Somewhere above all this, the swirling mass of cumulostratus and
air currents which formed the basement of Heaven was astir with movement.
Never had such a conglomeration of the Heavenly Host occurred in any one
single spot, with the potential exception of what is now only known as the
Incident in Costa Rica and which good angels just don't talk about
anymore. Halos briefly peeked over the side of the clouds, looking down at
the massive, empty desert...
	...Well, it WAS empty. Now it was filling with people, buildings,
anti-tank rocket launchers, and other machines of war. It was a dark, dark
spot on the map big enough to be seen from orbit and with more marketing
potential than a Super Bowl commercial slot. Its like had never been seen
nor never would be seen again in the annals of terrestrial history. It was
an unprecedent event because, frankly, the Apocalypse only comes once in a
great while, after all.
	A great rustling signified a shift in position, as angels cleared
a path for God to arrive and wonder what the heck everyone was looking at.
A collective, eternally holy breath was held while the divine creator
surveyed the situation, and finally, spoke:
	Kasumi clutched her broom. "Oh, my."

<---->

"Controversial Jack and the Fall of Western Civilization"
Chapter 11: Apocalypse Jack
Controversial Jack created by Yves Belanger
Chapter by Todd Harper (lina@inverse.org)

<----->

	Anne stuck her head out the window of the T-Mobile, trying to get
a bead on the situation. Things were not going well for her. The
difficulty with the Mauve House being a a cruising altitude of 6000 feet
left her with little option for wardrobe shift before making her way into
the desert. Hence, she was stuck in a van with Mr. T, an adolescent weapon
freak with a penchant for rubber ducks and about $4 billion in military
surplus. She was going to bring a stop to this madness one way or the
other, damnit. Despite the natural predisposition toward strangling the
little bastard, Anne knew she had to save Jack. She was a woman on a
mission. Nothing would stand in her way.
	"I told you, $60 for the lot of you, and that's final. President's
orders."
	Anne fumed. "Am I wearing a mask or something?" She yanked a
newspaper out of the van and displayed it furiously to the parking
attendant. "I'm the President's sister!" It hit her as ironic that, for
today, she had spent most of her time trying to PROVE that she was Jack's
sister, rather than wishing she had some kind of proof otherwise.
	The guard, not certain of what to do, decided the party line was
his best option and simply stated, in a bland tone, his one line for this
episode. "I already told you, si..."
	He almost got to finish it before the ticket window went up in a
spectactular ball of fire. Anne shielded her eyes and placed the
still-smoking grenade launcher back into the van.
	"Glad we got that settled, then. Onward, T."

				[*]

	Despite the impending doom of the world, the weather was nice and
balmy in Miami Beach. True, there were endless hordes of Lovecraftian
zombie monsters rampaging through the streets and knocking over Payless
Shoe Source boutiques, but to a villain like Debateable Joe, this was a
minor setback. Generally speaking, anyone who had spent a lifetime dealing
with the rise and fall and rise of Controversial Jack was pretty much
prepared for anything short of the universe imploding on itself, then
bursting outward in the shape of a rubber chicken.
	Well, possibly a rubber duck. That was a sensitive topic with Joe.
	Moreso, however, was the fact that he had failed. No contingency
plan, no dramatic speech. He'd followed Ken Starr's advice but all he got
for it was a ridiculous impeachment procedure and a flying purple
presidentail abode last seen flying over cow mutilation on its way to
Armageddon '99. The nagging in the back of his head was that as much as he
wanted Jack to fall, and fall MIGHTILY, he somehow knew that Jack would
probably prevail somehow. Annoyingly, he was beginning to see Jack...as
the protagonist.
	"Oh, fear not," hissed the voice of Imelda Marcos, as she entered
Joe's body, twined about his soul, and turned him into a massive,
shambling monster of pure and unabiding evil. "I've got plans for Jack."
	There was a chorus of oddly dual-sounding evil cackling, before
Debatable Imelda wandered out the door and into history.

