**AUTHOR'S NOTES** Although I have been writing for most of my life, this is my first attempt at using characters and places already created and established by others. I hope I do them justice. I must warn you that there are occasional scenes of affection between two characters, of my own creation, both of whom are male. I am fully aware that this may not be comfortable reading for some people, and accept that without demur. If you are one such person, then I suggest you read no further. In any case, please keep an open mind as you trawl through. All characters are copyright Warner Brothers/Amblin Entertainment except Sandy, Falloner, Carter and Brad, who are (c) me. And now... A CERTAIN LONELY TOON by Foxy Fellow (aka Dave Ellery) (david@westlockonline.co.uk) Chapter 1 The First Day RING-RING-RING-RING-RING-RI... WHACK! "I get through more alarm clocks that way." Buster mused, as he pulled the mallet from the sparking, fizzing remains of his clock, and lobbed it away. He chucked the timepiece residue on top of a pile of electrical bits building up in one corner. The rabbit swung himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to jolt them into action. With a yawn and stretch, he trailed over to a closet and opened it. "Best get something to wear," he muttered to himself. Fifteen identical red sweaters lined up on hangers inside. "Choices, choices." Buster rummaged through the tops, finally settling on one, and slipping it on. He picked a carrot from a tray full and started to bite into it. "FREEZE! WE GOT YOU SURROUNDED!" a voice hollered from above. Buster jumped so violently he cracked his head on the ceiling of his burrow, and bit his carrot in two with enough force to shatter half his teeth. As he scrambled to collect the pieces together and jam them back into his mouth, a pink long-eared face peered in through the hole above. "Did I startle you?" Babs asked, grinning evilly. "Not at all, Babsy," Buster replied, retrieving his mallet and throwing it upwards. "Uh-" Babs got out, before the hammer hit her full in the face. "Ohhhhhhhhh..." she finished, voice getting lower as she fell into Buster's burrow, and halting with a crunch as she hit bottom. Babs glowered homicidally at Buster from her inverted position, legs jutting out at ninety degree angles from her body, skirt and ears drooping over her eyes. "Nice of you to drop in," Buster quipped, gathering up a few books. Then the urge came upon him. He tried to resist (for about 2 seconds) then gave in. The bunny whipped a water pistol from a body pocket and sent several gallons splooshing over Babs, who'd kindly remained standing on her head. Not for much longer, though. With a teeth-grinding snarl, Babs righted herself, and produced a pistol of her own. But Buster was already pulling himself out of the burrow. "Too slow, Barbara Ann Bunny!" he called back. "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Babs bellowed, rocketing out of the burrow and after a certain blue bunny. Her pistol squirted out far more water than it could possibly have held as she pursued Buster, but not a drop touched him. "STOP!" the blue rabbit called out. Babs did just that, in mid-run, in mid-air, not a hair twitching, complete with screeching brakes. Buster turned round and coolly introduced her to another few litres of H2O, then resumed his Looniversity-bound run. Babs unfroze, gave a roar an angry bull would have been proud of, and scorched off in the other bunny's wake. Unsurprisingly, it was a mere few seconds before the Looniversity loomed up in front of them. The statues of Bugs and Daffy stood by the gates as always, welcoming the students. Two of them stood under Daffy's shadow - Plucky and Shirley. The former was plainly being his usual subtle self, as the Loon used her psychic powers to reduce him to a pile of ash with a beak and dazed eyes perched on top before stalking off. "Who ordered the char grilled duck?" Plucky's bill asked, as Buster halted beside what was left of him. "Great Friz Frizzle, Pluckster," Buster congratulated him. "You'll walk the Wild Takes this year." "Oh, ha-ha. Let's all laugh at the duck!" The Plucky-dust was patently not amused. "Uh-oh. Gotta go!" Buster ran off, rapidly followed by a still-furious Babs. "See ya in class, Plucky!" "Hey!" Plucky had switched from chagrined sarcasm to all-out whining as only he could. "Come back! Please! I'm stuck!" Several signs popped up around the green conical mound: HELP! SOS! I'M STUCK! ANYBODY! INSTANT DUCK - JUST ADD WATER. In the end, Shirley gave in and reconstituted the unfortunate waterfowl, who proclaimed himself to be forever in her debt (forever to Plucky lasting about five minutes). The two ducks made their way into the Looniversity, joining the rest of the students in the Auditorium for a 'Welcome back to School/Purgatory' speech from Professor Bugs. Babs and Buster, all water-based animosity forgotten, surveyed the massed toons, noting the presence of all their friends, and sizing up new arrivals (as well as ensuring they were out of Elmyra's line of sight). They succeeded until the very last sentence of Bugs' greeting. "You should all know ya home rooms, so go an'..." "Cutey-wutey bunny-wunny heads!" Elmyra yelled in delight, making a beeline for Babs and Buster, arms outstretched. "AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!" the bunnies took off a little earlier than the Principal would have liked. Bugs gave a world-weary sigh, and leant on the lectern, fingers drumming a tune. "She NEVER loins. DISMISS!" Toons hurtled off in numerous directions, either glad to be back or dreading every minute. This year the gang were in Porky's home room, meaning roll-call took twice as long as normal. "Pl-eh-pl-pl-eh...the little green feathered guy?" "Sir." "Me-er-eh-me...Moneybags?" "...123,456 dollars...Yeah...123,457 dollars...Hey! I've got one dollar less lunch money today!" "E-er-eh-eh-e...bunny-hugger?" "Do you mean meeeee?" Elmyra cooed. "I don't see anyone else here crushing two rabbits to death, do you?" Plucky muttered. "Quiet, P-Plucky," Professor Porky snapped. "Sheesh! Now he gets my name right..." "B-eh-b-Be-eh...Blue-ears?" "Here...just..." Buster gasped, struggling to break Elmyra's death hug. In the end, Plucky and Hamton had to use crowbars to free them, then all four tied Elmyra to a convenient anvil (every class should have one). Porky seemed blissfully unaware, ploughing on with the roll-call. "Finally, a ne-er-ne-ne-new guy - Sandy." He gestured towards the back of the room, where a small red (as in colour and species) fox sat, eyes shaded by an Indiana Jones-style brown homburg hat, and a loose deep red jacket draped over his shoulders. The fox tipped his hat. "Nice to meet you all." A few murmurs of greeting followed, Babs furiously trying to remember where she'd heard his accent before, and Elmyra even managed to extend her vocabulary a little. "Oooooooh! Cute Foxy-woxy head!" Her sudden lunge actually moved the anvil a few inches. Sandy's eyes bulged out in shock as he brought a riot shield from absolutely nowhere and huddled behind it, only peering out every now and then to check on Elmyra's position. "His parents moved here during the summer break, so he's had to m-eh-m-eh- move schools," Porky went on, either ignoring or totally oblivious to proceedings. "We need someone to introduce him