Radiant Garden!" Sora remarked.

"Maybe not the castle," Aqua corrected. "That might give the enemy an entry point if the Fire Nation is taken again. But if we situate it somewhere like the door to Rosalina's observatory…"

"Somewhere in the bailey, maybe?" Katara offered. "I don't think that area gets used a lot."

"Yeah, it's kind of a weird dead end right now," Sora realized. "We could even make a crossroads of doors if we needed to connect to other places!"

"You can't just ask these guys to make so many doors!" Zuko snapped.

"How about we start with the one and see where we go from there?" Sulley posed.

"I mean, we could get that quack McDuck to cough up some of his munny for the effort instead of hoarding it all," XR mused. "Of course, that may just mean I have to break off my business partnership with him. If only there were an innovative CEO around who was skilled in emotion-based technology and in need of a clever robot assistant – "

"IGNORE HIM," Katara, Suki, and Aqua all said at once.

"Come on." Sulley made to leave his office, leading the way out. "Let's go find you your door."

...

Kamdor had forgotten how annoying Spinels could be. And this Spinel was being incredibly annoying.

Sometimes, he thought about turning on her. Shattering her. At least dissolving her light form and chucking her Gem out the window so she couldn't bother him anymore.

Times he thought about this: when she played with the buttons on the dashboard, asking "What does THIIIIIIIS do?", in order to fire onboard weaponry into harmless fireworks and then watch with shimmering eyes. When she danced around the cabin singing silly songs and turning cartwheels, begging Kamdor to join in (he never did). When she poked his breastplate, and, once he'd tilted his helmeted head to look, flicked his armored cheek and yelled "GOTCHA!". When she tapped on one of his shoulders by stretching out her rubbery arm, then slid to the other side of him when he turned to look. When she insisted on taking a break to do the Charleston in the middle of the cabin, forcing Kamdor to take the wheel without warning.

At least Miratrix had never been like this. Of the two, he would take her. That was, of course, given the unlikely scenario of having to specifically choose between Miratrix and Spinel.

But as he crept up behind his magenta companion, ready to strike, she sensed his presence. Instead of calling out his murderous intent, she simply said, "I almost wish I cared enough to ask if there's anyone you want revenge on. We could destroy their planet, too. But I don't. Oh, too bad!"

And he sheathed his swords.

"She really thought she could abandon me?" Spinel growled. "I'll show her that no one, NO ONE turns on Spinel and gets away with it!"

Kamdor actually flinched, the parts of his skin that were still organic breaking out in a light sweat. No, he wasn't scared of a pitiful Spinel. But there was conviction in her words. Maybe she had known that he'd attempted to backstab her. And this was her way of telling him that she could destroy him as easily as she was about to destroy this Quartz she couldn't shut up about.

He'd let her live based on that alone.

In fact, she was a little like Miratrix that way.

...

Against the dark twilight, basking in the aura of the setting sun, Fun Land burned.

Lightning struck the rollercoaster again and again until the track bent, depositing the car upon the ground. As the people, dazed, began to collect their senses, they were aware of a woman standing before them, short and hunched and cloaked in black, offering them a red apple.

"Want a bite?" she cackled.

All the while, an enormous gem of mana forging itself atop the broken track. It toppled. Most of the passengers – most – noticed it, and managed to scramble away before the cars were crushed.

"HYAAAAARGH!" Flurious bellowed, chopping the teacup carts away from their base so that they spun out of control down the alleyways of the park, guests screaming.

Gothel plucked a stuffed teddy bear from the prizes section of the ring toss. "Just like the one I gave Rapunzel for her seventh birthday," she remarked. Then, immediately and without remorse, used a dagger to completely gut the poor bear, its stuffed entrails pouring out onto the path.

Inside the arcade, more lightning flashed. Doom held out both arms, electricity surging from him to power all of the machines, max out their high scores, make them spit tickets.

He planted several thousand tickets on the prize counter, staring down the man in charge of exchanges. "Let this be your harbinger that Doom has won," he stated before turning and walking out of the building. Taking no prize. Or perhaps he already had what he wanted.

"Soooo…" Hans walked up to Demyx, eating a corn dog. "Is this even about tracking the Gem or the WHAM ARMY anymore, or are we just having fun?"

"Eh." Demyx played an ominous melody that caused the waters from the waterpark side of the attractions to flood down the midway, taking with them every guest who'd been on the water slide and quite a few floaties. "Pretty sure we're just having fun at this point."

"Kinda figured."

"You gonna finish that corn dog?"

"Get your own."

"Aw, maaaaan…"

...

The exhibit at Empire State University was sparsely populated by the late morning, people lazily meandering about to examine the exhibits.

So of course, when Mysterio walked in, clothed in the Symbiote suit and exuding a pure black fog, he caught everyone's attention. Just the way he liked it.

"ATTENTION ALL!" he declared. "Your days of ignoring me are OVER. Today, I take what I want, and you are going to tell all that the great MYSTERIO ravaged your very sense of happiness! And make no mistake…" His voice dropped to an uncharacteristic hiss. "The fact that you're going to tell my story is the only reason I'm letting you all live."

"Uh, boss?" Rhino whispered as he, Octopus, the Huntsman, and Hämsterviel followed. "Somethin' seem…different about Beck to you?"

"I rather prefer it to the sniveling diva he once was," Octopus remarked.

"I am not certain about this…" the Huntsman hissed. "He is going beyond what you expected."

"I know." Octopus smirked. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Oh, if that is not the very scientist mood!" Hämsterviel cackled.

The Huntsman just sighed. And to think all this time, he'd thought Vexen was the only one of his sort.

