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?”