"Research Log, date 42315-1520. I have just returned from my venture into the Death Note Fandom, having encountered a Sue claiming to be the love-child of canon Light Yagami, mother unknown. Subject was an obvious Sueicus spawncanonicus. She seemed to be born with Shinigami eyes rather than normal eyes, and was capable of seeing how long a life-span one had, even if one were to hold a Death Note. Further analysis of the subject indicated a mild amount of telekinesis. Subject was terminated only after thwarting an attempt on my life by writing my name down and describing my death as 'crushed by runaway piano'. The Death Note was returned to a Shinigami."

Ian set the tape recorder on his desk and sat back in his seat. He looked a little worse for wear, broadsword in its scabbard leaning against the wall next to him. The otherwise clean building was his personal quarters in the WhyGodWhy mansion, the newst headquarters after the House of Bad Fanfiction was burnt down, rebuilt, burnt down again rebult and sank into the swamp. As such, Ian was one the few Sue researchers in the mansion, and liked it that way.

The mansion itself was a home away from home, with an extensive library with DVDs of tv shows and movies to rent, a game room brimming with clasic systems from Atari to a couple XBox 360's hooked up for network play. It was an ideal place for Ian.

Ian strolled down the halls, worn grey sneakers hardly making sound of footfalls as he stepped across the wooden floorboards. He rounded the corner, heading down the finely lacquered stairwell and turned right into the kitchen. He was hungering for some ice cream.

Nihilist walked into the thread and snickered a bit, remembering the last time Ian started a thread like this. But he does not have time for such shenanigans today- real life is calling. He is in class drawing porn, and thinking of when he will have some private time with his girlfriend. Which isn't working at the moment because his cousin decided to freeload at his apartment. It's a bummer. But oh well, he manages.

"Later, Ian. I'll make you some pot brownies maybe tomorrow or something."

Tucked away in the WGW library, Jesus. pauses her frantic Whoniverse research momentarily to check up on if anything interesting happened in the class she was supposed to be listening to. Finding nothing to her satisfaction, she returns to Google to find naught to her satisfaction there as well. With no luck and nothing to do, she relents and packs up her stuff, heading off to the deli's nearby to try to finally find the perfect BLT. She'll find it at some point. Until then- bacon.

"Oh god, not this again."

Miss Prince settled down on the living room couch with a pillow over her face to nap until everyone decided to get high and start throwing feces at each other.

Penguin thought he should do something stereotypical, so he set up some bottles on the bar and started shooting them.

Saleha, forward-thinking individual that she is, had relieved herself into a bucket. Now she calmly carried that bucket towards the longest wall in the extensive entry hall and began painting her masterpiece while wearing a tutu and combat boots and muttering to herself in Esperanto.

In the kitchen, Sheba stirred the contents of the saucepot and tasted them, considering. Hm....

"Shoulda used fresh Sue-liver. It gives off a brighter sparkle. "

Too bad all they had was canned, put aside last summer. Maybe she could make a note for one of the squads to bring back some fresh if they went hunting later this week.

Cyberwulf gleefully set the whole building on fucking fire, screeching with laughter as she remembered Ian admitting the GAFF Tower thing wasn't the greatest idea in the world in the Chatbox only a few nights ago.

Though previously grateful for his lack of company in the attic, Just Chipper was forced to pause from masturbating. He had noticed the strong presence of smoke around him, and it was growing to be a distraction that was impossible to ignore.

Alerted by one of the perimeter alarms, Badger put down her copy of 'Frontier Cthulhu' and went to see what the problem was. She suspected Cyberwulf had set the building on fire, and started running diagnostics to make sure that all the seals were unbroken and the escape pod primed and ready.

Ian again, she frowned at the figure on the monitor. Her mother HAD been right; some people didn't have the sense to pound sand in a rathole.

Done with her mural, Saleha skipped outside, still in tutu and combat boots.

She sniffed the air. "Hm, smells like barbecue."

Then she saw Cyberwulf standing nearby, holding a torch and being surrounded by Molotov cocktails.

"Hey, 'Wulf!", she yelled, "remember your 'Mythbusters': 'When in doubt, C4!'"

She reached into her magic big red shoulder bag (exactly ONE Teletubby was hurt to obtain said accessory) and pulled out a big wad of the explosive.

Penguin just wandered out of the building.

The minute she saw the C-4, Badger was across the room, in the pod, and powering up. Cutting it close this time, but she should come out in one piece.

With a surprisingly quiet 'whoosh,' the escape pod ejected itself from the side of the Mansion. She set a trajectory for the pond on the other side of the lawn. Far enough to escape the major debris.