to Acme Loo. B-eh-b-Buster?" "Sure," Buster agreed. "G-g-good. He's in your first class, so you can show him to it. D-eh-d-eh- d...get out of here!" The students obliged with alacrity, except Elmyra whom everybody had conveniently forgotten to untie. Porky sighed, then released her himself, only to be steamrolled by the skull-wearing aminal-lover as she hurried to introduce herself to Sandy. Sandy himself was just entering Wild Takes (with Daffy Duck) when Elmyra caught up with him. He took one look, then delved in his body pocket again, this time bringing forth a very large spring. He held it out in front of him just in time to halt Elmyra's progress. Her fingers just brushed Sandy's nose before the spring did its job (it was from ACME - built-in delay in reacting), catapulting the girl back down the corridor to collide with Porky, who was heading for his next class. "G-g-g-g-good shot..." Professor Pig burbled, before blacking out. "Oops..." Sandy grinned guiltily. "I guess knocking one of your teachers out is not good for your prospects." "Ah, don't worry!" Buster waved a dismissive paw. "That kind of thing happens here every day. No-one's dropped a grade from it yet." "Heck, some of the Profs give you higher marks for imagination!" Babs interjected. "I'll remember that for the next time I send a raving lunatic flying into one of my lecturers," Sandy replied. "Will you quit blabbering and hurry up?!" Daffy stood in the doorway, looking just a teensy bit put out. The three young toons clicked into meek mode as they slipped past and up to their desks. Professor Duck glowered at them for a moment more, then launched into his opening lecture. "All right, kidsth - so far you've had it easy. Now we up the ante a little. Firtht, you practice the takesth you learned last year. Let'th thtart with the Avery Awooga." The room echoed to a cluster of meaty thunks, liquid rolls, squelching pops and ear-popping "AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGA"s as jaws hit desks, tongues rolled out onto the floor, and eyes jumped from heads. Daffy surveyed the rows of gaping mouths and nodded, satisfied. "Very good," he told his pupils, "now thnap out of it!" This they did...all except Plucky. The duck scrabbled to roll his tongue back into his mouth, and when that failed force his beak shut, and when that failed ram his eyeballs back into his sockets. Daffy watched, shaking his head. Buster leaned over and casually cracked Plucky across the back of the head. The duck's face snapped back to its normal shape. Professor Duck barked out a second take. "Clampett Corneal Catathtrophe!" Within seconds he had a class full of three-foot eyeballs blinking at him. "Not bad, not bad," he nodded again. The students returned to their (ab)normal selves...except for Plucky. "Nobody...say...ANYTHING!" the green-lidded eye demanded, bouncing impotently in its chair. Daffy rolled his eyes. Buster slapped the back of the Plucky-eye. The duck became himself again, holding a wing to one eye. "That stings!" he complained. Daffy ignored him. "Friz Frizzle!" Every pupil crumbled into dust, their eyes perched on top. "That'll do," Professor Duck commanded. His class reconstituted themselves...except for Plucky. "Now why does this seem familiar?" Plucky's ashes muttered. Buster produced a watering can and liberally lubricated the duck. Plucky grew back to size like a flowering plant, complete with green petals round his neck. He plucked them off, looking extremely put out. "How about a tricky one?" Daffy asked. "Wile E's favorite - the Chuck Cringe!" The students fixed their gazes on the ceiling, eyes wide and bulging, faces sagging, ears drooping, expectancy of intense pain obvious. Two, Plucky and Sandy, even brought out tiny little parasols. "Very good!" Daffy congratulated them. "Especially you, Plucky! Not everyone can make their eyeth tremble." "I'm not ac..." **CLANG!!!** "...ting..." Plucky's tooth-lined bill, poking from under the anvil, finished in a groggy tone. "We lose more desksth that way," Daffy mused, as the other pupils levered the anvil off of Plucky. "Try an Overheater!" This was greeted with much scratching of heads and a sea of bewildered expressions...with one exception. Sandy's ears fired out plumes of steam with a whistle like a boiling kettle in overdrive, his pupils rolled up to be replaced with the single word HOT over fire-filled eyeballs, and a jet of flame roared from his mouth for such a distance it set fire to the back of Plucky's head. "Well, darn!" Daffy groused, totally ignoring the small green duck belting round the classroom, beating his burning bonce with both wings and screaming blue murder. "I was hoping no-one would get that." Buster brought his water pistol out again, and doused Plucky's head. The duck dropped into his seat, the rear of his skull blackened and smoking. "Now I know how a cigar feels," he muttered. Daffy, extremely used to this kind of thing by now, carried on regardless. "Well done, Thandy. How'd ya know about that?" "I ate a really hot curry once. Took me a week to recover." "That quick?" Daffy seemed mildly surprised. Then he addressed the whole class. "The Overheater, as Thandy just showed, ith what a toon doesth when he or she eatsth thomething too hot. In today's class you'll learn to do the take and customise it. This is the first of many you can tailor to your own thtyle. Now the- " Daffy paused, wondering why his feet suddenly felt less secure. A glance downwards revealed a large black pit had opened beneath him. There was just enough time for the black duck to hold up a sign with two words written on it:- Going doooooooown! Then Toon Physics kicked in, and Daffy plummeted into the black abyss with a drawn-out, high-pitched scream, leaving a class full of mildly bemused students, and his sign hanging in mid-air. It had turned round, revealing another sentence. This is NOT an excuse to break up class. Then it too obeyed what passed for gravity in Acme Acres. Several toons swore they heard a crack of wood on feathered skull and a yelp from Daffy a moment later. Buster jumped across to the hole and leaned over, ears primed. "He's still falling. He's screaming at tenor level now." Babs took the opportunity to put Sandy under the spotlight - literally. A 500 watt spotlight that caused Sandy to react like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. She plonked him in a huge black chair, then spin-changed into a Nazi interrogator, complete with dodgy German accent and glue-on black moustache. "Vhere are you frrrrrrrrom?" "England," Sandy answered, muffled by the welding mask he'd donned to protect his eyes. "Vhere?" "England." "Never heard of it." "United Kingdom. Little knobbly thing off the coast of France. Boasts the biggest haul of Olympic bronzes in the World. Constant bad guy supply for Hollywood." Still Babs looked blank. "Gave the world afternoon tea?!" Sandy added, in desperation. "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Babs finally clicked. "I knew I recognised that accent!" Sandy groaned. "Long way to transfer," Buster noted, still listening at the hole. "He's reached basso now." "My folks decided to move here," Sandy explained. "They've always wanted to, but not had the capital until now." "Capital?" Plucky's eyes flashed dollar signs, then pound signs, then yens, then francs, then