LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #43: The Crimes of the Brotherhood Part Six

Arthur Spitzer arspitzer2 at gmail.com
Sun Jan 7 10:37:34 PST 2018

In this weeks reposting of stuff you can find in the eyrie archive
we have the sixth section of the whole EMPLOYEE-EMPOWERED, PARADIGM-SHIFTED,

Firstly, we have Rob Rogers with the number 26 of his
Easily Discovered Man series.  Can the world's most Easily Discovered Band
make sense of all that has come before?  And what color is a Red Herring?
(What -- Red, Really?  Didn't see that coming..)

And after that, we have Jamas Enright's Fan.Boy #6, which skimming through
the issue might not actually be a part of the Brotherhood crossover, but
because the timeline said it was one -- I will be posting that too just to
be safe..

             | |      Classic			
             | |                      =
             | |      ____    ____    _    ____    ___
             | |__   | [] |  | [] |  | |  | [] |  | _ \  

             |____|   \__]    \__ |  |_|   \__/   |_|\_\
                                |_|  OF NET.HEROES

                                     ADVENTURES #43

                 The Crimes of the Brotherhood Part Six

From: dvandom at magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu (Dave Van Domelen)
Newsgroups: alt.comics.lnh,rec.arts.comics.creative
Subject: LNH: Easily-Discovered Man #26 (posted for Rob)
Date: 1 Jun 1995 03:39:10 GMT

------Previously on "The Adventures of Easily-Discovered Man"----------------

    Easily-Discovered Man and Lite went on a double date with Writers Block
Woman and Mouse, an experience which led to much mayhem and questions from
more than one reader as to exactly what the ending meant.  Exactly why, the
readers want to know, did Mouse and Easily-Discovered Man Lite return from
their sojourn alone in Dis.Net.World wearing a scarf and turtleneck, 
respectively?  What had the two active young people been doing that could
possibly require such acouterments?

    The author is of the firm belief that his readers, being educated and
sophisticated persons, will no doubt come to the correct conclusions as to
what the ending of the last episode was referring to.  The author is, in fact
so certain of this conviction that all readers are hereby encouraged to send
their explanations of the story's ending to "The Adventures of Easily-
Discovered Man" at edml at delphi.com.  Those explanations which are most nearly
correct or at least highly inventive will be recognized in an upcoming 
episode of the series.

    In the mean time, Easily-Discovered Man and Lite are about to find 
themselves swept up in the crossover that will no doubt be the talk of the
Net (or at least Chris Gumprich's "Sucks!  Rules!  Sucks!" column) for the
next month in a half or so.  For those readers not yet familiar with the
Brotherhood of Net.Villains or the storyline surrounding their return, the
following musical primer -- written and performed by the Easily-Discovered 
Band, with EDM on piano, Lite on bass, and Cynical Lass on saxophone -- may
prove helpful.


    My baby done left me, and my enemy's in town
    Yeah my baby's done left me, and my enemy's in town
    Well I got so many enemies
    Must be feelin' mighty low down

    Yeah, they're out for fun and profit
    and their plans is mighty fine
    Oh yeah, they want that fun and profit
    and their plans is mighty fine (just like wine)
    Well, you gonna need a scorecard
    just to keep them all in line...take it, Lite!

    Mr. Homage is the head man, got his mojo working fine
    Polybag Person's a wrapper, with that glassy look in his eye
    ReVamp Lass does it over, has a funny way with men
    Repetitive Lad's just doin' it, again and again and again
    Hiatus keeps you waitin', Lobdell Lad leaves it out
    Plotchopper makes long stories short, RobGoblin makes you sprout
    Grim n' Gritty got you feelin' low, Hooded Ho'od Win II makes you fight
    Rumor Monger's spreadin' bad news, Professor Perhap just might
    Demented Designer's got no taste, X-Intruder's taste is bad
    Color-Error Lad mixes pigments, Captain CoreDump is a cad
    EraserHead wipes your body out, Amnesia we don't know
    If you've got a heart you'll lose a part to Romantic Innuendo

    Oh yeah...(piano and bass solo)

    Well, I'm feelin' mighty low now
    'cause the Brotherhood's in town
    Yeah, I'm feelin' oh so low now
    'cause that no good Brotherhood's in town
    I ain't felt so sad and blue honey,
    since my baby come around...(twang, segue into "Freebird")

    And now, "The Adventures of Easily-Discovered Man" proudly presents
Episode #26, "How Red My Herring." 
    Cynical Lass sat bolt upright and wiped the sweat from her brow.

    "That was it?" she cried.  "All that waiting, all that anticipation, and
then...nothing?  I feel so cheated, so unsatisfied...God, I need a 

    "Look," I said, "I told you before I started it was the worst joke in
the known universe.  You have only yourself to blame."