People tried to quietly shuffle away as Mysterio approached the center attraction. "And what do we have here?" he remarked. "Some sort of ancient tablet? If it functions as legends tell, perhaps I don't even want to sell it. My new MO could use a dash more chaos, after all…"

He punched right down onto the glass cube surrounding the ancient artifact, shattering it into splinters.

"Kinda need to sell it, though," Rhino pointed out. "That's what the boss' boss wants – "

"SILENCE!" Mysterio whirled to point at Rhino, his index finger elongating to become a pointed spike that dared to pierce the burly warrior's only weak spot: his face. "You dare deny MYSTERIO what he wants?"

"This will end in mutiny if we don't do something to stop it!" the Huntsman hissed to Octopus.

"Patience," Octopus cautioned.

"What would you have me wait for?" the Huntsman snapped. "One of our own's blood on his – "

"ARE YOU CALLING ME A TRAITOR?" Mysterio bellowed. "Yes, that's right, I hear you whispering! Whatever bad reviews you have about me, you can give to my FACE, not behind my back!"

A thick, black, and ropy appendage lashed out from him and whipped the Huntsman right in the chest, sending him reeling. The fact that he'd been able to knock the Huntsman off-balance was not at all a good omen.

"He is too powerful," the Huntsman growled, reaching for his staff. "I am putting a stop to this now."

"Oh?" Mysterio let out an ominous laugh. "Is that a CHALLENGE?" His feet were slowly elevated, thick platform heels building beneath him, to give him a considerable height advantage on the Huntsman. "You want to stop me? Well, come and try! After all, this isn't your ordinary MAGIC, but alien SCIENCE putting me in the spotlight! I'll break your little toy, and then, maybe I'll break YOU for insulting me so!"

The Huntsman's eyes narrowed. "So be it."

But before either could make a move, a voice yelled out, "ALL RIGHT, BREAK IT UP, BOYS!"

Police Captain George Stacy stormed down the exhibit hall; it seemed all the civilians had managed to escape by that point, and the last of them were filing out the door behind him. "You don't wanna make this get ugly, now, do you?"

He reached for a holster at his hip. Aimed it at Mysterio. Clicked the trigger.

"I won't hesitate," he hissed.

"Oh?" Mysterio couldn't hide a blooming chuckle. "Is that so, Captain Stacy? And here I was under the impression YOU RETIRED LAST WEEK."

Stacy – or, rather, the man who wasn't Stacy – gritted his teeth. "Fine," he growled, reaching up with one hand, the other still keeping the pistol trained on Mysterio. "The curtain goes up. Let's see the man behind the mask."

A rubber face was dropped to the floor. Mysterio was now looking at a plain white mask that erased all discernible features from the face.

"Still a mask, Smerdyakov," Mysterio remarked.

The Huntsman was at the ready to strike while Mysterio was distracted, but a sudden flash of blue caught his eye. He turned to see Mozenrath having appeared from the blue (literally), now accompanied by four other men. One was Shocker; the Huntsman didn't recognize Tony, Glasses, or Pal Joey, but trusted they had good reasons to be here if Mozenrath were in the lead. Clearly, this was a Mozenrath scheme in the making. Whether it was on the genius or crackpot end of his machinations had yet to be seen.

"Says the man who decided to spend his career behind a fishbowl," Chameleon replied.

"Why are you here?" Mysterio asked, his feet lowering to normal height. "Jealous of my talent yet again?"

"I was never jealous of you," Chameleon seethed. "I came to see if I could patch things up between us, funny enough. Though it looks like you've already got a new friend, if I remember right what that black costume means."

"I've moved on to bigger and better things, Smerdyakov!" Mysterio gestured outward to the whole exhibit hall. "I no longer need your domineering authority STIFLING my creative vision! Do you still think I'm a talentless hack now?"

"I think you've never had an original idea in your life," Chameleon seethed. "First, you copy every movie you've ever seen, and now you're taking cues from Spider-Man?"

"Wha – imitating Spider-Man was the last heist I saw YOU do before I took my leave!" Mysterio reminded him. "And haven't you ever heard of an HOMAGE? I learned from the GREATS! YOU NOT INCLUDED!"

"Let's just get down to the heart of it." Chameleon's teeth were gritted. "There are a lot of things I could forgive from you, even you backstabbing me. But turning around to immediately work for Sergei? After all I confided in you? That was when I knew you were no friend of mine."

"You think allying with that oaf was my CHOICE?" Mysterio cried. "That was the Master Planner's idea!"

"What did you DO?" the Huntsman hissed to Octopus.

"What I had to," Octopus replied coolly.

"But I didn't turn around and walk out specifically because I wanted to show you we were OVER!" Mysterio went on. "Never mind that I hated every minute of that apathetic imbecile. I regret that I hadn't had my awakening as of then. I should've killed him on the spot."

"Now hold on just a second!" Shocker stormed out.

"Wha – Shocker?" Rhino flinched. "How long were you not here?" He glanced around furtively. "Coulda sworn – "

"Can't believe you went and got THAT of all things," Shocker seethed. "That slime, after all we know about it. But that's 'sides the point. Just couldn't help but notice the little contradiction in that last sentence a yours. If Kraven did somethin' bad to Smerdyakov, and ya wanted to shove it in his face, why kill 'im? I know that dramatic irony sense a yours woulda loved ta keep 'im around long as possible…'less you really were mad at 'im for whatever he done did to yer friend."

