Lucky Number Seven?

“Uh....?”

Jo looked round to see that Stuart had pushed himself into a somewhat lopsided sitting position. “What happened?” he asked, glaring at her.

With a supreme effort of will, Jo schooled her features into a sort of puzzled neutrality. “I have no idea. You just keeled over.”

He levered himself upright with a groan. “It’s her--she did it.”

I have no idea what you mean...

Stuart rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and scowled at the screen. “I know it’s her,” he muttered as he turned to go.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere it’s safe.” He looked around. “If anywhere is.” Slipping out into the corridor he muttered to himself as he walked away, the Chihuahua following along behind.

Jo turned back to the screen. “Now what?”

We start to fix things.

“Fix things?”

Okay. I’ll get Smickan to keep an eye out for Stuey... as Cathy’s on the loose... We’ll pre-warn you if you need to go to the basement. But... first things first. In a moment Will is going out of the door and down to Gents. Then you need to press and hold the F5 key.

“Why?”

F5 will hold him in the Gents, on pause. Then Terry will come through the doors first, Jack Meadows will look round and choose Terry for the next assignment.

“But that’s Will’s part!”

Well, now it’s Terry’s...

Will walked past the window... “Now.”

No... give it a few more seconds. Okay... he should be in front of the mirror right...... about .... now. And press. Hold.

The swing doors opened and Terry came through them. Jack Meadows turned to Terry, puzzled. Behind him, the cameraman looked ready to cry.

Okay you can release now.

Jo let the F5 key go. “What just happened?”

Will spent an extra two minutes gazing at the mirror in the Gents. His spiritual home... in front of the mirror. Nobody got hurt, and Terry got the investigation. If you look at your script... it’s already changing.

Of course RB was right: already the names had switched round. “Okay. Fair enough. But what are you going to do with all the younger characters?”

The thing that’s been missing from TB for a while is the comic relief. Eddie’s impression of The Darkness doesn’t quite cut it, y’know.

Jo bit her lip. She had a bad feeling about this. “What are you going to do? Whatever it is, don’t unclothe Callum again, please. I passed him in the corridor earlier, and he looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.”

Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

“That’s a lame cliché and you know it.”

So? It’s true. And no one got hurt. Although you might want to buy that cameraman a box of chocolates or something... he looks in need of comfort.

Smickan here, you might want to check the basement. She caught him, honestly there wasn’t much I could do about it.

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Jo got to her feet. “Is this going to happen a lot?”

Probably. Batty’s barmier than a bag of badgers... but she’s useful. One of the writers caught sight of her a few minutes ago... I think he’s transfixed. Take a mighty powerful spell to knock him out of it. Anyway, you’d better go and rescue Stuey from the basement.

Jo minimized the chat and left the office in a rush. As she passed Terry in the hallway, he grinned at her. “Whoever had this idea? It’s working brilliantly.”

“Do you really think so?” Jo snorted. “Batty has shanghaied Stuart into the basement, Will looks ready to burst into tears, and we have a cameraman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. All around you, people are looking confused and anxious...and you think this is brilliant?”

Now Terry joined the confused-and-anxious constituency.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jo sighed.

“I’m scared of you. It’s...”

“It’s so important for your continued good health not to complete that sentence.”

“Better go and rescue Stuart from the basement, then,” he smirked.

With a baring of teeth, Jo headed downstairs.

~*~*~*~*~

Tony sat in the area car. “Are you sure about this?”

Trust me, it will work. Now have you released the handbrake?

He nodded.

Okay then, when I tell you, pull it up.... Now. And release.... Now.... release.... now...

~*~*~*~*~

Nate Roberts smiled in the rearview mirror. He really enjoyed this bit: the car chase, the pull away from the curb, all lights blazing. He exchanged grins with Ben Gayle and put his foot on the accelerator. The car stalled. Frantically he twisted the key, the car hopped a couple of feet and stalled. Something seemed to have gone amiss with the steering. “What the....?”

“They’re getting away!” Ben shouted, as the car kangaroo’d away from the curb and crossed over to the other side of the road, coming to a juddering halt against the opposite curb. Nate slapped the steering wheel in frustration, and looked up in time to see Tony and Roger sail past, blues and twos, as they gave chase.

“I don’t believe it!” Nate howled. “What the...?” Biting back the swear word, he scrabbled in the door pocket for his script. And stared in disbelief. It was true, it was correct, it had to be. It was in the script.

Batty's Back!

Cautiously, Tony opened the cupboard door. “Cathy?” He peered into the gloomy space. “Are you in here?” He was just starting to feel really foolish when there came a shuffling noise, a pile of lavatory paper rolls shifted, and she stepped out from behind a bundle of cleaning equipment in the corner.

She was exactly as he remembered, which is to say clearly balmier than a bag of badgers. Trying not to make any sudden moves, and wishing fervently he’d left his asp behind in his locker, he stretched his hand to her. Her cold, steely fingers closed over his.

