Inside, Phoenix Talon found a hall of offices, all disused except for one that looked as if it had been cleaned recently. A phone with an aerial sat on the desk. It was working. He tried the redial.
    "Hello, Domino's?"
    He hung up. There was a chemistry set and a box of envelopes in the corner. Farther down the hall was a large pane of glass, providing a view down into the sorting room, which occupied two full stories; he went to take a look.
    Meanwhile, Scott found himself in the lobby, tables still sitting where they had been abandoned. The heavy dust on the floor clearly showed where someone had been dragged into the building. He saw light beneath a door back in what would be the sorting room, and wondered if Larry had ever been in a deathtrap before.
    A glance under the door revealed a huge sorting machine, heavily modified. A giant postcard moved slowly along the slot toward the contraption, ready to be folded, spindled, and mutilated—along with Larry, who had been stuck to it with large stamps over his hands and feet.
    "Now, tell me who your employer is!" the Postman demanded. "How much have you learned?"
    "This is ridiculous," Larry remarked casually. "And yet, strangely satisfying. I do admire your respect for the craft."
    "Thank you, thank you very much."
    "You do realize that once I get out of here, you'll have to let me go?"
    "Yeah, that's what they said in the classes."
    "Oh good, I'm glad that they're covering that."
    Scott wondered if Larry actually wanted any help.
    "So, how many people are in these classes?" his henchman inquired with interest.
    "Well, for the actual villain classes there were only about half—no, I will not be telling you anything!" he shouted suddenly. "You are the one who will be telling ME things! I, the Postman, I who have defeated you—"
    "I had you pinned to the ground and was nailing your head to the floor," Larry interrupted calmly. "What are you talking about?"
    "You'll notice that I'm the one who walked out."
    "Somebody got lucky and hit me behind the head. Who are you kidding?"
    "I beat you!" his captor raged. "I did!"
    Larry sighed. "See, please understand that the only reason that this is still going on is because of my sense of drama."
    "Your sense of drama?" He sounded puzzled now.
    "Yes. I'm waiting until I'm close enough that the deathtrap looks as if it has a realistic chance of killing me. Then I yell for help, and the heroes show up and rescue me," he explained. "Boss, would you mind coming in?"
    Scott knew a cue when he heard one. He slipped into the room, assumed liquid form, and pulled the plug.
    "What!" the Postman yelled in confusion as his machinery ground to a halt.
    "Scott!" Larry sounded exasperated. "Plug it back in and do it right."
    "I'm sorry, but that's just silly," his boss informed him primly.
    The Muse sighed. "I thought you understood."
    "I was expecting something better. A giant boiling pot of glue, perhaps."
    The Postman perked up a bit. "Giant boiling pot of glue? Hey, that's not a bad idea. I'll have to use that next time. I thought my fold-spindle-and-mutilator was actually a pretty good idea, though."
    "There's not gonna be a next time, chum!" Phoenix Talon swung down to join the action, such as it was.

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