				[*]

	The Mauve House was currently a beehive of activity. The nation's
top military minds had been summoned from all corners of the globe to hold
conference with the President, before he and 60 other fully-armed and
relatively pissed-off armies marched into the fields of Area 51 and fire
anti-tank rocket launchers and sub-machine guns at each other like
civilized maniacs.
	In the middle of this swarm of interns, Navy SEALS, and men
wearing more metal than cloth was Jack Lysias, who was having an immensely
amusing time of going through the vaults of Area 51, dredging up what he
could to use in the coming [PAY]-[PER]-[VIEW] rumble, upon which the fate
of all Americans...nay, the entire WORLD rested. It was a time for careful
planning, diplomacy, tactics, strategy, and above all...seriousness.
	"Kick ASS! Does this really disintegrate stuff?" Jack said,
pulling the trigger on a ray-gun straight out of Buck Rogers and
vaporizing a nearby rock.
	If the world was holding its breath on that moment, it was going
to do so until it turned blue.
	"Um, yes, Mr. President..." a nervous and mousy-looking scientist
replied, shaking and steadily sidling his way out of the line of fire.
"We've got a great number of devices such as this tucked away in this
base, sir."
	"Wonderful!" Jack exclaimed, vaporizing a nearby ammo truck, and
watching the resulting fireball streak into the sky. "This'll come in
handy when he have to kick the pansy-ass British all the way back to
Europe, whatwhat." He cackled gleefully, tossing the disintegrator over
his shoulder and digging around in a pile of miscellaneous alien hardware
like a kid in a candy shop. Miss Jane dutifully ambled behind him,
collecting what he discarded as soon as the obligatory wild shot had
narrowly missed her and taken a substantial chunk out of the landscape.
	Military advisors of all stripes followd behind as well, but
lacking Miss Jane's narrative immunity to the rampages of stray shots from
alien pan-galatic crater creators, their numbers grew few. However, around
Jack one either evolved or went bye-bye, and in this case evolution was
sped up by a considerable factor. A number of the survivors would have
made incredible Olympic gymnasts.
	"Mr. President! It would behoove us to take this more seriously!
Once the nations finish with each other, they will doubtless come after
*us*!" one cried, shortly before a cesium grenade lodged in his mouth, the
resulting implosion being censored for our younger viewers. A horrified
group of military tacticians watched as Jack suddenly WHIRLED on his feet,
striking a dramatic pose with a gun six times his size.
	"Fear not!" the president said loudly, waving the gun around and
causing everyone within 15 feet of him save Miss Jane to immediately hit
the dirt. "With this arsenal, and my genius, we're going to [KICK] [SOME]
[ASS]!" He then cackled maniacally, because such is the nature of things.
	Miss Jane merely smiled.

				[*]

	The Washington, DC, Chapter of the Church of Cthulhu, having
recovered from their relatively inconvenient deaths to further the plot in
episode 10, had finally arrived at Roswell. They were not, as per, having
as much luck as Anne had in getting through the admission gates. Miss
Lysias had the distinct advantage of industrial-grade heavy weaponry on
her side. However, having lost one gatekeeper to a random entrant, Jack
had ordered them to beef up the security just a bit.
	Bel-Shamharoth was currently leaning out the window of the Kia
they had stolen (eating the test drivers, the mileage sign, and the test
drivers of the following Honda was a slight benefit, to worshippers of
darkness and haters of stupid commercials alike) and conversing with the
obstinate (and now, heavily armed) Ticketmaster representative.
	"Look, buddy. I don't care if you're Satan himself come to watch
the proceedin's, you're gonna need a ticket for each of ya's, and that's
$450 total," the rep said, with the defiance one gets by having a bazooka
under your desk for dealing with pesky customers.
	The comments he heard back from the demonic SD monster from the
depths of Lovecraftian hell were somewhat garbled, for at that moment a
great cry broke out across the battlefield. Apparently, the KISS army had
managed to kick the collective derrier of the already badly-beaten French
"troops", and to celebrate the legions of face-painted metal freaks were
on a rampage. Several of them wandered by in a sort of mobile mosh pit,
hindering communication between booth and Kia. Finally, however, the
tickettaker's shouting broke through the din. "$450! PAY UP OR LEAVE!"
	However, he should have known better than that, for at the precise
moment he ended his lines for this episode, a glowing green, clawed hand
ripped through the class and tore the man's head off, which landed in the
grass with a wet *splut* sound.
	Debateable Imelda turned to the Kia, and spoke with the voice of a
thousand faceless evils. "Come. It is time for Jack to face his 
[DESTINY]."
	There was a lengthy pause, until Imelda's voice rang out once
again, sending sound engineers scrambling for their equipment. "Yes,
Shoggoth?"
	A demonic head popped out of the backsat driver's side window.
"Does this destiny involve Tokyo at all?"
	Imelda seemed to consider this for a moment, then replied flatly,
"I believe that's a definate no."
	And there was much rejoicing.

