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  “You can accept unicorns and magic wands but not the Ministry of Magic’s reluctance to use a time travel device? Besides, it’s explained in another book that during the battle in the Department of Mysteries the stock of Time Turners was destroyed,” Emal shot back.

  “So what! That was years after Voldemort had risen to power, subsequently disappeared, and come back again. In all that time, no one ever discussed the possibility of simply going back and killing him? Never a committee meeting discussing the pros and cons of killing a teenage boy before he becomes the worst wizard in history? Never even someone going against orders and doing it anyway to save their wife, child, mother, or beloved family pet from getting killed by Voldemort? All the people in the Ministry of Magic who had access to the Time Turners and you’re telling me not a single one of them lost someone they wanted to go back and save? It would have happened. If there was a time device that would allow people to go back and kill Hitler, I think someone would find a way to use it. Whether their boss said they could or not.”

  Emal opened his mouth for a retort, but he wasn’t quick enough and she continued on.

  “And another thing, the wands are meaningless. When it’s convenient for the plot, only the true owner of the wand can use it properly. But when it’s convenient for the plot, they can use any old stranger’s wand and it suddenly doesn’t matter. Either the wand is linked to one wizard or it isn’t. The lack of consistency is maddening,” Brittany shouted.

  And mad she was! Her face was getting as red as a stoplight, and new veins that Emal had never seen before were beginning to appear on her neck.

  “Well, who am I to argue,” Emal said, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “Besides, what does that have to do with you shooting H.G. Wells? A man with a mustache, I might add!”

  Brittany took another deep breath to further calm herself.

  “The whole point is . . . Time travel is a cheap plot device that is never properly explained since it doesn’t exist in real life and involves too many paradoxes. It inevitably confuses the plot and leads to more questions than answers. I won’t allow time travel to happen in our story.”

  “What if our writer can’t find another way around plot issues? I’m sure he doesn’t have any of this planned out ahead of time. You wouldn’t want him to just scrap us entirely like his first dozen unfinished novels?”

  “I won’t let time travel happen. Period. He will either find another way or else,” she said with a finality that indicated the discussion was over and Emal would be wise not to attempt to continue it.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Emal hoped that Brittany wasn’t weighing if he was worth a bullet as well. He didn’t care about time travel or lame plot devices. He just really wanted to go home. This Internet place was clearly dangerous to his personal health.

  A shot rang out!

  Time to die

  ~

  Emal flinched as he was shot.

  Or was he?

  He didn’t feel any pain, and Brittany looked as surprised as he was.

  Another shot echoed through the tube, and this time he saw cement explode behind Brittany’s head as a voice called out.

  “Who goes there? Answer us or we’ll shoot! Stop resisting!”

  Brittany reacted first, ducking quickly behind H.G. Wells’s chair and whipping her pistol back out from its hiding place. She yelled back to the mystery shooters, “You’ve already shot at us, idiots! We didn’t even have a chance to raise our hands.”

  “Oh my Gore,” Emal yelled. “You just had to shoot a man with a mustache, didn’t you? Now you’re going to get me killed.”

  Emal considered not running toward Brittany. One choice was an armed and angry Brittany, who apparently will shoot anyone who even merely suggests time travel. The other choice was an unknown person who shoots first and asks questions later. He decided he had a better chance going with the whole ‘I saved your life’ angle. Emal heard the crack of bullets passing by his head as he half stumbled and half slid around the edge of the time machine, crashing into Brittany.

  “NOW I’m resisting!” Brittany yelled toward the other end of the tube as she began firing.

  “And I’m not getting you killed; you’re getting me killed,” Brittany said to Emal, firing at nothing in particular.

  “You shot someone with a mustache, and now we are being shot at. That suggests to me it’s your fault,” Emal said.

  “This is because you let that dumb dog sniff you.”

  “No way, this is totally your fault.”

  “Is not!”