finally settled for dollars. "As in money? Moolah? Greenbacks? Cash? Dosh? Lolly?" "Yep - £3,000,000 to be exact." "Three...MILLION?!" Suddenly Plucky was all over the fox. "You're my bestest greatest buddy, you know that? I love you I love you I..." "BUT... We spent £100,000 on the Concorde flight over here, then were swooped on by IRS hitmen as we walked out of the airport." Sandy added. "How much ya got left?" Plucky asked, the dollar signs crumbling, and eyes watering. "About 2 cents, your money." "That much, huh?" Plucky stalked back to his seat. "I think he's landed," Buster called from his station by the pit. "Either that or his scream's gone subsonic." "Do the teachers here normally plummet into pits mid-class?" Sandy asked as Buster strolled over to him and Babs. "That's a first as far as I know," the pink bunny replied. "How long have we got until end of period?" Sandy queried. Perfectly on cue Gogo popped out of the clock on the wall. "Twenty more minutes in which to go cuckoo! Cuckoo!" he then hit himself back into the clock with a mallet. "One of his saner moods today," Buster commented, leaning back in his chair, outsize feet propped on the desk. "You should have been here on the Fourth of July," Babs put in. "He kept launching fireworks from the clocks. Funnily enough they all hit Plucky." "By the end of school he looked like Daffy," Buster chuckled. "Closest he ever got to emulating his mentor." "Sort of Bomb-ay duck, then?" Sandy asked with a lazy grin. "Boom, boom!" Babs returned, vying with him for the title of Biggest Teeth- Flasher In Class. "Gogo must like his duck grilled - with extra soot," Sandy wasn't about to be beaten. "At least Plucky's day went with a BANG!" Babs' grin was now half the width of the classroom. By now Buster was cringing visibly, and poor Plucky huddled under his desk, barricaded in with barbed-wire and flanked by attack dogs. Sandy and Babs continued swapping barbecued-duck-style puns right up until Daffy walked back in - one minute before the end of period bell. He was wearing a corked hat and a fowl...er...foul expression. "If I ever find out who did thith..." he began, but the students had already bailed. "Mentor 101, now," Buster told Sandy. "Who've you got?" "Who've you got?" the fox countered. "Bugs." "You've just answered your own question." "Bugs?!" Buster started. "Why him?" "Let's see - I want to learn to be cunning, smart, fast-witted, ahead of the game, able to bamboozle foes with the greatest of ease, and do great Groucho Marx impressions. I may be wrong, but I believe that isn't Elmer's forte." Buster laughed and clapped him on the back. "This is gonna be fun." The two toons pushed through the door of Bugs' office, to be confronted by a pneumatic-chested, blonde, tight-skirted, rabbit-from-Heaven. They reacted the way any red-blooded male toon would - with whoops and wolf-whistles, eyes changing to pink hearts, tongues lolling to the floor, blood-pumping organs thumping a full foot out of their chests, and one foot apiece stamping dents into the floor. The grey-furred lovely winked languidly, walking towards them, smiling seductively. She leaned over and planted lingering kisses on the mouths of the two students, who instantly melted into brightly-coloured puddles. The bunny beauty grinned in delight. "I still got it!" she noted, in an extremely un-feminine Brooklyn-and-Bronx accent. Sandy and Buster sat bolt upright, shocked realisation etched on their faces. Both gave drawn-out groans of disgust. "Eeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwww!!!" Bugs shucked the wig and wiped away the make-up. "Welcome to Mentor 101, Sandy!" "Couldn't you just say 'hello'?" the fox complained, frantically wiping his mouth. "He don't know me very well, do he?" Bugs cackled, delighted at the chance to use an oldie-but-goldie. "Does he always greet people so...warmly?" Sandy asked Buster as they got to their feet. "Usually. He likes to keep in practice." "Hold dese will ya?" Bugs asked, plucking a pair of bowling balls from his 'cleavage' and handing them to a deeply startled Sandy. "I won't ask," he decided, eyes almost as big as the bowling balls. "Dey give de right effect," Bugs explained, apparently having heard the fox say the complete opposite, "and dey're great for calming down over-zealous co-stars." "ELMER?!?!?!" Buster and Sandy shrieked, a little too loudly, especially given the wabbit-hunter's office was right opposite Bugs'. "No no no no no no no!" countered Bugs, hurriedly. "Perfoict gentletoon. 'Sides, he knew it was me. Some of de guest actors, dough, didn't. They really thought I was a dame! One or two tried getting' fresh wid me - so I gave 'em de bowlin' bowl treatment - grab 'em and bang dere heads on me 'cleavage'! Dat dampened dere ardour every time!" he chuckled richly at the memory. "So it's cross-dressing today, then, teach?" Buster asked, cheerily. "Yep," Bugs replied, back to his normal self. "A practical class. Go into dat closet over dere and use what's inside to turn yoiselves into dames guaranteed to blow an enemy's top. Get to it!" The two students darted into the cupboard, and there ensued a truly unique conversation, kicked off by Buster. "Do you think I'd look big in this?" "That's the idea." "Oh yeah. Let me rephrase - do I look big enough in this?" "Probably a little too big for a cartoon - even a WB one." "Lemme deflate these balloons a little...that better?" "Yup - less chance of poking people's eyes out now. WHOA!" "WHOA! What?" "WHOA - I didn't know Bugs went in for Madonna impressions." "Whoops!" Bugs charged in, reappearing a second later, stuffing something into a body pocket. "Knew I shoulda put that somewhere else! You two didn't see dat!" "See what?" two voices chorused. "Dat's my boys!" Bugs wiped a paw over his brow in relief. "Hey Buster - think these'll do the trick?" "Dunno - give 'em a pack of cards and see." "They'll do. Now, let's see what's at the back here..." "I'll send in a search party if you're not back in five minutes." "Great. Hello - I think I've found Narnia. Wrong - just one of Bugs' flowery kimonos." "I'm about done." "Right. For someone who doesn't wear clothes Bugs doesn't half have a lot of them. Ahhhhhh - got something." "Let's have a look." "Here I come, ready or not." "When it comes to Bugs' dresses, I'm never ready." "Well?" "I'd say we're all set." "Let's get him!" The rabbit and fox re-emerged, not quite looking themselves. Buster had turned himself into Sugar Dumpling, whilst Sandy had opted for the full Jessica Rabbit look, which meant he was forever in danger of toppling forward (the high heels didn't help either). Bugs grinned, donning his female guise again. "Now ya gotta learn ta walk the walk an' talk the talk." Towards the end of class, Yosemite Sam poked his head round the door. Three impossibly-curvy young ladies winked and blew kisses at him. The unsuspecting Sam was on all fours howling like a wolf before the three kisses even hit him. The two students and their mentor collapsed into fits of laughter, which kinda gave the game away to Yosemite. Sam's face froze in utter mortification, before he sprang upright and stormed out of the office. "I CAN'T BELIEVE THE DURN VARMINT TRICKED ME AGAIN!" he was heard to yell. "THOSE BIG GAME TICKETS CAN WAIT!" Bugs stopped laughing. "Game?! De football! Sam, wait!" The bell