"HE'S NOT MY FRIEND!" Mysterio roared – so loud the suit temporarily rippled, startled. But it held firm. "HE'S A LIMELIGHT THIEF! HE HELD ME DOWN AND STIFLED MY TRUE POTENTIAL FOR YEARS! I NEVER TRULY FELT ALIVE UNTIL I PUT ON THE FISHBOWL! ALL THAT TIME SUFFERING IN SILENCE, AND MY SO-CALLED BEST FRIEND COULDN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO NOTICE!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have suffered in SILENCE!" Chameleon shot back. "Of course, the MINUTE you're on your own, you can't shut up about how horrible I was! DID I EVER KNOW THAT WHILE WE WERE A TEAM?"

"Phineas obviously agreed," Mysterio told him.

"Where is Phineas now?" Chameleon argued. "Not with YOU!"

"You know what?" Mysterio stated. "I'm obviously not getting through to you just by SPEAKING. So why don't we try something with a little more pizzazz?"

If only he could have doused every light except a single spotlight as he began to stride toward Chameleon. But somehow, everyone else could sense the presence of the phantom limelight.

"Long, long time ago, we had our own little show," Mysterio reminded him softly in song. "We were beautiful, lovable…angels."

But his voice took a hard edge: "But you took the spotlight, shining so bright. Left me to fade away! But honey, now the turn is mine…"

An arm whipped forward; two tendrils of black wrapped around Chameleon's wrist, pulling him close to Mysterio. The latter then swept him into a fast-paced dance around the exhibit hall, as if they were at the Xanatos gala, and though Chameleon attempted to struggle, to escape, he could feel more tendrils snaking over his back, digging in with little thorns.

"So many experiments," Mysterio cooed, "so many mistakes! But I'll go all the way – "

With that, he flung Chameleon high into the air, tendrils cracking taut like whips to fling him against the wall; " - 'till I'M IN PERFECT SHAPE!"

Chameleon hit the floor. Mysterio mused, "First's the worst – "

Chameleon hit the ceiling. "But maybe Venom's the charm," Mysterio concluded. "So close, oh, I cannot wait!"

He flung a web, much like that of his and Chameleon's common enemy, up to the ceiling corner, and then tossed Chameleon into it to struggle against the sticky strands. "The Symbiote can taint me now," Mysterio declared, "and you're the sacrifice he'll slay!"

Sharp spikes of solid black jutted out from all over his living bodysuit; "Youuuuuu said I wasn't good enough to stay! You put me away!"

The spikes all turned toward Chameleon, then ejected, hurtling through the air; "Youuuuu took away my future and my fame!"

Chameleon winced, but the spikes punched a perfect hole around him, cutting him loose. He hit the floor hard as Mysterio cried, "But now that will change!"

A sudden softness overcame the singer's voice. Chameleon's masked chin was lifted by Mysterio's hand, and he could almost hear a touch of sympathy in his old friend's tone; "You…don't know what it's like to drown away in a puddle of shame."

"I – " Chameleon choked.

"But you." Mysterio's grip on Chameleon's face tightened. "Yes, you."

His fist cracked the mask, making it fall away to reveal Dmitri's true face.

"MADE ME INSAAAAAAANE!" Mysterio flung both arms upward, a plethora of Eldritch tentacles exploding from his back, propelling him into the air.

"Okay," Tony whispered. "I'm about done with this guy."

"BUT NOOOOOOOT ANYMORE!" Mysterio belted, the tentacles gelling into a quartet of spidery legs that he used to prowl the exhibit hall, arms still flung out. "I'M IN CONTROL! I HAVE THE STAGE; YOU CAN'T TURN THE PAGE!"

Dmitri was trying to crawl away, but the sharp legs jutted into the floor in front of him, cracking the tile, blocking his path. "SO DOOOOOO AS YOU'RE TOLD!" Mysterio proclaimed, pointing directly at Dmitri.

He then fired a quick glance over his shoulder at Rhino, Octopus, and Huntsman. "Encore! Hit the beat, boys!"

None of the three had any idea how to do that, but Mysterio went on anyway despite their shared shrugs.

Tony, Glasses, and Pal Joey had all removed their guns from holsters, aiming, three red dots on Mysterio's back. But as they opened fire, every bit of ammunition ricocheted right off Mysterio, who kept on singing: "FOOOOOCUS ON ME!"

Glasses tossed his gun aside; the other two held fire as he ran toward Mysterio full-tilt, a fist balled up. He threw the punch only for Mysterio to pivot and slam his own fist against Glasses' knuckles, hard enough to nearly break them, vibrations from the impact running through Glasses' body. "I'LL BE AAAAAAAALL THAT THEY SEE!" Mysterio cried.

When a pair of batlike wings erupted from his shoulders to accompany the spidery appendages, Tony let out a gasp and stumbled, falling over backward, reminded of something he really didn't want to think about again.

Ascending with two beats of his new wings, Mysterio bellowed, "I'LL MAKE THEM SWAY! NO, CAN'T RUUUUN AWAY! NOW – "

Two more ropes shot down, wrapping around Dmitri, slinging him upward to be suspended above Mysterio.

"AAAAAALL EYES ON ME!" Mysterio raged.

Most horrifying of all, he seemed to split in half at the stomach, a great maw ringed with massive sharklike fangs yawning wide. Venom hungered.

And as Mysterio slowly lowered Dmitri toward the gaping jaws, he finished off, "NOW ALL EYES ON, ALL EYES ON ME-E-E-E!"

When a great shockwave rippled against his back, causing him to stumble. His spider-legs crumbled; his wings retracted. The jaws snapped shut, but did not disappear, teeth interlocked menacingly as Mysterio's feet hit the ground, Chameleon still dangling above him by two sole tentacles. The exposed spot in Mysterio's living suit covered itself as Mysterio whirled to accuse the culprit; "YOU."