				[*]

	Jack rubbed his hands together with glee, fingering the 60' tall
pile of Star Trek surplus weaponry at his side idly as he sat atop his
throne contructed from a spare UFO, Miss Jane at his side. The only thing
that made his hair distinguishable from the rust-red sky was the slight
shine that only truly sharp edges can give.
	Below Jack's throne from on high (more or less) sat a swath of
what could only be called Biblical destruction. What was once a beautiful
(if fenced in and inaccessible by penalty of brainwashing and X-Files
supporting character roles) stretch of Roswell desert was now pockmarked
with the signs of a conflict the world had never seen. Army after army
from nation after nation, hyped up on the chance to be the ones to kill a
man who must be Satan himself.
	Jack was reviewing the footage, most of which was actually quite
impressive. The rules of the contest had demanded war parties to be as
accurate to American cultural sterotypes as possible, lest the countries
involved risk elimination. The team of Japanese ninja actually did very
well until they hit the Scottish team of Berserkers; men who appreciated
stealth were not exactly up to facing men who fought naked and could take
a sword through the neck without so much as an "Ach!".  They ended up
killing each other. The ninjas evaportated into smoke upon death, while
the berserkers all died screaming "FREEDOM!".
	"This kicks SO much ass," Jack mused thoughtfully. A random pawing
of a random weapon sent a beam of destruction cascading along the
landscape, passing through a group of presidential retainers who had
undergone what could be termed the most rapid evolution in history. It was
like that around Jack: learn to dodge, or die in the attempt. Jack
straightened his shirt and glanced at the closest official-looking person.
"Alright...what's left?"
	The yes-man had enough presence of mind  to stammer out,
"Th...there is no one left, sir." He straightened his tie a little. "In
the attempt to get at you, sir, every representative army of every nation
on Earth has decimated each other."
	Miss Jane blinked, then pouted as sensually as she could possibly
manage. "Do you mean there's no one for us to shakedown at the end? Oh,
pooh." She leaned back on the arm of the throne and continued to file her
nails.
	Jack, however, didn't take it so calmly. "WHAT?" he shouted,
scrambling off the makeshift throne and climbing to the top of the pile of
weapons, grabbing a pair of binoculars on the ascent, looking out over the
charred, hellish landscape. "That can't be right! Where's my chance to
[KICK] [SOME] [ASS]?!" he cried, pouting.
	The help seemed about to respond, but failed to do so. The
potential reason appeared to be his lack of a head, which was piquantly
speared on the elongated fingernails of Debateable Imelda, who intoned
loudly, "No, your [Time] has [Come], Jack. Prepare to face your
[Destiny]." Behind her, the makeshift Church of Cthulhu (Local 666) formed
what could resemble ranks, trying to hide various chibi-appendages of doom
and glowing, metaphysical weaponry inside tattered grey cloaks.
	Imelda seemed about to speak, but she was cut off by a raucous
noise from her side stopped that flat. Well...the raucous noise and the
loud, LOUD A-Team theme music coming from the large black van driving its
way up the hill toward the throne. Even better than the theme music was
the arm-waving, bazooka-toting frame of Anne Lysias dipped out the window,
screaming frantically that she had come to save Jack.
	Miss Jane looked down from her hovering, alien throne at the
amassed plot devices and could only think of one phrase to describe it.
	"Oh, my."
	Jack blinked, then smiled widely. "Anne! Hey, I was wondering when
you were going to show up!" The president and teenage wasteland posterboy
tumbled down the mountainous hill of photon torpedoes and phaser banks and
slingshots toward Mr. T's van, intent on welcoming his sister...but found
his way blocked by a tall Phillipino woman with a slowly rotating head,
surrounded by a sickeningly Exorcist-esque green aura.
	"I don't think so, Jack. No time for that. Your [Destiny] awaits."
	Jack looked at Imelda in confusion. "Aren't you just Debateable
Joe possessed by an ancient, shoe-worshipping spirit of evil?"
	Debateable Imelda, unable to fathom such perfect and totally
random logic, was momentarily stunned long enough for Anne to shoulder her
way through the throng of chibi-demons to get to her brother, hefting a