  The body of H.G. Wells had slumped half off the time machine toward their side and Emal attempted to push him back up and out of the way. H.G. groaned and Emal let out a squeak of shock.

  “I told you that you would have an adventure. Whether you wanted to or not,” H.G. croaked between foaming blood.

  “Why aren’t you dead?” Brittany asked as she poked him in the ribs rather rudely with the barrel of her pistol.

  “I guess you don’t shoot well. I mean it was point blank range; there really isn’t a logical explanation for me to still be alive. Oh dear, the logic of this story is starting to breakdown,” H.G. said. His upper half was limply hanging over, facing Emal and Brittany.

  “Well, shut up at least. We have our own problems to deal with,” Brittany said, pushing his head so that it was now at least turned away from them.

  Another shot rang out and was followed by a proclamation that the mystery assailant would begin shooting if Brittany and Email didn’t identify themselves.

  “You identify yourself! I am Anonymous!” Brittany yelled back while firing wildly over H.G.’s body.

  “Owww,” groaned H.G. “Do you have to shoot so close to my head. It’s really loud, and I have a terrible headache.”

  “Shut up!” Brittany said to him as she squeezed the trigger again.

  “We know exactly who we are, and we will not identify ourselves to you. You identify yourself. Answer or we’ll blow your freaking brains out,” someone yelled as they shot again.

  “I did identify myself,” Brittany yelled as she released a few more shots into the ceiling. “I am Anonymous!”

  “You can’t be called Anonymous,” the voice said. “Anonymous is a description of someone that can’t be identified by name. Like, ‘hey, that author is anonymous; we don’t know who it is.’ But it can’t ‘be hey, it’s Anonymous the author.’ You can’t actually use it as your name. It’s just too confusing. I suppose you can call yourself Jane Doe, but calling yourself Anonymous makes it sound like you have memory issues. Do you have amnesia?”

  “It’s Emal and Brittany,” Emal called out. “And H.G. Wells, at least for a little while longer.”

  Brittany smacked Emal on the back of the head. “Idiot, don’t answer them. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to people who are trying to kill you?”

  “I don’t have a mother,” Emal said.

  “Unusual birth origins. I told you so,” H.G. moaned.

  “This is all your fault,” Brittany muttered to Emal.

  “I deny it. It has to be your fault.”

  “Oh hey, cool. You believe that, Frank?” Came a voice from down the tunnel. “It’s actually the people we are looking for. How cool is that?”

  “Yeah, hey cool, Joe. I can’t believe we found them already. It’s even harder to believe we are shooting at the right people,” Frank added with a chuckle.

  “Hey, Frank, Joe!” Brittany called out down the tube as she fired off two more shots.

  “How do you know our names?” Joe yelled, followed by more shots.

  “You just said them,” Brittany yelled back.

  “Well, I guess that’s out in the open. What do you want?” Frank asked.

  “I’m just wondering why you’re shooting at us. We are having a little debate here over whose fault this is.”

  “We have a warrant for the arrest of Brittany and Emal. I’ve no idea of the char
ges; we didn’t really read it, to be honest,” Joe said as he fired more shots at them.

  “Who issued the warrant? We have a right to know,” Brittany replied.

  “You don’t have any rights. We’ve no idea who issued it. Frankly, we’re curiously clueless,” Frank said.

  “I believe it,” Brittany yelled.

  She fired another shot, and the weapon made a loud click.

  “Shit. I’m all out,” she said throwing the pistol to the ground.

  “You don’t have any more ammunition from wherever you pulled that out of?” Emal asked.

  “No. There wasn’t that much room in there, thank you very much,” Brittany snapped back.

  “Doesn’t matter to us if you believe it or not,” Frank said. “He-Who-Must-Always-Be-Named called us in. He said to bring you in alive and unharmed.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Would too.”

  “Would not.”

  “If he said to bring us in alive and unharmed, why are you shooting at us?” Emal interjected.

