Boston, the WAMT studios.
    "Two weeks," Candi seethed. "Two weeks, he doesn't call! Two weeks, he doesn't even see me at work, that's fine, fine. Doesn't even come in. Just fine." She stalked into the other room, where Tao and Horace were relaxing. They exchanged desultory hellos.
    "Any news?" Tao asked.
    "No. He hasn't called."
    "Mine hasn't called me, either," she sighed.
    "I don't have one to call me, I feel kind of left out of this," Horace complained. "Anyone know if Needle's single?"
    "I think she's dating some guy with wings from Detroit."
    "Now that's a long-distance relationship...."
    "So how've you guys been doing?" Candi sat down in an effort to distract herself from her fury.
    "Well, ever since they cut our parts down to ribbons," Tao snapped.
    "Yeah, that was weird," Horace agreed.
    "Ten days ago, all the sudden, boom—our parts go away. I had all these wonderful scenes that I was memorizing, and it's just been cut down to the face to face stuff, individual scenes. Where are they doing the rest of it?"
    "I don't know. They're filming it, projecting it...."
    "I understand there's some kind of computer lab," she sniffed. "Did you have that rider in your contract?"
    "Yeah, I did."
    "They said they needed to take pictures of us so that they could do the action figures and some computer images that would be used for special effects sequences. How were we supposed to know that they were going to be filming all of our primary scenes as special effects sequences?!"
    "At least we have all of the scenes that we have together," Candi said to Horace.
    "Yeah, we get to do those," he sighed. "Except for the ones where the fight scenes suddenly break out. I can't believe they're doing that many fight scenes...."
    "They can do it all on the computer," she shrugged.
    "What happened to that John guy?"
    "I can only assume that he's helping them at the facility doing the computer work," she replied with a hint of venom.
    Horace sighed again, picke d up the televison remote. "We're going to be here for a bit, want to see what's on TV?"
    "Oh yeah, that's right. We work at a TV studio, by all means put on more TV." Candi rolled her eyes.
    A security guard tapped on the door, opened it. "Guys, have you turned on the television yet?"
    "No, why?"
    "Well you might want to—Horace," he snapped.
    "What?"
    "How many times am I going to have to remind you to wear your identi-badge?"
    "All right, all right, I'll remember it tomorrow, that's fine. Can we turn the TV on?"

* * *

Boston, K. Robeson Enterprises. Rick, Dawn, Felix, Larry, Molly, Stephanie, Stevie and Stan had gathered. A very uncomfortable-looking Rick stood at the head of the table.
    "I suppose you're wondering why I called you all here...."
    "I think we can probably guess," Larry drawled. "It would be the total absence of our dearly beloved employer, and your sensei, and your father, and Needle and Paul."
    "And I have to say, Needle's costumes are ready, they're all set, I have them delivered, there's no one there," Molly pouted. "Hurt, I tell you, hurt."
    "Molly, try and focus a little," Felix suggested dourly.
    Rick went on, "So we were at Revolution headquarters a week ago when we realized that something must have gone seriously wrong. And Albert said he was going to take care of it, and then Albert disappeared. So... I don't know what to do from here. And things are gettin' bad out there in the streets, I mean there are theme villains everywhere!" He counted them off on his fingers. "We've got this Roy McCoy and His Hyperalloy Decoys, we got Fox, we got Hedgehog, we got the Librarian, the Archivist, we got Cait Sidhe doing stuff...."
    Someone knocked on the door; Reilly came in with Neil.
    "I figured I'd find you guys here. Looks like a council of war," he observed.
    "I'm just trying to get advice, I don't know what else to do," Rick shrugged helplessly.
    "Well, something's obviously happened, they've got to have been captured, we just don't know where they are. Neil's here from the PITS team out in Rhode Island, he's volunteering to help out."
    "I simply fail to see what the problem is, old boy," Larry remarked. "I mean, granted they're missing, but they're heroes. I'm sure they'll find their way out, or we'll be able to rescue them, and there's a sudden preponderance of theme villains in the community. I'm waiting for the downside?"
    "Larry, don't push me," Reilly snapped. "I've really gotten to like you guys, but it is still my job to stop theme villains."
    "Oh... have you considered changing car—"
    "No! And things have gotten even worse," he informed them all grimly. "At least thank heaven Chinatown is quiet. Another supernatural death, there's probably going to be something about it on TV."
    Stephanie leaned over and turned on the TV, which was showing Holly Shapiro at the moment. She sat in a deep chair on her comfortable interview set with a woman identified as Patricia Hoagland, a striking black woman wearing flowing, vaguely African-looking clothes with her trademark closed sleeves.
    "Ms. Hoagland is I'm sure well known to many of our viewers," Holly was saying. "She's a novelist, historian, and archeologist who has just finished a history of the Plovian invasion, its causes and effects, and the aftermath that it had on the American variant scene. I'd like to thank you very much for being with us here today, Ms. Hoagland."
    "My pleasure, really."
    "So, what exactly are your opinions on the sudden preponderance of variants in society?"
    "Well, it was the Plovian invasion more than anything else during the course of the last ten years that has drawn the variants, the meta-humans as it were, into a greater and greater public scrutiny," she replied. "We've come to a casual, almost overwhelming acceptance of them, due to the fact that there is now deeply embedded in our psyches the belief that they are the protectors of humanity and the planet, due to one incident in which they succeeded very admirably on that score."
    "And it was with that in mind that you...?"
    "Well, that was some of the anthropological work that I had been doing, and then I decided that it would be best if I were to move into writing more of a broadly fictional account of the invasion, through the eyes of the people who had survived it, and the effect that the variants had on their lives during the course of the invasion."
    "I have to say, by the way, that I'm particularly fond of the book, and your writing style reminds me very much of Mr. Winston Smith,"Holly told her.
    "Yes, Winston and I were quite good friends, it was quite unfortunate about his death earlier this year."
    "There are rumors flying around that he was killed by a variant."
    Patricia smiled gently. "Those, Ms. Shapiro, I'm sure are simply rumors. There's no reason for us to believe that. Mr. Smith was seventy-eight years old at the time he passed on. It was a great loss to all of us, his body of work over the last fifty years has been remarkably impressive, and if my style mirrors his in any way, then I have to take that as a compliment."
    "Back to the premise of the novel and the socio-historic impact of the Plovian invasion...."
    "Yes?"
    "Well—what is happening with the lights?" she snapped.
    "Sorry, Holly!" the lighting man responded, working frantically at his board. "We seem to have lost outgoing signal, we're still broadcasting, but... here, let me show you what's on."
    "Hello Boston. I am the Toy Man."
    Holly, looking suddenly nervous, fumbled for something in her pocket, pulled out an inhaler and breathed in quickly. She grimaced, shook her head and concentrated on what the villain was saying.
    "You may be wondering by now, Boston, what has happened to your gallant defenders," he went on. "I am afraid that at the last, they have fallen underneath my heel. They have been reduced to mere playthings for my enjoyment. I will be taking what I wish from the city from now on—don't worry, I will be a magnanimous dictator! And if there are a few other villains operating... consider it local color. Perhaps it will call in tourists. But the important thing for you to remember is—well, let's let the Revolution say it."
    A small in-screen window opened up, showing Phoenix Talon saying, "I think it's the Toy Man. He's the most dangerous and cunning opponent I've ever faced."
    "As you can see, final victory belongs to the Toy Man. Of course, we always knew it would. We now return you to your regularly schedule broadcasts—for now." He laughed, and disappeared.

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