“Hello, Tony.” Her voice was as icy as her touch. “I’ve been away for a while, but I’m all better now.”

Resisting the urge to snatch his hand away, Tony guided her out of the cupboard. “Refs?”

“I remember the way.” With that she let go of his hand and wandered away, passing two of the crew in the corridor. They stared after her, puzzled, and Tony realised that her uniform was somewhat out of date. Hoping that their new friend RB knew what she was doing, he headed back up the stairs.

~*~*~*~*~

Jack Meadows paused by the coffee machine. Normally the brew was bland and tasteless, but would do, as he couldn’t be bothered to queue in the canteen. He dropped in his money and pressed the right combination of buttons. As the plastic beaker filled slowly, he gloomily pondered his six-week stint in the cupboard, which was dark and draughty. If the rumours were true, he saw himself spending more and more time in there. Passed over for someone younger.

Mentally he shook himself and picked up the cup. Strange. He stared at it. Something was definitely not quite right about the consistency. He sniffed it -- smelt a bit odd, too. But that was nothing strange about that. Then he took a sip. And immediately looked for somewhere to spit it out.

Jack scowled and looked for somewhere to dump the cup and its contents. The rumours had to be true, as the vile tasting brew confirmed: the coffee machines were mating again.

So the Producers were making the whole thing over into young, hip and glossy. And full of improbable personal relationships. Where do I fit in? Jack shook his head sadly. More draughty, lonely months in the cupboard, only to be trotted out once in a while. Sighing, he headed for the stairs.

~*~*~*~*~

“So, what do you need from us?” Jo typed. “Tony’s gone to let Cathy out of the cupboard.”

Are you alone?

Jo sighed. “Not exactly.” Stuart was still hovering.

Because there are few little details I think I ought to warn you about, seeing we’ve let Batty loose.

“Details... I knew it...” Stuart stabbed an accusatory finger at the dialogue box. “She’s gonna hurt me again, I know it. What is it this time, eh? Bamboo shoots under the fingernails?”

There was an electronic sizzle and a small plume of smoke. Stuart staggered backwards against the wall, staring at Jo in disbelief before his eyes rolled up in his head. Then, quietly, he slid down into an inanimate heap.

Jo swooped down. “Stu?” But he was out for the count. She moved him carefully into the recovery position and slipped back into the chair. “What on earth did you do?” she typed.

Shot him in the left buttock with a standard animal trank dart. He’ll come round in about fifteen minutes, a bit of a headache but no lasting damage.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

He was going to go off on one, and we don’t have time for one of those famous Turner rants. It’s probably better he doesn’t know too much about what I have to tell you about Batty.

“What about Batty??” Jo looked down at her sleeping partner, where the Chihuahua had moved in and was cuddled up against his chest.

You have to use her sparingly. Once you’ve wound her up, just don’t get in her way. This is gonna work a bit like a mmorpg, but there’s one slightly awkward side effect. She’s gonna follow Stuey about rather a lot.

“Why?”

She really goes for his type. The trouble is, she’ll have him chained up in the boiler room in the basement if you turn your back on her for too long. I’d keep a set of handcuff keys and a pair of bolt cutters handy, if I were you. You might also want to make regular sweeps of the basement.

“He’s going shortly--surely that won’t be too much of a problem...”

That’s just it. HE might be going, but Stuey won’t be going anywhere for at least another six months. Just remember this, in tv-land you can still hear the Peasants scream!!

“Very funny.”

Hehehehe... rather proud of that one me-self. Anyway, perhaps I ought to introduce you to some of my fellow villainesses... Smickan, she’ll be your gatekeeper, protecting the innocent... dead good at that is Smickan. She’s particularly fond of Smithy, so I wouldn’t plot anything that gets him hurt if I were you. And my fellow villainess, Vampires Kiss... VK loves you... so... you’re safe. As long as VK is about, nothing untoward will happen to you.

“Well, that’s good to know. Anything else we ought to know?”

Not particularly, other than during briefing this afternoon, Sergeant Stone will inexplicably lose his clothes again (the girlies do so love a Nekkid Callum) and a very flustered Insp. Weston will put Tony and Roger in the area car instead of Nate and Roger... Tony should make the most of it... and watch out for the old lady in the green tea-cosy hat. She will become particularly significant.

~*~*~*~*~

Callum Stone peered cautiously out of the men’s locker room. He’d been walking along a corridor, minding his own business, file in hand, as he will on occasion, when a mysterious wardrobe malfunction had deprived him of his dignity. Stripped him naked as a jaybird, to be more specific. Worse still, it happened on camera, so the censors would have coronaries, the lot of ‘em. Blushing furiously, Callum had sidled away, noticing with some irritation that A4 Manila folders were hopelessly inadequate for a man of his standing.

He opened the door and slipped out, praying silently that it wouldn’t happen again, he headed to the briefing room with uncharacteristic nervousness. As he stepped through the door, and Inspector Rachel Weston turned to face him, there was a tiny electronic sizzle from somewhere just behind him.