  “We are shooting because it’s a police state, baby. I mean, come on, haven’t you heard about it? No knock warrants, military weapons on the street. We get to roll out swat teams and shoot people’s pets just for drug raids. Violent offense or not, we’re coming in guns blazing. We can always ask questions after everyone is already dead. Besides, in this case, Brittany does have a violent history. Just earlier today we got a report that she verbally and physically assaulted a young girl named Mary. She was only twelve years old, you animal,” Frank said as he emptied his clip in their direction.

  “Who you calling ‘baby’? Also, Mary was a freaking troll and deserved it,” Brittany yelled out while chucking a piece of concrete in the direction of the muzzle flashes.

  “Well, Brittany, that sounds borderline racist against trolls. You can’t just attack trolls because you don’t like them. Trolls are people too, you know,” Frank said as he continued firing.

  “Are we going to die?” Emal asked no one in particular.

  “Oh yes. Don’t worry though, it’s part of the hero’s quest. The hero must die, either symbolically or for real. Harry Potter died, remember. Don’t you want to be a hero, Emal?” H.G. Wells chuckled through frothy blood.

  “Shut up,” Brittany and Emal shouted at him.

  While Frank and Joe continued firing, Brittany and Emal each contemplated their options.

  Behind them the tube stretched out straight and bright. If they attempted to run out from behind the time machine, which sat at an angle against the wall, they would almost certainly be shot in the back. Although Frank and Joe had shown no ability to aim so far, it wasn’t a risk either of them was willing to take. Ahead of them, about fifty yards away, the tube bent to the right and Frank and Joe kept popping out one at a time and firing in their direction, cackling with glee like a couple of mad men. A frontal assault was out of the question since both Brittany and Emal were sure the other would take the opportunity to run in the opposite direction.

  Before the two came up with any ideas that didn’t end in them getting shot, there came a few unusual moments of silence, which were promptly followed by the sounds of Frank and Joe giggling with excitement. One of them shouted out, “Get ‘em, Nancy!”

  Curious, Emal and Brittany slowly peered around the time machine, even H.G. attempted to right himself to take a look at the newcomer. Standing in the middle of the tube, right before the bend, was a woman dressed immaculately in a neat red dress. Her blond hair was arranged in a pompadour fashion with a cloche hat on top. On one arm she carried a purse at her elbow and a flashlight in her gloved hand. What arrested their attention though was the other hand, which was helping to balance a rocket launcher on her shoulder.

  “Nancy,” Brittany muttered to herself, making the name sound like a curse word.

  “Fire in the hole,” Nancy yelled with a touch too much pleasure.

  Flames leapt out the back of the rocket launcher as Frank and Joe scrambled away from the back blast. The rocket roared past them, and Brittany and Emal ducked behind the time machine. About two hundred yards down, it exploded against the wall where the tube bent back toward the left. Even that far away, the noise rattled teeth and threatened to burst eardrums.

  Things went quiet as Nancy, Frank, and Joe reloaded their various weapons and Brittany muttered to herself, saying something about a “traitor” and a “backstabber.”

  “Wait one second,” Emal cried out. “Nancy, Frank, and Joe! I know who you all are.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” Nancy yelled as she launched another rocket in their direction with a shout of pleasure. This one missed as well, but it was a much closer affair.

  “You can’t use weapons. Aren’t you supposed to be wholesome and non-violent?” Emal yelled.

  “This is the Internet. We weren’t created in the outside world. We’re the results of the Internet’s collective imaginations. Got it, buddy?”

  “Not really . . .” Emal glanced around for a way out of this situation. He had had just about enough of all this. I don’t want any part of this war; I just want to go home. Our formerly unaware naked man was sick of all the damn cats, pretentious sea otters, trolls, and people trying to kill him in general. He decided to try one more option. Surrender.

  “Do you think we might turn ourselves in?” Emal yelled down toward the trigger-happy trio. “How about we just come peacefully? We can pay fines or whatever and be on our way.”

