Scribe high stepped down the hall, muttering, "I don't care if she's a loving mother. Looks and gender aside, her politics squick the hell out of me."

There was the slap of bare feet behind her, and she heard Scott calling, "Wait! Wait! Mom has promised not to try to put the moves on any boyfriend or girlfriend I bring home!"

"Color me comforted." She turned a corner...

...and ran smack into a redheaded version of Scott. The wiry young man caught her before she could fall down, saying, "Whoa, dude! Cool your jets, and bear to the right. We don't have Brit rules of the road down here." He squinted at her thoughtfully, looking her up and down, then honked her breast. She smacked him. "Scuse me. I should have said dudette, I guess."

"Oz, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Scribe? Damn. When did you decide to go transy? Not that you don't look good in tailored stuff, but the boobs do affect the drape a little."

"Thank you, Carson, but I fall outside your domain. What are you doing running around the Evil Lair?"

"Scott asked a few people over for a sorta slumber party, but he spells it o-r-g-y."

"Shock. Horror."

Oz sniffed her deeply. "You've been wearing him recently. Where is...?"

Scott turned the corner and slammed into both of them, jarring Oz's grip. Scribe was the only one who managed to stay upright, and she took full advantage, scurrying away. Around the next turn she ran into a third Scott/clone--this one with strawberry blonde hair. "Duane, I'm in no mood..."

He let go of her. "Take off, babe. I'm just here to see if I can borrow one of The Evil One's cars or helicopters or whatever." He grinned. "Me and Blaine are in this race..."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck, babe." As she kept running she muttered, "Hope you enjoy being a philanthropist. I am ready to get back to my own home, where I only have to deal with one horny fictional character made real at a time. I'd better get out of these corridors."

She chose a door at random end entered. It looked like a kitschy spy-movie conference room, complete with a shiny black round table, and egg shaped chairs. Scribe paused, then went to the table and settled in one of the chairs, murmuring, "I've wanted to try one of these things since the sixties." She sat. "Somehow I think they would have been a hell of a lot more comfortable when I was six or seven." She started to stand up.

A light, affected, slightly nasal voice said, "Leaving so soon, Miss Scribe?" There was an ominous chunk, and a massive metal bolt, which had been totally obscure when she entered the room, thudded into place across the door. The chair at the head of the table, which had been turned away, swiveled around to reveal Dr. Evil. There was a dramatic sting of music.

Scribe looked up. "Don't start that shit! I'm moving toward a headache, anyway." She looked down at Dr. Evil. "Look, numb nuts, you've never been successful in your life at actually keeping anyone you've captured, so why don't you save us both a lot of trouble and open the frickin' door?"

His voice was peevish. "First Austin Powers, then Scott, and now you. What does an evil genius have to do to get a little respect around here?"

"Um, I don't know... Have a brain, and actually use it?"

"Very funny. Ha ha. It is to laugh."

"Don't start doing Daffy Duck impressions. I could not handle having to beat off Looney Toons characters. I have serious doubts about my being able to defeat Bugs. Now, let me out of here!"

"You seem tense."

"No? Ya think?"

"Allow me to be a good host and offer you something to soothe your nerves."

She snorted. "Like I'd drink anything you offered me. I'd probably wake up in some lame ass futuristic glass cell, or maybe strapped to a table in a silver bikini."

"Oh, I like the last suggestion. Silver lame is always a good choice. But no, I was thinking of a method more suited to you personally--something shall we say... organic?" There was another sting of music as he put his pinky to the side of his mouth.

Scribe shook her fist at the ceiling. "I told you damn PTB to stop it with the damn score! Or at least make it an oldies track. Hell, the whole damn franchise is a sixties theme, isn't it?" She looked back at Dr. Evil. "There's nothing you could offer me that I'd be interested in."

"No?" Dr. Evil reached under the table, then lifted a Sphynx cat to the tabletop. "Mister Bigglesworth." He pointed at Scribe. "Charm!"

The hairless cat pattered over to Scribe, mewing softly. When he neared her, he sprang. He landed in front of her, flopped on his back, all four paws waving in the air, and purring loudly.

"No!" gasped Scribe. "Not the dreaded Belly Rub Beg! That's almost as devastating as the Puppy Dog Eyes." Her hands twitched. "You evil person! How do you know about this weakness?"

Dr. Evil shrugged. "Elementary. It's a well-known fact that you are cat dependent. Besides, it always seems to work on you when Xander Harris does it."