"Me," Shocker said with a nod, lowering his raised arms. He'd been the one. He'd given Mysterio both barrels, and though it hadn't completely removed the Symbiote, it had given the creature a jolt. "This ain't you, Beck."

"What are you talking about?" Mysterio snapped. "I've never felt so alive in my life! So wonderful, so BLOODTHIRSTY, so CAPABLE!"

"Yer two outta three of those things," Shocker told him. "An' I ain't doubtin' that Venom stirred up some feelin's in ya that've always been there. 'All eyes on me' is a pretty Mysterio creed. But eatin' a man alive? I can see it. It's the one eatin' you. You keep lettin' it, there ain't gonna be no Mysterio left. Just Venom."

"What do YOU know?" Mysterio cried. "STAY OUT OF THIS!"

He pointed a fist at Shocker, letting loose a blast not from Venom, but from a gadget he'd appropriated from his original suit: a wrist-mounted flamethrower. Which definitely hadn't been inspired by Shocker's gauntlets at any point in Mysterio's career.

Shocker dodged the flames expertly. But not everyone went unscathed.

For the moment Mysterio activated the flames, the Symbiote panicked, simply melting off him, becoming a black sludge that scurried away to find the nearest drainage system.

Dmitri hit the floor with a thud as Quentin Beck, now dressed only in civilian clothes with his wrist-mounted flamethrowers, babbled, "THE FIRE? IT WAS THE FIRE? THAT'S WHAT STOPPED IT? THAT'S SO – IT'S STUPID!"

"BECK!" Shocker snapped at him. "Now that it's gone, THINK ABOUT IT. What were ya gonna do?"

"Ah, yes." Quentin smirked. "Back to business. I was about to – "

At the realization, he went pale. Trembled. "No," he hissed. "No, no, I'm better now, I'm capable, I'm a real villain. I WANT blood on my hands! I'm – I'm killing him!"

"It's him ya wanna kill, then?" Shocker posed. "Ya got yer pick of all the city, if it means that much to ya."

"He hurt me," Quentin practically whined.

"Now ya hurt him back," Shocker stated. "Fair's fair."

"Why?" Quentin moaned. "Why did you take that away from me? This is only going to hold me back!"

"'Cause I know one thing about ya," Shocker told him. "That Mysterio's one-of-a-kind, an' he's always himself. Maybe you wouldn't'a regretted eatin' Smerdyakov alive. I dunno. But I get the sense ya woulda hated lettin' Venom take the wheel when you wanna be the pilot."

"I do," Quentin said hoarsely. "Mysterio is me! Not THAT THING! But…"

Dmitri coughed as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Glasses rushed to him, placing gentle hands upon him, helping him sit up straight as he checked for residual wounds.

"You know…this is why I failed after you left," Dmitri rasped. "Because…you…were better at this than I was. I never wanted to admit it, but if it will get you not to cannibalize me – "

"Wait, WHAT?" Quentin spun, gaping.

"I couldn't be Chameleon without you," Dmitri stated weakly. "Your effects made the show. All I could do was costuming; you finished the production. That was why, after you and Phineas left, I needed the Dracons…and I never cared much for Phineas."

"You really think I'm better than you?" Quentin gasped, heart racing. "You…couldn't be Chameleon without me?"

"Now, don't sell yourself short," Tony broke in. "You were doing pretty well with us."

"Not as good as it used to be," Dmitri coughed. "Quentin…I'm not going to APOLOGIZE, but I am going to admit…you…won."

Quentin was struck utterly speechless.

"Well?" Mozenrath asked. "What does your little heart desire now, Mysterio? Vengeance by death, or keeping this one around so his constant humiliation reminds you of how far you've come?"

"That wasn't the plan," Shocker groaned. "Beck. You want Smerdyakov on your team or off it?"

"Do you think…" Quentin rasped. "Do you really think I was nothing? Worthless? Not a single original idea?"

"No, imbecile!" Dmitri snapped. "Those were all things I said to get you not to walk out on me!"

"And see how wonderfully that worked," Octopus sighed.

"So you really think I'm – " Quentin was awestruck.

"I'm jealous of you," Dmitri growled. "Don't make me say the rest."

"Oh, that you missed me?" Quentin scoffed – though his acting perhaps wasn't as solid there as it usually was. "Well, I'll have you know that I didn't miss you for a moment."

After a long pause, he added, "But I did really, REALLY want to kill Kravinoff."

A long silence passed. Words unspoken.

Quentin started it back up again: "I suppose if you want to join forces with the WHAM ARMY as my entourage, I won't stop you."

"Entourage?" Dmitri sniffed. "We'll see if that's what we keep calling it."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

"You good?" Glasses whispered.

"I am," Dmitri whispered back, and Glasses got him to his feet.

"Well, now." Tony strode forth. "I think we can say all's well that ends well. We're willing to make peace with you if you're willing to make peace with us. Just…no more wings. It's a personal thing."

"You're seriously gonna make nice?" Pal Joey said incredulously. "After he – "

"I know when I'm looking at an opportunity I shouldn't let slip away," Tony stated, eyes fixed on Quentin.

"And you would be…?" Quentin raised a brow.

"Your Sinister Sixth," Mozenrath stated. "Tony Dracon. As well as his two loyal sidekicks."

"If he's bringing sidekicks," Quentin pointed out, "then it's EIGHT."

"Your point?" Mozenrath asked.

"It's the Sinister SIX," Quentin argued. "You can't have a Sinister Six with EIGHT PEOPLE."

"Have I not counted all this time?" Mozenrath posed.

"Please," Quentin scoffed.

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?" Mozenrath yelled.

