| } The plaintive scream cut through the silence of abandoned ruins like a} chainsaw through a cheerleader.  As one man, the group froze, their
 } attention torn from the peculiar inscription on the altar that
 } Professor Bockmeyer had been examining, like a teenager drooling over a
 } smuggled copy of Playboy.
 }
 } "Perhaps these ruins aren't as abandoned as you think, eh?"  Callaghan
 } straightened up with a wry smirk, and drew his revolver.
 }
 } Without further comment, we walked toward the dark opening behind the
 } altar, from which the agonized cry had shot like an tracer shell from
 } an anti-aircraft gun.  At the end of a corridor littered with broken
 } statuary, crushed pottery, and bleached bones, an eary green light
 } flickered like an oversexed firefly on an August evening.
 }
 } "Excuse me," said Callaghan, "but shouldn't that be 'eerie'?"
 }
 } The party crept... Huh?  What was that?
 }
 } "Eerie," he repeated.  "E-E-R-I-E.  Not E-A-R-Y.  You mis-spelled it."
 }
 } Oh, right, yeah.  Thanks.
 }
 } "No sweat."
 }
 } The party crept toward the light, weapons clutched in sweaty hands like
 } so many gigolos between their lovers' thighs.  Callaghan stood
 } suddenly, an annoyed look on his face.  "Look, could you cut the
 } extended metaphors, and get on with the action?"
 }
 } Now wait a minute, *I'm* the narrator.  You're just a character.  You
 } can bloody well wait until I'm ready!
 }
 } "Think so, buckwheat?  And just how far do you think you're likely to
 } get without me?"
 }
 } Ha!  And what do you think you can do about it... Hey!  Callaghan!  Get
 } back here!!  You can't do that!
 }
 } "Hm, sort of a sticky one," mused Bockmeyer, scratching his head.
 } "Perhaps one of us can fill in for him?"
 }
 } You shut up!  Callaghan!!!  Damn you, Callaghan, I'm going to re-write
 } the first chapter and make you a transvestite homosexual claims
 } adjuster with leprosy and bad breath!  CALLAGHAN!!
 }
 } Callaghan?
 }
 } Shit.
 }
 } You owe the Oracle a new protagonist.
 |