very large looking assault rifle and pointing it at Imelda. "Step away
from the short psycho slowly," she intoned, then stared at Jack. "I don't
care about your [Destiny] one bit, damnit. You are going to stop all this
nonsense and come HOME, damnit."
	Jack just blinked. "I didn't know you could speak in square
brackets."
	Bel-Shamharoth piped up from the back of the line, "Um, can we get
on with this [Destiny], please? There's an apcoalypse to start before
dinner." He was quickly shushed by Necros-Necros with a polite jab to the
tentacles.
	Well, that and the detonation of a grenade, lobbed by a psychotic,
duck-wielding weapons psycho leaning out of the van windows. "Shut up! If
anyone's gonna be taking Jack to meet his [Destiny], it's gonna be me! He
stole my duck and he's gotta pay," Schmitt-Bob shouted, readying a field
howitzer on the hood of the van.
	Miss Jane looked confused. "Your duck? It was YOUR duck?" She
hopped off the throne and ambled down to the truck. "I've always been
attracted to men who like bath toys..."
	Jack stared, wide-eyed. His world was crumbling. EVERYONE could
talk in brackets! And he'd worked SO HARD to learn that skill...
	"No!" Imelda intoned with the voice of Hell itself. "He is the
Controversial One. The time of the [War] is at hand." She loomed over
Jack, expending her portion of the special effects budget with one last,
shining hope at pushing the plot along. "Fulfill your [Destiny], Jack!
Now!" Her head sped up a few RPM.
	"I pity the fool whose [Destiny] starts some war!" Mr. T shouted.
	The 666 Cthulhu Local wasn't going to take that with their
pseudopods lying down. "It's HIS [Destiny] or NO [Destiny]!" they chorused
as one. The situation soon degraded into a loud vocal fistfight,
punctuated by occasional exhcnages of melee strikes, industrial-grade
firepower, and witty barbs. Miss Jane busied herself by keeping score on a
steno pad, in case this became necessary later to find someone else to
suck up to. In a random bout of continuity, however, she was knocked out
by a falling Boggle set which hit terminal velocity an entire chapter ago.
The only observant of this event was a yellow plastic duck who had wanted
nothing more than a Sesame Street cameo, and instead was forced into this
fic.
	Jack trembled, although whether it was with joy or fear wasn't
exactly certain. Here it was...his dream. A random assortment of peoples,
beings from beyond the grave, and the occasional refugee from 80's TV were
fighting over him...not only him, but his [Destiny]. He was causing
conflict...anger washed over the crowd. But something stuck in his
maw...was it really him they were exchanging exploding objects over?
	Jack took time out of his musings to cheer Anne on as she and
Imelda engaged in a catfight of heretofore unknown proportions, and the
Church of Chtulhu found that Mr. T was hella tough. But the fact remained
that they weren't fighting over him. They were fighting over his
[Destiny]...something you weren't supposed to have any control over. He
wasn't Controversial...he was a victim. His world did, indeed, begin to
crumble. Whether this was due to mental circumstance or the detonation of
firearms on a near thermonuclear scale wasn't exactly clear.
	Then it came to him.
	"TO HELL WITH [DESTINY]!" Jack shrieked, as the sound crew
attempted to compensate and turn up the echo on the speakers a little.
	Sure enough, the world froze, comically with people in
mid-fighting pose and the occasional defiance of gravity and assorted
other laws of physics.
	Anne was the first to recover, disengaging herself from the
unfortunately fanatical Imelda, who, when realizng the meaning of Jack's
scream had collapsed into a marvelous Bill the Cat impression. "Um, what?"
was the best she could do.
	Jack stepped forward to survey the carnage at his feet, the dead
bodies, the ruined countries, the unfortunate ticket-takers sacrificed to
the needs of the author's desire for a running gag...it was all for him.
All of this had been HIS doing, the most CONTROVERSIAL PRESIDENT in
American...nay, in WORLD HISTORY! The delusions of grandeur were cut
somewhat short as Jack momentarily stumbled over the catatonic, "ack"ing
Imelda, but he was always quick on the rebound.
	"You don't think I didn't know about any of this, did you?" he
mused aloud, searing the crowd with his controversial gaze. His hair
gleamed razor-sharp in the sunlight, his crazy smile shone white. "That I
had this [Destiny], to bring about the end of the Universe as we know it?