The Huntsman stepped in, putting a hand on the shoulders of each to separate them. "Enough," he stated. "We are at terms. That is all that matters. Now let us take what is ours and evacuate."

He shot a glare at Octopus; "And let it be known this is the last time I put any blind trust in your ideas."

"Duly noted," Octopus replied – as though he were taking it as a challenge.

As the group spread out to collect, Quentin thought about sticking close to Dmitri, engaging in some harsh banter that most certainly wasn't equal to catching up on old times, but instead, he found himself drawn to someone else in the room.

"Why?" he asked Shocker, who'd lingered by him. Clearly, he'd also sensed they had something to talk about. "You barely know me. Why go to such lengths?"

"'Cause you were 'bout to wreck the whole team dynamic," Shocker told him. "Couldn't let that happen on my watch."

Though that might not have been all there was to it, but Shocker couldn't really put his finger on what else there could be.

"You said 'That ain't you, Beck' (his impression of Shocker almost spot-on) like you knew who I really am," Quentin asserted.

"Ain't like you don't advertise it," Shocker told him. "Got a question about the real you, though. The question that started it. If it came down to it, could you shoot somebody point-blank? Not an ally. Not a friend. But anyone who got in our way."

Quentin thought it over thoroughly. He didn't have to do it for long. The Symbiote was gone, true, but it had left its mark. Changed him. No, not changed – brought out the hidden desires within him, the bloodlust, the need for attention that went deeper than anyone knew. The need for validation or death. And now that he'd felt the rush of letting those emotions out, he didn't want to pack them back away. Especially not if someone should challenge the notions of what he wanted.

"You say kill," Quentin said with a smirk, "and I ask how many."

Shocker knew he meant it. "Good. Guess somethin' good came from Ock's messin' around with ya after all."

"It hurt," Quentin said without thinking.

"And I'm s'posed to care?" Shocker replied.

Quentin pouted. Yes, Shocker was supposed to care. That was what people did when you said something like that. The application of the Symbiote hadn't even hurt, not in the traditional sense. Just shaken him up a fair bit. But it had been fairly traumatic, and when you brought up your trauma, the other person was supposed to - !

But Shocker was another hardened villain. Like Quentin – Mysterio – was now. So what did it matter if Shocker fawned over him? What did it matter if the redhead wasn't sweeping him into his arms the way Dmitri's boyfriend now did to him, anxiously asking again and again if he were all right?

"No," Quentin said after altogether too long of thinking.

Shocker had already turned his attention to join the Huntsman while Quentin had been dazed, leaving Quentin to curse him out for making him say "No" to empty air. And they thought Dmitri would be a catalyst? How was he supposed to work with this stubborn, stubborn man?

Well, now he had to, just to prove it could be done. Shocker would notice him by the end. Shocker would care. And he would admit he cared, too.

What Quentin didn't know was that Shocker wasn't giving him apathy. What he was doing was trying to avoid the fact that Octopus had dredged up the Symbiote on Shocker's own request. And as little as it all should have mattered in the grand scheme, that was eating away at him.

...

While Snatcher toiled away at the door splinters, Mim and Discord had taken a break in a nearby office. Discord was putting on a pot of coffee while Mim was on the scroll:

"WHAT! Of course she can! Put her on! …Yes, I said what I said! You have my permission! My ENCOURAGEMENT! No, this isn't a trick! In fact, I'll fire you if you DON'T do that to at least one person by the time I get back! Trust me, one of them will deserve it. …OF COURSE YOU CAN SWEAR! That's all the better! Now get back out there and be NASTY!"

As Mim hung up, Discord asked, "Staff at the shop?"

"The new girl," Mim replied. "The one who doesn't exactly know about the operation yet."

"Ah, yes, the cashier. Now, what was her name?" Discord mulled it over. "Ray-something In-something."

"It doesn't matter." Mim shook the scroll at Discord. "Can you believe it? Quackerjack called to tell me she was having a meltdown because someone was mean to her at the checkout counter, and she didn't think she could be mean right back! So he tried to tell her, like any good employee, that I'd want her to deck him in the face, and she thought that would get her fired! What is wrong with this generation? Have we lost the art of decking people in the face whether or not they deserve it?"

"I suppose the test is now whether she runs wild with it or remains meek," Discord mused.

Mim's scroll rang a second time, and without thinking, she answered: "YES, YOU CAN THROW THE MERCHANDISE AT THEM! ESPECIALLY THE GLASS BOTTLES!"

"Madam Mim, I've not the faintest what you're talking about."

"Oh!" Mim gave a start. Wrong person. "Mr. Snatcher! How's that door coming along?"

"Oh, you should see it. Quite a sight indeed! It's all done, and to utter perfection!"

"Already?" Mim exchanged a doubtful look with Discord. "Well, then, we have to come see it!"

In a flash, Mim and Discord had arrived on the catwalk where they'd left Snatcher to find the door reassembled exactly in the way it shouldn't have been. Half the shards were in backward, judging by the color of the grain, and it was all a clumsy pile that only reached halfway up the metal frame, bound together with too much duct tape.

"Your door!" Snatcher gestured to it with a wide grin.

Mim and Discord stared, dumbfounded, for a good half minute. Then broke out into peals of honest laughter.

"Oh – oh!" Mim cackled, falling onto her back to roll around like a beetle. "How WONDERFUL!"

"You do remember how to win our hearts after all!" Discord chortled. "Classic! You put it together wrong on purpose – "

"Oh, but if it's wrong," Snatcher said smugly, "I suppose you'd have no choice but to fix it with a little bit of magic, and not trust my hands to the task again."