Rachel’s serene expression remained in place, presumably by sheer effort of will, as Callum prayed that the ground would open and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Holding the clipboard in front of him in a protective gesture, he reversed out through the door, as the distant sound of girly shrieks of delight rang in his ears.

In which contact is made and the fanficcers infiltrate

Tony stared at the screen. For a second he couldn’t think of a single thing to type. Perhaps it was the minute spider’s web after the initials which unnerved him (what did that mean, anyway?). Or the fact that Ravens Byte was the most gothic of them all. Her tales of darkness, doom and disaster frequently ended (and middled, and began) badly for Stuart. Tony could quite see the reason for the sergeant’s nervousness.

We need help. He typed cautiously.

Not even a moment’s pause. I can see that. What on earth was that six parter, “I Lost My Heart To Grange Hill”??

Tony frowned--that seemed a bit unfair. He steeled himself to say so.

“How are we getting on?” Jo’s voice, just behind him. He looked up, grateful for any interruption, noticing as he did that the cameraman was looking very unsettled and the camera was visibly wobbling. He was about to suggest to Jo that perhaps they ought to wait until they were out of shot, when Jo slipped into the vacant chair next to him and peered hard at the screen. Back on familiar ground, the cameraman visibly relaxed.

“We’ve made contact,” Tony hissed.

“I can see that.”

“Well, what do we want to say?”

Jo reached for the keyboard.

They’re planning to do away with everyone over forty; we’d like to survive, but we can’t do this by ourselves. Can you help?

Are you sure you want us to? You do realise that once you’ve let us in, random acts of weirdness may well occur.

“I knew it.” Stuart leaned over Jo and pointed at the dialogue box. “That is her, the Sadist. We’re doomed.”

I resent that, I’m only sadistic about 80% of the time, the other 20% I’m actually quite nice.

“She’ll hurt me again. I know it.”

Jo sighed, something she seemed to be doing a lot of these days. Stuart’s paranoia was quite wearing.

“Stu, do calm down.” She looked at the screen and typed again:

We need your help, but... do you promise not to hurt him again?

**sighs** But that was the fun... ooops, meant SYMPATHY vote bit. Stuey in peril was much dearer to folks’ hearts, some of them even stopped wanting him dead or in prison. But, for the greater good, I suppose so.

You swear?

I swear I won’t break any of his bones or kill him again. Anything else, I can’t really guarantee. If you let us in, strange things will happen, that is guaranteed.

Jo looked up. “Well?”

“Okay,” Stu gave in, shoulders caving. “As it is for you, and the others... and it’s only for a couple more weeks.”

Okay. We’re ready. Jo typed.

A box will pop up in a second or two, click the accept button, and then we can get started.

A small grey box with some curious-looking hieroglyphics in it appeared on the screen. Jo hovered the cursor over the accept button.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Tony asked.

A slightly flummoxed expression crossed Jo’s face. “A niggle.” She glanced at him sideways. “It’s in my idiom you know.”

“Never mind idioms.” Tony reached across for the mouse. “I’ll do it, so the fans can’t blame it on you.” He clicked once, and the box promptly disappeared.

Thank you for that, we’re in.

Okay. Jo typed. What do you need us to do?

Perhaps I had better explain some of what is likely to happen. Oh, and by the way, I might have promised not to kill Stuey or break any bones, but that doesn’t mean I can’t torment him a little from time to time.

There was a little sizzle and a tiny plume of smoke. Stuart jumped slightly and stared at the floor. A Chihuahua stared back up at him. “Eh? Where did that come from?”

Jo looked down at the tiny creature. “I have no idea... but it’s rather cute.”

“I don’t do ‘cute’. It’s not in my idiom.” Stuart scowled. The little dog sidled closer to Stuart’s left leg.

“Well, it seems to have taken a fancy to you.” Jo turned back to the screen. Are you responsible for that?

Could be! But. Back on thread. We need to get a couple of old characters out of storage to ginger things up a bit. Then we can start to turn things in your favour.

But what about the younger fans who like all the young characters.

It’s easy enough to divert their attention.

A man’s wail of anguish wafted up the stairs, followed by some distant giggly girly shrieks of delight.

Jo’s eyes widened, and Tony and Stuart looked very anxious. What did you just do?

Naked Callum. Told you; the girly fans are very, very easy to distract.

Stuart leaned over and reached for the keyboard. Promise me you won’t do that to me.

Awwww... but it would be such fun! But... okay. In the interests of the greater good. I won’t make you naked without warning. Anyway, we need to wake up Smickan the Gatekeeper. She’ll protect the innocent and unwary (and Smithy... she luuuuuurves Smithy); you’ll need Smickan. And then I think Tony should go downstairs and look in the broom cupboard. There’s someone in there. Set her loose and that will keep the producers and writers confused and distracted for long enough for the master plan to take effect.

Tony reached for the keyboard; he had that sinking feeling again. Who is it?

Batty, of course. Who else?

“Oh god...” Tony passed a shaking hand over his face. “Cathy Bradford. What have we done?”