  “Speak for yourself, coward,” Brittany whispered to Emal as she peered around the time machine.

  Nancy, Frank, and Joe huddled together, chuckling and laughing before Nancy spoke again.

  “You’re going to ruin our fun, but we suppose that’s okay. We’re on a pretty tight ammunition budget these days, fiscal cuts and all that, so why don’t you kids come out real slow, and we promise we won’t shoot you.”

  “How do we know you won’t shoot us anyways?” Emal asked.

  Nancy, Frank, and Joe pretended to discuss that for a bit.

  “You can’t really know for sure. I mean, when you get a weapon in your hand, you just really want to use it. The adrenaline gets pumping, and it makes that trigger finger itchy. Once that first shot is fired, it’s even harder to stop. That’s why we shot that crazed lolcat, who was trying to kill himself with a knife, thirty-two times last week.”

  “Why would you shoot someone who was trying to kill himself?” Brittany asked.

  “He had a knife,” Joe shouted.

  “But, he was just a lolcat,” Brittany said.

  “There is no such thing as just a lolcat,” Nancy replied.

  “What do cats have to do with any of this?” Emal asked.

  “Everything,” said everyone but Emal.

  “I guess I’m saying that we probably won’t shoot you. Of course, you can always decline, and then we will shoot you for sure. We aren’t big fans of the non-lethal takedown methods everyone rages about these days. Water cannons and bean bags are totally overrated if you ask me,” Nancy said; Frank and Joe muttered their agreement.

  “Ummm . . . okay. We’re coming out,” Emal said.

  He gestured at Brittany to stand up, and she gestured something back that strongly suggested something else entirely. H.G. Wells groaned.

  “Are you just going to leave me here? It’s not too late to use my time machine to get out of this predicament. Also, I seem to require some medical assistance.”

  “Use your own Gore damn time machine. You can go back to a time where you haven’t been shot like an idiot,” Brittany snapped at him.

  The defeated duo slowly made their way out from behind the now battered time machine and began carefully walking toward the three detectives. After going about twenty yards, Joe suddenly raised his pistol and fired three quick shots at them. Missing, of course. Brittany and Emal flinched as their minds tried to find somewhere to hide their bodies. Since nothing compelling come to their minds, thei
r bodies froze in place. H.G. moaned for the umpteenth time loudly from behind them. Frank slapped Joe’s hand.

  “Come on, Joe. We told them we wouldn’t shoot them,” Frank said.

  “Sorry, fellas,” Joe said. “I thought one of you sneezed. It felt threatening. Let that be a lesson for you. Don’t play with guns, kids. Guns kill people.”

  When Brittany and Emal reached the bend in the tube, Nancy tossed Emal to the ground yelling for him to stop resisting. Joe and Frank joined and got a few kicks in as Emal lay with his face smushed into the dirty floor.

  “I’m really not resisting; I promise,” he tried to mutter through his increasingly crushed windpipe.

  “Talking is resisting,” Frank snarled as he roughly handcuffed Emal and pulled him to his feet. Brittany was cuffed as well, and they were spun to face Nancy.

  “Nancy,” Brittany said curtly.

  “Brittany,” Nancy clipped back. “You should have joined us when you had the chance.”

  “Not even if you’d gone viral.”

  “You two know each other?” Emal asked.

  “Shut up,” they said to him.

  “You two rebels are under arrest for a violation of Internet protocol according to FCC law. We don’t have any details, but the important part is that you have no rights whatsoever because your crime falls under terrorism.” Nancy said as the brothers took Brittany and Emal, leading them off.

  “What did we do that is terrorism?” Brittany tried to ask respectfully, failing.

  “Well, you know, you terrorized people. Don’t take it personal; everything is terrorism these days. That way, we don’t have to memorize any rights” Joe said, glancing at Frank to make sure he recognized his joke. He hadn’t.

  “Who did we terrorize?” Emal asked.