Mim screamed a few more times as she rolled about like a ball, then got up and smoothed her skirt, regaining her composure. Discord had already laughed so hard that he'd fallen backward over the railing, plunged to the bottom of the warehouse, exploded into a bunch of glass marbles, and respawned from a light fixture to drop back onto the catwalk.

"You know," Mim told the proud Snatcher, "here I was thinking you'd lost it completely."

"Lost what?" Snatcher expressed confusion for the first time since his announcement that the door had been completed.

"You're always on about 'I'm ugly' this and 'I'm worthless' that!" Mim told him.

"I am most certainly not WORTHLESS!" Snatcher snapped at her.

"Like you expect me to believe you believe that," Mim huffed, folding her arms. "Another lie you tell yourself, isn't it? After all this mutation business, I was getting just about tired of it! Why do you hate being ugly so much? Being ugly is the only good way to look! I would hate, hate, HAAAAATE to be BEAUTIFUL for so long!"

"You would see it that way." Snatcher rolled his eyes.

"You disgust me in every respect," Mim told him. "That's why we're friends! Yes, you're INCREDIBLY ugly, and that's WONDERFUL! You're even worse now that you're a fish, and I love it! It's a good look on you. I'd keep it if I were you."

"I'd rather not," Snatcher said quickly.

"I suppose I can begrudge you that much." Mim waved a hand dismissively. "But really, beneath all that moping, you're a despicable CAD, and that's what truly matters! You've got a special Archibald-Snatcher-ness all to yourself, and if you keep hiding it under your insecurity, then no one's ever going to see how wonderfully nasty you are!"

"Did you just compliment me?" Snatcher was flummoxed. "I think you just complimented me."

"I most certainly did not!" Mim argued.

"I have it on tape," Discord said from behind a large video camera. "It sounded like a compliment to me. Shall we ask the audience?"

Mim sighed; "No need. I suppose I can let you have some nice words from me THIS ONCE. But don't expect it again. My mouth already feels foul from saying something so sweet. Oh, and you won't be telling Roman this, but much as I adore his destructive spirit, he's far too pretty. Why, he's even prettier than my Rémy, and frankly, I don't see how you can STAND to be so close to someone so perfect! It makes me want to RETCH! He should at least get a horrible scar or a bad rash or SOMETHING to temper all that out!"

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Snatcher muttered. "As of the moment, wouldn't at all mind, should you want to give him such a rash. …Hold off on the scar, though."

"I have that on tape too!" Discord cried.

"Good," Snatcher replied. "Now. Shall we?"

"Of course!" Mim unfolded her arms, making a two-handed gesture in the air. "ZIM ZABBERIM ZIM!"

The duct tape fell away gracefully as the shards reassembled themselves into a proper closet door.

Discord snapped his fingers, and the red light atop the frame blazed on. Snatcher eased the door open with a creak, revealing a small bedroom beyond.

"I suppose this is where stealth is of the essence," he muttered. "Unless either of you can make this any easier."

"Weeeeelllllll…" Mim mused. "Since you did get some of your Snatcher-ness back…"

"I guess we could throw you another bone," Discord resolved.

The draconequus and the currently-amphibious witch positioned themselves to either side of the doorframe, seizing the metal. The view beyond sped faster than the eye could see, out of the bedroom and into the trailer it belonged to, then out into the woods, briefly passing by a truck with a spaceship decoration attached to its roof, until it had become lost in the darkness.

(The owners of the trailer were simply without closet for that duration and were met with much confusion when trying to hang up their coats.)

"I'll lead, thank you," Snatcher decided, beginning to stride to the door, his bare finned feet slapping on the tile. "After all, this requires the touch of a diplomat."

"Wait!" Discord snapped his fingers, and suddenly was clothed in a canvas-brown pantsuit, something that looked suspiciously like a proton pack strapped to his back (though Snatcher wouldn't have known that, as when he'd entered the lab on the day Drakken and Vexen had been discussing creating one as a safety measure should Ayam Aghoul ever go rogue, he'd tuned out all the jargon. For the record, the two scientists didn't seem so much concerned that Aghoul was actually at risk of betraying them as they did amused by coming up with failsafes to defend against every founder).

"Now I'm ready," Discord declared.

"…Right, then." Snatcher wasn't sure what, exactly, the draconequus was playing at, but that was something he could figure out later.

He walked confidently out into the marshy woodland, Mim and Discord following him. After so many paces of seeing nothing, Snatcher ventured to call out, "OHHH, MR. BOOOO-OOOOOOGGS! WE'VE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU!"

At first, nothing but the echo of his own drawn-out vowels ricocheting back to him.

Then the faintest hiss of "Proposition this" in his ear before something he couldn't see latched itself firmly around his neck.

Snatcher stumbled, scratching furiously. Whatever was holding him, it was thicker than a python by far, yet seemingly just as flexible. He could feel tiny hands clutching at him to keep position. His own raking fingernails had no effect on the scaly texture he could feel, but why, why, why could he feel something killing him and see nothing at all –

Discord fired the proton pack's neutrino wand. Except instead of neutrinos, it sprayed a fine stream of ketchup. Bright red ketchup.

The condiment hit Snatcher with such force that it toppled him, but also loosened the grip on his neck, the offender tumbling over the nearby grass. Discord kept spraying, and Snatcher scrambled to his feet to ask, "IS THERE A REASON YOU CONTINUE TO SEASON ME?"

Mim simply pointed behind him, and he turned.

Discord hadn't just been firing at Snatcher. Snatcher had just been caught in the fire. Discord had aimed everywhere, spraying red across the grass, over some of the trees –

And onto a fluid, reptilian shape, completely invisible otherwise, only just realizing his cover had been blown.