for lunch rang as he hurtled out of the office, still in drag, and after Yosemite, leaving two young toons paralysed with laughter. They recovered enough to stumble out of the office, just in time to be almost steamrolled by a positively frantic Sam. "YOU AIN'T KISSIN' ME AGAIN, RRRABBIT!" he bellowed, moustache flapping in the wind. Then Bugs flew past, in full southern belle mode, milking the moment for all he was worth. "Ahh do declare, Sah, you are a shy one!" "SHY?!?!" if Sam prided himself on one thing, it was his total lack of fear or wariness. He screeched to a halt, whipping out his sixguns. "AH AIN'T AFRAID O' ANYONE OR ANYTHING, RRRABBIT!" By now Buster and Sandy had sunk to the floor, leaning against each other, barely able to breathe for laughing. Then came Bugs' coup de grace. Before Sam could stop him, the rrrabbit pushed the sixguns aside, planted a super-sloppy smacker right on the outlaw's mouth, then hared it outta there, shedding his disguise as he did so. "What a ma-roon!" Bugs jeered, a sheath of football tickets having somehow found its way into one paw. Sam let out a roar so loud every pane of glass in the school blew out, then rocketed after Bugs, guns blazing. "YOU'RE A-FRYIN', RABBIT!" "No, I'm a fricasseeing rabbit!" came the distant reply. Eventually, Sandy and Buster recovered enough to stand up. "He is the BEST, no question!" There was a lot of feeling in Buster's voice. "I think I might enjoy this," Sandy opined. By now the corridor was packed with toons heading for lunch. Devious gleams in their eyes, the fox and the rabbit adopted saucy, hip-swaying walks, and pouting, provocative expressions as they moved along. By the time they reached the canteen, half of the school was following them, a massive pack of drooling, heart-eyed, howling Avery wolves. Buster and Sandy found Babs, Shirley, Fifi, Furrball and Hamton (who suddenly found himself mummified by the skunk's tail - not that he minded) sitting to a table. Babs just groaned, Furrball fainted, and Shirley saw red. She'd spotted that one of the front runners, presently trying to bribe a certain foxy lady into a kiss, was Plucky. The Loon brought out a mallet, but Sandy forestalled her. She acquiesced, sensing major pain for the wayward green duck in the near future. Sandy lifted Plucky's bill with one paw, smiled coquettishly at him, then leaned forward and 'treated' him to a long, lingering lip-press. As soon as he was released, the duck made like a wall-of-death motorcycle around the cafeteria, whooping and hoo- hooing in delirious delight. Casually, Sandy manoeuvred to catch the duck. Plucky couldn't believe his luck - TWICE?! IN ONE YEAR?! Then the fox doffed the wig and makeup, before leaning in again, still smiling. Plucky literally wilted, going even greener than he originally was, the word DEVASTATED dominating the air above his head. With an agonised scream, the duck scorched (literally - the floor caught alight behind him) over to the nearest boys room and began feverishly gargling with heavy-duty disinfectant. Meanwhile, back in the canteen, Sandy and Buster span-changed back to their normal selves, prompting a mass yelp of horror from the male contingent of the school. As one toon they dropped into a seat and pretended nothing of the kind had ever happened. Shirley was killing herself laughing. "Like, he'll never forgive you, Sandy." "Ain't I a stinker?" the fox cackled, in a half-decent Bugs impression. "You're tellin' me, Mac," the rabbit himself put in, strolling past, pinching his nose. "I asked for that," Sandy grinned. "Anything edible served here?" "Not that we're aware of," came back Babs. "And that's not for want of trying." "Ah, well." Sandy headed for the counter. "I like a challenge." "You'll never make it alive!" Babs bawled. By the time Sandy had decided on exactly what way to risk his life, Plucky had joined the table. "What's up, duck?" Buster asked, mimicking his mentor. "That durn fox will be," Plucky grumbled. "Several hundred feet up, courtesy of ridiculous amounts of dynamite." Sandy sat down opposite the duck. He had a plateful of red lumps coated in yellow sauce. Or it may have been a yellow sauce sprinkled with red lumps. Either way it looked more lethal than edible. "Like, major color clash," moaned Shirley. "It's this or green lumps and brown sauce," Sandy told her. "Or was it brown lumps and green sauce?" "Those cooks must be color blind, or some junk," the Loon opined. "Or they just throw up on the plate," Plucky offered, grinning demonically. He turned himself into a stocky, stubble-chinned chef. "One puke-o special, comin' right up!" He went through a graphic mime of literally bringing up lunch. "Fresh as can be!" Sandy toyed with his 'food' for a few seconds, then pounced on Plucky. He tied the duck to his chair with a fair bit more rope than was strictly necessary, then jammed a funnel into his beak. Plucky went whiter than virgin snow with fear as Sandy ever-so-slowly brought his plate level with the lip of the funnel. "You wouldn't be that cruel?" Buster asked. "Would you?" In answer, Sandy tipped the plate up, letting the brightly-coloured 'food' slide into Plucky's mouth. Then he loosened the ropes, allowing the duck to hurtle for the boys room for a second time. "No - I'll let him loose this time." Sandy returned to his seat. He brought a plate of yellow sauce and red lumps from behind his back. "Not that he ate anything unpleasant, of course." "Then, like, what did you feed him?" Shirley asked. "Coloured ice cream," Sandy answered, grinning hugely. "Colored...ice-cream?!" Shirley burst into raucous laughter. Plucky returned just in time to hear that. "Ice cream? I wasted a perfectly good sight gag on ice cream?!" The get-back-to-class-or-we'll-set-Taz-on-you bell rang at that point, forestalling Plucky's anvil-shaped attempt on Sandy's life. The toons trooped to the final, double-period class for the day - Cartoon Discussion, with Elmer Fudd. This consisted of watching a set selection of classic cartoons, then discussing them as a class. At least, when any other tutor was taking it. With Elmer helming it, Cartoon Discussion always became Let's See How Much We Can Wind Up The Bald-Bonced Maroon Before He Starts Shooting At Us. The record stood at ten minutes before the bell. Today's class aimed to break it. It started well, the toons taking turns to play small gags on Elmer, always ensuring he couldn't know who the perpetrator was. All bases had been covered - Elmyra gagged (she could never add much to a discussion anyway), Monty bribed, and Fowlmouth given charge of one of Babs' smallest sisters. Well, all bases but one. Still, no-one could have banked on Fathead Fudd being astute enough to spot the tint of smug self-satisfaction in Plucky's expression every time one of his jokes paid off. Then again, his insistence on doing a lap of honour around the classroom might have helped. When Elmer brought him to book, he tried to tone down his sentence by turning informant, and implicating Babs, Buster and Sandy. This just served to get all four a shotgun blast to the face and a lengthy detention that afternoon. The fox and the rabbits glowered so forcefully at Plucky that the small green snitch seriously considered following the example of his wild brethen and migrating elsewhere for the foreseeable. When the end-of-school