    "And besides," said the Prof, stirring weakly in his corner of our
prison, "Lite was able to divert all thought from our confinement for the 
past three hours through his telling of that interminable amusement."

    It was true, I thought, as the room elapsed into silence.  None of us had
thought for the past three hours about the safe, or how we were going to get
out, or how much air was left available to us if we didn't.  Not that it 
would have mattered all that much if we had.  Even the Prof had no way of 
determining how much oxygen lay cupped between the three-foot thick walls, and 
we'd all agreed hours ago to give up any attempts at escape in favor of
conserving our strength.

    So we sat, watching beads of condensation form on the darkened walls, and
told jokes, and tried -- or at least I did -- not to think how this whole
mess was at least partially my fault.

    It had started just a few days before the Prof and I had gone out with
Writers Block Woman and Mouse, a date that would live in infamy.  Word had
come down, across tables in the Pizza Pit, couches in the TV lounge, and
the off-track betting parlor outside the Peril Room, that the Brotherhood of
Net.Villains were back.  To the Prof, this was the equivalent of saying that
the Beatles had reunited and invited Elvis to join them on their upcoming 

    "Think of it, Lite," the Prof had said, fairly drooling with anticipation.
"No adversaries more worthy, no criminals more infamous, no foes more 
dangerous than those whose names have been coupled with the names of the
greatest heroes in history since time immemorial!  The soul who would dare
challenge a member of the feared Brotherhood must indeed have been cast in 
those fires from which the devil and his angels themselves were spawned!"

    "All the more reason for us to lay low and catch the Laverne and Shirley
reunion," I said.  "I've seen some of the things the Brotherhood has done
on that 'Unresolved Plotlines' show Robert TCP/IP Stack hosts.  They make the
Manson family look like the Von Trapp family singers!"

    "'Tis too late, my ever-capable comrade, companion, and chum!  For know,"
he said, draping one arm around me to conceal us from the other heroes in the
room, who were paying us absolutely no attention, "that our fearless
commander, that Ginsu-wielding geyser of glory called the Ultimate Ninja,
has dispatched us on a mission to apprehend the mysterious and ever-dreaded
Red Herring."

    "Funny," I said.  "I've never heard of the Red Herring.  Are you sure
he's a member of the Brotherhood?"

    "The Ninja assures me," the Prof said, solemnly, "that knowledge of the
Red Herring's existence -- as well as that of his sidekick, the nefarious
Kid Snipe -- has been kept hidden even from the other net.heroes assembled
in this renowned citadel so as not to cause an immediate worldwide panic."

    I was pretty sure what manner of mission Ultimate Ninja planned to 
send the Prof on, and slightly resentful of the insult.  But I kept my
suspicions to myself, figuring that if a wild goose chase could keep the Prof
from tangling with the Brotherhood of Net.Villains throughout the duration of
the crossover, it would be worth the humiliation and ridicule that would
inevitably follow at the hands of my fellow Legionaires.  

    The last thing in the world I expected was that the Prof would actually 
find something in the course of his investigations.

    "Lite!" said the Prof.  "Look here!  This is amazing!"

    "I'll say," I said.  "Boston is down by two, they have a man on third
and the tying run at the plate, and they're talking about pinch-hitting for
Mike McFarlane.  I mean, what are they thinking?"

    "This is the fourth bank in under two weeks where the same thing has 
happened," the Prof continued.  "Large quantities of money housed in 
mammoth vaults touted as burglar-proof have disappeared overnight -- and been
replaced by colorful stacks of worthless Monopoly money!"

    "Well, that's interesting, Prof," I said, craning my neck around my
employer's silhouette to catch a glimpse of the pinch-hitter's stats.  "And I
suppose you're going to tell me that all of this is somehow related to the
doings of the Red..."

    "Shush!" whispered the Prof, rushing over to clasp a palm over the next
two syllables to come out of my mouth.  "Remember, Lite.  We must not alarm
the others unnecessarily.  Ultimate Ninja chose us for this mission for a 

    I bit my tongue and listened.

    "When you have had as many years, as many battles, as many sweat-soaked
campaigns of combat against the forces of evil as have I, you will come to
understand that in comic books, any clue -- however insignificant it may
seem -- inevitably leads to the ultimate disclosure of the insidious 
conspiracies your enemies are constantly plotting against the existence of
the free world."

    "Great, Prof.  Have you been listening to Republican talk radio again?"

    "As it happens," the Prof continued, "I have observed that each of the
vaults struck thusly by our mysterious perpetrator have been equipped with 
a particular kind of security camera.  I know this because I have been able
to access footage from those cameras through an extremely long and involved
campaign of computer hacking with which the Renegade Programmer was good 
enough to assist me. 