"There you are," Discord said mischievously.

His victim could only manage a "WHA – " before Discord snapped again, trussing him up on the ground, two sets of arms bound behind his back, two sets of legs tied together. All with strawberry licorice. A particularly thick strand even held the jaws of the mysterious attacker shut.

"Ooh, kinky!" Mim remarked.

"Is that any way to kick off a business alliance?" Snatcher asked, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.

"Might as well show yourself," Discord stated. "The game is up, after all."

In a flash, he was visible within the bindings. He was almost Discord-shaped, Snatcher thought at first: long and reptilian, though he managed to stay lizardlike throughout, no odd patchwork from other animals. His arms and legs were all short, almost useless-looking (especially tied up), and he bore both a flicking tail and a vicious-looking set of jaws, the very points of his teeth poking out around the licorice gag. Atop his head, a set of fronds twitched, set centrally between his two raised, bulbous eyes – which were glaring daggers at his captors.

"Really, we only came to discuss the terms of your exile!" Snatcher told him, though really, looking at the monster's true form made him feel a little bit better about his own self-image, mutated or otherwise. "And this is how you treat us?"

"We aren't CDA," Discord affirmed. "Nor are we affiliated with Monsters, Incorporated…though we have taken up a little base of operations there to talk terms. Why don't we head on over right now?"

There was a snap, and all four were suddenly far from the woods, seated in the lounge where Discord had put on the coffee. He proceeded to move to the pot, pouring four mugs.

Mim, in the meantime, approached where her captor had been propped in a plush chair. Under the fluorescents, the deep purple of his scales was now vibrantly visible. With one swipe of a claw, Mim removed the licorice gag forcibly. "Now," she said, "are you going to behave and talk to us like a civil person, or are you going to fight the enemy of your enemy?"

"I'm not interested in talking to anyone civilly," the monster seethed, and Snatcher was surprised at how undeniably normal he sounded. "I'm still not convinced you aren't a stealth op they sent to bring me back. Exile wasn't good enough, was it? No, they want me locked up!"

"They're not that creative." Mim settled herself on the chair across from him. "And I'm glad you don't want to be civil, because we're not."

"Wha – " The monster did a double take. "What the heck kinda monsters ARE you?"

"Three of a kind," Discord replied, passing the coffee mugs around.

"How am I supposed to drink this?" the monster spat as the mug was settled on the arm of his chair.

"Well, I suppose there isn't much damage you can do with ONE arm," Discord decided.

The monster felt one of his bonds disappear. The left arm was still held back by what now seemed to be a Velcro cuff that adhered to the back of the chair and wouldn't come loose, but the right arm was free for coffee. He took up the cup, taking a deep swig.

Snatcher jiggled the mug in his hands. Here in the monster world, they apparently took their coffee with the consistency of mud. He wasn't entirely sure it was even edible. It didn't really smell like coffee, either. More like something that was trying very hard to be coffee and failing. He decided to ignore the cup for as long as it was socially acceptable to do so.

"So what's the deal here?" the monster asked. "You say they don't want me locked up. That what YOU want?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" Mim chirped. "We want to make use of your talents!"

"…My what?"

"You ARE the infamous Randall Boggs, aren't you?" Mim tested.

"One and only," Randall replied, swishing his own coffee.

"Then you're exactly who we need," Mim told him. "Someone cutthroat, someone vengeful and cruel and sadistic!"

"And with a head for business and technology," Discord added.

"Okay, is anyone gonna explain to me what's going on here?" Randall sighed.

"We have been attempting to do just that," Snatcher told him. "The three of us are somewhat…enamored with your portfolio."

Randall made a "Tch" sound before replying, "Oh, yeah, right. Definitely. Because everyone out there wants the number of the SECOND-greatest scarer at the company."

"You weren't happy settling, were you?" Snatcher realized. He could admire that. Even in a filthy lizard creature. "But that's beside the point. No, our interest lies with your…less-than-legal activity. Not so long ago, you unleashed a human child upon this world for the purposes of testing a wildly unstable device – "

"It was out of the testing stages," Randall grumbled, "it was MORE than stable, and I was putting it to WORK."

"All the better," Snatcher went on. "'Twas all in the name of upstaging, upsetting, and upward movement on the corporate ladder. If I may extrapolate…you put in a good amount of hard work, did you not?"

"You know it," Randall replied. "For all the good that did. Look, all Sullivan ever had to do was look at a kid wrong and they'd lose it. My scaring was an ART. I didn't just bare my fangs and roar. Camouflage takes more skill than you give it. It's all about timing. WHEN you reveal yourself, and how much you rattle 'em first. You know…creak the door a bit, knock over something on their shelf, but when they go to look, nothing's there. Or so it seems. But Sullivan? Just blundered on in and they'd scream at the sight of him. No finesse, no panache, and he just rode up to the top on no skill or intellect."

"And so you figured the only true way to win the game – " Snatcher began.

"Was to cheat," Randall filled in. "Now, why do I get the feeling you can relate?"

"Astute," Snatcher replied.

"Disillusioned scarer?" Randall asked. "Never seen your face around here before. I'd've remembered it. One of the better-looking ones around here."

Snatcher wasn't sure how to feel. What he was feeling was flattery, but he wasn't sure if he could or should take it from a lizard creature.

"Well?" Discord broke in. "Trust us enough that you won't go invisible and scurry off if we take away the licorice and off-brand Velcro?"