bell rang, the foursome made their way to the detention room, hoping beyond hope Elmer wasn't on detention duty that day. Within the room, three other toons waited for punishment. Calamity Coyote sat near the door, writing out a sign. A surly, dark grey mouse lounged at the back, throwing unpleasant glances in the direction of the final room occupant. Though the latter's species wasn't uncommon - raccoon - his colouring certainly was. Beneath his cream waistcoat and trousers, both immaculate, his fur was bright white, his facial mask pale yellow. His manner was a little edgy, a little tense. He brightened up more than a little on seeing Sandy. "Heya, mate!" the fox greeted him, almost trotting over. "Sandy!" the raccoon smiled as they embraced fondly, a gesture which drew, unseen by the others, a sneer from the sullen mouse at the back. "Meet Falloner," Sandy turned to Buster and Babs, one arm draped around the albino raccoon's shoulders. "My adopted brother." "A pleasure," Falloner shook paws with Plucky, Buster and Babs, even going so far as to lightly kiss the pink bunny's paw. "And you are...?" The trio introduced themselves, noting the coon's gentle, polite manner. Once that was over, he asked for a moment to talk alone with Sandy. The toons obliged, moving over to grill Calamity as to why he was languishing in detention. 'Blew Wile E up again' read his sign. "Why is it when he blows himself up he's a genius, and when someone else does they're dead meat?" Plucky wondered. Babs couldn't resist glancing over at Sandy and Falloner. The duo were deep in conversation, the fox not looking anywhere near as jovial as he had on walking in. She also noticed for the first time how black the mouse's expression was getting. Babs exchanged rapid fire whispers with Buster until the detention tutor walked in - Bugs. "Settle down, dere," he commanded, sitting back against the desk, manner calm yet firm, his famous accent toned down. The seven toons did so, waiting to see what their punishment would be. Bugs let them stew for about a minute before speaking. "Buster, Babs, Plucky - what did you do to Elmer dis time?" It took five minutes to reel it all off, with Bugs barely managing to stifle a smile. "Well," Bugs stated, "I'll let you off with ten lines each dis time, but only because I have more serious matters ta deal with." He dealt out sheets of paper, and wrote a sentence on the blackboard. "Now," Bugs moved to stand in front of Falloner. "I haven't quite got my head round what happened in lunchtime today. Let's go over it again." By now Plucky, Babs, Buster and Sandy had finished their lines. Bugs nodded, indicating they could leave. Sandy stayed put, and after a quick discussion so did the rabbits. Plucky wasted no time in getting far away from Acme Loo. Bugs surprised the bunnies and fox by giving a smile. "I was hoping you'd stay, Sandy," he admitted. "And I'm not surprised dat you two didn't go, either. We could use outside views. Brad - want to start?" The mouse grunted, then snapped out, "I found whitey over there looking at a piccie in a frame. He even kissed it." "Nothing wrong with that," Buster put in. "It shows feeling." "FOR A BLOKE?!" Brad roared. An uncomfortable silence fell. Bugs broke it. "So you hit him?" his voice was flat, but laced with the righteous anger that flashed up sometimes. "And tried ta break the photograph?" "I...I..." Brad fought for something to say, suddenly aware he was in the minority. He steeled himself. "I...cannot...feel comfortable with the idea of...of..." his vocabulary failed him. Bugs seemed to calm down a little. "I can't chastise ya for havin' views," he stated, "but I cannot condone how you acted on dem. Therefore I have no choice but to suspend you from dis school for tree days. Use 'em to think things trough, okay?" "Yes, Sir." Brad got to his feet and walked out, not quite radiating as much animosity as before. Bugs crouched down, so he was eye to eye with Falloner. "I take it de photo's still intact?" The raccoon fished in a pocket, and brought out a small picture framed with wood. "Not a scratch." "Glad ta hear it." He turned his head to look at Sandy, Buster and Babs. "You tree are now charged with ensuring Falloner doesn't get treated dat way again. Okay?" Three nods, Sandy's the firmest. Bugs grinned. "Knew I could rely on ya. You'd better get goin'. Don't want ya to miss the usual Weenie Burger get-tagedda." The toons filed out, Sandy with his arm round Falloner's shoulders again. The fox glanced back at Bugs, who was regarding Buster in a way that surprised him a little. He filed it away in the back of his mind for later reference. Not a word was spoken until they reached Weenie Burger, and grabbed a table. The group collected a small mountain of burgers and fries, then settled down to demolish it. "You'd think a hamburger would actually have some meat in it," Sandy grumbled, his in-depth scouring of his food revealing nothing. "The vegeburgers here have more meat in 'em," Buster replied. "That's why they're marked 'not suitable for vegetarians' on the menu." "At least this stuff comes close to being edible," Falloner put in. "I'm not sure the canteen food has been classified by science yet." "Wile E's still working on it!" Babs chimed. "It's his pet project - he likes a challenge." "You look a little...nervous," Buster commented to Falloner. "I'm expecting someone," the raccoon replied, eyes fixed on the doors. Babs couldn't help smiling. "What's he like?" "Well...er..." Falloner looked just a touch flustered, a smidgen uncomfortable. "Find out for yourself," Sandy interjected, nodding his head at the outside world. "He's here." Falloner's face momentarily lit up, and he gave a brief, delighted laugh before composing himself once more. All eyes watched the newcomer enter. He was another raccoon, and equally as distinctive as Falloner. Inky black from ear tips to tail tip, with a deep brown face-mask, he wore a blue casual t-shirt and jeans. In fact, casual was a good word to describe his manner, as well. He sauntered rather than walked, a near-permanent lazy grin splitting his face. "Howdy, folks!" he greeted the group. Falloner moved to let him sit down. "Who be you two?" he asked Buster and Babs. Every single toon in Weenie Burger rolled their eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. "Buster Bunny." "Babs Bunny." "No relation!" "Something tells me you say that a lot," the newcomer surmised, his grin widening briefly. "Only once or twice," Buster replied. "A DAY!" Plucky yelled from the other side of the diner. "YEOWCH!" "Thanks Shirl!" Babs and Buster called back. "Like, no problem!" "That was Plucky, by the way," Buster explained. "And you are?" "Carter," the black raccoon answered. "Ready for tonight?" he asked Falloner, a twinkle of affection in his gaze. "Of course," the white raccoon replied, perking up noticeably. "What ya got planned?" Buster asked. "Movie," Carter answered. "That new Farelly Brothers flick. What's it called?" "'Me, Myself, Dumb, Dumber, Dumbest, Kingpin, Queenpin, And Something About Irene'," Buster reeled off. He took a very deep breath. "It's about a schizophrenic bowls-playing copper who finds a sackload of money and tries to return it to Irene who he's mad about but spends it all whilst arguing with himself and getting his zip caught repeatedly and who