    "I have further observed, through police reports on the situations, that
only those areas of the vault directly across from the security cameras have
had their supplies of crisp clean U.S. dollars replaced by useless scrap,"
the Prof added.  "It is my belief that whoever is responsible for occasioning
this activity broke into the bank's security system just as I did, and 
somehow used the camera to turn the money stored in the safe into play 

    I found myself getting caught up in the Prof's cockamamie theory in spite
of my best efforts to do otherwise.  This was exactly what I had been waiting
for during the entire period of my employment with Easily-Discovered Man: the
chance to act as a real super-hero, solving baffling crimes, seeing my 
brilliant profile on the cover of the Net.ropolis _Observer_.  Moreover, it
would finally prove to the other heroes in the LNH that the Prof was more 
than a blithering idiot who sometimes happened to stumble his way to success.

    "Prof, you may be right," I said.  "But how are we supposed to prove that 
any of this is going on?  And more importantly, why would anyone want to turn 
real money into phony money?"

    "All in good time, my interrogative helpmeet," the Prof replied, a smile
of pure satisfaction settling over his face.  "Trust me."

    And I did trust him.  Completely.  I even went so far as to call Cynical
Lass in London (on Steak and Potatoes Man's calling card, of course), asking
her to complete the rest of her summer internship in super-heroing with the
Prof and I, since the InterKnights had lost their accreditation with most
British universities following the White Dwarf situation.  I told the voice 
of reason inside my head that had kept the Prof and I alive for over a year
and a half to take the last train to Clarksville and reveled in my newfound
role as chief assistant to a super-sleuth.

    The Prof's plan, of course, was to find the bank vault with security
cameras similar to those used in the other four heists that was closest to
the general area in which they had occurred.  After some discussion with a
few fairly nervous and downright skeptical bank employees, the three of us
received permission to inhabit that particular bank vault from dusk to
dawn, when the employees would arrive on scene to let us out.

    This routine proceeded without a hitch for four days.  Nothing at all
suspicious happened, until Saturday morning rolled around and no employees
appeared to let Cynical Lass, the Prof, and myself out of the vault.  
Because this was a holiday weekend -- meaning that the bank itself was not
specifically scheduled to be opened until the following Tuesday -- the three
of us were more than a little concerned about remaining in a vault without
food, water, or what we suspected was very much in the way of oxygen.

    "What if the people at the bank are actually in on this?" Cynical Lass
asked.  "What if, all along, they've been planning to slaughter us in this
box like butterflies in a jar?  What if we end up digging at our throats with
our nails while our eyes bug out of our heads and our mouths making gagging 
noises as our lungs begin to choke on clumps of congealed..."

    "Cyn!" I barked.  Cynical Lass was difficult enough to deal with under
normal circumstances.  Twelve hours in a two-foot by two-foot vault without a
cigarette had done nothing to improve her personality.

    "Well," Cynical Lass said, reconsidering.  "At least I've led an 
interesting life, filled with more than the requisite amounts of danger,
passion, reversals of fortune, love, and sex."

    "As have I," said the Prof.  "'Tis sad to see the bloom of lady life 
wither, but 'tis well to recall you once caressed the splendor of her sweet 
blossoms in your hands."

    "Thanks a lot," I said.  "I'm seeing my whole life flash before me, and 
there's nothing in it that would even make a good episode of Oprah.  I feel
like I should..."

    The vault was lit up suddenly with a blinding flash, shortly before the
great steel door swung open and I felt four solid knuckles strike the bridge
of my nose.

    When I came to I was seated at the edge of an enormous dais.  The Prof
and Cynical Lass were rubbing their eyes and the backs of their heads.  On
the dais sat an enormous crystal prism, casting a glittering rainbow on a
wall at the back of the room.  On the prism stood the only other figure in
the room, a young man dressed in robes of flowing motley that seemed lifted 
from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."  His face, hands, hair
and eyes were grey.

    "Good morning," said the figure, toasting us with a glass of grey liquid.
"I apologize for my rather rude manner of conveying you here, but in this
day and age it simply never happens that you can call and invite a pair of
super-heroes over for drinks without three or four hundred of their closest
friends barging in and starting a cross-over.  And really, I thought it 
would be nicer if it were just us four for the moment."

    "How did we get here?" asked Cynical Lass.  "You can't possibly believe
that no one noticed the three of us being carried out of the bank by your

    "Ah, now, now," the figure chided.  "First of all, Cynical Lass, I do not
hire goons: that would be Philistine.  My men are well-paid, able, and for
the most part, college-educated.  Second, you were not noticed because the
flash you experienced in the vault rendered you invisible, just as for weeks
my other bank cameras have been converting piles of counterfeit money into
heaps of colored currency."

    "Counterfeit?" I gasped.  "Then you mean..."