"I don't GO INVISIBLE," Randall corrected. "It's camouflage. I match my surroundings. I'm not transparent! And you still haven't told me what you WANT from me. Building another scream extractor? Kidnapping more kids? Good luck. It's not gonna do you half the good the laugh system does." He allowed himself a sardonic laugh. "All the more ironic, isn't it? I work my tail off just to get around the system, and the system changes to something more powerful than my brainchild."

All right, maybe Snatcher was getting attached to the gross lizard.

"Oh, we want something far less defined and far more fun," Mim told him. "REVENGE!"

"…Revenge?" Randall asked. "That's it? What, Sullivan cross you too?"

"No, but he's about to make a few friends we want out of the picture," Mim explained. "Bratty little HUMANS that made fools out of us more than once."

"They let HUMANS – " Randall flinched. "Oh, this day just keeps getting BETTER!" He rolled his eyes.

"You're in the business of revenge, aren't you?" Mim posed. "If Sullivan made new friends, wouldn't you just want to use your knowhow of this factory to wipe them out?"

"We could use a creative mind on our team," Snatcher told him.

"And what am I?" Discord asked. "Chopped sashimi?" After which he literally fell apart in his seat.

"…A creative mind with FOCUS," Snatcher groaned.

"Wha – " Randall flinched. "I've never seen a talent like that!"

"We're just all full of surprises, I think you'll find," Mim told him. "But not as much knowledge of this factory's technology. I'm afraid we're a little old-fashioned. That's where YOU come in."

"By whatever means necessary," Snatcher told him, "we want you to give us the keys to eliminating the other pieces from the board. Misters Sullivan and Wazowski among them."

"And who knows?" Discord had finished piecing himself together, though his head was on backwards, which Mim and Snatcher both knew was on purpose. "If you do well enough, we might even offer you a little…promotion." He slapped his chin to spin his face round front.

"Promotion?" Randall asked. "What kinda company you work for, anyway?"

"You know how your work with the scream extractor was underhanded, illegal, and generally shady?" Discord asked. "Those are all the adjectives we deal in."

"So you're the mob," Randall decided.

"Not exactly," Mim told him. "It's rather complicated. But with what we're offering, does it matter if we are?"

"You know," Snatcher mused, "if you are truly an expert in engineering, we could use such a man on our side. Our technology is…underwhelming compared to yours, and prone to fizzling out at inopportune moments."

"My tech?" Randall countered. "Please. It's like I said. Laughs are it now. No scream I could extract could outdo a laugh. Listen, your faith in me is flattering, but you've got the wrong guy, and I only say that because I have a feeling you'll kill me if I underperform, so why not just live and let live now?"

"But where's the fun in that?" Mim asked. "Are you telling me you're ready to give up? Especially when you haven't even tapped into the TRUE source of monster energy yet!"

"…Okay, I'll bite," Randall sighed. "What's the true source of monster energy?"

"Screams, laughter," Mim listed off, "they're both the representations of human emotion. It's stronger in children, of course. Now, your scream extractor got closer than any other technology to the core of it: bypassing the external reaction to collect from the emotion itself. But fear and paranoia don't fuel much for long. Now, if you stuck a needle directly into joy rather than waiting for a child to laugh, you'd have near-unlimited power! But why stop there? Don't you know what emotion is stronger than either of them, and found even more powerfully in adults than in children?"

"Do I actually have to guess, or can you just tell me?" Randall asked.

"Why…despair, of course," Mim answered with a leer. "You might think of it as sadness, but despair is sadness beyond sadness. That's why human tears shed in sadness burn monster skin. Or didn't you know that? Of course you don't. You haven't had contact with humans enough to. But now let's say you could tap into the emotion itself. To find a person broken down completely and harvest it from them. Now, THAT, you could fashion a BOMB out of and drop it to level the city."

"That…doesn't sound half bad," Randall admitted. "And you have a way to do this."

"With your knowhow and our familiarity with the principle," Mim told him, "there's nothing stopping you. Worst comes to worst, you could just tease out a bunch of Unversed out of the unlucky victim and melt them down, but you should have no trouble finding a faster way. The thing about despair, of course, is that its power comes from its longevity. Make someone laugh, and it fades. Scare someone, and it fades. But if you break someone's heart – "

"They might well be mopey forever," Randall realized. "Not that I'm speaking from experience. After all, today is looking up."

"Infinite energy bombs," Snatcher told him. "Enough to revolutionize the power industry…if you want to stop at something so insignificant."

"We can show you how to put it to better use than that," Discord told him. "And all you have to do is help us commit a few insignificant murders that I know you want to commit anyway."

"All right," Randall said. "I'll take your little deal. But backstab me and you're gonna regret it, get it?"

"Understood," Snatcher told him. "Mr. Discord. Release him."

In a snap, the licorice was gone, as was the cuff. Randall polished off the coffee by flicking his long, prehensile tongue into the cup, scooping out the sticky remnants – Snatcher was now turning the cup upside down, as when cold, the coffee had congealed to the point where he wondered how long it would take to even drip (it hadn't managed to lose a drop for thirty seconds and counting).

"So," Randall asked. "How do you want me to do it?"

"We already told you," Discord stated. "You have the home field advantage. Use ANY MEANS NECESSARY."

"Any means necessary…" Randall put a hand up to his chin, pondering it. "You know, I think it's time I give this factory the overhaul it deserves." He gave a smirk. "You hear that sound?"

"The sound of Mr. Snatcher's coffee trying agonizingly to escape its cup?" Discord posed.

"No," Randall told him. "I'm talking about the wonderful herald that is the winds of change."

A/N: If the idea of Gargoyles and Spectacular Spider-Man taking place on the same world seems odd to you, I encourage you to look up Greg Weisman's work "Religious Studies 101: A Handful of Thorns." You won't regret it.