still manages to win a major bowling tournament." By the end he was red in the face and hoarser than Joe Cocker. Once he'd recovered he continued. "Apparently it contains the world's longest vomiting sequence - ten minutes straight." Both raccoons suddenly looked extremely dubious. "Anything else on?" Falloner asked. Babs whipped an Acme Gazette from behind her back, then opened it to the Entertoonment section. "Lemme see...there's Police Academy 127 : Skeletons on Patrol - see Jones play Yankee Doodle on his femur; Star Trek : Geriatrics - Picard and co go on a dangerous mission to win a bingo game; Freddie's Definitely Positively Absolutely Dead This Time Honest to God : The Final Final Final Final Nightmare (We Mean It This Time); Mary Poppins 2000, featuring digital Dick Van Dyke, complete with convincing Cockney accent; Star Wars Episode One; and Stewart Miniscule." "Great selection(!)" Carter rolled his eyes. "I'd say it's between Star Wars and Stewart Miniscule." "You're quite rich, aren't you?" Buster asked, suddenly. "Fairly - how'd ya guess?" "'Cause Plucky's heading your way." Carter looked around, to see the green duck moving toward him like a zombie after brains, chanting "money...money..." and drooling copiously, complete with dollar signs for pupils. "He's got built-in money radar," Buster explained. "Never fails." "How much ya got?" Plucky asked, totally unable to conceal the paralysing avarice gripping him. "Well...there is a way to give you an idea, but I'm almost ashamed to say it. I...I...go to Perfecto." "Perfecto?!" Plucky's trance shattered. "I know, I know. It's unforgivable. But my folks forced me to. I didn't want to! Please believe me!" By now Carter was indulging in full-on, eye-rolling, hand-wringing, sobbing voice histrionics. "Spare me from the block! I beg you to spare my pitiful life!" Babs span into a sparkly, low-cut dress and handed the sable raccoon a golden statuette. "And the winner of most overdone histrionics in a fanfic is Carter!" The entirety of Weenie Burger cheered (including several side orders), whilst Buster, Sandy and Plucky magically became tux-clad could-have-beens, all false good humour and barely hidden jealousy (not that Plucky was acting). The two raccoons quickly decided on Star Wars, and generously asked Buster and Babs to come along. It took all of two seconds for the rabbits to think, discuss and agree. Shirley also opted to join them. Plucky invited himself along, and dragged Hamton into coming so he'd have someone to spoil the film for (he'd seen it twice already). The scene was set for a pleasant evening out. Chapter 2 Torture by Cinema The Acme Megaplex was big. So big the ticket vendors handed out maps and rations, and most people arrived a day early for their film just in case. The toonsters strolled along a corridor, noting the screen numbers as they went. "34, 35, 36, 37..." Buster mumbled. "How many screens are showing this flick?" Plucky wanted to know. "40 out of the fifty," Buster replied. "So why didn't we just pop into the first one we came to?" "'Cos Elmer works part time as an usher here, and you can bet whichever screen we enter he'll be working. But if you wanna get your beak blown off, feel free." "What number were we again?" the duck hurriedly consulted his ticket. "45!" Buster called out. "And just in time to miss the trailers." The group trooped in and allowed the usher (Elmer, of course) to guide them to back-row seats. They were startled to notice the rest of the theatre was deserted. It stayed that way, letting the toons relax more than usual. Plucky dictated every event in the film to Hamton, who did everything possible to not hear - ear plugs, cotton wool, ear defenders and even a diving helmet. In the end he opted for lining the helmet with glue and jamming it over the duck's head. Buster and Babs munched through popcorn tubs the size of beer barrels, and slurped from carrot sodas you could've drowned an elephant in. They swapped dry comments on the big screen action, vying to spout the worst one-liner. Babs was winning hands down, mainly due to her over-the-top impressions. Her version of Darth Maul was more terrifying than the original. Falloner and Carter were availing themselves fully of the situation, knowing chances like this didn't happen often. They had one arm round each other's shoulders, and other paws linked. Plucky pried the diving helmet from his head just in time to see them share a soft lip-press, which gave him ideas. He wasted no time in suggesting them to Shirley. The Loon made her opinion plain by pounding Plucky into his seat with her ever-present mallet. "Usher! This view's lousy!" babbled the green duck's bill, jutting out from the gap between cushion and backrest, the rest of him sprawled on the floor underneath. Elmer appeared, and spent some time failing completely to pull Plucky's beak out, until he realised all he had to do was take Shirley's hand from the cushion. There was a yelp as it sprang up, then Plucky reclaimed his seat, his bill bent up at a right angle. Though he pulled it into shape quite quickly, it developed a habit of snapping back up at the most inopportune moments, much to Shirley's unconcealed delight. As the film progressed, Carter and Falloner relaxed more and more, the bond they shared increasingly apparent in their expressions and body language. Babs stole quick glances in their direction every so often, her demeanour getting gooier and gooier. Naturally, Buster felt less and less sure of his safety. Sandy leaned nearer. "I've never seen those two so relaxed outside of the family." "How long have they been together?" Buster asked, trying to retain his composure in the face of a lovey-dovey Babs. "Almost a year now," Sandy answered. "Our school in England never knew. The plan was the same here, until Carter's parents stuck him in Perfecto." "Don't they approve?" "They don't know. But they are a little snobbish. Didn't think Acme Loo good enough. It's a strain we could do without." He gave a sudden laugh of delight. "I don't believe it!" Buster followed his gaze, to see Falloner and Carter sharing a gentle kiss. He also saw Babs with her ears bent into a heart shape, paws clasped under her chin, and a supremely soppy look on her face. She turned to face him. "Oh, Buster…" she carolled, leaning close. "Oh no…" he whimpered, pulling out the collar of his sweater and gulping loudly. "I'm feeling quite romantic all of a sudden," Babs remarked, then dropped her voice to a husky, sensual purr. "How about you, Buster?" "Humma…humma…" was his cool, debonair and copiously drooling reply. His brain had taken a long walk off a short cliff. "Want…popcorn? Duhuuuuuuuhhhh…" "No," Babs answered, cradling his chin in one paw, "just this…" She pressed her lips to his. Within the space of ten seconds, Buster's entire body stiffened up, spasmed like 10,000 volts was being passed through it, and finally liquefied quicker than ice in a heatwave. "Quite an effect you have on him," Sandy noted, watching as Buster slurped back into shape, T-1000 style. "He's putty in my hands," Babs replied, deftly shaping the blue rabbit into a passable facsimile of Michelangelo's David. She was a little too accurate for Buster's liking, who scrambled to cover himself up, face burning red. "I just can't help myself!" Babs cackled. Sandy stifled a chuckle. "You