Scribe succumbed, rubbing Bigglesworth's peach fuzz covered belly, and descending into baby/pet talk. "Who's a big kitty? Huh? Whooza purty ickle bickle puss-puss? Aw, him's just a sweet pattootie, yes him is!"

"Heel, Bigglesworth! I want her capable of coherent thought."

Bigglesworth backed off a few steps, and the glazed look slowly died from Scribe's expression. "Fiend! Well, at least I don't have to worry about you when it comes to P.O.G."

"You're a cruel woman. I have to wonder what you'd look like in black leather. Would you like to hear my new plan for world domination, Miss Scribe?"

"No."

"Good, I'll tell you. I now have in my power the woman who holds the very stream of reality in this universe. You will write at my command. I will become the most cunning, most daring, most suave, most irresistible, handsomest, sexiest, bravest man on the face of the earth!"

"Hello? Space fandoms."

"Riiiiight. Make that the most cunning, most daring, most suave, most irresistible, handsomest, sexiest, bravest man in the universe!"

There was a loud bang, and the door suddenly fell off its hinges. A figure dressed in a blue velvet suit, with a cravat, stepped through the opening. He struck a pose, brandishing a small silver gun and flashing teeth that would have had dentists rubbing their hands, and planning Ivy League careers for their kids. "But that would be me," he tilted his head toward Scribe, giving her a sultry look from behind his health care plan spectacles, "Baby."

Scribe sighed. *I'm going to have to knee him in the crotch at some point--if only on general principles.* "Great. Look, Austin, why don't you fight with the henchmen while Dr. Evil watches in nervous excitement, and I make my escape?"

"Sounds like a smashing plan, baby, but what henchmen?"

"The dozen or so who are about to appear through the hidden panel."

A panel slid open on the other side of the room, and a dozen henchmen rushed in, taking menacing stances in a conveniently spaced arc in front of Austin. Austin blinked. "Crikey. I'm glad you're on our side, baby. Run for it."

"Sure." She started toward the open panel, then snapped her fingers, came back, and kneed Austin in the crotch.

Dr. Evil and all the henchmen stared in surprise. Austin groaned, clutching himself, and gasped, "What did I do to deserve that?"

"Sorry, but occasionally my inner feminist rises up and will not be denied. And you've made some really, really, really bad jokes in the series."

"Well, how am I supposed to fight like this?"

"You're Austin Powers!" He straightened up, all traces of pain seemingly forgotten. She rolled her eyes. "Never underestimate the power of the male ego." She looked at the henchmen. "Okay, proceed to ineffectually attack..." she looked at Austin. "One at a time?" He gave her a slightly sheepish shrug. "One at a time. Oh, and be sure to stagger out of the way when he bashes you. Don't get the floor cluttered up around him."

As she trotted down the hidden hallway, she heard the first yell of, "Judo chop!"

She muttered to herself, "What the fuck is it with judo chop? I thought Judo was supposed to be throws and grappling, mostly defensive. Why not karate chop? Oh, wait--it's one syllable longer, and doesn't flow as well."

The hall twisted and turned, branching off several times. Scribe kept going straight ahead, figuring that there were enough twists in her life as it was. She finally came to another panel. Punching the button, she waited for the panel to slide up, then moved out into the room. She looked around. "All right! Kitchen! If Scott hangs around here, there has to be junk food." She started opening cabinets, "Sauerkraut? Well, yeah--Frau." She picked up one can and blinked at it. "What the...? I had no idea they canned haggis." She went to the refrigerator, checking in the freezer. "Holy crap! Dr. Evil must've cleaned out the Hot Pockets section. Scott needs to jettison some of that crap for Ben and Jerry's." She went to the refrigerator. "Hello! Jolt! Bless ya, Scott. I can use the caffeine and sugar boost." She chugged most of a can, and continued her search.

She came to one cabinet that was padlocked. "Hm. Mus' be the good stuff." She tugged the lock, rattling it. "Oh, I don't think so. Let's see..." She looked around. There was a small dry-wipe board on the fridge, with a pen dangling from its side. She grabbed a paper towel and erased a short list, thinking, *Beer, Doritos, beef jerky, lube... that would be Scott. Latest issue of American Bund--Frau. A case of Fancy Feast. Credit where credit is due--Dr. Evil is a washout as a villain, but he's pretty good as a cat fancier.*

Scribe started writing on the board. //Somehow Scott Evil had managed to get hold of the only defective padlock sold by...// She consulted the lock //the Holdit lock company. Little did he know that all it would take to open it was a good shake and a pull.// She gave the lock a good shake and a pull. It snapped open. "It's good to be the author." She opened the padlock, then the cabinet. "Yark! Pop Tarts!" The whole cabinet was stacked full with the brightly colored cardboard boxes. She snatched, clutching a box close to her chest, eyes rolling up toward the heavens as she whispered, "Thank you!"