To be a channel of Satan? Ha! I knew it all along!"
	He allowed for the traditional dramatic intake of breath, then
continued. "I've been stringing you all along the entire time! Oh, MAN is
this rich." Jack smiled complacently, perching back on his former throne.
"You all thought I was Controversial before...well, I say FLOOEY KAFLOOEY!
None of you even UNDERSTAND the term!"
	Anne stood dumbstruck. The Church of Cthulhu members were slowly
recovering (form both psychological shock and T-induced beatdown), as was
Imelda. Jack's sister PEERED at him, with eyes like blazing, holy suns.
"You mean to tell me...the harp seal patty melts, the dominatrix gear,
arresting the Senate, bringing about the Third World War and selling
TICKETS...all of this was that so you could SPITE YOUR [DESTINY]?!"
	Jack nodded and smiled. "Essentially."
	There was a moment of silence...not just the absence of sound, but
a kind of all-pervading psychic silence. Tumbleweeds drifted by slowly, as
Anne just...stared. Stared, and stared, and stared. One by one, signs
appeared. First was the vein...when the vein showed up, the far wiser
Schmitt-Bob and Mr. T ambled out of the way and hid behind the fallen form
of Miss Jane. Then the leather started to strain and the teeth started to
grind. The somewhat less fanatical Church of Cthulhu, knowing the author
was willing to sacrifice them for no good reason at all, slithered off to
the side.
	When the large gun in the hands of the advancing Anne was crushed
to a fine powder, even Imelda decided that a smart woman buys shoes away
from psychotic women in dominatrix gear, and hid behind the Cthulhus.
	Jack continued to smile. For some reason, he knew he'd always get
a rise out of his sister. She was...well, she meant well. But she wasn't
like the rest of the family line...she'd never understood Controversy like
he did. Oh sure, she'd blocked it out with a happy (more or less)
suburban life where they pretended they had no parents and were a
dysfunctional but not overtly dangerous family. But really...Jack knew Mom
had always loved him best. Well, she might have if she'd lived longer, but
such is the price of Controversy.
	The smiled faded somewhat, however, as he looked at Anne.
	With every step, the woman's skin started to get redder, her voice
and steps louder and more oppressive, the air hotter. "How DARE you, you
little runt?! Do you know how long I've SUFFERED because of you?" She
continued to stomp forward, and despite himself Jack felt inclined to take
a step backward. Anne continued to rant. "I've HAD it! You're going to do
something RIGHT for a change, do you hear me?" A pitchfork appeared in her
hands, and Jack's mind whirled.
	When she started talking ENTIRELY in brackets, he knew it was all
over. Hellfire spun around the form of Jack's sister as horns popped from
her head and Satan made himself known to the world. "[FULFILL YOUR DESTINY
NOW, YOU JERK, OR ELSE!]"
	Jack was stunned. His sister...the mild-mannered, long-suffering,
practical, NORMAL sister...
	...was Lucifer, Prince of Darkness.
	Only two words came to mind.
	"Oh, my."
	Anne-Satan STARED down at Jack, eyes gleaming with malevolance.
"[YOU THINK YOU'RE CONTROVERSIAL, DON'T YOU? MAKING PEOPLE SUFFER BECAUSE
YOU WANT TO BREAK THE RULES, HUH?]" she intoned, and the world shook with
the force of her voice. "[I LAUGH! I'VE BEEN MANIPULATING YOU SINCE THE
VERY BEGINNING! EVERY GOOD IDEA...EVERY PRACTICAL THING I SAID, YOU
REFUSED TO FOLLOW...AND SO YOU BECAME PRESIDENT. YOU RUINED THE WORLD AS
WE KNOW IT...AND BY ALL THAT'S UNHOLY, YOU'RE GOING TO FINISH WHAT YOU
STARTED!]"
	Jack was speechless. For the first time in recorded history, he
was absolutely SPEECHLESS. His mind reeled. Anne. Anne was Satan. Anne was
Satan and Jack was destined to bring about Armageddon...and he'd been
tricked all along. His desire to be Controversial had undone him. He'd
played right into the Devil's hands. The world was at the Devil's mercy.
	Others were not taking this quite so well. Imelda had long passed
out after seeing Satan, and the Cthulhu party was busy trying to revive
her. Mr. T was pitying fools (mainly, himself and Miss Jane) while the
unflappable Schmitt-Bob stared in amazement. "I'm not getting this. Anne
is Satan?"
	Jack nodded slowly. "Apparently." He glanced up at Anne. "And how
is it exactly that I'm going to singlehandedly end the known world?" he
shot back defiantly. He paused. "Hey, not that I'm not interested. I mean,
sounds like a cool gig, right?"
