} 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.
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