    "Yes," said our captor, sipping slowly from his glass.  "I made 
arrangements with the owners and/or employees of several lending 
institutions.  I informed them that they could either risk their lives and 
their businesses in succumbing to a particularly bloody crime I was 
contemplating, or they could split a large section of cash with me and
replace it in their vaults with a pile of counterfeit currency I would
then transform into Monopoly money -- leaving the police and the press to
ponder a bizarre crime of monetary transformation, while the bank, myself, 
and the newly-reorganized Employee-Powered, Paradigm-Shifted, Individual-
Ownership, Downsized, Streamlined, Reinvigorated Brotherhood of Net.Villains
pocketed the loot."

    "A clever plan, Color-Error Lad," said the Prof.  "Unfortunately, your
days as a minter of multicolored Monopoly millions were marked the moment
you met with the matchless intellect of Easily-Discovered Man!"

    "Actually," Color-Error Lad said, "I had anticipated the involvement of
net.heroes from the beginning.  You see, I have much more in mind than 
simply padding the coffers of that pestilential Homage, whom I have kow-towed
to for far too long.  Observe."

    He stepped back, and the crystal prism swiveled and opened to reveal a 
projector, or rather several projectors, which displayed a series of 
disturbing images on the wall behind me. In one, ranks of brown-shirted,
buzz-cropped pasty-skinned young men marched past a podium with one hand
raised in salute; in another, a squadron of young black men in bright red
jackets and berets stood on street corners with automatic weapons.  In
every frame, scores of heavily-armed uniracial young people trained in 
silence, eyes burning with an inner hatred.

    "All across the globe, people who otherwise have very much in common are
torn apart by racial hatred, an opposition based irrationally on the color 
of their skin," said Color-Error Lad.  "For years I have labored to identify
some of the most militant of these individuals, forming them into cadres and
nursing their rage and hatred of those they believe to be their enemy through
my vast stores of knowledge regarding color and psychology.

    "By using my powers to change the color of my skin, I can appear at one
moment a Black Muslim minister and in the next a Nazi commandant," the 
villain continued.  "I use the same rhetoric on both groups to convince them
they must overthrow the world's governments and serve me absoultely.  Only
then will their hated enemies be eradicated forever."

    "Divide and conquer," Easily-Discovered Man whispered.

    "The kind of race war you're proposing is unthinkable," I said.  "At the
very least, Mr. Homage would never let you get away with it."

    "True enough," Color-Error Lad said.  "Unless he were distracted.  Unless
his pitifully simple pecuniary needs were satiated.  I intend to give him
all of the money I earned through the simple little crimes I've been 
committing that were really all he expected from someone like me."

    "You really believe that will be enough for him?" Cynical Lass asked.

    "Of course not," Color-Error Lad said.  "But the bodies of the three
net.heroes who botched my little plan will certainly keep him happy for a 
while -- long enough for me to complete my plans!"

    With that, Color-Error Lad snapped his fingers, and a group of men in
dark suits, thin leather ties and sunglasses entered the room.

    "Mr. Brown!  Mr. Orange!  Mr. Pink!  Mr. White!  Seal off the exits!"
Color-Error Lad said.  "Mr. Blonde!  Do...what you do best."

    One of the suits, a lean, greasy, wicked-looking tough, drew a 
switchblade from his pocket and began to gyrate back and forth, making short
swipes through the air, while the faint strains of "Stuck in the Middle With
You" played in the background.

    "Somebody give me a cigarette," Cynical Lass said.  "I think we're 


    NEXT ISSUE: It's a race against time as Easily-Discovered Man, Lite and
Cynical Lass hurry to stop Color-Error Lad's diabolical plan for world
domination.  You won't want to miss the story we have invoked our divine 
right to call "The Color of Money" or "Casino Royale with Cheese," especially
since doing so would make reading subsequent issues of EDM extraordinarily

    Easily-Discovered Man, Lite, and Cynical Lass are (c) the author.

    Color-Error Lad and the Brotherhood of Net.Villains are (c)
barnejd at wkuvx1.bitnet.

From: thad at tao.sans.vuw.ac.nz (The Thad Man)
Newsgroups: alt.comics.lnh,rec.arts.comics.creative,vuw.scfbbs.prose
Subject: LNH: Fan.Boy #6
Date: 30 May 1995 21:03:33 GMT

Blue Light Productions presents:

______  _________   _____   ____ ____      _______      _____    ___   ___
|    |  |       |  /  _  \  |   \|  |      |  /\  \    /  _  \   \  \ /  /
|BLiP|  |  |~~~~~ /  / \  \ |    |  |      |  \/   |  /  / \  \   \  |  /
|    |  |  ~~~~~| |  ~~~  | |       | ____ |      /  |  |   |  |   |   |
| #6 |  |  |~~~~~ |  ___  | |  |    | |  | |  /\  ~|  \  \ /  /    |   |
|    |  |  |      |  | |  | |  |\   | |  | |  ~~  /    \  ~  /     |   |
~~~~~~  ~~~~      ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~~~~      ~~~~~      ~~~~~

       [Cover has Fan.Boy and Faq Boy glaring at each other across a 


The Peril Room. Probably the most dangerous room in the LNHQ (with the 
possible exception of the Ultimate Ninja's office), it had recently 
starting coming apart, and the Ultimate Ninja was forced to finally shut 
it down. Contraption Man had also made an appearance at this point and, 
considering he had built it, the UN put him onto fixing it.
        Contraption Man succeeded in wiring the room up to the 
HoloDecStations and the Transmat Chambers before undergoing a strange 
        [See LNHCP #25 and Fan.Boy #2 for details - Jamas]
        While this should have completely stuffed it up (and did go 
someway towards causing several problems by helping introduce B1FFBOTS), 
the Peril Room, amazingly, wasn't.
        The scene the next morning went something like this:
        Cue flashback sequence --
        The Ultimate Ninja entered the Peril Room control room, followed 
by Doctor Stomper. He surveyed the mess left by Contraption Man. "And you 
say no-one has seen Contraption Man since?"
        "That's right," replied Doc Stomper.
        The UN sighed. "I see. Well, now that he's gone, what can you do 
about the Peril Room?"
        "What?" Doc Stomper looked surprised. "You're writing off 
Contraption Man just like that?"
        "I'm not writing anyone off. I have a very good idea about what 
has happened to him. Now, what about the Peril Room?"
        Doctor Stomper walked over to the console and started pushing 
buttons. "Wha? Hey, this actually seems to be working." He prodded the 
console for a while longer.
        "It might ever be working better than it was before."
        "Is there any safe way we can test it?"
        Doctor Stomper ran through a list of programs entered in the 
Peril Room computer. "We could try one of your old programs," he suggested.
        The ninja nodded and headed downstairs. Doc Stomper loaded the 
program in and prepared it, waiting for his leader's signal.
        The UN strode onto the Peril Room floor, turned, and looked into 
the Peril Room control room window. "Ready," he called.
        Upstairs, Doc Stomper set the program in action and monitored 
the room as the ninja started killing the members of the LNH yet again. 
No matter how many systems he checked, it all worked fine.
        Looks like the Peril Room is back in business.


The Void. This was a place most LNHers visited some time or another, or, 
at least, some variant on it. In this particular void floated two 
figures, both looking remarkedly the same.
        Both were of average height, and both wore black rimmed glasses. 
Both wore spandex suits, although one was black and the other red. Also 
one wore a blue cape.
        Both of them has logos on their chests, both variations on 
ideograms involving the letters "F" and "B".
        It could be said, with some degree of truth, that one was a 
variant on the other.
        While they both had the real name of Barry Knewbee, they were 
both members of the Legion of Net.Heroes. One was known as Fan.Boy. He 
wore the cape.
        The other was Faq Boy, a Barry Knewbee from a different dimension.
        Recently they had both been killed. Faq Boy had hoped this would 
happen. Now he had to work out some way for them to live again.
        They weren't speaking to each other, both annoyed with the way 
the other had acted. Fan.Boy was occupying his time with reading various 
newsgroups, as only he could. For his part, Faq Boy was reading the FAQ, 
finding out just what he had got himself in for.
        Neither of them had any idea about what would happen next.


The Peril Room. It was now some time after the flashback. It had been 
tested by trial time and again. The Ultimate Ninja had opted for one 
last test for before being declared fit for normal use. He hadn't told 
anyone that it was still being tested, but, hey, that was their problem.
        Now, the Renegade Programmer, after a suitable fortification of 
the inner man, was in the Peril Room control room, readying the final 
test program. Unfortunately, he needed a test subject.
        Fortunately, the writer prepared for this.


        "Aaarrghh. Right, I want to know who did that, and what is the 
state of their medical insurance?"
        The dulcet tones rang out in the silence of the Peril Room's 
emptiness, promising pain to whoever was behind this debacle.
        [Ah, Mouse. So glad you could join us.]
        "Who the hell are you, and what am I doing here? I'm currently 
in the middle of a story right now."
        [That's all right. I've spoken to your writer, and she suggested 
a cameo appearance like this. Well, I did want to use you, but continuity 
was a bit off.]
        "Continuity? I must be one of the most discontinuitous 
characters in the LNH."