	Anne paused. "[YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BRING ANOTHER.]" she intoned
after a moment's hesitation. "[WHERE IS HE?]"
	SORRY. I WAS CALLED AWAY.
	Everyone turned to look at the voice that had run through the area
like a cold knife blade against the neck, and saw a gaunt...VERY
gaunt...man dressed in a black cloak, clasped with a brooch decorated with
a stylized "omega". Behind him rode 4 bored-looking figures on dark
horses who breathed fire.
	Jack blinked. Wasn't everyday you got such important looking
visitors. Audacious in his surprise, he eked out a "Who the hell are you?"
	The lead figure apparently answered, WE'RE THE OBLIGATORY TERRY
PRATCHETT REFERENCE FOUND IN MOST FANFIC.
	Everyone oh'ed.
	Death sighed. DO CARRY ON, PLEASE. IT'S A BUSY MULTIVERSE.
	Anne nodded her head, and pointed toward Jack with her pitchfork.
"[NOW...THE AVATAR OF THE HATED ONE. WHERE IS IT? WHY DON'T YOU HAVE IT?]"
	Jack blinked. "I dunno. I don't remember leaving the house with an
avatar. I mean, that's something you'd notice carrying, an avatar." He
glanced toward the unconscious form Miss Jane. "Maybe she's..." He
paused. "No, I doubt Miss Jane is your avatar, heavenly though she may
be."
	Anne nodded sagely. "[TOO TRUE. DO GO ON.]"
	Jack nodded, scanning the room. "I don't think that Mr. T or
Schmitt-Bob are avatars either. I mean...they weren't even introduced
until chapter 10, and you said I should have had it all along, right?"
	Anne nodded again. "[RIGHTY-O. NEXT?]"
	Jack said, flatly, "If Imelda Marcos is an avatar of anything
except the ancient god of evil footwear, I'll eat a chibi-worshipper of
Cthulhu."
	Anne nodded one more time. "[CORRECT. SO WHERE IS IT?]"
	Jack hmmmed. He scanned the area briefly...unconscious transsexual
board-game lover...a walking nightmare of gold-chains and his bit-part
sidekick...his sister, the Devil...various creatures of the night...a
glowing plastic duck holding a broom...
	Well, then it all fell into place, didn't it?, Jack mused,
thanking the gripping narrative for the subtle hint.
	He pointed at Mr. Duck. "I think that's your avatar."
	Anne's head swiveled independently of her body to glimpse at the
glowing, golden Mr. Duck, broom and all. She stared, eyes burning with
confusion and, of course, unholy black flame. "[SO, YOU'VE COME.]"
	The duck...changed. It stretched, becoming a figure of light which
expanded, choirs of heavenly angels singing until they were chased off the
set by an annoyed Anne. Eventually, the bath toy became a short,
brown-haired Japanese woman with an apron who smiled an awful lot. If it
were possible, you'd want to hurt her.
	Jack blinked. "No way! Mr. Duck is really a woman?" He pushed a
hand to his forehead, reeling. "All those intimate thoughts I shared...all
those male bonding sessions...all those issues of Playboy spread out to
make that huge montage of breasts that we cut out in the shape of Pat
Robertson and mailed to him...and it was really a woman?" He gasped
dramatically. "I'm crushed. How COULD you?"
	Anne sighed. "[MR. DUCK WAS JUST A DUCK, YOU MORON. SHE JUST
POSSESSED THE THING WHEN I BROUGHT IT UP.]" She turned toward the woman
and blinked. "[ALTHOUGH I REMEMBER GOD BEING A BIT TALLER.]"
	Jack beamed with pride. "You actually recognized Mr. Duck for what
he truly is! Yay!"
	The woman with the broom glanced at Anne curiously, then blinked.
"Oh, my dear, no. I'm not the God of this universe. He had some pressing
business in another plane of existence and asked me to babysit. But this
looked important, so I wanted to get started on cleaning the mess early."
	The universe held its breath. There was another long silence,
which of course was broken by a curt:
	IS THERE GOING TO BE AN APOCALYPSE OR NOT?
	Kasumi sweatbeaded. "Oh dear, I should hope not. Those are messy."
	Anne sighed and rolled her eyes. "[LOOK. I GOT JACK HERE, HIS
DESTINY'S ALL SET UP. JUST TELL THE ANGELS TO COME DOWN HERE SO WE CAN GET
ON WITH IT.]" She paused, then added as an afterthought, "[YOU DID BRING
THE BUTTON, DIDN'T YOU?]"
	"Button? Oh, certainly! I wouldn't want to forget something
important." She brought out a small box containing a big red button on it,
marked "PRESS TO RESET UNIVERSE"
	Entranced by shiny things with destruction written all over them,
Jack naturally followed his impulses. "Oooh, can I see that, please?"
	Kasumi smiled. "Well, since you asked so nicely."
	There was no collective holding of breath. There was, however, one
resigned and grateful sign of:
	*THANK* YOU!
	Then of course, it all ended.