need to learn a little self-control, mate," he whispered to Buster. "Hark who's talking!" Buster shot back. "You really displayed a lot of that during Mentor 101 this morning." "Merely following your example," Sandy rejoined. "Getting hints from an expert in the field." "All right!" bawled Babs, jumping onto the armrest between the fox and the rabbit, with a UN Peacekeeper's hat fixed between her ears. "Break it up! Have a cigar each and make up!" She handed the other two a stogie each, then vaulted back into her own seat. Sandy and Buster shrugged at each other, sat back, lit up, and exploded. Two blackened lumps with dazed and blinking eyes slumped in the chairs. After a few seconds of recovery time, they turned as one to glower at Babs. "Don't you know smoking is hazardous to your health?" she cackled, gleefully. Buster and Sandy swapped determined nods...then leapt at Babs. A dust cloud engulfed the pink bunny and her seat, sections of thick rope flashing into view every now and then. When it dissipated, Babs' head scowled out from atop a small mountain of rope, painted blue and white. "Ye mae take ma chairrrr!" she yelled, in a thick Scots accent, "but ye will naiver take...ma FREEDOM!" Some moments of intense, yet wholly unsuccessful struggling brought the addition, in her own voice, "All right, maybe you will. Now LEMME OUT!" "You wanna blow?" Sandy asked, smiling malevolently. "YES!" "Okay!" he whipped a thick bundle of slim red sticks from behind his back, all of which were neatly labelled ‘TNT', then jammed the whole lot in Babs' mouth, before rolling a long cord out to the front of the cinema, where Buster (along with all the others) waited with a detonator. A sign popped up behind Babs' head, reading… This is gonna HURT …just before Buster leant on the plunger. KERBLOOM! "I reeeaaaally hate myself..." groaned Babs, slumped in a ten-foot crater in the middle of the cinema. By now the film had finished, the titles scrolling swiftly up the screen. The toons strolled out into the foyer, hoping they could sidle out before anyone noticed the damage. They needn't have worried. "Hey - where the heck is everybody?" Plucky wondered, staring up and down the completely empty and silent corridor. "Maybe they, like, closed early," Shirley suggested. "They NEVER close, Loon Girl," Plucky corrected her. "Memory of a goldfi...YAARRGGHH!!" "And aim of an archer fish!" Buster chuckled. "I really need to start wearing pants," Plucky muttered, rubbing his severely singed rear end. "Preferably asbestos." Several minutes of walking brought them to the main entrance hall of the Megaplex. Not that long ago it had been jammed solid with toons queuing for tickets to George Lucas's latest, but not now. The ticket booths stood shut and silent. The snack counter was fully stocked, but unlit and un-staffed. The carpets were smooth and scuff-free, the glass gleamed, the metal sparkled; everything in the hall was utterly pristine, as if the place wasn't even open for business yet. Whilst Buster, Babs, Shirley, Sandy, Carter and Falloner headed for the doors, Hamton all but vaulted into the snack counter, and Plucky took a jemmy to a cash register. "All locked," Buster proclaimed, rattling one of them in frustration. He peered through the glass of one of them, to be presented with velvety, impenetrable blackness. He turned round, somewhat unnerved, and focused on a certain green duck fighting tooth-and-nail with a cash register. And losing. "Plucky!" he called over. "That's theft!" "No, this is opportunistic gathering of funds!" Plucky riposted, giving one more, extra-hard yank on the jemmy. With a violent crunch the register gave up the fight, springing open. He flung the jemmy aside (it cracked Hamton across the skull, leaving him sprawled amongst the popcorn, starry-eyed and with a bump the size of the Eiffel Tower on his bonce) then peered eagerly inside. His face fell on seeing it contained about as much as Elmyra's head. "Hey, what the...? It's empty!" he griped. "Better, like, shut it then," Shirley suggested, using her telekinetic powers to do just that, with a resounding BANG, on Plucky's fingers. "YEEHOWOWOWOUCH!" the duck screamed, prancing about for several seconds, then fighting like mad to pull his digits loose. In the end Hamton used the jemmy to free his friend, before walloping him round the head with it. "I'm sorry - this counter is now closed," Plucky stated, before toppling backwards, unconscious. "Thanks, Hammy." Buster gave the pig a thumbs up. "My pleasure," Hamton replied, dropping the jemmy into a body pocket for future use. Sandy stared out of the door glass at the inky darkness, face intense. "No street lights...no signs...no car headlights...no window lights...nothing. It's as if all of Acmes Acres suffered a power cut, except this cinema's fully lit, so it can't be that." "Maybe it's, like, a Perfecto prank (no offence, Carter) or some junk?" Shirley suggested. "No offence taken," Carter assured her. "And Perfecto ain't this organised. I'm sure it's not them." "Monty?" Babs put in. "Then again, this kind of stunt requires actual intelligence." "Perhaps he bought the cinema chain?" Buster offered. "Without rubbing it in everyone's noses?" Plucky shot back, heading over to the group, rubbing the immense lump protruding from his skull. "And what was that for, Hammy? What did I ever do to you?" Hamton opened his mouth to begin the list, but was silenced by Plucky tying a length of string round his snout. "Don't answer that," the duck ordered. "How about Dr Splicer?" Buster proposed. "What, old Chicken Legs?" Plucky scoffed. "Pardon me if I ignore that one." "You have a better idea?" Buster fired back, a little riled. "Dyerr…just gimme a minute…" Plucky's face screwed up in intense concentration. Buster shook his head. "Okay - whilst Holmes there ties himself in mental knots, we'll look for another way out." He led the way back into the cinema, Plucky (now with deerstalker, cape and bubble-pipe) too involved in his intricate contemplations to notice until they were almost out of sight. When he did catch on, it was with a shriek, five foot leap into the air, and burst of speed that left his costume hanging in mid-air for some seconds afterwards. The seven toons found themselves increasingly uneasy as they paced along the corridor. The only sound was their footfalls, echoing softly around the passage. They peered into every screening room they came to, to find them seeped in the same smothering silence as an underground tomb. All were neat, tidy and utterly unblemished, like a car freshly delivered to the showroom, and lit only by the flickering cone-shaped beam of the projector, lancing across to the immense screen. Every one was playing the exact same snippet of film, over and over again. A tall, dark figure draped in a heavy black cloak and hood, his face shrouded by impenetrable darkness, strode along a well-lit corridor towards the screen. One of his gloved hands gripped the sable shaft of a towering scythe, using the weapon as a grisly walking stick to accompany his even, measured pace. Within seconds his form was filling the picture, engulfing it in a shroud of black. The scythe was lifted and pulled back, then the blade whipped in a glittering, razor- edged arc towards the screen, seeming to slice its very fabric in two. Then the image flickered