        [Actually no, you are one of the most tightly written into
continuity characters in the LNH. In fact Jaelle goes out of her _way_
to make sure that there is a tight continuity. That's why there are
all these problems with it. That's the point Jaelle wanted to make.]
        [I think.]
        "Oh cruk. Just be glad you aren't her character. We have trouble 
working out what she means sometime. Anyway, where am I, and what am I 
doing here?"
        [Comically? You're in my _Fan.Boy_ title. Physically? You're in 
the Peril Room. Why? So you can dodge the robot right behind you.]
        "What robot?"
        Upstairs, the Renegade Programmer had activated the program and 
it had created a large Mecha robot right behind where Mouse appeared. 
She whirled around and ducked as she saw an arm swing towards her out of 
the corner of her eye.
        [Over by the far wall, two ghostly forms appear.]
        "Couldn't you have at least pulled mum out instead? She's got 
armour and can fly. What the hell am I supposed to do against this thing?"
        [There are now two ghostly forms by the far wall.]
        However, the Peril Room wasn't finished yet. Behind Mouse (she 
had turned around, remember?), formed another Mecha 'bot. It walked 
towards the first and hammered it.
        [Anyone going to notice the far wall where these two figures are?]
        Mouse scampered out of the way. "What the hell is going on here?"
        [Hello? The two figures? Over there?]
        The portly programmer reached over and flipped the intercom 
on. "Hello down there?" Mouse glanced up at the control room window to 
see the programmer waving at her. "Thanks for the visit. I needed 
someone to initiate the Peril Room systems. It needs an outside presence 
to trigger it. If you could just keep out of the way until the program's 
        [You know, it's not like this sort of thing happens all the time.]
        Mouse stared in disbelief. Was this guy kidding? She jumped to 
one side as one robot crashed down beside her. She was more likely to be 
a splat on the ground before these 'bots finished.
        [Hello? Anybody listening? Should I just go make a cup of tea?]
        "I want out of here!"
        [Try looking over by the far wall.]
        "Unless there's some anomaly, I'm not going to stop the test."
        [Anomaly? You want an anomaly?]
        Mouse struggled to stay upright while the robots thundered over 
the ground. "Anomaly, eh? Where the hell is an anomaly when you need one?"
        "Sorry. Ninja's orders."
        [That does it. you're on your own, missy.]
        "The _Ultimate_ Ninja? He wanted this done? Why? I haven't done 
anything bad recently." She kept a wary eye on he robots, circling away 
from them. "Well, nothing that anyone founds out about." Seizing her 
chance, she turned and ran for the far wall.
        "What the hell's that?!?" she screamed, pointing at two ghostly 
figures, hanging in the air.
        [All right. All right. Let's have a show of hands from all those 
that saw that one coming. Thank you. :) ]
        The Renegade Programmer looked at where Mouse was and saw the 
two figures. "Oh cruk. I'd better stop the program. Hang on. I'll be 
right there."
        The robots disappeared and Mouse breathed a sigh of relief.
        Actually, it was several minutes before the chubby one arrived 
from the control room, puffing and out of breath. "Never again," he vowed.
        He took in the sight of the two figures. One was wearing a black 
body suit, the other red with a blue cape. They looked like twins.
        "Any idea who they are?"
        Mouse thought about it for a moment. "Well, considering that 
this is Fan.Boy's title, and that he looks like the picture in the 
Wanted posters Fuzzy put up, I'd have to say that he's" pointing to the 
one with the cape "is Fan.Boy."
        "In that case," the RP replied, pointing to the other one. 
"Who's that?"
        Mouse shrugged. "No idea."
        "So, what do we do about them?"
        "Well, since the UN wanted you to do the test, and as these are 
the results of the test, why don't you go tell UN about this? I'm sure 
he'll be happy to hear about it," she said sweetly. "While I take care 
of another matter," she continued under her breath.
        "Er, okay." The programmer left, looking uncertain as to the 
reception the UN would give him.
        "Right. Writer!"
        [Um. Yes?]
        "Send me back right now!"
        [Are you sure?]
        [Chill out babe.]
        And suddenly, the room was empty except for two figures floating 
in the air.


In the void, Fan.Boy had finally tired of being angry.
        "I thought we got to meet Death. It makes sense, you know. When 
you die you probably should meet Death." He considered the point for a 
moment. "I'd go for the foxy lady rather than a skeleton."
        Faq Boy looked at him irritably. "What are you driviling about? 
We aren't dead. And if we were, I'd like to think that I wouldn't end up 
with you."
        "What's that supposed to mean?"
        "If you can't figure that one out, you must really be thick."
        "Well, we are the same person. Why shouldn't we be together in 
death? Anyway, how do you know we aren't dead?"
        Faq Boy smiled smugly. "I made sure we wouldn't."
        Intrigued despite himself, Fan.Boy asked "How?"
        "After the questioning, I had a suspicion that the Roster King 