"Oo, will ya looka that! Two sweet things at once."

*squeak!* Scribe whirled, putting her back to the wall, and confronted the ever nauseating Fat Bastard. "How the hell did you manage to sneak up behind me?"

"Lass, haven't ye ever heard that fat people are light on their feet?"

"Yeah, and in Fantasia, hippos danced ballet. I should have known you'd show up, but I think I was trying to wipe your existence from my mind. Where is traumatic amnesia when you need it?"

He started toward her. "Weel, meebe it'll kick in after we're done."

*Yelp!* Scribe started a Pop Tart barrage. Her fellow Texan, Nolan Ryan, would have been proud. A few seconds later she was back in the passage, running for her life. *Thank God for hard to open packages--they bought me enough time to escape while he tore open the box. If he'd just stop to unwrap them before he ate them, I could be strolling instead of running. I don't think he can follow me in here without the cork-in-a-bottleneck effect, but I'm not about to slow down and risk it.*

She took the first turn off. This eventually led to another panel. It slid up, revealing what looked like a plush office. A big man with curly, sandy hair was sitting at a desk. He looked up and grinned at her. She said "Um, Big Ed, any way I can get out into the (if you'll forgive the term) 'real' world through there?"

He straightened his tie. "C'mon in and we'll see what we can arrange." There was a knock on the door, and he called, "Get lost!"

A voice called, "Sonny, your dad is waiting to speak to you. Something about Connie's husband."

"Later." He crooked his finger at Scribe.

She blinked at him. "Sonny? After the stuff I've written about you, I don't think so." She reached for the button. "Stay away from toll booths." She started the maze again. This time she looked up before punching the button. "I want out of here. I'm getting tired of this stuff. Get me somewhere familiar, or I'm going back to working on my poetry about fluffy kittens." She punched the button.

Scribe stepped into a room. The panel that slid shut behind her was hidden behind a bookcase. She looked around. "A library." She picked up an axe that was lying on a nearby table. "Sunnydale High School's library." She looked around. "And thankfully empty." She tossed the axe back on the table. "I think I'll hit the occult books section, and see if I can find a way out of this madness. Let's see..."

She plopped down at a computer and accessed the library catalogue system. "Let's see, which section? Hmm... Escapes." *taptaptaptaptap* "'See Fat Chance'." She got up and went back to the table she'd first encountered, then returned, carrying the axe. She gripped it in both hands, raising it high over her head, and said clearly, "Strike any key to continue?" *BEEP!* Information flashed on the screen. "Thank you. You keep your components together for another day."

She checked the numbers given, then made her way through the stacks till she came to the indicated section, then she began running her fingers along the book spines. "Stalag 17, Cool Hand Luke, Escape From Alcatraz... Very funny, PTB. Let's move down a shelf. "Great Escapes... Hawaii, Jamaica, Acapulco... Even funnier--not! You damn sure better let me find something useful or in the next Mary Sue I write, I'm going to be a blonde, tall, thin, D-cup gourmet cook/scholar/computer genius who spies for an unnamed Good Guy organization while saving the world, kicking villainous ass, matchmaking for every other major character, and serving as a role model for little girls everywhere." She sang, "Weeee girls can do anything, right Mary Sue?" The titles on the books shifted. "Thank you."

She plucked a book from the shelf. "Egress. Looks promising." She opened it. "Mary Sues, Mary Sues, Mary Sues... Damn--half the book. Let's try 'interdimensional fanfiction authors'." *flipflip* "Ah. Hm. Just one method, and wouldn't you know it--it's a spell. Dad gum it. It's a good thing that Southern Baptists don't require confession, because I'd be hard pressed to explain most of the stuff I've been through the last few sections of this series. Let's see what I need." She ran a finger down the page. //One experienced virgin.// "Well, duh--yours truly." Her finger dropped lower. //Not you. That would make life too simple.// "Knew it. Where the heck am I supposed to come up with an experienced virgin?"

A light bulb didn't exactly pop into existence over her head, but her expression did light up. She lifted her face to the ceiling and cried, "Xander!"