				[*]

	Nothing. Blackness, a swirling void of Ether, Night, and Mist.
Soon, it would form a universe...a universe without sharp hair. A universe
of government cheese and ducks and bad philosophy and all sorts of other
nasty things thrown in.
	"Oooh. Shiny."
	Jack floated, watching the ball come together to make a planet. He
glanced at Kasumi. "What am I supposed to do now?"
	Kasumi shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think I did the universal
restart right, but it's going to take a long time for this universe to
come back together."
	Jack ooohed. "Can I become a god here, then?" His eyes got all
bright. "A controversial universe! Think of it!"
	The broom-wielding Housemaid of Holiness shook her head. She was
apparently naive, but not an idiot. "I think that's against rules even I
can't do anything about," she said softly, but smiled and patted Jack on
the shoulder, careful to avoid the hair. Could be coated in Hind's blood
after all, or something.
	"What am I supposed to do, then?"
	Kasumi blinked, then opened up a portal to wherever it was she
came from. "Well, you could always come back with me. I've got this
institution there I'd think you'd fight right into."
	"Is there violence?" Jack asked, out of habit. "And harp seal
patties? And transvesttes and explosions?"
	Kasumi gave that some thought. Then she shrugged.
	"Depends. Things like that are controversial in my universe."
	"Oh, good," Jack replied.
	"I'd hate to get bored."