was planning something against me, so I altered the FAQ before he could 
do anything to me first. Here, I'll show you what I did."
        Although he was already holding one piece of paper, he 
concentrated and another one appeared in his other hand. He showed it to 
Q.8     Who is the most powerful LNHer?

A.8     The Roster King, of course. He who controls the entries controls 
those who the entries belong to. Second is Faq Boy. He who controls 
information controls knowledge. He who controls knowledge, controls the 
people. (All under the Roster King's kind and benevolent guidance, of 
course.) After them is the spokesperson for the LNH, the Prodigal Samurai.

Add note: Of all the LNHers, only Faq Boy and his counterpart, Fan.Boy, 
can survive being killed.

        Fan.Boy was impressed, but something still nagged at him. "So, 
why did we have to die?"
        Faq Boy sighed. "Because, you don't belong in our dimension. If 
you're killed and survive, you'll hopefully end up back in your own 
dimension. I'm tagging along. I'm sick of my one."
        "So, how do we bring ourselves back to life?"
        "I have absolutely no idea."


"WHAT?" roared the Ultimate Ninja. "What do you mean by that?"
        The Renegade Programmer trembled in front the the UN's desk. 
"Just that. We have two ghosts in the Peril Room. They're not Peril Room 
constructs. I made sure of that. I'm not sure how they got there. One 
has been identified as 'Fan.Boy'."
        The programmer shrugged. "An LNHer, apparently."
        The UN stared at the programmer for a moment more, then 
activated his desk computer. Calling up the roster, he flipped through 
and located Fan.Boy's entry. It wasn't too hard as it was at the top of 
the F-R list.
        "Why haven't I been informed of this? When did he arrive?"
        The programmer shrugged again. "I don't know."
        The ninja shut his eyes and sighed. He reached for the intercom. 
"Will someone who knows about an LNH member called Fan.Boy report to my 
        Eventually, it was Doctor Stomper who showed up.
        "What do yo know about Fan.Boy?" asked the ninja, getting 
straight to the point.
        "Well, I wasn't actually here when he arrived, but I examined 
him straight afterwards."
        "Who was there, and how did he arrive."
        "It involved the Peril Room. It had just fused into other 
systems in the LNH and the short outs pulled a man known as Barry 
Knewbee" the ninja winced at the name "from another dimension. Possibly 
the same one as the Writers."
        "Uh-huh. Who was there?"
        "Um, Contraption Man was working at the time."
        "Hump. I don't think we'll be seeing him again."
        "Oh? Why not?"
        The Ultimate Ninja waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. Who 
else was there?"
        "Squeaky Clean was helping him."
        "And now he's on vacation." Doctor Stomper wasn't too sure about 
what the ninja's reaction really was, but he thought it was probably a 
bit stronger than displeasure.
        "I think that Cheesecake-Eater Lad and Bad-Timing Boy were also 
        "And now they've gone as well. Gaah. Right, come with me. What 
did you do with Fan.Boy, anyway?"
        "I stuck him in a room on the fourth floor, well out of 
everyone's way. Where are we going?"


The Ultimate Ninja stood in the middle of the Peril Room and glared at 
its two ghostly occupants. He spared a brief glance for the Renegade 
Programmer breathing heavily at his side, then turned his full attention 
back to the ghosts.
        "Well. What do you think?"
        Doctor Stomper was closer to the two figures, gently prodding 
them, and nodding faintly as if he had some idea of what he was doing as 
his finger passed through them.
        "They're obviously in a state of mental flux."
        "Obviously," said the ninja sarcastically. "But, what are they 
doing here?"
        "Something must have happened to Fan.Boy. Probably ended up in 
alternative dimension where he met another version of himself," Doctor 
Stomper indicated the second figure before continuing, "and something 
happened to him. Most likely, he was killed."
        "So, what is he doing here now?"
        Doctor Stomper pondered on this. "Since the Peril Room brought 
him here in the first place, it must also be responsible for bringing 
him back now."
        "But why now? What caused it?"
        The ninja turned to the Renegade Programmer. "What were you 
doing when this happened?"
        "I had just started the test that you ordered when these things 
        "Ahh," said Doc Stomper. "There you have it. It was when the 
Peril Room was activated that this happened. Only when the Peril Room is 
activated after Fan.Boy dies will he be brought back to life."
        The Renegade Programmer looked at the two figures dubiously. 
"They don't look very alive to me," he commented.
        It was at this point that Fan.Boy and Faq Boy fully manifested 
themselves and fell to the ground. Doctor Stomper bent down to help them 
        "Ugh," said Fan.Boy. "That was not the nicest thing I've had to 
go through."
        "What happened to you?" asked the Doc.
        "Well, we were just chatting, when-"
        "Wait a minute," interjected the Ultimate Ninja. "Who the hell 
is that?"
        Fan.Boy turned to see who had spoken and his eyes opened wide. 