and jumped for a second or two, before resetting with the figure just commencing his relentless walk. At first it was merely mildly unnerving, but as time progressed, and the sequence was played out before them again and again and again, they found their composure rapidly disintegrating. They crept rather than walked, Buster leaning round every corner before they ventured further. Babs was as close to him as was physically possible without standing on him, her ears, like his, straining for the tiniest sound. Their paws unconsciously sought each other out, clasping hold with strength born of fear. Hamton had brought out the jemmy, and hugged it to him like it was a protective talisman. Plucky looked ready to jump into Shirley's arms at any second, regardless of whether some unspeakable thing really did attack them or not. The Loon herself had one eyeball warily regarding her surroundings, and the other permanently fixed on a certain green duck. Sandy remained in the middle of the group, the calmest of all of them, though only courtesy of immense mental effort. Falloner was a complete bundle of nerves, so much so he was actually physically shaking. The only thing keeping him from losing his control entirely was Carter. The latter had his arm around the other raccoon's shoulders, his face a study in forced placidity. All eight were soon convinced that the next corner they turned would reveal a towering black figure and a flash of steel rushing for their throats. Then the footsteps began. No-one could say for sure where they were coming from. The direction of approach always seemed to change whenever they made a conscious effort to pin it down. The only concrete factor was that they were definitely approaching, approaching with horrible, inexorable rigidity. The volume and pacing never varied, the clump of heavy feet on thin carpet as regular as a military march. A sharper beat sounded in time with every other footstep. Now the group moved faster, caution giving way to cold dread, and logic to panicked impulse. Their minds filled with a single desire - to flee. Somehow they suppressed it, even Plucky managing to keep his urge to run in check, mainly with the aid of knowing he'd stand a much better chance if he stayed with company. That gave him a selection of decoys to choose from. The cinema seemed to have grown exponentially, for no matter where they went, more uniform corridors stretched before them. All doors led to identikit theatres, every single one showing that snippet of film. Nowhere could they find an exit, an escape. Through it all, the footsteps closed in, the unrelenting deliberation of it agonising for the group. It only needed one to break for mass panic to set in, and they knew it. If they could just find a way out... Then the lights failed, prompting a collective yelp from the increasingly unstable toons. Choking blackness embraced them all, robbing them of what little orientation they still possessed. It was that dark it even defied toon physics by not allowing them to even see each other's eyes. "Hold hands!" Buster called out, his voice shaking. "We don't want to lose anyone." With a lot of bumping and fumbling, and one snap of "HANDS, Plucky!" from Shirley, they did as bid. Their progress slowed down considerably, Buster using his free paw to feel for obstacles, painfully aware of the ever-present footsteps slowly hunting them down. For all anyone knew they could be heading straight for them, but by no means were they gonna stop. A light flared up, blinding the group for some seconds. When their eyes recovered, they found most of the fluorescents spaced along the ceiling had come back to life, though were struggling to retain it. Most guttered and flickered, their uneven spluttering vying with the low hum of those lights that were straining to keep even the dimmest, wavering glow. None of them were pristine any longer; cases were cracked and broken, a couple of the tubes had snapped, and fragments of plastic and glass pooled on the carpet below. Still the footsteps dogged them, now all the more unnerving for the sound of fragile material being ground by the heavy tread. Their own pace sped up again, as they wove around the debris, desperately trying to pinpoint the exit. It didn't help that all the doors were now haphazardly boarded up, sealed by aged planks nailed roughly across the frames. One of the lighting cases gave up its battle with gravity, plummeting to shatter violently right behind Plucky. The duck was still in the middle of his terror- stricken scream and leap when the fluorescent tube from the same fixture detached from one hook and swung groundwards, grazing the back of his head. There was only one conclusion his fear-addled brain was going to draw. "HE'S FOUND ME!" he shrieked, taking off down the corridor like a drag racer. The others were right behind him. Spurred on by the unrelenting footsteps, they hurtled along the passage at breakneck speed, dodging glass and plastic, jumping broken remnants of light cases and toppled, fractured doors. The corridor seemed endless, dwindling to a vanishing point far, far away from them. It's condition deteriorated almost as fast as they ran. Now the carpet was stringy, worn and grimy, the walls chipped and crumbling. Rubbish and rubble clogged the path. The overhead lights crackled and spat, the casing skeletal, wires bare and fraying. More and more of them exploded as the group ran underneath, showering them in sparks, glass and burnt plastic. Small fires sprang up around them, begot by the intensifying sparks. They spread and divided, licking hungrily at the group's fleeing feet. Doors fell off their hinges, tumbling down to smash on the jagged rubble, and submit to the voracious fire. Within seconds the flames were higher than the toons, and pressing ever closer. Smoke filled the passage, stinging their eyes, and smothering their ravaged lungs. Watery eyes spotted a door looming up through the shifting grey haze. Could this be escape at last from the heavy-footed thing which sounded to be all but treading on their heels at long last? The eight hit it as a unit. It didn't open. Rather, it exploded from its frame, landing some feet beyond, the terrified toons piled on top. Silence fell. Slowly, carefully, they untangled and sat up. Glances were exchanged as they mutely checked if all were present. Falloner and Carter embraced tightly, heads nestled close for a moment as they assured themselves of each other's survival. They shared their second lip-press of the night, then both focused on Sandy. Buster ensured Babs was okay before taking stock of where they'd ended up. Behind them stood a bland, grey wall, with a gaping hole where the door had been. Beyond that stretched a dimly-lit, unremarkable corridor, which took a sharp right after only a short distance. They were huddled on the cold tarmac of a small car park, the entrance and exit a few feet in front of them. Through that a gentle slope descended in the direction of the town centre. His gaze travelled across the night-time townscape, and fixed on something his brain refused to accept. One by one the others got to their feet and joined him in staring in utter bewilderment at the impossible. Across the gentle sprawl of Acme Acres, and completely opposite them, the bright, gaudy façade of the Megaplex stared blankly back.