Jay/Cris was off in the Not-Fascist-Promise! State of ElJayTopia, in vain trying to convince his more sensible and idealistic friends that joining the DreamWidth Rebellion was a bad idea that would only result in schisms that would tear up the Internet As We Know It.
Mostly, he was being selfish. Setting up a new Journal-account somewhere else would be a huge bother.

As such, he wasn't even there when Cyberwulf turned raving pyromaniac.

Hm.

Meanwhile, Cyberwulf was being interrogated by the Fun Police as prejudiced firefighters put an end to the glorious conflagration.

"But it's like a metaphor for how I inspire flame wars around here!" Cyberwulf tried to bullshit.

"You've got a high opinion of yourself, haven't you?" replied the cop, cracking her over the head for her unwarranted self importance. "And you can stop writing this self-deprecating spiel and all," he added, smashing up the fourth wall and rapping her on the knuc

Ian rolled his eyes at the insanity around him. This was no doubt everything he missed about GAFF. And he had to admit, the whole debacle of GAFF Tower was his own mistake, one any amateur would make. Still though, a place to stay whilst researching Sue activity? His apartment was obviously too small to hold the amount of work he put into it.

He flopped down on the couch just as the incinerated furniture reset itself. He reached for the remote closest, aimed for the TV.

The stereo behind him turned on, Dethklok blaring its chaos upon him unexpectedly. Ian turned off the stereo and set the remote side.
"Wrong remote," he muttered, reaching for another. This one turned on Cyberwulf's favorite vibrator.

"This could take some time," he muttered, looking at the pile of remotes on the table.

Jesus. came back to the mansion to find it on fire, watching the escape pod speed past and the cops berate Cyberwulf.

"Shit. I left my favorite shirt in the laundry room."

She shook her head and sat down on the stump by the gates, taking out her BLT and nomming happily. She saw Sal and waved.

Penguin then got ye flask.

Dennis.

She approached cautiously and silently before carefully peering through the main gates at the mansion. Smoke billowed out of the building, the inhabitants scattered around the front lawn. A cracked escape pod floated in the pond next to a handful of puzzled-looking toads and one dazed badger, Jesus disinterestedly eating a sandwich on a stump nearby and Cyberwulf screaming at a confused police officer.

Seule rolled up her sleeves, wondering how much stuff she'd be able to take from the deserted rooms before everyone went back inside.

"3...2...1..." Ian counted on his pocket watch, and exactly at the same time, the blazing mansion began imploding, sucking itself inward slowly, much like the house did in Poltergeist.

An unsettling silence fell upon the amused, insane, distraught, or otherwise residents at the sight of their house disappearing. As sudden as the house imploded, equally as sudden the mansion returned to the plane of reality unharmed.

Ian stepped back through the door, checked a panel to see the fire-prevention system was operational, and went back to sorting out the pile of remotes in the living room.

Miss Prince woke up blearily to find the air thick with smoke and sweltering hot. With a yawn, she shambled to the entryway, pausing to take in the creative beauty (and stench) of someone's excrement-based mural. Excellent use of color.

She wandered outside, absently patting away the flames in her hair, and took in the sight. Firefighters worked to get the blaze under control, an escape pod whizzed upwards until it was a speck in the sky, several police officers wrested a resistant Cyberwulf into a squad car, and Ian was sitting on a corner of the lawn, rocking himself and mumbling something about "resetting."

Miss Prince turned to the nearest group of WGWers. "Is he lost in his fantasy-space again? The one where he can fix everything? I thought that shrink had helped him out, but if he stopped taking his meds I guess there's nothing anyone can do."

Nihilist sat down on the curb across the street, watching the shenanigans, missing the sensation of Mikey's lips encircling his balls. The thought still gave him a massive erection.

He dug in his courier bag for his favorite pipe, packed it, and took a drag.

"So, when this breaks into some kind of cyber orgy I'm totally joining in."

Badger popped the canopy on the escape pod and was immediately deluged with a wave of cold pond water. Unlike her namesake, she'd never been particularly fond of ponds, having never learned how to swim. She regarded the large number of frogs her splash down had attracted, most of them croaking balefully and looking more than a mite confused.

She patted the nearest one on it's head. "Trust me; I know just how you feel."

Chris91, overhearing Miss Prince's worried comments about TheIan, immediately commandeered the nearest convenient cell phone and dialed 911 as fast as his fingers could work the keys. When the dispatcher asked him the nature of the emergency, he wasted no time rattling off the particulars of Ian's plight.