"Wow. It's really you. I'm honoured to finally meet you. Gee, the 
Ultimate Ninja in the flesh. May I shake your hand?"
        Taken aback by this barrage of fannishness, the ninja didn't 
immediately pull back as Fan.Boy grabbed his hand and started to shake 
it. He then pulled himself together and snatched his hand away. Writing 
Fan.Boy off as a loony, he turned to Faq Boy. "Who are you?" he asked.
        "Me? I'm Faq Boy. I'm here to look after the FAQ for you."
        "We've already got someone to do that."
        "Well, no. Not really," said Fan.Boy. "You've got List Lad and 
Master Roster Man to look after the roster, but no-one's really 
dedicated to the FAQ."
        The UN didn't look happy at being corrected, but decided to let 
the matter pass. For now.
        "How did you come back to life?" Doc Stomper asked.
        "Well, we were chatting, as I said," said Fan.Boy. "I thought we 
were dead, but Faq Boy said 'No.' He'd worked out a way for us to live, 
and it was then, when we realised that we really were alive that we 
appeared here."
        "You see," said Doctor Stomper proudly. "What did I say? Mental 
flux. Until they realised that they could be here, they weren't really 
here. It's a classic case."
        "You know," said Fan.Boy to Faq Boy. "I'm sure I saw you split 
into two."
        "Oh yeah," replied Faq Boy. "Well, I saw you split into three."
        "Strange. I didn't feel anything."
        The ninja cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. 
"Right, since you're both here so conveniently, I'll test you out myself."
        "Er," said Faq Boy, hesitantly. "What exactly do you mean?"
        "You two against me, right here, right now. Renegade Programmer, 
get up to the control room, and fire it up. Doctor Stomper, you might 
want to clear the area."
        "Uh-oh," said Faq Boy as the other quickly left.
        "Don't worry," replied Fan.boy quietly. "A few bits of 
punctuation and he'll be too stunned to do anything."
        Since Doctor Stomper reached the control room way before the 
Renegade Programmer (who was still at the bottom of the stairs) did, he 
started the safety program.
        "Right," said Fan.Boy, turning to face his opponent. "!@#$"
        ("The true ninja can tune out foolish babble," the UN said.)
        ("Oh $%@@," said Faq Boy, watching as the UN's ginzu katana 
easily sliced through Fan.Boy's body.)
        Up in the control room, the Transmat Chambers lit up and Fan.Boy 
stepped out. "Well, that didn't go exactly according to plan."
        Another flash from the Chambers and Faq Boy stood beside him.
        They looked down into the Peril Room to see the ninja standing 
there, slowly shaking his head. It just wasn't the same anymore.


Entering the cafeteria, Fan.Boy and Faq Boy looked around to see what 
shambles the place had turned into. "We've got to get Steak and Potatoes 
Man and Frat Boy back soon."
        Lying on one of the tables was a pile of _Mr. Paprika_s that 
someone had brought for their turn at making dinner. Fan.Boy reached 
over and grabbed a six pack. He had never had one before and thought 
that now was a good a time as any.
        "What happens now?" asked Faq Boy.
        Fan.Boy shrugged. "I don't know. May as well head back to our 
        "Eh? Do I have a room?"
        "There's an empty one beside mine. Actually," Fan.Boy frowned. 
"I think all the ones near mine are empty. Oh that's right," his face 
cleared, "Guitar Man's is also about there. Oh, that reminds me. I'd 
better feed his goldfish while he's away."
        He lead the way towards the lifts.


They got out of the lift on the fourth floor and made their way down the 
hall. As he was about to enter his room, Fan.Boy heard a strange sound 
coming from around the corner. It sounded like someone running in padded 
        He jumped up against his wall in surprise as around the corner 
came a piece of jogging cloth. Both he and Faq Boy watched with gaping 
eyes as the cloth disappeared around another bend.
        "What was that?" Faq Boy asked.
        "I don't want to know," Fan.Boy replied.


A few minutes later, Faq Boy left his room, looking for Fan.Boy. He 
pushed the door to his room open and goggled at the sight.
        Splash page: Fan.Boy lying on his bed, a can of _Mr. Paprika_ in 
his hand, and an idiotic expression on his face.
        Now, there's a Fan.Boy's pop.

        "Retcons and other Running Gags."
        "by Jamas Enright"


NEXT ISSUE: The team-up you've all been waiting for. Fan.Boy meets the 
one person whose personal enemies are fanboys (and I'm not talking about 

Be here for: "How much is that Bloodkitty in the window?"


The Renegade Programmer belongs to Joshua Dinerstein, used with wReam's 
permission. :)

Mouse belongs to Jaelle, used with permission (Jaelle's, not Mouse's :).

The Ultimate Ninja belongs to wReam, and was used with permission.

Doctor Stomper is Public Domain.

Fan.Boy and Faq Boy was created by me.

NAME: Faq Boy
  TYPE: NWC (created by enright_j at ix.wcc.govt.nz)
  POWER: Keeper of the LNH FAQ.
  ADD.NOTES: Is an alt.version of Fan.Boy
  ENEMIES: The Roster King.

Jamas Enright (enright_j at ix.wcc.govt.nz)
"Answers answered and questions questioned."


Arthur "Same Classic Channel.  But Same Time?  Probably not." Spitzer

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